✮ ⋆ ˚｡🪼Venus𖦹 ⋆°°✩

On the third night of avoiding him like the plague, you wait until you know he’s out on patrol to begin your routine of studying at the dinner table. The distant honking of New York traffic acts as your soundtrack as you settle onto one of two rickety wooden chairs and open your laptop, only for your nose to immediately wrinkle in disgust. You whirl around at the trash can and find it overflowing with garbage. Hansol, as clean of a roommate as he was, tended to forget to take out the trash until your entire apartment smelled like a subway station. Not wanting to talk to him and tell him to take it out when he got back from patrol, you make a mental note to throw it out after you finished up the assignment that was freshly on your mind. One assignment turned to two, which turned to five, which turned to reviewing for your upcoming exam until several hours had passed with you hunched over the table and muttering chemical formulas to yourself like a witch. Your hand smudges the ink of the notecard you’ve been writing on and you crumple it up to toss it in the trash.

The trash! 

You curse colorfully under your breath and push away from the table, shoving the boxes of macaroni and cheese and empty soup cans down until the plastic bag is on the verge of tearing. It’s ridiculously heavy, so much so that you’re not able to tie the two bright yellow handles, and your arms are aching by the time you haul it down the stairs and into the alley with the dumpsters. At the end of the dark walkway are a handful of people that you can see throwing punches and kicking at something in the corner, and you move a little more hurriedly to toss the bag and escape back inside. It takes you a few tries to lift the bag enough to get it high enough to clear the edge of the dumpster, but something you hear down the alley makes you pause when you successfully get it hanging over the edge like a gross wet blanket.

“This is what you fucking get, you web-slinging asshole!”

“Yeah, we’re gonna beat you until you bleed the same color as your ugly-ass suit!” 

Hansol. Your stomach drops and your hands are moving without thinking, reaching up to tear open the bag and allow the contents of the garbage bag to spill onto the wet asphalt. The noise catches the attention of one of the attackers, and he turns just in time for an empty can of chicken noodle to hit him square in the nose. He shouts more in anger than pain, but you’re already slinging more cans by the time he gets his buddies to turn around, too. You silently thank your local bodega for having a buy-one-get-three deal on soup cans, because you’re hurling them at the speed of a shotgun and barely into half the bag. The attackers swear in outrage and charge at you, but you keep on throwing whatever your hand grabs in the bag. The trash is light enough to be harmless but solid enough to be inconvenient; you fight the urge to laugh when the nearest guy running at you slips on a can of tomato soup and faceplants in the concrete. 

As the guys that were once attacking Spiderman now approach to corner you, you scramble backward until you collide with the wall of another dumpster. One of the attacker’s hands moves in slow motion to grab the collar of your pajama shirt when he’s violently thrown to the side, a glob of webbing gluing his wrist to the opposite wall. Hansol becomes the target of aggression once more, but he leaps between the walls of the alley to avoid hits and watches in delight as his enemies roll their feet over soup cans and scramble around in a panic. Pressed against the dumpster, you stand frozen as every guy attacking Hansol is webbed up with a healthy amount over their mouth to shut them up. Only when the last attacker trips backward over a soup can and falls unconscious on the ground does your roommate turn to you, carefully kicking away any trash that might catch your slipper-covered feet.

“Are you hurt?” Hansol asks and you shake your head, staring at him in slight bewilderment. “Are you sure?” You nod slowly, still not saying a word. He sighs and winces as he places pressure on his left foot. “Can we go inside? I need to pop an Ibuprofen and explain some things.” You swallow and nod again, reaching out on instinct to catch his forearm as he stumbles. He lets you help him up the fire escape and clamber into your living room, where he finally tugs off his mask as you pull the curtains for good measure. “Can I–”

“Nope,” you interrupt shortly. “Shut up.”

“But–”

“Lay there and be quiet while I get you painkillers,” you order and he obeys, his arms flopping against the rug until he’s sprawled out like a sea star. You scrub your hands in the kitchen sink until they feel raw and surely contain no more traces of garbage. After retrieving a few pills from the medicine cabinet and a glass of tap water, you sit cross-legged on the floor next to him and hold out both. “Here. Drink.” He sits up with a groan and your hand steadies his shoulder immediately while he gulps down the medicine and places the glass on the coffee table. 

“Can I apologize now?” Your eyebrows pinch.

“What do you need to apologize for?” Hansol winces and shuffles himself until he can lean up against the couch. You sit right next to him, stretching out your legs beside him and trying not to think about your bare arm brushing against the fabric of his suit. 

“I realized that how I told you about,” he pauses and gestures to himself, “all of this, was not the best way I could have done it.” You shrug. A coil in your chest unwinds itself at the ease of which you can talk to your roommate again. 

“I don’t know if there was any way you could have done it without me freaking out,” you admit. “You know me. Freaking out is my superpower.” 

“I’d say you have other superpowers, coming from the guy who has actual superpowers,” argues Hansol. “Throwing soup cans with impeccable aim is one of them.” You snort and nudge him as gently as you can with your shoulder. “Really, though. I’m sorry I freaked you out. I know all of this is overwhelming, especially since it’s happening literally in your own home.”

“Or the alley outside of it,” you add and he nods.

“Exactly. I wouldn’t,” he sighs, gathering his words, “I wouldn’t blame you if you kicked me out.” You frown and shake your head so adamantly, your neck hurts.

“I’d never do that,” you promise. “How would I live with myself if I knew I was the one who made Spiderman homeless?” He laughs and immediately hisses in pain, grabbing his side. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. A gnarly bruise is worth it if you’re joking with me again,” Hansol says. “What can I do to make it up to you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I feel like an asshole for making you uncomfortable in your own place,” he continues. “Anything, really. Just name it and let me absolve my guilt.”

“Okay, drama queen,” you scoff. You think for a moment and look at him with a soft smile that makes his ears turn pink. “Replace the bag for the trash can and we’ll call it even.” 

He leaps up from the floor with a burst of speed that you’re sure is gonna bite him the ass the next day, but you can’t help but chuckle when he replaces the bag and starts making a list of all the soups that need to be restocked in your pantry. 

—

Save #2, a.k.a. Masquerade Mayhem

Diamond Technical University, despite its reputation for being a school bursting with STEM freaks, knew how to throw a damn good party. That’s about all you can think about as you arrive at the expansive plaza of Carat Central, the area of campus containing the recreation center, a food court, and the bookstore. Sparsely populated during the day except for your average gym-going college student, the plaza is now swarming with students, staff, and faculty from the school of health sciences for its annual masquerade gala. Scalloped banners of fabric hang from nearby balconies, string lights glow above you, and a jazz band is tucked in the far corner. Sparkles of every color imaginable bounce off the glittering masks of the gala’s guests and you swipe a simple black mask from the registration table as you enter the fray of people, scanning for your roommate in the crowd. Hansol had texted you ten minutes ago saying he’d checked in and was gonna swipe some snacks from the refreshments table, but he was almost impossible to find in the sea of suits and masks. Almost.

“A red and blue mask is a little on the nose, don’t you think?” You tease as you find him at a standing table with a plate of cheese, meat, and crackers. His face lights up behind the mask as you join him, his eyes not-so-subtly running over your body and the nicer outfit you’d donned for tonight. You push away the way your cheeks are heating under the scratchy paper mask.

“Only if you look too far into it,” your roommate replies with a smirk playing on his lips. “How was your exam?”

“A hot load of ass,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes and popping a cracker into your mouth. “At least a third of the questions were things that weren’t in the lectures or the readings.” Hansol frowns sympathetically.

“Did you at least pass?”

“We’ll see next Wednesday, though if I don’t you might have to avoid saying ‘adenosine triphosphate’ ever again within my presence,” you conclude as nonchalantly as you’re able. You gesture around vaguely at the people milling about and avoid the eyes of professors you would recognize from ten miles away. “For now, I’m counting on this to distract me from finals.” 

“You’ll be okay,” Hansol states confidently. “Sometimes you study until I come back from patrol at 4:00 in the morning. That’s not all for nothing.” 

“I’m glad one of us believes in me,” you sigh and shrug half-heartedly. 

“Have you asked your professors if patching up Spiderman counts as internship hours?” He asks so suddenly that you can’t help but laugh. 

“Our apartment doesn’t count as a hospital, so I never bothered,” you reply and he nods. 

“A shame. I bet you have more practice giving stitches than any student here,” asserts Hansol and you grimace. 

“Let’s not consider that a good thing, please,” you plead and he chuckles. “Shall we do our rounds?”

“Lead the way.” 

For the next couple of hours, you and Hansol move as a set as you make small talk with some classmates, wave to people from his biochemistry courses, and eavesdrop on internship opportunities opening up the following semester. At some point, your hand finds the crook of his elbow and stays there, and you try not to think about the muscles in his arm that flex every time you stray too far and he pulls you back toward him. The clock nears midnight and the party is approaching its end when the dean of the health sciences college taps the mic with a manicured finger. 

“It’s that time, everybody! Please remove your masks and reveal your identities to those around you!” She announces with a blinding smile and the people around you undo the ties of their masks. Hansol unties his and tosses it over his shoulder; it disappears somewhere on the floor and words become stuck in your throat at just how good he looks in the glow of the string lights. 

“Need some help?” He inquires when you just stand there, staring at him like an idiot. You stammer something that sounds like an assent and go nearly catatonic when he gently undoes the ribbon tying your mask behind your head. He pulls it off carefully and places it in your hands with a small smile, tying the ribbon around your wrist so you don’t lose it. “There. Now I can see you.”

“Aw, did you miss me?” You joke and you hope he can’t tell how your voice is shaking. 

“You know it.” 

“You talk a whole lot of rizz for getting no girls,” you scoff, even though those three words made something in your chest stop working for a second. 

“Who said I wanted ‘em?” You don’t reply and somehow drag Hansol onto the dance floor, your arms winding around his neck as naturally as breathing. He’s a little stiff while his hands find your waist until you brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead and he nearly melts. It’s all platonic, you convince yourself. Don’t think about the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in this room. 

“Something on your mind?” His soft voice pulls you from your thoughts. 

“Just exams,” you fib, even though he can most definitely sense the way your heart is rattling around in your ribcage. Hansol hums.

“Anything else you wanna talk about?”

“Anything you wanna know?” You counter with a sly smile.

“I always wanna know what’s going on in there,” he says, nodding toward the top of your head. “There’s a lot, but it intrigues me.”

“If you looked in my brain, it’d be like that one episode of Spongebob where everything’s on fire and there’s filing cabinets toppled over,” you inform him seriously and he snorts. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

You open your mouth to reply again but are interrupted by the sensation of the floor rumbling beneath your feet. The ground is humming. Hansol’s hands are immediately on your forearms to steady you as the world shifts over and over again. The shaking becomes more violent, so much so that a few guests around you trip onto the ground and you dash to help the people nearest to you. Hansol’s hand remains on your back as you do so, his head snapping side to side to locate the source of the disturbance. As you steady a classmate you recognize from one of your ethics classes, an explosion of concrete blasts into the air with a sound that leaves your ears ringing. Something has collided with the welcome building of Carat Central a few yards away and sent debris flying in all directions. Your body automatically wraps around the person to shield them from oncoming pieces of concrete, and your breath catches when you register that Hansol is shielding you the same way. The person you helped darts away and Hansol’s grip is firm as he yanks you away from the stampede of people, all while the dean is screaming on the microphone for people to remain calm and evacuate the area. 

“What the hell is happening?” You shout over the chaos once Hansol corrals you into the corner of a nearby walkway. Panicked guests knock his shoulders and run into his back, but the way his body cages yours against the corner protects you as they pass. 

“I don’t know!” He yells back. “I heard someone say a professor’s turned into a lizard!” You gape at him, not sure if you understood correctly.

“A what?” 

“A giant-ass lizard! Experiment gone wrong, or something!” Hansol replies, looking severely conflicted. He looks at the gargantuan green reptile emerging from the dust of the ruined building, back at you, then back at the monster that might be one of your professors. “I need to–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, your voice straining to be loud enough over the screaming. “Go be a hero!” He spins around to leave, but you catch his wrist at the last second. Untying the black masquerade mask that had been on your wrist, you secure the knot behind Hansol’s head and effectively hide his identity. “Please don’t die!” 

“I’m not planning on it!” Hansol lingers for barely a second longer as the giant reptilian continues its warpath across the plaza, eyes searching yours. In a moment so quick you think you imagined it, his lips lean forward to brush your forehead and shoot electricity down your entire body. You freeze and watch as he disappears into the dust, webs shooting from his wrist and sending him flying toward the danger. 

Your feet remain rooted in place for what feels like forever until someone grabs your arm and ushers you behind a police brigade that has been set up just outside the plaza. Dodging EMTs and trying your best not to look back at however Hansol is faring, you collapse onto the couch of your apartment several minutes later, feet aching and heart still racing. After kicking off your shoes, anxiously grabbing the first aid kit, and pacing until there’s surely a path worn into your floorboards, you wait on the fire escape for him to come back. 

You’re stuck in a worried spiral with your legs swinging off the edge of the escape when the tell-tale thwip of webs finally reaches your building. 

“Holy shit, you’re okay,” you breathe when he lands on the creaking metal platform. There’s countless tears and rips in his suit, scuffs on his shoes, and a cut on his left cheek, but he’s not bleeding out or in need of a hospital. You don’t bother rushing him into the apartment immediately; your arms are around his neck and pulling him close before either of you can think much of it. His breathing is heavy and there’s a slight tremble to his hands from excess adrenaline, but he makes no effort to let go until you pull away and tug off the black mask that you’d given him before you were separated. Your thumb runs over the angry red scratch and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Is the professor…?”

“He’s alive,” Hansol answers and you exhale in relief. “Some of his students raided his lab and found the antidote gas, so all I needed to do was stall and then make him sniff it.” 

“Did anyone see your face?” He shakes his head.

“They didn’t, thanks to you. I was about to rush in there with no plan, no suit, and no mask.” The corner of your mouth turns down.

“Yeah, you’ve had better ideas,” you remark.

“I wasn’t thinking about Spiderman, just keeping you safe,” he reveals and your heart stutters again. “I guess thinking about you makes me a little stupid.”

“Well, I hope you don’t do it too often,” you conclude, turning and pushing open the window before you start thinking too hard about how tightly he held your hips. He follows you into the apartment after some delay, and mutters something under his breath that you think you might have hallucinated.

“Too late.”

—

Save #3, a.k.a. The Power of Persuasion (And Eavesdropping on Private Conversations) 

You didn’t intend to eavesdrop, not really. 

You were truly in the right place at the right time, or wrong place and wrong time depending on who you ask. As if final exam week couldn’t get any worse, the restroom located next to your classroom is under maintenance, meaning you had approximately five minutes to haul ass to the second floor bathroom, haul ass back to your classroom, hope that it’s still unlocked and your professor didn’t start on time, and mentally prepare yourself for what might be the worst test in your academic career…on top of waiting for a certain web-slinging hero to bring you your calculator. It should have been a blessing in disguise that Hansol was also in the class with you; he’s brought you stuff you’ve forgotten several times since he’s usually getting a few winks of sleep by the time you leave for campus. But now, he’s nowhere to be found five minutes before exam time, you’re calculator-less, and you need to pee so badly that your legs are shaking. What a great day to be you.

“Deborah, listen to me! It’s possible to have two soulmates, and therefore it wasn’t cheating!” You stop in your tracks as you exit the restroom, your ears picking up on a voice that sounds suspiciously like your professor that should already be in the classroom. Ducking quietly behind a vending machine, you continue to listen as your professor rants to whoever was on the phone. “No, you need to stop being in your head about this. I was involved with Debra–yes, the other woman’s name is also Debra but with a different spelling–because I believed you two would get along well. You’re the one who’s always going on about opening up the relationship.” Your jaw is hanging open while your professor tries to convince his wife that a divorce lawyer is not needed and that a family counselor (including the other Debra) was what they should get. The conversation drops to a level that has you craning your neck to hear while also staying hidden, and you nearly jump out of your skin when a message from Hansol buzzes on your phone.

| CONTACT ID: hansol ✌️|

[9:59 A.M.]

DID HE DTART YET IM RUNNING OVER MY ALARM DIDNTGO OFF I COULDNT FIND YUOR CALCUALTOR WHY DID YOU PUT IT IN THE FRIDGE

[10:00 A.M.]

DUCK STALL FO RME PLS PLS PLS I NEED TEN MINKS MINS

You nearly reveal your position from giggling at the prospect of your roommate being in dire need of ten ferret-like animals, but quickly remember the seriousness of the situation if you didn’t get your calculator and Hansol was locked out of the classroom for being late. Following your professor’s footsteps as he stomps down the stairs and towards the classroom, you slip into the room behind him and wedge a pencil in between the doors in the event that they lock on their own upon closing. The room is eerily silent save for some nervous coughs and the rustling of bags as everyone tucks away their phones and pulls out their pencils. Your professor, however, looks like he would rather be anywhere but there while you settle into your usual seat and stick your bag on the seat adjacent to you for Hansol. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” mumbles the student on your other side, Dez, who had a knack for getting the professor riled up and yapping for an ungodly portion of class time. “What do you think made him all grumpy today?” You bite your tongue and shrug, checking the clock and the classroom doors every few seconds to see if Hansol made it in. 

“I don’t know, but he seems pretty pissed,” you add. “More pissed than when you had him on a tangent about the reliability of government that one time before break.” Dez smirks at the memory. 

“How long did he go on for, again?”

“42 minutes and 39 seconds exactly,” you recount and he nods like a grandfather remembering his youth while sitting in a rocking chair. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Dez asks, pointing over at the empty chair on your other side. You shoot him a look.

“He’s my roommate, not my boyfriend.” He shrugs. 

“Yet.” 

“Don’t get me started, Dez,” you warn and he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, professor. Didn’t mean to get you all prickly,” he apologizes and an evil idea occurs to you while you take in your professor at the front of the room still furiously texting on his phone, even though the exam should have started three minutes ago. You need to buy yourself and Hansol time, so you throw caution to the wind and drop your voice to a conspiratory volume.

“Say, Dez,” you assert. “You’re familiar with the, uh, specialty herb trade here on campus, right?” He thinks for a moment, his mouth gaping open like a fish, and then the realization of what you’re referring to hits him like lightning.

“No way,” he gasps. “Are you looking to buy?”

“No, not me. I’m just wondering how prices have been looking since campus police have been cracking down on dealers,” you hastily explain and he purses his lips in thought.

“Now that you say that, prices have been going up lately. Like, for example, I’ve got a guy that experiments with adding basil and rosemary to his shit, and–” You wave your hands and cut him off.

“Dez, I don’t care. The market is a shitshow, is it not?”

“The shittiest show,” he confirms gravely. 

“Great,” you say. “30 dollars if you ask our professor what he thinks about soulmates. Or open relationships. Or both. Actually, 50 if you do both.” If all goes right, it should be enough time for Hansol to get his ass over here. Dez’s eyes go as wide as bowling balls and he grabs your hand to shake it aggressively. You would be down some dollars, but at least you could literally buy time. As your professor finally puts down his phone and steels himself to address the class, Dez’s hand shoots up. 

“Professor!” He yells loud enough to make you cringe. At least a hundred eyes in the busy lecture hall turn toward you at once and you’re grateful that Dez has no sense of social anxiety. The professor at the front of the room sighs tiredly.

“Yes, Dez?”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to have multiple soulmates, or does one person just get left out in open relationships?” You know your gamble has paid off when your professor completely dismisses the proctors of the exam and then begins recounting the entire history of his relationship with Deborah #1, his run-in with Debra #2, and the subsequent issues that followed with both women. By the time Hansol has finally dropped into his seat and slid your calculator over the desk, you’ve long realized that your bet has worked a little too well, as now he’s been talking for the last twenty minutes and shows no sign of stopping. “Do you have a preferred payment method?” Dez whispers. “I take Venmo, Cashapp, and cuts of beef. I also have payment plans. Here’s a QR code.” He procures a screenshot and you scan it, still partially in shock that this even worked.

“What’s the stoner on about?” Hansol murmurs to you as he watches you type in $50 on your phone. 

“Just send me $25 when you get the chance,” you request and he nods unsurely. 

“Do I even wanna know?” 

“Probably not. Just don’t ever ask the professor what he thinks about open relationships.”

“I see,” Hansol says even though you know he’s far from understanding what’s going on. “Fifteen more minutes and it’ll be far past the time he can give us on the exam, so we won’t take it. If he’s still talking after fifteen minutes, wanna go grab breakfast?”

“I could fuck up a waffle right now,” you muse. “Are you paying?” 

“I’ll pay for $25 worth of your food, if that’s an equal transaction.” Dez leans his head into your conversation.

“That’s like, totally a filet mignon amount. You should take the deal,” he advises. You stare at him for a long moment until he stares back longer and it unnerves you.

“Thanks Dez, I’ll take that into account.” Dez gasps like you’d just told him he was pregnant.

“Yo, are you guys going on a date? I’ve got some recommendations if you want them.” Hansol blinks at him and tries to hide his grin.

“We’re good, man, but thanks for letting us know.”

“Of course, dude. You and your sweetheart are so cute,” Dez gushes and you keep your eyes trained on the professor, though you see Hansol has gone stiff from the corner of your peripheral vision. “And hey, if you ever wanna get some good stuff, just let me know, ‘kay?”

“Sounds good, Dez,” you smile. “Enjoy the $50.” 

—

Save #3, a.k.a. The Amazing Spider-Seamstress

If Hell ever froze over, you imagine it would look something like winter in New York. You’ve been running the heater in your apartment for so long that your nose is starting to feel dry, and stepping outside is like walking naked into the world’s largest Costco refrigerator. Your roommate isn’t faring much better, coming home with chattering teeth and skin that is nearly the color of the frozen lake a few blocks down from your apartment. After a heated metaphorical debate about whether spiders hibernate during winter (because why go out on patrol when it’s too cold to commit crime anyway?), you’d come to the conclusion that Hansol needed layers if he was going to survive swinging through winds that were frigid enough to leave icicles hanging from his webs. 

Hansol, by virtue of being Hansol, was rather lazy at his first attempt of saving the city in warmer clothes. The week after your argument about him freezing to death in his regular Spiderman suit, you’d watched him cross the living room in his suit and throw a jacket over himself as he ducked out onto the fire escape. As you’d predicted, he came back with a torso nice and warm, but legs that each needed heat packs. The next night, he wore a jacket and sweatpants, and then lamented that his ears and his toes were going to freeze and fall off. When Friday came and you were watching the same routine from the dining room table, Hansol looked less like Spiderman and more like one of the burglars from Home Alone. He arrived back at the apartment a few hours later with snow heaped on his clothes, a hole in his beanie, and missing one of his boots. 

That’s when you decided to intervene. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks as you lay out his suit on the kitchen table and examine it with all the precision of a neurosurgeon. 

“If you freeze to death, no one’s gonna be covering half my rent,” you decide, disappearing into your room and bringing back a stack of fabrics you’d picked up after your classes. “So, I would like permission to insulate your suit.” 

“You don’t need to do that; I’ll just keep using the thermal layers,” he reasons, running his fingers over the red and blue fleece. “They’re scratchy, but they work.”

“You hate those because they make your suit not feel like skin,” you remind him. “Granted, this won’t feel like skin either, but at least it’s one less layer you need to have. Easier to swing, too. See?” You grab a corner of fabric and stretch it. “It’ll move with you. It’s not perfect, but it’s warm.”  

“This is pretty soft,” he agrees. “It’s like I’m a sheep.”

“You’d be warmer than a sheep, at least for the areas that you said get the coldest. I’m not gonna put fleece around where your joints are, since those are gonna need the most flexibility.” His eyes follow your finger as you trace on the suit where you would install the fleece panels–wrapping around his arms and legs, his chest, and his neck, specifically. Hansol looks at you so softly that you forget just how close you are together, hunched over the kitchen table.

“You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” you confirm. “Plus, didn’t you say you’ve been wanting to design a winter version and a summer version of your suits? Let this be the winter one so you don’t freeze to death.” 

“Okay, I trust you. I didn’t know you knew how to sew,” he remarks and you bite your lip. 

“I know how to stitch. Everything else, I was gonna figure out as I go,” you admit sheepishly and you thank the heavens that you have a chill roommate, because he just shrugs and gives you an encouraging pat on the back. 

“You got it. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this job.”

“Well, yeah. That would require someone else to know your identity,” you point out and grin at his pout. 

“Can’t you just let me compliment you?” He pokes his finger into your side and you yelp, pushing him away with a laugh. 

“Fine, I surrender! Now go away and let me work,” you dismiss and drop into the dining room chair. 

Turns out, sewing pieces of fleece into the inside of Hansol’s suit is easier than you thought, but takes forever to stitch by hand. On top of that, you’re trying to make sure your stitches are as secure as possible and in a straight line, if you can help it. It’s well past midnight by the time you finally finish tying off the last knot. Hansol has been quietly loitering for the past hour, watching you work and taking cat naps to the sound of your humming in lieu of being on patrol. 

“Done?”

“Done,” you beam, holding up the finished suit that, to your delight, looks exactly the same. “I also stitched up a few tears and rips you had in it, just while I was in the area.” He leans over the back of your chair, his chin close enough to brush your temple, and you hope he can’t tell how much your breathing has picked up. 

“You sure you actually did something to it? It looks like nothing’s there,” he comments, gently taking the suit from you and feeling around the newly insulated areas. “Oh. There it is.”

“Exactly. It should keep you a little warmer while still feeling the same as before,” you explain proudly. “Now, you don’t need to wear itchy thermals or bundle up like you’re braving a snowstorm.”

“Can I go take it for a test run?” You shrug.

“It’s your suit. Do what you want with it as long as you don’t die.” He whoops in excitement and runs into his room, reappearing a few minutes later smoothing over his arms in awe. 

“This feels amazing,” he exclaims. “It’s like I’m a sheep, but also have blubber. So like a whale-sheep. Sheep-whale. Shale.”

“Perhaps a Whasheep?” You contribute, smiling. 

“A whasheep,” he agrees. He stretches in the suit and does a backflip for good measure. “Feels great. I can flip so easily in this.” His legs bend in preparation to fly backward again, but you stop him with a noise of concern. 

“I’m happy you’re happy, but I don’t think our downstairs neighbors will be enthused if you keep doing gymnastics over their living room,” you reason and he flinches with embarrassment. 

“Right, right. I’m gonna go take it for a test run, then. Want anything from the store?”

“Hot chocolate mix, if you can,” you request, though you’re covering your mouth with a yawn.

“Dark?”

“You know it.”

“Be right back, then. I won’t be long.” True to his word, Hansol is back less than fifteen minutes later, but you’ve already migrated to the couch and curled up against the cushions, fast asleep. Something in his chest warms seeing that you’ve used the spare fleece as a scrappy blanket, not wanting to bother getting one from the closet. You barely stir as he grabs a throw blanket for you and replaces the scrap fabric with it, ultimately deciding to just scoop you up and carry you to your room. You hum contentedly during the few seconds it takes to transfer you from the couch to your bed, pulling the blanket closer as soon as you’re on the mattress. 

When you murmur a sleepy love you, Hansol as he’s shutting your door, it takes him an hour to stop his heart from racing. 

—

Save #5, a.k.a. The Therapeutic Properties of Cable TV

Hansol has been off for the past week. He won’t look you in the eye, he won’t answer you in more than two-word sentences, he’s been eating dinner in his room, and he’s disappeared after his classes when he usually comes straight home. You know you shouldn’t feel so affected–he might just be feeling under the weather, after all–but it’s still causing a significant disturbance to your routine. Eating dinner alone feels extra empty. Watching TV feels extra boring. Studying might as well be pointless if he’s not beside you muttering chemical formulas under his breath. 

It finally reaches a breaking point when you’re awake and staring at the ceiling one night, unable to sleep. You’re awake long enough that you hear Hansol come back from patrol, close the door to his room, and open it again. You sit up and strain your ears, barely catching the sound of him creeping around the kitchen and the microwave beeping. The clock reads almost 3:00 in the morning; he should be dead asleep by now. Part of you wants to mind your own business and let him be, but the better part of you wins over and drags you out of bed and into the living room. When you settle wordlessly on the other side of the couch, wrapped in your blanket, you don’t immediately look at Hansol. Instead, you look at the steaming cup of instant ramen that he hasn’t touched, the TV remote’s faded buttons, and the piercingly bright cartoon show that’s playing at an imperceptible volume. An entire twenty-minute episode comes and goes without a word from either of you, and your eyelids are becoming heavy. 

He notices.

“You should sleep,” he says so quietly that you almost don’t hear him. 

“So should you,” you counter. He tenses.

“I don’t need it.” 

“You say that to a nurse. Smart,” you deadpan and eye him skeptically. “You don’t need it, or you don’t want it?” His silence and clenched jaw tells you all you need to know. “If I did something to upset you, I want to know so I can apologize.” His attention snaps to you and he shakes his head with more emotion than you’ve seen from him for the past six days. 

“What? No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’ve been avoiding me this entire week,” you insist. “That can’t be without reason.” 

“I’m just tired,” he dodges and you see through it like glass. 

“If you’re tired, you should be sleeping.”

“I’m fine. Can you drop it?” He snaps and your stomach sinks. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Let me know if you want me to leave.”

“Do what you want. It’s your apartment,” is his cold reply and you tuck yourself even further into the corner. Your nose burns as your eyes start to water, but you force yourself to remain stoic. He’d never talked to you that way before and it made something in you unreasonably sad. After another episode and fighting the urge to cry, he sighs and turns TV off, scooting closer to you for the first time in days. “I’m sorry. That was mean.” 

“Yeah, it was,” you whisper, staring at your knees tucked under the blanket. You swallow and meet his eyes like one wrong look would blow up the entire building. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. It isn’t fair, and I don’t want to make you sad.” The urge to cry comes back like a crashing wave.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?” You manage to say. “I’m worried about you.”

“Nightmares. Every night of last week,” he reveals. “I relive all the mistakes I’ve made since becoming Spiderman. The most recent one, there was a situation where I couldn’t save everyone.” He exhales shakily and you reach to cover his hand with yours. “I couldn’t look you in the eyes for days because all I felt was guilt, even though it was all in my head. I couldn’t save you.”

“Oh.” You don’t realize you’re crying until Hansol makes a noise of alarm and brushes aside the tears that have started running down your cheeks. 

“Wait, no–don’t–why are you…?”

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” you attempt to laugh, which sounds more like a sob. “I guess I was so worried about you and all this time, it’s because of me…or I guess not me. Dream-me.” 

“Dream-you scared the shit out of me.”

“And you didn’t tell me any of this?” Hansol shakes his head.

“It wasn’t your problem to solve.” 

“And so your solution was losing sleep and watching Spongebob until you were exhausted?” You ask incredulously through your blurry vision. “You are an idiot.” 

“I know,” he acknowledges. “I know I’m an idiot. And I know I should have told you, but I guess I thought watching Spongebob would fix my issues. Therapeutic properties, you know?”

“No, you idiot. I don’t know,” you disagree. “You should be sleeping. We should be talking.” You squeeze his hand like you’re begging him to stay. “I am not going to walk out on you, no matter what shit you throw at me. I’m not leaving. Period.” Hansol’s gaze softens and his eyes are enough to make you turn to jelly. “Please don’t shut me out again.” 

“I won’t.”

“Promise me?” 

“I–I promise,” he vows after a fleeting moment of hesitation. He looks like he’s on the verge of saying one more thing, but shuts his mouth decisively and you nod. 

“Good. Now, I’m gonna make my own cup of ramen and we’re gonna watch one more episode. Then we’re both gonna sleep, and you’re going to wake me up and talk to me if you have another nightmare.” 

You end up stuck on the couch for more than one episode, primarily because you and Hansol somehow get close enough that you can rest your head on his shoulder and he can rest his head on yours. Somewhere between the third and fourth episodes, you drift off to the smell of his laundry detergent and instant ramen powder, along with the sensation of his arm securing you against his side. With you so close, for the first time in a while, Hansol isn’t afraid of letting sleep take him.

—

+1, a.k.a. The Breaking Point 

“I’m going to fail and this is going to be my last semester before I go broke and disappear,” you lament, your forehead hitting the wooden table with a thud. You can hear Hansol trying to stifle his laugh from beside you. 

“You’re overreacting,” he snorts. “I don’t say that about a lot of things, but this time you are.” 

“Hansol, I don’t get it,” you try to emphasize. “I cannot understand calculus, therefore I can’t be a nurse, therefore I might as well just sign up to be jobless for the rest of my life.” 

“And you call me a drama queen?” 

“Alright, Almighty Math Biochemistry Lord,” you scoff. “You tell me how to find the solution to this.” 

“It’s easy. The best way to figure out a problem is to get rid of a variable.” 

“Is it that simple?” He shrugs. 

“Most things are, when you think about it.” 

“Get rid of a variable,” you echo thoughtfully, picking up your pencil again and hunching over your scratch paper. 

“Now you’ve got it. It’s how I solve my problems all the time.”

“And what if there’s a variable you didn’t account for?” He pauses, his eyebrows pinching in thought.

“I try to get rid of it and simplify the problem.”

“Huh, maybe I should try that.”

“You should,” Hansol agrees. “It’ll make you stop worrying about things you can’t control.”

“Alright, shut up and let me work,” you laugh.

You’ve never been particularly afraid of heights, but that will definitely be changing if you live to see tomorrow. 

Rough rope rubs against your wrists from where you’re tied to a segment of a massive tower crane stretching over a new skyscraper development on the other side of the city. Below you is nothing but a void of open air, and at the bottom lies the streets of New York that, from this perspective, look no larger than ant trails. Your body wants to scream, but the air whipping around you prevents you from taking a full breath. How you ended up here in the first place is foggy; you vaguely remember walking back to the apartment after your last evening class, and then the next thing you know, your entire vision goes black. Pain blooms at the back of your skull, so you must have been hit with something hard enough to knock you out. 

A blur of movement below you draws your eye and your mouth goes dry as the glider of the Green Goblin hovers to a stop in front of you, close enough that you can see your reflection in the villain’s mask. 

“Brave little roomie, aren’t you? Covering for the Spiderman, patching up the Spiderman,” he taunts melodically and you glare with as much loathing as you can, even as your knees are threatening to give out from fear. “Now you’ve evolved. You’re not only a friend of the Spiderman…you’re bait for him, as well.” 

“What’re you gonna do? Kill him?” You hiss. 

“No dear, you’re our V.I.P. for tonight, so you get first priority. Only then will it be our good friend Hansol’s turn.” 

“Why bring me all the way up here? Why draw him to a place where no one would see you kill him, even if you did manage to win?” Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a single white string connecting two of the nearby buildings, then disappear. Another, carefully in the Goblin’s blindspot, then another, and another until you’re sure that Hansol is hiding behind the building next to you. “You’re never going to beat him,” you stall as your heart rate steadily increases. 

“I’m entertained that you believe that. Unfortunately, we both know that he would never let you get hurt, and that is what will be his ultimate downfall. I’d advise against resisting.” He hops down from the glider and a scream tears itself from your throat as he cuts the ropes around your wrists and shoves you forward, toward the edge of the crane’s catwalk. Your feet slip and slide on the damp, rusty metal in an attempt to slow your approach to the end, but it’s no use. The Goblin has an iron grip on your arms and ends up dragging you the rest of the way, spinning you so that both your backs are facing the free fall. You’re stuck in a position where any attempt to throw him off would inevitably tug you with him, so you have no choice but to go deathly still as terror sets deep in your bones. 

Seconds later, you recognize the silhouette of Hansol’s suit drop down onto the catwalk and feel your heart nearly stop as it wobbles from his landing. He looks menacing in the dim light of the top of the crane, shadows stretching from his limbs and tracing the rigid structure of his muscles. He takes no steps forward and you can’t see his face under the mask, but his body language is eerily calm–no, calculating–for someone who needed to save their roommate from falling several hundred feet from the sky. 

“Let them go, Osborn. Your fight is with me,” he says. 

“No can do, Mister Chwe,” the Goblin replies. “You’ve made a crucial mistake that needs correction, and I am burdened with fixing it.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“Falling in love.” Your stomach flips. Hansol stretches his neck to the side and you almost laugh. I’m about to get thrown off a crane by a maniac, and you’re stretching? “A pitfall so many follow. Fortunately, I will take the responsibility off your shoulders.” The Goblin leans backward and you stumble after him with a panicked shout. Hansol takes a few steps forward and stops just short of reaching you. 

“Stop!” He yells, extending his arm as if to stop you. “Just let them go. Then you can fight me however you want.”

“Hmm! No, I won’t,” the villain decides with childlike glee. “I’ve come up with a better idea.” You cry out again as you find yourself suddenly suspended over the void below, held by nothing but Norman Osborn’s grip on the collar of your shirt. Your hands instinctively grab the Goblin’s wrist to steady yourself as you dangle there, helpless. 

“Let them go, Osborn,” Hansol seethes, but he isn’t listening. “I’m not asking again.” 

“I’ll give you a choice. You can either attempt to capture me, or save your little love from becoming a pancake.” Dread fills your body as you realize why Hansol is being so careful. His decision not to swing around and outmaneuver the Goblin like he usually does is purposeful. One wrong move, and you’re dead and his enemy is fleeing into the night. You know Hansol, and you know he’s devised at least a dozen ways he could defeat the Green Goblin in any situation. What he didn’t account for was keeping you alive. “What do you choose, Mister Chwe?” 

“Hansol,” you interject before he can reply. An idea has flickered to life in the back of your mind. It might be radically stupid, but radical was what you needed right now. “Remember what you said about simplifying a calculus problem?” You can’t see his face under his mask, but you know by the way his body language shifts that he knows exactly the moment at the dining table that you’re talking about. Get rid of a variable. “I trust you.” He nods once, slow enough for Osborn to miss. “I…I love you.” 

Then, you’re tearing yourself out of the Green Goblin’s hold and plummeting into the darkness. 

Freezing air rushes past you as you freefall toward the streets below, spinning you in all different directions until you can’t tell where you’re facing or how far you still have to fall. Explosions rattle the crane above you and illuminate the clouds in fire as you keep falling down, down, down, and you have no time to think about Hansol not reaching you on time because you’re preoccupied hyperventilating and tumbling every which way. Another set of explosions rock the sky and the world comes into focus again as your body rotates and you see the ground fast approaching. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for an impact that never comes, because you’re pulled suffocatingly close to someone as you continue streaming through the air at a much more controlled velocity. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Hansol whispers next to your ear and you wrap yourself around his body as he swings you away from the burning crane and the approaching cop cars and firetrucks. If he’s hindered by how tightly you’re holding onto him, your eyes still shut tight in the hollow of his neck, he doesn’t comment. 

You land on something that feels suspiciously like the fire escape to your apartment but still can’t find the courage to let go, not that it matters as he carefully cradles your head and gets you both through the window and into the living room of your apartment. Your feet don’t touch the ground, rather Hansol scoops you up and sits you both gently on the couch with your hands still around his neck and your legs across his lap. He tears off his mask and takes a deep breath, wrapping his arms around your torso to hold you. Neither of you move for a long while until your breathing has evened out and you finally start to feel aware of your surroundings again and not just him. 

“Thank you for coming for me,” you whisper. 

“Of course.”

“Did you get him?”

“Of course.”

“Are you overthinking that you should leave me because you put me in danger?”

“You know me so well,” he confirms dryly. “Or did you want me to say ‘of course’ one more time to be funny?” A smile ghosts your lips. 

“You know, your overthinking’s not going to work,” you declare. 

“Hmm? Why not?” His cheek squishes against the top of your head, making the dull pain at the back feel a little less sharp.

“Because I told you that I love you, so now you can’t get rid of me,” you state, craning your neck to look at him. 

“You just got kidnapped because of me and you still want to stick around,” Hansol summarizes in disbelief, but you catch the way his ears are becoming redder. 

“That depends on if what the Goblin said was true. That you fell in love with me.” He quiets and licks his lips, his eyes flitting to yours and then looking away. “Is it true? Are you in love with me, Chwe Hansol?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm, I’m not sure how I want to answer,” he begins cryptically and you frown. “Do you have a good aim when throwing empty soup cans?” 

“What? I–I think I do?” 

“What about masquerade masks? Do you keep an extra in your room in case a certain superhero ever needs it again?” Your puzzlement increases.

“How do you know I still have that?” He ignores your question and adds more riddles.

“Or, let’s see…Is Dez going to be a stoner for the rest of his life?” 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you attest immediately and things begin to click in your head. “Yes. The answer to all those questions is yes.” Hansol’s eyes sparkle as he continues. 

“Was it a bad idea for me to go out in nothing but my Spidersuit and sweatpants in below zero weather?” 

“Most definitely,” you quip. 

“Are the old episodes of Spongebob better than whatever new stuff they’re putting out?”

“Is that even a question?” You fire back with a grin growing on your face so wide that your cheeks hurt. 

“Then you have the answer to your original query,” he concludes, his hand cupping the side of your face. You might be crying again, but you don’t care. 

“You’re in love with me?” 

“I am so in love with you,” Hansol smiles. “And I won’t ask you to leave, even though I know it won’t ever be safe with me.”

“I don’t care if it’s safe. I just want you,” you promise. He leans in close enough to brush your nose with his, playfully nudging your forehead.

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“Are you Spiderman?” You ask in turn. “And the love of my life?” He laughs and ducks forward, muttering his answer against your lips. 

“Hell yeah, I am.”

— 

The Central Park cherry blossoms are officially in bloom, and Hansol has made it his mission to take you on a date there in the most romantic-comedy way possible. 

“Was the picnic basket really necessary?” You laugh, swinging your arms as he takes your free hand in his while the other holds a wicker basket that you’re pretty sure he stole from one of your Pinterest boards. “I mean, the red checkered blanket is already overkill, but–”

“We’re eating tteokbboki and gimbap instead of crustless sandwiches and chips,” he interrupts. “I hope that’s unique enough.” 

“I’m just saying, we could’ve used the insulated bag we have at home, and the blanket we have…at home,” you add. 

“But then where’s the magic?” Hansol whines, picking a spot he deems suitable and laying out the red gingham blanket that he bought off Amazon last week. You settle down beside him and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“It’s right here,” you reply, gesturing to the perfect view of the pink flowering trees before you. “Can’t get much more magical than this, can it?” You pull out the containers of food and eagerly break apart your chopsticks, but before you can take a bite, a shimmering noise behind you draws your attention. Hansol, already two bites deep, turns with his mouth still full. You groan, recognizing the source of the orange portal that sparks magical particles like burning coals. “I wasn’t being literal when I said it couldn’t get more magical,” you grumble. 

“I apologize for interrupting your date, but the Spiderman is needed,” says the Sorcerer Supreme that has crashed your day with your boyfriend. Xu Minghao, though you’d only met him on a few occasions, intimidated you in a way only the most powerful magical being on the planet could. Wrapped in a red robe with a mind of its own and the Eye of Agamotto hanging threateningly around his neck, he looks like he’d either give you a quest or turn you into a rat. Hansol frowns, looking at you, then his plate full of food, then back at the sorcerer. 

“It can’t wait?” 

“The fate of the world as we know it is at stake, Hansol. I would hope you’d take this more seriously,” Minghao remarks, though you catch him eyeing the food hungrily. “Is that gimbap?”

“It is,” you answer before your boyfriend can. “Two gimbap for you and a healthy serving of tteokbboki if you let us finish our plates before whisking him away.” Minghao narrows his eyes.

“Four,” he debates.

“Three,” you shoot back.

“Fine,” the Sorcerer Supreme agrees. In the distance from wherever he’s portaling, a loud boom sounds. He exhales, exasperated, and points an accusatory finger at both of you. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Thirty,” Hansol attempts and Minghao shoots him a look.

“Fifteen,” he decreases and your boyfriend surrenders, returning his attention to his food. “Good. See you in twenty, Spiderman.” The portal closes with a whoosh and Hansol turns to you in astonishment. 

“I can’t believe you just bargained with Xu Minghao.” You shrug, leaning close to his side. 

“No big deal,” you reassure him, living in the moment as much as you can before he’s taken away to save the world. “I’ve definitely had to save you from worse before.” 

“You have, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Mingyu’s sitting at the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone while you stand in front of your suitcase, pulling one of his oversized shirts over your head to sleep in.

You don’t even think about it.

Which is stupid, considering you spent the last four days hiding it from him.

The piercing still feels a little tender when the fabric brushes over your stomach, the silver jewellery catching the light for half a second. “Wait.”

His voice cuts through the room instantly.

You freeze. Slowly, you turn around. Mingyu’s no longer looking at his phone.

He’s staring directly at your stomach.

Specifically, at the small silver jewel sitting in your belly button.

His eyebrows lift in disbelief. “What is that?”

You bite back a grin immediately, pretending to act casual as you tug the shirt down further. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He tosses his phone onto the bed so fast it bounces. “Baby.”

You laugh nervously. “Don’t sound so offended.”

“Offended?” He stands up immediately, tall frame crossing the room in seconds until he’s right in front of you. “You pierced your belly button and didn’t tell me?”

His hands settle automatically on your waist, warm palms sliding under the oversized shirt. The second his fingers brush your skin, you suck in a tiny breath because the piercing is still sensitive.

Mingyu notices instantly. His eyes darken.

“It’s new.” You try not to smile too hard. “Maybe.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“A few days ago?!” He looks genuinely betrayed now, staring down at you with wide eyes. “You hid this from me for days?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You definitely surprised me.”

His gaze drops again. And stays there.

You suddenly feel very aware of the fact you’re standing in front of your boyfriend in tiny sleep shorts and one of his shirts while he stares at your stomach like he’s forgotten how to think properly.

The silver jewellery glints under the warm lighting every time you breathe.

Mingyu swallows hard. “…Jesus.”

You burst into laughter. “Why are you acting like that?”

“Because you look insane right now.”

“Insane?”

“So hot it’s actually making me angry.”

That makes you laugh even harder, but Mingyu doesn’t. He’s still staring.

His thumb brushes lightly along your waist, dangerously close to the piercing itself but not quite touching it.

“You knew I’d like this,” he says accusingly.

You shrug innocently. “Maybe.”

“You’re evil.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” he says immediately, still looking down. “But this? This is unfair.”

Your cheeks warm at how serious he sounds.

Mingyu has always been tactile with you, constantly touching your waist, your hips, pulling you onto his lap whenever he can, but now it’s like he physically cannot stop looking at the piercing.

“You really didn’t think to warn me?” he murmurs.

“I wanted your reaction.”

“Well congratulations,” he says dryly. “I’m reacting.”

You giggle as he finally looks back up at your face, except his expression makes your stomach flip. Because he looks wrecked.

His hair’s messy from the shower he took earlier, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms, lips slightly parted while his hands tighten unconsciously on your waist.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly. The teasing tone is mostly gone now. And suddenly you feel shy.

Which is ridiculous considering this is Mingyu, your boyfriend, the man who’s seen you at your absolute worst, but something about the intensity in his gaze makes your heart pound.

“You like it that much?” you ask softly.

Mingyu laughs once under his breath like the question itself is stupid.

“Baby,” he says, voice low. “I’m trying so hard to behave right now.” Your stomach flips violently.

He looks back down again before carefully hooking one finger through the little silver jewel. The touch is featherlight.

You inhale sharply. His eyes snap to yours instantly. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I thought it’d be fun.”

“It is fun,” he mutters. “For you. Meanwhile I’m over here losing my mind.”

You laugh again, but it cuts off when he suddenly pulls you closer by your hips until your body presses against his.

The oversized shirt rides up slightly again. Mingyu’s hand slides across your stomach slowly, fingertips grazing just beneath your navel.

His head drops toward your shoulder with a groan.

“You’re actually gonna kill me.”

“That dramatic?”

“You don’t understand,” he says into your neck. “I already struggle when you wear crop tops. Now you have this?”

His fingers trace around the piercing again, eyes fixed on it with dangerous concentration.

“You’re gonna dance in front of other people looking like this?”

You laugh. “Mingyu—”

“No, seriously.” He looks genuinely tortured now. “That’s crazy.”

You smile softly, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “You’re still the only one allowed to touch it.”

Mingyu goes completely silent. Then his eyes close briefly like he’s trying to regain composure.

“Pease don’t say things like that,” he says weakly.

You grin immediately. “Why?”

“Because I already think you’re hot enough.”

His hands slide around to your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

“You always do this,” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Act innocent after making comments like that and doing things like this.”

You laugh into his chest as he buries his face into your neck again, placing lazy kisses against your skin while still absentmindedly playing with the piercing.

The tenderness in the gesture makes your chest ache.

Because beneath all the teasing and dramatics, Mingyu’s genuinely fascinated by it.

Like he can’t believe you did something new without him knowing.

“You were scared to tell me?” he asks quietly after a moment.

“A little.”

His head lifts immediately. “Why?”

“I thought you might hate it.”

Mingyu stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“Hate it?” he repeats. “Baby, I think this might be the hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

Your face burns instantly.

He smiles at your reaction, finally leaning down to kiss you properly. Slow. The kind of kiss that melts straight through you.

The silence started bothering him at 7:12 a.m. Because by then, usually, there was already something. A complaint or a craving or a random observation. A message about your daughter moving too much at dawn like she personally hated sleep.

But that morning nothing.

Seungcheol checked again while pouring coffee. Still nothing.

By 8:03 he sent first.

Seungcheol: Morning. Want breakfast?

The reply took thirteen minutes. Long enough that he noticed.

You: No thanks

He stared at the screen. Then sent again later, trying casual.

Seungcheol: Lunch later? I can bring something.

This time the answer came faster.

You: No, Thanks. I’m good.

That period should not have mattered. It did. Because now every instinct he had built around you over months started lighting up at once.

You never answered like someone who was actually fine.

By noon he had read those two replies enough times that even Wonwoo noticed he had not touched half the paperwork in front of him.

“You’re reading punctuation like it insulted you”

“She’s quiet”

Wonwoo barely glanced up “So go check”

“I’m at work”

“You haven’t done work in twenty minutes”

That was enough. By early afternoon he was already driving. The entire way there his mind kept building possibilities he hated.

By the time he reached your apartment, his pulse had already climbed too high for how still the hallway looked.

You opened the door after the second knock and immediately something felt wrong. Your face looked composed in the deliberate way people wore when they had been trying very hard for too long.

“What happened”

“Nothing” That word again.

He looked around instinctively. No sign of vomiting. No visible mess. No emergency. But you were standing too straight, like even your shoulders were trying not to reveal anything.

“You didn’t text”

“I answered”

“You sent two words”

“I’m tired”

“You look like you cried”

That made your jaw tighten immediately “I’m fine”

There it was. The phrase he trusted least.

He softened his tone instinctively “Did something happen today?”

“No.”

“Did something hurt?” 

“No.”

“Did she move?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you eat?”

A pause “Yes.”

Lie. He knew because your eyes moved left when you lied badly so he stepped closer.

“I’ll make something”

“I said I’m fine”

“You haven’t eaten”

“I did” 

Something in you snapped a little at how easily he kept seeing through everything. Because that gentleness, the same gentleness that had comforted you for months felt unbearable today.

So when he reached for the kitchen as if this apartment belonged naturally to his care too you stopped him.

“Cheol”

He turned and your voice came sharper than intended.

“I said I’m fine”

“You’re not”

That should have comforted you. Instead, it hurt worse because the truth sitting ugly in your chest had become too tangled to separate now.

You heard him last night. You thought he was sacrificing too much. You thought someday you would become the reason he missed his own life.

And worse than all of that you now knew the ache inside you when imagining him with someone else was not friendship.

It had crossed quietly while you were too distracted surviving to notice.

And loving him now felt unforgivably selfish.

Because what right did you have? Pregnant. Broken. Carrying another man’s child. Already leaning too much. Already taking too much.

So when he took another step toward you, concern plain on his face you panicked.

And panic made cruel things come faster than thought.

“Just go, okay?”

He stopped completely but not because of the words, because of how they sounded. Still you kept going, even when the words hurts you twice back.

“I don’t need pity”

“This isn’t pity”

“I don’t need care either” Your voice cracked slightly now but still you forced it.

“I don’t need you.”

Silence. Absolute silence. The second the words left you, you knew they were false. So false they almost knocked the air from you yourself.

Because if there was one truth clearer than anything right now, it was the opposite. 

You did need him.

Too much.

And that was exactly why saying it felt safer than admitting anything real.

His eyes stayed on you. No anger. Only that quiet wounded stillness from someone hit somewhere unguarded.

And seeing that expression hurt you far deeper than it should have if this were only friendship.

That was the moment it arrived fully, undeniable:

You loved him.

Not slowly enough to soften. Not lightly enough to excuse.

Loved him selfishly enough that hurting him made your chest feel like it split open.

Loved him enough that seeing him with someone else in your mind had wrecked you before anything even happened.

And because of that realization, fear sharpened further.

So instead of taking the words back you pushed harder.

A lie over a wound “I’ve asked enough already.”

Still silence. Then finally he spoke, voice lower than usual.

“You think that’s what this is?”

You looked away because if you met his eyes, you would break.

“I think you should stop rearranging your life because of me”

Something flickered across his face, understanding almost, but incomplete.

He exhaled once through his nose and for one second it looked like he might say everything. Whatever he had buried. Whatever sat right behind his restraint. But your face stopped him.

So instead he only nodded once, like agreeing with you right now physically hurt.

“If you want space, I’ll go”

That gentleness broke something in you harder than anger would have.

He just moved toward the door and when it clicked shut behind him the apartment felt immediately unbearable.

You stood there exactly three seconds before your legs gave enough that you had to sit.

Then the first sob came, nothing graceful about it. And suddenly it hurt more than that night months ago when your world first split open because back then grief had a clear target.

Now the pain came from your own mouth, from words you did not mean.

From watching the one person who never failed to show up finally leave because you pushed him there yourself.

And for the first time in months, you cried with both hands over your face while your daughter moved quietly beneath your ribs like she felt everything too 

=

For almost two weeks, Seungcheol learned something ugly about silence:

It could become louder than any argument.

Every day without you became its own kind of noise. No morning texts. No random complaints. No messages about swollen feet. No annoyed updates about your daughter kicking at impossible hours.

Nothing.

And he hated how quickly his life still bent around checking anyway.

He told himself he was respecting what you asked for. Space. Distance. Whatever that conversation had become.

But respecting it did not stop the constant thought:

Did you eat? Did you nap? Did you try reaching something too high alone? Did you walk too long because no one was there to stop you?

The worst part was that last look on your face kept replaying.

Because your mouth had said I don’t need you but your eyes had looked devastated even before he left.

And Seungcheol knew you. Knew the way you lied when scared. Knew the way your voice sharpened when what you really wanted was the opposite.

He had wanted to believe anger would fade and you would call.

You didn’t. So by the time the second week ended, he had become restless in ways even work could not cover.

Wonwoo noticed it immediately. How could he not when Seungcheol was practically moping. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

Wonwoo asks when he sees his friend glaring, again, at his laptop. A common expression Cheol wears nowadays. 

“Nothing”

“Mhm, and I have 20/20 vision. Surely this is about Y/N”

Cheol visible tenses at the mention of your name, a reaction Wonwoo didn’t miss. 

“Did you two fight?” he asks

“No”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, taking a seat infront of Seungcheol’s desk. Determined to get some answers.

“Okay, let me rephrase that. Is she avoiding you? Because you’ve been staying after hours here which you havent done in like 8 months. So either she’s not answering you or you finally decided this one sided relationship isn’t workling”

Seungcheol looks up from his laptop to glare at his friend, making Wonwoo chuckle. 

“There it is, I’m guessing the first option then?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, but I’ve heard 3 people say they’re scared to approach you because you have this permanent scowl on. I had to see it for myself”

Cheol only rolls his eyes, “People need to get a life”

“And you need to grow a spine, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Wonwoo gestures all over, “You, this, her. Don’t tell me you’re actually staying away when she needs you the most”

Silence. 

“So secrets and silent treatment. You’re really something you know that”

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me, she told me to go”

“And you did?”

For a second the two men just stared at each other, because Wonwoo could not believe that this is the same man who considered committing a crime the moment he heard about the cheating issue. 

The same man who hunts down sweet potatoes at midnight, buys candied grapes and goes to every doctor’s appointment. 

The same man who thought loving someone could be a burden to them so he’d rather suffer in silence. 

“You could have done that months ago, Cheol. But you didn’t. And whether or not you plan to admit it, you love her. Leaving was never an option for you, not back then so why now?”

Seungcheol can only stay silent because he didn’t have the answer to that. Or maybe he did, he just can’t admit it yet. 

“You’re taking away her freedom to decide her own feelings the same way you’re stopping yourself from feeling your own. Don’t destroy a good thing just because you’re scared”

That evening he was driving home after work, Wonwoo’s words from earlier still playing in his head. 

One hand loose on the wheel, exhaustion sitting heavy behind his eyes, and then your name lit up his dashboard.

Everything in him reacted instantly. He answered before the second ring.

“Hello?” Already expecting your voice.

Instead “Is this… Choi Seungcheol?” A stranger.

Immediate cold through his chest.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“I’m calling from the emergency contact listed on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone”

His grip tightened so hard his knuckles blanched. The car nearly drifted before he corrected sharply

“What happened?”

“She was brought in a little while ago. She collapsed.”

Everything after that came in fragments. Hospital name. Neighbor. Pale. Unresponsive briefly.

He did not even remember the drive fully afterward, red lights felt like an insult, hands shaking on the steering wheel.

The violent rhythm of one thought:

No. No. No.

By the time he reached the hospital, he was already halfway running.

Reception barely finished your name before he was asking where. A nurse met him outside the maternity ward.

“She’s stable right now” 

And still that wasn not enough to calm him.

“What happened?”

“She apparently went to a neighbor saying she felt dizzy. Then she collapsed before sitting down. They rushed her to the ER about an hour ago”

His jaw tightened “And the baby?”

The nurse glanced at the chart 

“There was fetal distress for a while. Her blood pressure dropped badly when she came in. We were concerned about early labor because contractions started briefly.”

His chest went cold “But they stopped?”

“For now.”

For now. Words he hated immediately.

“She’s severely exhausted. Dehydrated too.”

That one hit hardest because guilt arrived instantly, sharp and deserved.

The nurse continued gently “She needs proper monitoring tonight. Stress likely contributed”

Stress. He almost laughed bitterly because the source of that word felt too obvious.

Him leaving. You alone. Two weeks of pretending fine.

He looked through the glass before entering and the anger turned fully inward.

You looked small. Too small. Far too pale against white sheets. One hand resting weakly over the blanket near your stomach like even asleep your body stayed searching for reassurance.

The monitor beside you beeped steadily.

Your daughter’s heartbeat audible now. Soft, fast, alive. The sound nearly took his knees because for days he had imagined worse without permission.

Now hearing it made everything inside him loosen and tighten at once.

He stepped inside quietly. The chair beside your bed scraped softly when he pulled it close.

Your face looked thinner somehow in only two weeks or maybe guilt made everything harsher.

He sat then leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped tight enough to hurt.

He’s mad, mostly at himself because the memory came immediately. The lie in your eyes and he had still left because you asked.

He should have known better, should have ignored pride, should have checked anyway sooner. Should have come back the next morning, and the next, and the next.

Instead he gave distance to someone who never knew when to stop carrying too much alone.

A slight movement then your eyes opened slowly. It took two seconds before focus reached him.

Immediately the tears gathered before you even spoke.

“Don’t.” His voice came lower than intended as if stopping apology before it started

“Cheol…” the name came weak

And he hated how much relief that tiny sound gave him.

He stood immediately, leaning close

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I was fine” The lie was so automatic he nearly exhaled in disbelief.

He stared then softer, more broken than angry

“No, you weren’t.”

Your eyes filled fully now because of course that sentence hurt when spoken like that.

The monitor kept its steady rhythm. He looked once toward your stomach then back at you.

“The nurse said she was in distress”

That made your hand move instinctively to your belly, small panic in your face.

“She’s okay?” 

“She’s okay.”He said it immediately. 

You shut your eyes briefly in relief. One tear slipped anyway.

He saw it and something inside him gave way. All remaining anger dissolved into something rawer.

He reached without thinking. His hand covering yours where it rested over the blanket.

And your fingers trembled beneath his.

His voice lowered “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean—” “I know.”

“But you don’t get to disappear and collapse alone because you’re trying to prove something.”

Your throat tightened “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

He looked at you for a long moment then finally said what had sat bitter for days

“Then why did you look at me like I was someone you had to lose before I even left?”

That silenced you completely.

Inside that small room, the distance of two weeks suddenly sat between both of you like something breathing.

And yet his hand never left yours.

Not even once.

And when your daughter kicked suddenly beneath his palm through the blanket, sharp enough both of you felt it, his jaw tightened unexpectedly, eyes lowering there.

A tiny reminder.

Alive.

Still fighting too.

He closed his fingers slightly over your hand.

And for the first time since arriving, his voice broke just enough to show how close panic had truly come.

“Don’t do that to me again.”

Because he already knew he would not survive another phone call like that.

By then you were sitting up slightly, pillows stacked behind your back, hospital blanket gathered around your lap, one hand still trembling where his had not left it.

Seungcheol stayed close, chair pulled near enough that his knees almost touched the bed. Still watching you like if he blinked too long you might disappear again.

You looked at him. Tears were already falling before words even came snd when you spoke, your voice sounded fragile enough that he straightened instantly

“You deserve more than this…”

His brows pulled together “What?”

More tears. You shook your head once, as if even saying it aloud hurt.

“More than me.”

Immediate confusion crossed his face, but before he could interrupt you kept going, words tumbling now because if you stopped you knew you would lose courage.

“You’re sacrificing too much of your life for me.”

He opened his mouth.

You kept speaking “For this baby…”

Your voice cracked harder there 

“For someone else’s—” “Don’t.” Sharp enough to stop you instantly.

Not angry. Just immediate. Firm.

“Don’t say that.”

His face had changed completely now. No hesitation, no caution, no polite restraint left. Only certainty.

“She’s yours,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “And that’s all that matters.”

His eyes held yours now in a way that gave you nowhere to hide.

“I don’t care about anything else.”

Then the words finally came, stripped clean and terrifyingly simple:

“I love you.”

And because truth once started rarely stopped neatly, he added softly 

“I love her too.” That did it.

Whatever fragile control you still had shattered completely.

You broke.

A sob escaped so suddenly it shook through your whole chest. Then another.

Then your shoulders were trembling hard enough he moved immediately, standing, leaning in, pulling you carefully into him without disturbing the monitors.

One arm around your back. One hand at the back of your head. Careful of every wire, every ache, every fragile part of you.

And you cried into him like something finally allowed to collapse after months of holding itself upright.

His voice dropped softer instantly “Hey… hey…”

The tone he always used when calming you. Only now it carried relief too and something almost trembling underneath.

Because he had said it. Finally. And you had not pushed him away.

He eased back just enough to see your face.

One hand lifting carefully, thumb brushing tears from your cheeks.

And somehow even like this you looked at him with something so raw it made his own expression soften further.

His smile came small. The kind smile he wore only when emotion hit him deeper than words.

“There’s this selfish part of my brain…”

He waited.

You looked down because admitting it felt shameful and impossible all at once.

“…that hates that”

His brows shifted “Hates what?”

“That she’s not yours”

The confession came broken ad once spoken, you forced yourself through the rest.

“That you’re so ready to love her… and some awful selfish part of me hates that she isn’t yours”

For a second he only stared. Then something almost warm—almost amused through emotion—touched his mouth.

Because of course even now you thought love obeyed blood first.

And he asked quietly “Who says she’s not mine?”

he leaned slightly closer still smiling, faint but certain now.

“Who says she isn’t mine?”

Your breath caught “Cheol…”

“I’m serious. I don’t care whose name is buried in biology.”

Your tears started again immediately because no one had ever said something that frighteningly gentle to you before.

No one had ever chosen this clearly.

He looked down briefly, hand moving to your stomach where your daughter rested beneath the blanket.

“She moves when I talk.” A tiny smile.

“She kicks hardest when you’re stubborn.” Another glance at you.

“I already worry when you skip one meal like the world is ending.”

Then back to your eyes.

“So tell me honestly—what part of this doesn’t already feel mine too?”

That was when your sob returned harder.

Because the answer was nothing.

Nothing about him had ever felt halfway.

He loved like it had already decided for him months ago.

“I’ve been trying so hard not to say this because I thought loving you while you were carrying someone else’s child was selfish.”

You stared. He gave one breath of humorless disbelief.

“But apparently I’m past pretending that matters.”

A tear slipped down his own face this time “I was ready long before today.”

You reached for him before thinking. Hands catching his shirt again, pulling him close because distance suddenly felt unbearable.

He came easily. Forehead against yours. Arms around you carefully.

And when your daughter kicked again between you, he laughed softly against your temple.

“There,” he murmured.

“She agrees.”

You cried and laughed at once, which only made him smile wider. Then he kissed your forehead. Kissed your cheeks, once, twice, making you smile. 

This time it didn’t looked forced or fake, just… you. 

You closed the distance between the two of you, kissing him softly. Like even now you’re unsure if you deserve this but of course he could read you. 

So he reached up, gently cupping for your face before kissing you deeply, fully. Like he meant everything, keeping them all as vows to you. 

And in that small hospital room, with monitors still humming and your body still weak and exhausted something quietly became whole.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But chosen.

Entirely chosen.

His hand never left your stomach after that.

As if he had already decided exactly where he belonged 

=

By 37 weeks, everything had started looking like a countdown.

In the nursery door that stayed half open because both of you kept wandering in just to look.

The folded blankets stacked too neatly, tiny bottles lined like careful soldiers.

The crib Seungcheol had assembled himself after refusing help, despite cursing quietly at the instruction manual for nearly an hour because apparently one screw had offended him personally.

and the fact that his car now carried a professionally installed infant seat he had checked so many times the straps practically knew his hands.

Seungcheol no longer moved through days casually. Everything now had purpose.

Routes to the hospital memorized. Fastest route at noon. Fastest route at night. Backup route if traffic stalled.

Hospital parking entrance. Emergency entrance. Even which convenience store nearby stayed open twenty-four hours.

He had catalogued it all silently like preparing for something sacred.

And because neither of you bothered pretending anymore, he was simply staying with you now.

His things had just begun appearing naturally. A charger by your bed, shirts folded in your laundry basket, toothbrush beside yours, his watch on your kitchen counter. 

And you did not mind.

Tonight the two of you sat cross-legged on the nursery floor, hospital bag open between you.

Tiny baby clothes spread like impossibly small evidence that very soon there would be an actual person here.

Your daughter.

A whole human.

And somehow that reality hit harder now than ever before.

You picked up one of the newborn shirts and just stared. It was absurdly tiny. The sleeves looked unreal. The neck opening looked like it belonged to a doll.

Your eyes immediately softened in that dangerous emotional way he had learned meant tears were near.

“Oh my God…”

Seungcheol looked up from where he was folding receiving blankets badly

“What”

You held up the shirt like proof of some impossible fact

“She’s supposed to fit in this?”

He glanced at it then at your face and smiled. 

There it was again, that expression lately where wonder and fear collided in you at the same time. You looked half amazed, half on the edge of crying.

“It’s so tiny.” Your voice had already gone softer

He reached beside him and picked up a white onesie. Held it by the shoulders.

The entire thing was barely longer than his forearm. He turned it slightly, disbelief finally showing in his face too.

“…That can’t be real.”

You laughed “It is real.”

He frowned lightly at the fabric like it personally challenged logic

“Our daughter fits inside this?”

“She’s supposed to”

He looked unconvinced then found one mitten from the pile. Held it in his palm completely flat. Tiny enough that it barely covered the center of his hand.

He stared for a full second. Then exhaled something halfway between disbelief and wonder.

“This is criminally small.”

That one tiny thing. Too small. Too delicate.

His eyes shifted back to you “Hey”

You wiped under one eye quickly

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

You smiled weakly  “I spent months imagining this and now suddenly… t feels terrifying”

He shifted closer automatically “Terrifying because?”

“What if I don’t know what I’m doing?” The honesty came quietly now

“What if she cries and I don’t know why? What if I do something wrong? What if—”

“You will”

That made you look up immediately. He smiled.

“You’ll do something wrong eventually”

“Cheol”

“So will I”

He set the mitten aside, reached for another tiny sock. Held it between his fingers.

“This small person is going to humble both of us”

That made your mouth twitch despite yourself.

He continued softer “We’ll still figure it out.”

You looked at him for a long second because he said things like that now so naturally, as if there had never been any doubt he belonged in every version of what came next.

He picked up the sock again

“She has feet small enough for this?”

You laughed through the last tear 

“She currently kicks like she has full adult legs.”

“That part I know.”

As if summoned by the conversation, your stomach shifted visibly. A kick. Then another.

He smiled down “See? Already violent.”

“She gets that from you.”

“Impossible.”

“You assembled a crib like it insulted your family.”

“The crib started it.”

You laughed properly this time.

=

It happened on the one night he finally slept.

Of course it did.

After days of living like a man waiting beside a fire alarm, exhaustion had finally caught him hard enough that sometime after midnight he dropped into real sleep. 

The kind he had been denying himself for nearly two weeks.

You noticed because for once his breathing stayed deep. A faint snore every now and then, soft enough it almost made you smile despite the hour.

One arm still draped over you automatically, heavy across your side even in sleep, palm resting near your stomach as if his body refused to fully let go even unconscious.

The room was dark except for the city light slipping through curtains.

Then you felt it. At first just tightening. A familiar hard pull across your abdomen.

Enough that your eyes opened.

Weeks of false alarms so you breathed through it, one hand automatically pressing low over your stomach.

Still half convinced this was nothing. Still telling yourself not to overreact.

You almost closed your eyes again.

Then another came and this time the pressure stayed longer.

A deeper ache blooming down your back.

You shifted carefully.

A clean pain that made your whole body jolt before you could stop it. Your hand grabbed the blanket instinctively.

You turned immediately. Seungcheol still asleep beside you. You almost hesitated because after days of no sleep he looked painfully tired.

Then another tightening built again. Stronger.

You nudged his shoulder

“Cheol” Nothing.

Another wave. Stronger now.

You nudged harder.

“Cheol”

Still half asleep, he made a low sound but did not wake fully then the pain sharpened enough that your voice changed.

“Cheol.” That did it. His eyes opened instantly.

“What?” Then he saw your face and every trace of sleep vanished.

“What happened?”

Your hand was gripping the blanket now

“I—” Another tightening interrupted you

His whole body straightened immediately

“Is it pain?” You nodded once

“How bad?”

“I don’t know—”

“When did it start?”

“A little while ago.”

His expression changed so fast it almost looked unreal. He pushed upright instantly, hand already on your arm.

“How long is a little while?”

“I thought it was normal”

He glanced immediately at the bedside clock. He was out of bed before you finished breathing.

Phone in hand. Lights on. The room suddenly bright.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still trying to sit up

“Timing.”

“Cheol—” “No, absolutely not, timing first.”

His phone is already open. Already kneeling beside the bed. Watching your face with terrifying focus.

“When it stops, tell me”

You almost laughed if it did not hurt because he looked exactly like someone waiting for an exam result.

Another wave passed. You exhaled.

“It stopped”

He checked the timer.

“How far apart was the first one?”

“I didn’t check” Of course you didn’t.

He inhaled through his nose once, fighting panic.

“Okay. Fine. Fine.”

Then another contraction started and your face changed enough that he saw it before you spoke. Immediately he reached for your hand.

“There?”

You squeezed hard “Yes”

He looked at the timer again like the seconds personally offended him. Then after it eased, he stared.

Thirty seconds. Too real now.

He looked at you. You looked back.

And for one suspended second both of you understood together:

This might actually be it.

Your voice came smaller now.

“Cheol…” And he hated how fear sat under your tone immediately.

So whatever panic existed inside him got shoved down fast. His voice softened. Very steady now, even if his pulse was chaos.

“Okay. Okay. We’re okay.”

Another breath.

“We’re just checking. No panic yet.”

You blinked because he said no panic while very clearly already panicking.

He stood, then immediately leaned back down and kissed your forehead. Quick. Grounding himself too.

“Can you stand?” You nodded.

He still helped carefully anyway, one arm around you like glass. The second your feet touched the floor another pressure came and he froze

“You sure you can walk?”

“Yes.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Twenty minutes later, the room no longer felt like the quiet apartment you had left.

Now everything smelled faintly clinical. White light overhead. Monitors humming. Footsteps beyond the hallway.

A nurse moving in and out with practiced calm that somehow made everything feel even more real.

And the contractions, those had fully announced themselves. Low, deep, wrapping around your entire middle and down your back until breathing became something you had to consciously fight for.

You were in the hospital bed but not really resting on it, half upright because staying still somehow felt worse, one hand gripping the railing hard enough your knuckles had gone pale.

Your other hand had not left Seungcheol’s once.

Another contraction built. Your grip crushed his hand.

“Breathe.”

You exhaled sharply through your teeth.

“You’re annoying.”

“That means you’re still functioning.”

Another wave climbed. You bent slightly forward, gripping the rail harder. Eyes squeezed shut.

The contraction sharpened hard enough that a frustrated sound left your throat.

And because pain stripped filters faster than anything you muttered through clenched teeth:

“I hate that I can’t even blame you right now.”

“You can blame me if it makes you feel better.”

You opened one eye enough to glare weakly

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

Another pulse hit and your fingers nearly bent his hand backward. He did not react except to move closer so you had more of him to hold onto.

“This is entirely your fault,” you said through another breath

“I accept that”

“You’re way too calm”

“I am not calm”

And that was true. Only his face had learned how to lie better than his pulse. Because inside, he was nowhere near calm. Every time your expression tightened, something inside him tightened too.

Every time you inhaled sharply, his own breathing changed.

He hated that he could do so little beyond stay.

The nurse came, checked monitors, murmured something about progress, and left again. Then another contraction arrived before you had fully recovered from the last one.

This one stronger. Longer.

And when it eased enough for speech, you muttered with deadly seriousness:

“Next time…”

He already knew pain meant dangerous statements were coming. Still he smiled.

“What next time?”

You pointed weakly at him while still breathing hard.

“Pinch me if I say I want another kid.”

That made him laugh again, fuller now. A real laugh that softened immediately when another pain flickered through your face.

“You’re deciding this now?”

“Yes.”

“During active labor?”

“This is the clearest I’ve ever thought in my life.”

He leaned closer, brushing damp hair gently from your forehead.

“I’ll remember the exact quote.”

“Don’t let me romanticize anything later.”

“Noted.”

“Don’t try and change my mind with your stupid handsome face”

He only chuckles, rubbing your back soothingly. 

Then quieter, more tired now 

“This hurts so much.”

There it was. The honest sentence underneath all the humor. Immediately his expression softened completely. The smile faded into something gentler.

He leaned close enough his forehead brushed yours.

“I know.”

Not ‘I know’ because he understood pain because he didn’t. But ‘I know’ because he saw it.

Every second.

And hated every part he could not remove.

Another kiss to your forehead.

“You’re doing so well.”

You gave him a look that clearly said you did not feel well. Still, his hand stayed steady around yours.

Then his eyes flicked once toward the monitor, the rhythm of your daughter’s heartbeat.

And for a moment emotion hit him quietly enough that his next words came softer than before.

“She’s almost here.”

And then just like that after hours that felt endless and somehow too fast at once, after pain and breath and trembling hands and nurses moving around you and Seungcheol never once letting go—

the room changed.

A cry. Sharp. Small.

The kind of sound that split everything before it into before and after.

For one suspended second nobody moved inside Seungcheol’s chest because his whole body forgot how.

Then the cry came again.

Louder. Alive.

And suddenly the world narrowed to one impossible truth: your daughter was here.

He had imagined this moment for months and still nothing had prepared him for the first time he saw her.

So small she almost looked unreal. Wrapped carefully in a soft pink blanket. A tiny newborn beanie tied with a ribbon so oversized it looked absurdly precious, almost larger than the top of her head.

Her face—God.

That face.

Tiny nose. Eyes still squeezed shut. Cheeks soft and unmistakably yours. So unmistakably yours it made something in him ache instantly.

And when the nurse placed her briefly where he could see her properly, he felt it land all at once with absolute certainty.

Only one clean overwhelming fact… that he would love this little girl for the rest of his life with the same terrifying certainty he had for you.

Maybe because she came from you. Maybe because he had already been loving her before seeing her.

Maybe because the second she existed in front of him, something in him recognized her immediately.

The nurses moved gently around you while checking everything, murmuring soft instructions.

And because you needed those few moments to breathe they placed her in his arms.

Seungcheol took her like something sacred. Both hands instinctively careful. Broad arms suddenly impossibly gentle.

The weight startled him. Warm. Tiny. Fragile enough that he instinctively held his breath.

Her whole body fit against him like she had always belonged there.

Her little face tucked under the pink blanket, mouth opening slightly as if still deciding whether to protest existence again.

His voice, when it came, was softer than anyone in the room had probably ever heard it.

“Hi.”

The word barely above a whisper. Her tiny face twitched, one fist moved under the blanket.

He laughed softly through his nose, eyes already warmer than usual

“So…” a tiny pause “Nice to finally meet you.”

His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the blanket near her cheek, careful not to disturb her.

She made another tiny sound.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, by the way.”

He shifted slightly in the chair beside your bed, angling her instinctively so she stayed supported perfectly.

“Mostly that you kick like you own every room you’re in.”

Another tiny movement. He looked almost fascinated.

“As of last month, you also apparently hated your mother sleeping.”

From the bed,  you watched through tired eyes, too exhausted to fully smile but unable not to.

Because seeing him like this, seeing the way his entire face had softened around her felt almost unreal. He continued quietly, like introducing himself mattered even if she understood none of it yet.

“I’m Seungcheol” His mouth twitched slightly at how formal that sounded.

Then softer, “I know you’ll probably figure that out later.”

One finger barely touched her hand through the blanket. Her tiny fingers shifted reflexively.

And when one curled around the edge of his finger… he went silent.

Completely.

Because that one tiny reflex nearly ruined him.

His throat moved once before he found words again.

“So that’s how it is.” He looked down like she had already personally negotiated terms.

“You hold on the first day and expect me to survive this?”

His voice had gone even quieter now. As if the room disappeared and it was only him and this tiny new person who had somehow arrived already rearranging him.

He glanced toward you then. Saw your eyes on him and whatever he felt deepened further because now both of you were here safe.

He looked back at her then continued like he was telling her secrets already.

“Your mother is stubborn” You made a weak, offended sound from the bed. He smiled without looking up

“She doesn’t eat on time unless someone watches her.”

Another tiny pause.

“She also pretends she doesn’t need help when she absolutely does.”

Your tired voice came soft “She can hear you.”

“I know.”

Then to your daughter again

“You’ll learn that quickly.”

His thumb brushed her cheek this time, impossibly gently.

“And you should know she’s the bravest person I know.”

He looked at your daughter as though already making promises she would not understand for years.

“I’m going to love you very well, okay?” His voice almost broke there, just enough that he cleared it quietly after.

“Both of you.”

The baby shifted again, mouth puckering. He leaned closer immediately like every tiny movement now mattered.

“No pressure. You just got here.”

And for the first time since the cry that changed everything. Seungcheol looked completely at peace.

Like all the routes memorized, sleepless nights, fear, waiting, hospital bags, tiny onesies. all of it had led precisely here. 

Your daughter had settled against him in that tiny pink blanket, ribbon tilted slightly now, one cheek pressed into the fold near his chest.

She looked impossibly small there. Like she belonged in a photograph more than real life.

And he kept looking at her like he still hadn’t fully accepted she existed outside imagination.

His thumb moved once along the blanket edge. Then stopped.

His eyes stayed on her tiny face when he said quietly

“One day…”

Another small pause.

“One day, when you think I deserve it…”

His voice lowered further.

“So I’ll earn it first” He swallowed once, barely noticeable

Then with that same quiet honesty that made every word land heavier:

“I can be your appa.”

The sentence sat in the room gently. Just simple truth offered like a promise he did not want to force into existence before she chose him herself.

He looked down at her tiny hand tucked near the blanket.

“For now…”

A faint smile touched his mouth, sad only because it carried too much tenderness.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

His finger adjusted the edge of the blanket under her chin.

“Whatever you need me to be, okay?”

The baby made a tiny sleepy sound, mouth twitching like she objected to being spoken to during important newborn business.

That made him smile properly again. A small breath of laughter left him.

“Very demanding already.”

He leaned closer, voice nearly a whisper now.

“So grow up well.”

Another pause.

“That’s all you have to do.”

He looked at her like he meant every word as contract, prayer, and vow all at once.

“Grow healthy.”

“Sleep properly.”

“Don’t scare your mother too much.”

From the bed your tired voice came hoarse but amused:

“Why is that the third thing?”

Without missing a beat he answered softly “Because I already know you’ll both team up against me.”

You almost smiled despite how exhausted every muscle felt then his eyes returned to the baby again.

And whatever humor had touched his mouth softened into something deeper.

“I’ll handle the rest.”

The kind of promise made without needing witness. He shifted slightly, careful to support her head better though she had barely moved.

Then continued, almost as if explaining the world to someone who had arrived late to it.

“You don’t have to hurry for anything. Take your time. No one’s waiting for you to become anything except yourself.”

A tiny breath from her. He watched even that like it mattered.

“And if you cry, cry.”

“If you’re stubborn…” his mouth twitched, “well, clearly that’s inherited.”

You made a weak sound of protest again.

“But if something hurts… tell me first.”

That one hit differently because it came from somewhere old. Something private. Something protective enough to sound almost fragile.

He lifted his gaze then—finally toward you. You had been watching him the entire time.

There was something almost shy in his face now, like he hadn’t expected you to hear all of it. But he did not look away.

Instead he glanced back down at her and added, quieter:

“Your mother worked hardest bringing you here.”

His thumb brushed the baby’s tiny shoulder through the blanket.

“So if you love anyone first, make it her.”

Of course that was what he chose to teach first.

Not himself.

You.

Then he leaned his head slightly toward the baby, voice almost conspiratorial now:

“But later, if you decide I’m acceptable…”

A faint smile.

“I’m very available.”

That tiny sleepy fist shifted again near his chest.

He stared like she had answered.

And for a long moment neither of you spoke.

Just watched him there, broad shoulders bent protectively around someone so tiny, face softer than you had ever seen it, every part of him already rearranged around fatherhood even before he dared fully claim the word.

=

Two years later, mornings had become their own kind of beautiful chaos.

The apartment no longer stayed neat for more than ten minutes. Soft blocks under the sofa. Picture books stacked crookedly near the living room rug. A stuffed rabbit face-down beside the hallway. Tiny socks appearing in places neither of you remembered putting them.

The dining table had permanently changed too.

One side still yours and his.

The other now occupied by a small boosted high chair strapped carefully into place, a pastel plate already waiting there, divided into tiny sections because apparently food touching each other had become a serious offense this month.

A matching pastel cup sat beside it with a bent straw. Half a banana already sliced. A tiny spoon with cartoon clouds.

The morning light poured through the kitchen window while you stood beside Seungcheol at the counter, hair clipped up lazily, still mid-sentence about groceries.

“I’m telling you, if we buy fruit from that other place it’s cheaper but somehow worse by the next day.” You were slicing strawberries while talking 

He stood beside you cracking eggs into a bowl with the kind of efficiency that had only come from two years of learning how to cook one-handed while carrying a child.

“Because you keep buying too much at once.”

“We have a child who eats strawberries like she’s funding the industry.”

“She eats three and then demands yogurt.”

“Yesterday she ate seven.”

“Yesterday she was negotiating.”

You laughed softly.

Because yes your daughter negotiated meals now. Negotiated bedtime. Negotiated socks. Negotiated whether the moon looked tired.

And somehow Seungcheol took every negotiation like he was speaking to a board member rather than a toddler.

Toys littered the floor behind him. Domestic evidence everywhere. 

Proof of two years. Proof of staying. Proof that somewhere between labor and sleepless nights and first fevers and first birthdays and first steps… this had quietly become home in every possible sense.

You were about to continue your story about nearly forgetting milk when it came. That small voice from down the hall.

Still sleepy, still carrying that little morning rasp toddlers had when they had only just woken up.

“Appaaaaaaa…” It floated down the hallway like a ritual now. Daily.

And still every single time it landed exactly the same.

Both of you paused because no matter how many mornings passed, that voice calling for him first always did something immediate.

You looked up first. He already had that expression. That automatic softness. That helpless almost-smile he had never learned to hide.

Again came the call, louder now, impatient because apparently one response delay of three seconds was unacceptable.

“Appaaaaaa—!” and then tiny footsteps. Unsteady only in the way toddlers still ran like their bodies slightly outran their balance.

Then she appeared.

Little Aera.

Little Choi Aera.

Hair wild from sleep, one side flattened, the other sticking out because she had clearly turned half the night. Pink pajamas wrinkled. Bare feet pattering against the floor. One hand rubbing her eye. The other clutching the ear of her stuffed rabbit by force rather than affection.

And the second she saw him arms lifted immediately. Without hesitation, without acknowledging you first because priorities remained offensively clear.

“Appa.” this one softer now

Seungcheol did not even pretend resistance. He put the whisk down immediately and bent to lift her, one smooth practiced motion like he had done this thousands of times which he had.

She landed against him automatically, head finding his shoulder like instinct.

Still half asleep. Still warm from bed and the second she settled there, one tiny hand patted his cheek as if confirming possession.

You leaned against the counter watching “Good morning to me too, apparently.”

Aera lifted her face just enough to look at you then smiled, tiny and mischievous already.

“Eomma.”

You narrowed your eyes “Oh, now I exist.”

“She’s strategic,” Seungcheol said, already rubbing her back lightly

Aera’s attention returned fully to him. Hair in his face now because she tucked closer.

And then with complete seriousness “Appa carry.”

He looked down at her, amused “I’m already carrying you.”

She considered that. Accepted it then pointed toward the stove.

“Egg.”

“You want egg?” A nod

“No green.”

You laughed immediately because yesterday’s spinach incident had apparently left scars.

“She remembers everything inconvenient.”

Aera ignored you both and simply stayed attached to him, one arm looped around his neck now while she blinked herself more awake.

And watching her there, small face still soft with babyhood despite how much toddler had arrived, it hit again, the quiet impossibility of time.

Because this was the same baby wrapped once in pink with a ribbon bigger than her head. The same tiny fist that curled around his finger before she understood anything.

The same little girl he had once whispered to:

Grow well.

And she had. God, she had.

She grew loud. Bright. Curious. Possessive over crayons. Demanding bedtime stories twice. Laughing with your eyes. Sulking with his mouth.

And somehow despite that night he once whispered love your mother first—this little girl had chosen her own order very early.

Because her first word had not been eomma. Not milk. Not ball.

It had been Appa.

Clear. Certain. Repeated endlessly ever since.

As if she had decided on her own that the man who once asked permission to deserve the title would simply have to accept he already belonged there.

Aera suddenly lifted her head again. One small palm on his cheek.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She whispered with deep toddler importance “Dream monster.”

You blinked “Oh no.”

Seungcheol instantly serious, because dream monsters were legal matters in this household.

“Still there?”

Aera nodded solemnly.

He looked toward the hallway like he might personally investigate.

“I’ll talk to it later.”

Satisfied, she leaned back down immediately. Problem solved.

You watched him kiss her hair absentmindedly while reaching one-handed to lower the stove heat.

So natural now. So far from the careful uncertainty of that hospital night.

And for a second you remembered his voice then. ‘One day, when you think I deserve it, I can be your appa.’

Meanwhile now your daughter refused breakfast unless he sat beside her. Demanded his shirt when upset. Called his name before fully opening her eyes.

And wore his acceptance of fatherhood like it had never once been in question.

Aera suddenly spotted the strawberries.

“Mine.”

You pointed at the chair “Sit first.”

“No.”

“Sit first.”

She turned to Seungcheol instantly, because appeals court existed.

“Appa.”

He tried not to laugh “Sit first.”

Her tiny face shifted into offended disbelief at united parenting then reluctantly he lowered her into the boosted chair.

She crossed her arms dramatically.

Miniature outrage. Exactly like him, unfortunately.

You slid her plate over.

She stared at it then announced “No green.”

“No green,” you repeated patiently, because yes, this would be today’s law again.

Seungcheol sat beside her, handing the tiny spoon over.

And Aera—still suspicious—finally accepted breakfast because her hand stayed touching his sleeve while eating. The way children touched people they trusted most without realizing they were doing it.

And across the table, you looked at them both. Your husband who once asked for permission to be called father, and little Choi Aera who had answered long ago by never calling him anything else. 

And there you thought quietly, she had grown exactly as asked. Well loved, well held, and entirely certain where home was.

=

It happened on a day so ordinary it almost felt insulting afterward.

Late afternoon sunlight.

Aera in one of her little cotton dresses, shoes already dirty because she had decided the sandbox and grass and pavement all deserved equal attention.

The park crowded enough to feel lively. Parents talking, strollers passing, children shrieking somewhere near the swings.

One of those normal days you had come to love because normal had once felt impossible.

Aera was a few steps away near the little climbing structure, fully focused on carrying three leaves and one pebble like they were priceless treasure.

Seungcheol had gone to the kiosk by the path because Aera had demanded juice and then changed her mind twice before he left.

You stayed near the bench, eyes always on her even while half distracted by your phone.

Then someone stopped in front of you.

At first, it was only a shadow then a voice you had not heard in years.

Your name.

Everything in your body tightened before your mind fully caught up.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Older. Slightly rougher around the face. Still carrying that same expression that once made excuses sound convincing until it no longer did.

Your ex.

The man who had disappeared when consequences became real.

The man who had known about the pregnancy, the man who had known exactly what he was walking away from.

And still walked.

For one second your throat closed.

Not fear. Not anymore.

Just disgust sharp enough to feel physical.

His eyes shifted immediately past you… to Aera.

And that alone made something cold move through your spine, the way he looked at her was not earned. Not after years. Not after absence.

“She’s…” He almost smiled like he had some right to recognition

“She’s mine, isn’t she?”

The sentence barely finished because another body stepped between you before you even stood, fast enough that you almost startled.

Seungcheol.

He must have seen him from the path. Juice still in one hand, the other already free. His whole body placed squarely in front of you before any thought even finished forming.

Protective in the most immediate, instinctive way.

When he spoke, his voice came low and flat enough that even you felt the warning in it.

“Leave.” Sharp enough that it landed harder than shouting.

Your ex looked irritated immediately like he believs old entitlement would work

“I’m talking to—” “Leave.”

Still frighteningly calm. And that calm was exactly what meant danger because Seungcheol angry rarely looked explosive at first.

It looked quiet.

Your ex looked past him toward Aera again and that was the mistake.

“That’s my d—”

“My daughter.” Seungcheol cut him off so cleanly the words barely survived

Not louder just absolute. He stepped half a fraction closer, enough that the distance vanished.

“Mine.”

Your ex opened his mouth again, offended now.

Biology ready on his tongue like a weapon he thought still mattered.

But Seungcheol did not let him reach it

“She was never yours.”

Each word landed colder now.

“The moment you cheated on her mother. The moment you walked away.”

Still not raising his voice and somehow harsher because of it.

“You do not get to disappear for years and suddenly show up because you saw a child in a park.”

The juice box in his hand crinkled slightly under pressure

“You don’t deserve shit”

Your ex gave a humorless laugh, defensive now “You can’t erase what she is”

“No,” Seungcheol said “But I can make sure she never knows disappointment wearing your face”

That sentence made even your breathing pause. The exact line between anger and promise.

And your ex heard it too and the arrogance thinned.

Still, tension climbed another step, and that was when you moved.

Not because Seungcheol was wrong or not because you disagreed but because Aera was ten feet away laughing to herself over a leaf crown and did not deserve this atmosphere attaching itself to her afternoon.

You touched Seungcheol’s arm.

“Cheol”

He did not move immediately.

You squeezed once more this time softer.

“Aera.” That worked.

Always her.

His eyes shifted instantly toward your daughter. Still oblivious. Still innocent in the way only children could be while adults dragged old damage into open air.

His shoulders stayed tight another second then loosened just enough.

Your ex noticed so he tried again “You never even told me—”

“I didn’t owe you anything.” this time you answered. Your own voice surprised even you.

No apology.

“You made your choice before she was even born”

He looked at you as if expecting softness that no longer existed.

“She should know who—”

“She knows exactly who her father is.”

You did not need to look at Seungcheol when you said it.

Because the truth stood beside you already.

Visible. Proven.

At scraped knees. At midnight fevers.At first words. At hospital beds.

Your ex’s mouth tightened.

Then a tiny voice cut through all of it.

“Appa!” Aera running now. Tiny shoes hitting pavement fast, straight toward Seungcheol.

No hesitation. No uncertainty. No confusion about where safety lived.

He bent automatically before she even reached him. Lifted her one-handed when she collided into his legs. She wrapped both arms around his neck instantly.

Still smiling “Juice?”

He took one breath.

By the time he answered her, his voice had completely changed. Warm again.

“Here, princess”

She noticed another person then, looked over his shoulder curiously at the stranger.

No recognition. Of course none.

Then she buried her face against Seungcheol’s shoulder instead. Choosing disinterest. Choosing home.

Your ex watched that and maybe for the first time understood there was nothing here available to reclaim.

No gap.

No vacancy.

No place where his absence had left room waiting.

Because another man had filled every inch of fatherhood so completely that even blood had become irrelevant.

Seungcheol adjusted Aera higher against him.

Then looked at him once more.

Final now.

“You heard her.”

A pause.

“Leave before she remembers your face.”

And that was what ended it because there was nothing left to argue against after that. Not when the child in question already had her arms around the man who had stayed.

Your ex lingered one second too long.

Then stepped back.

Turned.

Walked away.

No apology.

No redemption.

Just departure which suited him, really.

Aera lifted her head the second he disappeared.

Completely unconcerned.

“Juice now.”

You almost laughed from the absurd whiplash of it. Seungcheol finally exhaled properly.

You touched his wrist lightly.

“I’m okay”

Aera meanwhile had already taken the straw out herself badly and announced

“Appa mad?”

He blinked once then kissed her forehead.

“No.”

Tiny suspicious eyes “Little mad”

That made you laugh despite everything. And finally even he gave in, a short breath of laughter against her hair

“Little”

Then she nodded like that was acceptable, took her juice, and leaned against his shoulder again, entirely certain the world remained exactly as it should.

And whatever tension adults carried fading outside the borders of her small safe afternoon.

The tension didn’t disappear immediately.

It lingered the way difficult things always did. You could still feel it in the way Seungcheol sat a little too still when you returned to the bench.

But Aera, entirely untouched by adult history, climbed into his lap like the world had never shifted at all.

Juice box first. Then herself. One tiny knee planted on the bench.

Then a determined little wiggle until she settled sideways against his chest, perfectly comfortable. She tucked herself there automatically, like she had done it a thousand times.

Because she had.

Her straw between her lips. Juice held with both hands for exactly three seconds before one hand abandoned it to find him.

Always him. 

Tiny fingers reaching without looking until they caught one of his. Then that familiar habit, her whole fist wrapping around a single finger of his like she genuinely believed that was enough to anchor him permanently in place.

Her tiny hand absurdly small against his.

She had done that since she was small enough to fit against one forearm.

Even now, older, heavier, taller still the same instinct. When she sat on his lap. When she got sleepy. When they sat in the car.

One hand always finding his finger.

Holding him there.

Seungcheol looked down at her hand too.

And you saw it happen that exact second his anger finally broke.

Melted cleanly.

Because she looked up right then, cheeks round from the straw still in her mouth, and pointed dramatically toward the path.

“Appa, see dog” A tiny white dog trotted past

He followed her gaze obediently

“I see.”

Another sip then instantly

“Appa look flower.” A crooked yellow flower near the bench

“I see that too”

Then she leaned back against him harder, still holding his finger hostage

“Appa hug”

She said it casually this time, not even asking just declaring what should happen. And immediately his free arm tightened around her middle, pulling her closer until her back rested fully against his chest.

You watched the transformation happen in real time.

The same man who minutes ago had looked capable of frightening grown men into silence now sat entirely dismantled by a child clutching one finger and narrating flowers and dogs.

“Appa.”

“What?”

She held up her juice proudly “Mine.”

“Clearly.”

You sat beside them watching quietly, and something inside your chest settled too.

In Aera’s world there had never been confusion, no complicated definitions, no bloodline questions. no late arrivals from old mistakes.

In her language, father had always sounded like one name.

One face. One lap. One hand big enough for her entire fist.

Every sentence began there naturally.

Appa this. Appa that. Appa look. Appa come. Appa hug.

As though no other possibility had ever existed. And truly for her, it hadn’t.

The man from earlier had been a stranger in the park and nothing more. 

Because love repeated daily becomes identity stronger than biology ever can.

And Seungcheol had repeated it every day until it became the most natural fact in her life.

=

Ever since that day—and truthfully, long before it—Seungcheol had become something you sometimes still struggled to explain properly because the word partner often felt too small for what he actually was.

He had become the person your life leaned toward naturally. In ways that only became obvious when you looked back and realized how much of daily life now rested on the quiet certainty of him being there.

Yes, he was a remarkable father to Aera. That much everyone saw easily.

The patience. The consistency.

The way he remembered tiny preferences no one else noticed.

How she only liked strawberries sliced a certain way, how she wanted the blue cup in the morning but forgot by lunch, how bedtime stories had to include unnecessary voices or she would protest.

The way he never treated care as help, but simply responsibility that belonged to him too.

Forms signed before you remembered they existed, medicine stocked before bottles emptied, tiny socks folded because apparently he believed there was a correct way to fold socks small enough to fit in one hand.

And more than that, the way he never once behaved as though fatherhood had been borrowed.

There was nothing performative in it.

Nothing temporary.

Just complete belonging.

But somehow, even while being all that for Aera, he had also become the place your own tiredness went first.

Your constant support in ways you had not realized you once lacked until you had it every day.

The person who noticed before you admitted exhaustion.

Someone who knew when your silence meant overstimulation and when it meant sadness, someone who handed you water before headaches started, and someone who learned exactly how your face changed when your patience ran thin and quietly took over before you had to ask.

Years together had not dulled that attentiveness.

If anything, it had sharpened.

Like tonight.

Aera finally asleep after an unnecessarily dramatic bedtime involving two stories, one rejected blanket, one accepted blanket, and a final debate over whether stuffed rabbits required water.

The apartment quiet now.

The day long enough that both of you carried that particular adult fatigue where conversation slowed. You stood in the kitchen rinsing the last cup.

Hair tied carelessly.

One of his shirts on because at some point your own clothes had become mixed so deeply with his that ownership stopped mattering.

And without warning warm hands settled at your waist from behind.

Close enough that his chest touched your back. His chin briefly resting near your shoulder.

“You missed one” His voice low, amused

You glanced downm, one spoon still in the sink

“I was getting there”

“Clearly”

He reached around you, turned off the tap, then stayed there anyway.

His hands stayed where they were. Warm. The kind of touch years never made ordinary.

You leaned back into him automatically.

Then, as naturally as breathing, he pressed a kiss just behind your ear. One that lingered just enough to make heat climb your neck anyway.

Even now. After years.

After hospital nights and grocery lists and shared bills and school schedules and arguments over whose turn it was to buy detergent.

Somehow simple affection still caught you off guard.

You exhaled quietly

“That still works?” His mouth curved against your skin.

“You tell me”

Another kiss this one lower. Near your neck. And ridiculous as it felt, you could already feel yourself blushing which he noticed immediately because of course he did.

A soft laugh “Years later and still.”

“Stop sounding proud”

“I am proud”

He turned you gently then until your back rested against the counter and he stood between your knees.

The same ease of someone who had always believed this space beside you belonged naturally to him.

Like a habit formed by love and time. And the truth was that space had become his.

Not because he claimed it.

His thumb brushed your cheek once.

“You’re tired.”

“So are you.”

“Mm.”

Then another kiss. This one properly yours. The kind reserved only for late nights after ordinary days.

When he pulled back, only slightly, you stayed close enough to feel his breath.

“You know,” you murmured, “you’ve ruined men for me permanently”

That earned a quiet grin “A little late to compare now”

“I’m serious”

“I know” Because he did know.

You had told him before in different words.

That he had raised your standards so high they now existed somewhere unreasonable.

That after him, love no longer looked like grand effort but steady presence.

That after him, affection meant someone who noticed.

Someone who stayed. Someone who kissed your forehead while reheating leftovers. Someone who knew exactly when to say nothing and simply stand near.

His hand slipped lower again, settling at your waist

“And yet,” he said softly, “you still blush like I’m doing something impressive”

“You say that like you’re not fully aware what you’re doing”

“I am”

That honesty made you laugh.

Of course he was aware.

He had learned exactly how to undo you in the smallest ways.

A kiss to the temple while passing by. A hand at your lower back in crowded rooms.

The way he always sat close enough that knees touched if space allowed.

How every shared couch somehow ended with your legs across him.

And always those kisses reserved differently when Aera was asleep, gentler, quieter, deliberate in a way that reminded you beneath parenthood and routines, he still saw you first too.

From the hallway came a tiny sleepy voice

“Appaaaa…”

Both of you froze then immediately laughed.

He kissed you once more quickly before stepping back.

Duty calling.

But not before murmuring against your mouth

“Save my spot”

Like there had ever been doubt. Like the place beside you had not already belonged there for years.

But he finds it endearing all the same, enjoying it, even.

He loves it even more when you start doing it more often in public. He’s able to see the hunger in your eyes from a mile away and it sends a chill down his spine each and every time he catches you.

He’s posing with nonchalance for their concept photos when you first arrive, eyes darting over his form and caging your bottom lip between your teeth. He had acknowledged you with a curt smile and a nod of his head before continuing with the shoot, his own body wanting nothing more than to greet you fully in a warm embrace and kiss to your already swollen lips.

Though, as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, you’re beating him to it. You cross the set with a few quick strides in his direction before melting against him, ducking your head beneath his chin to press an innocent peck to his jaw.

He welcomes you with a tight squeeze around the hips and continues to rock you back and forth while you breathe in his scent.

“Missed you so much,” you admit with a pathetic whine. You weren't normally this needy, much less in public, but today felt different. It felt.. wrong, for once, waking up to an empty bed and a phone full of updates from his weverse, yet not a single message from him directly to you.

You knew he was busy. Hell, your relationship had been built off of his grueling schedule, back when he was promoting his second album with his group and you becoming a staff member of a sister company. He was beyond unavailable and yet you found it difficult to keep your eyes off of him. Unbeknownst to you, he was equally as desperate when it came to your attention. The few instances your schedules would align left the both of you scrambling against the clock to further familiarize yourselves with one another, and eventually build a connection from a few fleeting glances and brief conversations.

Fast forward to now, things had only progressed in both of your careers, your lives busier than ever. You’ve been officially dating for three years and whilst primarily kept under wraps, your heart longed more and more for the opportunity to remind him of your devotion to him.

Much to your embarrassment, your loyalty presented itself with an unexplainable urge to swallow him whole and take every inch of his skin between your teeth without an ounce of shame.

Hence your current predicament; Seuncheol had his arms thrown lazily around your frame as you swayed, ever so blind to the scheming smile gracing your features. You leaned back, arching yourself against him as he questioned you with pinched brows.

To his surprise, you’d managed all the strength you had and utilized his obliviousness to your advantage, yanking him by the back of his neck and crashing your lips together with haste.

His hitched breath encourages you to move impossibly closer, your chests beating against one another with every jolt of your racing hearts.

The sheer intensity of the kiss is short lived when you detach from him with one last smack of your lips. Drunk on the high you’ve fed him, Seungcheol attempts to chase your lips, urging you to continue.

His silent pleas amuse you, enticing you to lean in towards his ear and whisper,

“Be good for me, Cheol. Go do your job and make me proud.”

You send him off with a playful nip to his cheek, your canines grazing the skin gently, cautious of the hours worth of effort his makeup artists have put in. His eyes follow your retreating form as you find your place behind the cameras.

He’s an hour and a half into taking naturally candid photos around the rented estate, and it’s driving you nuts.

The setting does little to ease your eagerness to claim him right then and there, offering a much more domestic and personal light to his preexisting bachelor aura.

He’s a fucking housewife, your mind offers you to no particular request. Your grip on your jacket’s strings falters when a deep, raspy voice presents itself near the cusp of your ear.

“Did he mention the next shoot to you?”

“Hm?” You respond, sparing Mingyu a passive glance before settling back on your deity of a man leaning over the terrace.

“We’re going swimming, if you wanted to join afterwards.”

“Why would I join?” You reply coolly.

“Well considering how much you’re drooling right now from him just standing there, I figured you’d want to indulge in having him in less layers for a few hours once we wrap up.” He grins.

Your skin burns from where he perches his chin on your shoulder, striking your body in flames as you try your best to shove your thoughts away. You can’t just indulge in your boyfriend’s near nudity just for a few hours. You know you don’t have that kind of self restraint when it comes to seeing him topless and unblemished.

“Mingyu, respectfully,” you turn to him slowly. “Get lost.”

His laugh reverberates against your arm as he tosses his top half against you, bracing himself as he catches his breath. Your sneer recoils into a smile as you catch Seungcheol’s curious glance from across the room.

His posture tenses while raking his eyes over you and mingyu, taking a moment to readjust before continuing his scene. The photographer calls for a break just a few moments later, satisfied with the outcome.

Your body is moving before you register it, slipping out of Mingyu’s reach with one last glare before you’re crashing into Seungcheol’s rigid chest.

“Baby,” he says softly, taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist before placing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Are you staying for the whole shoot?”

“Do you want me to?” You ask coyly, having preemptively cleared your own schedule in favor of following his.

“I always love having you here, you know that.” He smiles.

“Then I’ll stay.” You say and rise on your tip toes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Aren’t you two tired of being this clingy?” Mingyu invades your bubble in just a few seconds, separating your bodies with a sudden jut of his hip to yours.

You scowl at him as you’re rudely tossed to the side. His shit eating grin grazes his stupidly handsome features while returning your attention to him.

You two had always been at each other’s throats, both playfully and unwittingly at times. He was your best friend, nonetheless, but it sent Seungcheol’s mind reeling with how kittenish you became when he was around.

Something in his chest twinged with envy and had jealousy rearing its ugly head every once in a while when you two stood too close together, shared a meal during his turns to film or pose for photos, or even as you bantered and bickered in front of him.

He knew it was nothing. Knew you loved him too much to replace him so easily, nevertheless with his own friend and group mate.

“You’re just jealous, Gyu.” You huffed while snaking your arms around Seungcheol’s middle again.

“Me? Jealous?” He gasped, feigning an appalled expression while placing a hand to his chest.

“Yah,” Seungcheol growled. “Get lost before I call Heejoo and tell her you’re moping around on set.”

Mingyu’s eyes wander to the ground at that, rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck as he begins backing away solemnly. The mention of his current situation-ship seems to strike him a lot harder than you’d both expected, and you smirk at his crumbling confidence.

“You’re a dick for that.” He grumbles toward your boyfriend, unable to hide the sudden flush peeking out from under the collar of his shirt.

Seungcheol grunts at him once more, sending the younger man away with another dismissive threat before finally turning his attention to you.

“Will you help me put some sunscreen on before the next set?”

The following hour of camerawork concludes with a brief discussion about tomorrow’s expected schedule, all the more exhausting and seemingly endless as the last. You can see the fatigue draped over Seungcheol's features from where you stand, plummeting your heart into your stomach as you continue to watch him, mingyu and the team wearily deliberate future activities and propositions for upcoming promotions.

With a supportive clap to their backs, the team dissipates around them to end their workdays.

You take the remaining opportunity after the last staff member's departure to approach your boyfriend, your hands instinctually attached to his neck and puling him toward you. He moves pliantly, allowing his head to fall into the crook of your shoulder and neck as he exhales tiredly.

"Long day, bunny?" you remark quietly, raking your nails across the nape of his neck.

"Too long," he grumbles, ignoring the nickname you know normally grinds his gears any other day. You feel his muscles returning to their tense state as he removes himself from you begrudgingly.

"Can you stay the night?" The light in his eyes flicker with something akin to hope before clouding with uncertainty at the sound of your defeated sigh.

"I have a meeting early in the morning. Have to meet with the company to discuss some upcoming solo works." Your words fall on deaf ears as he's already groaning and pouting, choosing to disregard your excuse in favor of throwing a short-lived fit.

"I can have someone drive you early in the morning?" His offer hangs heavily in the space between you, an offer you really want to take him up on.

To your misfortune, calling out for today was enough of a reason for your company to dismiss you of your duties permanently should you choose to do it again.

The short notice had thrown your team for a whirlwind, a mini crisis plaguing the workplace and blowing up your phone for the entirety of your time spent watching Seungcheol. You were ashamed to admit it out loud, but you'd give anything to quit and replace your priorities with becoming a stay at home simp for your boyfriend. You'd give anything to watch him all day long, cling to him at every beck and call, and devote yourself to being the best version of yourself you could be for him.

Were you insane for thinking that far? yes.

Were you that serious about him? also yes.

You couldn't help the pained complaint that escaped your throat upon seeing his face fall. It shredded every single piece of you to know you couldn't stay, and even more so when he began to beg for you to.

"Please? at least for a few hours? 'Till I fall asleep?" His eyes drift between yours, searching for any bit of redemption, consideration, confirmation.

Removing your hands, you smooth over your features to look at your watch, noting the late hour and the dread pestering your mind. Your notifications peer back at your for a second, reminding you of the dedication you had to your work for the following morning.

It would only be a few hours, you consider.

A beat of silence passes by before you inevitably agree with a nod of your head. "Okay."

To say he's elated would be an understatement. He's over the moon at your response, immediately linking your fingers and dragging you inside the airbnb, shifting his direction towards the bedroom as you enter.

"I'll take a shower and then we can watch a movie!" He suggests after leading you to the bed where you sit patiently, smiling as he trips over his own two feet while dashing toward the bathroom.

God, you can't believe he's yours.

"Did you know you had a mole here?"

Seungcheol meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror, watching you trail your nails down his spine as he finishes his skin routine at the bathroom sink. You've since changed into a spare set of his clothes, a simple t-shirt that drapes over your dips and curves and ends just past the apex of your thighs.

His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it normally does, mouth subconsciously watering at the sight of you.

"I don't think so." He chuckles softly while returning to his process of unfolding a face mask and spreading it across his features carefully.

"Your back is so..." your voice drawls with a pensive hum, considering your words intently before continuing. "boring."

"Huh?" He turns in your grasp, catching the faint smirk pulling at the corner of your lips.

"It's just missing something." You utter.

"Like what?" he murmurs, his lips pursed in effort to keep his mask from slipping.

Your grin spreads along your face, head cocking to the side as you maneuver your hands over the expanse of his bare chest, raising goosebumps along his skin in their wake.

"Could use a little more me on it."

You spot the shift in his demeanor, shoulders tensing slowly, eyes sharpening, and the veins in his neck straining as he swallows dryly. You don't give him a chance to act on his desire, gracefully pinning his wrists against the counter and slipping your tongue out to lap at the flushed skin of his neck.

His groan rumbles from between your pressed chests, audibly forfeiting all control as you continue to press open mouthed kisses to his throat. His hips buck desperately when he feels your teeth graze just past his jugular, sinking deeper into his flesh with every breath he gasps.

"Baby," he whimpers against your persistence. You pull back, relishing in the subtle chase of his lips toward yours, halting just out of his reach with an arched brow.

"Bunny?" you counter, urging him to proceed with what he needs to say.

"Can't." He whines, overwhelming mortified with displeasure for having to restrain himself.

"Can't what?" You probe innocently, inching closer once more, guiding him back to you by the draw strings of his shorts. He lulls forward without resistance, drawn to your lips with nothing except a mere inch between them.

"Can't be marked. Not now." He says petulantly, eyes downcast as he drops his head, dejected.

Your heart thuds against your rib cage at that, growing restless as fondness ebbs away at your brain, turning it into mush. He knows you so well, knows that you need to mark him up, leave your presence on his skin for everyone to see how taken he is.

Love smothers your senses, your head cloudy and full of him. Your everything. Your person.

You reach to curl your fingers through his blonde, wet strands, tugging with enough force to lift his head once more. He moans quietly at that, his own hands finding purchase on your hips as he stares at you through his dark lashes.

You smile and tap his bicep with your free hand. You notice his eyes trailing your features hungrily before placing a gentle kiss to his muscle, right below his shoulder.

"'S okay, Bunny." You coo.

His arm flexes under the warmth of your fanning breath, twitching with every peck of your lips you lead up his arm and toward his chest.

You freeze once you've reached his collar bone, slowing your breathing and blowing a long, heavy exhale that mists over his already clammy skin. You smirk triumphantly at his muted mewl, watching his chest rise and fall erratically.

"I won't mark your pretty skin just yet," you reassure calmly, your hand still twisted in his hair as you pull it experimentally once more, lavishing his skin in praises when he moans.

"Stay still for me, m'kay?"

You don't wait for his response before sinking your teeth near his clavicle with pressure, not enough to break skin but plenty to stimulate both him and you when he ruts against you.

"Gentle," He reminds you through brief, measured breaths.

"I know, I know." you chide and release your grip on his hair briefly to instead hold his throat between your hands.

His eyes peer down at you for a short moment before flashing you a playful grin. You mirror it with your own before squeezing lightly at his neck, reveling in the meek sound he coughs out.

"So pretty," you murmur lovingly. "All mine to play with however I want. Whenever I want."

To his dismay, his nod is restrained and dismissed by you when you apply just a bit more pressure, your gaze darkening as he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, wordlessly pleading for more. You oblige and wedge your knee between his thighs, now aware of how engrossed he truly was upon feeling his pulsing erection against your bare skin.

"Is this why you wanted me to stay so bad? So you could be manhandled by your pretty girlfriend? Hm?"

Your hands release him, dropping to your sides as he heaves a few labored breaths, his eyes never once leaving your retreating form as you saunter toward the bed, patting the space beside you once you're perched at the edge.

He carries himself on wobbly legs to where you sit, landing ungracefully onto the bed with a soft "oof" before reaching a hand out toward you. You link your hands together momentarily, allowing yourself to soak in the appearance of his current state; dazed, spent, and utterly beautiful with every inch of his skin painted a bright red by an angry flush.

"Roll onto your belly for me, Cheolie." you direct.

He does so without complaint, damningly compliant to your every command. You absentmindedly trace shapes into his spine, your lips curling into a smile each time he flinches against the brush of your nails.

He rests his head against his folded arms, unintentionally flexing his muscles at the broadness of his shoulder blades. You chuckle, quietly shifting your attention to the taut skin, lowering yourself to place lingering kisses.

A sigh creeps out of his deflating body, audibly enjoying your attention. You proceed to kiss your way up, pausing to nip at the fat of his arms playfully and releasing a giggle of your own when he claims he's ticklish with a laugh.

You bite back the quip on your tongue, choosing to focus more on his twitching hips by running your hand over the smooth skin of his arched lower back. He hums, satisfied, and groans when your begin to pull his shorts down his thighs, allowing them to fall aimlessly to the ground.

He jolts upright when your hand collides with a loud smack against his ass, immediately coiling into himself with a yelp.

"What, you can do it by I can't?" You joke when he replies with a harmless glare.

"I'm not letting you peg me, if that's what you're leading up to." He chastises with narrowed eyes.

You feign a look of betrayal, simultaneously guiding him onto his back once more as you move to straddle his hips.

"Tough, I really wanted to see your cute little ass all perked up for me." You can't hold back the devious giggle that threatens to escape you, fully leaning against his chest to stabilize yourself.

"You're insane." He huffs with an eye roll.

"Yeah, but it's kind of cute." Your smile lingers a moment longer as he presses his lips to your forehead, soft and everlasting.

It's then that you lift your head and laugh once more, your fingers reaching to remove his face mask he'd long forgotten.

"I was really trying to keep a straight face!" You giggled. He levels you with a bashful scowl, turning away from your gaze as you settle down with a quiet sigh.

In the blink of an eye, your playful character is gone, replaced by your previous deviant nature.

"You're gonna be the death of me." He murmurs against your skin when you begin grinding your clothed pussy onto his exposed cock.

"I better act quick then," You retort while reaching down and clutching onto your panties to pull them side, angling your sopping folds to trail over the head of his cock.

"Fuck, Bunny. You're so fucking perfect." You groan into the dip of his shoulder, pressing yourself harder against him. His grip on your waist returns, clambering against your ministrations.

"Just— just take me already." He grits out through a particularly sharp inhale. "And don't call me bunny— shit —while we're fucking, jesus."

"You got it, Bunny." Your voice cracks ever so slightly as you begin your descent down his length, abdomen flexing with every ragged breath you take as he breaches your entrance. The stretch is painful, tearing you apart no matter how many times you've taken it. Tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill before you finally settle, flush to his groin with a shaky breath.

"Oh fucking hell," He moans deeply. He recovers with a sudden shift of his hips, stripping you of all power you previously obtained.

You lurch forward with a startled mewl, your face falling between the crevice of his jaw and throat. Your mouth latches on helplessly, teeth grazing the stubble of his chin and biting down impishly.

He returns the favor, pausing to rip your (his) shirt off and tossing it aside hurriedly, attaching his mouth to the mound of your breast, nibbling at the supple flesh and grinding up into you when you elicit a borderline pornographic moan.

"Please, Cheol, please." You moan against his ear, grinding against him feverishly. Your begging fuels him further, ripping every ounce of self restraint out of him, replaced with an insatiable appetite only you can satisfy.

"You're so beautiful, baby. I'm gonna let you mark me as soon as all of this is over. Soon, my love. So soon." His attempts to soothe your desires warm your insides, your knees near gelatinous as he rams into your pulsating heat without a second regard or worry.

You feel his pace quickening with every plunge, your own movements futile in contrast with his. Your back hits the mattress in a flash, your legs forcefully pinned to your sides as he impales you over and over.

Your moans melt into short, wispish screams when you feel his mouth latch onto your breasts again, leaving deep, bruising indents from his teeth.

The mere idea of him biting you, the same way you've done with every given opportunity in the past, has your legs clenching against his waist, your teeth clamping around your lips as you feel yourself release into the euphoria of your climax.

"More, Cheol, please more—I want—I need more." Your cries fill his chest with pleasure and vanity, thrusting him head-first into the deep end of your satisfaction. He comes with a choked out cry, muffling the sound into your chest as he curls inwards, pumping himself dry into your tightening core.

"Baby," his hand leaves your waist to settle on your sweaty cheek, caressing the crimson skin as he adores your spent features. "You did so good, my love. so good for me."

You groan softly in reply, motioning for him to lay beside you with a limp wrist. He chuckles softly and gently pries himself free of your tight cunt with a groan.

“One more round?” You mumbles into the pillows, peeking an eye in his direction to catch the faint grin on his dewy face.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Shit,” he hisses. “Slow down.”

Your tongue slips between the slit of his cock, catching every last drop of his seed from his second release.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about your boyfriend in the past three years of dating him, it’s that he’s prone to over sensitivity after his second high. While you can recover relatively quickly after an orgasm, his stamina is overmatched by the mere pain of reaching another climax so short apart.

It’s something you both teetered the line with, not knowing whether it was right or even possible to milk him for as many rounds as he could. But, much like the rest of your ideas and suggestions, he couldn’t say no to you.

So you pumped his cock even faster, watching his jaw slack and chin quiver with a cry as he came down from his third match.

“You’re doing great, bunny.” You encourage, slowing your pace down to run a stripe along the side of his length with your tongue.

His brows dip and another moan escapes him. “You’re— you’re killing me.”

“Mh,” you hum. With a final tug to his half hard cock, you trail your lips over the smooth surface of his inner thigh, relishing in his breathy exhales.

“You’re always so good for me.” You say.

The tip of your tongue traces the faint stretch marks of his upper thigh, nearing the edge of his hip where you still.

The pads of your fingers skim over the flesh before you’re leaning forward and clamping your mouth down full force, undoubtedly leaving a mark this time.

You hear his choked shriek of pleasure and pain, the sudden grip on your hair paired with it.

“Fuck! ‘M gonna come again.” His voice lilts, pitched higher than usual.

You continue to pepper kisses along his waistline before meeting his opposite thigh with another skin-breaking bite. Your moan pulsates against the irritated skin, soothing the burn and easing the mark against the fat of his thigh to an eventual bruise with the flat of your tongue.

“Can’t take anymore.” He cries desperately, loosening his fingers wrapped around your disheveled locks as he comes down from his final release.

You give in to his whining after another brief moment of caressing the enflamed skin. You carefully ascend up his hiccuping body, tiny pecks littering his bareness before you connect your mouth with his with the upmost tenderness you could possibly muster.

“I love you so much.” You speak quietly against his lips.

His eyes remain shut, fluttering in and out of consciousness as he nods his head in response.

“Love you too.” He murmurs.

Laying your head on his chest, your entire being laxes against him, fully satiated and enraptured in his presence. A hand creeps up your waist, squeezing your side carefully as his body deflates beneath you with a deep exhale.

You could never truly thank him enough for indulging in your antics. You’re aware your love languages are drastically different; yours being entirely unhinged and bordering aggressive, where as his is prevalent in his gentle mannerisms, gift giving and pure compliance when it comes to you.

Nevertheless, the love you both have for one another surpasses all expectations and continues to surprise you day after day, year after year.

Even if you have to hide your love bites from the public eye.

< A/N: fin! this took a lot less time to write than i anticipated, despite the fact that smut tends to discourage my creativity. but! after getting all of my thoughts out and returning to the storyline with fresh ideas and inspiration, i was able to pump out a pretty decent chunk of raunch to satisfy my expectations for my first time writing smut.

that being said, i hope this flows well and encourages you to leave a comment or repost! feedback and suggestions are always appreciated. :) thanks!!!

It's an hour before the party is due to start, and Soonyoung has just turned up at your apartment to get ready together, just like always. He has the parcel of costumes in his arms, and a bright, excited grin on his face when he hands it over to you to allow him to remove his shoes.

“I haven't opened it yet,” he informs, watching you walk over to the couch to lean the parcel against the arm and open it like you know he wants you to. Soonyoung knows you get an odd sense of joy from opening parcels— whether or not they're for you—, so he often brings his orders over or invites you to his apartment to allow you to open them for him.

“So I see,” you muse with a little giggle.

Soonyoung appears at your back a moment later, leaning his chin on your shoulder to peer into the bag as you open it.

The first costume out is his, packaged in another bag, though this one is clear, revealing the cardboard insert with a picture of a man donning the costume on the front. He takes it happily when you offer it and bounces aside to start to open it excitedly.

There's only one more item in the bag, your costume, so you take it out, as excited about your matching pirate outfits as Soonyoung is. Up until you turn the packet over to look at the picture and realise that this truly is not what you expected. Especially not from your best friend.

“What the actual fuck, Kwon Soonyoung?!” you demand, flabbergasted.

“Uh-oh, the full name.” Soonyoung looks up at you in alarm, all signs of joy gone. “Did they send the wrong thing?”

“I hope so, because if you saw this on the site and still ordered it, you and I are going to have some issues.” You turn the packet to show him the picture on the cardboard insert.

A picture of a woman in a tiny pair of high-waisted shorts— if they can even be considered that— with fishnet tights underneath. There's an attempt at a white top that honestly could be a lot worse; it's off the shoulder and cropped, but it's not as bad as it could be for a female-focused costume, yet still far too revealing for your liking. To finish it off, she's wearing a striped bandana on her head, and grasping a plastic sword in her hands. You're very certain that the sword alone is the only reason the packet is this big, because there's certainly not enough material creating the costume to require such a size bag.

Soonyoung stares at the picture for a second, then looks up at you with a confused little pout. “It's a pirate outfit.”

“Show me yours,” you demand with a sigh. He doesn't hesitate to move over and hand you his costume, still just about in the packet.

There's a very clear difference in costumes. The picture on this packet depicts a man in three-quarter length, vertically striped, trousers; and a simple, white shirt with an open neckline, revealing a thin, triangular strip of skin down to his sternum. It’s finished with the same bandana as your costume, and a plastic sword. Though, the man's sword is a lot bigger than the woman's sword. Of course, the men get the big boy sword and the women get the toothpick.

“You seriously don't see a problem with this?” you ask, holding the two packets side by side so that he can see the photos together.

Poor, naive Soonyoung looks between the pictures rapidly in a desperate attempt to understand. Yet he winds up just shaking his head as he looks at you with such an innocent expression that you know that he seriously doesn't understand the problem here at all.

“Then you can wear this one,” you declare while handing him the woman's outfit, before turning to stalk off to your bedroom.

“What?!” he sputters, scrambling to follow you down the short corridor. “This is for women!”

“You've said before; clothes have no gender!” you remind, turning at the threshold with a hand on your open door ready to close it, and a sweet smile on your face. “If you want to match with me, Soonyoungie, you wear that, and I'll wear this.”

He stares between you and the packet in his hand for a moment before agreeing with a nod and a simple “Okay.”

And that right there, is your second mistake.

When you had told Soonyoung to wear that outfit, you really hadn’tbeen prepared for how fucking good he'd look in the skimpy little outfit. Now, you have to spend the next hours at Seungkwan's bustling apartment pretending that your gaze isn't constantly locating Soonyoung in the dim lighting as he happily dances amongst other costumed bodies.

Sure, you've seen Soonyoung topless before, so you know the man has a frankly incredible body— usually hidden under the baggy clothes that he prefers to wear—, but the sexy little pirate outfit highlights his strong torso and biceps so well.

The cropped top stops at his sternum, giving full view of the top half of his defined abs, the bottom half hidden by the high waist of the shorts. And those shorts? They really do not leave a lot to the imagination at all. Soonyoung has spent the entire night so far carefully doing his best to keep the sword strapped around his hips carefully located to dangle in front of his crotch to keep some of his dignity.

You had obligingly given him the bigger sword when you had realised that the 'woman's' sword wasn't exactly wide enough to cover him. Neither of you had made eye contact when you handed it over without a word, because you both knew what it meant; that you had obviously seen the bulge of his flaccid dick in the tight shorts. Which, honestly, had only made you wonder how big he is when hard, and that is a thought that you usually try to avoid, thinking of your best friend in a sexual situation.

Though his pure existence alone makes it very hard. No pun intended.

Kwon Soonyoung doesn't realise how attractive he is, and you're kind of grateful about it. Because if that unfairly effortlessly attractive man knows how hot he is, then you know he'll be cocky and dress to show off more often than just for nights out or special occasions, and you would not mentally survive that.

As it is, you're not sure you'll survive tonight.

“One day, you two are going to stop being stupid and just fuck it out,” Chan comments from your right where he stands in his doctor's outfit. Seungkwan's wearing a matching one somewhere else in the apartment and you really can't tell if it's intentional or not with those two. They're always bickering and acting like they hate each other, but they're always the first the other goes to for any reason whatsoever.

“Please make it before the end of summer so I don't lose money,” Seungcheol requests from your left, leaning against the wall with you, and dressed in a suit just like his own best friend and roommate, wherever she has disappeared to. She's likely with Junhui, based on the way the pair have been eyeing each other for the past hour— and since they met really, but that's another story entirely.

“You assholes have bets on us fucking?” you gawp in betrayed disbelief at the suited man.

“Yup,” Seungcheol confirms shamelessly, while Chan tries to sputter out a denial that makes you level the youngest with an unimpressed look.

However, it doesn't last because you hear Soonyoung's loud voice, even over the music, and automatically look over to where your best friend is trying to stop Seokmin from grabbing at his sword. No euphemism, even if the plastic is in the right place.

“Looks like Seok's going to get further with your boy than you ever have,” Seungcheol sniggers. You shove his arm, making him laugh harder.

“Swordplay,” Chan giggles to himself, then wanders off without another word to refill his cup after swallowing the last of its contents.

“Seriously though, you should, like, go fuck him,” Seungcheol says a moment later, when Soonyoung has successfully distracted Seokmin by grabbing the younger's hands to make him dance with him. Soonyoung shoots you a world-weary, wide-eyed look that makes you snicker and wave innocently at him.

“You really don't want to lose money, huh?”

“It's not even about that, just… you two. This has been going on for over a year now; this gross pining shit. Just sit on his dick and ask him on a date; it's not that hard.”

“You can't say shit, Cheol,” you remind.

“Hey, I've fucked her, regularly,” he defends with a pout before sipping at his drink.

“Oh yeah, because fucking your best friend who you've been in love with since childhood while encouraging her to go after your friend, who she's been mutually eye-fucking for the past three months, is so much better,” you retort sarcastically and give him a look.

He can't refute it at all, it's entirely true, and he's confided in you enough for you both to know that he's constantly making his own heartbreak worse by continuing to indulge his best friend, both in bed and when she comes home and whines over how good Junhui looks.

“We're as bad as each other,” he decides after a second.

“Don't lump me with you. I've never fucked him.” You scoff and turn back around to naturally locate Soonyoung where he's back to smiling away as he dances with Seokmin and some others.

“You want to.”

“Yeah, I really fucking do,” you exhale, and then swallow down the last of your drink, only to frown down into the empty disposable cup. “I need a real drink.”

“You know you can't drink around him like this or you will ask to suck his dick,” Seungcheol reminds you of the very reason why you're always the designated driver when Soonyoung dresses up.

Because yes, you have come close to getting on your knees in the middle of a club for him. Luckily, Seungcheol had noticed and took you home before you actually acted on the urge to publicly defile your best friend. Unluckily, Seungcheol had noticed and hasn’t failed to mention it at every chance. But at least it's stayed between the two of you.

“At this rate, I'll do it regardless,” you mutter, still frowning into your empty cup. “Back in a bit.” Seungcheol just grunts to show he heard before you slump off to the kitchen to refill your cup with one of the non-alcoholic beverages lining the counter.

You've barely finished filling your cup when a familiar hand reaches around you and picks it up to start gulping down. Even though you know it's Soonyoung, you still look over your right shoulder where he's chugging down the drink, entirely unaware of your thirsty gaze watching the drop of liquid that escapes from the corner of his mouth trail down over his chin and jaw, and down his neck to catch on his collar bone. You refrain from leaning in to slurp it up and lick your way up the trail it left all the way to Soonyoung's mouth. Even if you really want to do just that, and more. Much more.

Instead of staring at the way his throat bobs as he swallows down the last drops, you turn back around and wait for him to place the cup down so that you can refill it. And then he grabs it again before you can, making you groan in complaint. “Seriously?"”

“M'thirsty,” he defends, barely pulling the cup away and accidentally dribbling some of the liquid from his mouth onto your shoulder. You look at him in disgust. He just grins sweetly and kisses your cheek in a sticky, apologetic way before leaning back up to get back to his task of once again, stealing your drink.

At least this time when you've refilled the cup, he doesn't steal it away and lets you actually lift it to your own mouth. You can feel his eyes on you as you drink, so you side-eye him questioningly without moving the cup away.

“Are you taking Seungcheol home again?” he asks, stepping closer to you as someone passes too close behind him; his left hand falls to your hip and his right onto the counter, sort of caging you in, though you know it's unintentional— even if you wish it wasn't.

“He can take himself home, he's not drinking tonight,” you reply, distracted by the feeling of plastic pressing against you. “Your sword is digging into my ass.”

Soonyoung lets go of the counter to tug his sword belt around and lays the toy on the outside of his left thigh, leaving him pressed directly against you. You genuinely can't tell if he's even noticed that as he seems to be focused on the conversation, judging by the concentrated furrow of his eyebrows. “That's not what I mean and you know it.”

“If I know it, wouldn't I respond to what you mean?” You give him a look; puzzled by his words, and hoping he understands that you seem to very much not be having the same conversation here, and you are completely unaware of the conversation he's having with you.

“Not when you're both pretending nothing's happening.”

“What?” You nudge him back enough so that you can turn and face him, which admittedly, is not your smartest move when he moves straight back in. He doesn't press against you again, but his left foot is between both of yours as you lean your ass back against the counter. Any closer and his thigh will be very close to pressing to your crotch.

“Come on, I'm your best friend, I think you should at least be honest with me, even if you play ignorant with the others.” He frowns and leans heavier onto his right hand on the counter beside your hip, bringing him in closer so that he doesn't have to talk so loudly to be heard over the music. “You two often leave together when we go out. And even though his place is closer than mine, you drop me off first so it's just you two left. I'm not stupid.”

“Wait, you think that's so we can go fuck?” you realise with wide eyes.

“It's obvious; you always find each other when we're all together like this and spend the whole fucking night hiding off to the side whispering to each other.”

You can't help but laugh. “Do you all think we're fucking?” He nods in confirmation. You laugh again. “Oh man, I gotta tell Cheolie this.” You start to push off the counter with every intention of going to find the older man, knowing he will find it as hilarious as you do, but Soonyoung puts his left hand on your lower stomach to push you back, and then he pushes himself against you to pin you there. “Soonyoung–”

“No.”

“What? No? No what?"”

“I'm not letting you go back to him. You came with me, you're staying with me, and leaving with me, no one else,” he declares firmly.

You stare up at him trying to decipher what the fuck is actually going on right now; what prompted this sudden conversation and behaviour. Not that Soonyoung has never pinned you before, but it's usually playful as he whines and pouts cutely to get his way, or to just joke around. But he's entirely serious now and looking at you with something kind of dark in his eyes.

Admittedly, it's pretty fucking hot.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, even if you know he's not; you can't smell any alcohol on him, and drunk Soonyoung gets cuddly and clingy, not whatever this is.

“You know I'm not.” He places his left hand on the counter on your other side, well and truly caging you in, and causing him to lean down a little closer to reach comfortably.

“Then why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“It's not sudden.” You give him a look. “Okay, fine, acting on it is; but wanting to, that's not sudden. I've wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Then why haven't you?”

“Because I care about you too much.” He frowns a little as he takes in your features from up close, gaze catching on your lips for a few seconds before lifting back up to meet your eyes. “There's a bet, you know, about us fucking?”

“I just found out.” You pull a displeased expression. “Cheol's in on that, you know? He wouldn't bet on us fucking before the end of summer if he's fucking me.”

“He is?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “They made it sound like he's against the bet; said he's been trying to stop them from talking me into it.”

“Yeah, no, he just told me to fuck you. He's always telling me to fuck you.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips as his eyes divert thoughtfully. “Guess I should stop being a dick to him then.”

“You've been a dick to him?” you ask, genuinely surprised. You really haven't noticed Soonyoung acting badly towards Seungcheol at all.

“Mm, I always take his favourite snacks at movie night.”

You can't help but burst into giggling laughter at his confession. Of course, the man doesn't have a single genuinely mean bone in his body and would think purposely taking someone's favourite snacks would be a giant dick move. You bet he's been feeling kind of guilty about it while, no doubt, Seungcheol hasn't even noticed.

“What? why're you laughing?” He pouts at you.

“Oh, Soonie, you're so fucking cute,” you coo and cup his cheeks fondly. He smiles a little dopily at the compliment; the same smile he reserves for you and your doting attention on him, even if neither of you have noticed that. The rest of your friends have though.

“Nice ass,” you hear before Soonyoung's hips jerk into you when he yelps and tries to escape the slap that lands on his ass.

“Hey!” he complains, looking over his shoulder to pout at Jeonghan as the man appears from behind your best friend.

You really can't tell exactly what Jeonghan is supposed to be; you think it's some kind of anime character, or something kinky. Maybe both. Either way, his costume is a strange mix of faux black leather, and shimmery red, lacy wings. And he pulls it off unfairly well, considering that you know he hadn't been prepared for the party this morning at all.

“What? Don't look at me like I'm disturbing something,” Jeonghan scoffs, reaching around you to grab the same big plastic bottle you had been filling your cup from. Though he stops and looks at the way Soonyoung is very much pressed against you. Jeonghan grins after noticing that Soonyoung's crotch is definitely smushed against your upper thigh; something you have been doing your best to ignore yourself because yes you can feel everything through the thin material covering you both. “Or maybe I am.” He smirks at you both.

“What are you supposed to be exactly?” you ask in an attempt to change the topic to one that won't kill your last remaining dregs of sanity. Then again, with the things that come out of Yoon Jeonghan's mouth, you could still be rendered insane, but for a reason other than feeling your best friend's dick pressed against you.

“No idea, just grabbed some shit from Hao's costume closet.” Jeonghan shrugs as he looks down at himself. “Kind of think this might be less about his costume designing and more about sex though.”

“He's definitely worn that harness while fucking someone,” you agree, and reach out to hook your finger over the thick horizontal strap over Jeonghan's chest. You're pretty sure it's directly over his nipples, but the slightly sheer tank top he's wearing underneath the harness kind of obscures your view enough that you don't have confirmation.

“Mm, definitely,” Jeonghan agrees, and smirks at you. “Want to take it home yourself?”

“And take it from you? I wouldn't dare, you look so handsome, Hannie,” you coo, playing along with the flirty banter you two have always partaken in. Not because anything has ever happened between you, nor will it; you've discussed it plenty of times to make sure you're both on the same page. But it's just fun to harmlessly flirt.

“Never said I won't be wearing it.” He licks his lips and gives you a suggestive look.

“You're not going home with her,” Soonyoung argues firmly, crowding up against you further; though his gaze is on Jeonghan in warning, so he misses the way your eyes widen and dart down to where Soonyoung is now pressing his dick against your hip with his own thigh pressing up between your thighs. Jeonghan doesn't miss it though and cackles, leaving without another word with his cup and the entire bottle of drink clasped in his hands.

“S–Soonyoung,” you stammer, hands fluttering at his sides, wanting to push him back for your sanity, but you think putting your hands on his exposed skin will just make you pull him closer.

“Do you have to flirt with him all the time?” He frowns at you, entirely unaware of the screaming in your mind; mostly just sounds with the odd yell of the word penis. He'd probably laugh if he heard it, to be honest, just because of the word penis. He wouldn't even realise it's his penis you're mentally screaming about. “And when I'm right here too. Did you forget I'm here or something?”

“No,” you choke out.

“Then why– are you okay?” He suddenly realises how wide your eyes are.

“I can feel your dick,” you blurt, unable to think of anything else.

He blinks at you for a moment, then looks down at where he's pressed against you as if he hasn't even noticed until now. “Oh.” He pulls his hips back, and his thigh from between yours, making you let out a heavy, shaky exhale as your body relaxes a little. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Ha, not the word I'd use.”

“What word would you use?”

If he was any other man, you'd say the little quirk of his head and innocent eyes locked onto you is fake; just some kind of game, a way to flirt. But it's Kwon Soonyoung, and you've seen this man miss the most obvious of flirtations since you've known him. The number of times you or the guys have had to bluntly tell him that someone had been trying to take him home to fuck, is frankly absurd.

“Stop touching my ass!” his sudden exclamation makes you jump a little, while he looks over his shoulder in annoyance, glaring at Seungkwan, who's giving him an innocent look.

“I'm very happy that you two are finally doing something about your consistent sexual tension and mutual pining, but take it out of my kitchen, please. I don't want to have to burn my home down if you defile my counters,” the younger man speaks bluntly with a slightly sweet edge to his words. You can't even see him, but you just know that he's got that too sweet smile on his face that always feels more threatening than anything.

“What?” Soonyoung blinks at him puzzled as the annoyance of his ass being grabbed melts away. “We're not doing anything.”

“Hannie told me you're being possessive, and we all know that she likes that, so–”

“Hey!” you exclaim offendedly, not because you can argue it, but just more that you're being talked about like you're not here. “She has a name!”

“Well, take Soonie home and he can moan it for the neighbours to hear.” Seungkwan gives you that sweet-threatening smile as he leans around Soonyoung to meet your gaze. “My neighbours don't want to hear it.”

“My neighbours won't hear that,” you scoff.

Soonyoung can't help but frown; he feels like he's just been rejected, even though he hadn't even gotten to the point of actually asking to take you home and fuck you like he wants to, like your mutual friends had convinced him you want him to. But your firm dismissal of Seungkwan's words sounds like you putting that boundary securely in place before he can even ask to tumble over it into your arms.

“He's loud–” Seungkwan starts to point out, but you're not done talking, even if you had taken a quick scoff break.

“I don't live in a cheap-ass building with paper for walls like you do, Kwannie,” you finish.

Both men stare at you for a second; Seungkwan at first just blinks in surprise at the fact you're not even disputing the Soonyoung moaning your name part, just whether or not your neighbours will hear. And Soonyoung is full-on gawping at you, mouth open and eyes wide, wondering if this means that boundary even exists between you.

“Does that mean you won't get a noise complaint? He’s pretty loud, you know? There's a reason we don't live together anymore.”

“I don't know,” you reply with a shrug.

“Then go fucking home already and stop humping against my kitchen counter!” Seungkwan grabs Soonyoung by his hips to yank him backwards away from you, while the scantily dressed pirate yelps and flails a little at the unexpected action. Then he's shoved towards the kitchen exit while Seungkwan grabs your wrist to tug you along.

You're both too genuinely dumbstruck by Seungkwan's sudden, forceful actions to do anything but stumble along until you're both outside of the apartment, shoes in hands, and staring in shock at the door that's just been shut in your faces.

“Did we just get kicked out?” you mutter.

Soonyoung nods slowly and then looks at you. “I think we got kicked out for sex.”

“Is it still sexile if you're the ones getting kicked out and told to go elsewhere to fuck?” you muse, attention downwards as you focus on shoving your feet into your shoes with one hand on the wall behind you, and the other out in the air pointlessly.

“Uh, reverse sexile?” he offers, dropping his shoes to shove his feet into.

“Sounds like a sex position.”

He laughs. “What would that even look like?”

“No idea.” You grin at him, then figure that, well, it seems like you've both been outed enough already, seeing as all of your friends have stopped hiding the fact that they expect you to finally have sex, which really implies a mutual attraction. So, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth for a second as he frowns down at his shoe that just will not accept his right foot for some reason. “Shall we go find out?”

Immediately, Soonyoung looks up at you with wide eyes. “What?”

“Shall we go find out what reverse sexile looks like?”

“Like...us?”

“Yeah, Soonyoung, us,” you confirm with an amused twitch of your lips. “You said you're the only one to go home with me, right?” He nods. “Then let's go home and find out, Soonie.”

“Ye–no, wait.” He steps closer and takes your hand gently before you can start walking down the hall to the staircase. His fingers are barely holding onto your own. It's perhaps the most cautious he's ever taken your hand into his. Even the very first time you held hands, he had boldly laced your fingers together, and you had only met ten minutes previously.

“No?” you ask, feeling really kind of stupid all of a sudden. You had been so unusually confident in asking him to go home and fuck you.

“Not because I don't want to because I do seriously, I really want to fuck you,” he breathes out, sounding rather affected by the thought alone as he stares at you longingly and holds your hand a little more securely. “I just...I don't want it to wind up like Seungcheol.”

“Uh, what about Seungcheol?” You shuffle a little closer while giving him a questioning look.

“Regularly fucking his best friend who has a crush on someone else, while he...while he wants her as more than just company in his bed.” The way his expression turns serious and yearning makes your heart start to race a little with hope. 

“While he...Are you saying you want more?” you ask quietly.

“Earlier, when I said I care about you too much, I meant I care too much to be able to have sex with you if it means nothing. I really fucking like you, and I don't want to go home with you like this if you don't feel the same. I can't do that.” He shakes his head a little. “As much as I've thought about this, about you and me doing all kinds of kinky shit all over your apartment, and mine when Jihoon isn't there. Or when he is, if you're into exhibitionism; I don't know your kinks, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't even notice anyway because he never leaves his fucking room, an–” He's rambling at this point, frowning down at your connected hands as he talks.

“Soonyoung.” He makes a soft hum of a noise as he looks back up at you with rounded eyes. “We can talk kinks later, I'd really like to get back to the matter of it sounds like you're confessing to me?”

“Oh, right yeah, I guess I am.” He chuckles a little and nervously scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “So, uh, yeah, I really like you and uhm, I guess now comes the part where, hopefully, you say you like me back; but I really don't know if you do because the guys just really said you want to fuck me, and–” You cover his mouth with your hand this time to shut up his second bout of nervous rambling.

“I really like you too, Soonie,” you confirm softly, and giggle at the way his features light up adorably behind your palm. “Can we skip the trial dating bullshit and go straight to being together? I'd like to show you off as my boyfriend.” His eyes widen dramatically, and then he's nodding rapidly in agreement without dislodging your hand. “You're so cute,” you coo, and lean in just to press a kiss to the back of your hand over his mouth. He looks utterly betrayed and heartbroken when you lean back. “What?” You play innocent and lower your hand while backing up, lacing your fingers behind your back.

“You can't tease me like that, baby!” he whines, toddling after you, and dragging his feet in a sulk as he moves along the carpeted flooring of the hall.

“Tease? Me? Never.” You grin at him, then stop as your back hits the door to the staircase.

“You are. Teased me for the past year. Teasing me now,” he continues to mumble away as he nears, though cuts off when you reach out to grab the sword and yank on the plastic to pull him in right up against you. His hands automatically fly up to catch himself on the door above your head while his breath catches in his throat. 

“If you're so worried I'm going to keep teasing you, Soonie, you better hurry up and take what you want,” you warn in a low voice, chin tilted up so your faces are only inches apart.

Soonyoung groans in the back of his throat before he leans down and seals his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. He presses his left forearm flat against the door beside your head, so that he can firmly hold your jaw with his right hand and tilt you further into him with his thumb pushing on your chin to urge your mouth open wider and deepen the kiss in a manner much too filthy for a public hallway of your friend's apartment building.

“Oh, for fucks sake!” the loud voice of the friend in question forces you both apart, to peer over Soonyoung's shoulder to where Seungkwan is in the hallway with the cute neighbour he's recently started to date, their hands clasped together, and clearly with one intention in mind while sneaking away from his own party. They're standing outside of the neighbour's slightly open door, but Seungkwan is staring at you and Soonyoung in disbelief. “I told you to go home! Not get your booty here!”

“Ha, booty, pirate joke,” you snigger, and Soonyoung giggles; both at your amusement, and the pun he honestly hadn't even noticed.

“You two are fucking useless,” Seungkwan decides, and lets his neighbour tug him into the apartment. “You better be gone before I'm back!”

“90 seconds, right?!" Soonyoung calls as Seungkwan disappears. The younger's head pops back out to glare at the other and flip him a very heartfelt middle finger before the door actually shuts behind him that time. Soonyoung turns to look at you with a mischievous smirk. “Should we go fuck on his bed just to piss him off?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather only I hear you like that, Soonie.” You pout at him cutely. “I'm not very good at sharing my toys, you know.”

“Oh, I'm your toy now?” he muses, reaching down to open the door carefully and back you through it with his other arm wrapping around your waist.

“Mm, mine and only mine to play with when I want, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yours and yours only, baby,” he agrees lowly. “And you're mine.”

“I am,” you confirm, and tilt up to kiss him teasingly. “Let's hurry and get home so I can show you everything that now belongs to you.”

Soonyoung really doesn’t need any further encouragement and enthusiastically rushes out with his hand locked in yours and excitement on his face. He’s more than ready to unveil your body little by little and discover all of the sweet spots that make you loud enough that your neighbours will know his name before the night is over, thick walls be dammed.

Don't forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

However, to you, the idea of having to marry a stranger for the sake of alliance and not out of love felt like a death sentence. The idea of surrendering your virtue and your body to some foreign prince who saw you as nothing but a bargaining chip made your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

So instead of sleeping, you find yourself at the archery range behind the eastern stables, long after the castle has fallen into slumber. 

The moon stands proud and high in the sky, washing over the training grounds and the dew-kissed grass with pale light. You’d dismissed the guards earlier with sharp words about needing fresh air, which was both a lie and a truth. Now, you’re standing in your nightgown, nocking another arrow onto your bowstring with shaking fingers. You’ve been here long enough that you could feel the painful creases in your hands from wielding the bow for so long. Out of frustration, perhaps. 

As you prepare your stance and aim, you let the arrow fly, but it runs wide and embeds itself into the outer ring of the target with a dull thud. 

You let out an irritated groan, already reaching for another arrow from your quiver. But as you prepare to fit the arrow onto your bowstring, a pair of heavy footsteps from behind makes you freeze for a moment, before your shoulders relax. Only one man moved with that quiet, confident stride.

“Princess.”

The deep voice sends a shivering thrill down your spine that has nothing to do with the chilly air.

When you finally turn around, that’s when you see him𑁋Sir Kim Mingyu emerging from the shadows, wearing a dark tunic and breeches instead of his usual armour, with his sword still strapped to his hip. His broad frame casts long shadows across the grass, dark hair slightly disheveled from the breeze, his eyes flickering between your trembling hands, to the poorly shot arrow, then back to your face. Even in the nightfall, you can see the concern etched in his perfectly sculpted features.

He has always been one of the most successful knights in the kingdom𑁋strong, loyal, and overwhelmingly skilled with both blade and blow. Ever since he had been assigned to protect you personally three years ago, he had always been in your shadow; although at some point in time, he started feeling less like a shadow and more like a presence you silently yearned for.

Mingyu pauses a few paces away from you.  

“You should not be here at this hour,” he says, though his tone is more sincere than scolding. “It is not safe. Even with the castle asleep, there are eyes everywhere.” 

You lower the bow in guilt, fingers aching from the string. “I am aware.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your𑁋”

“No!” You cut in sharply, before wincing at your tone and softening it. “I… I cannot go back. Not at this moment.”

Mingyu studies you for a long minute, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw almost makes him appear ethereal. He doesn’t move closer𑁋not yet𑁋but he doesn’t retreat either. He can sense the anger surrounding you, clearly expressed by the way you seem to be striking the target, not aiming. 

And from years of watching over you, he knows when not to put more pressure on a wound that’s been hurting from the inside. He knows this perhaps more better than anyone. 

But he also knows it’s not his duty to assist you in that way. His duty is to protect you physically and nothing more. Not to soothe whatever ache may be plaguing your heart, or cross that invisible line that’s stood tauntingly right in front of him for years, just like now. Emotion has never been part of the oath he took. 

Yet… he still takes a step forward, then another, and another, until he stops directly ahead of you. 

“Let me assist you then,” Mingyu assures softly.

You scoff at that, rolling your eyes. “You are not on duty.”

His lips curve up into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “When have I ever been off-duty where you are concerned, princess?” 

That sends a lump to form in your throat and your heart thundering against your ribs. You almost want to push him away and order him to leave you alone, but his presence alone in front of you wraps around you like a comforting hug that you’ve always longed for. It’s almost enough to stop the restlessness coursing through your veins, if only for a single moment.

You hand him the bow and quiver. He takes it without hesitation, his large, calloused hand brushing over yours and sending warmth racing up your arm. Then he places himself directly behind you, close enough you can feel the heating radiating from his broad chest even through his tunic. 

“Show me your stance,” he orders. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you spin on your heel to face the target, bringing your arms up and positioning them as if you’re wielding an invisible bow. 

Mingyu’s eyes slowly trace over you𑁋over the line of your shoulder and the delicate curve of your spine beneath your nightgown. For a split second, his breath catches and his jaw clenches. He forces himself to focus back on your posture instead of allowing it to run lower. Gods, it feels debauched to think of you in that way. 

He steps closer until his chest is nearly flushed with your back, the warmth of his body chasing away the chill of the night. 

“May I, my lady?” he asks, letting his hands hover over your waist.

My lady. You’ve been referred by that term many times𑁋from the maids, servants, and the townspeople whenever you visited the villages. But it strikes you like an arrow whenever it comes out of his mouth. 

You swallow hard. “Yes.”

The second Mingyu’s hands settle on your waist, a spark races through your body. His large palms span over the thin silk of your nightgown. He smells faintly of earthy cedarwood, a scent you’ve come to associate with safety and comfort whenever he draws close to you. The roughness of his calloused skin drags across yours as he gently adjusts your posture, guiding your hips into a more steady alignment. 

You sense him step away briefly before caging his arms around you once more, his hands enveloping yours as he brings the bow back into your grasp. It feels more steadier in your hold with his strength supporting you, though you’re certain he can hear the way your pulse is racing against the wall of his chest.

His fingers press lightly over yours as he helps you fit the arrow into place, his thumbs innocently grazing the back of your hand. 

“Easy now,” Mingyu murmurs lowly, his voice devastatingly close to your ear. “You are trembling like a leaf in my arms, princess.”

Your breath catches. “I am not.”

“You are.” 

“The night is cold, that is why.”

“Then I shall keep Your Highness warm, yes?” Mingyu quips amusedly, chuckling lightly at the small pout that crosses your face when he peers down at you with that familiar soft charm. The sound vibrates against your back. You hate how easily he’s able to unravel you. “Now, breathe in with me, princess.”

You do𑁋you try to, at least𑁋drawing back a singular breath in rhythm with him. Your eyes falter to a fleeting close as you bask in his warmth and presence. Mingyu then guides both of your grasps together in pulling back the string of the bow.

“That’s it, good girl,” he mutters softly, the praise landing in that deep timbre before you have time to brace it; it almost makes you break your stance. “Focus.”

Mingyu notices it as well, a quiet yet sharp inhale leaving him and ghosting over the sensitive caress of your neck. He presses his body more against you, his large arms wrapping more securely, almost possessively, around you. How can you possibly focus when he’s tangled around you like this? 

Together, you slowly pull the bowstring taut. The world suddenly narrows to the whisper of his voice and the strength of his arms caging you in. 

“Release,” he commands. 

The arrow flies. 

And hits the centre of the clay target with a satisfying swipe. 

What possesses you in the next moment is beyond proper, maybe even beyond reckless. A wide grin splits your face in half, and before you can even process it, you’re turning around and enveloping your arms around Mingyu without a second thought. The bow and quiver clatters forgotten to the ground. 

You end up shifting your weight on him a little too eagerly from the buzz of excitement coursing through your limbs. Mingyu tries to steady you, but𑁋even in his tall and strong form𑁋it throws him helplessly off balance at the same time. He twists instinctively around you, hugging an arm around your waist while the other braces against the grass. 

The two of you end up falling in a heap on the ground, a startled yelp escaping your lips when the world tilts all too suddenly. But Mingyu absorbs most of the impact himself while shielding you from the worst of it. 

The air leaves his lungs in a soft grunt. 

It takes you an entire minute to realise what just happened. Now you find your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, with your nightgown pooled over his thighs. Mingyu lies directly beneath you, his dark hair fanned across the ground, staring up at you with equally surprised eyes that quickly soften into something… fond. You swear that you feel all the anxious thoughts that had been consuming your mind as of late disappear just from the comfort of his presence alone. 

You can’t help but gaze down at him for a long moment, taking in the way the moonlight paints his features in a silver glow, how it highlights his nose to the point you’re able to detect the small mole on the tip of it. When the corners of his mouth begin to lift up, that’s when you push yourself off him.

“I𑁋my apologies,” You sputter out of panic as you roll off of him, your face burning with embarrassment. “I did not mean to𑁋I just got excited because we𑁋Gods above, I cannot believe I practically tackled you.”

A deep chuckle rumbles out of Mingyu’s chest. He turns on his side instead of getting up, propping his head up on one hand. “You have nothing to apologise for, princess.”

You shake your head, brushing away some dirt clinging to the ends of your nightgown. “It was very much undignified.”

Mingyu’s grin only widens. “Undignified?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve survived worse battles, my lady,” he retorts playfully. “Trust me. If I can handle a sword tournament, then I am certain I can handle being attacked by an overzealous princess.” 

You blink down at him, processing his ridiculous words, when a laugh tumbles out of you before you could stop it. A real laugh. Not one of those polished ones out of courtesy that you were taught during etiquette lessons𑁋it’s the kind of laugh that causes your nose to wrinkle and your shoulders to uncontrollably shake off whatever decorum you have left. 

You don’t even notice the enchanted expression on Mingyu’s face until reality sinks back in again and the silence returns. A distant owl from somewhere calls beyond the stables. You feel your throat tighten. 

“I… I must return back to my chambers,” You say as you stand up, smoothing down the creases in your nightgown. “I do not want to be scolded about my rebellious behaviour again, neither do I want the maids to be reprimanded.”

Mingyu watches you with a thoughtful expression, the moonlight threading through his lashes. He’s always secretly adored the rebellious side of you𑁋perhaps it gave him a sliver of hope at times. Then with a reluctant exhale, he rises up from the ground, retrieves your fallen bow and quiver, and falls into step behind you like a shadow. 

“As you wish, princess,” he states, returning back to his composed demeanour. “I shall escort you back to your chambers safely.”

You think you’ve tried on over fifty dresses at this point.

Maybe even more, to be honest. You had been standing so long that the sun had almost shifted across the entire sky. Your limbs ache from being continuously prodded at by the seamstresses and your spine feels as if it’s going to crack with every gown that you try on, each one different than the last. There was crimson for passion and power, ivory for purity and virtue. 

The small comments the servants had been making throughout the session have left a permanent sour taste on your tongue. 

“The lower neckline ought to certainly entice Prince Moon of Wolhae…” 

“And the embroidery here on the train matches perfectly with Prince Lee of Seongguk…”

“Her Highness has lovely shoulders. They should be emphasised…”

You stare blankly at yourself in the full-length mirror that stood in front of you mockingly. Gods, you appear almost unrecognisable. Your lips are stained rose, your hair twisted into an elaborate hairstyle it feels as if your scalp is screaming for mercy, and this latest gown cinches your waist so tightly you’re basically buried in silk and feel almost lightheaded. 

Then, you find your eyes instinctively drifting to the figure stationed at the corner of the room.

Mingyu is standing motionless like a statue, yet you can sense that familiar commanding presence of his even when he isn’t doing anything. He’s wearing his silver knight armour, the polished plates gleaming underneath the natural rays of sunlight pouring into the room. His gaze seems to have travelled elsewhere in the room out of respect.

But for the briefest second, his eyes meet with yours in the mirror.

Your cheeks burn instantly.

“Your Highness?” a voice suddenly strips you out of your thoughts.

You blink at one of the seamstresses holding out a pair of necklace options to you, looking at you expectantly. 

“Would you prefer sapphire or emerald?” she asks. “In my opinion, I believe the emerald would compliment your skin beautifully… although sapphire would draw attention from Prince Kang of Wangbi. His house colours are blue, after all.” 

Her words stab you straight through the heart.

Your eyes dauntingly flicker between the two options. They’re both extravagantly beautiful, without a doubt meaning to mark you as available, desirable, ready for whichever prince offered the best fit for the kingdom, not for you. Only the kingdom. Love was perhaps an unattainable concept of fiction in the world you’ve been raised in since birth. 

The truth of it makes you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

“Neither of them,” You deadpan quietly at first, before your voice raises more sharply, “I cannot bear anymore of this nonsense.”

The room freezes and collectively falls into a hushed silence. You see all the seamstresses exchange nervous glances with each other, all of them hesitating together. 

“But Your Highness, we must perfect any altercations for the𑁋”

“I do not care!” You snap back harshly, heat brimming in your eyelids. “I am exhausted from all the fittings and the expectations of the upcoming ball. So, please… leave me at peace. That is an order.”

For a moment, no one dares to speak, before the head seamstress bows deeply and begins to gather all the fabrics, pins, jewelry, and ribbons scattered around the room, not wanting to worsen the situation more than it already is. The other seamstresses follow in swift panic, and you watch them slip out of the door one at a time. 

Until you’re alone in the room.

Well, not entirely alone. 

Mingyu still remains. 

A trembling breath leaves you all at once. The slightest movement makes your knees wobble as you’re still wearing this awful gown. It feels too tight, too suffocating, and you want nothing more than to rip out every sewn pearl out of its wedge. 

You start with that by tearing off the pins in your hair and letting it clatter onto the floor. Strands of your hair finally tumble out of its confinement, making your scalp sigh in relief. Then you try to wipe the stain off your lips with the back of your hand, but it relents and only leaves a faint smear across your skin. 

Frustration boils even harder, and before you can stop yourself, you reach behind your back to tug viciously at the laces of the gown. 

“Traitorous dress,” You murmur under your breath self-depracatingly. “How dare they taint my body with their expectations…”

When your attempts to loosen the bodice comes to no avail, your shoulders sag to the floor in defeat. But as you lift your eyes back to the mirror, that’s when you spot Mingyu again. He’s shifted in your direction slightly, still rigidly standing in the corner in silence. You clench and unclench your fists at your side. 

“Sir Mingyu?” You call out to him.

Mingyu immediately shifts his attention to you. “You called, princess?”

“May…” You bite your lip shyly, glancing at him over your shoulder. “May you grant me some assistance?”

“Of course, my lady,” he responds solemnly, his eyes flitting down to where you’re weakly tugging at the strings of your gown. “Would you like for me to call in the maids?”

“I… no, I do not wish for the maids or anyone, for that matter.” You shake your head. “I… I am seeking your help.”

A stunned pause from him. “My help?”

“Yes,” You say, voice hammering in your chest as you spin on your heel to face him with an exhausted, pleading look. “Please… I feel as if I cannot breathe in this.”

Mingyu sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates once again, conflict flickering in his dark brown eyes, before he inclines his head in a shallow bow. 

“As you command, princess.”

He crosses the room in three measured strides, the soft clink of his armour bouncing off the walls. You turn your back to him once more. In the mirror, you watch him approach you from behind. 

Mingyu slides his gauntlets off and sets them down on a nearby table before returning back to you. His nostrils flare visibly at the sight of your back offered to him, the beautiful line of your spine exposed willingly for him where the gown had already begun to slip. He’s standing way too close, close enough he can smell the lingering scent of jasmine on your skin.

“Sir Mingyu?” Your voice snaps him out of your thoughts.

He clears his throat soundly. “Yes?”

“Relieve me,” You croak out brokenly. “Please, I beg.” 

The soft plea strikes him in the chest like a blade. He mutters something under his breath that you can’t hear, despite the close proximity. With a shuddering inhale, his bare, trembling hands find their way to the laces, slowly beginning to pull them apart one by one. 

With each one loosened, you feel the suffocating weight of the dress slowly but surely dissipating away and giving you more room to breathe.

Mingyu keeps his eyes fixed on the laces𑁋tries to keep them fixed on the laces and nowhere else. His hands that are trained to wield swords and bows are surprisingly gentle with each one he undoes. Unbridled relief fills your ribs by the time he reaches the middle of your back, and you can’t help the little involuntary moan that leaves your mouth. 

His hands falter for a second from the sound. 

Gods above, help me.

The thoughts that swim around him are completely unbecoming of a knight. He has no right to notice how the silk of the gown parts beautifully like water, no right to think that if he leaned in a little more, he could brush his lips against the nape of your neck and breathe you in like a man begging to worship his lover. How it would be so easy for him to ruin his honour by ruining you instead. 

He would be gentle with you𑁋you are far too precious to be handled roughly. He would drop to his knees and worship you right there until the sun set and rose again if you requested, because the thought of some unworthy prince treating you like nothing but a prize at an auction angers him more than anything else. 

His armour suddenly feels too tight around his body. 

“Almost done, princess,” he mutters hoarsely. “Only a few more remain.” 

You nod nimbly at his words. You keep your eyes trained on the mirror as his hands continue the rest of their descent down your back, untying the rest of the lace. At one point, his knuckles accidentally graze the warm skin above your spine, causing you to flinch. Mingyu notices it right away. 

“My apologies,” he says and lets his hands hover above your skin, too afraid to continue. “I did not mean𑁋”

“It is alright,” You tell him. “I… I do not mind your touch.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw at that as he resumes the rest of the journey. By the time the last one is undone, he takes an immediate step back to give you more space to breathe, but the absence of his warmth hits you right away when the cool air caresses your skin. 

Slowly, you allow the gown to slip to the floor, leaving you in nothing but a thin and translucent chemise you had been wearing underneath. Mingyu redirects his eyes instinctively to give you whatever privacy he could𑁋always the honourable knight he is𑁋but his ears picks up the sounds of you shifting around the room for a few moments. 

You reach for a light robe draped on a nearby chair and slip it around your body, tying the sash around your waist. Then you turn back to Mingyu who is still facing away from you. A chuckle leaves you.

“You can look now, Sir Mingyu,” You assure him playfully.

Mingyu does not move right away. For a man who could read a battlefield like the lines on the back of his hand, he seems suddenly unsure how to interpret a simple room. But when he finally turns his head, he’s met with the sight of a faint smile across your face. 

You appear so vulnerable now. The gown from earlier had been extravagant, sure, but none could compare to this version of you standing in front of him𑁋the one who had stripped herself from all the frustrations the day placed on her. Gods above, Mingyu can stare at you all night and never tire if it means seeing you happy and comfortable in your own skin.

“You seem relieved,” he says, folding his arms over his chest.

A soft laugh escapes you. “That obvious?”

“Very much so,” Mingyu replies knowingly. “How are you faring?” 

A mixture of happiness and relief washes over your features simultaneously. You step up to the grand window and bask in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass, letting out the deepest breath you never realised you’d been holding in this entire time. 

“Like I can breathe again,” You say, closing your eyes for a singular precious moment to allow the peace to wash over you. “Both physically and… metaphorically as well.”

Mingyu observes you for a few, long moments. Without hesitation, he steps up to the glass right beside you, his armour gleaming under the sunbeams. The window catches a perfect view of the rolling green hills up ahead and the royal gardens down below. 

The two of you stand in front of the window for a long while. Outside, the kingdom stretches out endlessly beneath the afternoon sky. The gardens bloom with a beautiful colour palette of serenity and rose quartz flowers and the rolling hills melt into distant mountain peaks that you’ve always dreamed of exploring if you ever got the chance to.

But you know you would never get that opportunity. You have always been confined to your duties as a princess since the very day you were brought into this world. The only world you’ve always known was within the walls of the castle and the expectations that came with it. 

As you were growing up, you’ve only ever yearned for something… more. Something real. Something where you can allow your heart to travel to wherever it desires without fear or consequence. To experience a love that wasn’t manufactured out of duty or arranged into existence. You’ve always wondered what real love feels like. 

You glance up at Mingyu ponderingly. 

“May I… ask you a question, Sir Mingyu?” You ask unsurely. 

Mingyu lifts a brow. “Of course, my lady.”

“Have you ever… courted a woman when you were younger?”

A flicker of surprise graces his features. He appears almost stunned to speak at first, his dark eyes widening slightly, before nostalgia softens his face. There’s a shadow of reluctance tucked behind his gaze as he ducks his head down briefly for a moment. Not to avoid, but to think.

“I… Yes, I have courted women back when I lived in the village, before knighthood,” he answers. “Most were fleeting though, and I have learned a lot from those experiences.”

You nod solemnly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the next question you’re about to ask.

“Were you in love with any of them?”

Mingyu hums pensively. 

“There was one, yes. She was the baker’s daughter, while I was the blacksmith’s son,” Mingyu continues with a faint smile. “She always had the brightest laugh, and flour dusted her cheeks no matter how many times she wiped them.”

A knot in your stomach tightens from his words, the jealousy flashing through so irrationally. You hate how desperately you want to ask the name of who he speaks to fondly about; about whether or not she still occupies his heart to this day.

Mingyu notices the way you shift your feet uncomfortably.  

“But her father wanted her to marry another man, one with prospects and a bag full of coin.” He exhales slowly, letting his fingertips trace over the dust on the edge of the windowsill. “I had nothing to offer her, so… we parted ways ultimately. From what I hear, she is happily married with two children now.” 

That’s when you finally lift your eyes up at him, catching how the sunlight captures the warm brown of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” You mutter out quietly.

Mingyu just chuckles. “Do not be sorry, princess. It is all in the past.”

“Still,” You add in, shaking your head. “I have always thought of love as something… eternal. Lovers who stay together through thick and thin until the end of their days.”

Mingyu tilts his head curiously at you. “Has the topic of love been consuming your mind as of late, Your Highness?”

Heat rises through your cheeks at his question. For a heartbeat, you allow yourself to look at him. With Mingyu, you have always felt allowed to express yourself without the pretense of propriety. It’s always been easy with him, it seems. 

“Yes,” You confess bashfully. “It has.”

A heavy silence follows after your voice fades. A silence of contemplation and, oddly, comfort. You know if you speak such words to your parents or any other soul in the castle, they would look at you with nothing but disapproval and claim that your rebellious behaviour causes a negative look on the kingdom. 

Mingyu watches you carefully.

“Have you ever fallen in love, princess?” he asks simply.

The question steals the breath from your lungs. A simple question that requires a simple answer of yes or no. Yet… it is not so easy. 

You’ve read about love in the stories that fill the grand library’s walls. You’ve seen love in the way the palace gardeners tend to their blooms preciously through pricked fingers. You’ve heard about love when you overhear the stories told by the kitchen maids about the stable boys. Love has always surrounded you in every crevice in life, but it’s always felt so distant.

Until now. For the first time in your life, someone has asked you about your heart, not your duty. 

“I…” You hesitate, forcing your gaze back out the window. “I believe that I𑁋”

Before you could finish, a loud knock pounds at the door, startling you and Mingyu at the same time. Mingyu’s hand instinctively reaches out to his sword when a second more persistent knock arrives when the first one is left unanswered, already ready to shield you from any kind of danger. 

A muffled voice speaks through the wood, “Your Highness? The Queen requests your presence in the solar. She wishes to review the guest list for the upcoming ball.”

Dread slivers down your spine at the request. Your eyes flicker between the door and Mingyu𑁋when did he stand so close to you?𑁋who is already back to wearing that disciplined mask on his face, the warmth of his softened features that were there a minute ago now tucked away carefully. Yet his eyes… they still seem to betray him. 

The sight makes your heart stutter painfully in your chest. 

“Tell Mother I shall be there shortly,” You call back to the door. 

When you hear the servant’s footsteps fade away down the corridor, you release a shaky breath, grabbing the ends of your delicate robe and drawing it over yourself to hide how your chest is rising and falling erratically. You don’t catch the way Mingyu’s fingers tighten at his side, fighting the urge to reach out to you even if you are just an arm’s length away. 

“I do not want to go,” You admit unsteadily.

“I know,” Mingyu murmurs back. “But you must.”

You peer up at him with guilty eyes.

“I… I apologise for my question earlier,” You say weakly, bowing your head down apologetically even if you have more authority than him. “I did not mean to intrude on your past.”

Mingyu’s facade cracks at your words. He shakes his head. 

“You could never intrude, princess.” He hesitates momentarily, before adding on, “You may ask me anything and I will always answer truthfully. I… I feel honoured that you trust me with such vulnerable questions.”

Your heart squeezes as a grateful smile of your own graces your lips. 

You nudge him playfully with your shoulder. “May you escort me to the solar, Sir Mingyu?” 

Mingyu lets out a quiet sound that almost sounds like a laugh and offers his armoured arm for you to hold. He doesn’t bring up that you still have yet to answer his question from before. You’re the princess at the end of the day𑁋you don’t owe him an answer as much as he owes you one. 

“It would be my honour, my lady.”

Mingyu know it’s his duty to stand here𑁋to watch over the ball and ensure the safety of the guests, and especially you𑁋but he swears that he cannot breathe in his armour with every man that stands way too close to you. With every lowly prince that settles a hand on your hip, whispering sultry words in your ears that will attempt to sway you in their direction. 

No matter how far he stands away from you, he can still spot how visibly uncomfortable you are. He catches the stiffness in your shoulders, the polite smile on your face that never quite reached your beautiful eyes, and the brief, desperate glances you stole in his direction when no one else was looking.

Say the word, princess… and I’ll end this for you, he thinks. 

A low, bitter sound escapes his throat. He should not have the right to feel this jealousy when you’re only fulfilling your duties. He knows where your heart stands when it comes to the arranged marriages you’ve grown to despise. 

The only question is… if your heart did not lie with any of the princes, then where did it lie?

“Your Highness, it is an honour to share this dance with you,” Prince Moon of Wolhae whispers in your ear with a coy smirk. His hand is pressed firmly into the small of your back, pulling you closer than necessary as he leads you in a slow dance while the orchestra plays an intimate melody in the background. 

You force a courteous smile, even if every thought in your mind is begging you to pull away. Prince Moon stands too close to you, close enough his breath is too warm on your skin and his compliments come off intentionally calculated. You’ve already shared a dance with two other princes before him, and the activity of the day has begun to take its toll on you.

There was Prince Lee of Seongguk from earlier, who you swear had hands that trembled more than yours, but he was friendlier than the others. While Prince Kang of Wangbi spoke mostly more about his future heirs and himself than asking about you. And then there was Prince Moon, whose comments became more crude and entitled by the minute. 

“You dance beautifully as well,” he continues, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Together, we could build something unstoppable, should I say. Your kingdom’s ports… my army… and you in my bed every night, hm?”

You swallow down the bile rising in your throat, a grimace forming at your painted lips. “You are very forward, Prince Moon.”

He merely chuckles, seemingly dismissing your discomfort. “Because I know what I want, princess. And what I want is you.” 

Although Mingyu can’t hear your conversations, his blood boils and his fists clench so tightly it makes his gloves creak regardless. Get your filthy hands off her, bastard. You do not own her. 

Prince Moon keeps mumbling sweet poisons to you as the dance continues and the music begins to swell. The large chandelier hanging from the high ceilings casts shards of glittering gold on the floor, shimmering off your dainty circlet crown and the elegant jewelry that decorate your body.

“I admire your ambitions, Prince Moon.”

“Ambition is what wins kingdoms, my lady,” the man retorts easily, spinning you around with practiced ease. His eyes rake over your neckline as he dips you briefly, before bringing you back up with him face-to-face. His hand drops lower on your back. “Tell me, princess𑁋how do you prefer your maidenhood to be claimed? Sweet and gentle or… rough and delicious? I bet you have imagined it, yes?” 

Your stomach churns with disgust at his inquiry, but a traitorous flush creeps up your neck like a snake. Yes, you can’t deny that you have thought of it before, more often than a princess should, but never with a man with greedy hands, cold ambition, and who speaks to you as if you were some common tavern wench in front of the entire Royal Court.

You’ve imagined it with someone else entirely. A man with hands that are not plagued with conquest and rings of greed. But a man with hands as gentle as a feather on your skin. A man whose touch makes you feel wanted rather than hunted, who makes your heart ache out of longing and not out of fear. 

A man that you love. 

When Prince Moon spins you around again, your gaze frantically searches through the vast ballroom for Mingyu. You desperately try to decipher through all the smiling faces of the guests and nobles, through the goblets of wine being passed around, through the sea of glittering jewels and shiny silk.

Until they finally find him.

Mingyu is staring at you𑁋has been staring at you this entire time𑁋standing frozen in the corner with his dark eyes icy cold, unreadable, and almost… sad. Because a knight is not allowed to interfere with royal courtship or diplomacy. A knight is certainly forbidden from challenging a crowned prince over a woman who can never belong to him. 

But consequences be damned. He made a promise to the oath he took three years ago: to protect you for the rest of his life. If he receives punishment for fulfilling his oath, then he would gladly trade his knighthood to keep you safe from these perverted vultures. 

A smirk spreads across Prince Moon’s face when he notices the flush on your cheeks. 

“The idea certainly appeals to you, doesn’t it, princess?” he continues to pry.

Gods, you want to slap this man senseless across the face. 

“I believe you are forgetting yourself, Prince Moon,” You claim through gritted teeth. “I am not some conquest of yours to be spoken of so vulgarly.” 

Prince Moon’s nostrils flare in amusement. “Why are you pretending you do not crave the same things every woman does, princess?” 

For a spell, you simply stare at him. Then, you pull your hand away from his shoulder. The movement seems to break the rhythm of the dance instantly.

“I do,” You answer quietly.

The man’s smile widens.

“But not with a man who mistakes vulgarity for charm.”

His smile falters.

Around you, the orchestra continues to play, the sounds of the violins soaring to their crescendo as other couples drift across the polished dance floor, blissfully unaware that one dance has come to a standstill. 

You lift your chin to look at him, a cunning look to your face.

“You speak of kingdoms and armies as trophies, and of women as though they are no different.” Your gaze drops to the hand still resting on your lower back, and you reach down to pry it away as if it’s a leech. “I have met merchants at the market with more grace than you, Prince Moon.”

Irritation flashes across his face. “You wound me, princess. You would reject an alliance between our kingdoms over a few words?”

“I would reject any man who believes his merit is the gold upon his brow,” You deadpan sharply. “Or any man who believes a crown excuses the absence of decency.”

Several nobles glance curiously in your direction, but you don’t let their eyes tug at your determination.

“You may find that beggars cannot be choosers, Your Highness,” Prince Moon remarks stiffly, eyes narrowing down at you. 

You scoff lightly at that, rolling your eyes to his indifference. When the crescendo of the orchestra fades away, that’s when you take your chances to fully separate from him. With a cold smile and a searing glare, you rip his touch fully away from your skin, and it feels as if you can breathe out a long breath at last. 

After that, you offer Prince Moon a shallow curtsey𑁋more out of simple etiquette than respect𑁋as the violins fade into an awkward silence until there’s only the sounds of your thundering heart and the murmurs rippling through the surrounding nobles. 

“Thank you for your time, Prince Moon,” You begin evenly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress as if they had been stained. “I appreciate your… candor. It highlights your character vibrantly. I wish you a pleasant evening and safe travels on your return to Wolhae.”

Prince Moon’s jaw tightens. Your eyes sparkle victoriously under the chandelier. 

“A pity,” the man chides in disbelief. “I had hoped that the stories of your grace were true. You do recall that your parents invited me here for a reason, is that not right, princess?”

You hold his gaze with a steely look.

“You are correct,” You answer. “But I am disappointed that a prince does not know the difference between an invitation and a promise.” 

Your words land hard enough for a hushed silence to fall across the room. Prince Moon has the audacity to open his damned mouth to argue, but it falls back to a quick close when he realises that everyone is watching this happen right before their eyes. Everyone is witnessing royalty reject another in the middle of the grand ballroom. Your hands at your side start to tremble, but you hide them carefully within the folds of your dress. 

Gods, you definitely know that your parents are likely going to place your head atop a spike in the morning for this. You can already hear in your head the lecture that awaits you after sunrise. But the strength you’ve been holding on for the past weeks all crumbled the second you shared a dance with the first prince. 

The adrenaline and anger that had been keeping your spine straight is now entirely drained from your body. Before your knees could buckle, a warm yet commanding presence appears by your side instantly. 

“Prince Moon,” a voice deadpans𑁋Mingyu’s voice. He bows his head low enough to satisfy simple etiquette. “Her Highness has made her wishes clear.”

Prince Moon flits his eyes to him, dragging a condescending look up and down his stance.

“And who are you to involve yourself in royal affairs?”

“Sir Kim Mingyu of the Royal Guard.”

“So you are a servant, then?”

“I am whomever the royals of this kingdom prescribe me to be,” Mingyu states without flinching. “In this case, I serve the princess of this nation, who has clearly expressed her displeasure.”  

The tension between the two of men only thickens that even seems the ballroom itself is holding its breath. Prince Moon’s face contorts with humiliated rage. For a second, you think he might consider snapping back again, but Mingyu shifts imperceptibly closer to you, his gauntleted hand hovering near your lower back.

The prince’s eyes flicker calculatingly between the two of you. Whatever he sees in Mingyu’s dead stare makes him think better of it. 

He offers a stiff, quite literally mocking bow to you. 

“Very well,” Prince Moon spits out. “Until we meet again, princess.” 

You watch as the man stalks his way back into the crowd. Murmurs ripple throughout the ballroom𑁋most appear to be siding with the prince, because of course𑁋but you don’t let it get to you, can’t let it show that it’s getting to you. 

“Your Highness.”

When you look back up at Mingyu, everything else seems to fade. Worry and the tiniest hint of anger𑁋not at you, but for you𑁋crosses his face when he catches you the hazy exhaustion on your features. 

“Shall I escort you somewhere quieter, my lady?”  he asks quietly so only you can hear, already offering his arm to you. 

You nod, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. You keep your gaze to the floor as he escorts you through the crowd of guests, who part like water for you and Mingyu, their scandalised eyes following every step.

“Did you see how she dismissed Prince Moon?”

“Bold… or foolish.”

“The King and Queen will not be pleased with this, certainly.”

You clench your jaw, trying to fight off the burn threatening to rise in your cheeks from their remarks. Mingyu doesn’t say anything yet, but the protective way he keeps you close to him is louder than any of their words. 

He leads out the grand side doors, down the torchlit corridor where you walk past the watchful eyes of your painted ancestors on the walls. The farther you travel away from the ballroom, the fainter the music becomes, and the more you feel like you can breathe again. 

Mingyu shuts the door behind you when you enter the grand library. The entire room had been cleared because of the ball taking place. Towering shelves of books stretch out endlessly before you, the smell of old ink and parchment lingering through the air. You always come here whenever you wanted to escape𑁋you forget at times that it’s still part of the palace. A quieter and vulnerable part of your world.

The books you’ve read here never judged you. 

Your shoulders drop to the floor before you realise how long you’ve been holding them up.

“I think I may have ruined everything,” You admit quietly after a long while of silence. “I feel as if I may have jeopardised my title, my status, and yet… I do not feel sad about it, but𑁋”

“𑁋relieved?”

You blink back at Mingyu in surprise. 

“Yes,” You finish. “Relieved, strangely.”

Mingyu tilts his head skeptically. He steps up into the space right next to you, where your eyes are roaming over the books on the walls.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he begins, clearing his throat soundly. “I believe that you were the most radiant one up there.” 

A choked laugh bubbles out of you despite everything. “Even if I humiliated myself in front of the entire court?”

“Especially then, princess.”

“You are just saying that to make me feel better, you liar,” You accuse teasingly. 

“Lying would be against my oath,” he remarks, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I have been nothing but truthful during our times together, my lady.”

The banter has always been easy between the two of you, you realise. The burdens and scrutiny waiting on the other side of the door feel less frightening to face when you know Mingyu is right by your side. You know that at any moment, this temporary peace could be ruined and you’d be exiled back to your duties𑁋or worse, exiled from the kingdom because of the scrutiny. 

Mingyu’s eyes roam over the quiet reflection on your face, and he feels his heart ache in his chest. 

“Come here, princess.”

You lift a puzzled brow. “What𑁋”

Before you can finish, he’s wrapping his armoured arm your waist and drawing you into his hold. The cool metal of his gauntlet presses gently on your lower back, and before you know it, you find yourself swaying together in the middle of the dead-silent library.

“No music,” he points out with a fond smile. “Just us.”

There’s no grand chandelier above your heads, no judging nobles or entitled princes. There’s only the soft glow of lanterns, moonlight filtering in through tall windows, and Mingyu’s presence wrapped around you. It feels more intimate than anything else. 

“You are terrible at this,” You say playfully, even while resting your cheek on his breastplate. “The armour makes you clunky.”

A huff of amusement leaves him. “Forgive me. I am a knight, not a dancer.” 

“It is alright,” You reassure him calmly. “Follow my lead.”

He does𑁋well, he tries to𑁋and there’s something so endearing seeing a man so formidable fumble a little when attempting to move with you. But after a few more turns, his movements become surprisingly graceful when he allows himself to stop overthinking about it. 

You lead him in slow, sweeping circles across the grand library, your shared giggles ringing out into the room when his armour accidentally clips one of the shelves a little too harshly. At one point, he spins you smoothly and dips you down, one arm secured at your waist while the other supports your back. Your circlet glints under the moonlight as your head tilts back.

He holds you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, gazing down at you with such open adoration that you almost forget that no one else is watching you now. But when he pulls you back upright again, your faces are only a breath away from each other. Your breaths hitch at the same time from the closeness.

The world suddenly narrows. His scent fills all of your senses, and the way his dark eyes drop down to your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you, as if it was only ever meant for you. 

You rise on your toes instinctively, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. If you lean in a fraction closer, your mouths would meet in a soft yet long overdue𑁋

The heavy doors of the library slam open with a force enough to make the surrounding bookshelves tremble. Mingyu reacts faster than thought, spinning you around so that his body is a protective wall between you and the intruders. His hand flies down to the handle of his sword even as recognition hits him. 

Three elite guards step into the room with their expressions hardened. The captain strides forward, eyes narrowing between the two of you.

“By royal decree of the King and Queen,” he announces authoritatively. “Her Highness is to return to her chambers at once.”

Mingyu’s face turns molten. “She is under my protec𑁋”

“Stand down, knight. Consider this a warning for your actions tonight,” the captain spits back harshly. “There will be far worse consequences than a reprimand if you overstep your duties.”

Mingyu’s body visibly tenses, but he offers a stiff, obedient bow of his head. “Understood, Captain.”

The captain nods curtly, then gestures to his men. The two other guards step forward and take hold of your arms, already urging you to the door. 

“Mingyu𑁋” Your voice cracks as you twist your head back to look at him.

He takes one unconscious step forward, his hand twitching at his sword, but the captain’s warning glares stop him cold. 

The heavy doors slam shut behind you, cutting him off from view. The corridor feels colder without him. 

Your chambers is quiet, almost too quiet.

The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn tight that not even moonlight can spill inside to grant you peace, and only a few candles flickered on your bedside table, casting long, almost taunting shadows across the cold stone walls of your bedroom. You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed in your nightgown, with your knees up to your chest and your arms wrapped loosely around them.

No matter what, sleep refuses to come. After the ball had ended, you were banished immediately to your chambers by your mother’s icy command, her parting voice still ringing in your ears about how you had embarrassed the entire kingdom in one single night. 

Yet it’s not your mother’s voice that disturbs your sleep, not entirely at least. Rather it’s Prince Moon’s vile words. His words about your title, your autonomy, your maidenhood. You know that you shouldn’t allow his words to affect you as much as it does, but your mind can’t help but wander. All your life, your maidenhood has been treated like nothing but a transaction. A part of you that you always owed for alliances and bloodlines, not out of love. Never has anyone asked what you wanted. 

Your thighs press together underneath your nightgown, a restless kind of heat blooming low in your stomach. For years, you resigned yourself to this untimely fate; but tonight, after rejecting all the princes so publicly, you decide that this is the night where you would finally choose yourself. 

Anxiety throbs beneath your ribs as you rise from the bed and cross the room with bare feet. You pause right before the heavy oak door, fingers hovering over the latch. This is lunacy that you’re about to commit, but the fire in your veins refuses to be quelled by reason tonight. Opening the latch, you crack the door open enough to catch one of the maids passing by in the corridor.

“Hyejin!” You whisper-yell into the dark hallway.

The girl startles from your voice, her lantern swinging around when she turns to the sound. She glances both ways before rushing to your side with a silent bow. She has always been loyal and discreet, and knew better than to question odd requests at odd hours.

“Yes, Your Highness?” she asks hushedly.

“Find Sir Mingyu at once,” You instruct her urgently. “Tell him that I require his immediate presence. And do not notify a soul, please.”

Hyejin’s eyes widen fractionally, but she merely nods. “Of course, my lady. I shall return with him swiftly.” She spins on her heel and vanishes into the shadows of the hallway like a ghost. 

You shut the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to your racing heart. The minute that drag feels like an eternity. Your legs pace around the room in anticipation, straighten your already-flawless blush-colour coverlet on your bed, adjust the candles, then you sit again only to stand once more.

Doubts swarm your head like storm clouds. What if he refuses? What if we are discovered? What if I am𑁋what if we are both𑁋ruined forever? But beneath all your worries burned a defiant need. You wanted this. You wanted him.

When three measured knocks land at your door minutes later, your breath catches in your throat. Pursing your lips tightly, you approach the door and unlatch it carefully. The door creeps open slowly, before a pair of heavy footsteps slips inside. 

The world suddenly fades into complete silence when Mingyu closes to the door behind him with a soft click and slides the bolt into place. He’s still in his ceremonial armour from the ball, the intricately engraved steel shimmering like stars under the candlelight and the red cape behind him flowing down to the floor like a waterfall. 

Mingyu’s ready eyes sweeps across your chambers naturally as he strides in your direction𑁋from the high curtains that drape down to the ground, to your heavy wardrobe, to even beneath your four poster bed𑁋to spot any kind of danger that might be lurking. It’s only when he finds nothing does he allow his gaze to settle back on you.

“Princess,” he calls worriedly, catching the distraught expression on your tired features. “What is the matter? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head diffidently. 

“No.”

“Did Her Majesty𑁋”

“No.”

Mingyu falls silent.

“Then why have you summoned me at this hour, my lady?” he asks, more softer this time. 

You hesitate, fingertips digging carelessly into the thin fabric of your nightgown. The words you rehearsed in your head suddenly feel too bold and dangerous.

This is it. There is no going back now.

“I… I want you to teach me,” You admit shakily. 

Mingyu blinks, arching up a thick brow. “Teach you?”

“About… pleasure.” 

The colour drains from his face almost instantly, before a deep flush creeps up his neck that you see hidden in the shadows of his gorget. He takes an instinctive step back, the metal of his greaves scraping against the floor. 

“I-I beg your pardon, princess?” he coughs out flusteredly, his voice coming out rougher than expected. 

The weight of your words hit you, but you refuse to let your courage crack anymore. You step up toward him until the tips of your feet barely graze his boots, closing the distance he tries to create. Even through his breastplate, you feel the heat radiating off him. It helps to ease your nerves only slightly.

“I want you to teach me…” You begin nervously. “...how to have sex.” 

Mingyu’s breath hitches audibly, his composed mask shattering entirely. His gaze turns dark as he fights the battle raging in his head right now: honour clashing with desire, duty against the tug of his heart. A shiver runs through his tall frame. He attempts to force his attention elsewhere, pretending this was nothing but his imagination, yet your request has permanently imprinted itself in his mind and… and he cannot deny that this is reality. 

Gods, the thought alone has him aching already. 

“Princess, I𑁋do you understand what you are asking me right now?” A pensive look washes over his face. “I am your sworn knight. You cannot… say such things to me. If anyone were to find out, we would both be punished before our next breath.” 

But even as those words leave his mouth, he betrays himself regardless. His hands flex at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out to you. 

You reach up to brush a path over his chest, and he sighs in restraint as if your hand burns him. 

“You are my sworn knight, Sir Mingyu,” You repeat, guiding your hand up until it rests on his warm chin. “The only man I trust the most in this world. With my life, with my heart, and now… my body.” A sharp heat prickles beneath your eyelids. “I do not care about the risks because I choose you. I always have. So I… I beg of you to show me what it is like to sully my virtue. Please.” 

Nothing but desire flashes through his thoughts. Mingyu rests his armoured hand over yours that’s on his chest and leans down to rest his forehead on yours. You both breathe each other in for a moment, his warmth breath grazing upon your lips.

That is, until he sinks to his knees, peering up at you with nothing but unyielding devotion, with your hand still in his. The position alone makes heat flood into your core𑁋seeing your powerful knight on his knees before you. 

“I am yours to command tonight, my princess,” he says, pressing a vowing kiss to each knuckle on your hand which sends sparks up your spine. “And I will show you what it is like to be worshipped so sweetly… that you forget every cage duty has tried to force on you.” 

Before you can speak, Mingyu flips your hand over to trace his lips over the pulse point at your wrist, never breaking eye contact with you. Slowly, he trails higher to kiss along the sensitive skin of your forearm, to the crook of your elbow, and one at your shoulder. Then he rises back to his feet, cups your cheek with a gauntleted hand, and begins to lean in. 

Your eyes squeeze shut naturally, your body bracing for the first real kiss. But Mingyu teasingly pauses just short of your mouth, a smile forming at his lips as he relishes the sight of your features up close for the first time. 

He mutters something along the lines of beautiful before claiming your lips. 

Mingyu kisses you slowly at first, learning the shape of your mouth, then it grows needier as you part your lips for him. His tongue brushes against yours tentatively, never demanding more unless he knows you want it. Your fingers curl desperately on the edges of his armour while the world tilts around the two of you. 

“I have yearned for the taste of your lips for years, my lady,” he whispers against your mouth, gripping your waist a little tighter. “To have you now is truly… a privilege I will never take for granted.” 

He begins to shed his armour with his mouth never leaving yours once, stripping his gauntlets and the heavy pauldrons on his shoulders until they fall uselessly to the floor. Piece by piece, the barriers between your bodies disappear𑁋the breastplate, the vanbraces around his forearms, the gorget on his neck𑁋leaving him in only his linen undershirt and breeches. 

Your impatient hands roam underneath his shirt, caressing over the strong planes of his chest. Mingyu chuckles at your eagerness and pulls off his shirt entirely, letting it join the pile of steel on the floor. You pull away from him to just admire in awe. 

Moonlight may have been kinder to the sight of him, but the candlelight illuminates him even more. His broad shoulders hold strength and the faint scars across his defined chest and abdomen make him appear more real. More yours. 

You trace over the line of an old battle scar beneath his collarbone. His body tenses from your touch.

“You are staring, princess,” Mingyu murmurs amusedly, though his cheeks are flushed. He strokes your lower lip with a fingertip. “Do I please you?”

“More than I can say,” You say with a soft smile. “My knight is… quite ravishing to the eyes.”

A boyish grin tugs at his mouth. He nuzzles his face into your neck. 

“Ravishing, am I?” he muses playfully, lips brushing against the skin there. “Then I suppose I must live up to my title, my love.” 

Without a second thought, he lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. A surprised giggle escapes you before it is swallowed down by another deep kiss. He carries you a few steps toward your grand bed. The velvet coverlet feels cool against your back when he lays you down carefully, his large body hovering over yours. 

His hands slip under your nightgown and chemise, his calloused hands caressing over your thighs. 

“May I take this off, princess?” he asks, dark eyes searching yours for any hesitation. 

“Yes,” You breathe out, clutching weakly at his shoulders.

Mingyu slowly draws the fabric upward. The cool air of the room kisses over the sensitive skin of your legs. You lift your hips up to help him, and he peels the gown over your waist, your breasts, and finally over your head. It flutters to the floor like a discarded flower petal, leaving you in only your thin chemise. The candlelight almost makes it appear translucent.

His fingers toy with the straps of your chemise, glancing back up at you for permission again. When you give him a small nod, his face softens with such tenderness it makes you far too shy to maintain eye contact as he peels the delicate lace down your body. Shivers run up and down your skin, not from the cold but from the weight of his stare. Like you’re the only star in the sky. 

His throat bobs visibly.

“Fuck, princess…” Mingyu curses, letting his hands glide up your sides before resting on the underside of your breasts. He caresses over one gently with his large palms, taking your nipple between his fingertips, causing you to let out a soft moan. “You are an art piece… crafted with perfection by the heavens themselves. Untouched by the world, but allowing her knight to ruin so sweetly.”

He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly while his free hand plays with the other. Your body arches needily against his, and the velvety heat of his tongue has you clenching around nothing. He continues his journey downwards, his mouth tracing a path of fire between the valley of your breasts and lower over your stomach, stopping when he reaches your mound. 

Mingyu spreads your legs a little wider, groaning when he notices how wet you already are. 

“Gods above, look at you.” He strokes soothingly along the inside of your thigh, settling between your legs more comfortably. “Your sweet little cunt is weeping for attention. May I taste you, my lady? This will be your first lesson in pleasure.”

You nod urgently, already digging your hands into the silk sheets of your bed.

With a grateful smile, Mingyu leans in and presses an open-mouth kiss to your folds. You jolt at the wet contact, but he grips your hips firmly to hold you in place. “Easy, sweet girl. Stay open for me. Let me devour this innocent pussy…”

He drags the flat of his warm tongue from your entrance and up to the little swollen bud at the top. 

“This pretty pearl right here is your clit.” He teasingly circles his tongue around the sensitive nub, before sealing it in his mouth with a loud suck that echoes off the walls of your chambers. “So sensitive… You taste like the sweetest, most forbidden nectar.”

You cry out a whimpered gasp when he sucks it more firmly, the pleasure striking you hard like lightning. Your hands find their way into his dark hair, burying him into you even more. Mingyu grunts at the sensation and doubles on his efforts, switching between gentle sucks and rapid flicks of his tongue on your pussy, keeping his eyes solely locked on the way your face twists with pleasure. 

When he pulls away for a breath, you look down and the sight nearly destroys you𑁋Mingyu, your loyal knight, between your legs with his lips glistening with your wetness. 

“May I… put a finger inside you, my lady?” he asks breathlessly, hot breath fanning against your slick folds. “Just one for now. Only if you want, princess.”

“Yes,” You sigh out, trembling with need. “I want it, please…”

Mingyu kisses your knee appreciatively and returns to your aching core. At the same time, he teases a thick finger at your entrance and coats it with your arousal, before gently pushing inside. Your body welcomes him instantly. 

The stretch is foreign to you, but he works it through you thoroughly. He curls his finger in an upward motion that has your walls fluttering around him. The simultaneous sensation of his tongue and fingers makes you grip his hair even tighter and your hips to grind against his face. 

“Mingyu, it feels so good…”

“Mmmh, good girl,” he praises sweetly, voice muffled against you. “Let me add a second one, yeah? To stretch you more open for me…” 

He works another thick finger alongside the first. The burn between your legs melts away the brief discomfort of the stretch into pure heat. His fingers thrust in and out of you at a steady rhythm as his mouth continues lapping at your pussy. Your loud, broken moans bounce off the walls of the chambers as the pleasure builds rapidly, your hips practically riding his face.

Mingyu growls when he feels your thighs start to tremble harshly around his head. 

“That’s it, my love,” he murmurs hotly against your dripping cunt. “Give me your pleasure, your first ever orgasm from a man who yearns for you…”

“Fuck, I𑁋Mingyu𑁋!”

Pleasure explodes through you like wildfire. A blissful cry of his name rips out of your throat, your back arching sharply off the bed as your walls clamp down tightly around his fingers. Your hips jerk against his face, riding the waves while he continues licking and sucking, drinking in every drop of your release. 

He slows when your moans turn into soft, overstimulated whimpers and your thighs fall open in exhaustion. With one final kiss to your swollen folds, he withdraws his fingers and hovers back above you. His heart squeezes with pride when looks down at your flushed, trembling body. 

“You are enchanting when you let go, my princess,” he says before kissing you deeply, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “I could spend the rest of my days between your legs and never tire.”

A subtle shift of his body has you feeling the heavy outline of his hardening cock through his breeches. Mingyu inhales sharply when you roll your hips against his once, his ears red with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. 

“I… fuck𑁋we do not have to, sweetheart,” he mutters, though the way he’s involuntarily grinding on you says otherwise. “You have given me so much than I deserve tonight, and I would rather die than cause you pain.”

You cup his cheek tenderly, grazing over his cheekbone. A fresh wave of nerves and desire twists in your belly.

“I want to,” You whisper. “I ache for it, Mingyu. Please… make love to me.” 

Something in him shatters at that, as if his last thread of restraint snaps into two. His eyes fall shut for a moment, nostrils flaring at your plea. When they open, his eyes have darkened with hunger, and he leans in to capture your lips with a kiss so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. His large body pins you deeper into the bed, the heat of his bare chest searing against your skin. 

Mingyu pulls away just long enough to shove his breeches down his thighs, kicking them away. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free𑁋thick and heavy, curled slightly with a glistening tip already leaking for you. It’s your first time ever seeing a man this undeniably aroused for you. He’s so beautiful and intimidating that you can’t help but just stare. 

He notices your wide-eyed expression and lets out a shy, self-conscious chuckle.

“Have I frightened you?” he questions worriedly.

You shake your head. “No… You’re… big. I did not expect…” The words die on your tongue, but hungry curiosity sparkles in your eyes. 

Tentatively, you reach down to touch his length, and his cock twitches harshly from your touch. He’s impossibly hard, the skin smooth and hot as you wrap your hand around him to stroke him experimentally from the base to the tip. A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest. 

“Shit…” he moans out, his hips jerking into your touch before realising it. “You do not have to𑁋fuck, your hand feels like magic𑁋”

You watch in awe as another bead of precum leaps from the tip. Emboldened, you swipe your thumb over it, spreading it down his shaft. Mingyu’s head falls forward into your shoulder, his breaths coming out in hot pants. 

“Easy, my love,” he warns, catching your wrist and pinning it to the bed beside your head, your fingers lacing together. “If there is a next time, you may touch me as you please. But for now… I need to be inside you.”

Mingyu uses his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance, rubbing the flushed head along your soaked and sensitive folds. He doesn’t push inside just yet.

“Tell me again, princess,” he commands. “Tell me you want your knight to corrupt you.”

“I want you, please,” You plead longingly. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Claim me as yours.” 

That’s all it takes.

With a groan, he starts pushing inside. His cock is much thicker and hotter than his fingers were. You gasp from the intense stretch, your nails digging crescents into his biceps as your body struggles to take him. He pauses to give you time to adjust before burying himself even more until he’s fully inside of you, whispering soothing praises and peppering your face with kisses to distract you from the discomfort. 

“Gods above, I cannot believe… I am inside of you, my lady,” he mutters hoarsely. “So warm… so tight…”

When the burn eases away, you shift your hips into his and let out a small, needy whimper. That’s all the permission he needs. 

Mingyu thrusts into you with a slow pace, dragging his cock along your sensitive walls. This was a dream that plagued him every night𑁋a dream of finally having you to himself and not those wretched princes, loving you the way you deserve, ruining you for any other man, even if it’s only for a single night. A night that he will cherish to his very grave. 

His jaw clenches tightly as he tries to keep himself from losing control too fast, but it doesn’t help when your moans grace his ears like a symphony and the way your nails are raking red trails down his back spur him on even more. 

“Mingyu𑁋ah𑁋faster, please𑁋”

“Faster?” he repeats breathlessly. “As you command, my princess.”

Bracing his strong arms at your sides, he snaps his hips deeper, harder, into you. The bed creaks under the force of his movements, the wet, filthy sounds of your bodies shamelessly meeting reverberating throughout your chambers that you are sure someone can hear if they passed too close to the door, but the thought only sends a forbidden thrill through you. 

He swallows your moans with a devouring kiss as he continues to fuck you. One hand grips your thigh higher to hit that sensitive spot inside of you, and it sends that familiar pleasure to tighten in your stomach once again. 

You embrace your arms around his neck. “I’m close, Mingyu𑁋”

“Gods𑁋fuck, me too,” he says into your sweat-slicked skin, but his pace starts faltering. “But I have to… shit, I have to slow down, princess𑁋I cannot cum inside of you. I cannot ruin your future…”

Mingyu starts to pull back, but you feel the strain in him, the way his body is refusing to comply with how he slows his thrusts. But you don’t let him stray away; instead, you tighten your arms around like a vice, keeping every thick inch of you sheathed inside your cunt. 

“No, do not pull away,” You pant in his ears, fingers greedily threading into his damp hair. “I need you, Mingyu𑁋I do not care about the consequences. I choose this. I choose you. Fill me up, my loyal knight. I beg you…”

Something raw and possessive bursts out of him at your desperate pleas, his eyes flashing with overwhelming love and hunger. He curses lowly to himself, as if hoping the heavens won’t hear the sin he is about to commit, before driving back into you roughly, giving into everything he’s held back. 

“You will damn us both… and yet I cannot deny you ever,” he pants into your neck. “Your knight obeys… always. Take me, my love𑁋cum for me. Now.” 

Your second orgasm crashes into you harder than the first. Waves of ecstasy whiten your vision, your body arching off the bed as clench around his cock one final time. The feeling of your release sends Mingyu over the edge completely. He buries himself inside of you, filling you to the brim with thick ropes of his heat. He grinds slow and deep through both of your orgasms, pushing every drop as far in you as possible.

Mingyu doesn’t pull out of you yet for several long moments. He cages your trembling form in his arms as if he’s afraid the world might tear you apart if he lets go. He presses kisses along the column of your throat and up to your jaw, then to your swollen lips, lingering a little longer than usual. Only then does he draw away to peer down at you with glassy, vulnerable eyes. 

“I love you, my princess,” he confesses quietly. “I have loved you silently for years, since the first day I swore my oath to protect you. I have always adored your resilience, your beauty… among many other things.” 

Your blink sleepily up at him, your heart swelling at his words.

“I love you too, Sir Mingyu,” You whisper back, nestling your nose against his. “I always knew that my heart belonged to you, too.”

A soft, boyish smile crosses his lips, the kind that always made your stomach flutter during daylight hours when no one was watching. After some time, he coaxes himself out of you with a grunt, a generous trickle of his release coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you. His gaze darkens at the sight, but he does not push for more.

He rolls himself onto his back and wraps his arms around your middle, letting your head rest on his broad chest. One of his hands soothingly traces shapes on your spine while the other brushes through your disheveled hair. 

“Stay with me tonight,” You mutter into his skin. “Do not leave before dawn. I wish to wake up in your arms just once.”

“I will never abandon you, my love,” Mingyu assures you, tightening his hold on you. “But we must prepare ourselves for what the morning light will bring. If your parents find out𑁋”

“What if we run away together?”

Mingyu freezes at that. A shadow of conflict rises in his features, but there’s something else there too𑁋something dangerously close to hope.

“You cannot mean that, princess,” he tells you. “It is not so easy. You know that.”

“I do mean it,” You say back stubbornly. “I know I will never be forgiven for rejecting every prince at the ball. Gods, they will probably sell me off to the highest bidder by the end of the week. But I do not want a crown if it means being stuck in a loveless marriage. I want a life with you, Mingyu. A life where we can love freely and perhaps… build a family one day.”

He can imagine it so clearly: a life with the two of you in some hidden cottage in the mountains or a village by the sea, where he can wake up to your smile in the mornings and worship you into the depths of the night without fear or duty holding him back. A life with a little one𑁋or more, if you wish𑁋running around. A child who holds your tenacity and wields his softness. 

“You tempt me more than any devil, my love,” he proclaims, nuzzling his face into your hair. “But running away now without a plan would put you in greater danger. If we do this… we must be smart. Find allies and gather belongings. Perhaps… in a few months time, when the storm of tonight has settled.”

You pout lightly. “So we wait?”

“For now,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose. “But know this𑁋I am yours. If you wish to run, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and lay down everything for a chance at a life with you. I promise you that.”

The weight of his promise settles warmly in your chest more than the exhaustion crawling through your bones. You rise in his hold to kiss him deeply and unhurriedly, before allowing him to hold you.

“Rest now,” Mingyu orders softly when you part, tucking you into his side once more. “The world is still asleep. Let me hold you while I can. Tomorrow we face the wolves… but tonight, you are simply mine as I am yours, my angel.”

perm taglist (open) ʚɞ

@sn4psh00t @slytherinshua @seungkw1 @etherealyoungk @bananabubble

@parakissss @eskoupe @gent1es3xy @cherryophile @jaja-salute

The door clicked shut behind him with the familiar sound of keys against metal, followed by the quiet thud of shoes being pushed aside near the entrance.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called automatically, voice warm, already shrugging off his jacket as he stepped inside your apartment

“I brought—” he stopped. No answer.

Usually, even on your worst days, you answered him somehow, sometimes half asleep from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, or from the kitchen telling him to come in but tonight the apartment was dim, silent except for one thing.

A sharp, painful sound from deeper inside. Then another. He froze for half a second before recognizing it.

Vomiting.

His expression changed immediately “...Shit.”

The grocery bag in his hand hit the counter almost carelessly before he moved fast down the short hallway, guided by the sound until he reached the bathroom door half-open.

You were kneeling on the floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat, the other braced weakly against the tiles, shoulders trembling as another wave hit you hard enough that your whole body folded forward.

Seungcheol was beside you in an instant. One hand gathered your hair away from your face, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades, rubbing slowly, steadily.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said quietly, voice lower now, softer, the kind of voice he only used when he knew you were hanging by a thread “I’m here.”

You didn’t answer because you couldn’t.

Another dry heave wracked through you, harsher this time, leaving almost nothing but pain behind. By the time it eased, tears had collected at the corners of your eyes—not from crying, just exhaustion, the strain of it all.

You stayed there breathing hard, forehead nearly touching the toilet seat.

Seungcheol didn’t move his hand.

He just kept rubbing slow circles into your back.

“When was the last time you kept anything down?” he asked after a moment

Your answer came weak “Half a cracker”

He looked at you “Today?”

You gave the tiniest nod. It had been like this for days now. Ever since the nausea had fully hit, mornings were bad, afternoons were worse, and nights somehow became unbearable.

At nine weeks, your body had decided mercy wasn’t part of the plan. And because life apparently wasn’t cruel enough, you were doing it while nursing a heartbreak that still sat fresh under your skin.

The ex-boyfriend who got you pregnant had left more damage behind than just betrayal.

You had found out about the cheating first. The girl from work. Messages. Pictures. Late nights that suddenly made sense. Promises that turned into excuses.

Then the breakup.

Then weeks later, two pink lines you had stared at in silence until your hands shook so badly you nearly dropped the test.

You hadn’t even told many people. Just Seungcheol. And once he knew, he simply… stayed.

Every day after work. Every grocery run.Every doctor appointment. Every time you insisted you were fine and clearly weren’t.

Now he crouched beside you in his office clothes, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking like he belonged nowhere near a bathroom floor and yet acting like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He reached for the cup near the sink, filled it with water, and brought it to your lips.

“Rinse first”

You obeyed because arguing took too much strength. Afterward, he helped you sit back against the wall.

Your skin looked pale. His brows drew together as he pressed the back of his hand lightly to your forehead.

“You’re freezing”

“I’m fine”

“You say that every day”

“I mean it differently every day”

That actually pulled the smallest breath of a laugh from him then his face softened again.

“You should’ve called me earlier”

“You were working”

“And?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer he would accept.

Seungcheol leaned his shoulder against the wall beside you, still close enough that if another wave came, he’d catch you before you fell forward again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then you whispered, voice rough, “I hate this.”

Not the pregnancy, not exactly. The helplessness. The nausea. The loneliness that sometimes hits harder than the sickness itself.

“I know”

“I throw up and then I cry because I’m hungry, then I try eating and throw up again.”

He nodded like this was a serious medical report “Terrible system”

“Very bad design”

“We should file a complaint” that made you smile faintly despite yourself.

A weak thing, but real. Seungcheol noticed because his own expression softened immediately, relief flickering there like he had been waiting for even that much.

Then your face changed again. Another wave. He reacted before you even bent forward, hair already gathered, hand steady on your back while your body tensed again.

This one lasted longer. When it ended, you were shaking.

“Okay,” he said firmly, decision already made “No more bathroom floor”

“I live here now”

“Not tonight”

Before you could protest, he stood, reached down, and slid one arm behind your back, the other under your knees.

“Seungcheol—” He lifted you easily, you barely had strength to resist anyway

“I can walk”

“You nearly tipped sideways five seconds ago”

“I had balance”

“You were hugging a toilet”

“That counts”

He laid you gently onto the couch, arranged the blanket over you, then disappeared into the kitchen. You heard cabinets opening, the sound of something being unwrapped. He returned with ginger tea, plain crackers, and that same look he’d been wearing more and more lately.

Concern sharpened into quiet determination.

“Tiny sip,” he instructed

You obeyed because again, arguing required energy you did not possess. He waited while you drank then handed you half a cracker.

“Slow”

You took a bite. After a minute, he exhaled quietly. You leaned back, exhausted. He sat beside you but not too close, giving you space while still staying within reach.

Your voice came small after a while “You don’t have to keep doing this every day”

He didn’t even look at you when he answered

“Yes, I do”

“No, you don’t”

That made him finally turn. His eyes held yours steadily.

“Yes,” he repeated, gentler now, “I do.”

Because underneath all his calm, there was something else there. Something he never forced into words.

Not now. Maybe not yet.

But it existed in every grocery bag he brought, every pharmacy receipt tucked into his wallet, every hour spent sitting beside your bathroom floor after work like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured

“For what?”

“For being… like this.”

That answer made his expression harden.

“You’re growing a whole person while surviving heartbreak and barely sleeping. You’re allowed to throw up and be miserable.”

A tear slipped before you could stop it. You wiped it quickly but he had already seen. And because Seungcheol had always known exactly what to do when you were one breath away from breaking, he simply reached over and wiped the next tear before it fell.

“No apologizing tonight” he said quietly

You swallowed hard then another whisper “I didn’t think it would feel this lonely”

That finally cracked something in his face, because that, more than anything, was what he hated. How you kept carrying pain like it belonged only to you.

His voice lowered, “You’re not alone”

Simple. Certain. No hesitation. The kind of promise that sounded dangerous only because he meant it completely.

And sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, stomach unsettled, body exhausted, heart still bruised—you believed him.

Because every day since everything fell apart, he had shown up. Without fail. Without complaint. Without asking for anything back.

=

The office was loud in the usual end-of-day way—keyboards clacking, muted conversations near the glass meeting room, someone laughing too hard at something near the pantry.

Seungcheol barely noticed any of it.   His attention stayed fixed on the phone lying beside his keyboard. Screen dark. No new message.

He tapped it awake for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes.

Still nothing from you.

His brows pulled together. You had texted earlier that morning that you needed to go out for a few hours—something about work paperwork you couldn’t delay anymore and he had replied immediately

Cheol: Text me when you get there. Text me when you leave. Call if you feel sick.

You had sent a thumbs up but that had been hours ago. He checked the time again. Then your chat.

Then the time again.

“Still playing baby daddy?” The voice came from his left. Lazy. Amused. Entirely too entertained. Seungcheol didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

Wonwoo leaned one shoulder against the divider of his desk, coffee in hand, glasses low on his nose, wearing the exact expression of a man arriving solely to be annoying.

Seungcheol finally lifted his eyes. The glare he gave him was immediate.

Wonwoo looked delighted by it “That look means yes”

“It means leave”

“But if I leave, who’s going to listen to you pretend you’re not one text away from driving across the city because she hasn’t replied in two hours?”

Seungcheol glanced down at his phone again before he could stop himself and Wonwoo caught it instantly smirking wider.

Wonwoo took a slow sip of coffee “You know, from an outside perspective, this is fascinating”

Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, jaw tight “Do you have work?”

“Yes. But this is more interesting”

His thumb hovered near your contact before locking the screen again and Wonwoo watched the whole thing like a nature documentary.

“There it is again,” he murmured “That face”

“What face”

“The one where you look like you’re calculating whether calling her would be supportive or overbearing”

Seungcheol finally looked up “Why are you here?”

Wonwoo ignored that “You’ve been doing this every day for weeks now”

“She’s sick”

“She’s pregnant,” Wonwoo corrected mildly “And you are acting like an expectant husband in a medical drama”

“She lives alone”

“And?”

“And she needs help”

Wonwoo gave him a long look then deliberately sat on the edge of the desk

“You know what I enjoy most?”

“I’m not interested.”

“The fact that after all these years, you still think nobody can tell.”

Wonwoo had watched the entire thing happen in slow motion. Watched Seungcheol fall quietly and permanently long before anyone said it aloud. Watched him keep it to himself because timing never lined up, because friendship mattered more, because you smiled at someone else first.

And then you dated someone else. Seungcheol had stepped back exactly the way he should have.

No crossing lines. Just distance. Respectful.

Even when Wonwoo knew every time your name came up, something changed in Seungcheol’s face. Then the breakup happened. The cheating. The office girl. And Wonwoo also still remembered that night clearly because he had been there when Seungcheol found out.

The way Seungcheol stood so suddenly his chair nearly hit the floor. The look on his face that had made Wonwoo genuinely wonder whether he needed to physically stop him from doing something illegal.

“I’m going to kill him.” Direct. Calm. Which somehow sounded worse.

Wonwoo grabbed his sleeve immediately and said, “Prison is inconvenient”

“He cheated on her.”

“Yes, and murder remains dramatic”

“He cheated on her” Seungcheol repeated, voice lower, angrier.

Wonwoo had almost believed he would actually do it.

“You know,” he said lightly, “if someone didn’t know better, they’d think you’ve been waiting for this your whole life”

Seungcheol’s jaw flexed, “Be careful”

“See? Threatening. Very paternal.”

Another glare. Wonwoo smiled behind his coffee cup. Then his gaze dropped when Seungcheol’s phone lit up.

Seungcheol snatched it up. Wonwoo laughed under his breath because of course he did.

You: Sorry. Threw up in the clinic bathroom. Phone was in my bag. I’m okay now. Going home soon.

The tightness in Seungcheol’s shoulders eased but only slightly.

His fingers were already typing

Cheol: Clinic? Why clinic? Are you alone? Did you eat? Send location. I’m coming.

Wonwoo leaned enough to catch the edge of the screen then sighed dramatically.

Seungcheol stood, already grabbing his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“She’s at a clinic.”

“She said she’s okay.”

“She threw up in public.”

Wonwoo spread his hands “Right. Obviously life-threatening”

Seungcheol shoved his phone into his pocket “Do your work”

Wonwoo watched him move around the desk. Then added, because he truly could not resist, “If she ever realizes you’ve loved her since forever, I expect front-row seats.”

Just enough that Wonwoo caught the warning in his face. But also the truth.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, voice less teasing now, “I think she already trusts you more than anyone.”

Then his phone buzzed again. Your location. And another message

You: Don’t panic. I’m just tired.

Too late. He was already walking.

“Tell HR I left.”

Wonwoo called after him, grin returning “Should I also tell them parental leave is approaching?”

This time Seungcheol didn’t even bother answering.

Just lifted one hand without looking back—half warning, half dismissal—while already dialing your number the second he reached the elevator 

By the time Seungcheol reached the clinic, the evening traffic of Seoul had already thickened into slow-moving lines of headlights and brake lights stretching along the road.

He barely noticed any of it. The moment he turned into the curbside lane, his eyes found you immediately.

Sitting alone on a bench just outside the clinic entrance. One hand resting near your stomach without thinking, shoulders slightly hunched, looking tired in the way that had become too familiar lately—like your body was spending energy faster than you could recover it.

The second he saw you, he parked badly enough that another driver honked.

He ignored it, already crossing toward you.

Your head lifted at the sound of hurried footsteps, and before you could even greet him, he was standing there, brows drawn tight, scanning your face like he expected to find evidence you hadn’t mentioned.

“Why are you sitting outside?” he asked immediately

You blinked up at him “Because I was waiting.”

“You could’ve waited inside.”

“I wanted air”

“You threw up again?”

“A little”

“A little,” he repeated flatly, like the phrase personally offended him. You almost smiled.

He crouched just enough to meet your eyes properly “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Headache?” “No.”

“Can you stand?”

That one made you laugh softly, tired but real “Yes, Seungcheol.”

Still, he took your bag before you could reach for it, then offered his hand like he didn’t fully trust your answer. And because arguing with him in this mood never worked, you let him help you up.

The walk to the car was slow. Not because you couldn’t manage, but because he kept adjusting his pace to yours so precisely it was impossible not to notice. At the passenger side, he opened the door first. Waited until you sat. Then leaned in, buckled your seatbelt himself, checking that it sat comfortably before closing the door gently.

By the time he got into the driver’s seat, you were already watching him with that quiet look that always made him pretend not to notice.

He started the engine. Only pulled away once he was sure you were settled.

For a few minutes, the car filled with soft heater air and city lights sliding past the windows.

Then he glanced at you.

“So.”

You leaned your head lightly against the seat “So?”

“What did the doctor say?”

You exhaled slowly “That apparently I’m dramatic”

He looked over immediately “She said that?”

“No,” you said, deadpan. “She said what I think is excessive nausea is apparently normal.”

His mouth tightened “Throwing up all day is normal?”

“Unfortunately, yes”

“That seems poorly designed”

“I told you.”

“What else?”

You looked out the window for a second, replaying the appointment

“I told her I can barely keep food down some days. She said small meals, bland food, ginger, rest… and she said if it gets worse, I might need fluids.”

“You didn’t tell me that part in the text.”

“Because I’m not at the fluids part”

“You still should’ve said it”

You looked at him sideways “You were already panicking.”

“I was not panicking”

“You left work in ten minutes”

“That’s efficiency”

That got the faintest smile from you.Traffic slowed at a light. He used the pause to glance over again.

“What else did you do today?”

“Two client meetings”

“You went to both?”

“I’m still employed”

“You looked exhausted yesterday”

“I looked exhausted because your tea tastes like boiled sadness”

He finally made a quiet sound that almost counted as laughter.

“It kept your crackers down.”

“Barely.”

You continued, voice softer now, tired enough that words came slower.

“First meeting was okay. Second one I almost had to excuse myself because someone opened tuna kimbap in the room.”

His face changed immediately. “You almost threw up there?”

“I survived.”

“That is not surviving.”

“I survived enough.”

Another pause. Then you added, almost absentmindedly, gaze still out the window:

“On the way here I passed a street cart.”

“Hm?”

“The egg bread one.”

He glanced at you, you were still looking outside.

“It smelled so good,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I’ve been craving it for days.”

That finally made him turn his head slightly.

“Egg bread?”

You shrugged like it didn’t matter “The little ones from street vendors.”

“Why didn’t you buy some?”

You gave him a look “Because five minutes later I threw up in a clinic bathroom.”

A fair answer but he had already heard the important part.

Craving.

And unlike most people, Seungcheol treated any food you wanted lately like urgent medical information. Especially because wanting food and keeping food down were two very different things, and when your body asked for something specific, he paid attention.

He said nothing for the next minute. Just drove. Then suddenly signaled right. You noticed immediately.

“Why are we turning?” No answer.

“Seungcheol.” Still nothing.

“You’re not—”

He pulled over near a corner lined with evening vendors, warm lights glowing beneath small carts where steam rose into the cold air.

And there it was. The smell reached even the car. Fresh bread and egg.

He parked. Unbuckled.

“You cannot be serious.”

He already had one hand on the door.

“You wanted it.”

“That was not a request.”

“It sounded medically important.”

“It absolutely did not.”

But he was already out.

You watched through the windshield as he crossed toward the cart without hesitation, speaking briefly with the vendor, hands in his coat pocket while waiting.

Streetlight caught against his profile. Hair slightly messy from rushing out of work. The kind of scene that should not have made your chest tighten the way it did.

But lately everything he did landed somewhere you were trying very hard not to examine too closely.

Because there was something dangerous about kindness when you were already fragile.

And Seungcheol had been too kind for too long.

A few minutes later he came back carrying a warm paper bag.

The smell filled the car instantly the second he opened the door. He handed it over carefully.

“Small bites first"

You looked at the bag, then at him “You really stopped"

“You wanted it"

“I mentioned it”

“You mentioned it twice”

“I did not”

“You did in your head loud enough” Despite yourself, you smiled.

A real one this time. Small, but enough that something in his face softened immediately, almost unconsciously.

You took one careful bite, for the first time all day, your expression changed into something close to relief.

He noticed instantly “Well?”

You chewed slowly “It’s good.”

“Stay there,” he said immediately, eyes still on you like he expected a sudden reaction. “Don’t eat fast.”

You laughed softly through the second bite.

He finally started driving again, slower now, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift while occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still okay.

=

By week eleven, the nausea had not disappeared but it had changed shape. Less violent some days, more unpredictable on others.

One morning you could keep toast down. That same afternoon the smell of rice nearly sent you running to the sink.

And the cravings. those had become something else entirely.

At first they came quietly. A specific food sounding nice. Something easy enough to ignore. But lately, they arrived like full emotional emergencies. Ridiculous in how urgent they felt.

And tonight was worse because it had started small—just a passing memory of roasted sweet potatoes from a street cart earlier that week.

The smell of caramelized sweetness in cold air. Soft steam rising when broken apart. Then your brain had decided that was now the only thing in the world that mattered.

By eleven-thirty, you were still trying to reason with yourself.

You drank water, ate half a cracker. You told yourself normal people did not call someone near midnight because of sweet potatoes.

By eleven-fifty, your eyes were burning.

By eleven-fifty-six, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed staring at your phone like it had personally offended you.

This was absurd. He had already come by earlier.

And now here you were.

Hovering over his name. Your rational mind said wait until morning, the craving said absolutely not.

Your thumb pressed call before dignity could intervene.

The ring barely lasted long enough for regret to settle. He answered immediately.

“Hey.” His voice came low, rougher than usual, like he had been lying down but not asleep yet.

And immediately sharper after half a beat 

“What happened?”

Because you never called this late not unless something was wrong.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out at first because suddenly saying it aloud felt embarrassingly childish.

He waited exactly one second “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did you throw up?”

“No.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Are you crying?”

That made you blink because your voice had betrayed you that fast.

“No.”

A pause.

“That sounded suspicious.”

You covered your face with one hand “This is stupid.”

“Okay,” he said, already sounding like he was sitting up “Tell me the stupid thing.”

You almost hung up, like actually considered it but the craving had already won and apparently pregnancy removed all remaining pride.

“I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

For a moment it was just silent, then he speaks again

“What?”

Your eyes squeezed shut “I want roasted sweet potatoes.”

Another silence but thhis one shorter “Right now?”

Your voice dropped into a miserable mumble.

“Yes.”

“It’s midnight.”

“I know.”

“You called me because of sweet potatoes.”

The shame deepened “Yes.”

Then the worst possible thing happened. He laughed. Not mocking. Just sudden, warm laughter he clearly failed to stop in time.

Your offended voice came immediately “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m trying not to.”

“You are laughing.”

“I’m failing.”

“You’re horrible.”

That only made him laugh quieter, softer, like he was smiling now and somehow that made it worse because now you were genuinely close to tears again.

“Forget it,” you muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

That changed his tone instantly “Hey.”

You stayed quiet. He heard the shift anyway and when he spoke again, his voice softened.

“You’re really upset.”

“It’s hormones,” you said, hating how fragile that sounded. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

A pause.

“I tried not to call.”

That did something to him, enough that the smile left his voice completely. Because he could picture it too easily, you alone in your apartment, trying to be reasonable while your body and emotions ignored reason entirely.

He looked at the clock beside his bed.

11:58 PM. Weekend. No meetings tomorrow.

Decision made instantly.

“Stay there.”

You frowned “What?”

“I’m coming.”

“No.”

“I’m already getting up.”

“Seungcheol, no, that’s insane.”

“You called me at midnight sounding like you might cry over a sweet potato.”

You heard movement already.

“Do you know how many street vendors are still open right now?” you asked weakly

“I’m about to find out.”

“You should sleep.”

“You should stop sounding like this over root vegetables.”

You made a noise halfway between protest and embarrassment but he ignored it.

“Unlock your door.”

“Cheol—”

“Unlock it.”

The first thing Seungcheol realized after getting into the car was that midnight in Seoul made cravings significantly harder to solve than cravings at six in the evening.

The second thing he realized was that you had sounded genuinely close to tears over roasted sweet potatoes which meant turning around and going back to bed had never been an option.

The roads were quieter than usual, city lights stretched long against the windshield, convenience stores glowing at corners while most street vendors had already disappeared for the night.

His phone sat mounted near the dashboard, screen still lit from your last message:

You: Drive safe. If you can’t find any, it’s okay.

He had not answered because he already knew that if he texted back, you would tell him to forget it and he was not forgetting it.

Not after the way your voice cracked around I tried not to call.

His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel while he slowed near another corner where a vendor usually parked during colder nights.

Empty so he kept driving. Another block and still nothing. A third turn near the station, still nothing except closed shutters and a delivery scooter disappearing down an alley.

He exhaled through his nose.

This was ridiculous.

Entirely ridiculous.

And yet he was still scanning every side street like finding one specific roasted sweet potato cart determined the outcome of the night because if there was one thing he had learned these past weeks, it was that pregnancy ignored dignity, schedules, and logic equally.

One minute you were insisting you were fine the next minute egg bread became urgent enough to reroute traffic.

Tonight apparently sweet potatoes had won.

He checked the time.

12:11 AM.

Then finally, near the far side of the station entrance, he saw the faint orange glow of a small cart tucked beside a closed newspaper stand.

Steam rose under a yellow light.

A woman in a padded jacket sat behind it, peeling foil from freshly roasted sweet potatoes.

Relief hit harder than expected. He pulled over immediately. The cold hit the second he stepped out, but he barely noticed, already crossing toward the cart.

The woman looked up when he approached. Older, sharp-eyed, the kind who missed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” she said before he even spoke “I’m closing.”

“How many do you have left?”

She lifted the foil lid, revealing a few still warm inside “Enough if you’re quick.”

“I’ll take four.”

That earned him a glance “Four?”

He nodded “Big ones.”

She began wrapping them carefully, hands practiced and quick. At this hour the street was almost silent except for distant traffic and the soft crackle of heat from the cart.

Then she asked casually, like it was obvious conversation 

“Your wife sent you out this late?” the question landed without warning.

He should have corrected it immediately. Normally he would have. Instead, because his mind was still partly on you sitting alone at home trying not to cry over food, he answered without thinking.

“Craving.”

The woman looked up again, smile already forming.

“Ah.” One knowing sound “Pregnancy cravings?”

He hesitated only half a second then nodded once.

“...Yes.”

Her smile widened instantly, amused in that particular way older women often were when they believed they understood a story before you explained it.

“Aigo, then the wife won tonight.”

His hand paused halfway to his wallet. The wife.

Simple words. Ordinary. Harmless. And yet something about hearing it in relation to you landed strangely deep—so sudden that for a brief second he forgot to answer at all.

Because the image came too easily. Too naturally.

You at home in oversized sleep clothes, probably sitting on the couch waiting.

Half annoyed at yourself for calling. Half relieved he came. Your tired face lighting slightly the moment he handed you what you wanted.

And against all reason, the woman’s sentence fit that picture too neatly.

As if it had always been waiting somewhere in the background, dangerous only because he had spent years refusing to let his mind stay there too long.

He paid. The woman handed over the paper bag, sttill warm.

“First child?” she asked casually. 

The answer should have been complicated. Impossible, even.

But what came out was quieter than expected.

“...yes”

He bowed politely, took the bag, and turned back toward the car.

Cold air again. Warm paper in his hand. Inside the car, the smell of roasted sweet potato filled the space almost immediately.

He sat there for one second longer than necessary before starting the engine.

The woman’s words still annoyingly present.

The wife won tonight.

And worse, the fact that he had not corrected her, but not because explaining felt inconvenient, not because it was late.

But because for one selfish second, hearing it had felt... good.

Too good.

His fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. He knew exactly where lines existed.

You were vulnerable. Pregnant. Recently hurt and he had spent years learning how to put what he felt in a locked place where it would never burden you.

That had not changed, would not change. 

=

By twelve weeks, Seungcheol had accepted two things as fact.

First: pregnancy cravings did not obey logic.

Second: once you wanted something, pretending you didn’t usually ended badly—for you, for your stomach, and for whatever fragile patience he still had left watching you suffer through it.

Which was exactly why, three days after the midnight sweet potato incident, he had stood in your kitchen with both arms crossed and told you in a tone so unnecessarily strict that you had nearly laughed in his face:

“If you want something, call me.”

You had leaned against the counter, chewing slowly on toast

“It was midnight.”

“I don’t care.”

“It was a sweet potato.”

“I still don’t care.”

“You looked personally offended.”

“I was.” That had earned a full laugh from you. When you laughed harder, he only narrowed his eyes.

“I mean it.”

“You’re making cravings sound like emergencies.”

“They become emergencies when you wait until you’re almost crying.”

That shut you up faster than expected.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

And Seungcheol, noticing your silence, softened only slightly.

“It’s better to see you eat than hear you throwing up all day.”

Simple sentence. Matter-of-fact.

So from then on, you tried. now and then, he’d get random messages that made absolutely no sense without context. Which was exactly why, during lunch with Wonwoo, his phone buzzing on the table immediately pulled his attention.

Wonwoo noticed because Seungcheol always looked first when your name appeared.

Your message was short:

You: Do grapes that taste like cotton candy actually exist or is that internet lying again.

You: Because if they exist I suddenly need them

Seungcheol stared for half a second then typed back without hesitation.

Cheol: They exist. I’ll stop by after lunch and bring some.

Send. Phone down. He reached for his water again like nothing happened.

Across from him, Wonwoo had watched the entire exchange with zero shame.

Then slowly put his chopsticks down “No.”

Seungcheol ignored him.

“No,” Wonwoo repeated, leaning back now, deeply entertained. “Absolutely not.”

“You didn’t even ask if she’s joking.”

“She’s not joking.”

“You answered in under five seconds.”

“She wants grapes.”

“Cotton candy grapes,” he said, “You’re really leaving lunch to hunt specialty fruit because she texted two lines.”

“I said after lunch.”

“That changes nothing.”

“It changes timing.”

Wonwoo gave him a long look Then, with complete seriousness:

“That kid is going to look like you.”

Seungcheol finally looked up. Flat stare.

“No.”

“Genetics be damned,” Wonwoo continued, fully committed now. “At this point the universe owes you resemblance.”

“That is not how biology works.”

“No, but emotional investment should count for something.”

Seungcheol went back to eating Which only encouraged him.

“Imagine the baby comes out with your glare.”

“Eat your lunch.”

“Or your stubbornness.”

“Wonwoo.”

“Tiny angry eyebrows.”

That finally pulled the smallest exhale through Seungcheol’s nose—the closest thing to amusement he would allow.

Later he dropped by the store quickly, getting 2 bags of grapes before going to your place. The moment you opened the door wearing that unmistakable expression. Slight scowl, tired eyes, brows drawn together like the day had personally offended you.

“You took long.” that was your greeting. Just immediate complaint but he only chuckled. 

Seungcheol held up the paper bag “You asked for specialty grapes.”

“You said after lunch.”

“It is after lunch.”

“You still took long.” But even while saying it, your eyes were already on the bag. And he knew that look now.

The exact moment irritation started losing against curiosity.

He stepped inside without comment, slipped off his shoes, and handed the bag over.

You took it immediately, opened it standing right there near the entryway. Plucked one grape, bit into it and right before his eyes, the entire mood changed.

A complete, absurd one-eighty.

The scowl vanished. Brows relaxed. Then came that small hum—soft, involuntary, pleased enough that it almost sounded like you forgot he was there.

He stared for half a second then laughed under his breath because honestly, there it was again—that strange little victory he kept collecting lately whenever food stayed down and made you smile instead of grimace.

By the time he finished washing his hands and stepped toward the living room, you were already curled into the couch with the bowl in your lap, eating one grape at a time like you had discovered treasure.

Another quiet hum.

He leaned one shoulder against the kitchen doorway, watching.

“It’s good?”

You looked up, cheeks slightly full, and nodded immediately. Too happy to even answer properly.

He chuckled.

Your expression made it impossible not to.

“Internet didn’t lie,” he added.

Another nod. Then a tiny, almost suspiciously satisfied

“They actually taste like cotton candy.”

“Mm.”

You reached for another grape. Mood entirely restored.

And it struck him again how dramatic the shifts had become lately, how fifteen minutes ago you had looked ready to reject human interaction, and now one bowl of grapes had apparently repaired the universe.

He moved into the kitchen, setting down the extra pack he had bought because Wonwoo had unfortunately been right.

Behind him he could still hear occasional soft sounds of approval every few bites.

He was rinsing a glass when your voice came again.

“Hey, Cheol.”

Something in the tone made him look over immediately. You were no longer smiling quite the same way but still holding the bowl, fingers slower now, thoughtful.

He stayed where he was.

“Yeah?”

You hesitated “I have a scan next week.”

He turned fully “What kind?”

“The one where they might tell me the gender.”

Then your eyes dropped to the grapes again.

“I don’t want to go alone.”

That was all it took.

He was moving before you even looked up again.

Kitchen forgotten. By the time your gaze lifted, he was already crouching in front of the couch, one hand resting lightly against the edge near your knee, face level with yours.

Close enough that his attention felt immediate, complete.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, absurdly, he could already hear Wonwoo’s voice:

Look at you. One sentence and you’re kneeling like a proposal scene.

Which was annoying because from the outside, maybe it did look painfully obvious.

He ignored that thought.

“What day?” he asked first

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by how fast he answered.

“Thursday.”

“What time?”

“Eleven-thirty.”

“Which clinic? Same one?”

You nodded slowly. He repeated it once under his breath, already memorizing.

Then his expression softened. That steady, reassuring smile he used only when he knew you were asking for something that cost you more courage than it should have.

“I’ll come if you want me to.” No hesitation

“You’re not busy?” The pout appeared too—small, tired, almost guilty.

As if asking already felt like asking too much and that expression did something dangerous to his chest every single time.

Because you still asked like he might say no. Still asked like you hadn’t learned yet that if it involved you lately, he rearranged things before considering inconvenience.

His smile deepened just slightly.

“I can move anything.”

“You don’t even know what you have that day.”

“I know what matters first.”

The words came too naturally. Too honest.

He noticed it right after saying them. So did you, judging by the way your eyes stayed on him a second longer than usual.

He added more lightly, “It’s one appointment.”

You looked down again, picking another grape but not eating it yet.

“I just…” A pause “I don’t want to sit there by myself if they tell me.”

He understood immediately. Not the scan itself. The moment. The weight of hearing something important and having nobody beside you to look at first.

Nobody to share the first reaction with.

And suddenly crouching there, looking up at you from the floor, he felt that familiar sharp pull again—that impossible mixture of tenderness and restraint that had defined nearly every day lately.

Because it would have been so easy to reach for your hand right then.

Too easy.

Instead he kept his voice steady.

“You won’t be alone.”

That made you finally eat the grape still in your fingers.

Slowly.

Then after swallowing, quieter:

“Okay.”

He stayed there another second longer than necessary. Just because your face had softened again. Because relief looked gentler on you than exhaustion ever did.

Because this close, with afternoon light catching across the couch and the bowl of ridiculous grapes in your lap, he understood exactly why Wonwoo never stopped teasing him.

It probably was obvious.

Painfully obvious.

Especially now—him crouched in front of you like your next sentence might determine his entire week.

Still, he didn’t move until you looked at him again and asked:

“Did you buy only one pack?”

He blinked. Then almost laughed.

“Check the kitchen.”

That earned the smallest smile.

A real one.

And when you smiled like that, even something as ordinary as buying extra grapes somehow felt absurdly worth it 

=

By the time Thursday came, Seungcheol already knew two things before you even said a word.

First—you had barely eaten breakfast.

Second—you were nervous enough that your silence felt louder than usual.

The drive through morning traffic in Seoul had been mostly quiet, not uncomfortable, just filled with that specific kind of tension he had started recognizing in you lately.

You answered when he asked simple things. Short replies. Small nods. 

But your fingers kept moving. Twisting the edge of your sleeve. Checking your phone without reading anything.

Looking out the window, then away again.

And by the time the two of you sat in the clinic waiting area, that nervous energy had settled fully into your body.

Your knee bounced fast enough to shake the chair slightly.

One hand kept drifting to your nails. Picking.

Tiny repeated motions.

He noticed immediately. He had seen that habit before, long before pregnancy, long before heartbreak—always the same when your thoughts got too loud.

And always bad enough that if nobody stopped you, you’d keep going until skin broke.

You probably didn’t even realize you were doing it.

He watched for half a minute. Then without ceremony, he reached over and took your hand. Warm fingers wrapping gently but firmly around yours before your nails could catch skin again.

The motion startled you enough that your head turned instantly.

Eyes lifting to him, already ready to protest and he knew that look too.

So before you could say anything, he answered casually, voice low enough not to draw attention.

“You pick at your nails when you’re nervous until it bleeds.”

You blinked. Your mouth opened then closed.

Then came the small, almost defensive mumble “I don’t do it that much.”

He gave you a look. You knew better than to argue with that look ecause both of you knew he was right.

Still, he didn’t let go. And this time—you didn’t pull away. Your hand stayed where it was in his.

At first maybe because you were distracted. Then because, little by little, the warmth helped more than you wanted to admit.

Your knee slowed too.

Around you, the waiting room stayed busy in quiet clinic ways—soft footsteps, low voices, pages turning.

From anyone sitting across the room, the picture likely looked obvious.

A couple waiting for an appointment.

Because there you were: seated close enough that your shoulder occasionally brushed his arm, your bag resting on his lap because he had taken it from you the second you tried carrying it yourself, and your fingers still loosely caught in his hand like neither of you had properly acknowledged it.

At one point you leaned slightly toward him.

Not fully just enough that your shoulder settled against his arm.

Then tugged lightly at the side of his sleeve.

“Did you check if parking expires?”

He looked down “Two hours.”

“You checked?”

“Before we came in.”

You nodded like that answered something important.

And somewhere in another version of this morning, if Wonwoo had witnessed any of it, Seungcheol knew exactly what expression he would wear:

Hopeless. Completely hopeless.

Because yes, from the outside it looked obvious. From the inside too, if he was being honest.

The dangerous part was how natural it felt. Holding your hand. Carrying your bag. Watching every little nervous movement like it mattered as if his body had already learned its role before his mind allowed it.

Then the nurse called your name imediately your fingers tightened around his.

He only stood, still holding your hand until you were fully on your feet. Then picked up your bag too.

Inside the scan room, the light dimmed. You climbed onto the bed slowly, still visibly tense. He stood near your side, bag set aside, hands in his pockets now only because he needed somewhere to put them.

The technician smiled politely, professional and calm, beginning routine questions before applying gel across your stomach. Cold enough that you startled.

Seungcheol immediately looked over “You okay?”

“It’s cold”

The technician laughed softly “Always cold”

Then the screen flickered. Shapes appeared. Movement. That strange grainy image that somehow still made everything feel impossibly real.

For a second, nobody spoke. The technician focused. Measured. Clicked through angles.

And Seungcheol, who had come here prepared to simply sit quietly and support you, felt something shift unexpectedly when he saw movement on the screen.

A tiny shape. Small but real.

His chest tightened before he had words for why. Beside him, your hand found the edge of his sleeve again. Without looking, you tugged lightly. A nervous habit.

Then the technician smiled slightly. “Well…” A pause. Another angle.

“It looks like a girl.” The room went quiet. Just long enough for the sentence to land fully.

A girl.

You blinked first. Eyes fixed on the screen.

“...A girl?”

The technician nodded, still smiling “Yes. Very likely.”

And suddenly your face changed. All the tension from earlier loosened at once into something softer—something caught between disbelief and emotion.

A tiny breath left you that sounded dangerously close to tears. Beside you, Seungcheol forgot entirely that he was supposed to stay detached from moments that did not belong to him.

Because hearing girl hit him harder than expected too.

Not his child. Not his place. And yet standing there, watching your eyes shine while staring at that screen, all he could think was how impossibly small she still was.

How fiercely you had already fought through weeks of nausea and exhaustion for someone not even born yet.

And before he realized it, he smiled.

You turned your head then, finally looking at him instead of the screen. And because emotion made honesty simpler than usual, you whispered

“A girl” Like you needed to hear it again from someone beside you.

His eyes met yours “A girl,” he repeated gently.

Your fingers tightened once more around his sleeve and this time neither of you let go because for one suspended moment it felt less like surviving another appointment and more like something tender neither of you quite knew how to name yet 

=

By twenty-one weeks, asking Seungcheol for help no longer felt like crossing some line you had once drawn out of guilt.

At first, every favor came with hesitation. Every request felt heavier than it should have, because somewhere in your mind you still heard yourself saying he has his own life, he shouldn’t have to keep doing this, you cannot keep leaning this much.

But time had a way of softening resistance when someone showed up often enough that their presence stopped feeling borrowed.

He still came after work. Still checked if you had eaten. Still carried things you could absolutely carry yourself and ignored every complaint about it.

And somewhere between week twelve and now, the guilt had thinned into something harder to define. Not gone. Just quieter.

Because lately his presence had become... natural. The kind of natural that only became noticeable when you caught yourself expecting him before he arrived. Or when your first instinct at seeing something funny, annoying, exhausting, or strange became I should tell Cheol.

That should have felt ordinary—he had always been your best friend but lately you noticed things you had spent years deliberately not naming.

Things that became harder to ignore now that he stayed so close to your daily life. Like how absurdly unfair it was that someone built like him moved so carefully around you.

Broad shoulders. Tall enough that in crowded places people stepped aside without thinking. That serious expression strangers always mistook for coldness. The glare that made people straighten immediately when aimed their way.

And yet the moment you spoke, even mid-sentence, something changed.

His brows eased. His mouth softened slightly. His attention sharpened in that complete way that made the rest of the world look temporarily unimportant.

You had told yourself for weeks that it was simply kindness. Because that was safer.

Kindness fit. Kindness explained midnight sweet potatoes, clinic visits, grapes that tasted like cotton candy, carrying your bag, waiting through appointments, remembering what food stayed down and what smell made you nauseous.

Something else… that was harder. So you kept choosing kindness.

Even while lately, more and more often, you caught yourself noticing things that made the explanation thinner.

Seungcheol picked you up earlier than usual under the excuse that he had things to do at home anyway and you might as well stay there instead of being alone all day.

You had argued, naturally

“I’ll be fine at my apartment”

“You said that last week and then forgot lunch because you fell asleep sitting up.”

“That happened once”

“You threw up twice before noon”

“That is unrelated”

“It is exactly related”

And somehow, as always, you ended up in his car anyway.

Now his apartment looked suspiciously prepared for your arrival. Extra pillows stacked on one side of the couch. A folded blanket already placed within reach. Water bottle on the coffee table. Snacks lined neatly beside it.

You also chose not to comment because if you did, he would shrug like it meant nothing so instead you settled into the couch, one leg tucked carefully under the other, phone in hand, while he moved around the apartment doing errands he claimed he had ignored for too long.

Laundry first. Then something in the kitchen. Then you heard drawers opening somewhere deeper inside. And because apparently distance no longer stopped either of you from continuing conversations, he texted you even when he’s just in the other room

Seungcheol: Why is your hand inside the snack bowl but you’re not eating?

You: Are you spying on me?

Seungcheol: Reflection from the TV

You looked up instinctively toward the blank television and narrowed your eyes.

“Creepy”

From the other room, his voice came back calm “Eat.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. Your shirt had ridden slightly upward from how you were sitting, exposing the soft curve of your stomach. One hand rested there absentmindedly, fingertips moving without thought the way they had lately whenever you sat still too long.

You were halfway through typing another complaint about his hoodie collection when the apartment door opened. You barely registered it.

A click. Then footsteps.

Jeon Wonwoo appears with one iced coffee in hand, clearly meant for Seungcheol, and had already stepped fully inside before his eyes landed on the couch.

Then stopped. Because from his angle, what he saw was: You stretched comfortably across Seungcheol’s couch. Pillows arranged around you like someone had built a nest. Snacks spread on the table. Your hand resting over your stomach. Your shirt slightly lifted enough to make the pregnancy obvious.

And the overall atmosphere of someone entirely at ease in another person’s home.

Wonwoo blinked once. The amusement arrived first. Then confusion. Then dangerous understanding.

Seungcheol, unfortunately, caught that exact expression immediately and the glare he shot him could have stopped traffic.

A very clear: Don’t you dare.

Wonwoo looked delighted “Ah.”

That one syllable alone sounded criminal. You finally looked up.

“Oh. Hi.”

Wonwoo lifted the coffee slightly like proof he came peacefully.

“Hi”

Seungcheol spoke first, voice flat “You’re early”

“I can leave,” Wonwoo said, not sounding like he meant it at all

“You should”

“But then I’d miss whatever this is”

You frowned faintly “What do you mean, whatever this is?”

Wonwoo looked at you. Then very deliberately at Seungcheol. Then back at you.

“This looks… domestic”

Seungcheol immediately moved forward, taking the coffee from his hand harder than necessary.

“It looks like she’s resting”

“It looks,” Wonwoo corrected mildly, “like you kidnapped a pregnant woman and built her a comfort station”

You almost laughed. Seungcheol did not.

“She didn’t want to stay alone.”

“Mm” Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to the table again

“Sit down or leave”

You looked slowly toward Seungcheol. He refused eye contact immediately, suddenly very interested in placing coffee on the counter.

Wonwoo saw your expression shift and nearly smiled to himself. So naturally he stepped deeper into it. He sat in the armchair opposite the couch like he had arrived specifically for entertainment.

“You want coffee too?” Seungcheol asked you immediately, changing subject

“No”

“Tea?” “No”

“Fruit?” “I’m not a zoo animal”

Wonwoo leaned back “He asks like that every ten minutes?”

“Yes” you answered before Seungcheol could stop you

“Because she forgets to eat”

“Because he acts like I’ll vanish if unsupervised”

Wonwoo looked at Seungcheol again, slow and deeply entertained.

“You know, if anyone walked in right now, they’d assume this is his wife.”

Silence. Immediate silence. Your eyes widened just slightly. Seungcheol looked ready to physically remove him.

Wonwoo, sensing impact, added calmly “Especially with the hand on the stomach.”

You looked down instinctively, your palm still rested there. You pulled your shirt down at once.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, not because of you, but because Wonwoo had noticed the exact thing he had spent all morning pretending not to stare at.

Then, suddenly a small movement under your palm.

You froze. The shift came again. Tiny but unmistakable.

Your breath caught “Wait”

Everything changed instantly. Both men looked at you. You stared down, hand pressing lightly. There it is again.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide.

“I think—” Seungcheol was beside the couch before you finished. All annoyance gone. Wonwoo forgotten.

“What?”

“She moved”

His expression changed in real time. Softened so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

“Now?” Y

Y&ou nodded. He crouched immediately in front of you, instinctive, like every serious thing involving you now pulled him lower, closer, gentler.

“Again?”

“I don’t know, wait—” You inhaled sharply and without thinking, your hand caught his wrist and placed it there. Right over the curve.

For one suspended second no one moved. Seungcheol went absolutely still his large hand under yours. Then… another tiny movement. Barely there but enough.

His eyes lifted slowly to yours and whatever he felt in that moment showed too clearly.

Wonwoo, for once in his life, did something rare. He stayed quiet. No teasing. No smug I knew it expression spoken aloud, even though it absolutely lived in his eyes. He only leaned back deeper into the chair, coffee untouched in his hand, watching the two of you as if instinct told him this was not a moment to break.

Your entire focus stayed on the small place beneath your palm. And Seungcheol’s hand remained there too, large and impossibly careful under yours, like even breathing too hard might disturb something fragile.

Then another tiny movement. Your whole face changed instantly. Mouth parting into that smile he had come to recognize as the dangerous kind, the kind that hit him directly in the chest because it appeared without effort, pure and unguarded.

“That’s so weird,” you whispered. Then softer “But also… she’s alive.”

Your hand stayed over his and now you were smiling fully, looking down at your stomach like you had just met something miraculous and ordinary at once.

Seungcheol looked at you instead bcause this expression was worth every sleepless midnight run, every worried clinic wait, every swallowed anger from months ago he refused to revisit.

For a dangerous second, he forgot Wonwoo existed entirely yhen Wonwoo finally spoke, voice light enough not to shatter the softness.

“Oh—it’s a girl? Congrats.” The word landed like a pin through a bubble. Instantly both you and Seungcheol looked up.

The moment broke just enough for awareness to return. You realized your hand was still over his. Realized how close he was crouched between your knees.

Realized Wonwoo had watched the entire thing. Heat rushed straight into your face.

Seungcheol cleared his throat first and stood up immediately, too quickly almost, like distance would fix whatever had suddenly become obvious.

“Yeah,” you answered, voice smaller than before “A girl.”

He busied himself with the pillows which did not need fixing, then the blanket folded even though it had already been folded.

Wonwoo watched this performance with enormous internal satisfaction. He said nothing but the smile he bit back was criminal.

“You found out recently?” Wonwoo asked, shifting attention to you because clearly Seungcheol needed several seconds to remember how normal people behaved

“A few days ago”

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged “Hungry half the time. Sick the other half. Emotional for no reason.”

“Not no reason,” Wonwoo said mildly

“Yesterday I almost cried because my toast was uneven.”

“That sounds valid”

And just like that, conversation settled easier. You asked about work. Wonwoo told you stories—mostly exaggerated, likely to annoy Seungcheol, which worked because every third sentence from the kitchen came with corrections.

You laugh at Wonwoo’s stories, the sound carried through the apartment easily.

And each time it did, Seungcheo who was pretending to do anything except stand there listening, felt that quiet shift inside him he no longer knew how to control.

Because hearing you laugh here, in his place, had started to feel far too right.

Dangerously right.

=

If there was one thing Seungcheol noticed more clearly once you reached twenty-eight weeks, it was exhaustion. Just constant in small ways that added up enough for him to track without meaning to.

You moved slower now, sat down more often mid-conversation. Paused before stairs like your body negotiated whether the effort was worth it. And lately, no matter how much sleep you got, there was always that same heaviness behind your eyes by late afternoon.

Which naturally meant he adjusted around it without announcing he was doing so. If you had somewhere to go, he checked the time you’d finish. If you needed errands, he offered to drive. If you said you could take a cab, he ignored that entirely.

And tonight was no different.

You had gone out with friends for dinner. Something he had actually encouraged because lately your world had become too clinic-home-work-repeat and he knew you needed voices other than his around you.

Still, he parked nearby before your agreed pickup time anyway because he also knew how quickly your energy dropped now once evening came.

When you finally came out, two shopping bags hung from your wrist and your face already carried that unmistakable tired softness.

He was out of the car immediately

“Why are you carrying those”

“I have hands”

“You also have a back that complained yesterday”

He took the bags before you could argue. You got into the passenger seat muttering something about him being dramatic, but your voice lacked force.

By the time your seatbelt clicked in, he already knew you were exhausted.

The drive started with your usual attempt to stay awake. You talked while staring half at the window, half at the bags now in the backseat.

“They bought so much,” you murmured

“What did they get?”

“One bought tiny dresses”

“Mm.”

“And socks. More socks. So many socks”

You continued, words slower now “One bought this rabbit blanket…”

A pause “And this weird plush thing that plays music”

“What kind of music?”

“I think lullabies? Or maybe forest sounds. It sounded expensive.”

Another pause “And someone gave diapers which honestly felt the most practical.”

Your speech had begun to blur slightly between thoughts he noticed immediately. You kept talking anyway, stubbornly.

“They kept saying she’ll be spoiled already and she’s not even here yet…”

A small yawn interrupted you then another. Your hand moved over your stomach automatically.

“She kicked after dinner too much. Maybe she liked noodles.”

Silence lasted a few seconds then nothing after that. He glanced sideways. Your head had tipped slightly toward the window. Eyes closed. Asleep.

The city outside kept moving, headlights streaking softly over the windshield, but inside the car everything quieted instantly.

And for a moment he kept driving the route toward your apartment by habit.

One turn then another. Then at the next intersection, his hands stayed on the wheel while his mind ran through the practical facts he had already lost to.

You were asleep. deep enough that waking you meant making you walk upstairs. Your apartment meant stairs from parking to lobby because the elevator on your floor had been unreliable this week.

His apartment was closer from here. Fewer stairs. Softer couch. Extra pillows already there because somehow they had never really left after last time.

He exhaled once. Then took the turn toward his building.

Just for tonight, he told himself. For you and the baby.

Nothing else. Not because seeing you asleep beside him made something dangerous settle too naturally inside the silence or because your hand remained loosely over your stomach in sleep like even unconscious you protected her.

Not because there was something painfully domestic about driving with you like this.

No. Practical. Only practical.

He repeated that twice before parking. He hated waking you abruptly, so he touched your shoulder lightly first.

“We’re here”

A sleepy sound. Your eyes opened halfway, confused.

“My apartment?”

“No. Mine.”

That woke you slightly more “Why”

“You fell asleep”

“I can still go home.”

“You can also sleep first”

You looked at him for exactly three exhausted seconds before losing the argument simply because staying awake clearly cost too much energy.

He unbuckled your seatbelt when your fingers fumbled once, took the bags, walked slowly beside you to the elevator because now your steps had that familiar late-night heaviness.

Inside his apartment, the lights stayed soft. You barely reached the couch before another yawn overtook you.

“Sit,” he said

He already had water on the table, blanket unfolded, pillows adjusted. You watched him with half-open eyes, too tired now to comment on how practiced he had become at this.

Then your hand pressed lightly to your stomach

“She moved”

“Too much?”

“No… just saying hello, maybe.”

And exactly as expected, before he even returned from setting the bags aside you were already asleep again. One hand tucked near your face. The other still over the curve of your stomach.

Seungcheol stood there longer than necessary. Then quietly adjusted the blanket higher over your shoulder.

Just tonight, he told himself again. He let you sleep on the couch for exactly seven minutes before deciding it was a bad idea because even from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, he could already see the angle.

Your neck bent wrong. One arm trapped awkwardly under you. Lower back unsupported. And he knew what that meant tomorrow. complaints about stiffness, one hand pressing your side, that small wince you tried to hide when standing too quickly.

So eventually he crossed the room quietly, before kneeling slightly beside the couch.

“Hey” Nothing.

A second softer touch “Wake up”

Your brows moved first then your eyes opened halfway, unfocused and heavy with sleep.

“What…”

“You’ll sleep on the bed”

A tiny frown. Too tired even for full resistance.

“I’m okay here”

“No, you’re not” he added, gentler “Come on.”

You only gave a sleepy sound that might have been an agreement and pushed yourself upright. He stayed close automatically while you stood. One hand hovering near your elbow without touching unless needed.

You shuffled toward his room with that slow exhausted pace he had seen more often lately.

By the time you disappeared into the bedroom, he grabbed a spare shirt and comfortable shorts from his drawer, things loose enough not to bother your stomach and took the blanket from the couch too.

He gave you privacy long enough to change, waiting outside a moment before knocking lightly and stepping back in.

And then he stopped. You were already on his bed, settled against the pillows. His oversized shirt hanging loose enough that it slipped over one shoulder. The sight hit him so unexpectedly that for one suspended second he forgot to breathe.

You looked not like a guest. You looked like you belonged there in a way his mind accepted far too easily. Like the room had been waiting for that exact picture, like you had always been meant to soften the sharp edges of that space simply by existing inside it.

And because exhaustion had softened your face, because your eyes were already closing again, because the room was too quiet and too warm… something dangerous slipped through the cracks he usually kept sealed shut.

A thought. Not new. Just louder tonight.

That in another life—

another timeline—

this could have been ordinary.

You in his bed. Late night. Soft breathing. A child growing between shared futures instead of broken ones.

And before he could stop it, another thought followed. The selfish one. The one he hated every time it surfaced. There had been one ugly, human flash of something he never forgave himself for:

He wished, for one impossible second, that the baby had been his.

Not because he wanted to erase what happened. Not because he resented her existence.

Never that.

But because the idea of you carrying a child and it belonging to someone who hurt you had ignited something violent and helpless in him he still refused to examine too closely.

Because some reckless part of him had thought:

If it were mine, I would never make her carry this alone.

That thought had terrified him enough to bury it immediately. Especially because you were grieving enough already. Especially because love—his love—had no right to become another weight on your shoulders.

So he buried it. Deep.

Every day after. Under clinic visits. Under grocery bags. Under late-night cravings. Under pretending that all of this was simple friendship stretched a little farther because circumstances demanded it.

Because saying it aloud can change everything.

He could survive loving you quietly, what he could not survive was losing you.

The truth he had made peace with, quietly, alone, was this. That baby girl did not belong in his mind to the man who made you cry. Never to him.

In Seungcheol’s heart, she existed as yours. Entirely yours. And because she was part of you… because she would carry your smile, your voice, your habits, your softness somewhere he already loved her too.

Enough that raising another man’s child did not even feel like sacrifice if it meant protecting what was yours.

You shifted slightly then, pulling him back from thoughts he never let linger long.

Your eyes half-opened “You’re staring.”

His expression reset immediately “I’m checking if you need another pillow.”

Then another yawn. He moved closer anyway, adjusting one pillow behind your back until the angle improved.

“You’ll feel better like this.”

You made a quiet sound of approval already drifting again. As he pulled the blanket properly over you, your fingers caught his wrist lightly.

“Stay until I sleep,” you murmured.

And because refusing was impossible, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

Your hand loosened but did not fully let go. Within minutes your breathing deepened again.

Sleep taking you completely and Seungcheol sat there in the dim room longer than he should have watching the woman he loved sleep in his bed,

Telling himself once more that silence was kinder than confession, even while his heart had already crossed lines his mouth never would 

=

When morning light pushed faintly through the curtains, the first thing Seungcheol noticed was warmth at his arm. Your hand still clutching his sleeve.

He looked down for several quiet seconds and that same dangerous thought threatened again. So carefully he loosened your fingers one at a time. He stood slowly, pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder then left the room before he could look too long.

The gym was supposed to fix his head. Routine, he told himself. So he trained harder than usual. Longer too. Enough that muscle fatigue should have replaced whatever sat in his chest.

It did not.

Which was exactly why when Wonwoo spotted him there, one glance was enough for suspicion.

“You look like someone lost an argument with himself”

Seungcheol grabbed water “I’m working out”

“You’re punishing dumb decisions”

And somehow not an hour later,  Wonwoo sat in the passenger seat while they drove back toward the apartment because even while pretending calm, Seungcheol kept checking the time.

“She’s probably still asleep” Wonwoo said

“She sleeps lighter lately”

“You know that like a husband” Silence. Wonwoo let that one go. Rare mercy.

Back at the apartment, Seungcheol unlocked the door quietly, expecting silence.

So they stayed in the kitchen, voices lower than usual. Wonwoo leaned against the counter, watching his friend with the kind of patience that only existed because he had watched this same story unfold for years.

“Just tell her”

“No” Seungcheol didn’t even look up.

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose “You’re rearranging your entire life around her”

“She needs help”

“You know what week every appointment is”

“She forgets dates”

Wonwoo waited until Seungcheol looked up then said it plainly

“And you still think pretending this is only practical is believable?”

His jaw tightened “It doesn’t matter what I think”

“It matters if you’re in love with her” That word stayed in the kitchen heavier than either admitted aloud usually.

Seungcheol looked away first “She doesn’t need that right now”

Wonwoo’s voice stayed calm “She deserves truth and you deserve to stop acting like loving her is some crime”

That hit harder than expected.

Seungcheol’s answer came lower now “If I say anything and she pulls away, what then”

Wonwoo said nothing immediately because there it was. The real answer.

Not fear of rejection. Fear of absence. Fear that one confession could cost the place he already had beside you.

Then quieter, Wonwoo said “You think staying silent protects her. Maybe it protects you”

“She’s pregnant. Hurt. Trying to survive all of this. I’m not putting something selfish on top of that.”

Wonwoo frowned “Loving someone isn’t selfish”

“Now it is”

The kitchen fell quiet and neither of them noticed the bedroom door had opened slightly.

That you had woken earlier than expected, you had stepped closer at the sound of voices and caught only fragments.

Tell her. You deserve it. She deserves truth. Rearranging your life around her.

If I say anything and she pulls away…

Fragments without the whole. Fragments sharp enough to cut wrong.

Of course. Of course eventually this became too much. Of course there was a truth he wasn’t saying because how could there not be?

You were in his apartment. Sleeping in his bed. Calling him for cravings. Clinic visits. Rides home. Every week more of his time. More space. More care.

And suddenly all the things you had allowed yourself not to question arrived together, ugly and loud. You were asking too much. Holding him too long in a role that was never his. You and your baby were not his responsibility.

For one ugly second another thought came—one worse because it hurt before you could stop it.

Someday there would be someone else here. A woman who belonged naturally in this apartment. A woman he loved openly. A child that was theirs.

Not borrowed moments. Not careful boundaries. Not obligation dressed as kindness.

That image came so quickly it stole your breath. And before you realized it, tears had already gathered.

So you did what pride always made you do first. You cleaned evidence. Changed clothes. Washed your face.

By the time Seungcheol checked the room again, expecting sleep you were sitting at the edge of the bed, shoes on, bag beside you.

That alone made him stop “You’re awake.”

You nodded without looking long enough at him “I should go home”

His brows pulled together immediately “What?”

“I stayed too long”

“You were sleeping”

“I’m okay now” your voice sounded controlled in that way he recognized instantly as dangerous.

He stepped closer “Did something happen?”

“No.” A lie too quick. You stood before he could block it, adjusting your bag strap though he immediately took the bag from your hand out of habit.

“I’m taking you home”

That should have sounded ordinary. Usually it didbut today it landed differently because all you heard underneath was what your own mind had already decided. He doesn’t have to.

And maybe that was the part that hurt most. That you had started forgetting he never had to do any of this at all.

You looked away quickly before your eyes betrayed anything again.

“I really don’t want to keep bothering you.”

That made him still completely because the sentence came from nowhere.

His voice lowered immediately

“You’re not bothering me”

You gave the smallest smile. One that convinced neither of you.

But you nodded anyway and said nothing more because if you did, you were afraid your voice would break again first. 

The moment he dropped you off he knew something was wrong, you didn't even look back when you got out of his car. Arms crossed over yourself as if you're physically holding yourself together.

Not even a quick goodbye.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 11:09AM, SEOUL.  (1) Missed Call – Kim Mingyu.  (1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu. 

Hey, it’s me.   Well, you know it’s me...right? [LAUGHTER.] God, I miss your voice. Even if it’s just your outgoing message...and your laugh. I miss that laugh. I miss you, baby.  I’m getting drunk in Chicago with Seungcheol, but I’m thinking about you and I know I shouldn’t. I know I should have some shame, but I’ve never done this. The...breaking up over something small. Well, it’s not small, because it means something to you. It meant something to you, the reason you dumped me, and it means something to me because I love you and everything that matters to you matters to me. I just don’t know how to function without being able to talk to you everyday, and that’s selfish of me. It’s selfish of me to even leave this voicemail...but I can’t help it. I know my job kept me so busy, and I know you’re still probably so pissed at me but I still love you – even when I’m in Chicago and you’re all the way back home, getting pretty for work. Even when I’m back home, I love you and I think about you. I’m not drunk, before you say that. I’ve only had one beer and it was straight ass, but I think I’ll have just a few more so I can excuse the fact that your name is all over my call log in the morning.  I love you.  I miss you.  I’ll see you whenever you want me back.  

When you think about it: not-drunk, not-sober Mingyu has a point. 

You did break up over something very small, but in the moment...it meant something to you. It meant so much to you – and it was only by a few minutes. He was late, again – only by a handful of minutes but you will always stick to your guns and say it’s serious, and he knows it is. You’d told him at the start of your relationship that you hate being late and you hate it when people are late to any event they may have planned with you; and Mingyu had been understanding for the most part. He was rarely late and if he was, he had a good excuse prepared the moment he got in your face for his kiss in greeting.  

You tried to settle your own stomach about it – he'd been in Chicago for work the week before your breakup, and you were convincing youreslf that he was just adjusting to the time difference. The whites of his eyes were pink with fatigue, and you felt the urge to run your fingers through his hair as he rested his head in your lap just for five minutes before he fell asleep. 

But this had been the third time in one week. He’d been late by twenty minutes to dinner on Monday, arriving with nothing but a breathless sorry falling off his lips as he pressed them to your hairline. He’d been sweaty, like he ran to your apartment – but you let it go, because you also told him that your building elevator was under maintenance. 

You still expected him to plan accordingly and arrive punctually – you'd told him that at nine in the morning, and dinner was at six in the evening. He should have planned ahead. 

The second time was on Wednesday. Your friends had hosted a quick game night, one you’d invited Mingyu to with their permission and they asked you to stop for a bottle of wine. You’d gotten the wine on your way home from work to save time, and texted Mingyu three times within your arrival at your apartment – reminding him that he was driving, reminding him at the game night started at eight, reminding him that you do not like to be late. 

He arrived at your apartment five minutes to eight, and your friend that was hosting the game night lived thirty minutes south. You couldn’t even dream of getting there by the start of it, and you got two text messages letting you know that they were starting a game of Monopoly and they’d start over when you got there. Mingyu’s jaw was as tight as yours was as he drove you both in silence, only for you to shoot a text off in the group (that had Mingyu in it) that you wouldn’t be making it. You made Mingyu pull over five minutes away from your friend’s apartment and handed him the bottle of wine, telling him you’d get a rideshare home. 

It was the first real fight the two of you got into, and in the middle of a gas station parking lot. You were embarrassed as people peered through his crystal clear windshield at your frustrated attempt to make him understand, only for him to tell you he tried. That you knew he was busy, that he was doing the best he could to show up for you and you weren’t cutting him any slack. You’d scoffed, asking him if he’d ever cut you slack when you attended his work events with him, when you’d go to dinners with him and his friends. 

“You don’t have to, and that’s because I plan accordingly! I tell you everything down to the minute and you can’t even give me a tapback reaction so I at least know you saw the message? Why are you acting like I’m being irrational for asking you to communicate with me?” 

Mingyu turned his read receipts on after that fight. The drive to your apartment was silent, and you held in your frustrated tears until he pulled into his visitor parking spot in the garage of your complex. You pushed your own door open and slammed it shut, your heels clicking against the asphalt of the garage – but you didn’t get very far as Mingyu rounded the side of the car and grabbed your arm gently, pulling you into him with a very soft whisper against the shell of your ear. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You ignored it, turning your face away as he held you close to his chest – the soft smell of his cologne filling your nose and making your knees stupidly weak.  

You don’t remember much about that night, but you do remember the way he’d hoisted you over one shoulder and carried you to your apartment. You remember the way he apologized on his knees inside your apartment, before pinning you under him on the couch and kissing you fervently. You remember how easily your anger melted away as he pulled your dress off, as he kissed down your body, as he sank his teeth into the flesh of your soft thighs before he made you forget why you were even mad to begin with. 

The bottle of wine was empty by the end of the night, and you had a horrible hangover that made you call in sick to work – only to lift up your blanket and see your legs littered with nips of your boyfriend’s teeth. 

Then, Saturday came. 

Date night. Starting at four in the afternoon and ending at eight in the morning on Sunday. 

Mingyu loved date night and he was never late to date night. He brought flowers, he’d kiss you stupid on your couch for a good hour before your plans took effect. Sometimes it was dinner, a walk, a movie. Other times it was staying in and snuggling together after a long week of being apart and bitching about your work schedules.  

Other times, though rare...Mingyu was all over you the entire night. From the moment he stepped foot into your apartment, his lips were on yours and his hands roamed any and every part of your body you allowed. It was, admittedly, one of your favorite types of date nights – and you always made it a point to wear a cute little set under your outfit just in case he was feeling froggy. 

Four came and went.  

Five in the afternoon, six in the evening. 

Seven rolled around and you stared at the new bottle of wine you’d gotten to share with him on your way home from work on Friday. A nice Merlot, bitter on the back of your tongue as you finished your second glass. You took the pretty clips out of your hair, tossing them onto the coffee table and doing the same with all your jewelry before grabbing the bottle by the neck. You tucked your legs beneath you as you grabbed your television remote, clicking around the screen before some boring news segment crossed the screen and you tossed it into the couch cushions.  

You drank from the bottle for a total of fifteen minutes – the news segment ending and a broadcasted dating show taking over before your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It buzzed twice, before it started ringing. It rang, and rang, and rang – and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you glanced down at your dress. Picked by Mingyu ages ago at a department store, one that he’d practically manhandled you into the dressing room over. 

You turned the television off at ten to nine – just  as Mingyu pulled your apartment door open. You could see the lines of sleep against his cheek, his eyes bloodshot as an apologetic look coated them. You’d pressed your lips together, before a laugh of disbelief fell from your mouth as you sighed. You shook your head as he toed his shoes off, guilt crossing his features as you slid the bottle onto the coffee table and grabbed your accessories in one hand. You didn’t care if your necklaces tangled – they had all been gifts from him anyway. 

You stood on wobbly legs, kicking the heels you’d planned to wear that day out of the way as you moved to stand in front of him. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch you as you gave him a wavering smile. 

“Slept well?” You tilted your head, before holding your hand out and dropping the accessories in his hand, “you can have those back.” 

“Baby.”  “That’s not my name.” 

You shrugged, smiling wider still as you skipped to your bedroom. You pulled the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pulling open all your dresser drawers and pulling out every article of clothing he’d ever given you and dropping it on top of the very same dress. Shirts, skirts, even a couple pairs of his sweatpants and a pair of his socks you’d stolen at the beginning of your relationship because you’d worn open-toed heels in winter. 

He stood in the doorway of your bedroom as you tugged on a pair of pajama pants, his lower lip trembling as you pulled a shirt that wasn’t his over your head. You beelined back out of your bedroom, grabbing a garbage bag from your kitchen and prying it open before shoving everything inside it. 

“Drive safe, Mingyu.”  “Baby, let me explain—”  “I waited like an idiot for five hours. I don’t do late. You know I don’t. You knew my one rule, and this week has just been a shitshow. Go home, get some rest and I’ll pick up my stuff next week.” You were fighting tears the entire time, covering your face with a trembling hand as he knelt in front of you, “stop! Go home, Mingyu!” 

“Please. Please, baby, don’t do this—”  “Go! Get out!” 

You were crying by the time Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your hips, burying his face in your shirt as he begged you to let him explain. You couldn’t hear him over your tears and the frustration festering in your belly, and you managed to twist yourself out of his hold despite wanting to melt right into him. 

He left reluctantly – his face blotchy with tears and his shoulders heavy with fatigue. You knew he was tired. You knew he had this trip to Chicago every year and it was hard on him. 

You had one rule. Don’t be late. 

However...as you laid in your bed that night, barely able to breathe through your tears – you came to the conclusion that you had been a jerk. You knew you had been a jerk, but you had pride and you weren’t going to beg him to come back. 

And now you’re sitting in your cubicle, a year later – wiping silent tears from your cheeks as you play his voicemail over and over. 

I miss you. 

I love you. 

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 12:19 PM, SEOUL.  (4) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.  (1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu. 

Hi, baby. It’s me again! I miss you.  Just realized I said I was drunk in that last message and then said I wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter anyay because I’d tell you all of this sober. Did you know I got a promotion? I didn’t get to tell you, but I had meant for it to be news that night we broke up. I was going to tell you but everything just crumbled and I should’ve said more. I should’ve fought you on it, I think.  You didn’t really look like you were ready to let me go.  Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t. But, I’m still here. Kind of like an anchor, I guess, and you’re the ship. I guess that’s why they call boats she, right?  I’m just waiting for you to pull me out of the water again and say you love me like you used to. Maybe kiss me, too. I miss your voice. I miss your lips, too, and your cherry lip balm. God, I miss you. I can’t sleep without you, and Chicago fucking sucks. I hate Chicago because all I can think about it you when I’m here. Three years strong, thinking about you when I see the damn Bean and eat deep dish at Lou Malnati’s.  [MUFFLED NOISES] Anyway, Seungcheol wants to take off. I’ll talk to you later. This is call number...four? I think, yeah. Oof, bad luck, huh? [SOFT LAUGHTER]   I’m six beers in, baby. Still in Chicago, still missing you, still loving you and still yours. I’ll see ya, sweets. 

Again, he was right. 

God, you hate when he’s right. 

He’s so smug about it sometimes, Kim Mingyu. He’s insufferable when he’s right – when he guesses something correctly, when he figures something out before you can, when he beats you at a damn game of Scrabble. You’d learned to roll your eyes at him, and really – it was endearing. Kim Mingyu was a champion, a master of all trades – and he’d won your heart over and over again. 

You hadn’t wanted to let him go.  

Your swollen eyes had been hidden behind a clunky pair of sunglasses and glued to the ground as you dropped off his last box of things on his stoop the following Monday, but he didn’t answer the door. You knew he was home – his car was parked in front of his apartment and the Ring camera clicked on and off. You knocked on the door for five minutes before groaning. 

“Give me my stuff, Mingyu!” 

He didn’t open the door, opting to talk to you through his camera like a coward. 

“You’re insane if you think we’re breaking up.”  “We are breaking up! Give me my shit before I break your door down.” 

He’d laughed through the camera, clicking it off before you heard the locks on his front door coming undone. He barely cracked the door open, holding a singular purse out to you and something about it made your gut churn. 

“Mingyu, let me in.”  “No, you said give you your shit. This is all you’ve got here. I know, I looked.” 

You shoved the door open further, only to see a mess of boxes in the living room piled up. Everything was labeled with your name, clothing of yours folded neatly on his couch – books you left there carefully wrapped in newspaper and pairs of your shoes neatly held together by black zipties. Your stomach hurt as you let your eyes scan over it, the room far too dark with your sunglasses on but you had too much pride to take them off and let him see that you knew you were making a mistake. 

“...You don’t have to be so nice about it.”  “Stop being a douche and take your sunglasses off, then. You’re indoors, it’s bad manners.” 

You hadn’t looked at him yet, but the thickness of his voice told you everything you needed to know. He was near tears and your shoulders tensed as your heart clenched in your chest, and you peered over your shoulder to see him thumbing at the strap of your purse in his hand. You pried it from his hands swiftly, your fist tight around it as he sniffled, blinking back tears as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

“Are you gonna help me load this in my car or what?” You muttered, shoving the purse over your shoulder as he chuckled dryly. 

“I’ll just drop it off. It’s too much for you to carry back alone and I can’t let you do that.” He shook his head, and your ears picked up on the music playing in his living room. You looked around, before spotting his television on YouTube – playing I Don’t Know Why by NOTD and Astrid S. You trilled your lips them, shoving your hand under your sunglasses as hot tears spilled over. Your shoulders shook as you cried inwardly, and he tentatively slid his hands over them, making you jolt against him. 

“Don’t.”  “I’m sorry, Y/N. Please.” 

“Stop! Stop telling me you’re sorry, Mingyu!” You exclaimed, stomping your foot as you shoved yourself away from him then. You pulled the sunglasses off your face, haphazardly wiping your hand across your face as more tears spilled down your cheeks. You heard a crack in the plastic of the glasses from how tight your grip was, and you simply shoved them in one of the open boxes before facing him and blinking rapidly. He was blurry in your vision, but he was a mirror of you – splotchy eyes, pleading, begging... 

Don’t leave me. 

Fight for me. 

For us. 

“Please, Y/N.”  “I don’t even know what you’re asking for, Mingyu. Just...drop my things off with the doorman. And leave your key with him, too.” 

You sighed, running your hands over your face and feeling the warmth of your swollen eyelids beneath your fingers as you tried to walk past him. Your fingers urged to touch him, to feel him close and breathe in his scent – but he caved first, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him. He kissed you then, too – his lips chapped but you cared nothing of it as you melted into him like a fool. Your hands clutched at his sweatshirt like you needed him to stay grounded as he held you against the front door, his own hands gripping your waist like you were going to disappear. 

“Stop, stop.” You pulled back, your eyes staring into his. So full of love, adoration and hurt – a perfect image of you engrained in those molten brown irises. His pupils were dialated as he peered at you, but he blinked and let you go, pushing himself away as he cleared his throat with a mumbled apology. 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Mingyu.” 

Those had been your last words to him as you slammed out of his apartment – booking it to your car with tears in your eyes and the taste you missed on your tongue. 

Him, him, always him. 

You’re still sitting in your cubicle as you listen to this voicemail – your eyes probably just as swollen as you poke around a bowl of oxtail soup you’d packed for lunch from your leftovers the night before. 

It doesn’t taste as good as when he used to make it. 

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 2:11 PM, SEOUL.  (9) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.  (1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu. 

Caller number nine! Claim your prize, me!  Hi, babe. I’m still in Chicago, but I’m in a different bar. Cheol is sick of me talking about you but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. This bar has a really nice plum blossom syrup they put in their lemon drops, you’d love it. Do you remember our first kiss, actually? In Japan?   It was under all those plum blossoms and I put one in your hair, and you were so nervous that you didn’t kiss me back for a good three seconds. I know that’s probably a bit embarrassing for you but it’s one of my favorite memories of us...of you. God, I miss you.  I made you dinner that night, too, and we had that nice gin that I can’t remember the name of. But, I do remember that you told me you’d never been in love and I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t think I had ever been in love, either. Looking back, though, I think I was in love with you, even then.  Pft, wait. No. I know. I know I was in love with you. I know because your perfume was still lingering on my pillowcase, and I remember begging you not to go back to your room because we weren’t together yet. Do you remember that? Mingyu, don’t book one room! We’re not together yet!  Ugh, but that ‘yet’ hit me so hard. It was such a huge risk for us to go on that trip together when we weren’t together, and that ‘yet’ really told me everything I needed to know. That I was for you, and you were for me, endlessly. Timelessly.  So...I think, no. Fuck. I don’t think, I know you were in love with me, too.  I am currently...six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop and three shots in the hole. Tequila, too. Horrible, I still hate it...but I miss you.  I’m still in Chicago, and hopefully...somewhere in your heart.  Later, winner winner. I love you. 

You do remember your first kiss, and you’re sitting at the cafeteria at your job with your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee with seasonal plum blossom creamer in it. You’re done with meetings, your coworkers worriedly patting your shoulders at the swelling in your eyes, your lips bitten raw from holding back your sobs in the ladies’ room. 

You’d been dating Mingyu for a few weeks at that point. Dating, not his girlfriend – you'd been on six dates and something about him made your skin prickle with excitement. His smooth words paired with clumsy movements, pouted lips that brought you to a steaming hot blush every time they brushed your cheek as he dropped you off to the door of your apartment... 

Hands that snaked around your waist every single time he tried to go in for the kiss, and you turned away.  

“You can wait a little longer,” you’d roll your eyes as he brushes his nose to yours, and you’d crinkle it as you patted his chest. He would wait, he’d been open about it – he'd wait as long as you needed him to...because Mingyu was absolutely smitten with you. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, or to figure out that if he insisted just a bit more – he'd be in your bed before the word girlfriend even followed his introduction of you to his friends. 

You wanted Mingyu just as bad, if not more. 

He proposed the trip to Japan on the sixth of December, to leave by the eight and be back home by the fifteenth. Six days and seven nights, and he’d book you separate hotel rooms. 

“I just want to spend time with you...uninterrupted. God, that sounds perverted but I don’t mean it that way, I swear!” 

You’d only laughed then, and threw caution to the wind, accepting his invitation with a shy smile. The eighth came fast – and you were buckled into your seat on the plane next to him as he told you all the things he had planned for the two of you to do once you landed. You tried to argue that you’d need to take a power nap, only for him to roll his eyes and say there was no way you were going to waste time sleeping in Japan of all places. 

“We’ll have plenty of time to sleep, beautiful. Just trust me.” 

And you did. So blindly, so willingly. 

He took you all over Osaka, and you’d spent the ninth of December with your fingers intertwined between your hips and walking around an indoor arboretum, a giant greenhouse of sorts. Plum blossom season in Japan wasn’t for another handful of weeks, but he’d insisted he’d been to this garden before and they had them in December – and he was right.  

Again. 

“I haven’t kissed anyone in a while,” you’d admitted quietly, your hand rubbing your neck nervously as he shook his head, pulling you closer as the area seemingly cleared out of couples and families. You both stood looking at the trees surrounding you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin before he pulled you slightly closer, “Mingyu.” 

“I heard you, honey.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple as he picked a blossom off the tree, tucking it carefully into your hair. “You’re so pretty.” 

“Shut up.” You muttered, leaning your cheek against his bicep as he peered down at you. His fingers carefully pinched your other cheek between his knuckles, making you scoff as he leaned slightly into your space. Your eyes had darted down to his lips, pink and plump and smelling of cherry lip balm you’d given him on the train ride there... 

And you didn’t kiss him back for three seconds when you felt him press his lips to yours carefully. Your eyes were wide, before you squeezed them shut and kissed him back carefully. You’d both broken into giggles not even five seconds after, but he held your face in his hands gently and peppered chaste kisses all over it before asking if you wanted dinner. 

It was one of the first times he’d made dinner for you, and one of the absolute best to date. A beautiful white fish with roasted lemon and brown butter served over a bed of creamy risotto and broccolini. You’d both eaten in silence and on the floor, and you’d been amused at how much he’d been able to whip up on a two-burner hot plate he’d brought from home. He turned his nose up at you as you laughed at him, but smiled smugly as you were rendered speechless by the dishes he’d plated for you. 

You were both laying on his bed with the balcony doors thrown open when the words fell from your lips without thinking. 

“I’ve never been in love.” You blurted, and he stilled next to you. You'd cautiously peered at him out of the corner of your eye, only to see him deep in thought before he turned to look at you. 

“I don’t know if I have, either.” He offered, almost as if to soothe anything you maybe have disturbed. He furrowed his brows, folding his hands on his stomach as he hummed, “I have no idea what that’s like, but...I’m willing to find out.”  

You’d felt your face grow hot then, and you sat up abruptly, “with me?” 

“If you’d allow it.”  “We’re not together yet.” 

He smiled, his cheeks tinging pink as he grabbed the pillow you’d been laying on and covered his face with it, “stop saying that! It makes me nervous and then I can’t stop smiling like an idiot and I lose my cool guy demeanor.” 

“You have zero inkling of a cool guy demeanor, Kim Mingyu.”  “Nuh uh! You told me I looked cool when we met at that tangsuyuk place! That you liked my jacket.” 

You’d snickered then, crawling over him as his eyes widened. His fingers on the pillow tightened as he looked up at you through his lashes, lips parted as his ears burned bright red. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his carefully. He kissed you back almost immediately, his hands finding your hips just as you pulled back. 

“I said your jacket looked cool, not that you were cool. And you tripped after asking for my number, so I say that knocks a couple points off,” you murmured against his lips, only for him to pout as you laughed in his face. You pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth before patting his hip, “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Kim.” 

“You’re such a tease.” 

You only smiled as you climbed off him, holding a finger up as you made your way to the door and looking over your shoulder with a scrunch of your nose. 

“Well, I suggest you learn to love it!” 

You stare down at the cup off coffee in your hands as the voicemail plays for a fifth time in your headphones. Your lipstick is on the edge of the ceramic cup, the very same lipstick you’d worn the day he kissed you.  

If you flipped the tube over, it’d say Plum Blossom Baby. 

And you’d remember every single time he kissed it off you like a man starved. 

“I miss you, too.”  

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 4:46 PM, SEOUL.  (12) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.  (1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu. 

Hi, baby! This is call number...twelve! Yeah!  That’s our anniversary date, by the way. December 12th. Mark your calendar, ‘cause it’s almost here!  Can you believe we broke up a year ago today, though? Well, it’s barely the seventh here in Chicago, but the seventh is almost over for you. Do you miss me? I miss you. Maybe that’s why the alcohol isn’t as bitter as it usually is, though.   Anyway, I know I’m probably not super intelligible right now because I’m now six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop, three shots and two whiskey sours in. Because of this information that I’ve just bestowed upon you, my love, I’m just gonna be honest, yeah?   Again.  I miss you.  You know, I probably would’ve introduced you to my parents this Christmas. I had it planned for last year, but then...well, you know. But, I wanted to bring you home, ‘cause that’s what you do when things get serious enough, right? When things feel right and you wanna pop the question, right? I wanted to bring you home because then that means the future holds that big ass ring you deserve. The ring and the beautiful dress and the nice house I want to buy you and maybe some kids, right? You still want kids with me, right? I would’ve been such a good husband. I’d never be late, either, because I’d be your house husband, too. I would have given up everything for you, even when you tried to say you were just kidding, I know you. I know that glint in your eye...I know you and I love you and I would’ve given up everything to make you happy.  I still would.  I still want to, just like I still want you. I still need you, Y/N.  [SLURRED WHISPERING]  Cheollie wants me to hang up, but I had to tell him you’re not even talking back! God, you’re not talking back and I miss your voice so fucking bad, Chicago feels like Hell right now. I miss you so much it pains me. My stomach hurts, actually, thinking about you right now and missing your voice. Missing you.  I think...I think this will be my last call.  It has to be.  I miss you...so much. Even in Chicago, especially in Chicago. I feel it worse when I’m here, and I’m positive it’s because I was in Chicago the week before we broke up. You looked so pretty in all the outfits and selfies you sent me when I was gone on my trip...God, and you were so beautiful in that little red set you got. Fuck, I can’t think about that. It’s not right.  [SILENCE]  Oh, I never gave you the snowglobe I got you when I was here last year! I got it personalized, it had a picture of you and me the day I asked you to be my girlfriend! It’s still in the trunk of my car, though, and it’s buried inside one last box of stuff I couldn’t bring myself to give you when I dropped it all off with Myungjae. How is that guy, by the way? Still flirting with you? Dipshit.  Sorry.  God, I miss you. I miss kissing you...holding your hand and making fun of you for crying at Shark Tale when Angie confesses to Oscar that she was in love with him when he was nothing.  You loved me when I was nothing, too.  I’d be nothing without you.  ...Do you think you’ll miss me too, someday? Maybe as bad as I miss you? Ever?  [SILENCE]  Bad question to ask. I’m sorry. I miss you.  Well.  My name is Kim Mingyu. I’m 28, and I am drunk in Chicago, Illinois. I am desperately missing you, I am irrevocably in love with you and I’ll see you as soon as you want me.  I’ll catch ya when I can, baby. December 12th, don’t forget. I love you. God, I love you.  Bye, baby. 

You’re thankful that you’re sitting on your couch when that voicemail comes in.  

You’re so grateful no one can see your trembling fingers as you press play on it, or the way you burst into tears the moment the word baby crosses his lips. You can hardly hear him speaking, but you turn the volume up as high as it will go and sob into your throw pillow. You cover yourself with one of the blankets you’d thrown over the edge of the couch that morning, and you feel your chest ache as you get a whiff of his cologne. 

You know Mingyu wanted to marry you. 

You’d seen the velvet box in his dresser a few months before the breakup. It wasn’t at all the reason behind it, and you were confident in that. You would’ve married him in a heartbeat, he wouldn’t even have to ask you. He’d have to do nothing of the sort like he did when he asked you to be his girlfriend – no fancy rented restaurant, no engraved bottle of gin, no begging to go down on you after finishing inside you for the very first time. 

You think it scared you, though. 

God, it scared you so much. 

To be Mingyu’s forever – it terrified you to know that you’d fallen so deeply in love with him that he wouldn’t even have to ask. You’d give him anything he wanted, anything he needed at the drop of a hat – just a kiss to your lips and you’d seal his fate forever. House husband, the kids, the house, the stupid fucking wedding that he’d talked about for a few weeks before he left for Chicago last year... 

You’d give it all to him. 

Every. Single. Thing. 

“I love you, Kim Mingyu.” 

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 7:15 PM, SEOUL. 

INCOMING CALL – Kim Mingyu. 

You watch the phone ring from your couch. You’re still in your work clothes, your pantyhose torn at the knee from picking at it. Waiting for another call. 

Hoping for another call. 

It rings, and rings... 

And it starts going to voicemail before you grab it and slide the toggle to answer it, pressing it to your ear. Your skin prickles as you hear the crunch of snow under his boots, and a sigh from his lips – likely paired with tears beginning to coat his lashes. Seungcheol is hollering in the background, singing something about a girl from Ipanema. 

“Okay, I lied. This is the last call—” 

“Mingyu, you have to stop doing this.” You blurt, and silence follows your sentence. You dare yourself to peek at the screen, but he hasn’t hung up. He clears his throat, and you hear him stop walking. 

“What the hell? Baby?”  “Mingyu, stop calling this number.” 

You feel your throat tight, burning as you hear him sigh painfully on the other end, and a soft thud follows. He’s likely on the floor, sitting on a curb in the middle of Chicago....at almost five in the morning. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

“I know. I know you love me, Mingyu. That’s why you need to stop.” You feel a rush of hot tears spill down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away as you sniffle, “Because I can’t promise you that I don’t love you back, and then we’re fucked. We’re in a mess if I can’t tell you that I don’t love you.” 

“That just means that you do love me.” He’s pouting, and Seungcheol has switched songs to I’m Your Baby Tonight by Whitney Houston. “You know we can be together. I’ll drop everything for you, right now. I need to be yours or I won’t understand the meaning of life.” 

You snort, the amusement feeing cynical as you shake your head, “we can’t.” 

“Why?”  “Because I have pride.” 

“Fuck your pride. Love me like I know you fucking do. I know you love me.” His voice grows soft despite the strong start, and you hear the ping of metal on metal. He’s probably leaning against a lamp post, “Love me, please.” 

“Mingyu.” You groan, your voice thick as you sink into the cushions. He hums as you sigh, “I shouldn’t have answered. I gotta go, Mingyu. Get back to your hotel safe, okay?” 

“Wait, wait. Don’t hang up, please. I miss your voice...so much.” He whines, before the sound of snow jostles around him, “What if I send you a ticket to Chicago right now? I’ll send you a ticket right now if you promise me you’ll come. Come see me. Love me.” 

“Mingyu, why would I do that? I work...I have commitments. You’re just drunk.” You hate how close you are to caving, to calling in sick and using your PTO to go rescue him. A twenty-hour flight over a drunken confession of completely and utterly missing you that you’re sure he’ll regret. 

“For closure, I guess. To prove you don’t love me. I’ll send you a ticket right now, and if you don’t love me...” Something akin to a sob rips through him, and you feel your lower lip tremble as the same burn settles in your chest, “if you don’t love me, don’t tell me. Just don’t get on the flight.” 

“You’re wasting money, Mingyu.” The waver in your voice betrays you, and his response lets you know that he knows he’s got you. Hook, line... 

“I was made to spend my money on you. My time. Give you all my love until I can’t anymore and when I can’t that’s when my time is up. But loving you...God, I'd never fucking die. I’ll love you in this lifetime, in the next one. I’ll love your lips and your face and your heart in every single time and space continuum, the Gods would be fucking sick of my ass yearning for you. That’s what this is. I’m yearning for you to love me from across the world while I’m drunk on a curb in Chicago and all the stars in the sky look like your eyes when you tell me you love me, too.” 

Sinker. 

“Good night, Mingyu.” You breathe out, and he hums again, his voice thick as he replies softly. 

Carefully. 

“Good night, Y/N. I love you...so much.” 

He hangs up before you can, and you look at your phone with a weight in your stomach. 

You stare at it for five minutes, your thumb hovering over the PLEDIS app your company had to put in paid time off or sick leave. 

NEW! 2 Messages from: Kim Mingyu  [7:31 PM] [1 Attachment]  [7: 31 PM] check your email. come to me. please. 

Your email pings as you press the photo. A screenshot – one first class ticket to Chicago through O’Hare, taking off at seven in the morning your time. A non-stop thirteen-hour flight, because you can’t stand waiting around an airport for a connection. 

NEW! 1 Message from: Kim Mingyu  [7:32 PM] i love you. 

You open the company app without a second thought. 

MONDAY, DECEMBER 8 | 5:34 AM, CHICAGO. 

Mingyu is nauseous as he paces back and forth in front of your gate, his hand nearly crushing the flowers he’s got gripped in his palm. 

He’s still hungover as fuck, and he has absolutely no idea what came over him the night before – but he doesn’t care, either. If you got on that plane...you’ll be here. 

Any minute now. 

Seungcheol scolded him the entire ride to the airport. He went on and on about how he can’t do things like that when he’s drunk, that he can’t just drop over two grand to get you to Chicago because he misses you – when Seungcheol had done the same thing the year you and Mingyu met, but for Jeonghan. 

Seungcheol argues he and Jeonghan have been in love longer than Mingyu has even known how to wipe his ass. Offensive, gross and not true...but slightly endearing as the older man flushes at the mention of his long-term boyfriend. 

Mingyu’s collar is too tight as he nibbles on his lip, watching people start trickling out the gate. Families, a couple. Another couple, elderly and wobbly as they hold hands tightly and carry light backpacks – a young girl screaming from behind him and running up to them. He stops pacing, standing next to a man obviously waiting for someone – maybe a her. A girl, a woman. 

He’s just as nervous as Mingyu is, holding flowers just like Mingyu. Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed...and Mingyu reminds himself to take a deep breath. He keeps looking over heads of people – more couples, more families... 

You. 

In a pink hoodie that belonged to him in college, with a black pair of his sweatpants tugged over your hips and almost too long. Wearing cable headphones, eyes swollen and sunglasses perched on your head. Your hands are stuffed in your pocket, and you’re chewing on your lip the way you always do when you’re nervous as you walk cautiously; your eyes slowly raking over everyone waiting before you drop them to the ground. 

Mingyu feels glued to the goddamn floor, and the guy next to him nudges his arm. 

“That’s your girl?” He utters, and you duck behind a couple, almost like you’re embarrassed. Like you’re not aware he’s there, and you don’t want to look like an idiot. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “that’s my girl.” 

The guy pats his arm, and Mingyu feels adrenaline start coursing through him like a wave swallowing him whole as your name leaves his mouth. 

“Y/N!” 

Your head darts up, eyes wide as you look all around. You spot him, covering your face immediately as your lip juts out in a pout and he bolts to you. He almost knocks you over as he wraps his arms around your waist, clutching the flowers to your back as he holds you close. Your hair smells like the same perfume that’s haunted him for the last year without you, and your tears are soaking through his shirt as he kisses the side of your face. 

“You’re here. You’re here...a-and I love you. I love you so much.” He stutters between kisses, your fingers gripping his jacket tightly as you sob into his neck. “I love you, God. It’s so good to see you, baby.” 

“Even when I broke up with you over something stupid?” You blurt, haphazardly wiping at your eyes as his hands come to hold your cheeks carefully. Your eyes are still as starry as ever, glossed over with tears as your fingers pull at his jacket, “I love you.” 

He smiles softly, nodding, “I know, baby. I know you love me.” 

He feels his eyes sting with tears, your face growing blurry as he pulls you into him. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply as his arms practically crush you in his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist, your fingernails dragging lightly up and down his back as your sobs subside slowly. He kisses the crown of your head, “you’re really here?” 

“I’m really tired.” You whisper back, pulling your head back slightly to look up at him. His thumbs wipe the corners of your eyes gently, and you seemingly hesitate before glancing at his lips.  

A kiss. 

“Luckily for you...my hotel room has two beds.”  “Don’t tell me you’re sharing with Seungcheol.” 

“He’s a fucking cheapskate if it’s not about Jeonghan,” Mingyu jests, making you roll your eyes before they not-so-subtly land on his lips again. He nuzzles his nose to yours, “you’re mine, right? This, you coming. That makes you mine, right?” 

“Leave a message,” you shrug, before pressing your lips to his abruptly, your hands cupping his jaw carefully as you pull him to you. He kisses you back softly, pulling away after a few seconds as his hands hold your hips tightly. He smiles against your lips, giving you another chaste kiss before leaning near your ear and pitching his voice up. 

“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed—”  “Mingyu, I'll get right back on that damn plane.” 

He laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you flush to his hip as he shows you the flowers. Your eyes widen as you smile inwardly, holding them to your chest as you peer up at him through your lashes, “...thank you for leaving all those voicemails.” 

“Thank you for listening to them. And picking up...and getting on that flight.”  “I love you, Mingyu.” 

He can’t bite back his smile as his cheeks tinge pink, his skin hot as his fingers tighten around yours and you both step out into the cold Chicago air. He rocks on his heels for a moment, before spotting Seungcheol down the pick-up area. He leans down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple before clearing his throat. 

“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get right back to ya! Hehehe.” 

You shove him away, beelining for Seungcheol as he snickers. The older man looks pleasantly surprised to see you, opening his arms to embrace you. You allow it, before he opens the passenger side door as Mingyu opens his mouth to argue. 

You both stick your tongues out at him, turning your noses up at him as you climb into the passenger seat while Seungcheol takes your carryon.  

“I told you she’d come.” Seungcheol scoffs, and Mingyu scrunches his nose, “no you didn’t, idiot.” 

“Be nice, Kim Mingyu. We’re kicking him out of his room later, we need to be in his good graces.” 

“No way you guys are just getting back together and already fucking.” Seungcheol gapes, and Mingyu feels his face grow even hotter as he just scrambles into the driver’s seat. Seungcheol scowls as he slips into the backseat, too tired to fight it. You reach your hand across the center console for Mingyu to hold as he peels out of the pick-up area, your lips pressing to his knuckles. 

“Mine?”  “Yours.” 

“Gross,” Seungcheol utters. 

“Shut up.” 

SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.

So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.

The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.

It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.

"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"

You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."

He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.

Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.

The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.

Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.

"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."

"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"

"I don't need to listen."

Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.

Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.

Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.

"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.

"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.

The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.

"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."

His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.

"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.

"What are you reading?"

"Something Wonwoo recommended."

He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"

"It's okay. It's a little slow."

"Do you want company? I can sit with you."

There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.

"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”

He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.

Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.

"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."

You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.

The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.

You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.

So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.

You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.

Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.

"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."

"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.

"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"

"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."

His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."

You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.

You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.

"For what?"

"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."

You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.

He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.

-

The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.

It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.

You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.

"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"

"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.

Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.

"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"

"Right, so it's my fault."

"That isn't what I said-"

"It's what you meant!"

You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.

The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.

Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.

"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down."

There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.

Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.

"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"

"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"

"No. Just want to be here."

"Alright."

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.

Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."

Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.

"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."

He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.

You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.

Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.

Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.

He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.

Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.

Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.

Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.

So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.

-

By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.

It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.

Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.

The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge

He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.

You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.

When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.

Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.