#daydreamnet

𑄽𑄺 clingy boyfriend! keonho who quite literally needs to be attached to your hip 24/7, he swears a part of him is missing whenever you’re not around.

𑄽𑄺 will not leave your house/will not let you leave his dorm until you give him a goodbye kiss, cause why would you even think about leaving without it?

𑄽𑄺 trust that keonho’s arm will always be draped over your shoulders, or a hand on your waist, or an arm hooked around yours. He might die if he’s not constantly on contact with you idk.

𑄽𑄺 expect texts from him ranging from the most useless information ever to him describing how much he misses you, there’s never a waking moment where you aren’t on his mind.

𑄽𑄺 constant face time calls too!! when touring it’s hard to get used to new time zones, so hearing your voice always soothes him to sleep.

𑄽𑄺 keonho who is clingy but not to the point where he smothers and overwhelms you!

𑄽𑄺 he literally sees god when going on his first tour, being away from you for the first time, and barely being able to talk to you?? He swears he was just put on death row.

𑄽𑄺 of course you make sure to cover his face in kisses until he’s a giggly mess when saying goodbye.

𑄽𑄺 please let him sleepover when you both are free, he cannot get enough of them. He loves cuddling with you, feeling your warmth against his body, and your hair tickling his cheeks.

𑄽𑄺 FACE MASKS WITH HIM AT THE SLEEPOVERS, ohh my god the amount of pictures he will take of you both and especially you. He smiles at those everytime he’s away from you, his members tease the shit out of him.

𑄽𑄺 free backstage pass each time you come for a show, no matter how sweaty he is, he WILL give you a giant bear hug, and ignore your protests.

𑄽𑄺 literally obsessed with kissing you, he cannot get enough of it. You look cute? he’s kissing you on the cheek. You got him a gift? He’s giving you a fat kiss on the lips. He just loves you so much.

𑄽𑄺 wants to post you on his socials SO badly, he has to convince himself everyday not to boast about you and show you off to his fans.

𑄽𑄺 when he’s allowed to get a private acc on any platform, TRUST your face will be littered across his page.

𑄽𑄺 clingy boyfriend! keonho who loves you so much it hurts.

a/n : keonho my goober,… my shayla…. I hope ygs are liking these daily posts

perm taglist — @beomtomie @sincerelysungho @ajjaehyun @leeknowramona @wensurr

cortis taglist — @trulytaesan

“So, you’ve really never…?” His voice was low, closer than you expected.

You shook your head, looking at your hands. “No. Not… not like that.”

“Not like what?” he asked, his finger tilting your chin up. His eyes were dark, focused entirely on you.

“Not with someone who knows what they’re doing,” you whispered, the confession hanging in the air.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Good. I want to be the one who shows you.” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “I’m going to taste you, alright? I’m going to put my mouth on your pussy and learn exactly how you like to be licked.”

You just nodded, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

He kissed you then, hard and possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hands pushed your shirt up and over your head. His touch was everywhere, stripping away your jeans and panties until you were bare beneath him on the comforter. He knelt between your legs, his gaze drinking in the sight of you.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Your lips are so puffy, so swollen already. And you’re dripping.” He dragged a single finger through your folds, collecting the slickness that gleamed there, and held it up for you to see. “All for me.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He lowered his head, and the first hot, wet stroke of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your back arch off the bed.

“Oh, god!”

“Just like that,” he growled against you, his breath warming your soaked skin. “I want to hear every fucking sound.”

He settled in, his mouth a relentless, wet heaven. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at your juices, circling your entrance before zeroing in on the tight, aching bundle of nerves above it. He didn’t just suck; he flicked, rapid and light, then pressed down with the firm flat of his tongue, making you writhe.

“I’m going to make it fucking pulse.” he said, his words vibrating through you.

He was a man with a plan. His fingers joined the party, two sliding into you with no resistance, your walls instantly clutching around them. They curled inside you, searching, and when they found that spongy, textured spot deep inside, he pressed.

Your hips jerked. “Nico!”

“There it is,” he said, his voice muffled by your flesh. He began a rhythm, his fingers rubbing that spot in slow, firm circles while his tongue worked your clit in counterpoint. The dual sensation built a pressure low in your belly, a coiled, hot spring winding tighter and tighter.

It climbed fast, too fast. The pleasure was a blinding white heat, rushing towards a peak you’d never felt before. Your thighs started to shake, your toes curling into the sheets.

“I’m—I’m gonna—”

Just as the first tremor of release began to spark through your nerves, he stopped.

He pulled his mouth and fingers away completely, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperately exposed to the cool air.

You cried out, a sound of pure frustration. Your eyes flew open. He was watching you, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel, beautiful smirk on his face.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

“Please,” you begged, your hips lifting uselessly off the bed.

“Please what?” He leaned down, blowing a cool stream of air over your hypersensitive clit, making you gasp. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come,” you whimpered.

“I know you do. Your pussy is clutching at nothing, it’s so fucking empty. But you have to ask better than that.” He dipped a single finger back into your soaking heat, gathering more of your fluid and painting it over your swollen lips and clit. “Beg for it.”

The denial was an agony. The need was a physical ache, a deep, relentless throb. You were dripping onto his sheets, your entire body trembling with unfinished tension.

“Please, Nicholas. Please let me come.”

“Mm, getting warmer,” he teased, replacing his finger with the very tip of his tongue, tracing your slit once, twice, a torturous mimicry of what you needed.

It broke you. “Please! Please, just let me cum! I need it so bad, I can’t stand it! Please, let this pathetic… let this pathetic whore cum!”

The words hung in the air, shocking you with their filth, their truth.

His eyes flashed with dark triumph. “Good girl.”

His mouth descended on you again, voracious this time. His tongue speared into your entrance, fucking you with it as his thumbs spread your lips wide. Then he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, while his fingers found that spot inside you again and pressed, unrelenting.

It took three seconds.

The orgasm didn’t crest; it detonated. It tore through you with a violence that stole the air from your lungs. A raw, screaming sound ripped from your throat as your back bowed, your hands fisting in his hair. Your walls clamped down on his fingers in rapid, rhythmic pulses, milking nothing.

And then came the flood.

You felt it building, a strange, deep pressure different from the clenching need. Nicholas felt it too. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and he sucked harder.

“That’s it, soak me,” he grunted. “Let it all the fuck out.”

A gush of hot fluid erupted from you, drenching his chin, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. It wasn’t a trickle; it was a release, a burst of pent-up sensation that kept coming in waves alongside the convulsions of your orgasm. He drank it, lapped at it, his tongue collecting every drop as you shook and sobbed above him.

The sensations finally, slowly, began to recede, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive. He gentled his mouth, licking you softly through the aftershocks, each tender stroke making you flinch.

When he finally lifted his head, his face was a wreck—wet, shining, utterly satisfied. He crawled up your body, his weight settling over you, and kissed you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet and uniquely you.

“Fuck,” you breathed against his lips, your voice shattered.

“You have no idea,” he said, his own voice gravelly. He shifted his hips, and you felt the hard, insistent length of him press against your still-quivering thigh through his jeans. “That was just the start. I’m not nearly done with you.”

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers slipping through the mixed wetness on your stomach. He brought them to your lips. “Taste. Taste what you did.”

You opened your mouth, and he pushed his fingers inside. The flavor was intense, musky, electric. You sucked them clean, your eyes locked on his.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he began to work the button of his jeans. “Where were we?”

If it hadn’t been for his quick thinking and bravely suggested a change in antibiotics on top of the existing workups she previously ordered, he was sure he would’ve been flayed alive over the phone.

I’m going to quit. For real this time.

Maybe he’d take a break for a year. Maybe he’d switch residencies. His second choice had been surgery, and Sungho mentioned they had an opening after one of their residents left. 

Why did he ever think pediatrics was a good idea?

Still, deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple.

He loved pediatrics. He loved the tiny hands clutching his finger when visiting newborns in the neonatal ICU. He relished in the soft laughter that made his gruesome thirty-six-hour shifts worth it. He loved the joy of seeing a child finally discharged with a smile. But lately, the exhaustion outweighed the reward. 

If something you loved drained you this much, wasn’t that a sign to let go?

He was still lost in thought when you walked into his line of sight.

Then, his vision tunneled so fast, it almost gave him whiplash.

You were a vision of calm amid chaos. 

In crisp scrubs underneath your white resident coat and a patient’s chart in hand, you walked beside your consultant as you discussed a case. He couldn’t make out anything from your conversation, which was surprising since your consultant’s voice carried across the halls. You, on the other hand, held yourself in a cool and collected manner, completely unbothered by the exaggerated way your consultant talked.

You and Leehan had been batchmates in medical school. He’d been the average type, floating through rotations and surviving exams by spite, sheer will, and more americanos that he could count, while you, quiet and seemingly reserved, excelled in most of your subjects without batting an eye. 

The first time he noticed you was during a clinical rotation, when you were paired together for patient interviews. You had this way of making patients feel heard, of explaining complex things in simple, human words which even the best of them struggled with. And when your patient thanked you for simply listening, you were kind to them in return, and Leehan felt this overwhelming sense of pride for witnessing it.

That was when it started.

The attraction. 

He found himself looking for you during lectures, craning his neck to scan over a hundred of his other batchmates in the crowded audiovisual room. He went to the places you usually frequented, sitting on the same library table under the guise of staying close to the charging outlets. He joined your cramming sessions early in the morning, when everyone sits in a circle in the exam hall with you in the middle, rapid-firing questions he could barely answer.

It slowly built from admiration to fascination, then finally he realized, ah, I like this person.

I really, really like this person.

Unfortunately, he never got to confess, not even after graduation. You both went your separate ways, and he assumed that was it. Residency matching was never guaranteed, after all. His pediatrics application to KOZ General had been a long shot.

That was until his first day of pre-residency, when he saw you again standing by the bulletin board, wearing a neat ponytail and holding your pre-res form for obstetrics and gynecology. His heart had nearly stopped.

You were also applying in the same hospital as an ob-gyne resident. You were both doing pre-residency at the same time. And what a stroke of luck had it been that you matched each other medically. Obstetrics and pediatrics. What were the odds?

You would be an absolute power couple (oh how he wished!)

And when you both got accepted, turning into fully-fledged first year residents, he had been overjoyed.

That was a little over six months ago.

Now, Leehan was deep in the trenches. He was sleep-deprived and overworked. His only solace was the sight of you during rounds. And soon, if he were to stop in his ministrations of quitting, he’d be rotating in the neonatal ICU, which meant he’d see you in the operating room too. 

Leehan’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the thought, his gaze lingering on you.

Okay, maybe he did have some attachment to this place. All thoughts of quitting were chucked into the backseat compartment of his mind for future use.

He was content just watching you for a moment, his notes forgotten on the table. Then, as if sensing his gaze, you looked up. 

Your eyes met his, and Leehan swore your entire face brightened, or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Why would you look happy to see him, anyway?

“...Doctor Kim!”

He flinched and tore his eyes away, nearly knocking over his pen.

Nurse Jaehyun stood beside him, holding a chart. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but could you clarify this order? I can’t read what you wrote here.”

Leehan groaned inwardly, cursing his own hieroglyphics handwriting. He could almost hear Taesan, his fellow first-year pediatrics resident, scolding him in his head to write more legibly.

“Right, sorry. That’s Paracetamol oral solution, 250mg/5mL, give 5 mL orally every 6 hours as needed for—”

“—temperature over 38 degrees Celsius. Got it.” Jaehyun scribbled it down, but hesitated before walking away. “Uh, Doctor Kim? You okay? You look more tired than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Leehan muttered, though his tone was anything but convincing.

He spared another glance in your direction, catching physical cues of the ending of an endorsement. When your consultant made her way to the elevator, Leehan knew you'd be on the way to the nurse's station. 

He suddenly sat up. 

This did not go unnoticed by Jaehyun, who quickly caught on when your voice filled the nurses' station.

“Good morning, Jaehyun!”

Jaehyun brightened. “Good morning, Doctor L/N. Always lovely to see you in the morning.” 

His eyes briefly skipped to Leehan’s, mischievously twinkling in a sort of Aha! moment. 

“Right, Doctor Kim?”

Leehan froze mid-note, pretending to write something while studiously avoiding the nurse’s teasing grin. “Uh. Morning.”

You smiled. “Morning, Doctor Kim.”

His pen was barely moving now, tracing meaningless lines while you leaned over the counter to jot down your orders. You made small talk about the ward census and he tried to respond in kind, anything to appear like a normal, functioning colleague and not someone who forgot how to breathe every time you were within five feet.

“Right. Gotta go,” you said eventually, straightening up. “We have two moms in labor right now. It’s Doctor Han helping with the deliveries today, right?”

Leehan had never been so jealous of Taesan, even in the professional context.

“Yeah,” Leehan replied, forcing a grin. “Good luck.”

You gave a small nod before hurrying off toward the delivery room.

He watched you leave, a quiet sigh escaping him before he could stop it.

“So that’s what everyone’s talking about,” Jaehyun commented under his breath, smirking. “You should make your move someday, Doctor Kim. Or, you know, stop staring like a lovesick intern.”

Leehan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You want extra tasks today, Jaehyun? Because I can make that happen.”

Jaehyun laughed nervously. “Nope, all good, Doc.”

“Good,” Leehan said, handing him three more charts. “Then go endorse these. And check the vitals for the last three admissions. Oh, and make sure the discharge summary’s printed for Bed 7.”

Jaehyun’s grin faltered. “You’re evil.”

Leehan leaned back with a smirk, eyes flicking once more toward the corridor you disappeared into. “Call it divine punishment.”

THE EMERGENCY ROOM was oddly quiet for a Monday afternoon, not that Leehan minded. He had just finished working up a 6 year old kid with productive cough and another 7 year old with non-projectile vomiting, both of which were likely to be admitted much to his dismay.

Leehan was trying to remember the last time he’d blinked for more than half a second when his clerk Woonhak appeared beside him, looking a little too cheerful for someone who’s on back to back 12-hour shifts. 

“Doctor Kim,” Woonhak said, setting down the IV tray and throwing away his used materials. “I just inserted the IV line for Bed 4.”

Leehan nodded, skimming his orders for the two patients like it’ll magically write itself. “Good. Let’s just wait for the prelim labs for Bed 2, then we’re good.”

He rubbed his temple. His head felt heavy in that dull, persistent way that only consecutive calls could produce. His body was here, but his soul had clocked out somewhere around 3 A.M. yesterday.

Still, he couldn’t help but be faintly impressed by Woonhak. The kid was quick. Confident with lines. Smarter than he had been as a clerk. Probably slept more, too.

Leehan leaned back in his chair, letting his pen roll across the table. For a brief, blissful second, he let his brain idle. Everything else became background noise. The rhythmic beep of monitors that once traumatized him as a clerk and the chatter of nurses calling out meds drowned out every bit of anxiety he held for the entire shift.

Even Woonhak settled on one of the chairs, arms folded, eyes fluttering in an attempt to nap.

That was until Riwoo, one of the ER nurses, called from triage.

“Woonhak, new patient!”

Leehan watched his clerk jerk upright, the light in his eyes dimming as they exchanged glances and sighed in unison. 

Woonhak stood up and scurried away to the triage. Minutes later, he came back grinning. Leehan felt his shoulders relax. Not pedia.

“It’s ob-gyne, Doc. Abdominal pain.”

Across the counter, nurse Minju was dialing the ob-gyne resident line. “Good afternoon! This is Minju, ER. May I ask who's the resident on duty today?" She nodded a few times, humming. "Oh, hi Doctor L/N! You have a patient here at the ER. We'll just bring her in. Thank you!"

And that was when Leehan sat up straight yet again.

You were on ER duty. Oh boy. 

He wasn’t proud of it. He wasn’t even subtle about it. One second he’d been slouched, borderline horizontal. The next, he was upright, flipping through patient charts as if he suddenly rediscovered his sense of purpose.

When he ushered Woonhak over, his clerk blinked. “Yes Doc?”

Leehan cleared his throat, pretending to check the progress notes. “Let’s... run through the different possible cases for Bed 4 again. Just for review.”

“Uh, sure,” Woonhak said slowly, caught off-guard. “The... the one with vomiting?”

“Mm. Yes. Go ahead.” He nodded, tapping his pen as if in deep thought.

Woonhak blinked, then launched into an explanation of acute gastroenteritis. It was fine, textbook even, except Leehan wasn’t really listening. His brain had split in two: one part nodding along, the other sharply tuned to the sound of the ER doors opening.

Because you were coming.

Ohhh, boy.

“Doctor Kim?”

“Hm?”

“The management, Doc. I said we’re just monitoring for dehydration and waiting for labs?”

“Yes,” Leehan said, a little too quickly. “Correct. Good. Very... good.”

Woonhak gave him a suspicious side-eye that Leehan was awfully familiar with. It was something the clerks only used when they sensed their resident was being weird but weren’t brave enough to ask.

Before Leehan could come up with another fake quiz question to hide behind, the sliding ER doors finally hissed open.

As nonchalantly as he could, he took a glance.

You walked in with your own clerk—Eunchae, according to Woonhak, who quickly said "hi" in excitement—beside you, discussing something about triage flow and abdominal pain. You barely spared a glance at the chaos of the nurses' station, too busy explaining to Eunchae the difference between surgical and gynecologic causes of pain.

Leehan tried not to stare. Really, he did. But it was like his body had developed its own gravitational pull toward you.

Riwoo, who had already ushered the new patient to one of the beds, noticed immediately (because of course he did) and nudged Minju with a smirk. Both of them exchanged a knowing look.

Leehan caught it in his peripheral vision and shot them a warning glare, which only made them grin wider.

You finally glanced their way, offering a polite smile. “Afternoon, everyone.”

Leehan somehow forgot how to speak Korean for a split second. “Uh, afternoon,” he managed, nodding a little too fast.

Then you were already moving on, scanning the board and heading toward your patient.

Leehan turned back to the desk, trying to focus on his charting, but the pen was trembling slightly in his hand.

“Doctor Kim,” Woonhak said under his breath, trying not to laugh. Of course his clerk had also caught on. He wasn’t exactly subtle about anything. “You’re red.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re very red.”

“This is insubordination,” Leehan muttered, flipping a chart just to have something to look at. “You should start writing your notes for the two patients before I make you answer another case.”

Woonhak grinned but wisely shut up.

Across the ER, your voice carried softly as you spoke to the new patient, reminiscent of when he was first paired with you during your medical school clinicals. When his patients’ lab results finally flashed on the monitor, Leehan muttered a tiny thanks into the universe for the distraction. 

Unfortunately, it only served him for a short while. After he made another call to his consultant outside, he walked back into the ER to find you and Eunchae discussing at the same table as Woonhak, who looked too engrossed in a discussion unrelated to his current rotation.

Leehan cleared his throat. "Woonhak, come here please."

He tried to keep his attention on his clerk, ignoring your and your clerk's gazes on him. Woonhak quickly excused himself from his conversation, then sauntered over with a grin.

"Yes, Doc?"

"We're admitting both patients. Come on, I'll teach you how to write an order."

Without waiting for a response, he moved around the nurses’ station, taking the open chair beside Minju, who was in the middle of a phone call with admitting.

She looked back and forth between you and Leehan, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in amusement. When she ended the call, confirming the status of Leehan's patients' admission, she dropped her voice into a teasing tone.

“Doctor Kim,” Minju said, grin widening. “I think you should check your vitals. You kinda look feverish.”

Leehan's eye twitched. “Chart, Minju,” he deadpanned. “Go chart something.”

But she just laughed.

He took one last look at his previous seat, now occupied by you as you bent slightly over your patient's chart with a pen tucked behind your ear. Your clerk left to get the latest vitals from your new patient, so Leehan was safe to look at you without prying eyes.

Or so he thought.

Across him, Woonhak was still grinning, the little traitor. 

“Doctor Kim,” he whispered. He leaned his elbows on the desk, covering his mouth with his hands as if he's sharing confidential intel. “You’re staring again.”

Leehan wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “I’m not.”

“You are. You were doing that squinty thing.”

“I wasn’t squinting—”

“Doc, you were squinting.”

Before Leehan could deliver a well-deserved scolding, Riwoo called out from the triage again. “Doctor Kim, another patient for pediatrics.”

Another one?!

All signs of teasing vanished from Woonhak, who stood up and sighed at the thought of more possible paperwork. “Doc, I think you should seriously leave the ER. You’re a magnet for trouble.”

“Just interview the patient.”

Leehan watched his clerk jog toward triage. With a resigned exhale, he reached for his phone and dialed the number of another one of his first-year pediatrics colleagues, Anton, who was stationed in the wards.

The line connected quickly.

“Hey, Anton,” Leehan began, as he rubbed his temples, already feeling the beginnings of another migraine. “I’m endorsing two new pedia admits. Both were febrile, one with poor intake, the other initially presenting with respiratory distress, but they're both stable now. I sent the clinical histories in the group chat. Lab results are out, both have neutrophilic predominance on blood count so I asked the consultant which antibiotics to start with and—”

Before he could finish, movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. You had stood up, chart in hand, approaching the nurses’ desk to where Minju was.

“Minju,” you said politely, offering the patient’s chart. “The new gyne patient’s for admission. Orders are complete, and I’ve already informed her watcher. My clerk Eunchae will update me when the patient's already transported."

Minju accepted the folder with a nod, and you turned briefly toward Leehan, your expression softening into a smile.

“I’ll go ahead,” you murmured.

It was barely audible, but it short-circuited him all the same. Leehan froze, phone still pressed to his ear, and managed only a shy nod in response.

“...Leehan? Hello? Did I lose you?” Anton’s voice broke through the line, faintly exasperated. “You just stopped mid-sentence, man.”

Leehan blinked, realizing only then that he hadn’t said a word in several seconds.

“Right, sorry. Uh, where was I?” he mumbled, dragging a hand over his face as heat crept up his neck.

From the table nearby, Eunchae giggled behind her hand, clearly having witnessed the entire exchange. Leehan wanted nothing more than to fold into himself.

He finished his phone endorsement, turning off his phone and releasing a long and defeated sigh.

That was when Woonhak reappeared beside him, who had bowed to you as you left the ER to presumably continue your rounds or go back to the labor room.

Woonhak looked at Eunchae, and they appeared to have some telepathy thing going that clearly involved him and you, because Woonhak had another shit-eating grin on his face.

“Doctor Kim,” he said, tone dripping with amusement. “I’m starting to think you like her more than you like your patients.”

“That’s an HR violation waiting to happen,” Leehan muttered, rubbing his forehead.

“So is staring.”

Leehan stared at him blankly. “Do you want to spend your next duty counting diapers in Pedia Ward B?”

“...No, sir.”

“Good.”

But despite the threat, Woonhak grinned. “You should still make your move, though. What if she gets stolen by another resident?”

Leehan clicked his pen. “Insubordination," he repeated in a sing-song manner.

“Reality check,” Woonhak countered.

He groaned. “Why did I get assigned the talkative one?”

“Because the quiet clerks are scared of you,” Woonhak said innocently.

Leehan barked a laugh despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re competent.”

“I learned from the best.”

That earned him a faint smile. “Alright, enough of that. Tell me about the new patient.”

As Woonhak launched into his patient endorsement, he tried his best to focus but his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

Maybe his clerk was right. He'd wasted the entirety of his medical school life without confessing his true feelings for you, and now, he's just going to let another three years pass without doing anything? What if someone else would step into that space he'd been too cautious to claim? Then, what?

The idea lingered longer than he wanted it to. Yet, he found himself oddly fired up.

He was done just watching from afar.

He was going to make a move. One way or another.

He’d survived worse, after all. Like back-to-back admissions. Or Taesan’s morning scoldings.

Though his step one should really be to stop turning red whenever you say hello.

YOU LOVED YOUR JOB.

Most days, it didn’t even feel like work. Sure, the hours were long, and the sleep deprivation was starting to make you hallucinate coffee cups where they didn’t exist, but you genuinely loved being an ob-gyne resident.

Where others in your batch had gravitated toward the—for lack of better word—“cleaner” fields like internal medicine, radiology, and anesthesiology, you’d found your heart in the constant frenzy of deliveries and the thrill of managing two lives at once. There was something deeply sentimental about it, about being there for people at their most vulnerable and their most joyful.

You’d fallen in love with it during clerkship, the first time you’d assisted in a delivery and held your breath as a baby’s cry filled the air. That sound never left you. It stitched itself into your memory and refused to leave, even after you rotated in other departments.

So when you matched into the residency program of your dreams, you cried in relief. KOZ General Hospital, your top choice. Everything you wanted.

And then, there's the icing on the cake.

Because as fate would have it, there was another reason you found yourself smiling a little too much after the high of being officially accepted into the program and that was a certain first-year pediatric resident named Kim Leehan.

You’d gone to med school together in same batch and same group rotations. He was the quiet one—or at least, that's what you thought at first. He didn't push himself into the spotlight the way their other batchmates did, all eager to impress residents and consultants during clerkship.

Leehan was the type to stand a few steps behind, listening more than speaking, his brows knit in focus as if the world beyond his patient didn’t exist.

But there were rare moments when that calm exterior cracked. When something, or someone, managed to pull him out of his silence. You learned that early on, during your rotation in the public hospital’s pediatric ward, when in the middle of the thick hospital noise, Leehan had found a pocket of light in it.

He’d crouch beside the beds of the children, stethoscope forgotten around his neck, voice soft yet animated as he asked about their favorite toys or showed them how to make balloon animals out of gloves.

His face came alive in those moments. His eyes bright, curved into crescents. His gestures uncharacteristically wide. You remembered thinking that it didn’t seem fair, how someone usually so reserved could suddenly glow like that, as if the world made a little more sense when he smiled.

And when you saw him genuinely laugh for the first time, it completely caught you off guard. From then on, you couldn’t quite look at him the same way.

Now, months later, you saw him in the hallways sometimes. His coat was always slightly wrinkled, hair a little messy, yet he still smiled at you when you cross paths despite the obvious exhaustion. And every single time, your heart did that thing where it folded in on itself.

You were reviewing charts at the OB station when your phone buzzed.

Pedia Clerk Eunchae: Good morning, Doctor L/N! Referral from Pedia at 3A! Teenage patient with abdominal pain, possible gyne problem.

You smiled, already typing back.

You: Good job! I’ll head down in a bit. May I ask who's the pedia resident-in-charge?

Another ping came almost immediately.

Pedia Clerk Eunchae: Dr. Kim Leehan hehe

You blinked. Then exhaled slowly.

Of course it was him.

Of course the universe had decided to make you deal with your crush before lunch.

You were a professional. You could do this. You’d seen uterine ruptures and assisted breech extractions. Surely you could handle one very nice pediatric resident without combusting.

You had made your way up the ramp towards the wards when Eunchae greeted you midway, a knowing grin already on her face. “Doctor L/N, you’re smiling.”

You scoffed. “I’m always smiling.”

“That’s your Dr. Kim smile,” she teased, voice dropping into a whisper.

You raised a brow, trying to look stern, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite clerk.”

Eunchae grinned, triumphant. “I know.”

By the time you reached the wards, you’d forced your expression into your usual calmness. Professional. Resident mode.

You only made it halfway towards the station when you caught sight of him.

Leehan sat on one of the swiveling chairs, chatting with some of the nurses. His laughter carried lightly over usual ward noise. He looked exhausted, of course—he always did—but he still managed to smile like that.

You were never at the receiving end of that smile. It had always been polite. Everything had always been polite, and you wondered if you should let go of the crush you've been harboring for four years because really, why would he ever smile at you like that?

A soft ache began to bloom in your chest, yet you shoved it away. You had a job to do.

You approached the counter, your clerk trailing behind you. As soon as you came into his line of sight, his posture changed completely. He always did this when you were around, and you wondered if it meant something. But deep down, whether good or bad, you were too scared to find out.

“Doctor L/N,” he greeted, voice a touch too formal.

You nodded, forcing yourself to focus. “Hello, Doctor Kim. You’re the resident-in-charge for this patient?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Sixteen-year-old, right lower quadrant pain, low-grade fever, some discharge. We were thinking pelvic inflammatory disease versus appendicitis, but her labs lean more gynecologic. Ultrasound pending.”

You tried to keep your eyes on the chart, not on him. Not on the faint shadow under his eyes or the way his lashes curled when he blinked. He smelled faintly of something woody and clean, like cedar and soap and it made your pulse skip a beat.

Professional. Stay professional.

You cleared your throat. “Good work catching this early. I’ll take it from here, thank you.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

You glanced once more at the notes. You hesitated for a moment, lingering by the desk as you fiddled with the edge of the chart. There wasn’t anything left to say but part of you didn’t want the conversation to end just yet.

Should you ask about the complete history of the patient? But then, you'll do your own interview anyway. Would it be weird if you asked why they considered those differentials? Well, yes, because you already knew why and it would only make you look like someone who didn't understand cardinal manifestations.

Resigned, you settled with a tiny smile, and turned to leave.

“I can go with you?” he blurted out before you could take a step.

You blinked, half-turning toward him. His expression was earnest, maybe even hopeful.

For a split second, your mind scrambled for meaning. Did he just say that because he was being polite or did he actually want to? The thought made your heart skip traitorously. You suddenly felt the urge to giggle but you swallowed it back before it could escape.

“I’m good, no worries!” you said lightly, managing your smile. “Thank you, Doctor Kim.”

And before you could betray how much that look in his eyes was doing to you, you turned and left.

You didn’t see the way his shoulders dropped the second your back was turned.

At your side, Eunchae caught up with you as you sped-walked towards your referral's room, smirking. “I think you just broke Doctor Kim’s heart.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet at that. Maybe she was exaggerating, but the image of Leehan's face when he offered to go with you flashed in your mind again. You told yourself not to overthink it, that it didn’t mean anything, but that tiny, dangerous hope refused to fade.

You shot her a look. “One more from you and I’m letting you assist me every delivery.”

Eunchae’s grin only widened. “You’re threatening me with a good time, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you anyway.

Maybe you shouldn't give up on that crush just yet.

"CUTTING," your senior said, and you reached for the retractor, your gloved hands stable.

You were assisting a cesarean section that afternoon with your senior and Eunchae, and despite the lack of lunch and the ache in your feet, you were in your element.

Everything was routine until you glanced toward the warmer and did a double take.

Leehan was standing there in his scrubs, checking equipment, his mask pulled up to cover the lower half of his face. His clerk stood beside him—Woonhak, who joyfully introduced himself to you that one afternoon in the ER—already carrying the sterile linen to catch the baby.

What was he doing here?

You knew his schedule by heart, not that you’d ever admit it aloud. His pedia ward rotation was supposed to run until the end of the week, and you’d been quietly counting down the days until he moved to the NICU, where your paths would finally cross again.

You expected Taesan, the usual resident on rotation for deliveries, but instead, Leehan stood in his fellow pediatrics resident's place. And seeing him now, days earlier than you expected, it felt like fate had decided to play a little joke on you once more.

His hair was slightly mussed under his cap, eyes crinkling as he caught you looking.

Then, without warning and completely out of character, he winked at you.

He winked at you.

Your brain stuttered, the world narrowing down to that split-second flicker of movement. For a moment, you forgot where you were.

It didn’t make sense. Leehan wasn’t the type to flirt, let alone wink across an operating table. Yet, it happened. And you didn't miss the unmistakable curve of amusement in his eyes.

“Doctor L/N,” your senior’s voice snapped you back. “You spacing out? Did you eat lunch?”

“Not yet,” you said quickly, hoping your flushed ears weren’t visible behind your mask. Eunchae was biting back a grin beside you, and you’d bet anything she’d seen it too.

The baby’s first cry sliced through the air. Relief, always relief. You helped lift the newborn, checked the cord while Eunchae helped dry the baby and turned toward the warmer.

Leehan was already waiting with his towel and stethoscope. The amusement in his crinkled eyes never left. You passed the baby to him, careful not to let your gloved fingers brush his.

But of course, they did.

His eyebrow lifted in amusement and you shot him a warning glare that only made his eyes curve further.

You were too distracted to notice how both clerks saw the entire thing.

By the time you were back in the labor room, peeling off your gloves and updating the chart, Eunchae had disappeared somewhere. A few minutes later, a hesitant knock came from the doorway.

“Doctor L/N?”

You looked up to see Woonhak holding a chart. You watched in mild amusement as he looked around before walking into the labor room with all the confidence of a pediatrics clerk.

"I'm here to report the anthropometric measurements for Baby Girl Jung."

"Alright."

You jotted down the numbers for the baby's height, weight, and the like as Woonhak recited them. When he finished, you thanked him for his help and was about to ask if he saw Eunchae when he suddenly tucked the clipboard behind his back.

“By the way, Doctor L/N, Doctor Kim is asking if you’d be available for lunch,” he said innocently. “To discuss the referred pedia case.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion flickering immediately. The tone and the barely contained grin tugging at the corner of his mouth was all too familiar.

It wouldn’t be the first time your clerks tried to play matchmaker. Eunchae had been far too gleeful lately whenever Leehan’s name came up, and now Woonhak was acting like he’d been coached. You had a feeling they were conspiring, and for a brief second, you couldn’t decide whether to be exasperated or amused.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Why couldn’t he tell me that himself?”

Woonhak shrugged, eyes too wide, too fake. “He’s… shy?”

You snorted. “Right. Tell him I’ll think about it.”

Meanwhile, a few doors down from the labor room, Leehan was leaning against the NICU counter in the middle of writing a doctor's order. Confusion was plastered on his face as Eunchae marched up to him with a clipboard and too much enthusiasm.

“Hi, Doctor Kim!” she chirped. “Doctor L/N would like to discuss the gyne case over lunch.”

He blinked, unsure if he’d heard that right. For a moment, he just stood there, pen hovering midair as his brain tried to process the words.

Lunch? With you? Initiated by you?

That didn’t sound right, even if you wanted to 'discuss the gyne case.' You're the type to discuss in the wards, not over lunch.

It had to be a mistake.

Or maybe a prank.

God, was this a prank?

“Really?”

“Yup! She said she’ll see you by the labor room entrance.” Eunchae waved and disappeared before he could even question it.

Leehan stared at his doctor's orders, still in disbelief.

He’d spent the entire morning convincing himself that his impulsive decision to switch shifts with Taesan had been purely logistical, not because he wanted to see you again sooner.

But then he’d gone and winked at you in an operating room, of all places. In front of your senior, your clerk, and an entire team. He definitely did not think it through.

Still, if somehow this lunch thing was real, maybe the universe was cutting him some slack. Or maybe it was setting him up for a new kind of embarrassment. He honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

Which was how, twenty minutes later, Leehan found himself standing outside the labor room, still not entirely sure if he’d walked into a setup or a miracle.

He’d spent the entire time, from changing out of his scrubs and into his work clothes, rehearsing possible conversation starters.

But when the doors swung open and you stepped out, hair flowing freely as if it hadn't been confined behind an itchy scrub cap and eyes bright even after hours on duty, every practiced line in his head vanished.

“Let’s go?” he managed, scratching the back of his neck.

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “I’m surprised you had to ask your clerk to tell me to meet up.”

His brows drew together. “Wait, didn’t you ask me to meet up for the case?”

Your smile didn't cease and you looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for something to click. Slowly, realization dawned into him, and he let out a soft laugh.

“Guess we were both fooled by our clerks,” he said. “I’m giving that little runt Woonhak an extension.”

You stared at him, a little bit in awe about something. Leehan felt self-conscious for a second, until you mirrored his laugh.

“Careful, Doctor Kim. They might actually enjoy that.”

"Leehan," he murmured. "Just Leehan is fine. Like when we were still classmates."

Your smile had never been so gorgeous in that moment. "Alright, Leehan. Lunch it is, then. Since our clerks apparently conspired for academic collaboration.”

“Right,” he replied, falling into step beside you as you started down the hall. “Strictly for the case.”

“Of course,” you said, eyes fixed ahead but Leehan could see the faint color blooming on your cheeks, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

Because for once, the quiet between you wasn’t awkward. And maybe, it was the start of something neither of you would need your clerks’ help to arrange again.

BY THE TIME Woonhak started his last week in OB-Gyne, he’d learned two things about KOZ General Hospital: one, the elevators would never work when you needed them most; and two, Doctor Kim Leehan and Doctor L/N Y/N had no idea how to hide their affection from each other even in the most professional setting.

Not that he minded. After all, Woonhak had been the mastermind behind the lunch date plan, no matter how much his partner-in-crime claimed otherwise.

He stood outside the OB-Gyne nurses' station with Eunchae, who was now a proud pedia clerk. Both of them were ready to endorse the incoming batch of fresh-faced clerks, all of whom looked nervous as hell.

“Okay,” Woonhak said, straightening. “Rule number one: Never skip breakfast. Rule number two: If you ever get a referral from Pedia, double-check the resident’s name before you deliver it. Trust me.”

Eunchae snorted beside him. “Yeah, especially if it’s Doctor Kim. You’ll end up third-wheeling without even knowing it.”

The new clerks blinked, confused, but Woonhak just smiled and pushed open the door to the nurses' station.

He could never get tired of seeing his former pediatrics resident and his current ob-gyne resident.

Doctor Kim was leaning casually against the counter, one hand braced near Doctor L/N’s chair as they discussed, presumably about another case.

You were both in scrubs and resident coats—yours less wrinkled than Doctor Kim's—both clearly exhausted, yet grinning in that way people do when the world around them has quietly disappeared.

“So you’re saying your patient’s ultrasound results came in normal?” you were asking, flipping through the pages.

“Normal,” Leehan confirmed. “Which means you owe me coffee.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I called it.”

“Kim Leehan, you call everything.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of the door opening made both of you turn.

“Doctor Kim, Doctor L/N,” Woonhak greeted, trying not to smile too wide. “Sorry to interrupt. We’re here to endorse the new clerks.”

“Ah, perfect timing,” you said warmly, straightening up as Leehan stepped aside.

Eunchae gestured to the two newbies beside her. “This is the new batch. They’ll be rotating under us for OB-Gyne and Pedia respectively starting tomorrow.”

Leehan turned, his easy smile in place again. “Welcome to clerkship. Try not to cry too much in your first week.”

“Doctor Kim,” you said dryly, “please don’t scare them on day one.”

“I’m setting expectations.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’ll be fine,” you reassured the clerks. “Just listen to your residents and nurses. Especially Nurse Jaehyun, he knows everything.”

Jaehyun, from behind the counter, gave a peace sign.

Leehan glanced at Woonhak. “So, be honest. Were you a better clerk under Doctor L/N than with me?”

You shot Woonhak a mock glare, but he only grinned, playing along. “Doctor L/N was an excellent preceptor. She taught me how to think, not just memorize. This is why she’s my favorite resident of all time.”

Eunchae clapped her hands in agreement. “Seconded. No offense, Doctor Kim.”

“None taken,” Leehan said, though his chuckle was tinged with mock offense. “At least she’s your favorite for the academic reasons.”

You smirked. “That sounded like jealousy, Doctor Kim.”

“Maybe it is,” he replied lightly, and Woonhak was pretty sure the new clerks weren’t breathing.

“Alright, that’s our cue to leave,” Eunchae said quickly, ushering the newbies toward the hallway before the flirting became part of the formal endorsement.

When they were finally outside, one of the new clerks whispered, “Are they… like… together?”

Woonhak smirked as the doors swung shut behind them.

“Together? Oh, they’re definitely together,” he said, lowering his voice. “They’ve been doing this whole slow-burn, coworkers-to-lovers thing since the start of our clerkship days. It was only a matter of time.”

“You should’ve seen them back then." Eunchae laughed. "Always pretending it was just about case discussions. Now look at them, still flirting in front of patients and clerks like it’s part of the hospital protocol.”

“They’re basically the departments' power couple at this point. Brains, composure, and chemistry? Unfair combination.”

“Yeah,” Eunchae agreed, smiling as she peeked through the narrow window in the door. Inside, you were still standing close to Leehan, laughing at something he’d just said. “Kinda makes you believe in timing, doesn’t it?”

“Timing... and maybe a little clerical intervention.”

Eunchae laughed again, shaking her head as they started down the hall. “Guess we did good, huh?”

“Yeah,” Woonhak said, glancing back one last time. “We really did."

TAGLIST. ノ@taestulipss @lovehakie @ilysungho @ivxae @amnellsia @wensurr @wnouzi @luckiihan @silvervalley101 @mochamvgz @parkpenghoonnn @nemoihan @kazukazukiiii @gentiliana @en-dream @omlhyck (pls send an ask to be added or removed!)

NETS. ノ @daydreamnet @blossomnet @k-records

You freeze for half a second.

That voice.

You don’t even need to look.

James.

Of course it’s him.

Probably the loudest person in the entire arena.

A tiny smile pulls at your lips before the music starts.

He’s here.

That’s all you need.

You skate.

And it’s like everything clicks.

Every jump lands clean. Every spin feels effortless. You move like the ice was made just for you, like the music lives inside you.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you catch a glimpse of him.

Standing.

Watching you like you’re the only thing in the world.

When the music ends, you hit your final pose, chest rising and falling fast.

For a split second—

Silence.

And then the arena erupts.

Applause. Cheers. Noise everywhere.

But over all of that?

—THAT’S MY GIRL!!

You actually laugh, breathless, eyes immediately finding him.

James is practically losing it—clapping, yelling, looking way too proud for someone who didn’t just skate his heart out.

Your heart does this stupid little flip.

Yeah.

That’s your boy.

Later, the rink is quiet again.

Back to familiar.

You glide across the ice like earlier that morning, letting everything settle.

And right on cue—

—You killed it. Like… actually insane.

You roll your eyes, smiling as you slow down.

—You were way too loud.

—Nah, I wasn’t loud enough.

You turn to face him, leaning slightly on the barrier.

He’s there, like always—hockey jacket, messy hair, that look in his eyes that makes your chest feel warm even in freezing air.

James is your biggest fan.

More than any coach. More than any judge.

He doesn’t just see your performance.

He sees you.

The nerves. The effort. The way you care too much and pretend you don’t.

And he loves all of it.

—Your game today, right? —you ask, nodding at his uniform.

He shrugs, but you can tell he’s already locked in.

—Big one.

You tilt your head, studying him.

Because you’re not just any girl in the crowd either.

You know what this means to him. You’ve seen the bruises, the frustration, the determination.

You know that when he steps on the ice…

He gives everything.

—Then you better go off —you say, crossing your arms.

He smirks.

That smirk.

—You gonna be there?

You scoff.

—Obviously.

-

The arena later is chaos.

Louder. Rougher. Faster.

But just like him earlier—

You only see James.

He moves sharp, aggressive, completely in his element. Hits, passes, speed—it’s all there.

And then—

Goal.

The crowd explodes.

But you’re already screaming.

—JAMES!!

And just like before—

He finds you.

In the middle of everyone.

Like it’s instinct.

Your eyes lock, and suddenly it’s not about the game, the crowd, or anything else.

It’s just you and him.

Always.

-

After the game, you’re waiting outside the locker room, still wearing his jacket.

When he comes out, hair damp, cheeks flushed, you don’t even hesitate.

—You were insane out there.

—Yeah? —he steps closer.

—Always are.

He looks at you for a second, softer now.

—It’s easier to play when I know you’re watching.

You smile, stepping closer too.

—Same.

A quiet pause.

Comfortable. Warm.

—You really screamed that loud? —you tease.

He grins.

—You kidding? I almost lost my voice.

You laugh, shaking your head.

—You’re embarrassing.

—And you love it.

…yeah.

You do.

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

—My champion.

Your smile softens.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s your competition or his game.

Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is.

At the end of the day?

You’re always gonna be his biggest fan.

And he’ll always be yours.

────────────────────────────────

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.𝜗𝜚

Jeno was not soft.

That’s what everyone believed.

He was the kind of man who leaned against his bike like it was an extension of him, black leather, quiet eyes, a presence that made people step aside without being asked. His voice was low, his expressions minimal, and when he looked at someone too long, they usually looked away first.

No one had ever seen him hesitate.

Until you.

You, who walked into his life like a burst of color he didn’t know he was missing. Soft ribbons, glossy lips, skirts that swayed like petals, everything about you, bright and alive. Pink bags, glittering charms, frilly sleeves, things that had no place in his world of engines and asphalt.

And yet, somehow, you fit.

No, you made everything else feel like it had been wrong before you arrived.

The first time you clung to his arm, eyes sparkling over something as simple as a tiny keychain in a shop window, he just… stood there. Silent. Watching. Processing.

“Jeno, look! It’s so cute, right?” you’d said, holding it up like it was treasure.

He should’ve shrugged it off. Instead, he bought it.

And then another.

And another.

It didn’t take long before it became a habit, bringing you little things. Trinkets, charms, anything that made your face light up the way it did. He didn’t even question it anymore. If it reminded him of you, it was already yours.

The others noticed.

Of course they did.

Because this was Lee Jeno, the same guy who once stared down a group twice his size without blinking.

And now he was standing outside your place, holding a tiny pastel box like it was something fragile 🥹

“Hyung… is that a ribbon?” Jisung had asked once, half horrified, half fascinated.

Jeno didn’t even flinch. “She likes it.”

That was explanation enough.

The real shock came when they saw you together.

You, bouncing on your heels, fingers tugging at his sleeve, talking about something animatedly. And him?

Listening.

Eyes softer than ever, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. The same lips that usually pressed into a straight line like the world wasn’t worth reacting to.

And then you’d look up at him, just one look, and he’d melt.

It was subtle. If you didn’t know him, you might miss it. But to those who did, it was visible.

Because the man who could make others nervous with a glance… was now completely at your mercy.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

The bike was the biggest giveaway.

His pride. His space. Untouchable.

Or at least, it used to be.

“Can I decorate it a little?” you had asked one day, voice small but hopeful, holding up a handful of pastel charms and ribbons.

Anyone else would’ve gotten a flat no.

Jeno just looked at you.

Then at the tiny things in your hands.

Then back at you again.

“…Okay.”

He let you do everything.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

He sat there while you carefully tied ribbons onto the handles, stuck tiny decals near the mirrors, added a charm that jingled softly when the wind caught it. You were so focused, so careful, like it mattered more than anything.

And it did, to him. Because it was you.

When you finished, you stepped back, eyes shining. “Do you like it?”

Jeno didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at the bike, now adorned with soft colors and little pieces of you, and then at your face, waiting, a little nervous despite your excitement.

“…Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. “I do.”

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

The others didn’t dare comment on it directly.

But the looks were endless.

Because there he was, Lee Jeno, the guy who once seemed carved out of something unyielding, riding around with tiny pink charms swaying from his bike.

And he looked completely unbothered.

If anything, he seemed… proud.

Because somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing it as his world. It became yours.

And if anyone had a problem with that, they could take it up with him. They wouldn’t

Because even now, soft for you, hopelessly gone for you, he was still Lee Jeno.

Just yours <3

The arena is already shaking before he even comes on.

You feel it through the concrete floor backstage, through the metal bench you’re perched on, through your ribs. Bass thumps like a second heartbeat. Someone nearby is counting down under their breath. A stagehand jogs past, radio crackling.

Then the lights drop.

The scream that follows is deafening.

You lift your head instinctively, eyes snapping to the monitor mounted on the wall. For a split second, it’s just darkness and noise—then the spotlight hits center stage.

Han Taesan steps into it like he was born there.

The crowd loses its mind.

He’s dressed in black, of course. Guitar slung low, jacket hanging loose, hair already a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it. He grins as the noise crests, head tipping back slightly as if he’s soaking it in.

You smile despite yourself.

That’s him. That stupid, unreal confidence. The way he doesn’t rush the moment, lets them scream until they’re breathless before he even says a word.

“Good evening,” he says into the mic, voice smooth, teasing.

The reaction is feral.

You shake your head softly, fond. You’ve seen this a hundred times—soundchecks, rehearsals, smaller venues before the tours got bigger, louder. Still, there’s something about seeing him like this, commanding thousands of people at once, that makes your chest feel tight in the best way.

He launches into the first song, and the arena moves with him.

Lights strobe. The crowd jumps. He paces the stage like it’s an extension of himself, voice roughening on the chorus, eyes sharp and alive. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt almost immediately.

You lean closer to the screen without realizing it.

Halfway through the set, you notice the shift.

It’s subtle—just a glance toward the edge of the stage, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. You know that look. You’ve seen it when he’s about to do something reckless. Something he knows will make people lose it.

“Oh no,” you murmur.

Sure enough, he jogs toward the front, still singing, and before security can fully close in, he hops down into the pit.

The scream that erupts is almost painful.

The camera scrambles to follow him, the image shaking as he lands right against the barricade. He doesn’t miss a note. He leans in close to the crowd, mic in one hand, the other braced casually against the railing.

Hands reach for him instantly.

At first it’s just fingertips brushing his arm, grabbing at his sleeve like proof he’s real. You tense, eyes glued to the screen.

Then it escalates.

Someone’s hand slides along his forearm and stays there. Another grips the side of his jacket, tugging him closer. Fingers flatten briefly against his chest, right over his heart.

Your stomach twists.

Taesan laughs into the mic.

Not nervous. Not uncomfortable. He laughs like he’s enjoying himself, like the attention is a current he knows how to ride. He leans closer, voice dropping lower as he sings directly into the crowd, eyes half-lidded, dangerous and playful all at once.

You straighten, arms crossing tight over your chest.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

He lets it happen—lets them touch him, lets the moment stretch, feeds off the noise as the crowd screams his name like they own it. Someone grabs his sleeve again, bolder this time, and he doesn’t pull away immediately.

He smirks.

Your jaw clenches.

You tell yourself it’s fine. This is what being a rockstar looks like. This is the line between performer and audience blurring, the intimacy people pay for. Still, jealousy sparks hot and bright in your chest, impossible to ignore.

That’s your boyfriend.

The camera zooms in just as he tilts his head back, singing the last line of the chorus with his eyes closed, hands still within reach of strangers.

You look away for half a second—then force yourself to look back.

Finally, he pushes off the barricade, laughing breathlessly as security closes in. He vaults back onto the stage in one smooth motion, barely breaking stride. The crowd roars even louder, victorious.

He finishes the song glowing, triumphant, completely at ease.

You are not.

Backstage, someone cheers. Someone else claps. You stay silent, eyes still fixed on the screen as he blows a kiss into the crowd and moves on to the next song like nothing just happened.

He comes offstage buzzing.

You hear him before you see him—laughter, breathless talking, the scrape of boots on concrete. The curtain shifts and then he’s there, flushed and glowing and grinning like the night personally did him a favor.

“Did you hear that crowd?” Taesan says to no one in particular, tugging an in-ear loose. “They were insane—”

Then his eyes land on you.

His grin softens automatically. Like muscle memory.

“There you are,” he says, voice dropping into that familiar warmth. He starts toward you without thinking, arms opening just a little. “I was looking for—”

You don’t let him finish.

You grab his wrist.

Not rough. Just firm enough to stop him short.

He blinks, surprised. “Uh—hi?”

You turn on your heel and start walking.

“Wait,” he laughs, stumbling a half-step to keep up. “Where are we—?”

You don’t answer. You just keep pulling him down the hallway, past open doors and road cases and people who are too busy to question it. Someone calls his name. Someone else gives you a knowing look.

Taesan’s still laughing, confused but clearly entertained. “Okay, okay, I know I did great, but this feels aggressive.”

You find the storage closet and shove the door open. He barely has time to react before you tug him inside and shut it behind you.

The noise of backstage dulls to a muffled hum.

Taesan leans back against the wall, breathless now for an entirely different reason. He looks at you, eyes bright, lips still curved in a smile.

“…What was that for?”

You stare at him.

He waits.

You wait longer.

His smile starts to falter. “Why are you looking at me like that.”

“Oh, now you notice,” you say.

He squints. “Notice what?”

“You,” you snap. “Being very friendly with your fans.”

His eyebrows shoot up. Then—slowly—a grin creeps back in. “Ohhh.”

“Ohhh nothing,” you say. “You were letting them touch you.”

“I was in the crowd,” he says reasonably. “That happens.”

“They had their hands all over you.”

“They were excited.”

“You laughed,” you accuse. “You leaned in. You did that stupid little smirk.”

“My stupid little smirk?” he repeats, offended. “That smirk has a name.”

“Yeah?” you challenge. “What is it.”

He thinks. “Fan service.”

You scoff. “I hate fan service.”

He laughs outright now. “You loved fan service when it was paying for dinner.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“It wasn’t them grabbing you like you were—” you gesture vaguely, frustrated “—like you were up for grabs.”

He steps closer, hands sliding easily onto your waist, thumbs settling like they’ve always belonged there. His tone softens, but the teasing spark stays.

“I wasn’t up for grabs,” he says. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point.”

He tilts his head. “What is the point, then?”

You glare up at him. “You enjoyed it.”

He doesn’t deny it immediately. That alone tells you everything.

“…It’s loud,” he says finally. “It’s a rush. It’s not personal.”

“Didn’t look very impersonal when that one person had their hand on your chest.”

He winces. “Okay, yeah, that one was—”

“Bold.”

“Very bold.”

You cross your arms. “You didn’t stop them.”

He sighs, smiling despite himself. “You’re jealous.”

“I am observant.”

“You’re jealous,” he repeats, delighted.

“I’m territorial.”

“That too.”

You step closer, invading his space on purpose. “They don’t know you. They don’t get to touch you like that.”

His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction. He’s staring at you now, something soft and unmistakably lovestruck settling into his expression.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I could hear ten thousand people screaming my name out there.”

“And yet?”

“And yet this is scarier,” he finishes, smiling.

You fight the urge to smile back. “You think this is funny.”

“I think,” he says, leaning in, “that you dragging me into a closet because you’re mad I’m hot is kind of adorable.”

“I’m not mad you’re hot,” you snap. “I’m mad other people noticed.”

He laughs, low and fond. “That’s worse.”

“You’re mine,” you say, firm.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

You blink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats easily. “Han Taesan. Boyfriend. Taken.”

You search his face for smugness—but all you find is sincerity, steady and warm.

“…Still annoying,” you mutter.

He grins. “Still jealous.”

A knock echoes faintly through the door.

“Taesan,” someone calls. “We need you.”

He sighs dramatically but doesn’t move, eyes still locked on yours, hands still warm on your waist.

“See?” he says softly. “World wants me.”

“And?”

“And I want you,” he finishes. “Even when you’re glaring at me.”

You roll your eyes—but you don’t pull away.

The knock comes again, louder this time.

“Taesan,” the voice says. “For real. Two minutes.”

He glances at the door, then back at you, entirely unbothered. “They’re impatient tonight.”

You snort. “Shock.”

“They miss me,” he adds smugly.

“Oh my god.”

He laughs, then stills when you step closer again. Really close this time. Close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows that only shows when he’s paying attention.

“Don’t get cocky,” you say. “You were this close to being in serious trouble.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Was I?”

“Yes.”

“For… existing?”

“For letting strangers act like they had a claim on you.”

Something in his expression shifts—not defensive, not dismissive. Thoughtful. He tightens his hands on your waist, grounding you both again.

“They don’t,” he says. “You know they don’t.”

You nod once. “Still didn’t like it.”

“Okay,” he says gently. “That’s fair.”

You blink. “…That’s it?”

He smiles. “What, you wanted me to argue?”

“A little,” you admit. “So I could win.”

He laughs. “You’re already winning.”

You roll your eyes, then reach up, fingers brushing over his shoulder. You kiss the fabric of his jacket there—deliberate, unmistakable.

“That’s where someone grabbed you,” you mutter.

His breath catches. “You’re keeping track?”

“I have eyes.”

You kiss his arm next. Then his chest, right over his heart, like you’re drawing invisible lines only you’re allowed to cross.

“They don’t get to leave anything behind,” you say. “No memories. No claims. No—”

You look up at him.

“No this.”

He’s staring at you like you just rewired his brain.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, awed.

“You like it.”

“I love it,” he corrects. “You get all intense and bossy.”

“I am not bossy.”

“You dragged me into a closet.”

“Because you deserved it.”

He laughs softly, leaning his forehead against yours. “You know what I was thinking out there?”

You squint. “If this is about the crowd—”

“I was thinking,” he interrupts, “that I can’t wait to tell you about it after.”

You pause. “Why?”

“Because you always listen,” he says simply. “You don’t scream. You don’t grab. You just… see me.”

The jealousy loosens its grip, just a little.

Still—you tilt your head. “You still enjoyed it.”

He hums. “I enjoyed performing.”

“Liar.”

He grins. “Okay, fine. I enjoyed being wanted.”

You huff. “Unbelievable.”

“But,” he adds quickly, squeezing your waist, “being chosen is better.”

You look at him then—really look. No stage lights. No crowd. Just him, warm and familiar and entirely yours.

“You’re mine,” you say again, quieter but firmer.

His smile turns soft around the edges. Lovestruck. Gone.

“Yeah,” he says. “Hell yeah I am.”

You kiss his lips then—brief but certain. Not rushed. Not shy. Just enough to make your point.

When you pull back, he’s smiling like he just won something important.

“Han Taesan,” he says, mock-serious. “Property of one very jealous person.”

You scoff. “Watch it.”

He laughs, then nods toward the door. “Come stand side-stage with me.”

“So I can supervise?”

“So I can behave,” he says, eyes glinting. “Because I know you’re watching.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, opening the door, “you’re coming with me.”

The noise floods back in as the door opens. The tour rolls on. The world waits.

But his hand stays firmly on your waist as you step out together.

And this time?

Everyone can tell who he belongs to.

creds: gradient lace by @cursed-carmine, red line by @bhavihelps, hearts by @uzmacchiato, please support by @dollywons ♡

tags: @tsanho ⸝⸝ @pupillary ⸝⸝ @taestulipss ⸝⸝ @leehanaholic ⸝⸝ @beomtomie ⸝⸝ @mwotgata ⸝⸝ @kaixlix ⸝⸝ @haede-shi ⸝⸝ @ivehan ⸝⸝ @angelwings-fly ⸝⸝ @kjunebuggie ⸝⸝ @niiqv ⸝⸝ @haeonniie ⸝⸝ @blossomnet @daydreamnet @k-records @fruiteronet [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the reader registry!!]

Winter arrives quietly.

It slips into the city without asking permission, frosting rooftops and sidewalks, softening the sharp edges of everything familiar. Strings of golden lights loop around lampposts and storefronts, blinking patiently as though they know people will eventually look up. The air smells like sugar and coffee and cold metal—December in its truest form.

You notice it most at night.

From your apartment window, the street below glows with reflected light, snow catching on coats and hair, laughter curling up into the dark like smoke. You press your palm to the glass, feeling the chill seep through, and think—absentmindedly, achingly—this would be prettier if Martin were here.

The thought settles in your chest and refuses to move.

Martin has always loved winter in theory.

He likes the idea of it—the aesthetics, the warmth people find in each other, the way cold weather gives everyone an excuse to be closer. But in practice, winter means longer rehearsals, year-end performances, travel that leaves him exhausted and half-asleep in the back of vans with his hood pulled over his eyes.

This December is no different.

Every time you meet him, it’s between schedules: ten minutes in a practice room hallway, a rushed coffee before he disappears again, late-night messages when neither of you can sleep. You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve always understood his world.

Still, understanding doesn’t make the quiet less loud.

On the first real snowfall, you’re alone in your kitchen, stirring cocoa on the stove. The radio hums softly in the background, some cheerful holiday song playing that makes you roll your eyes and smile despite yourself. Outside, flakes drift lazily past the window, thick and slow, like the sky is taking its time.

Your phone buzzes on the counter.

Martin: Guess what.

You grin, already warming.

You: You finally escaped rehearsal?

Martin: No 😔 Martin: But it’s snowing outside the studio. The big kind.

You imagine him there: leaning against the window, hair slightly damp from practice, eyes softer than usual as he watches the world slow down for once.

You: You always said you liked snow.

Martin: I like it better when I can share it.

The spoon in your hand stills.

You swallow, heart tightening just a little.

You: Come over, then.

Minutes pass. You don’t expect a yes. You already know the answer before it comes.

Martin: I wish.

You turn the stove off and stand there for a long moment, cocoa forgotten, the apartment suddenly feeling too big and too empty. Outside, the snow keeps falling—unbothered, unapologetic.

As Christmas approaches, the world gets louder.

Shopping bags pile up by doors. Children tug at their parents’ sleeves, pointing at lights and decorations with wide-eyed wonder. Everyone asks the same question with the same expectant smile: What do you want for Christmas?

You never know how to answer.

Because the truth is simple to the point of absurdity. You don’t want anything shiny or expensive or wrapped in paper. You don’t care about stockings or ornaments or what’s waiting under the tree.

You just want Martin.

You want him sprawled on your couch, stealing the warmest blanket. You want his cold hands tucked into your sleeves. You want his laughter echoing through your apartment, warm and familiar and real.

You want him here.

Christmas Eve arrives wrapped in silence.

Snow has piled up along the sidewalks, turning the city into something almost unreal. Your apartment glows softly—tree lights twinkling, candles flickering gently on the table. You’ve gone all out despite yourself, like part of you still believes magic might show up if you prepare for it.

You hang mistletoe in the doorway and laugh at your own foolishness.

“Like that’s going to work,” you murmur to yourself.

Your phone lies face-up on the coffee table. No new messages.

You try to distract yourself—folding laundry that doesn’t need folding, adjusting ornaments that are already perfectly straight. Outside, bells ring somewhere in the distance. Children laugh. The world feels full.

Your apartment does not.

You’re standing beneath the mistletoe, arms crossed, when doubt finally creeps in. Maybe this is just how it is. Maybe loving someone means accepting their absence, especially during moments meant to be shared.

Then—

A knock.

It’s soft at first. Almost hesitant.

Your heart stutters.

Another knock follows, louder, more certain.

You don’t breathe as you cross the room. You don’t think. You just open the door.

Cold air rushes in—and with it, Martin.

He stands on your doorstep, hair dusted with snow, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. His coat is half-zipped, scarf wrapped crookedly around his neck—the one you gave him, the one he wears even when it doesn’t match.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then he exhales, laughing breathlessly. “Hi.”

Your chest aches.

“You’re—” You stop, because words feel too small.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m late. And I’m probably insane for coming out in this weather.”

You shake your head, eyes burning. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze softens completely.

“I didn’t want to wake up tomorrow and realize I missed this,” he says. “I don’t care about the presents. Or the tree. Or anything else.” He takes a step closer. “I just wanted you.”

The door closes behind him, sealing out the cold. Your apartment feels warmer instantly, like it recognizes him.

You don’t remember who moves first—but suddenly his arms are around you, strong and familiar, pulling you close. His coat is cold, but his body is warm, solid, real.

You press your face into his scarf and breathe him in.

“This,” Martin murmurs against your hair, holding you tighter, “is all I need.”

The lights glow softly around you. Snow continues to fall outside. And for the first time all season, your heart is quiet.

Christmas, you realize, has already arrived.

creds: heart by @anitalerina, snow lines by @saradika-graphics, please support by @dollywons ♡

tags: [wanna be tagged in my next fic? comment on the user directory to be added!!]

You always dreamed of getting married when you were little, and when you first met Junghwan, you knew he would one day be your husband. But you were still young and navigating your adult life. You didn’t have things figured out, and you certainly couldn’t predict what the future would hold. The one thing you did know, though, was how much you loved Junghwan. Although it felt like yesterday when you were still sitting next to each other in your high school math class, scribbling notes on your graph paper instead of paying attention, you had come a long way the past four years.

You used to impatiently anticipate your adult life back in high school, wishing for your complicated teen years to come to an end quickly. But now that you were in the midst of it all, you could only reminisce how easy everything was back then. There was no pressure to pay the bills and no long work hours that left you exhausted mentally and physically after. Even figuring out what to eat every night had your mind dizzy at times. And you knew Junghwan worked twice as hard to make everything easier on you. 

You weren’t sure what time it was now, and you frankly didn’t care either. It was the weekend, and both of you were off work, which was a luxury you hadn’t had in weeks. It was always one of you that had an early morning shift, even if it was Saturday. But with work the last thing on your mind, the only thought in your head right now was your husband. Simply being able to call him that still made your head spin a bit. A dopey smile grew on your face at the thought and you reached out your hand to grasp Junghwan’s wrist, making his head turn to yours, finally realizing that you were awake.

“Good morning,” you said, staring at him with that lovely grin he would never get tired of seeing on your face. 

“Afternoon,” he corrected, smiling just as widely as you. His hand squeezed yours as he settled on the side of the bed. “I made us breakfast. Or is it lunch? Either way, care for some french toast?”

He grabbed the plate stacked with steaming pieces of fluffy toast, drizzled with maple syrup and berries, and you sat up, salivating at the sweet smell. 

“I burned a few pieces,” he admitted regretfully. “But I’ll eat those ones.” 

“I can barely tell they’re burnt,” you pointed out, finding his thoughtfulness endearing regardless. The first bite of warm cinnamon toast, tart berries, and sweet syrup bursted with flavour in your mouth, and you hummed in satisfaction. 

Junghwan stared at you fondly, committing everything to memory as if the moment was too precious to let it slip away from his grasp. He was always taken by your beauty, whether it was a slow weekend morning or the day of your wedding. You always looked like an angel in his eyes. Your messy hair, bare face, and baggy clothes did nothing to take away from your excited eyes at eating his food, and it warmed his heart knowing you would be there next to him for the rest of his life. You would be a team through all the highs and lows of life. That was marriage, after all.