#ema.library

disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry

last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)

i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)

“Are you sure I won’t bother him?" 

You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes. 

“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.” 

“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance. 

The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along? 

“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.” 

A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.

Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester. 

You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it. 

Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it. 

“What are we watching?” 

Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent. 

After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone. 

Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it. 

He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it. 

You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more. 

Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.

After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn. 

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.

You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.

The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence. 

Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch. 

"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.” 

“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.” 

“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.” 

Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side. 

“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind. 

“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.” 

Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late. 

Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down. 

“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure. 

“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out." 

Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is. 

“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door. 

Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations. 

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly. 

“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator. 

Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.

“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting. 

“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.

Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”

“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.

“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.

“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”

When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.

Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.

“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”

You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”

“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”

“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.

“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”

Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.

“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.

“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”

“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”

“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”

Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.

You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison.

They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.

“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”

“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”

“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”

“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.

“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.

“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”

The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.

“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.

“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.

“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”

A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie. 

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.” 

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries. 

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon. 

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table. 

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry. 

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?” 

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions. 

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind. 

Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth. 

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority. 

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him. 

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be. 

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care. 

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too. 

In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter. 

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind. 

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words. 

“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.” 

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves. 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about. 

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye. 

The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence. 

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard. 

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.  

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again. 

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag. 

You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual. 

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together. 

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen. 

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost. 

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes. 

In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time. 

He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.

“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence. 

“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down. 

“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest. 

“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding. 

“Right.” He simply replies. 

Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before. 

A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment. 

“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.” 

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.” 

Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact. 

“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears. 

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him. 

Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.

Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.

He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.

“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s. 

Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all. 

“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food. 

“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended. 

Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call. 

You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse. 

Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made. 

“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue. 

“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing. 

“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology. 

His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders. 

“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way. 

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–” 

“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.” 

To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place. 

“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word. 

Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating. 

The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way. 

As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do. 

“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed. 

“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.” 

“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture. 

“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up? 

“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?” 

“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?” 

“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation. 

Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.

Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.

Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.

There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering. 

As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party. 

Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you. 

The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything. 

“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?” 

“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.

“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him. 

As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble. 

Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.

It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.

Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends. 

Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.

The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes. 

When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup. 

It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side. 

Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.

A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.

Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm. 

So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.

Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible. 

It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor". 

He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention. 

What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you. 

“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does. 

“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend. 

“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view. 

“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence. 

“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood. 

“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction. 

“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music. 

“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you. 

“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again. 

“He probably got tired of them after so many years.” 

You freeze. 

“What do you mean?” 

Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t. 

“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force. 

For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth. 

“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him. 

 ⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes. 

Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad. 

Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch. 

“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words. 

“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?” 

Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance. 

“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.

Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside. 

“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape. 

“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again. 

Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back. 

It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all. 

“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car. 

“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.” 

“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.” 

“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes. 

“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait. 

“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”

Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.” 

Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons. 

"I’d love to see you try.” 

An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.

“We should-” 

“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you. 

“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.

“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to. 

“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”

“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”

You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.

Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.

“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.

“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.

Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.

So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.

In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.

With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.

There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.

Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.

Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.

“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.

Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.

“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.

The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.

“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”

“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.

In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.

When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.

“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”

“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”

Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.

“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”

Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”

“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.

“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”

“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”

“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.

As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.

Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.

“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”

Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”

Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.

“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.

“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”

You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.

“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”

When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.

“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.

He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.

“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”

“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.

When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.

The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.

“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.

“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”

“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.

The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.

“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”

You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.

Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.

Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.

“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.

Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”

“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”

“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”

“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”

“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.

“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.

Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.

Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.

Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.

He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.

For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.

What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.

He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!

Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.

The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?

Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.

Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.

Working from home has never been so much of a curse.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.

He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.

You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.

The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.

“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.

Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”

You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really? 

“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?

“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”

There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.

“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.

“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.

“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.

Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.

You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.

Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.

A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.

It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.

“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.

But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.

By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.

The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.

“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”

“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.

“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.

“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.

“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?

“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.

Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”

Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”

“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.

“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.

“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.

But he did.

“I can't.”

Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.

Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.

At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.

The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.

Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.

When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.

It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.

That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.

At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?

He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.

But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.

The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.

The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.

A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.

“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.

“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.

So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.

“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”

Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”

“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”

“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.

“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.

“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”

Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.

The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.

It’s been a weird day from the start.

Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.

You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.

Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.

The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.

The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.

“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.

“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.

She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”

Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.

Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.

For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.

But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.

“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.

“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.

“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”

All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.

“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.

“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”

“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.

“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”

“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”

“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”

“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”

“I had to make a show out of it!”

As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.

The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.

So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.

A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.

“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.

As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”

“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”

“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.

The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.

“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.

“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”

“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”

You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.

“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.

You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.

“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.

The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you. 

When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.

Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.

Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.

Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.

“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.

Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”

Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.

“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.

The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”

Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.

“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”

You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.

Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.

“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.

Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.

“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.

“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”

Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.

A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.

“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.

“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”

Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.

You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.

None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.

Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.

Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.

“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.

“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”

“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.

“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”

“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.

Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?

“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”

“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”

“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”

“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.

“I know you are. He doesn't.”

The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.

“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.

The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.

Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.

From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.

Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.

As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life. 

In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.

Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.

“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.

“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.

“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?” 

“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.

Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.

“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.

Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.

“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”

Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you. 

Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.

“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.

The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.

Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.

It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.

It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.

Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.

You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.

“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.

“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.

This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.

With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”

His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.

You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.

“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.

“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.

The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.

But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.

When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.

They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different. 

Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.

“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.

“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.

Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.

“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”

Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”

You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.

“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”

You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.

“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.

“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.

“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.

“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.

“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”

“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”

People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.

At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.

“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”

You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.

“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”

It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.

Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.

“No. You won’t.”

Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.

“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”

The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.

“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.

You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.

“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.

“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”

When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.

Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.

You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.

“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.

“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.

“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”

Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.

“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”

“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”

Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.

“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.

“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”

Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.

But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.

“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.

“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”

“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”

Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.

“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.

At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.

After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”

He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”

You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.

“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”

Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.

“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”

Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those. 

Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.

The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.

“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.

“Good for them.”

There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.

Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.

“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”

He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.

“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”

You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.

“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.

“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.

He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.

The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.

Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.

But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.

“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.

“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.

“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”

A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.

“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”

He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.

“I don't want to leave.”

The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.

“And I want you to stay.”

The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.

But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.

Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.

The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.

Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.

In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.

You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.

“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”

The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.

“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”

You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.

At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.

When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.

Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.

If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.

“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”

The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.

The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.

“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.

“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.

“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.

“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”

“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing. 

“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”

The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.

“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.

“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”

“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.

“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”

There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.

“I can g—”

“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.

His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.

It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”

“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”

“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”

“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”

“What do you think of me then?”

Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.

“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”

“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”

“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.

Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.

Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.

“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand. 

“Always.”

Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club Do you want to come? It’s close to my place

As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.

It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.

Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and  rambles about how good his class was that day.

He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.

You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.

It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.

You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.

Sure. Text me address. I’ll meet you there.

The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.

You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!

But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.

Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.

And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him. 

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.

“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”

Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.

“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.

Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.

“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.

“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.

“Right…”

It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.

“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.

“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.

The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.

“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”

The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”

“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”

How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.

Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.

Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.

You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.

You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.

The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.

As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.

“Is that her?”

Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.

Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.

It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.

“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.

“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.

The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.

Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”

“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.

Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.

When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.

He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.

Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl. 

Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.

Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.

He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.

At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”

Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.

“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”

“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”

Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.

“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”

“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.

Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.

“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.

You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”

In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.

“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.

“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?

“Oh, you did? Controlling.”

“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.

Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”

“No.” 

For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”

Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.

Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.

The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.

His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.

“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.

Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.

With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.

The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.

The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.

By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.

As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.

Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.

“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.

“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”

Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”

“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”

Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.

“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”

Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”

Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.

Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.

“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.

“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”

For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.

“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.

“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”

Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.

“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”

“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”

As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.

“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.

“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.

There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.

When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.

You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.

“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking  it off you as soon as you put your arms up.

His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.

Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.

Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.

Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.

“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”

It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.

“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.

“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.

“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.

“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.

You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.

The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.

The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.

“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.

“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”

“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.

“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.

“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.

“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”

Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.

There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.

It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.

Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.

His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.

Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”

You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”

Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.

The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.

“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.

Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.

Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”

Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.

The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.

His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.

Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.

Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.

You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.

You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”

He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”

The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.

“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.

Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier. 

The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.

You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.

You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.

“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.

Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.

Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for. 

Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.

It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.

As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”

note: it's finally here!!!

thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.

I apologize for any mistake about f1 racing and races in general 😭 I had no time to catch any race while writing, but I did my best trying to remember the few I watched! this isn't realistic at all but i hope you have a good time reading hehe

last note: it's not specified, but I did imagine red bull Seokmin while writing, so, do with that what you will

hope you enjoy!! I can't wait to read your thoughts!!

The clock on the restaurant’s wall signals it’s barely 3:30 pm when the waiter walks towards your table with your order. His smile has the needed amount of politeness, mixed with a little bit of judgment at you for ordering two burgers with a side of fries at this hour.

You thank the young looking waiter as he sets the plates on the table, right before looking at the man sitting across from you, wide eyes and wiggly eyebrows to annoy him further.

“Don’t you love we’re doing this?” The salt shaker is heavy in your hand, coating your fries with a thick layer of salt before even tasting them.

Seokmin chuckles, shaking his head and extending his arm to lift the top bun of your hamburger. The tomato slices get squished between his fingers as he takes them out of your burger and puts them on his own.

There’s a faint shade of pink extending from his cheeks to his ears, probably from the unwanted attention of undoubtedly being judged by your snack choices.

“We could’ve waited until later, you know?” His mouth is full from already diving into his meal, and you chuckle in response as you salt his fries too. “Hey—stop that! Don’t tamper with my food!”

“I don’t want to hear you whining about them having no flavor in five minutes! I’m saving myself from misery!”

“You’re trying to poison me and stop me on my way to stardom!” He complains but still doesn’t stop the salt attack, “the people are going to wonder where the next big star went away to.”

“The people… being?”

Seokmin nearly chokes at the dry bread tickling the roof of his mouth, “a lot of people watch Formula 2, you know?”

The two older ladies sipping tea on the table beside yours whisper as they side-eye you two.

“They’ve been rooting for me. They even celebrated that I’m moving on from being a reserve driver and racing properly this season.”

“Oh, I’m sure…”

You didn't know that something other than Formula 1 existed before your best friend got scouted to race. Being subjected to weeks long bullying by all of your friends, and a thousand comments of ‘what did you think the One stood for?’ was enough for you to want to learn the basics.

But it was after Seokmin started racing and people started stopping him on the street, begging you to take their picture with the smiley man they knew from watching his races on TV, that you understood. It was big.

Now, after months of being a reserve driver, another thing you learned existed because of him. He had the chance to compete in a Formula 1 Championship for real. You didn't ask what happened, why the driver he's replacing can't finish the year. You celebrated his dream coming true.

“They're excited about me moving up the ladder!”

“Definitely,” you tease, hoping he knows you’re as proud of him as a best friend can be.

How couldn’t you be? The boy you used to save a seat for at lunch during the high-school days, the one who’d pirate formula 1 simulators to play during the little free time he got, who everyone doubted he had what it took to race professionally. He succeeded, and you got to see him through his journey with your own eyes as his personal cheerleader.

You see it every day, with every selfie taken with a fan, with every broadcast news showing his face, with every highlight of a race showing on TV. This is what he was meant to do, what he loves shyly, but with all his heart. And now, he finally has the chance to prove himself as a worthy driver after being overlooked by his team for so long.

“By the way," Seokmin starts as the first fry crunches between your teeth, "you have to watch every race now."

As if it wasn't already your plan, a sigh leaves you before responding, "Watching rich men drive cars fast every week? Oh! The dream!"

The grannies judge your dramatics before sipping on tea again, but you've learned to get used to being stared at. You had to, not knowing who could recognize the man who inhaled his burger in the time it took you to eat five fries.

"I expect feedback every Monday," his words come out muffled by the napkin wiping his mouth of any possible stain. "Are you eating these?"

You're quick to slap his hand away from the side of nuggets you ordered. “You said you didn't want any. Live with that."

It's always the same with him. Going out to eat anywhere, he never orders everything he wants, only to take a bite out of your order later. A new flavor of ice cream, pistachio flavored popcorn, nutella-filled churros, the list of things you never finished ‘cause he begged to try them is endless.

The crunch sounds of his fries takes you out of your thoughts, and you look up to find Seokmin's mouth moving.

"You still haven't told me why we had to drive three hours to get burgers at 4 pm."

"I did tell you!" A fry flies from your hand and hits him right in the face. He eats it like he hasn't eaten one in ages. "You just never listen to me."

"No, you didn't!" Seokmin smiles as he purposely annoys you. "I'm not buying that you just wanted to spend time with me."

"Why do you think, then? If I'm such a mean friend who doesn't want to spend time with her best friend before he disappears forever."

"Let me guess…" his finger taps repeatedly against the corner of his mouth as he thinks, unknowingly entrancing your eyes to look at the lower part of his face. "You want to kidnap me so you'll never have to be away from me."

It's common knowledge among everyone in your life that you and Seokmin are a package deal. From always seating with the other in high school to sharing any and every class possible in college, even if you weren't doing the same majors. An elective class showed up on both programs? You were doing it. You work well together, so why waste it?

The news that he was going to be racing more often was like a punch in the gut. When he became a reserve driver —and you learned that those existed only because of him, he stopped being needed on the paddock too often, and his visits to his hometown became more frequent.

Now, he's spending the rest of the season as a proper formula 1 driver. His dream come true. You should be proud. You are proud, but can't help feeling like a part of your heart crumbles a little every time the reminder hits that you won't see him for months, you won't hear the loudest laugh ever known to man, you won't have a shoulder to cry on.

How is life supposed to continue? There are other people in your life, other friends that you cherish, who will hang out at your apartment when you ask, watch the races on your couch, and tease Seokmin in the group chat. But none of them are him. 

Seokmin squints at your thoughtful state, his face the entire view in front of you, and suddenly the half-eaten burger on the table becomes the most interesting thing in the small restaurant.

You take another bite to fill your stomach before it starts aching. "You'd love to live off my cooking, admit it."

His laugh echoes around the room, contagious and warm, and your laughter quickly joins. The idea of you producing any kind of meal is always funny to him.

Burned pancakes, cakes hard as bricks, brownies with zero flavor, some people are just not made for the kitchen, and that's okay. Seokmin's been your victim countless times. He always ate what you presented with good intentions, but not even his kind smile managed to hide the disgust in his eyes as he swallowed.

"I'd love that, you're right," he's breathless, trying to tone down his squeals after the scene he himself made and stealing a few fries from your plate in the meantime.

"If I'm not feeling like racing one day, I'll ask you to send me some of your undercooked cookies."

The memory he's talking about flashes through your eyes. "They were supposed to be like that!"

"With burned down edges too?"

"You're so mean," you avoid his stare by looking down to the table, finding there's hardly any food left, courtesy of the fried-potato-stealing. "You're about to lose your one and only fan."

"You're finally admitting you're my fan?"

"Well! Not anymore!"

"Like you don't love to watch me."

He smirks as he drinks the last of his soda, the sprite zero he insists is the best drink ever even if no one on the planet likes it, and your throat dries at the sight.

There's a line, and a blurry one at that, that you're never sure if he crosses on purpose or if it's your mind playing sick games. Your amicable, smiley, gentlemanly best friend couldn't be implying something else.

You do love watching him race. The interviews he gave after his F2 races, with the sweaty hair falling in front of his face and that tired smile he flashes to every interviewer. You watch everything.

Your camera roll is filled with blurry pictures of your computer screen, his face present in every single one of them, either celebrating a win or being embarrassed at a mistake. Always with the intention of sending them to him, let him know you were watching. Still, they don't leave their place in your phone gallery. But you never delete them either.

Suddenly, the urge to clarify something he didn't even imply takes over you, "I've never missed any of your races." 

You catch it before he even replies, that soft glint in his eyes that appears when he's happy. "I know."

His smile is assuring, like the toasty air that envelops you when walking past a bakery, like that one weighted blanket saved for the coldest winter days, like a warm cup of tea before sleeping.

You've celebrated every step forward he took in the racing world. When he got into Formula 2, his first podium, his first pole position, when his team finally promoted to being a reserve driver for Formula 1. Things kept changing, but your friendship didn't, you stayed strong and cheered for him every step of the way, and he stayed the kind Seokmin you loved, even with all the fame that came with his job.

So, why does it feel different this time? He's always flying from one country to the other, except for the times he isn't needed on the paddock on race day, and doing video-calls instead of hanging out when he's away became normal for you two a long time ago. It shouldn't be different, yet it is, somehow.

The waiter comes with the check Seokmin asked behind your back, giving you no chance of paying for the meal before he's giving the boy his card and telling him to give himself a 20% tip.

But the boy's gone before your hand even reaches the depths of your bag, leaving you squinting at your best friend. "You shouldn't be paying for your celebration."

"Let me spend my money however I want," he starts grabbing his things, ignoring your moment of stubbornness. "If I want to spend it on you, I will."

"But—" his index finger places against his pursed lips, the shut-up gesture that always makes your blood boil.

It isn't his first time doing this. It's been happening since he realized that paying for meals behind your back was the only way he could get away with using his money on you since you've prohibited him from buying you gifts. It's annoying, and you'll pay him back. One day.

When he notices you're in no rush to get your things and leave, Seokmin stands on the side of your chair, towering over your, too calm, body ominously. "Are we done now? Can we go home? I still need to clean up my apartment."

Your phone's dry with no texts received during the meal time, so you lock it again and take a few seconds to place it properly on your bag, not sparing your friend a glance.

"Why do you wanna end the day so badly? Are you tired of me already?"

"I never get tired of you," Seokmin snatches your bag out of your hands and begins walking away with his long legs and big steps, your legs almost running to chase after him. "I just want to  find out what you're hiding."

His smirk can even be heard as he pushes the glass door open.

"What could I possibly be hiding?"

"I don't know, maybe Seungkwan murdered the guy I'm replacing, and you want me to have an alibi."

"Shit, you weren't supposed to find out!"

His car stands out parked around the block, red and shiny, spottable it from a mile away. "Fine, if you're in a hurry, we can go back. It's okay."

Still, you refuse to get in the car, leaning against the passenger door as if time wasn't moving. With the keys spinning around your finger, you're not even sure how you got them. But, you congratulate yourself mentally for stealing them from him at some point, one last attempt to make the afternoon longer.

"It's a 3 hour ride back. Whatever you're planning can't take longer than that." Seokmin stands just a few feet before you, eyes narrowed in an intent to analyze and catch any of your signs, something he's worriedly good at. "Stop with that! Can't someone want to spend an afternoon with their best friend who she never sees? Is that a crime!"

Seokmin smirks lightly, eyes locked with yours as he teases, "I'll miss you too." "Oh, shut up!" Unable to stand under his gaze for long, the car keys fly from your hands to his, a sign of defeat. "Fine, let's go."

He chuckles in disbelief, walking not to the driver seat, but towards you. "I'm driving?" "You're literally a professional driver," the words blurt out of your mouth, as if a teasing reminder could draw a wall between Seokmin's body and yours. "Yeah, at 200 miles per hour." His smirk hasn't faltered since leaving the restaurant. He even looks… amused at your intents of joking your way out his interrogation.

Your eyes concentrate on the opened buttons of his shirt, almost all you can see from your point of view without tilting your head up. "My record so far is 50."

"Should I call the police?" Seokmin chuckles, and you want to die, his shoulders bouncing at the rhythm of his chest rising right in front of your face. "People drive like crazy here! No one uses their side signals anymore! I need to be prepared!" "Fine, I'll drive. But we're getting home in two hours."

You grunt in response, glad to not have to drive, but annoyed at everything that his return entails. The next morning, he'll leave, again, for longer this time, with less free hours he can spend talking to you. That's not a life you want to live in. A life where the robotic sound of Seokmin's chuckles breaking through the video call is the next time you'll hear his laugh.

Neither the TV or the phone screen do justice to everything Seokmin is. Through your eyes, he's the person who'd never judge you when you tell him your weird dreams, the one you'd learn things about a rich men sport for. He's… the sun, your sun. After today, the sun will go away from your sky, leaving your days blue, cold, and sunless.

Sitting on the car's leather seat, it feels like an eternity since you got to the restaurant, yet it wasn't enough time. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"I can't make any promises," Seokmin starts the engine, but when you turn your head to glare at him, he's already focused on you. "You've slept through my loudest alarms!"

"That was one time!" Something in his eyes renders you incapable of maintaining eye contact for long, and it's easy to use the road ahead as an excuse, "eyes on the road, Formula 1 boy."

The buzzing all around you stops, your eyes shooting open and settling on the familiar gray columns and walls of the garage. Hours spent sleeping, hours missed. You wasted your time.

A ruffling sound turns your neck to the driver's seat, where Seokmin's snacking on a bag of spicy Doritos and already looking at you.

"You fell asleep," he says with a mouthful, smiling like it's funny.

Like it's funny that your last hours alone with your best friend flew by cause you were so weak you had to fall asleep. "Tell me something I don't know, Sherlock."

You regret the tone you used as soon as Seokmin raises his eyebrows and turns to unlock the car doors. "O…kay, bad mood after a nap. Got it."

He's out of the car in a beat, only his arm in your sight as he grabs the keys without looking in.

"It's not that—I'm sorry." The passenger door shuts closed behind you as you flap your arms in the air to draw his attention back, "I just didn't want to spend our last hours together passed out."

Seokmin stops in his tracks and turns around, barely a few steps away from the car, and from you, "You're acting like you're never going to see me again."

"Well, you'll be much more busy!" He looks unconvinced, shoulders still slouched due to your outburst, so you keep going, "what if the fame gets to your head and you start ignoring my calls, or leaving me on read after the third voice note telling you the gossip around school."

"I'd never do that! Gossip is my main priority." The corners of his mouth lift as he sees you walk up to him, ready to go up to his apartment after all. "Funny."

Countless times you've done the same, walked the same cold garage and hopped on the same elevator, with the same Seokmin who's walking by your side but ever-so-slightly ahead of you.

As he turns to click the button to his floor, you check your phone again and see the text you've been waiting for. "But, seriously, don't start ignoring my calls, or I'm flying to whatever country you're in, and making you pay for the plane ticket."

He chuckles again, and the same warm nostalgic sensation takes over your every organ, again.

There's nothing out of the ordinary as you get out of the elevator, steps coordinated walking the hallway you know by memory. It's suspiciously silent, as if the echo of your feet against the tile floor was enough for you two. But you're not ready to say goodbye. "We're finally back here." Seokmin fidgets with his keys, awkwardly standing beside his door and facing you. "You can drop the act now."

"What act? We spent the day together like I wanted," You cross your arms in front of your chest, giggling at his confused face."You're finally rid of me, happy?"

"Yeah, yeah, like I believe that." Seokmin sticks his ear against the wooden door, trying to hear even a sliver of a noise from inside his own apartment.

"Okay! Bye now!" With a slow pace, you begin walking away, the elevator still waiting for you. "Call me when you leave for the airport, okay?"

He, then, realizes you're actually leaving. You almost miss the small smile and the wave of his hand before you turn and walk away. All you get before he clicks his door open, defeated.

"SURPRISE!"

The screams from inside Seokmin's apartment reach you before you even turn back around, right when he starts laughing and locks eyes with yours.

You're back by Seokmin's side in seconds, with your hands on his back and pushing him inside his crashed home. "You didn't think I was just going to leave like that, huh?"

A walkway forms between all your friends, letting the man of the hour in as someone closes the door behind you. Everyone greets and hugs Seokmin, who's still in a bit of shock that all of this happened behind his back. Thanks to you.

“How did all of you get in?” Seokmin's smile is as big as ever, glancing at everyone before setting his eyes on you. 

“I gave them my key.” You shrug.

You've always had a key to his apartment in case of emergencies—the emergencies being either Seokmin getting his arm stuck between the wall and his too big bed, or times he forgets to do the dishes before flying to a country on the other side of the world.

"I didn't give it to you so you could pass it along to everyone!"

"Acting like you weren't pouting thinking I had nothing planned for you."

Everyone laughs at Seokmin getting exposed by your comment, but he gets over it quickly as something else catches his attention. 

There's a huge poster hanging where Seokmin kept an undecorated wall, with hand-painted blue, red, and white letters spelling the guest of honor's name. Just his name.

Someone you don't see pops open a bottle of champagne, and everyone goes wild with celebration, claps, and a few whistles here and there. Seokmin gets forced into the living room by Chan and Mingyu, who swear he'd previously told them they could use his fancy new washing machine before dates.

You've been with him the entire afternoon, so you let the rest of the guys harass him for a while.

Music starts blasting through the expensive speaker system Seokmin set up—another reason why you wanted the party to be at his apartment. The playlist had been kept a secret from you. Everyone was afraid of what songs you’d add if given the chance, and it almost made you go crazy. But the music is not eardrum-shattering, so you let it be.

The layout of Seokmin's apartment is tattooed in your brain. How many nights have you crashed on the very same couch Wonwoo's playing with the X BOX in right now? Or how many times have you come in the middle of the racing season to take care of Seokmin's plants?

Someone screams in the living room, followed by a choir of laughter and flashes of phone cameras. The guys are making sure Seokmin won't miss their pranks.

"Did he figure it out?" Seungkwan catches you in the kitchen, about to raid the wine cabinet.

You could walk around Seokmin's apartment blindfolded. You know in which kitchen cabinet is everything you need, where he hides the fancy wine, and you’re the only one he doesn't give shit to for drinking it.

"He suspected I was planning something, but I handled it like a champ."

"You hit him in the head and gave him temporary amnesia?"

The corkscrew in your hand works as a temporary threatening device, and Seungkwan throws his hands in the air with a pout and a frown of eyebrows of the same threat level.

"He looked really shocked," Seungkwan continues after you've placed your weapon back on the counter. "I don't think he expected all of us to be part of the surprise."

"What else could he expect?"

Seungkwan shrugs as an answer.

Grabbing one of the two matching wine glasses from the cabinet—your favorites, your mind drifts back to Seungkwan's statement as you fill your glass past the recommended amount.

Sure, Seokmin suspected there was a surprise waiting back for him. But why would his group of friends not be a part of it? Everyone wanted to celebrate his success, his final step up to where he always wanted to be. You made sure everyone came, put Seungkwan in charge of setting up the party while you distracted Seokmin all afternoon. It was a perfect plan, and it worked! He was as shocked as ever.

The taste of dry and sweet red wine dampens your lips, and you gulp down half the glass, enjoying the taste. It's a tradition. Drinking red wine on special occasions. For tonight, you didn't wait for Seokmin, afraid to interrupt his time with his other friends before snatching him back with you.

"Ew!" Seungkwan's hand gets dangerously close to the glass in your hand before you slap it away. "Grab your own glass! You know where they are."

“It's just a sip!” His eyebrows frown again, this time genuinely offended.

“You know you can die.”

“From what? The possibility of getting in contact with someone's saliva? Tell that to your past self from the college years.”

“I'm still in college!” You defend yourself, even if fighting against the memories of your slutty era is pointless. 

“Stalling entering the job market doesn't count.”

“Now I’m definitely not giving you anything.” You gulp down the rest of the wine while purposely holding eye contact with Seungkwan. He doesn’t stop you. "Hope you get h.pylori and die."

"You don’t get—Hey I wash my hands!" Someone entering the small kitchen interrupts Seungkwan’s declaration.

Vernon pops into view for two seconds, putting his hands on Seungkwan’s waist to move him a bit to the side and be able to reach a forgotten bowl full of chips left on the counter. You don’t miss the touch or your friend getting red as a tomato.

"I'm not talking about hands." Hiding your giggle behind your empty glass, it’s clear your friend’s now focused on something else.

"Bitch,” Seungkwan mutters, crashing into none other than the man being celebrated while on the way out.

Seokmin emerges through the kitchen door, hair a mess and with more buttons of his shirt opened. The wine bottle sitting on the counter beside you draws his attention immediately.

“What happened to you?” You can’t help but chuckle, your eyes following him until he stands against the wall just by your side.

He grabs the wine bottle from the counter and drinks straight from the tip, gulp after gulp falling down his throat as he quenches his thirst. “You left me alone with feral people and drank our wine alone.”

You laugh, handing him a matching wine glass as he grabs another bottle for himself after tasting yours. “I wanted to give you some time with them after having you all for myself.”

The guys always whine about not spending time with Seokmin in between the races he attends. They complain about you getting all the privileges and not sparing even a phone call for them—which you are guilty of. So, you don’t want to hear their bitching and whining again after tonight.

“Never do that again.”

Seokmin sighs dramatically, now pouring himself a proper glass of wine and then pouring the rest of it on yours before discarding the empty bottle in the trash can. He doesn’t waste time, clicking your glasses together in a toast and downing the liquid at record speed.

You do the same, eager to get on with the party. Hoping that it will never end.

The front door closes shut under the push of your hands and there's finally silence.

You look back at the, somehow, clean living room the guys left behind, but sigh at the reminder of everything that was left in the kitchen. It's not the worst you've seen, but it's not something you want to deal with.

Seokmin's grabbing stray beer cans and putting them away in a trash bag he placed on the floor. He shouldn't be cleaning up the mess that solely exists because of you. But he's nice, too nice, and wouldn't let you close to the mess.

“Go see the guys out and I'll clean up.” He said, ushering you away from the messy kitchen and into the pathway to the door.

“You need to rest for tomorrow. Let me, please.” You tried to take the bag from his hands, but he’s faster and stronger, and it was away from your reach in less than a second.

“Stop arguing with me on our last moments together!” He retorted, using your words against you, and that won him the argument.

But now, with your one job done, and your friend ignoring you in the name of dish washing, your mind wanders to dangerous places.

After tonight, it will never be the same. He’ll be too busy, too famous, wanted by everyone around him. He said he’d never stop annoying you, but what happens when the rich parties inevitably make him realize the people back home don’t compare to his new circle?

The surge in thoughts about the future triggers the hangover headache prematurely. Red wine always has two different possible outcomes: either you make bad and stupid decisions or you get the worst hangover ever known to the human species. Seems that tonight you’re getting the latter.

“I'm making us hangover smoothies. I don’t want to feel dead tomorrow.”

His blender is where you knew it would, sitting untouched and with a layer of dust accumulated on top.

Seokmin doesn’t argue with you, “use anything I have left. Can’t let it go to waste.”

Opening his fridge after his approval, you’re met with the squeaky clean white interior and a few vegetables you’ll for sure use. “Why do you have an unopened bag of spinach when you’re leaving for months?”

“So you could use it for your anti-hangover concoctions," he lies, and you side-eye him so hard he bends over laughing. “Use it all and stop judging me.”

Every green vegetable you find goes into the blender, with a lot of lemon juice and the last few ice cubes that weren’t used for drinks.

Blender noise fills the comfortable silence that falls between you two as Seokmin finishes the dishes and rests against the cabinets behind you. Your body tingles, feeling his stare on your back, watching your every more.

The kitchen is too narrow, and Seokmin knows you hate it because you told him about a million times. There isn’t space for him to be standing where he is, yet, you can’t find it in you to complain. It’s the last time you’ll have him this close to you for a long time.

Seokmin’s eyes follow you as you find the glass cups you always use for your smoothies and pour the green liquid in.

“I have to clean that now.”

“Don’t complain about my good deed,” you roll your eyes as you hand him his part of the hangover cure, “I'll do it tomorrow in the morning."

He chuckles and gulps down the drink, as he always does despite not believing when you say it helps with feeling better after drinking. You rest your hips against the counter, angling your torso backwards and hoping the added centimeters between you will help the suffocating feeling of Seokmin standing so close.

The overpowering taste of spinach takes a few sips to get used to, but you don't flinch at the bitter taste, knowing you're under Seokmin's scrutinizing gaze even if you're avoiding his eyes.

“It's not your best,” he says, reading your mind.

“You're the one that forced me to put in a whole bag of spinach!”

Knowing there’s no way you’ll finish the awful smoothie, and using it as an excuse to still not look at Seokmin, you put the half-empty glass in the sink.

“I told you I had it just for you,” he states with full honesty. And you hate that you believe him.

There it is again. The invisible line about to be crossed. There must be something in the air. Maybe the mix of questionable old vegetables and lemon juice made you delirious.

“Should I feel insulted?” 

“I knew you’d want to make a smoothie so neither of us feel like shit tomorrow,” Seokmin shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It could be. It should be. But, judging by your pulse accelerating, it doesn’t feel like it. 

“Yeah! And now the only thing I’m capable of making in a kitchen is ruined!” You try to joke, to ease the tension in the room, to stop being so twitchy under Seokmin's gaze. But everything feels too warm, too something. “I’ve never put that much of anything into my creations.”

To your demise, Seokmin chuckles, getting off where he was resting against and taking one step into your personal space.

“So, when I peed purple for a week straight, that was a complete coincidence?”

Your breathing stops as he stretches in front of you to place his empty glass on the counter. His expensive perfume is all around you, his chest your sole view, and you get goosebumps at the warmth of his body against yours.

“How was I supposed to know that beet turns pee purple?”

His head’s tilted down, eyes on you again and resting his body on a hand too close to yours on the counter.

“It doesn’t unless you put too much in what you eat!” His smirk is all you need to know he's teasing you on purpose. But you can't seem to shut up, wanting to fill an incoming silence at all cost. 

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your last party and last smoothie with me, ‘cause no other hangover cure will ever compare to mine.”

Seokmin takes a deep breath, realizing, once again, that even if things aren't changing, a lot is. His kind smile turns sad as memories flash through his eyes.

“I had a lot of fun. Thank you.”

The moment's changing. You feel it in the air. All the borrowed time you got with him, time you took for granted, is now coming to an end. He'll leave and you'll stay behind, like you always do.

“The guys are all going to miss you,” words stumble out of you, the only way you find to freeze time, to be with him for a little longer. “I can't believe you agreed to let those two use your washing machine! I swear if they call me to come help them I'm—”

Words stop coming out of your mouth, a pair of lips against yours sealing them shut.

Seokmin's hands cup both sides of your jaw, so gently you barely notice them there over the feeling of his mouth against yours. The noise all around you quiets down for the first time since the big news.

That is, until you realize what's happening, and your hands, that were sneaking up his torso and almost wrapping around his neck, push him back.

His wide eyes connect with yours as your eyelashes flutter open. “I’m sorry, I—” He starts, and both of your apologies come out over the other.

“N-no, no, it’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it,”

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,”

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,”

“And you wouldn’t shut up, so I—”

“Actually, I think I did like it—”

“What?” You both ask at the same time, registering what the other was saying.

Can he sense the rapid beating of your heart? Is that why his smile keeps widening?

You're sure the warmth you feel growing on your face is visible from a mile away. Concealing your thoughts and feelings is hard in his eyes. He reads you like an open book, there's no way he can't see the fireworks he just lit up in you.

For the first time since knowing Seokmin, no words come out of your mouth, too focused on the growing electricity all around. You pushed him away, but he’s still close, too close. His kiss’ repercussions in your body and soul aren’t disappearing, the feeling of his lips against yours so palpable you’d think they were still there.

All the times you found yourself contemplating how it’d feel to kiss your best friend, and all the times you ushered the thought away, the conclusion was always a negative one. Everything would change, it wouldn’t work, or he’d hate you.

But now, he isn’t backing away, there isn’t disgust in his eyes, which haven’t left your lips since you separated. You’re still you, and he’s still him, standing in his kitchen, using the narrowness of it as an excuse for your closeness.

“You did that to shut me up,” you repeat the last part of his confession.

“And you liked it,” he chuckles again, but you catch as he takes another deep breath, a nervous tick he's always had.

“You're so annoying,” you mutter, with your lips still tingling from his touch.

“Yeah, but you're still gonna miss me.”

Maybe Seokmin knows you too well. Maybe he knows that his smirk and his stare going from your lips to your eyes make a mess of your organized mind. You had a plan for the night. A well thought out plan that didn’t include making eyes at each other and reconsidering your friendship.

“Yeah, I will,” you reply in a beat.

Because you will. Because the thought of being away while his life changes so much is scary. Because you’ll become nothing to him while he’s everything to you. Because you won't be with him while his dreams come true. Because you’ve been standing on the sidelines for so long, loving him more than you should.

And yet, he’s here now. Your Seokmin. Refusing to leave your side, with the buttons of his shirt enticingly open and his parted lips a remainder of where they just were. His stare’s lost on the lower part of your face, mind racing with thoughts you hope are similar to yours. Desire. Longing. Want.

Seokmin takes the tiniest step forward, enough to have your chests colliding. You’re not breathing, you can't, waiting for what his next move will be. His hands find their place on both sides of your waist, holding you in place even if there’s no chance you’re running away.

With his face so close, his breath fans over your awaiting lips, a sick game to have you at his mercy. His smile fades the closer he gets, eyeing you for what it feels like hours before asking, “Can I kiss you again?”

Your response is automatic, as if your body knew what he’d say. “Please.”

It comes out as a whisper, and you barely finish the word before he’s on you again.

All doubt is erased the second his lips mold with yours, evaporating into the steamy atmosphere. Letting yourself dwell in this re-kindled desire, you sigh as he dominates the new kiss, soft yet needy as his hands push your chest further against his.

Your hands find the back of his neck, threading with his hair and tightening your grip. Seokmin bites at your lower lip in retaliation. Both pushing and pulling, bringing the other closer until there’s no speck of space left between you.

The marble counter digs into your lower back, but that pain becomes the least of your worries when Seokmin’s tongue swipes your lower lip, asking for access. The mess of teeth and tongue flushes your whole body from top to bottom.

The lemon and spinach mix with the faint taste of wine as your tongues meet. It’s messy in a way you never thought Seokmin would kiss like.

How many girls had the honor of feeling him against them, his lips gliding over theirs instead of yours. All the opportunities you missed due to digging your feelings into a grave they’re now popping out of. You can’t help melting against him. Finally yours. 

A hunger you’ve never felt before runs through your veins, looking for a way to feel Seokmin everywhere all at once, to get back all the time you could’ve gotten with him. His muscles tense under your touch, hands wandering everywhere you can reach. You know he feels it too. The want.

You moan in his mouth, and something takes over him. His arms get loose before you feel his hands gripping at your thighs, lifting you up until you’re sitting on the counter. The frenziness of it all blurs your surroundings. The sound of Seokmin’s forgotten glass falling into the sink is merely a background noise along with the wet sounds echoing in the kitchen.

Like a magnet, his hips find your legs spread for him, pushing his growing hard against your core with the barest amount of desperation, and that has you moaning sloppily against him once again. Thank the universe for making you choose to wear a skirt for the party.

Wanting more of him, your hands make space to sneak between your chests, undoing the last buttons holding Seokmin’s white shirt together. His warm skin gets chills under your cold fingers. His lips go still on yours as you feel down his chest, breathing into your mouth the further down you get.

Years of forbidding yourself even from peeking at him if he was showing a bit of skin. Years of wondering how his golden skin would feel against yours. Neither the past or the future matter. Now, you’re nothing more than two people looking to fulfill years of accumulated longing.

You tease his hardness over his jeans, earning a groan against your throat as Seokmin kisses down your neck. The both of you refuse to take your hands off the other, making it a chore to unbuckle the expensive belt he's wearing.

“Are we doing this?” Seokmin asks, voice hoarse against your skin.

In the haze of his hands on your ass and his lips pressing on your pulse point, feeling the acceleration, there's no time to doubt what you want.

“If you have a condom, then yes.”

Like the human of the male species he is, Seokmin takes out one out of his wallet at your request. He lays it on the table with a smirk, lips red and swollen all because of you.

“Should we talk about it?” He asks again when he feels your hands toying with the hem of his jeans.

The few layers of clothes don't do anything to hide Seokmin's bulge pressing against your core. And his hands go up and down the sides of your thighs, to tease you more or to draw your attention, you’re not sure, but it sends waves of arousal crashing through your body.

“What’s there to talk about?” It sounds stupid the second it leaves your mouth.

What should you say? That things won’t change after this? That things changed already? That you wanted this for so long you forgot how life was like before him? Too much talk. Too many feelings you don’t want to deal with just yet.

Seokmin looks at you, a mix of desire and scepticism all across his face. “You know—”

“Let’s just,” you interrupt him before he says anything that could break you, “see how it goes. We can talk after, but I need you right now.”

His throat bobs at your words. A fight going on in his mind that your hands interfere with, caressing his lower back.

“We don’t have to if you’re not sure.” You can pretend this never happened if he's doubting everything.

He takes another deep breath, releasing in half a moan that does nothing if not encourage the pulsing of your core against his. And you're sure he can feel it.

“Seok—” His mouth smashes against yours, cementing his decision.

Melting at his touch again is easy. The sound of fabric and metal hitting the floor draws your attention to the lack of another layer between you. He's big. Big in a way you know you'll feel his stretch for days after.

Your legs wrap around Seokmin's hips, pushing him so closely against you there isn't a single atom separating your bodies. His mouth on yours is merciless, his tongue working as if trying to memorize every crevice.

“I really, really want to eat you out,” he sighs into your lips.

“Nothing's stopping you, driver boy.”

Seokmin sees it in your eyes. A glint of desire that mirrors his. “You have the next world champion between your legs and you’re making jokes?”

Your eyes are locked with his as he sinks to his knees, his hands holding your thighs open until you're all he can see. His gaze turns hazy, descending down your heaving body until it lands on your poorly clothed core. His fingers hook on your sides, leaving you bare for his eyes to see.

The kitchen grows hot with every second Seokmin spends admiring the mess of juices he caused with a few kisses. All you want is for the ache to stop, to shrink before his stare and be satisfied from the years-long accumulated desire.

He takes you in, just millimeters away from where he wants and almost tipping you over the edge of the counter.

An experimental lick between your folds makes you both mutter equally hungry curses. His breath against your wet core drives a shiver up your body, followed by a rush of liquid fire through your veins.

“You haven’t—raced even o–once,” Half of his brain is paying attention to you talking, the other half concentrating on kissing your inner thighs and spreading your folds. Your pulse races, growing expectant seeing his lack of shyness. “You don’t have—fuck—bragging rights.”

Words get stuck as Seokmin attaches his mouth to your mound again, decided on making your brain scramble to make sense. 

He mumbles something in response, muffled by his tongue lapping at your juices and moaning like a starved man. You grip his hair, keeping him in place as the familiar fire begins to pool at the base of your stomach.

“I’m not—” he nods against your core, cutting away any possible thought from your head.

You feel his smirk against you, as if the embarrassingly quick way he has you done for him was amusing. He knows your signals, learned to interpret your body language, all for this moment. To please you correctly.

Delving his tongue in your entrance, your whole body quivers as his nose bumps against your clit. Your insides clench around nothing, walls begging to be stretched and dripping arousal for him to taste.

Your hand tightens on his hair as your hips grind against him, chasing the light ahead with your eyes shut tight.

“Fuck, you're so good,” your words feed his eagerness, now more determined to show you just how good he can make you feel.

Each swipe of his tongue gets faster and harder, and he doesn't seem to mind that your hand's keeping his head suffocatingly close to your core. You'd be worried if it wasn't for the mix of grunts echoing against the kitchen walls at every wave of arousal dripping out of you. He might even be enjoying it more than you.

His hands try to keep your legs open for him, but you lose control of your body feeling the coil snap hard at the flick of his tongue. It's his strong hold against the trembling of an earth-shattering orgasm sending trembles down your body.

Your body goes limp, weight falling back when you let loose Seokmin’s head and place your hands on the counter for support. He licks every sensitive part of your core, looking straight into your eyes as he cleans you up. A menace.

Oxygen takes work to get in your lungs. Mixed feelings colliding and getting your soul sucked out of you was not how you planned to end the day. But Seokmin gives you no time to ponder about it any longer.

His lips find yours once again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You bring him closer, attempting to get rid of his godforsaken shirt so you can see him properly.

“Are we in a rush?” He chuckles, but lets you take it off him without getting in your way.

“Mhm.” The plastic packet warms up in your hands before you tear it open and roll the condom down your friend's length. “If you're not in me in the next two seconds, I might die.”

“Glad you're not dramatic.” His hands grip your thighs wrapped around his waist like he has all the time in the world.

“I'll go home and take care of it myself, then.”

Something inside him snaps at your teasing. A mix of desire and wonder flashes through his eyes. But before you get to question it, you feel the head of his cock dragging along your lower lips.

He prods at your entrance, and for a second, you worry if it'll fit. Every cackle you let out at your romance books comes back at you like a boomerang in the form of your hot best friend filling you up and stretching your walls in new ways.

Seokmin's hips stutter when he's all the way in, your insides quivering around him trying to get used to the stretch.

“I need a second,” you say at the same time as he announces, “I'm not gonna last.”

Your bodies are so close, you're not sure who chuckles first, but the vibrations travel from chest to chest and all the way down.

Slowly, the dragging along your walls beats the uncomfortable position on the counter. Seokmin’s strong arms hold you against him, setting the pace with his hips and moving your body to wherever he wants.

You let him take control, indulging in every feeling he sparks. From his fingers digging into your flesh, to his cock gently prying you open with every stroke. His soft grunts by your ear only egg you further. Everything is him. Time should stop right this second and never resume.

Your nails scratch Seokmin’s back when he reaches that point that makes you squirm, and everything turns blazing hot.

Seokmin’s thrusts lose control, making you lose your breath as he lifts you off the counter and drills into you, searching for his orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck, fearing your inevitable fall to the floor. But, once again, Seokmin’s full of surprises.

His biceps cage your torso to his, almost effortlessly keeping you in the air to thrust with no control. You take it all, everything he has to give as he mumbles nonsense praise into your ear.

Waves come crashing out of nowhere, and Seokming holds you through it all. Shaking in the air as your walls pulsing around him trigger his pending orgasm. You’re so sensitive you can feel his length twitching and unloading into the condom.

A choir of deep breaths and curses echo around the silent kitchen. Seokmin sets your limp body on the counter again, discarding the used condom in the trash. You should probably take care of that.

There’s so many things to do still. “We should finish cleaning up.” Your voice comes out half a whisper.”

Seokmin pulls his pants back up after retrieving your panties from wherever he threw them. Your body craves something. More. You don’t do silence. You can’t.

You could say something more, start a serious discussion about your friendship, about the future, his future.

But there’s so many things to do. Clean. Talk. Leave.

One of your hands flies across the narrow kitchen and finds Seokmin's wrist. His eyes haven't changed in the seconds of ruffling silence. A glare of hope flashes through them.

There's so many things to do. But only one that you want to.

Pulling him back against you is easy. Finding his lips and opening up for him again is even easier. He lets you take control, nods against the skin of your neck when you mumble instructions in his ear, and carries you across his empty apartment into his bedroom.

The coffee burns the roof of your mouth before you gulp it down. Hopefully, the warm drink will help the ache on every one of your muscles. The bitter taste makes your forehead hurt, the perfect excuse to hide your face behind the mug and ignore everything else.

A pair of eyes in front of you digs holes through every surface you put between you and him.

“If you don’t spill the beans in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.” Seungkwan’s voice tears the invisible wall down.

“I already told you what happened,” you mumble as you take another sip.

The cozy coffee shop near your place felt like a nice place to sit down and have a hard conversation at first. But now, the tired people who just want their morning coffee to go to work feel like they're judging you.

They must all see your messed up hair and realize you've been wearing the same clothes for over 24 hours. Even the shame must be seeping through your pores, filling the air inside the place with the distinct smell of embarrassment.

Looking everywhere but at your friend, you first hear his sigh, then his hands are taking your distraction away from you.

“You slept with Seokminnie,” he starts, and you mutter a chorus of r-rated curses that don’t do anything to stop him. “That doesn’t explain why you called me at 6 in the morning and forced me to have a terrible breakfast just hours before my flight.”

“I needed to eat something and you guys ate everything left last night,” you avoid the topic, and Seungkwan sighs dramatically, again.

“You didn't go to the airport.”

Seungkwan, with his judging eyes and exaggerated grunts, has been your voice of reason since forever. He lays it thick, rips the band-aid off, whatever you wanna call it. You need the shock, you need to hear the words from someone else. Maybe it makes sense if it's not coming from your own over-thinking mind.

“He probably doesn’t even want me there.”

“You know,” he sets your stolen mug on the table, ready to dig and poke until you give him what he wants, “for someone with that many master degrees, you’re pretty stupid.”

“What the hell, dude!” There's nothing throwable at your reach, so you slap his hand away from the table.

“Why are you being like this?”

“I think sleeping with my best friend is a very reasonable thing to freak out about.”

“You said it was good!”

Seungkwan’s eyes are as wide as bowling balls. The initial sex news didn't surprise him at all, but your stupidity seems to have reached unprecedented levels.

“Did you accidentally tell him you’re in love with him or something?”

There's a beat of glaring silence before you say, “you know I didn’t do that.”

It's a recurring thought that you're used to covering up with much more important subjects. It's something you're entirely too careful about to just blurb it out in the middle of a careless bone.

He checks out his notifications with a shrug. “That explains why he’s not replying to my texts and screaming at me, I guess.”

“You’re texting him?!”

Your arm flies into Seungkwan’s personal space a bit too late, and he instantly holds his phone out of your reach.

“Team business! Go away!”

You scoff, but his attention is now on texting someone. To your knowledge, everyone on the team had the same flight except for Seungkwan, who had to get one later for reasons he decided not to tell you. You're glad he's here, still, witnessing his most dumb friend.

“What the hell did you do?” He asks again after he locks his phone and puts it in his pocket.

“Nothing! I just woke up and left.”

Seungkwan glares at you. You glare back. He's no mind reader, but he must be seeing something in you, and you desperately want to find out what it is and hide it.

“What?”

“Did you talk, at least?” You shake your head. “Left a note?” Another shake. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I couldn’t stay there.”

You ghosted your psychologist months ago, but you know she'd say something about not being able to face the consequences of your actions. You'd argue that you just wouldn't want to hold Seokmin back from what he always wanted. Tie him to you and his past life.

“So, you’re making me your accomplice.”

“And I'm the dramatic one.” You don't know how many more eye rolls you have in you.

Seungkwan crosses his arms on the table, which means the conversation is now a serious one. “What should I say if he asks where I was? Or if you talked to me?”

“Just—” air leaves your lungs in a sigh. “Don’t tell him, please? I can’t talk with him right now.”

“You’re going to have to, eventually. You know that, right?”

“His mind should be on his race in a few days. He needs to train, and I don't want to bother him with useless drama.”

“He won't contact you if he thinks you want space.”

“I need space! I'm going to talk to him after I practice my speech. I promise.”

After life restarts, when your Seokmin-less days become the new normal and the dread keeps you company, you'll do it. When you're sure you can live without him.

“Okay, now that the freaking out is over, can you please tell me what happened? I want excruciating detail.” The last of your coffee finds the wrong pipe down your system and you choke at Seungkwan's ask. “It's like being inside a soap opera!”

—

Every muscle ached. The soft mattress you were laying on did nothing to help your body stop tensing, but there were two big arms keeping you close to a human-shaped heater.

His skin felt soft all around, nothing in between you and him but an invisible wall you began to build as soon as you gained consciousness. His sheets enveloping you smelled like him, sweet and expensive.

You almost closed your eyes back and pretended it was all a dream. You'd wake up and you'd be back at your place, just another more than friendly dream about your best friend. Nothing out of the ordinary. But you couldn't.

Reminders of the night all over the bedroom attacked you when you opened your eyes.

In the corner of the room, his luggage judged you as you tried to free yourself from his grip. The party clothes scattered around the floor, the used condoms on the bathroom bin, framed pictures of the two of you over the years. Every stage of your friendship plastered inside the four walls.

There was time before his alarm went off. The alarm that'd set off his bright future.

Getting dressed was the easy part. Covering every bit of skin of your body Seokmin made his, dressing up with the clothes he took off. Putting yourself back together.

Your face in the mirror was the first jumpscare you confronted. Tear stains decorated your cheeks, your natural make-up a mess on your skin. His mess. Your heart squeezed as you scrubbed your face with foamy soap, trying to hold off on tearing up and making noise.

Seokmin's deep unknowing breaths were all you heard. His eyes fluttered closed and the tiniest smile on his face broke you a little more inside. You'd just ruin him.

Somewhere in the living room was your forgotten bag, with your half-charged phone and two sets of keys to different apartments. Seungkwan must've put Seokmin's back inside your bag without you noticing.

Outside the bedroom, beginning to forget the night before was easier. Without the constant reminders, and his fingers so close to where you always wanted, the journey to forget began.

The last reminder made you jump. Green goo stuck to the dirty blender still on the counter, with a broken glass dumped in the sink, victim of two rushed people out of their mind.

For once, you wished you were drunk. You wished there was an external component to help you blur the events of the night. Memories that will inevitably hurt you and the friendship you've built for so many years.

Maybe, if you fuck up first, the heartache would be easier, too. If it was your fault, and not his. If you broke his heart before he had the chance to figure out he could do better.

Closing the door behind you, cementing your decision, was the hardest thing you did that morning.

—

“I should’ve known there was a vibe after that bullshit you told me about dying and whatever,” Seungkwan observes after carefully listening to your rendition of the morning.

“What are you talking about?”

“You were making a scandal about me drinking from your glass and then Seokmin came in and drank straight from your bottle. I couldn’t believe it, but you're both so weird I didn’t think much of it, and—”

His rambling continues, and you'd be offended by him calling you weird, if you weren't busy having slight memory issues.

“When did he—I don’t remember any of that.”

“Oh, but it happened. My memory never fails.” At your confused expression, he presses. “Were you that drunk?”

“I wasn’t drunk! And I made hangover smoothies after, I told you.”

Everything feels so natural with Seokmin, that sometime during your friendship you stopped paying attention to his actions so you wouldn’t overthink about what they meant.

“I still hate drinking from the same cup.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows and gets his hand slapped again, “It’s just your awful memory then.”

“Shut up, asshole. My memory’s just fine.”

Seungkwan checks his watch out of habit. He probably should already be leaving for the airport, needing to get there a few hours prior and all that.

“You need to go.”

You don’t want to keep him any longer. He also has his future ahead. Having an existential crisis can wait.

“I don’t want to leave you freaking out. What if you do something horrible? Like getting a face tattoo?”

“Fuck, I should cancel my appointment, then.” Seungkwan laughs, though skeptically. “I can figure it out, I promise.”

You know he's worried. About you, about Seokmin. His eyes analyze every micro-expression on your face, and you try to be as serious as possible.

“I'm always a text away,” he settles on saying. “A call too, but let's do those less often.”

“Don't worry about that. I need peace and quiet, and you talk too much.”

“Bitch,” he mutters and pretends to gather his things. But he should be doing it for real. 

“Okay, now leave!” You usher him away, leaving him no choice but to obey after making a scene. “Have a safe flight!”

“Hope you had safe sex!” He yells back, louder than he needs to.

“I hate you! And I hope your plane crashes!”

“I'll miss you, too!”

People stare at you, and now that Seungkwan's out the door and moving on, you care.

There's so much silence without him, just you with your thoughts and judging stares from the other clients in the café. The pressure’s there, all around you, to get it together.

Will you be able to live without Seokmin this time? Not just kilometers away from you, but actually ignoring you? It's your fault, there's no denying it. 

You'll get it together. You'll reach out to him first. Fix your friendship after fucking up tremendously. Easy.

The first few days pass with dread. Empty and gray. Sticking to your new routine is the way you found to not get lost in the emptiness, or in the unwanted thoughts.

Going back to college fills your every day. New classes to attend, assigned readings, essays. Anything you can do to stop the tsunami of thoughts, you do. But, if the three books and the open laptop in front of you prove something, it's that it’s not working.

You managed to snatch a table for yourself at the library—not that it was hard since no one willingly is on campus on a Saturday afternoon, decided on putting your mind to work on something. But you’re not stressed enough to do school work yet, and the people all around you talk so loudly, you find yourself listening to them to pass the time.

Gossip about people you don’t know is always interesting. Some girl kissed her friend’s ex at a party, another girl failed her first exam in her life, then a muscular guy chased the librarian around to look for something too specific. Fun to hear, but you take your phone out anyway. Less possibilities to form a thought.

You sip from your untouched black coffee on the table, only to realize it’s not coffee and it's not yours. It’s what Seokmin always drinks: a matcha with three packets of sugar. You always put his order first, and you must’ve automatically ordered his favorite instead of yours this time. Embarrassing.

The green drink goes down your throat with a sting.

Scrolling through social media, you can't escape your wrong-doings, or your algorithm. The timeline’s filled with clips and posts from the Qualifying, mostly people complaining about their favorite driver's position on the grid for Sunday.

There's only one person you'd share tweets with and laugh about the ridiculousness of some people's opinions.

Further down, you see what you were half avoiding, half expecting to see.

“Lee Seokmin, eliminated in Q1.”

You had talked about it, the possibility of him not doing great during the first races. Even though your little knowledge of how races work and his refusal to tell you the team's strategies snowballed in your brain into the idea that it was impossible for him to do poorly.

Starting P16 isn't bad for a first race in a Grand Prix. It can't be! Your fingers itch to text him, to encourage him, somehow. His chat glows on your screen, almost growing cobwebs from the inactivity.

Seungkwan was right. You knew it even before he said it out loud. Seokmin wasn't going to contact you first, he'd wait until you were ready to talk, not wanting to pressure you.

His profile picture taunts you. A photo you took yourself over time he came to visit. He'd made you drive him to the beach and you watched him surf for hours, not without hearing at least five pleas for you to join him.

You had your fun, staring into the ocean, seeing Seokmin riding the waves infuriatingly well. Was there nothing he was bad at? You remember taking your phone out, recording him riding the tallest wave you'd seen until then. Then a picture, and more as he came out of the water and ran to you with the biggest, proudest smile on his face.

Your stomach turns. That won't ever happen again. You're sure he'll never direct a smile that is happy and warm to you ever again.

You lock your phone and put it away before you do something stupid. He's probably busy for the race the next day. A text from you will only make things worse, you're sure.

—

Against your better judgement, and breaking your promise to not think about a certain driver, you find yourself seated in front of your small TV. Your inner alarm clock woke you up almost automatically to catch the tests before the race starts.

Race Day craze was all over your social media, with clips of every driver and predictions being almost inescapable. You couldn't catch the pre-race interview some driver is always subjected to, but you're on time for everything else.

Seokmin's face fills your screen before you have the chance to open the camera app. The dark blue uniform makes him look serious, his smile nowhere to be seen on his concentrated face.

The last time you saw him, he was peacefully sleeping on his bed with his lips curled. That Seokmin looks nothing like the one being filmed as he puts on the colorful helmet and gets in the car.

Your heart pounds inside your chest as if you were the one about to drive, and a mix of nervousness and excitement reverberates from your head to your toes. For a moment, even if your best friend hates your guts, you're as happy for him as you've ever been.

Regret. A painful regret punches you in the gut. He doesn't look sad, but there’s something missing in him. The little wrinkles beside his eyes, that shine of warm happiness that followed him everywhere.

Seokmin hates you. He has to. You changed everything then dipped before you could make sense of what happened, together. The Seokmin you see on your screen must no longer be your best friend. Not even your friend.

You look at his contact again, unsure if he'd want you to reach out after all. You lost him for good. All the hope you've harbored trying to get your feelings in order, now gone.

His voice coming from the speakers startles you. It’s important for drivers to check if their mic and radio work, and usually they’ll just say nonsense or sing a song they like so their engineers know what the issue is, if there’s any.

The last time you heard his voice, he was mouthing lust-filled nonsense against your naked back. 

Then, the first lines of a song you thought Seokmin would never sing in public reach your ears.

“You're insecure, don't know what for.”

You cackle as your eyes go back to the screen. You can’t see his face under the helmet, except for his crescent moon shaped eyes as he sings.

“You're turning heads when you walk through the door.”

Could there be hope?

To everyone listening on the paddock and at home watching the TV, Seokmin’s just singing a 2011 pop staple. But, to you, it’s a sign that your best friend might not hate you after all.

Countless were the karaoke nights you sang that song together until your lungs couldn’t take it anymore. Seokmin, as always, gave the performance of his life every single night, out-singing you and your pitchy screams.

But it wasn’t about the singing. That song became a joke between you two. You’d hear it in the supermarket and you had to send him a voice message. When it came on the radio, you’d look at each other with twinning grins and burst out laughing. It was your song, and now, he’s singing it knowing the whole world is watching him.

Does he know you’re watching too? He has to know you’d never miss something so important to him. You waited for him outside a class after your first fight. You paid for his meal one time you argued and he left the restaurant. Across the timeline of your friendship, you fought so many times, but never failed to be there for him.

People laugh off screen, and Seokmin keeps singing until they tell him everything's working fine. He concentrates on the car and the circuit in front of him, arms tensing as he fixes his posture.

Seokmin starts the race quickly after, and you watch it all with more enthusiasm than ever. You don't want to miss any detail to make sure you tell him everything after.

Unfortunately, he doesn't earn any points for the championship. But ending at P17 isn't bad at all! Sometimes finishing the race in one piece is all that matters, or so Seokmin said a lot of times after you made fun of him during his F2 era.

From the way he gets out of the car, you can tell he's disappointed. His slouched shoulders that don't match the weak smile he shows the camera give it away.

A few reporters rush to shove their mics in Seokmin’s face, ignoring the sweat dripping down from his hair onto them. You barely hear some of the questions thrown his way, but he picks some one by one and answers perfectly.

“How do you feel after your first race?”

He rakes his fingers through his damp hair before answering, “It was all I ever dreamed. A little disappointed at the result, but now I can only go up!”

His answer eggs the reporter on, who chuckles as the few that didn't get their questions chosen move on to other drivers.

“It was a good start today, but you couldn't recover the spot you lost after the pit stop.”

“It was unfortunate, yeah. The soft tyres we changed into degraded quickly and I couldn't gain back any spot,” Seokmin replies expertly. “Still, I'm happy to have finished, and I hope I have a good season ahead!”

“Your family must be very proud of you, seeing you race after being a reserve driver for so long.” The reporter sounds captivated by Seokmin, continuing with the interview when he could’ve stopped after the race feedback.

“I hope they are,” he chuckles and your stomach turns. “Everybody back home was excited to see me today.”

“I'm sure they’re waiting to call you as soon as you’re done here.”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone, mom!”

There’s no denying the natural charm Seokmin delivers with each word. His answers are all effortless, and he doesn’t look bored or bothered by the questions. You knew it before, but it gets clearer and clearer that that’s where he’s meant to be.

“Anyone special back home? Any girl you’re hoping to impress?”

Seokmin chuckles with embarrassment, and you feel heat rushing up your cheeks.

“There might be. I'm not sure, yet.”

“C'mon! Now you're a professional driver, who would let you get away?”

“I wish it was up to me,” he chuckles again with an unreadable expression. “It was good talking to you, man! See you after the next race!”

“Sure will!” The reporter replies and the next driver shows up on screen. But your eyes follow Seokmin's figure blurring further and further in the background until he disappears.

You can fix this. You won’t let your stubbornness get in between him and you. He gave you the sliver of hope you needed. Whether he meant it or not.

Bitter taste envelops your tongue from biting your nails, and you're sure you're carving a hole on your floor from pacing in circles. Your phone stares at you from the other side of your room, laughing at you.

Every minute that passes after the race that you’re not calling Seokmin is a wasted one. There really are only two options: either you call him and confront your mistake, or you never talk to each other again.

Both scenarios would result in losing him. Though, living in a world where Seokmin isn’t a part of your daily life seems even worse than admitting your feelings out loud. There has to be a way to keep him by your side still.

Seokmin’s picture shows up on your screen. Your phone is in your hand and you’re calling him. Blood pumps faster and faster from your heart, but there’s no time to panic.

“Hi,” Seokmin’s voice buzzes through the line.

The shock of him not ignoring your call makes you unable to speak for a few seconds. You were panicking so much, you forgot to rehearse what you were going to say to him.

“Hi, loser,” you say quietly over the silence.

His guard is up, no trace of a smile in his tone as he replies, “You saw the race.”

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it.”

Your earnest words fade into the awkward silence. You knew you'd have to push through it to get him to hear you. The next questions mumble out of your lips, so quickly you regret them instantly.

“How are you? How’s the fame treating you?”

“It’s fine. Nothing really changed, just more people watching.” His tone's flat like never before.

“I hope you're not too bummed about the result. I know you're going to do great in the coming races!”

He only hums in response.

The deafening silence creates a black hole inside your room, sucking any idea you could possibly get to alleviate the awkwardness. He’s waiting for you to talk, that’s clear.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you, about…” the words take work to get out of you, and in the end, it doesn’t even sound like you intend to. “What happened at the party.”

“You left,” he says, with simplicity, with hurt.

“I panicked,” you rush to half-explain. “I'm sorry.”

There’s so much more behind your words, so many things you can’t bring yourself to address out loud.

“We could’ve talked about it, together.”

“I know. I know you wanted to.”

Seokmin's doing a great job at presenting the facts, but not helping you form a forgiveness-earning speech. Dryness was expected from his part, but you didn’t expect words to be so hard to find after hearing his voice.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I was awful. I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have ghosted you all week when it was so important for you.” Your throat tightens as tears begin brimming from your eyes. “I’ve been a terrible friend, and I’m truly sorry.”

The line falls dead as he considers your apology. Knowing how important this race and the entire week was for him, you don’t expect Seokmin to forgive you easily. You don’t even deserve it. And if he’s willing to give you another chance, you’ll work hard to earn his trust again.

You can almost picture his face as he breaks the silence. “I didn't mean for it to change things between us.”

Seokmin's words leave a sour aftertaste, even though it’s what you wanted to hear. He wants to stay friends. You should be thrilled.

“Good,” you exhale. “I don't want things to change either.” If there’s disappointment in your voice, he shows no signs of realizing.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“No, stop that.” You jump in place. “You didn't do anything wrong. It was me who ran away like a coward.”

“You're right,” he chuckles in response, and a sense of familiarity takes over the call. “And I had to clean the blender.”

“Fuck! I'm sorry for that, too.” He's back to teasing you, and you're easily embarrassed.

You laugh together as if everything was okay again. As if the ghost of his fingers on your skin and his tongue on yours didn't wake you up every night in a cold sweat.

“Can we just—It may not be fair for me to ask you this, but, can we pretend it didn't  happen?”

It. You can't even say it.

His breathing slows, thinking carefully. You fear you're about to lose him, again.

“I don't want us to fight,” you over-explain, and he sighs.

“Me neither.”

“And you actually can't be mean to your fans, so, you'll be forced to talk to me no matter what.”

After what it feels like years, your body relaxes. Hearing him chuckle because of you again feels good, warm, right.

“You're my fan now?”

“I've always been. Ever since you got your driver's license.”

You're so honest, the rest of the truth almost slips out. But it's not fair to him. You can't just blurt everything out over a call and expect him to be okay with it.

Instead, you let him ramble about the car, the race and the team. And you hear and comment about every detail. Because you're also excited for him.

You talk for hours, and the awkwardness fades away as the call progresses. With you telling him how it feels to go back to college and him explaining the differences between f1 and f2 to help you understand things for the next races.

He doesn't have to know that you googled everything the day before. You're happy he's willing to talk to you like everything is normal again. You won't waste your second chance.

Your windbreaker jacket fights for its life against the storm you didn't realize was coming into town until it was too late.

The rain and you have become one.

Your socks stick uncomfortably to your feet inside your drenched sneakers, and you can only hope the jacket covered your bag enough so your things didn’t get ruined.

You enter your building, in a better mood now that there’s a roof over your head after walking from the bus stop. Almost instantly, you open the camera app, take a photo of your soaked hair sticking to your face and send it to Seokmin before hopping on the elevator.

In hopes of restoring most of the normalness you’re able to, you’ve begun texting every day with him, mainly with mundane updates about your days that easily turn into conversation.

A new notification makes your phone buzz in your hand, and your heart races with anxiety and excitement; the new mix of feelings you started getting when talking with Seokmin.

Getting a text from your best friend shouldn't feel giddy, it shouldn't draw an instant smile on your face and make your hands tremble.

Still, you try. You try to answer his questions about your new major as a best friend would. You send him posts you see on your timeline about the racing season, and he sends you memes about university. You try not to zoom in on the mirror selfies he sends daily and try not to remember the feeling of being wrapped in those same arms.

It's late at night for you, but for Seokmin, the day just started. ‘Heading out to train’, said his last message before your storm selfie. That was over half an hour ago.

You change into dry clothes and flop down on your couch as your blood pressure drops seeing his new texts.

‘You need to stop your hate for umbrellas’, reads the immediate response to your photo. You'd argue that it wasn't your refusal to carry umbrellas this time, and you genuinely didn't know it was going to rain. But the next few texts restrict the oxygen flow to your brain.

Seokmin's sitting sideways, with his full body on display and his side profile almost testing you from far away. The angle makes it so the empty gym occupies most of the photo-space, but your eyes don't see anything else other than him.

Two dumbbells sit at the sides of his feet, probably unused as he doesn't look sweaty yet. The black shorts he's wearing don't do anything to hide his thigh muscles as they tense from the position he's in. Muscles you felt slapping against your own not long ago.

Deep inside you, a sliver of guilt appears, trying to overshadow the turmoil beginning to pool at the pit of your stomach.

You've tried to push down everything Seokmin makes you feel that you shouldn't. But it's so hard when the very sight of his body takes you back to that night again.

The lights inside your home remain off. You forgot to turn them on when you came in, and only a few rays of the street lampposts bleed through your curtains. It's so dark, it's easy to step over the embarrassment and let the desire, that you fought so hard to hide, win.

As your hand pushes down past the hem of your jeans, the inner fight going on in your mind blurs completely. That night is burned on your eyelids like a tattoo. It follows you everywhere you go, but it’s forever only in your mind.

Your body quivers imagining Seokmin’s hands are touching you and not yours. You burn with embarrassment and lust, body flushed as his muscles flex below you. How it would feel to have his fingers inside you, longer, deeper, and looking to please you until you’re done for.

The ghost of that night drives you to the finish line. Sticky, tired, and knowing it can never happen again.

Your phone buzzes on the table with more notifications. You never answered him, blinded by what isn’t real.

If Seokmin notices you leaving him on read for a suspicious amount of time, he doesn’t comment on it. His next few texts are all complaining about the new routine they have him on, but then saying he enjoys the challenge and seeing the results.

Those results are going to make your life really hard moving forward.

When old people complain about the new generation being addicted to their phones, you always argue that it’s the new way we have, as a society, to learn new things every day. Sure, you can get misinformation from anyone, even on the internet, but the easier access makes everything faster.

Besides, the older generation is just as addicted as they claim others to be. You’d go even as far as to say that it’s worse for them.

You would, but you’ve been proving old people right for the past few days.

For Fridays to be your busiest day of the week, full of classes and group meet-ups for projects, your screentime resembles too closely the one of a 10 year old addicted to tiktok. You’ve been constantly checking your notifications for the past two days, and always see your lockscreen empty.

Waiting for your order at the coffee shop you had a heart to heart with Seungkwan a few weeks ago, it just looks like Seokmin decided to hate you again.

Reeling back to when you apologized, everything seemed fine! Your last text conversation didn’t differ from how you’ve been talking.

If you did something to pass him off again, it would be nice for him to tell you for once.

The bartender's loud voice startles you out of your thoughts. “Iced matcha latte!”

You groan at your changing coffee order but take the cup from the worker regardless. The table you've become a regular off is empty, and you sit on your self-assigned chair to contemplate your life's twists and turns.

The text conversations with Seokmin don't stray far away from friendly updates and banter here and there. He hasn't been available for calls either, so you know you didn't slip and said something you weren't meant to.

The last picture Seokmin sent you catches your attention. He had the day off and his teammate invited him to spend the day at his yacht.

Blueish teal water surrounds him, but even if there's nothing inherently insinuating about the picture, you can't avoid looking at his face for longer than necessary. Your eyes then steer to his naked shoulders, imagining what's below the edge of the photo.

You've sunk your teeth on those shoulders, felt that very same nose against your core and came so hard you forgot how to breathe.

Seungkwan’s name flashes on your screen with an incoming video call, making you jump on your seat and gaining you a few weird looks. 

After taking a deep breath, you check your airpods are still connected before accepting the call.

“I can't believe I have to call you myself to get in touch with you!” He accuses as soon as you pick up.

You try your best not to gasp too loud. “You told me not to call you!”

“A text wouldn't hurt either,” Seungkwan rolls eyes. “And I know you've been texting ‘Mister Yacht Party’, so don't tell me you haven't had time.”

With everything going on, and you trying to ignore anything even remotely related to Seokmin in case you slip up, you’ve forgotten about the other relationships in your life too. Your incapability to interact normally with Seokmin made you grow apart from everyone, in case they ask, in case they realize.

“Okay, I yield. I'm sorry, I should've texted you.”

Seungkwan, even if he knows what happened, is still as busy as Seokmin. You didn’t want to bother him with your college girl problems.

“Thank you. That's nice to hear.” He shows a genuine smile. “How have you been?”

“Classes and group projects and all. I don't want to annoy you with my boring routine.”

“Not that I like being annoyed, but you should tell me anyway! It's not boring to me if you like what you’re doing.”

It's heartwarming and annoyingly sweet of him, and you'd tear up if you weren't in public. “Thank you, really, but I want to talk about you! The new hotshot mechanic in Formula 1!”

His ears grow red with embarrassment. “I'm just observing the actual mechanics do their job for now.”

“That's how you learn! They'll eventually ask you to hold some tools and then you'll be working with the cars in no time!”

“Let’s hope the universe hears you,” he chuckles his words out.

In the background, you see a shadow of a figure moving before hearing Seokmin's voice. You don't quite get what he's saying to Seungkwan, but your body freezes as their focus goes away from you.

You haven't called Seokmin since you apologized weeks ago, because he's busy and you still received his daily updates anyway. But his recent silence put a stop to any progress you thought you made.

A door closes on Seungkwan’s side of the call, and his attention comes back to you. You have to pretend to be cool about it.

“So, how do you feel about that new lifestyle of his? Partying with famous people and all.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m a mechanic, not his manager,” he throws you a glitchy knowing look. “I'd like it more if he found a way to get me invitations, though.”

“I'm sure they all invite their teams to their rich men hangouts.”

“Well, they invite their friends and I'm trying to replace you.” You're about to argue when he continues, “But I'm not letting his dick anywhere near me, so I guess I'm at a disadvantage.”

You choke on your drink. “Don't say that out loud! What if he hears you? Oh my God.”

“Oh, don't be dramatic.” His evil smirk shows you no compassion. 

Your eyes scan the café in search of any wandering stares. “I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“Too bad, you can't regret it now!” Seungkwan tries, but your worried expression doesn’t go away. “Don't worry about your sex drama. He just left anyway, he won't hear.”

The little information about Seokmin piques your interest. You guess it's his day off, since Seungkwan isn't working either, but he clearly had plans. You're not part of them. You haven't been for days now.

“Where did he go? He hasn't texted me in days.”

At your question, Seungkwan's expression turns. “Oh, shit,” he mutters under his breath.

“Are you kidding? What? What happened?”

“No, it's nothing. I'm sure he'll tell you.”

“So, there is something.” Nothing Seungkwan says helps calm you down.

“I didn't say that.”

“Come on. Did I upset him? Is he avoiding me? Is he getting drunk with Charles Leclerc again? Or worse, with Max Verstappen?”

Is it possible that Seokmin simply got tired? Maybe he realized texting wasn’t enough to keep a relationship going and decided to pursue something within his reach.

“You didn't do anything,” he sighs. You can't tell exactly why.

“Then, what? Where did he go?”

“He's doing something for his publicist.”

Whatever you thought his answer would be, that isn’t it. You didn’t even know Seokmin had a publicist, though it makes sense since he’s a public figure.

At your expectant face, Seungkwan realizes you need much more information than what he’s providing. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“I'm going to fly wherever you are with the sole purpose of snapping your head off.”

“You don't scare me. You can't run a full block without getting the air knocked off you!”

“Besides the point! Just tell me already! I have no one to gossip with about famous people besides you, come on.” It's just gossip, you repeat to yourself. Celebrity gossip.

“Fine, but don't freak out, okay? Promise?” You nod, unsure but determined to know. “He's… on a date.”

For a second, your heart stops. “A date.”

“A PR date.” You glare at him, confused and paralyzed. “You know, when two managers arrange a dinner with two famous people to, like, boost their popularity.”

“Why the hell should he boost his popularity? He's a driver, not a fucking pop singer.”

“I know jack shit about marketing, don't ask me!” Seungkwan throws his free hand in the air, with his eyes wide at your reaction.

Your mood drops to new lows. If you weren't in a busy café, you're sure your throat would begin closing as a warning for incoming tears.

“Look. They just have to be seen hanging out. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It sounds like something if this is why he's been avoiding me.”

“I'm sure he has his reasons.”

If it was just a PR strategy, Seokmin would text you complaining about it. At least past Seokmin would have. The Seokmin you didn't ruin.

Any effort you were doing to seem uninterested fades. “Who is she?”

“Nope! We're not doing this.”

“W-why?”

“Because it doesn't matter!” Seungkwan almost yells.

“It does! His publicist team wouldn't choose someone random. They at least have to seem to have chemistry.”

This is what you were afraid of, Seokmin finding new people and realizing you're not worth the trouble. It makes perfect sense he'd want to stop contacting you altogether.

“You didn't even know what a PR date was 5 minutes ago. You don't know how it works.”

“But it makes sense! You can't deny that.”

“I can. And I will,” he asserts. “You shouldn't overthink about it. It's just a one time thing.”

“Yeah, you're right.” Just a one time thing. “I don't care.”

“Good.” Seungkwan exhales in relief. But his relaxation is short-lived.

“I don't care if he dates! He has all the right to.”

“Oh, boy,” he mutters as you start your ramble.

“He's a free, single man who just became famous. Of course he has all kinds of beautiful women lining up for a chance.”

“That’s not what I meant, just saying.”

“It's a matter of time before he gets married to a beautiful and rich model who'll give him children with symmetrical faces and buy them designer onesies.”

“Your twisted mind keeps surprising me, years after years.”

“It's not twisted, I'm being realistic.”

Being realistic is the only way you can save yourself from bad situations. You set the expectations low enough that nothing surprises you, nothing tears you down, because you were prepared.

You and Seokmin are nothing more than friends. If you were anything more, the distance and his new relationships would make everything harder. With your busy college schedule and his training, there could be nothing else.

You'd hold him back. And that would be worse than seeing him date anyone else.

The next day, the news and social media are filled with photos of the new hot couple out to dinner. But you don't allow yourself to care more than you should.

The numbness helps. Even if your eyes itch at every new angle of the two of them talking at the table. Even if he shows her that same smile that makes your stomach flutter. Even if that girl isn't you. It shouldn't be you. It could never be.

After the spectacle the day before, you should’ve expected to find that girl’s face in the foreground as soon as you turn on your TV. You gave Seungkwan’s words some thought and believed him when he said it wasn’t something to worry about, that it was just a one time thing. It certainly is not.

They came into the paddock with their arms interlocked, ready for the cameras to show them to the whole world. As Seokmin went to get ready, she stood on his team’s side, with her effortless beauty and perfect fitting outfit.

The sour mood kept getting worse as the race preparations started. Seokmin doesn't hesitate and radio checks like normal, no singing involved.

It's your fault really. You had your expectations too high for the reality you live in. Seokmin’s not going to sing One Direction before every race to get your attention. Stupid.

The first hour blurs past with a debilitating heartache. Every time Seokmin does a successful overtake, the camera focuses on his new date. Her reactions fuels social media just as much as him doing well.

You don’t catch the rest of the race. You mentally can't handle it.

It's late in the evening, so the cashier at the supermarket doesn't look at you weird for buying a ridiculously priced red wine. It's too late when you realize the brand you gravitated towards.

The race is on its last laps when you get back. Your eyes stick to the screen, that you forgot to turn off when storming out, even if you don't want to. It's a tense game of overtaking, falling behind and the ranking changing with each lap before it finishes with Seokmin positioning P11.

You watch as he celebrates with his team. Everyone with smiles on their faces and palming Seokmin on the back. And she's also there.

He was really close to gaining points for the championship, which is huge for a new driver. You know he's probably at it inside his head, telling himself that he should've placed in the top 10.

The sports channel's now airing an old basketball tournament, formula 1 long gone from your screen. You stare at it blankly, with only Seokmin’s face as he got out of his car in your mind. You want to tell him that he did awesome. That no matter the position he ended at, with all the maneuvers he managed against the other drivers, he cemented himself as someone to watch out for.

You turn the TV off and head to bed, hugging the unopened wine bottle and trying to convince yourself not to do anything you'll regret. You know it's too late when you hear his voice over the speaker.

“Hi?” The sound of a door closing echoes through the line.

Once again, you called him. Instead, this time, there was no hope that he'd answer.

“Congrats on today.” There's no cheer on your tone. “You did great.”

“Thank you. I just got to the hotel.” You hum in response, not knowing what else to say. “I-I wondered if you were watching.”

“I was.”

Silence follows your affirmation. He didn’t expect you to call. You didn't think you would either.

“I'm guessing you saw…”

“I couldn’t really ignore it,” you say dryly.

“I was going to tell you but-”

You interrupt him, “It's okay if you didn't want to.” You know you have no right to be upset by a date, he doesn't owe you an explanation.

“I wanted to.”

“Oh.” He doesn't owe you an explanation. Doesn't matter how bad you want one.

“I just didn't know how.”

You think about it for a second. Does that mean he can just ghost you entirely? Do you have the right to complain when you did the same thing not long ago?

“I missed you these past days,” you decide to admit. “You didn't need to go all silent treatment on me.”

“I'm sorry, I really am. It was just—a weird situation.”

“Kwannie told me about it.”

“That weasel,” Seokmin mutters. “Yeah, he knew ‘cause I was with him when my manager called me.”

You chuckle, fixing your posture and laying face up in bed. “He didn't want to tell me but I forced him.”

For a second, everything feels normal again. Your smile shows back up as you stare at the ceiling, hearing Seokmin laugh lightly at what you said. He’s still your best friend.

You hear ruffles of sheets on his side. He's also in bed. “Why did you want to know?” If you shut your eyes, you could picture him laying with you.

“Why did I want to know the reason why my best friend was ignoring me?”

“Okay, fair. I'm sorry, again.”

“I was actually sad, you know,” you chuckle your words out. “I bought wine to get sad drunk and all.”

“Are you drunk in bed? What time is it?” Your stomach does a funny flip at his concerned tone, but you push it back down.

“I know it’s barely after noon for you, but it’s night time here,” you remark before taking a deep breath. “I didn't open the wine. I called you instead.”

“Good, ‘cause you can't be trusted when you're wine-drunk.”

“Okay, now I'm getting offended! When have I ever misbehaved when drunk?” You regret the teasing question as soon as it leaves your lips.

“Do I have to remind you of the last time we drank a whole bottle of red wine each?”

The conversation was going there regardless, but you still lose your breath at his mention. The forbidden topic. You shouldn’t be talking about it, but you need to clarify something to him before trying to delete it from your memory. It’s not much of a confession, you just need to get it out there.

“I wasn’t drunk.”

“I know,” he replies almost too quickly.

“It wasn't like I didn't know what I was doing.”

Seokmin might’ve initiated the kissing and touching, but you were just as eager as him. After all that time, he was kissing you like it meant something, and it was easy to ignore the uncertain future when his hands were on you and he was licking his way into your mouth so good.

“After you left, I just thought-”

“You shouldn’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong.”

The burden of that morning comes creeping into your mind. He still sounds hurt talking about it, and you wouldn't hold it against him if he still resented you.

“I know you don't want to remember it.” His words are so quiet you almost break. He might’ve forgiven you, but you didn't mend the wound you left him with.

“It's not that. I-” You want to explain, but you can't finish the thought.

“It's okay.”

“But it's not!” The darkness allows you to speak your feelings out loud. In the pitch black of your room, no one can judge you. “I do remember it. Like, a lot. And it's embarrassing.”

From the other side of the line, only breathing sounds can be heard. You shouldn't have said anything. You need to learn to shut up and stop making everything weird.

“I remember it, too,” he replies, shy and quiet. “Every day.”

Oh. Goosebumps creep up your body, your blood sizzling traveling through your veins from head to toe.

You want to believe him so bad. “You don't have to say that just because I did.”

“I'm not. You need to stop putting words in my mouth.” Seokmin sounds severe, tired of going around circles but never getting to the point.

“I can't really see your reactions through a call.” You try to hide your nervousness behind a chuckle. “You could be making puking faces and I wouldn't know.”

“Isn't my word enough?”

“It's not. Sorry,” you chuckle again. What else can you do?

“Close your eyes,” he instructs.

“For what?” You ask, incredulously, but still do as he says.

“Close your eyes. Imagine me there, like we're talking face to face.” He sounds so calm, all while your thoughts reel looking for an answer as to what he's doing. “Are you laying down?”

“Yes.”

“What would you say if I was there?”

“I-I don't know.” Your voice shakes, anxious and expectant.

“If you were here with me, I'd be the happiest man in the world,” Seokmin admits, and your heart stops.

“Aren't you happy living your dream?”

“It's not the same if you're not here watching.”

“But you did well today!”

“And I wanted to celebrate with you. But you weren't there.” While the celebration seemed nice on TV, he's telling you another story. “I didn't go out with them. I came straight here to the hotel. I was about to call you when I saw your name on the screen.”

Your legs shake lightly with excitement. All that sadness you felt taking over you dissipated with each of his words.

“I missed you. So I called.”

“I'm glad you did.”

Ending the conversation at this moment, switching the topic even, would be the wise decision. You didn't have a single drop of alcohol, but your mouth is unrestricted.

“I wish I was there with you for real. Not in your imagination.” You swallow hard, but it's not enough to stop your blabbering. “I don't like not being with you.”

After a pause, Seokmin finally speaks up again, "You could be.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “I can't go to a race.”

“I don't mean to a race. Or at least, not just one.” You're speechless, scavenging in your mind for any other thing he could be talking about. At the silence, Seokmin continues, “You could be with me.”

“What are you saying? Seokmin, please.”

“C'mon,” he spits out, as if it was obvious. “You know.”

“Know what? I was just saying-”

“You know how I feel about you.”

—

The bed dipped where your bodies were tangled together. It was too hot, your skin glistening with sweat, but neither of you cared.

His arms wrapped around your waist, flushing your back against his chest to keep you from escaping. You were too sleepy to even think of the possibility. His steady breath and the beating of his heart were more calming than anything.

Nothing seemed real. Your eyelids felt heavy after being up all night, and you were sure the sun would come up any minute. Time, unfortunately, still moved.

You were almost drifting to sleep when you heard his voice.

“This,” his words slurred, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep, too. “This meant something right?”

You didn't know if he was awake, if he wanted an answer. He surely felt your lungs suddenly not filling with air.

“Yes,” you replied. Only with the lights turned off and in the limbo between days you could admit something like that.

“I don't think I can ever go back.”

—

For the tenth time in the night, your heart stops. You're shivering, beginning to sweat from the overwhelming sensation. For how much time have you waited to hear him tell you this?

“You can't say that. Not right now.”

“When should I? There's no such thing as the right time. I feel it, right now. I l-”

“Don't. Please, Seokmin,” you choke out, trying and failing to stop the cascade threatening to fall from your face. “We can't.”

“Why?” Your eyes are still closed, imagining his reactions like you've memorized his face and his every expression. “Why can't we try? Don't you feel it too?”

“It's not that simple.”

“But it is! Why are you so against it?”

“Because I don't want us to change!” You yell into the air. To him. Pleading to the universe.

“It won't. I know it won't because it never has.” Seokmin's not calm either. You can tell there's something brewing behind his thought out words. “I’ve liked you all this time, all these years. Since I was nobody and you insisted on coming to watch me get my racing license. You were the only one there, you were always the only one supporting me at the beginning.”

“I didn't say anything then because I didn't feel worthy. I never thought you'd look at me the way I looked at you. And that night,” he continues. “I kissed you that night because I wanted to since forever. You were acting like everything was going to change drastically, but my feelings weren’t going to. And they're still the same. You finally looked at me when I was leaving and I thought it was my last chance. Then, you wanted to act like nothing happened, and I accepted. I went on with it, thinking that at least I was still in your life. But it's not enough. It's not enough anymore.”

“Seokmin, please.” Tears stream down your face, nothing working to stop them. “I'd just hold you back.”

“Why? Why? I want this! I'm asking you!”

"Because! You're moving forward, doing something with your life, getting to where you always wanted, and I'm stuck here, studying like I've done all my life, watching everything from the sidelines.” Hiccups force you to take a breath, no matter how hard it is. “I'm not worth it. You should be with someone with a future. With someone you can hug, and kiss, and actually be with.”

“I don't want anyone else. I want you,” he pleads quietly. You're breaking him, again. “I don't care about having to video-call to talk. I'd gladly do it with you.”

“It might seem like enough now, but you'll get tired. We'd start hating each other for being busy the only time one of us had time.”

“You're always so pessimistic. We can make it work! We've been doing it for years now!”

“But it’s different. I-I don't think I could handle it.”

“Tell me. Tell me you don't want to be with me.” He asserts. Done. Tired. “But I can't go back to how it was. It'd hurt too much.”

Everything stops as his words settle in. You don't have any more teats to spill. The thing you feared became real. Your relationship isn't enough, he wants something you can't give him.

You clear your throat, “I'm sorry.”

You've said those words too many times to each other. But this time it's not to take what you did back. You know you're breaking his heart, but there's nothing else you can do.

“It's done then.”

You hope he doesn't hear you getting choked up. It's not fair to him when it's your fault.

“Goodbye,” It's a whisper of your name, but it hurts like a gunshot.

You start living zoned out. Seconds blend into hours and hours blend into days, seamless. Your body works on autopilot, repeating the same cycle day after day: go to classes, eat, sleep, repeat.

The past weeks were just a test, nothing compared to the real thing. Living a life knowing you will never have Seokmin by your side again.

Roughly two weeks have passed since the cursed phone call that changed it all. Two weeks since you had to admit the worst part of your insecure brain to him. Two weeks since you broke his heart. But you push through it, even if it seems like days will never have bright colors again.

From time to time, you check your phone in hope to find something, and disappointment is always the result. You've exchanged texts with Seungkwan, disclosing the least amount of detail possible to his gossiping self, but even if you want to believe things will get better, it never feels normal. He'll always be in Seokmin's team. Even him talking to you feels like treason.

Is there a world where this wasn't the end result? Maybe if you weren't a coward.

Stepping slowly on the grey cement, you get out of the library and see your bus speed away from your stop. Another small consequence of your actions. You've given up on anything working your way by now.

You wait for the next one with a blank mind. Standing at the bus stop, staring at your feet, you try to think of something that aren't Seokmin's last words to you, ever.

It's done then. They sounded so harsh at that moment, but the more you think about it, the more you realize how badly you hurt him. It was for the best, you think. It has to be. You're saving both of you from a worst heartbreak. If you let yourself fall more deeply, it'd hurt more. You can't handle that.

The Sunday sun makes your skin prickly with sweat. You didn't put in sunscreen before deciding to kill time in the library doing God knows what. A day full of regrets, it seems.

When you finally sit on the bus, some time later, you don't fight the urge to check on the latest sports related news. You aren’t in each other’s lives anymore, but that doesn’t mean you won’t check on his career. You’ll never stop supporting him.

Your Seokmin related news have been scarce since that call. Of course, you chose one of the few race free weekends to end your friendship. You knew how he spent his free weeks, but you didn’t hear anything about him either. You didn’t ask.

This week’s race was one Seokmin had been expecting since the first moment he got the news that he’ll be racing. The São Paulo Grand Prix was specifically hard for him. Not only is the weather in the region unpredictable, it’s also not located on flat ground, which means it follows the ups and down of hills, and it’s a counterclockwise circuit, which has different repercussions on the driver’s body.

You may not have hourly updates of his life anymore, but you’ve built an entire encyclopedia of Seokminisms. With the anxiety that comes with having to follow his team’s past success on the circuit, combined with the special training to get the body ready for the race, Seokmin probably hasn’t left the gym in days.

The race started while you were waiting on the sidewalk. Seokmin started at P10 and quickly gains a few spots as the laps progress, positioning P7 by the time you reach your home.

But, with all the sad groveling you’ve been doing, you haven’t checked São Paulo’s estimated climate for the weekend. You realize your mistake the second the sun stops illuminating your screen, replaced by a gray, worrying layer of clouds covering the sky. The narrators all comment on the weather change and the start of the rainfall, expected in the region at this time of the year.

Racing under the rain is normal, every driver has done it countless times. It's the decreasing ability to see past one meter ahead that worries you.

Your remote is in your hand the moment you sit on your couch, without even taking your outside clothes off. Your eyes glue to the screen. Seeing the amount of laps decrease without any incidents lets you breathe, but the anxiousness never leaves.

Seokmin manages to block drivers from passing him, and not even his rushed pit stop prevents him from staying within the scoring positions, but when he celebrates through the radio, you can almost hear the toll the circuit is taking on him. Racing counterclockwise pushes the driver's neck to the right, straining the body uncomfortably.

The storm worsens each minute that passes, and you wonder why they haven't stopped the race yet. With 5 laps left to finish, maybe there's hope it can be done. For a second, you think that too.

Seokmin overtakes another driver during the ‘S’ turn, officially positioning P5. Having just 4 laps left, it's basically his final position.

But the rain doesn't relent. If the hope was that the storm ended as a mere drizzle, everyone was wrong. The circuit and paddock were nearly invisible, cast aside by the blurring rain.

It happens before you even register what’s barely visible behind the rain.

Tyres squeak against the pavement, harsh and loud. No one knows what happened. The sports narrators describe the accident you can’t see, wondering which driver almost managed to finish the race.

The broken car’s color is barely recognizable. You listen attentively to each driver that stops racing, name after name hoping to hear Seokmin saying he’s at the pit stop.

“The back right tyre’s done for,” his voice gets picked up by the radio with a chuckle, followed by a choir of questions from his team.

You exhale for the first time in minutes. If he’s talking he must be okay. But you don't get to relax. No one knows what happened, or how badly the car or Seokmin were hurt.

The storm calms down just barely, but enough to see both the medical car and the safety car doing their respective jobs.

Seokmin is extracted from the car and instantly laid down on a gurney. The narrators explain the way his degraded tyres slipped on the wet asphalt and caused the car to run into the wall.

You analyze the repetition, now clearer thanks to the many angles the races are filmed in. Somehow, as the experts are explaining, Seokmin managed to turn the car in a way it wouldn't badly hurt him before it crashed. It could’ve been much worse.

But, even with every maneuver in the world, he still got carried to the hospital, and you have no way of knowing how he was. You couldn't ask him. You couldn't ask anyone.

Your TV is off the second the narrators change topics and the race resumes to the last laps. As the afternoon goes on after the race finishes without him, you stop caring about everything else. Anything that isn't news about Seokmin goes in through one ear and out the other.

Hours and hours pass with you debilitating your sense of sight by looking at your phone, searching news articles and social media for any kind of information. You get nothing, only people discussing the ending positions. How can no one worry about a driver getting injured?

You're about to give up when your ringtone catches your attention. You pick up instantly. “How is he?”

“He's at the hospital,” Seungkwan sighs. “They're just now allowing visitors.”

Okay. If they’re allowing people to see him, it probably means he’s not in need of intensive therapy. He’s okay.

You might be more relaxed, but there are still tons of questions to ask. “Are they making him stay the night? Is he hurt?”

“I don't know the extent of his injuries yet, I'm sorry.” Seungkwan sounds out of breath, like he’s pacing back and forth in the hallway.

“What happened?” You insist. “I couldn't see anything with the rain.”

“The team didn't manage the pit stops correctly and the car slipped with the wet floor.”

“So, his team and whoever decided that the race could continue with the storm are idiots.”

“Hey! I told them it wasn't safe?”

After watching so many races over the years, it became clear that when anything that could endanger the drivers came into play, the race would stop until it was safe. The weather in that region of Brazil might be unpredictable, but a storm is still a storm, and just thinking about Seokmin being as blind to the circuit as you were from the cameras puts a lump in your throat.

“I don’t understand how they allowed that.”

“Me neither, I swear.” Seungkwan sounds defeated.

Deep down you know he was probably fighting everyone on the paddock before the accident happened. He isn’t making jokes and teasing you like he usually would. You don’t want to fight.

“Can you just—let me know if he's okay?” You whisper, fearing that saying it out loud would trigger some response from the universe.

“Why don't you ask him yourself?”

“You know I can't do that,” you protest. “He hates me.”

He sighs and continues with a babying voice, “He doesn't hate you.”

“He does. Don't lie to me.”

Seungkwan is aware that you and Seokmin talked and essentially ended your friendship, but he doesn’t have a clue what you said to him, the way he pleaded for you to listen and how you refused. It hasn’t been long enough for him to even consider beginning to forgive you. And it’s okay. You did it knowing the consequences.

“You're so fucking stubborn,” Seungkwan mutters. “I can't believe I have to do something for you two to grow some balls.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You must look crazy, pacing around your apartment screaming at the phone.

“You're coming here.”

“Here? To fucking Brazil?” He just hums as a reply. “Yeah, right.”

“You are. I'm booking you a plane ticket right now.”

He must be joking. “You're not.”

“Hell yeah I am! And I'm using his card, too.”

“That's called stealing. You know that, right.”

“Not if it's what Seokminnie really wants.”

His nickname being uttered pinches your heart. You want nothing more than to see him, to hug him and breathe him in. If these past two hours proved anything, it’s that being away from him and left out of what happens to him is hell on earth.

“I can't go there,” you repeat quietly. “He won't want to see me.”

“He will.” You sigh with hesitation, but Seungkwan interrupts you before you can object. “I won't tell you how he is if you don't come. And I'll pay the guys to not talk to you, too. Simple as that.”

“You can't be serious.”

The free trip offer starts sounding not too bad. You fear if he pushes you a bit further, you’ll accept. You’re weak when it comes to Seokmin and he knows that.

“I have never been more serious about something in my life.”

You sigh again, knowing you’re going to accept. It’s as simple as that, and you hate yourself for it. How are you going to get ready for the inevitable heartbreak that’ll come with seeing Seokmin face to face again?

“I'm going to punch you in the face when I see you.”

“And I'll gladly take it. After you talk to him.”

The doorknob is within reach from your hand, cold, taunting, and the thing that separates you from the one person you want to see the most.

For once, you forgot about your other responsibilities. You threw everything away and jumped on a plane on a Sunday afternoon to travel to the other side of the world. Currently, Seokmin's well-being is your top concern, above going to beginner college classes.

On the plane you could only think of that to say to him. Seeing him again was such a wild and foreign idea that, even standing with only a wall between him and you, it still doesn't seem real.

Hours in the sky didn't prepare you for shit, and the emptiness of the hallway gives you chills.

Your heart's pounding like you're being chased, with your hands sweaty and brain reeling. You're in no state to face the most important person in your life. You need to get it together.

Trying to accustom your brain to the high possibility of receiving a string of curses and screams, to be asked to get out and never return, is not hard. Hearing his voice will be enough. Knowing he's okay, at least physically.

After taking a deep breath, but not yet revealing yourself, you knock on the door as you open it slightly.

You hear Seokmin sigh before he says, “Soonyoung, I already told you I don't want—”

Whatever he was about to say gets cut off when you peek your head through the opening.

Seokmin's sitting with his back against the lifted bed, already dressed in his clothes and with no visible bruises or stitches. He's as shocked as you that you're entering his room, blinking rapidly trying to check if he's seeing correctly.

“Can I come in?” You ask, knowing there's a high possibility of being denied.

There's a beat of silence before he asks, “Why are you here?”

You take a step into the room, and when he doesn't tell you to get lost, you take it as a yes.

“I saw what happened.” You stand awkwardly away from his bed, searching for injuries on him and feeling his eyes going over you. “I was worried.”

“So you flew all the way here?” Of course, he's not convinced, especially after your last conversation.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” you reply, but it's not the whole truth. “I wanted to see you.”

“There was no need for you to—”

“Well, I came.”

You stare at each other, trying to figure out what's going through the other's mind.

Now that he's in front of you, waiting for you to say something, words don’t want to form sentences in your mind. Whatever you planned to say disappeared the second his eyes laid on yours.

His silence is unnerving. Maybe you made a mistake. You'd rather him scream and tell you how much he hates you than being subjected to the icy quiet for any longer. What else were you expecting?

“I'm sorry—maybe I shouldn't have. I'll leave.”

You motion to turn around and leave. Seungkwan got you a back ticket for the next day. You can wait at a hotel until then.

Tears pool on your eyes as you begin to face the door. Everything moves at a slow pace. You saw him after months being away, and you're ending it once again.

“Wait! Wait a minute.” His voice freezes you in place. “Don't leave.”

“I should let you rest.” You turn halfway, still not facing him again. “You probably don't want to see me.”

“I'm glad you're here.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. As you dare to look his way again, your lungs fill with air and a weight lifts off your shoulders.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you chuckle to hide your nervousness. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no. Just a few bruises on my left side. The circuit had nothing on me.”

You laugh with him, unsure of what's appropriate to say. Yes, he's an amazing driver, but you were still worried, and now you know he's okay. There isn't really anything else to do.

“It's okay if you hate me,” you blurt out.

Because it is. You can't expect him to be forgiving just ‘cause you showed up at the hospital. It's not fair to him.

“You don't get it,” he sighs and pushes himself up the bed. “I don't.” 

“I was awful to you and now I have the nerve to show up! I wouldn't hold it against you if you did.”

Seokmin walks towards you, casting his shadow on the white cemented floor. You can't look down for long, because his form blocks any other view and his scent and warmth touches your skin, erupting goosebumps all across your body.

Your throat threatens to close. It's hard to swallow with the rush of emotions taking over you.

Before he can speak, the door behind you opens and reveals one of the nurses. For a second, you forgot you were in a public place in another country.

“You're officially discharged, Mr. Lee. Is this who'll be taking you home?” She points at you.

You look at him, perplexed. He doesn't even have to stay the night. Seungkwan played you. He made you worried sick, he flew you here in a rush, for the whole thing to be over after a few hours. He'll pay for this.

The nurse taps her foot against the floor, waiting for an answer. “I am. Yes.”

It's a quiet taxi ride to the hotel Seokmin's staying in. The unsaid words between you are for no one else to hear. Not the driver, not the hotel staff, not even the hot air engulfing the hallway.

When the door clicks closed behind you, you rush to place all his things on the couch –because of course he booked a room with a full living room.

“I could've got my stuff, you know. I didn't break both arms.”

“You should rest for a few days.”

Seokmin stands behind you, waiting for you to quit stalling and face him again. His presence is all too ominous, drawing heat up your body.

But you can't deal with the pressure. “I'll leave you to it.”

He grabs your hand, keeping you from running away. “Why did you come?” He asks, voice too close to you.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you whisper back, turning around slowly.

“And hopping on a plane and coming to São Paulo was your first choice? You could've texted me.”

His eyes bore holes on the top of your head as you avoid his stare. Analyzing the room is much more important than catching his eyes and melting right into his hold.

“I wasn't sure if you'll reply.”

“Then, you could've texted anyone else.”

“It's not the same.”

Seokmin's hands creep up your arms, boiling your blood everywhere he touches. When he reaches your neck, his fingers tilt your jaw up to finally meet your eyes.

Everything you expected to see in his eyes, from disappointment to dislike, or even repulsion, it's not there. His expression is as soft as ever, except for the faintest smirk forming in one corner of his mouth. Not that you're looking.

“Why did you come?”

“You know why.”

Words were never your strong suit, especially not when the man you love is staring down at you like you hold the secrets of the universe. After all this time, how can he not know?

“I don't. That's why I'm asking.”

You roll your eyes playfully, falling into his trap too easily.

“I missed you. Is that what you want to hear?” He's smug as he nods and urges you to keep going. “I hate being away from you. Because, I am my own person, but I don’t know how to live if it's not with you and your stupid smile by my side.”

“I have a stupid smile?”

“Very stupid.”

You chuckle together, chests almost colliding from the closeness. He isn't stepping away. You don't want to either.

“I'm sorry—for the other day.” You see his expression fall into seriousness.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“No. I do.” Your hand in his chest stops him from contradicting you. “I shouldn’t have acted out like that. Not after we slept together, and especially not during that call. I got scared and I was selfish to think that it was the only way I could save myself from being hurt. And I know I keep fucking everything up, hurting you and then apologizing. I don't know how you have it in you to keep wanting to see me even when you hate me, but I'm also selfishly happy that you do.”

“That's where you keep getting it wrong.”

Standing in the middle of the empty room, you're trapped between his hands and the weight of his following words.

“You didn't let me finish what I wanted to say that day,” he continues. “I don't know why you're scared to hear me say it, but now that you're here, I think it's because you're ready to.”

Seokmin breathes in and out, giving you time to reject him. You want nothing more than to hear those few words.

“I love you. I've loved you for years and I have never stopped. I don't think I'm capable of feeling any other way about you.”

The four walls surrounding the both of you suffocate you. Breathing takes double the effort after hearing the words you've been chasing for years.

When his thumb caresses your cheek, you realize he's wiping off the tears running down your face.

“Don't leave. Stay with me tonight.”

Not trusting your ability to speak at the moment, you only nod and let him lead you to the bedroom, after ensuring you're leaving your bag with his stuff.

Getting into bed with him feels just as natural as it feels like the most anxiety inducing thing you did ever in life. While your pajamas consist of old stretched clothes that don't fit anymore, his is only a pair of shorts. Nothing else.

Inside the covers, your bodies are drawn together like magnets, and your head's suddenly laying on his bare chest. His steady breathing could soothe any worry. You'd drift to sleep if it wasn't for the little time you have together.

His hand searches for yours and interlocks your fingers right above his stomach. All so intimate, but for once, you don't want to run away.

“Are you missing class tomorrow?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence of the night.

“Hmm, yeah, my flight back leaves at night.”

With your eyes closed, you feel his light chuckle against your cheek.

“Miss goody two shoes skipping an entire day of class? For me?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You aim to hide your face behind your hands, but he grabs your wrist before you even get the chance to. With his other hand, he lifts your chin up, once again connecting your eyes.

The yellowy lamp on the nightstand highlights the feature on his face. His high cheekbones take the cake, pinkish red due to the warm temperatures. You see his eyes going over your face too.

Your shy smile dies below his stare. A thousand thoughts run inside his mind, unsure of everything.

“Have I told you how happy I am that you're here?”

His voice, so soft and honest, melts you in place. You feel giddy all around, being with him so comfortably. Weeks ago you might’ve been panicking in the same scenario, but every minute it passes, your decision becomes clearer and clearer.

“Happy enough that you won't mind that Seungkwan used your card to pay for my plane tickets?”

“I knew I shouldn’t have given it to him for those discounts he wanted.”

You chuckle. “You're a good friend. To everyone and to me.”

“A good friend, huh?” Seokmin's hands drift down to your hips and lift you until you're on top of him. “I don't think you'd allow any friend to touch you like this.”

He traces your back, feeling your hot skin as his hands drift inside your t-shirt. Your eyes almost close with a sigh, but the sight of him under you is one you don't want to miss a second of.

His bare chest under your touch rises and falls as he thinks of a witty answer. Your fingers go over his skin, finding every mole on his torso and wishing you were the only to have seen them.

“What do you want to be, then? The ‘best friend’ title is already yours.”

“The one that starts with ‘boy’.”

“Boy best friend?”

It's fun to tease him, more so when you seem to be in charge of the situation. But, without changing his position or his tone of voice, he manages to flip that around.

With all this time away, you forgot Seokmin is not who he always seems. He's kind and infectiously happy, but he's also a man that frequents the gym and knows his effect on you.

When he pushes your hips down on his groin, your little shorts and his paper-thin sleeping shorts let you feel just how much he wants you.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and it's clear he got what he wanted.

One hand caresses the side of your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before he says.

“You're really pretty.”

If he can't see the wave of warmness across your face, you're sure he can feel it.

“I didn't even put make-up on before coming ‘cause I was in such a rush.”

“You sooo care about me.”

Your jaw and your neck and your nape, all fall into the trap of his touch. His magnetism almost controls you, lowering your face slowly, entranced by the way his lips move.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. Then, you kiss up his jaw and both his cheeks. He chases your lips but you manage to avoid him, save for the faintest graze when you speak.

“And you sooo love me.”

Seokmin hums in response, letting you have your teasing moment back. He doesn't know that you're trembling inside, feeling his length twitching under you with just a few kisses.

“Are you going to let me kiss you or should I beg?” The breathless question almost leaves you speechless.

“Only if you promise to never stop.”

“You're gonna have to restrain me, then.”

“I bet you'd like that.” 

Seokmin breaks the tension, pushing your neck down and finally connecting your lips after so long.

Neither of you waste time, delving into the kiss like starved people. You don't know how you lived this long away from him after learning how he tasted.

Teeth clash as your limbs tangle together trying to feel every bit of skin you can. You grind against his bulge shamelessly, earning groan after groan into your mouth. He doesn't stop you.

The few layers between your cores allow you to feel everything. Your already damp panties stick to your folds with his shape dragging along.

You moan in each other’s mouths, desperately seeking to satisfy the fire growing inside you. His arms hold you impossibly closer, keeping you in place as his tip presses against your clit over the clothes.

“Seok—what the fuck.” You're breathless, with your body flushed with embarrassment at how quickly he's able to get you to the edge without even touching you properly.

You hide your face on the side of his neck as he keeps going. You let him get off against you, feeling his cock grow with every day of his hips and every moan you don't contain.

“Can you come like this?” The broken words struggle to leave him between the light grunts he lets out.

“I don't want—” His hand going under your shorts cut your words off.

In between your sweaty bodies, Seokmin found a way past your inner thighs and now plays with his fingers against your drenched panties. He sneaks past the last bit of fabric and coats his digits with your arousal.

“Fuck, baby, already?”

You can't find it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Not when you feel the rapid beating of Seokmin’s heart as he feels just how much you crave for his touch.

Your nails claw on his shoulders as he prods two digits on your entrance, warm and ready for him since that first time not long ago.

“I've thought about this every day for months,” he admits as your walls clamp around his fingers. “Having you like this.”

“Really?”

If he responds, it sounds like mumbling nonsense to you. You're barely registering his words, concentrating on his long fingers reaching places not even you could.

Your body doesn't give any of you a warning before you start trembling on top of Seokmin. He curls his digits to take you further into the moment and doesn't stop until you're coating his entire hand.

You ride the orgasm down as he kisses your shoulder, so sweetly one wouldn't think he still has two digits buried inside you, taunting your sensitive walls.

With all the strength you can gather, you get up from the bed, feeling empty at the loss of him. You take off your t-shirt and shorts in one go, leaving only the ruined panties on.

“Don't just stare at me,” you say with your most playful tone you can manage. “Get a condom or this isn't happening.”

Your voice draws him out of the trance he was in, looking at you.

“Right, yeah, right.” He scrambles to get up and find his discarded pants. “I think I had one here.”

Now back on the bed, you take his place as he breaks open the plastic packet he found in one of his pockets. You watch him pull his shorts down and puts the condom on like eye candy as your body prepares for him.

Seokmin crawls on the bed, kissing up your thigh and stomach until you're face to face.

“The doctor said you should rest,” you giggle as he pecks your lips and wraps your legs around his hips.

You clamp against nothing as Seokmin kisses you deeply once more. His hard glides along your sensitive core, but you want more.

“The doctor didn't know I'd have a pretty girl in my arms.”

He kisses down your neck as his protected length coats with your arousal, pressing your wet folds and swollen clit and making you moan into the air.

“Stop playing with me.”

Seokmin chuckles against your chest at your plea, his breath fanning over the damp spots he's leaving on your skin. Every fire he ignites sends waves of heat through your body down to where your cores meet.

“Look who's begging now.”

“I don't beg. I demand.”

You feel his tip just barely poking at your entrance, so close yet so far from what you need. He pins you down with his whole body, rendering you incapable of doing anything else than taking his teasing.

“Hmm,” he hums against your throat, liking up your jaw until his lips press against your earlobe.

Your warmness welcomes him as he stretches you open slowly. Seokmin's long fingers weren't enough to prepare you to be filled by his hardness again.

Every time your mind wandered to that first night, worried but needy at the same time, you spent longing to feel him against you. But you weren't ready for his cock to carve space for his shape to fit in.

“Shit,” he half moans in your ear.

But his noises just turn you on more. Your insides hug him tight in place, and you can feel his dick twitch every time he tries to move.

He snaps his hips back until he's almost all the way out of you. “Min–”

“I'm giving you what you wanted, baby.”

His hips pound against yours, hard, filling you up to the hilt again. The bed squeaks below you as he starts thrusting mercilessly.

A choir of grunts and moans echo around the walls, over and over as Seokmin reaches every spot to make you scream. and scream you do.

You scream his name like a mantra, no longer afraid of the meaning of what you're doing. You allow yourself to feel everything he gives you. Every thrust, every moan, every sweet word in your ear. You're ready for him. All of him and what it entails.

When you rake your nails down his back, he loses control of his thrusts. Your touch sends him to another plane, where he can't control the way he moves or thinks. “Oh my God!” You roll your eyes back at the new added pleasure.

Seokmin's thumb circles your clit slowly, contradicting the menacing pace of his hips. He pushes every button to make you squirm, to squeeze around him harder and harder until he has to push your walls open. It's too much. It's everywhere and nowhere. Your mind and body are focused on reaching the fireworks that Seokmin strokes and strokes to explode.

Everything combines in one deliberate stroke that has you seeing stars, trembling under Seokmin's body uncontrollably.

He whispers praise in your ear as he keeps thrusting in his search for his orgasm. Your gummy walls, sensitive and still wanting, quiver around him, making it hard for him to continue his pace. But it's not hard for him to cum into the condom after you egg him on.

This time, when he gets up to clean the both of you, there isn't a single drop of panic creeping up on you. And if there were, you wouldn't let it.

“I hope you're not getting any ideas,” Seokmin chuckles as he gets back under the covers with you. “I have one idea. But you're gonna like this one. I promise.”

He stretches his arm for you to lay your head on and you happily comply. You accept his every act of affection, his soft caresses on your sides, his kisses on the top of your head. You even proudly wear the big shirt he gave you.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, a bit scared. “There’s something I haven't told you.”

The truth at the tip of your tongue draws heat up your body. He just saw you naked and kissed every inch of your body, but this is another kind of bare.

He waits for you to continue, and you hide your face from his too kind eyes.

“As you know, I've been letting all the scary thoughts I had dictate my life decisions.” He hums, and you go on. “But, I've been so scared of losing you, that I thought I'd be easier if it was my fault. I couldn't stand the thought of drifting apart without reason, so I made one up.”

“We were never going to-”

“Shut up.” You shut his mouth with your hand. “I know that now. I'm getting there!”

“Anyway, you showed me that I had nothing to be afraid of. You kept giving me opportunities even when I didn't deserve them and I realized that my paranoia warped my image of you to someone you really weren't. And I can't believe that I believed that for so long.”

You chuckle with nervousness and finally look him in the eyes.

“I love you, too.” A tear runs down your cheek. Seokmin caresses the side of your face but doesn't interrupt you. “I don't know when it started, because it's so natural to me that I feel like I've always loved you. The truth is, I can't see myself with anyone else. It's always been you.”

There it is. You poured your whole heart out and the world as you know it it's still the same.

Seokmin closes the small distance between you, kissing your tears away. He wasn't spooked, he didn't run like you always imagined.

“I really needed to get that out before I fell asleep,” you find it in you to chuckle.

His two hands hold your face. You look straight at him, the first time you can't decipher what he's thinking. The wrinkles by his eyes make an appearance before he cracks into a smile. Your favorite smile of his.

“I'll tell you that I love you everyday if that's what you need. Every hour. Every minute, even.” He tucks your hair behind your ears, so there's nothing in the way between your eyes and his.

“I'd like that very much.”

A shower of pecks comes your way. “I love you.” One on your lips.  “I love you.” One on both your cheeks. “I love you.” And one on your nose. Just everywhere. You giggle and fight for a way away from his trap, but he's decided.

“Will you be my long term, long distance, low commitment, casual girlfriend?”

You were about to cry your eyes out again,  but instead you frown in confusion. “What the hell is that?”

“You don't know that line? It's from the Barbie movie!”

“When did you watch the Barbie movie?”

“My teammate’s daughter forced me once.” He joins you as you laugh hysterically. “But seriously, will you be my girlfriend?”

You think about it. For real this time. With no self-sabotage and the real Seokmin sitting in front of you.

You nod eagerly and kiss him again, knowing it's the first kiss of millions you'll share with him forever.

“I can't believe I'm officially a WAG!”

“Okay, now where did you learn that term?”

note: thank you so much for reading! this last scene wasn't proof read, so, i'm really sorry if it has any mistakes :(

"You were the prettiest today."

The wind carries the deep voice all the way to your ears. He gives you no time to get used to the cold outside air, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and laying his chin on your shoulder.

"I know the bride wouldn't like to hear that."

"She has her own husband to tell her nice things now."

He kisses the side of your neck, soft and urgent and just what you need. When the sun went out and the wedding craziness halted, the adrenaline keeping you awake disappeared, leaving behind a drained social battery. Being alone is just what you need. And if it's with Seungcheol, then it's even better.

The fairy lights decorating the side of the roof allow you to see him as you turn around in his arms.

"You asked me up here just to tell me nice things? Choi Seungcheol, what a player!"

"I wanted to get you alone." 

The white shirt that hid all day under his suit now hangs loosely around his chest, with more buttons undone than necessary. He doesn't show signs of being bothered by your cold touch. Under the warmness of his skin, you feel his heartbeat arise, unknowingly matching yours.

On the contrary, one of his hands lets go of your waist and cups you closer to him.

His hand locks with yours, a gesture you grew accustomed to  receiving when no one's watching. "Come here. It's anytime now."

You follow behind him, fingers intertwined and a growing giddy smile on your face.

Seungcheol guides you away from the stair entrance and through the rooftop. It's barely decorated, as no one from the wedding party thought to open up the space for the guests, but you follow him mindlessly until he comes to a stop. Secluded on a windless corner, where your friends' murmur from the patio below is barely audible, colorful blankets and pillows stolen from the guest room form a cozy resting space.

He watches you as you sit and feel around the space he created. Goosebumps and nervous trembles attack you from head to toe under his gaze. An effect he's always had on you, and that he enjoys taking advantage of.

You make space for him to lay down by your side, and he lets you rest your head on his arm. You could sprawl down on the concrete, in the hardest winter weather, and you still wouldn't feel a drop of cold with your arms around Seungcheol. Your own personal heater.

"I grabbed these from your room," he explains as he tucks you both under the covers. "Since you won't be needing them."

"I won't, huh? Then where will I get my first sleep of the year?"

You feel his gaze even before you look up to meet it. There's hope in his eyes. His eyebrows raised, hiding the unsureness coating his next words.

"There's a place with your name on it on the left side of my bed."

To anyone else, he would sound full of himself, the audacity only a man would have. You've learned to read between the lines. 

It all started many months ago, with stolen glances and touches under the table. A big group of friends granted a few chances to blend in, to go unnoticed as you began exploring more sides of your friendship. As life went on, you found yourself searching for him at every hang-out, and you always found him with him already looking at you.

There hasn't been a dull moment in life since.

"Everyone would know," you reply after a few seconds, hoping he doesn't feel your heart racing against him.

At the time, you both decided it was best to keep it on the low. You weren't doing anything wrong, but Seungcheol already knew you well. You needed to be sure it would work before laying it out in the open. He didn’t mind the secrecy, not being the biggest fan of Pda.

His chest rises under you as he takes a breath. "Maybe it's time."

His words aren't a shock.

Today wasn't your day. It was your best friend's wedding to the man of her dreams, Seungcheol's brother. Nevertheless, you felt Seungcheol's eyes on you during the entire ceremony. Only on you. And yours couldn't stray away from him even if you wanted to. 

There was one second, before the music began and the bride strolled down the aisle, where only the two of you existed. You both smiled at each other from your opposite places at the altar: maid of honor and best man. Your chest tightened at the sight of the wrinkles by his eyes. It's always hard to breathe when he looks at you, no matter how much time passes and how many glances you share.

His lips moved but no sound came out, forming words you couldn’t understand. Your cluelessness delighted him, earning you a quiet giggle before your bubble burst as the wedding started. Later in the day, he snuck a note under your plate, inviting you to watch the fireworks on the rooftop.

It was a special day. He made sure of it. He was ready to take this step.

You detach yourself from his arms, straightening your posture to get a better look at him before replying.

"They're going to tease us until the end of time."

There aren't enough words in your mental dictionary to describe how Seungcheol's face morphs as he understands what you mean. His brows melt above his eyes, twinkling brighter than the stars in the sky. The lack of light where you are doesn't matter.

"I don't care, as long as they know you're mine."

Seungcheol's lips mold against yours in a matter of seconds, with longing and need that you match unconsciously. His hands cradle both sides of your face, caressing your jaw as he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip. You sigh and let him in.

A few floors below you, your friends begin counting down to midnight.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

It's the first time in years you're not there with them as the firework show begins, but, for the first time, you're in the arms of a caring man, who has shown you nothing but love and respect. Who made you feel special.

Bursts of color and light paint the world beyond your closed eyes, mirroring the jumps your heart and stomach makes as Seungcheol sneaks his hands under the skirt of your dress.

"Are you sure? About it? Us?"

He breaks the kiss, but doesn't move an inch away from you. His reassuring touch on your thighs and forehead pressed against yours don't make it easy to talk. Every hair of your body arises in want. Being alone with him and his hands in your body always causes your insides to grow sizzling hot.

He waits for an answer. You know the silence as you catch your breath is killing him. Your eyes are closed, feeling his breath fanning across the lower part of your face.

"I've never been more sure of anything," your words come out low, barely audible over the few fireworks still going off. His smile assures you he's listening. "I'm sorry I made you wait for so long. You've been so patient with me and my crazy way of viewing the world. I love you so much it's embarrassing. I want to spend forever with you, with everyone in the world knowing."

"Baby, I'd wait until the end of time for you." You don't know when you stopped looking at him, but his fingers under your chin brings your eyes back up to him. "I love you too, and I'm ready to scream out loud until every person on the planet knows it."

note: i'm a sucker for lazy couch sex with vernon and i won't apologize for it!! i hope you enjoy this silly thing ♥︎

this was, of course, heavily inspired by all the 'happy burstday' concept photos and stages

mafia prompt taken from here ♥︎ dividers here

"Being adopted into the local mafia has its pros and cons."

Pros: You can safely do your 2 am. grocery shopping at the one superstore that's open all night without fearing for your life. Those scary looking men, the ones you'd normally cross the street to avoid, treat you like their little sister. All except for the cutest one of them all.

The gloomy night accompanies the swift movements of the crochet needle between your fingers, tangling the strings of light blue and red knitting wool you bought days ago in a whim. In the search for a new hobby, your algorithm acted out again, and you ended up on the granny activities side, peaking your interest enough to sit on your uncomfortable couch for hours trying to make a usable piece of clothing.

Normally, on a weekend night, the cold wind would be welcomed by your barely covered skin, walking hand in hand with the only guy your self proclaimed body guards allowed you to be in close proximity to. But something, or rather, someone, told you to stay home for the night.

Another pro of being close with the bad guys: they help you avoid confrontations with threatening rival gangs. You're left blissfully out of the mess, but, as you're still able to hear the rounds of loud noises on the streets around the neighborhood, you're also not unaware of the bruises you see covering the guys' arms and faces the next day.

Your forehead hurts from all the frowning you've been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out the pattern you should be following and restarting every few rows.

A soft, unsure knock takes your concentration away, but it quickly puts a smile on your face as you realize who's the only person that'd show up at this hour at your door. The amateur crochet project is left forgotten on the coffee table, the metal needle crinkling against the glass as you get up from the couch.

But, whatever excitement you had, it drops completely as soon as the doorknob turns under your hold, and the door opens to reveal who you were expecting.

Vernon stands at the entrance, with his side smile painting his face as if everything was okay. You instantly know it's not. His lower lip is swollen red, probably from a punch, the neck line of his t-shirt is stretched far more than normal, with a tear visible on the side.

Cons of being adopted by the local mafia: your big bad mafia boyfriend constantly gets hurt on the job.

With one hand busy holding a bouquet of your favorite yellow flowers, he wraps the other one around your waist when you don't move, frozen analyzing his state. "Not happy to see me?"

Vernon's teasing smile so close to you, mixed with his breath fanning your face as he leans in to give you a peck, is intoxicating. His bruised lips are soft against yours, taking seconds longer to feel you on him than normal. One would never guess he's hurt from the way he's pushing himself against you.

"Baby, what happened?" Your hand reaches for his behind your back, the cuts on his knuckles harsh under the pads of your fingers.

He sighs against your parted lips, chuckling lightly before taking a step back and letting himself in into your apartment. "You should see the other guys."

"Multiple?" Your wide eyes follow him as he searches for a vase to put the flowers he brought.

It's natural for him to have his way around your home. After all, he's the only one that you, or your neighborly mafia, ever allowed in. It's your sacred place, safe from the dangerous outside world, the only place where you can be truly calm, be with him with no fears.

While he occupies himself with his gift, you take the chance to escape to your bathroom, wash the dried blood from your hands, and find your first aid kit. The one you've never had to use before.

You were always the one who he took care of, who he protected, made sure you were intact. After so many times he was there for you, it's your turn to take care of him and heal his wounds the best you can.

"Remember I told you to stay in today?" His gaze is trained on you as you sink down next to him. The click of the aid kit opening breaks the silence as he waits for your answer.

You only nod, half hearing him, half focusing on grabbing what you need to disinfect the cuts in his hand. His hand that places itself on your thigh to draw your attention.

"We're okay—I'm okay," his voice is soft, knowing you worry every time he goes out to parts of the town they don't have under their control, "it was just a small payback."

"Baby, you're bleeding," Vernon hisses as you clean the wounds around his knuckles with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, "who did you go with?"

"Mingyu and Wonwoo," your insides burn, feeling his stare, boring holes on the side of your face, "they took on the bigger guys." Vernon jokes.

You shouldn't sigh in relief hearing that, but you do so anyway.

It's a regular occurrence for the guys to tease him for his objectively smaller build, but he counters it with a perfectly learned strategy. He knows how to fight, knows the places that hurt the most being punched, where to kick, poke, slap to make his opponent lose their balance, and ultimately, the fight.

"Let's hope these people don't come back after you."

"Believe me, they won't." He smirks, charging his words with smugness.

You wrap the little bandage you had saved around his hand with care. Not too loose, not to tight. You feel his eyes on you as you leave the aid kit on the table, right besides the mess of knitting wool you alredy forgot was there.

"I have the best nurse ever." Vernon wastes no time, lifting your hips with his, now working, hands, and sits you on his lap, both your legs fitting naturally at his sides as he realizes you're only wearing panties under your t-shirt. "I should come here hurt more often."

"Then you'll have to replace the stuff I use on you!" Looking slightly down to connect your eyes with his, your teasing tone vanishes at the soft glimmer in his eyes. "Please, just… be careful next time."

The side of his face feels warm against the palm of your hand, and he leans into your touch, feeling your care even through the smallest, most mundane touches.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown up like this." His doe eyes turn glassy, searching for any anger indicators on your expression, but only finding worry. "I just wanted to see you."

You could never get mad at him. Not when you got to know him well aware of what his life was like. Not when he pursued you by showing you he can still be a gentleman despite his shady life. Not when he never gave you any reason not to trust him.

"I wanted to see you too," you reveal as if you didn't constantly wait for him. Sitting on this very couch every night, longing for that knock on the door you always know it's him. "I don't mind taking care of you."

"I should be the one doing that." Vernon's hands fix their grip on your hips, reminding you that they're still there, holding you close to him.

"Well, I'm not the one getting into fights with 6 feet tall buff guys on the daily."

He chuckles, full of endearment, and your stomach tightens. If you could rank every sound you ever heard, Vernon's kinds of laughs and giggles would all be at the top, not a very close race with anything else. It's a distinguishable sound you never want to forget.

Your hand goes down the side of Vernon's neck, his pulse accelerating under your touch as you check to see if he's real, if he's really sitting on your couch with you straddling him.

His focus get lost on your touch now going down the side of his arm, and soon finds your hand with his. He interlocks his fingers with yours as soon as he gets a hold of it, directing your hand to his mouth and leaving a gentle but teasing kiss on the back of it.

"Vernon," you reprimand, but don't stop him as he places peck after peck everywhere on your hand, each triggering a wave of different feelings down your nervous system. He's uncontrollable and always finds the way to get you in the mood with him.

"You look so pretty over me, all worried." His hot breath tickles your fingers that were just taking care of him.

Your thumb swipes gently over his busted lip, raw from his habit of gnawing at them with his teeth and from the fight you're nursing him from. He purses his lips, teasing your awaiting skin, goosebumps waking up all over your body at the anticipation.

"You can't seriously be turned on by this," you snicker to try and hide the very real reactions he's eliciting from you.

His eyes snap back to you at your words, as if a challenge was set.

So quick you barely have time to register it, the hand at your hip travels to your lower back and Vernon's sliding you across his lap, showing off his strength to get you closer to his torso until you're completely against him.

Every part of you is against him. His right hand on your back, holding you electrically close to his growing hard, pulsing against your core. Your hand's held hostage by his left hand just above where your chest flushes against his.

"You have no idea how crazy I am for you." Every word he says reverberates through his chest and into yours.

Gasping is your only answer. You don't trust your ability to apeak properly in your current state of increasing bodily heat.

"When I wake up and you're not next to me," he continues, "my first thought is always to come looking for you." His fingers wander inside the big t-shirt you're wearing, one you stole from him after your first night together.

"Nothing stops you from staying the night here." Your voice draws the smirk back on his face.

"I'd stay here every night if it didn't mean putting you in danger." Longing bleeds through his words, true and hurt.

"But you'd be here to protect me." You're not naive. You know what he means. But that doesn't stop you from wanting to be close to him every second of every day.

Vernon nods in acknowledgment, a silent agreement between the two of you. It's dangerous. Everything about your relationship is risky. But even if he's willing to put himself at risk for the chance of seeing you, he'd never put you in danger. He'd never take that chance.

His lips kissing your hand again catch your attention, every fiber of your body now focused on his next move. Your fingers, cold against the warmness spreading across his face, seem to be the only thing on Vernon's mind.

When he wraps his mouth around your index finger, gently sucking on it with a new admiration, fire expands from your insides and out, taking everything with it, filling you with a new, unexpected want.

"Vern—" Your breath halts at the mention of his name, fueling his need as he dives in further, playing with his tongue around your finger like it was his new favorite toy.

You've never felt anything like this. A hot, sizzling arousal rushing through your veins at the sight of your boyfriend worshiping the fingers that were just nursing him.

A choked up moan escapes you as he sucks another finger in his mouth. Your index and middle finger are now coated in his spit, making a messy, wet toy out of your hand.

The couch moves just slightly as you push yourself against him at every swirl of his tongue, feeling his length hardening with every uncontrolled grind of your hips against his.

Vernon's other hand travels all over your torso, finding you're wearing no bra under the shirt that was once his. He loves making a moaning mess of you, mixing the arousal from sucking on your fingers with the touch you've been craving on your chest.

Everywhere. He's everywhere. His thighs under yours, his hard pressing against your barely covered core, his hand feeling your chest up as your fingers scrape the sides of his mouth.

Every second it passes, you search for more of him, pressing against his chest until he has trouble fondling your breasts.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth slowly, a string of saliva connecting them with his lower lips stretching until it breaks, undoing the trance you were in while watching Vernon have his way.

"I should be taking care of you," your voice breaks into a whisper, your boyfriend’s dark stare punching away any thought you had.

"Having you on top of me is all I need," your wet fingers trace his jaw as he speaks, and he smirks at the sounds you make when he flicks one of your nipples with his thumb, "making you moan my name when I've barely touched you."

His eyes train on your parted lips, exhaling heavily as he plays with your nipples exactly how he knows you like it. You can only fist the stretched neckline of his t-shirt, making it worse but making it yours.

Your other hand finds the back of his head, his growing buzz-cut threading between your fingers.

"Have I told you I love your hair?" How you find it in you to speak is beyond your knowledge, but he chuckles at your nonsense, and the fire burning at the pit of your stomach spreads down your thighs and soaks your underwear further. "I love it so much."

Vernon's hard groin twitches under the needy grinding of your hips, his throat swallowing with trouble as you break down his facade little by little.

"Let me," you know he won't take his hands off of you willingly. You don't really want him to stop either, but you're focusing on him tonight.

He groans as you push yourself off him, quickly finding the zipper of his jeans. "Baby…" his words trail off seeing you kneeling on the floor against him.

Trying to slip his jeans and boxers down, he gives in and lifts his body to help you. He'd never deny you of anything you want.

You don't restrain yourself, your hands finding the flesh of his thighs and traveling up and up until you're barely touching where he most wants to.

But a hand sneaks under your jaw, tilting it up until you're connecting eyes with Vernon again. "Don't," you barely whisper, a plea for him to let you make him feel good.

"Want you on top," he doesn't ask, doesn't order you, only outers his wish, with his eyebrows quirking in the way that always has you melting for him, "I'd feel much, much better."

You snort with an endearing smile, "I thought you were fine." Even after your teasing remainder, you oblige what he wants.

"Every time you get off of me, I start feeling sick," he coughs a few times to get his point across, "my body needs you to feel well.

Vernon's always been able to make you laugh, even when you're on the brink of tearing all his clothes off. "Then we better listen!"

His bare legs find themselves under your weight again, the skin to skin contact igniting every connecting point of your bodies. You tug at the ends of his damaged t-shirt until he gets the hint you want it off.

Vernon groans as the dampness of your panties rubs against his length, gripping your hips to flush you against him harder, not wanting to wait any longer to feel you all over him. You waste no time, holding his face between your hands and closing the electrifying distance between you.

A moan fights out of him a soon as your lips take his, molding together perfectly, as if they were meant to be connected forever. You can feel where his lower lip is hurt, swiping your tongue over the bruise as he moans on your mouth again.

Your hand caresses the side of his face, not letting his lips go as the other travels down his heaving chest. His muscles tense under the teasing touch of your fingers, nails raking down his skin.

Another moan coming from him is exactly what you need as you sneak your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock that craves your touch.

He chases your lips as you lean back, revealing the state he's in, all because of you. His lips glisten with the mix of yours and his spit, parted and calling for you again as he catches his breath.

The changing shine in your eyes alerts him that you're planning something, an idea planted by the sight before you.

You swirl your tongue in your mouth, gathering as much spit as you can before locking eyes with him and letting it drop out of your lips, falling in a glob until it sits at the tip of his hardness.

Vernon's eyes darken at every one of your moves, his gaze entranced on your lips. Lips that were spilling all kinds of worried words minutes ago, and now are coating his cock with saliva so your hand can glide up and down at your desired pace.

"God, baby," your hand squeezes around him, spreading the mix of spit and precum so slowly on his girth that he's having trouble breathing, "you're so good to me."

The back of the couch holds his head as he leans back with another groan. His neck stretched out, glistening with sweat, calls to you. And who are you not to answer?

Your core traps his erection against your hand as you lean in, leaving wet kisses on your boyfriend's throat, feeling his every sound vibrating against your lips. He mumbles praises into the air, letting his hands wander across your back and squeezing your ass to press your further to him.

The wet fabric of your panties sticks to your folds in the shape of his length, everything pushing your cores together harder and harder. You let the swift rhythm of your hand on his cock and you grinding your covered clit against him take you to another world.

"Feel better?" Your lips graze the sensitive skin on his neck as you half ask half gasp.

Vernon's automatic response is to tighten his hold on your ass, grinding your hips against his with more force, the friction between your cores breathtaking. "I could," he teases.

"Greedy," your hot breath hits under his earlobe, and even you can feel the shiver going down Vernon's body.

His cock twitches as you slow down the pace of you hand. The combining feel of your folds and your hand stroking him almost make Vernon go crazy.

"You feel so good, baby," his eyes close in concentration, every touch of yours too much for him, "can't wait to be inside you."

In the midst of his senseless words and your desperate touches, Vernon finds the way to sneak a hand under you. Between his legs, his digits find the dampness growing at your core. "So wet already, for me."

Another hand grabs a fistful of your hair, detaching your mouth from licking your way up his jaw. He forces you to look at him, eyes full of desire, waiting for your answer.

"Yes—all for you-u," your words break in a moan as two fingers sneak under your panties, collecting your arousal and triggering another wave.

"Good." It is all for him. All because of him. The only one who can have you like this.

Smirking, his eyes lock in with yours, full of fire as his hand appears in your field of view. You don't stop looking into his eyes, the mischievous glint on them keeping you there, all while he sucks your juices off his fingers.

It takes all your strength to get up from the couch again, with only one objective in mind.

Your boyfriend gawks as if you were putting on a show only for him, slipping down his favorite panties, now stained with an unholy amount of juices. He stares with his mouth agape, but he's not patient. As soon as the fabric's off, he's grabbing your big t-shirt and pulling you towards him again.

Lips crash with lust and desperation, messily craving more and more. His teeth nibble at your lower lip, a matching bruise waiting to appear, but you don't care. You moan in his mouth, tangling your fingers with the short hair growing at the back of his head.

His thigh becomes a mess of your arousal, careless about your position as you let Vernon have his way into your mouth. Your tongues dance around the other, slowly melting into each other.

"Spit," you chase his lips as he separates to demand. Seeing his non-injured hand under your jaw, you quickly realize what he's doing.

Your living room's filled with gasping sounds and hot breaths, time stopping as your eyes lock. Vernon's eyes are on you as you let your spit drop into his hand.

You hover over his groin, dripping into his hand as he lowers it down between your cores. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance as he pumps his hard with his spit covered hand, the wet sounds reaching your ears.

Sinking down on your boyfriend's lap, the head of his cock enters you just right, your walls welcoming to mold into his shape.

Your lips stop working as you're filled to the brim, sitting on Vernon's thighs and gasping into his mouth trying to get used to the unprepared stretch.

As you're draped over his torso, he easily finds his way down your neck.

"Relax, baby," he says against the skin of your neck.

Every spot he knows you like, he kisses, whispering encouraging praise that gives you chills. Under your ear, along your jaw, over your pulse point, his lips press and suck at your skin, feeling how you warm up around him.

When he shifts his position slightly, his length pushes inside you just a bit more, your walls clamp against him, sucking him further inside in a whine, "That's it."

His husky voice goes through your ear and down to your core, and you swivel your hips up just to elicit another sound from him.

Vernon's hands find themselves gripping your hips again, helping you as you start a lazy pace on his lap. Your teeth sink down on the flesh between his shoulder and his neck, and he moans in your ear at the sensation.

"You'll have to take care of that one too," his breath tickles down your ear, and the vibrations of your chuckle almost make you lose your focus on him.

You kiss on the dent shaped like your teeth, "like you don't love it."

He hums a broken moan, the combination of everything you're giving him finally working like you intended.

Your walls tighten around him just as your fingers find his scalp, short nails raking between his growing buzz-cut trying to have him losing his mind under you.

It's not long before his hips join the fun, thrusting up to meet your pace and making you lose your breath. You feel him up to your throat, every place inside you marked with his name.

Vernon's hands roam all over your torso, indecisive, keeping you close but in the search for his favorite places to grope and touch. Your body's on the verge of giving out, and he knows it.

When he wraps his arms around your back and leans back against the couch, flushing your chest completely against his, you both lose it.

You're not in control anymore, if you ever were. Your knees barely stay at his sides as he thrusts up incessantly, the sounds of your ass slapping against the flesh of his thighs echoing around your living room.

But his groaning in your ear, his rambling words about how good you are for him, are only for you to hear.

Intercalating between lazy and desperate, no matter the time or the place, Vernon always finds that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

So quickly, it'd be embarrassing if it was anyone else, your body starts quivering, every one of your senses losing focus as your insides get closer and closer to snapping.

"I'm c-close," you manage to form a coherent string of words in between a few merciless thrusts.

"I can feel it—" a breathless whine mixes up between his words, "cum around me, baby." He's as desperate as you.

With everything combined, Vernon's noises on your ear, his arms tight around you, and every spot inside you being abused at once, the world becomes a blur of fire and white light as your orgasm rips through you.

Your body shakes on top of him as Vernon chases his own orgasm, stretching yours for as long as his cock grinds inside you with a purpose. But he's a weak man when it comes to you, and with the way your walls clamp hard around him, making him work for every thrust, it's not long before he's lost too.

You feel the ropes of cum coating your walls, his length twitching as you take it all. All of him inside you as if you were one.

Silence, deep breaths and the smell of sex fill the room as your bodies take in everything you just did.

Only when Vernon's lips kiss along your shoulder, you realize he's still inside you, and you shouldn't rest.

"I have the best nurse ever," Vernon chuckles along his words as you get up from his lap to find your discarded panties.

Everything is still the same. His clothes disregarded on the floor, the flowers sitting on a vase you haven't seen since you moved in.

You turn around to find him putting on his boxers, his eyes a promise that he's not done with you yet, "I don't think a good nurse would recommend this type of cardio after a fight."

"Then I don't trust them."

Chuckling again, and knowing he'll join you later in the shower, you fall between his arms again, laying together on the couch like you've done so many times before.

Now is your turn to look up at him, the fire in his eyes not gone, but now overpowered by endearment.

You don't want to. You really don't want to. But your eyes close with tiredness, and the rhythm of Vernon's breathing is so serene that you fall asleep in his arms.

There, in your couch, everything around you forgotten and replaced by him.

✧˖* warnings: alcohol consumption, a lot of not standing up for oneself, kind of unrealistic wedding timeline (i've never been a bridesmaid so bare with me), mingyu has no flaws here because... im in love with him, this might be badly written I can't really tell anymore | smut: it's messy, and rough, face sitting, unprotected penetration (don't do this), multiple orgasms (f). lmk if im missing anything

The unopened letter stares at you from across the table. Trying to ignore it by doing your housekeeping chores is pointless. Scrubbing your toilet, doing your laundry, making your bed, and even cooking your meal preps for the entire week, nothing managed to take your head away from that stupid letter, wondering what could possibly be.

You and Olivia haven’t spoken properly since graduating high school many years ago. The last time you had a full-on conversation with her was when she told you she started seeing a new guy freshman year in college, someone who went to your same high school but never knew. Besides that, your only form of “communication” was liking each other's Instagram stories and the yearly happy birthday text. A letter from her addressed to you was the last thing you expected to see today, or ever.

Curiosity finally wins as you take it and inspect it up close. The pastel pink envelope with golden details feels sturdy in your hands, and the wax seal is stamped with two initials, O and T. The boyfriend’s name appears in your memory as the realization hits you. Olivia and Thomas.

This is a wedding invitation.

Opening the envelope just confirms your thoughts, but there’s more to it than just a mere invitation. Just below some details such as dress code and the plus one, there’s a part specifically addressed to you asking you to be one of Olivia’s bridesmaids. Your stomach turns, anxiety, and excitement battling it out in each of your organs. For one, it’s really heartwarming that she thought of you as a friend still and wants you to be a part of such a special day as her wedding. On the other side, it’ll be awkward to see everyone again after such a long time, because, weirdly enough, you never encountered anyone you knew ever again, even if you didn’t move away and still frequented same places as before.

Except, maybe that anxiety is just because of one person, who’s probably going to be more than involved in this wedding. Cassie, your other best friend.

Being a trio was never a problem. Actually, it’s probably the better friend group arrangement for you. The three of you got along immediately since the first day of middle school and never looked back. It was always fun and comfortable, you thought you had found your best friends for life. But something happened around the age when girls start noticing boys, when everyone starts going on dates, flirting, kissing, getting into relationships. That’s when you realized you and Cassie had the exact same type. It became almost like a routine: you’d notice a cute guy around school but didn’t say anything, and the next thing you know, at the next party Cassie would also notice him and hook up with him. You were sure you were in your very own Truman Show.

Was it partially your fault for not saying anything? Maybe, but did it have to happen with literally every single guy you were ever attracted to? It reached a point where you would constantly doubt yourself, compare yourself to her, was she cooler? Prettier? Smarter? Funnier?

In the end, it wasn’t her fault, and you’d never blame her for that, but for your own good and the wellness of your crumbling self-confidence, you had to get away from that situation. And you did. At least until now. But it’s been years, you’re not the same person you were back in high school, and hopefully, all of your self-doubting was also left in the past.

A sky-high, lavish building stands before you in all of its glory. You were no stranger to your old friend’s rich family, but her lifestyle always managed to take you by surprise.

Olivia wanted all the bridesmaids and groomsmen to meet and get comfortable with each other, so she and her fiancé arranged a little afternoon party at their apartment. Over the few texts you exchanged with Olivia, she failed to mention the other people on the wedding party. So during the elevator ride, you think of every possibility, who could be there that you know? With how many people from school has she kept in contact with? Will you know the groom’s friends?

The doorbell rings inside the busy apartment, and a few seconds later you’re welcomed by your old friend with a bright smile. You hug Olivia tightly, the weirdness of the situation fading away for a few seconds. Afterward, you greet everyone with a shy smile, recognizing some faces and encountering new ones. Some people are standing in groups of three or four, while others sit on the couch or a few scattered chairs, talking with each other comfortably.

“While we wait for the last people to arrive, I want to start telling you what I have planned.”

Olivia announces as you walk away slowly, and you find an empty wall by the hallway to rest against.

At least twenty minutes pass, in which Olivia doesn’t take one breath, her happiness and excitement showing through her endless words. The wedding plan is not really out of the ordinary, but the scale of things, that’s the impressive part. She has seven bridesmaids, including you, plus the maid of honor who hasn’t arrived yet, and her fiancé has the same number of grooms, plus the best man. Each of you will pair up throughout the days coming up to the ceremony, and on the big day, each pair will have matching outfits and even a dance scheduled after the couple’s first dance as a married couple. Her idea was essentially thought so no one would feel out of place and enjoy the ceremony, because it should be a happy day for everyone.

While she explains everything for the second time, you take your time to look around the big room full of people. Scanning every face, there isn’t really a lot of girls you know, but the groomsmen, on the other hand, all of them went to your same high school. It seems Olivia’s fiancé still hangs out with his same group of friends. One of them, in particular, sparks a little smile across your face.

Mingyu was the only other person you considered a real friend in school. As scary and anxiety inducing as it is to have classes without your small friend group, he made it more than bearable, enjoyable even. Becoming friends with the nerdy boy assigned as your lab partner is one of the things you remember fondly about those years of your life. He was like a breath of fresh air during all the turmoil. Would he remember you?

His eyes catch yours from across the room, and an instant smile forms across his lips. After all the years that passed, he still looks the same. He’s much more mature and fully over puberty now, his broad bulky frame being one of the more standing out new things about him, but you’d recognize that confused expression and toothy smile with fangs peeking out anywhere. Your mood rapidly improves as he mouths a ‘hi’ and waves his hand lightly at you, not wanting to interrupt the bride to be. You repeat his greeting with a growing grin, but your small interaction is cut short.

Your name catches your attention, and you turn to Olivia, “you and Mingyu will be our last pair. Is that okay?”

The relief is immediate. It might be a little awkward, but at least you’ll be with someone you know. You and Mingyu look at each other once again and then nod at her, but before she can continue with whatever she is saying, the entry door opens behind her.

“Hi everyone!” The familiar voice makes your stomach drop, “I’m sorry I’m late. My boss wouldn’t let me go.”

She looks the same too, only with longer hair and more mature features on her face. Her body language holds the same coolness, as sure of herself as she was when you were younger.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing the maid of honor hasn’t heard before.” Olivia replies to her with a chuckle.

“Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in so long!” When she greets you, you straighten your posture, put on your best smile, and hug her back. “How are you doing?”

“Hey Cassie, good, good, just working my life away!”

You joke and try to ease up your emotions. Your few words manage to satisfy her as she nods with a smile, walks away, and pecks one of the groomsmen – her boyfriend? – on the lips before sitting by his side.

The schedule is easy for Olivia to finish explaining it, so in no time, food starts rolling in, and conversations pop up between everyone, either catching up or normal everyday chats. Cassie starts telling a story about something that happened earlier at her job, but you don’t really understand it. You haven’t talked to them in so long, you don’t know what they do for a living, or where they work. You don’t know them anymore, and you’re too afraid to ask.

To the side, a couple of people over, Mingyu’s talking with the rest of the grooms' friends comfortably. You want to talk to him, but what would you say? It’s not like you were the closest of friends. You never hung out outside of the school, and your friend groups never actually interacted until now. Actually, you never told Olivia and Cassie about him. Maybe because you were afraid that if you introduced him to Cassie, he’d swoon over her like the rest of the guys you ever interacted with romantically.

An uneasy feeling creeps in on you as memories of your past fight to climb up on your memory. Feelings and thoughts you haven’t felt in years come back up, almost reliving everything in a matter of milliseconds. You need to talk to someone, take your mind off of your overthinking. Because this is not the time nor the place to get so gloomy.

You get to talk with the rest of the bridesmaids, and the anxiousness of it all starts bubbling down, and you’re much more comfortable. A couple of them are close family friends with Olivia, also as rich as her, but still really nice girls, even if a little airheaded, and the rest are friends from college.

Time passes by easily, and soon enough, the sun is already set.

On the ride back home, your mind starts spiraling again. Do you even fit in with all those people? An invite to her wedding would’ve been just fine, but a bridesmaid? You feel like a total stranger, someone from her past who’s meddling around trying to sneak into a place she purposely left behind. At least you won’t have to see anyone ever again after the wedding is over.

It is said that changing your usual routine helps improving your mood, taking another path home, shopping at a new place, sitting down at a different park, trying a new coffee order, changing the little things to feel more energized and be more productive. You wouldn’t know, because every task you complete as fast as possible to be back home quickly. So, after days of not being able to think about anything else but the upcoming wedding, it’s your only option left.

With the sky lit up with golden light, the grass and trees as green as ever, and a light breeze that prevents you from getting too hot, you walk around a park you’ve never been to before, with your new ‘hot girl walk’ playlist as a soundtrack. The kids running around the playground are the only sounds that get through your ears besides the music, maybe a bark or two as well, and the sun against your skin soothes all your worries. Damn. Going on a walk does fix your mood.

A hand grabbing your arm softly startles you, and you’re about to punch the mystery person when you recognize his face.

“Mingyu?”

His eyes are focused on your fist that was ready to hit him, and you lower it down, beginning to take out your airpods.

“Sorry! You scared me!” You erupt in a nervous laughter.

“I’m sorry! I called your name but you didn’t hear me.” He stands apologetic in front of you, looking down at his feet before daring to look back up. “How are you doing? We didn’t get to talk the other day.”

“Yeah! It’s good to see you! I didn’t expect you to be there, it was a nice surprise.” Is it too weird to say that? Well, it’s already done.

He gets the tiniest bit shy at your words, his ears turning a light shade of pink before disappearing quickly.

You notice a bicycle by his side, a cute pink helmet with glittery heart stickers hanging by the handle. He must’ve been biking when he saw you and took it off before calling your name.

“I didn’t know if you were still friends with Olivia, I didn’t know if I was going to see you either.”

You fixate on the first part of his sentence, ignoring your body’s reaction to him implying he wanted to see you.

“Oh, we’re not really that close anymore.” There’s a silence as you finish your words, as it wasn’t the reply he was expecting. “Life, you know? We just grew apart.”

It was you who stopped making an effort to talk to her, but even if it was still for your own good, you’re a little ashamed to admit it to Mingyu.

“She still asked you to be her bridesmaid. That must mean something.” Ever the positive guy, he tries to make you feel better after the sour comment.

“Yeah, it’s really nice of her.” The sun shining so bright prevents you from looking up at him, but you smile, hoping he can see it.

The slow steps you’ve been taking side by side turn awkward with silence. You wanted so badly to talk to him after the other day, but now that he’s here, in front of you, you can’t think of anything.

“It’s good that you still hang out with the guys.”

You don’t know what else to say, and the words spill out of your mouth. He doesn’t seem to notice the awkward atmosphere, his body as comfortable as ever walking by your side.

“Yeah, even though not as often as I’d like.” A regretful smile forms across his lips. “Our schedules haven’t been lining up, I met Olivia in person maybe a total of three times over the years.”

“What? There’s no way you didn’t share any classes in school?”

He shakes his head, chuckling at your surprise.

“I think I only ever shared one class with her, but I didn’t really care much about her crowd back then.”

“Wow, thanks for that.”

He means all the popular guys your friends would hang out with, and you know it, but there was always something so fun in teasing him and seeing him get so pouty.

"You know I don’t mean you.”

His shoulder pushes your body lightly to the side, and you chuckle together. It’s hard to prevent the red from rushing to your cheeks. Maybe he’ll mistake it for a faint sunburn.

“That’s a cute helmet you got there.” Your eyes point to it as a way to distract him.

“Oh, that?” He picks it up with what seems to be an embarrassed voice tone, but his actions quickly override it. He puts it on proudly and looks at you with his eyebrows raised, “my sister gave it to me when I bought the bike, gets all the ladies.”

“I'm sure it does.”

Attention from women he for sure gets, but probably not because of that thing. His tall, muscular body is enhanced by the tight blue t-shirt he's wearing. You didn’t get a proper look at him the other day, and now, standing next to him in broad daylight, you almost wish you could still live in the ignorance bliss of not knowing the exact height difference between you two.

“So, what are you doing around here?”

His words make you realize you’ve been staring for a few seconds, and you look ahead, hoping he didn’t notice. He forgets to remove the helmet, making you chuckle quietly before answering.

“I just got off from work and thought it would be nice to take a different route home.”

“That’s such a coincidence! I come here, like, almost every week to bike around.”

“Wow, It really is.”

For how long have you been avoiding this specific park for no reason? Pushing away your chance of meeting the one and only person you would’ve wanted to?

A ping from his phone alerts both of you, taking you out of your little bubble.

“Sorry I-" His expression falls as he reads the new text, “I have to get going, but it was really nice seeing you!”

"Oh, sure! I didn’t mean to hold you back.” It comes out quieter than you’d like. “Goodbye!” With a simple smile and a tiny wave at him, you turn around.

Right when he gets on his bicycle again, before he starts pedaling, he looks back at you, taking your first step in the opposite direction.

“Wait!” When you turn around, he’s taking his phone out of his front pocket, “Can I get your number?”

The both of you blush at his words, and you look up at him cautiously.

“So we can catch up and, you know, get comfortable with each other for the wedding.”

You had already forgotten about that. The reason you even met him again in the first place.

“Sure!”

Your hand trembles slightly when you take his phone, and you mentally beat yourself up for it. It’s just your number! It could mean nothing.

“I’ll text you later so you can save mine.”

And with a wink, he’s off to whatever he was late to.

Great. Now you’re not only re-living your high-school anxieties but also your high-school crushes.

During the following days, you find yourself checking your phone more often than ever, always with the hope that you’ll get a new message from Mingyu. Texting almost every day since the encounter at the park, the time when you’re both free to talk has become your favorite part of the day.

It started shyly, merely updating the other about your lives since finishing high school, your jobs, and hobbies. But as time passed, the never-ending conversation eased onto your daily routines. You’d wake up and text Mingyu, update him as you arrive at work. Lunch, break, evening, clocking out, dinner. Every little free time you got, you’d text each other back and forth.

A text notification cheers you up constantly, thinking that it could possibly be him again. But it’s not always the case, like this time.

It’s Olivia reminding you that, in exactly 29 minutes, you have the dance rehearsal with all the maids and grooms. Half an hour, and you live 1 hour away from the studio she rented. A little white lie never hurt anyone, so you tell her something came up and you'll be just a little late.

You love weddings, but if you had to choose one thing you don’t like about them, it would definitely be the dancing. You can’t dance for shit. You’d tell your right leg to move forward, and your left leg would move backwards, like your body can’t comprehend instructions when they’re related to dancing. Usually, you stay in your seat, choosing not to embarrass yourself in front of all the guests, but this time, you can’t get out of it. Poor Mingyu will leave the class with at least five bruises on his feet from you stepping on him.

The dance studio is part of a new, contemporary looking building on the exact geographic center of the city, a place you would always pass by but never thought you’ll get to enter. Standing at the front desk, over half an hour late, you feel too out of place. Your clothes are probably wrong, your hair is completely disheveled, you don’t remember on which floor is your class, and you don’t even know the name of the dance teacher.

After a long discussion with the receptionist, she finally understands what you’re here for and lets you go up to the 13th floor.

The walk from the elevator to the studio feels longer than it actually is. Three to four footsteps become long, slow turtle-like steps. But not even the infinite time you spend taking four steps prepare you for your stomach to drop down to the basement at the sight of Mingyu dancing with Cassie as soon as you open the door.

His hands on her waist, her arms around his neck, dancing slowly in circles, laughing about something she just said, you can almost hear something inside you break. After all this time, nothing really changed.

“Hey! You’re finally here!”

Olivia’s voice brings you back to earth.

“Hi! I’m really sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” The dance teacher gives you a look, and you lower down your voice, “So how is this going?”

“We had to put them together,” she points the dreaded pair, directing your eyes to them once again, “because neither you or Tyler were here when we started, but after the song’s over you can join him and I’ll practice with Cassie, okay?”

You nod with the best spirit you can manage to express.

“Is Tyler the guy she was with the other day?”

You don’t forget to whisper so the class isn’t interrupted by your chatter.

“He’s the only one of Tom's friends who’s not from school, don’t worry, you didn’t erase him from your memory.”

You stifle a laugh before it gets loud.

“Good, I was starting to feel bad about not recognizing him.”

In reality, his existence doesn’t matter much to you either way, except for something. “Are him and Cassie a thing?”

“She says it’s something casual but, and don’t tell her about this, I paired them up together on purpose so they can finally realize that they like each other!”

Your lungs clear of air in an instant after hearing those words. She’s not available. She has a boyfriend, sort of. A boyfriend who you do not know nor have feelings for.

“Your secret's safe with me.”

“Mingyu's nice and all, but if he messes with my plan and charms her, I will personally revoke his invitation to the wedding.”

You both chuckle just as the song finally ends, yours quieter than hers. Both of them see you with Olivia, but only Cassie comes forward to say hi.

“Hey girls! Good to see you!” She gives you a little hug before directing to Olivia. “So… Tyler isn’t showing up, I assume.”

“He told me a few minutes ago that something came up and can’t come, sorry.”

Her hand flies to Cassie's shoulders to comfort her, but she doesn’t seem bummed by the news.

“Well, then, I have something to ask you.”

Her presence suddenly becomes overwhelming as she grins at you with a proposition in mind, seemingly all thought out.

“Are you close with Mingyu? Olivia told me you were classmates.”

How did she know? Maybe you did tell her about him after all.

“He used to be my lab partner. Why?”

“How did you not crush on him back then? He’s such a cutie.”

“I probably did, I don’t remember.” Lie.

“Could you find out if he has a girlfriend, pleeease?”

A buzzing sound is all you hear for a few seconds, like your brain forgets how to function. Words don’t come out, and you’re freezed in place as Cassie looks at you expectantly. To the side, Olivia looks just as puzzled by her request.

“W-why?”

“Because, he’s really hot and, if I need a quick rebound because of that other fucker, I need to know I’m not messing with a relationship.”

Silence is all you produce once again.

“I just need a tiny bit of info, and it’ll be weird if I ask him directly, so could you please try?”

“Sure… I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything.”

You’ve never sounded less excited about something in your whole life. You love some gossip and some drama, but not if it involves a genuinely nice guy like Mingyu being used. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Cassie jumps excitedly and hugs you once again, just as the dance teacher calls for everyone to gather.

Mingyu’s hands slot carefully at the sides of your waist, guiding you swiftly and sparking goosebumps across your back. Your arms wrap awkwardly around his neck, making him crouch a bit so you can look properly at each other.

“Were you always this good? Or did you become a professional waltz dancer in the half hour I wasn’t here?”

You remember him telling you the other day, during your endless text conversations, that he, like you, wasn’t particularly excited about dancing.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that I practiced before coming here, what would that say about me? Hypothetically.”

“It would say that,” you drown out a cackle before you can continue, “you take your duty as a groomsman very seriously, hypothetically.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to think I was a dork, hypothetically.”

“You’re too late, I already thought that.”

A pout forms on his mouth at your giggles, and he flashes the world's most menacing puppy eyes ever.

“I mean it in the best way possible!”

“Isn’t it embarrassing?”

“It’s cute!”

His face shifts with skepticism, sending enough signals saying he didn’t like your choice of words.

“It’s charming!”

The warmth his body emanates wraps around you fast. His expectant eyes looking down at you and the closeness of your bodies rises your temperature in record time, your cheeks pinking up furiously. You keep talking as the nervousness takes over you.

“At least it worked! You’re a really good dancer, I’m sorry I keep missing the beats.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. You’re not that bad.”

“Now you’re just lying. My limbs are physically unable to coordinate more than three steps. You’re guiding me through every single one!”

His hands tighten just the tiniest bit around your waist, like a confirmation for the both of you that they’re still there.

The teacher’s voice echoes all around you until it finally punctures your bubble, and you’re able to hear the class you’re here for. The steps she’s explaining for a second time make no sense in your head, too many turns and moves for you (and your body) to comprehend.

“I need all the pairs to practice the final steps again.”

Only her final words make sense on your mind, and when you look towards Mingyu, his hand left its place on your body and is extended at you, his eyes kind yet concentrated back on the dance. You nod, taking his hand with an electrifying rush going through your veins.

Mingyu guides you firmly but with care, moving along the beats of the waltz. With each step, your synchronization improves, and the moves flow along easily, your bodies understanding each other. You can’t help but smile as you look him in the eyes, a familiar warm feeling bubbling up inside you.

“You're doing a really good job.”

His eyes catch yours, a little wrinkle forming by each of their sides before he cracks a smile to match yours. There’s something in the way he looks like when paying attention to you, like a spell being casted on you, making you crave more.

“It’s because it’s comfortable with you.”

Your mouth betrays you and sends out the words without checking with your brain, but weirdly enough, you don’t fear his reaction. It’s just the truth.

“We’re more in synch than you thought.”

You swear you see a glimpse of a smirk before he spins you in his arms.

As you turn and move together through the song, you think your excitement isn't solely because of the rehearsal going well. It could be simply a wish, but a spark of something is definitely lighting up. The way Mingyu holds you, attentive and confident, you can't help to think he feels it too.

“You think we can be this good the day of the wedding?”

There’s more anticipation than curiosity in your voice, remembering you’ll keep meeting until then, you’ll keep seeing him.

Mingyu reaches closer until his warm breath fans your ear and his lips graze your cheek.

“We could meet a few days before and practice, like I hypothetically did today.”

“You think I need practice?” You tease to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Maybe it’s an excuse to see you again.”

A mix of shyness and giddiness overtakes you as you giggle at his proposition. But in the midst of your interaction, you skip a crucial move and begin to turn, stepping right on one of Mingyu’s feet and almost tripping over to the side. His hand secures you by the waist, the hem of your t-shirt raised just enough so his fingers brush your fiery bare skin.

“Ok, maybe I do need the practice too.”

The teacher talks to you on the background, but it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than Mingyu’s touch lighting fires across your body, his worried eyes over your ‘almost’ fall, and his smile when he realizes you’re laughing at your clumsiness.

The music starts over, and you only realize it because his hand is extended at you once again.

“Let’s give it another try.”

“So, you didn’t get to ask him?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot about it. I was so focused on learning the dance that it slipped my mind.”

Running into Cassie coming out of the subway was the last thing you expected (and wanted) right now. Trying on dresses is the one bridesmaid related thing you were least excited about. So many hours of putting clothes on and off, picking colors, showing the rest of the girls, giving your opinion on their dresses, and listening to their opinions on yours. It just sounds so exhausting. But your mental pep talk got interrupted when Cassie saw you walking up the stairs of the station heading to the bridal shop.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“He didn’t say anything that would imply he has one, if that helps.”

More than a helping hand to her, you're starting to hope he’s single too.

“That’s good to know, thank you.”

“I don’t really get why you wanted to know, though. I thought you had a boyfriend.”

“He’s not... I mean, it’s not like, official. I wanted him to get jealous, but I'm over that now.”

“Oh, so... you talked about it with him?"

“Kind of... he just explained why he couldn’t come to the rehearsal, and I just, couldn’t get mad at him simply for that, right?”

“Right...”

You know virtually nothing about their ‘relationship’, or about him for that matter, so it’s maybe for the best to stay out of their… thing.

“Anyway, about today, do you have something in mind for your dress?”

“Not really, I was just thinking of browsing through the store and seeing what they have.”

“Wow, really? You’re so chill about it. I have a pinterest board with all the styles and shapes I like. I even checked their online store to see what they have in stock beforehand.”

“That’s… actually really smart.”

“Nah, don’t be nice. Did you at least think of a color? Olivia wants all of us to be different colors, but in pastel, obviously. I personally didn’t really care about it, but I chose pink after some thought.”

“Oh, actually, I didn't know that.”

“It’s okay, you can decide when we get there.”

“Did the rest of the girls choose already?”

“Maybe? I haven’t had the chance to ask them.”

“I hope I don’t get green then, I don’t really like how it looks on me.”

“You’ll look amazing either way. Don’t let a simple color wear you down!”

Small talk with Cassie turns out to be quite nice in the short walk you have up to the store. It's a pretty shallow conversation, but not at all stressful like you thought.

The place is really fancy looking, tall glass windows and blinding white interior. It makes you take a breath just by looking at the displayed dresses. Relieved that Olivia said multiple times that she’ll take care of everything and not to worry about the prices, you and Cassie walk inside.

You didn’t expect every girl to be already there, and you especially didn’t expect the groomsmen to be also all there. The girls browse through racks and racks of different shaped and colored dresses, and the men are sitting back, talking with one another, waiting for their bridesmaid to ask for their opinion.

Cassie goes straight to greet Mingyu with a hug. Even if he isn’t the closest one to the door. Even if Tyler is there also. And you walk behind her, slowly, shy because of all the people aware of your arrival. You give Mingyu a shy smile as a greet, and he returns it warmly.

After the dance rehearsal all those days back, you’ve been hesitant about contacting him again. There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s quite the opposite, actually. He’s caring, attentive, and kind towards you. You just don’t want to fall in your black hole of a crush on him again. especially after Cassie made it clear to you that he’s caught her eye too. Sure, she just told you she made up with her boyfriend, but her actions are already contradicting her words.

Olivia sees you with Cassie and walks quickly towards you two with a smile on her face.

“Hey girls! How do you like the store?! Isn’t it huge?”

“It’s unbelievable! I’m gonna need at least two hours to look through all the dresses!”

Cassie answers, staring at the lengthy room in awe. You can feel Mingyu’s eyes on you. Or maybe on Cassie. Regardless, you’re in his line of sight, and it gives you chills.

“Well, you have all the time in the world today. I reserved the whole store for the entire day for all of us, and the staff is also here to help us if needed, so don’t worry about asking for help!”

“That’s amazing!” You both exclaim at the same time.

“Thank you!” Cassie doesn’t look back and goes straight to the racks of pink dresses. You’re about to go and walk around as well. Maybe try to find a color that suits you, but Olivia stops you before you can even take a step.

“Wait! I got the list of the available colors left for you,” she hands you a sheet of paper with almost everything on it crossed out, “I’m sorry, I know there isn’t much left.”

“Oh don’t worry, it’s fine. I should’ve picked it earlier. It’s not your fault.”

It’s disappointing to see that only two items aren’t crossed out. Light teal and pastel green. Green and teal aren’t ugly colors by any means, but you always feel awkward when wearing them, so you’ve learned to avoid them. The back of your throat itches to close as you think about looking ugly at the wedding, in front of so many people, in front of him.

“I saw some of the teal dresses earlier, and they’re all super cute! You’ll look amazing!”

“Oh, ok, I’ll go check them out. But, just in case, isn’t there any way for me to change colors?”

“You could ask someone to swap with you.”

Your mind instantly goes to Cassie. Earlier, she told you she didn’t care which color she wore, maybe she wouldn’t mind switching with you. You spot her easily on one corner, asking Mingyu about his opinion. She looks up at him with glittery eyes as one of her hands places itself on his arm. The sight turns your stomach upside down. You want to stop watching the scene as much as you want to break them apart.

Your legs make the decision for you and walk you to where they’re standing. They don’t notice you walking over to them until you speak up.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt you guys, but Cassie, could I ask you something?”

Mingyu’s the first one to look up at you, his face lighting up as you interrupt whatever Cassie was saying to him. She’s slower, making sure to hang the dress back on the rack before turning to face you.

“What do you need?”

There's very little annoyance on her tone, but you don’t miss the way her eyebrows arch and her eyes dart to Mingyu, signaling you that she wants some alone time.

“I wanted to ask if you, by any chance, were willing to switch colors with me?”

“What happened? Which ones are left?”

“Basically, just green.”

“Oh, that’s such a bummer.”

There’s a silence when she finishes talking. You wait for her to continue, blinking at her, but she just doesn’t. Her sentence ended there.

“Yeah, so, would you swap with me?”

“I…” Her body language turns awkward as she thinks of an answer, side-eyeing Mingyu, who’s also waiting for her, but with no context to what you’re asking her.

“I just, you said you didn’t really care about the color, so I thought you wouldn’t mind changing it.”

You huff, not helping the awkward atmosphere around the three of you. Your eyes connect with Mingyu’s, who's silently watching the interaction from the side. You hate that he’s seeing you in such a state, so... desperate for something that’s not that big of a deal anyway. You need this interaction to be over.

“You’re right, I did say that,” you can already see where this is going, “but, I kinda already put my mind to it, and it took a lot of convincing to get Tyler to match with me. He already bought his suit, and I don’t want to make him mad by changing everything so suddenly, I’m sorry.”

“Oh…”

You can feel your stomach contracting, your throat threatening to close, your eyes getting ready to be filled with tears. This is so stupid. It’s just a stupid color. It's a stupid dress you’ll never wear again. Why is it affecting you so much?

“Wait, I’m sure Tyler wouldn’t mind changing.”

Mingyu’s soft voice sounds closer to you, but you can’t really see much with your eyes trained to the ground and vision blurry from tearing up.

“No, it’s fine, let’s not bother him.”

Blinking away the tears is easy, but looking up and finding a concerned Mingyu makes you feel like jelly. Cassie’s long forgotten as you focus on him, his tall figure watching over you, his hand placed on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, silently comforting you.

“I’ll go try and find something I like.”

“I can look with you if you want.”

“No, it’s fine, you can go back to what you were doing.”

You walk away, leaving him standing there, still worried about your sudden reaction. Cassie is just behind him, waiting for the opportunity to get his attention back.

But you try not to think about him or her while browsing through the store. Trying your best to be positive, to not get dragged down by a simple color choice, or by a friend – if you can call her that – that couldn’t help you.

Hours go by, and it’s easier when you focus on other things. You help the other girls decide on their dresses, reacting and applauding, helping them find new ones if they aren’t satisfied. It’s fun, contrary to what you previously thought, it’s like playing a dress up game, except every now and then, it’s Cassie who comes out on the make-shift runway, and the first opinion she asks for is always Mingyu's.

At one point, everyone has already decided, and you’re the only one left. All the girls you helped come together to try and find you the best possible dress, bringing a new one to you with hopeful smiles on their faces every few minutes.

You try them on, eager to find one and be done with it. But, even if they look gorgeous when on the hanger, they always got something that doesn’t sit right with you when you put them on. And after trying dress after dress, you grow more discouraged.

Olivia notices how tired you are and tells you that you can come back another day, alone and less anxious, but then again, that would mean stretching the situation for longer than needed. You decide to try on one more dress, one that Olivia picked specifically for you, and if you’re not satisfied, you’ll come back with her the next day.

The store lady helps you put the dress on, her sweet smile never fading, even if it’s the tenth dress she helped you put on already. The pastel green silk fabric glides smoothly over your skin, hugging you in the right places as the lady zips it up. Your back’s facing the mirror, too afraid to look in it again and find another disappointing result.

“Sweetheart, I think this is the one.”

The kind woman’s voice startles you, but her honest smile makes you believe her words. You inhale deeply, calming yourself before turning around. But instead of looking at your reflection, you walk outside the changing room and onto the lobby.

Every pair of eyes is on you the moment you step out, your arms wrap around your torso in an effort to shield yourself, and you can feel your cheeks being painted a bright red color. A few gasps are heard, and when you look around, the girls who helped you are all covering their mouths, eyes wide as they watch you cautiously strolling forward.

At the back of the store, it’s like time stops for Mingyu. Whatever he was doing, forgotten at the sight of you. He was unaware of how much your appearance could affect him. His eyes are trained on you, allured by your figure, scanning you up and down like a piece of art worth studying.

Buzz erupts all around you, mumbles and praises about your dress and how you look in it, but it’s all background noise for you. Mingyu’s heavy stare finds yours, and his ears turn a faint shade of pink. The subtlest smirk begins to form on his lips, spreading the warm feeling on your tummy all across your body. He can’t seem to drive his eyes away from you, and you don’t want him to. Your arms relax under his gaze, disarming the protective shield around you and drop to hang by your sides.

But, in a matter of seconds, the girls swarm around you, blocking all 360 degrees around you. Their positive opinions flood your ears as they walk you back to the dressing room, trying to convince you to choose this dress. You can’t look back, but you’re sure all the groomsmen left together.

Doesn’t matter. You’re definitely getting this one.

After spending the whole day shopping together, it marvels you how these girls still want to spend time together. When they noticed all the boys left, they planned an impromptu girls' night at Olivia’s apartment.

It’s amazing how they can spend hours and hours talking with each other, a few drinks here and there, never running out of topics, entertaining you when you’re too tired to talk.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and you sit back on your side of the couch to read the new text.

Mingyu: hey, how are you?

Mingyu: sorry i couldn’t stay today, they dragged me to a boys night

Everything that happened a few hours ago flashes through your mind, waking a giddy smile on your face as you reply.

You: why are you sorry?

You: the girls wanted to do a ‘boys free’ night, we’re at Olivia’s rn

Mingyu: i didnt want to leave before making sure you were okay

Oh.

You: im better now

You: it was fun helping the other girls, took my mind off of it

You: but thank you, you didnt have to worry

Mingyu: good to know :)

Mingyu: next time ill drive you home

You: drive me home? Will i sit on the bike's handlebar?

Mingyu: i was thinking more like a piggyback ride

You: hmm... ill have to think about it

You tune back to the conversation before anyone notices you not paying attention, having no idea what turns the topic has taken in the time you weren’t listening.

“I think he’s definitely seeing someone.”

The girls divided into two groups with different conversations going on, but sitting in front of Cassie, you can only hear her side of the table. They might be talking about Tyler and their “relationship” problems.

“I really don’t think he is. He didn’t use his plus one you know.”

A smile forms in your mouth when your phone vibrates in your hand once again.

Mingyu: can you believe the wedding’s so close already

You: times moving so fast

You: i cant believe its less than two weeks away

Mingyu: it feels like it was only yesterday that tom told me he was getting married

“But today, he didn’t seem at all interested, he was really out of it from the start.”

“Maybe seeing dresses all day is not his thing.”

“No but like, I tried every move on him, and he didn’t even bat an eye.”

Bits and pieces of the still going conversation manage to register on your mind, and you realize they’re talking about Mingyu, unaware of your current chat with him.

You: is the boys only hang out getting boring? Its not very polite to be on the phone you know

Mingyu: theyre all playing games, havent looked my way in over 30 mins

Mingyu: besides i much rather talk with you

You: well i wont argue with that

Mingyu: you seem bored too

You: you’re definitely helping me get through the night

“Maybe he’s just not interested in you.”

Olivia teases Cassie, even though her comment is more than just a joke. But why is Cassie so adamant on wooing Mingyu if, according to Olivia, she really likes Tyler?

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Mingyu: you know what I just realized

Mingyu: I forgot the dance routine already

You: omg me too

You: we might have to meet to practice like you said

Mingyu: we can do it at my place

Mingyu: you up for it?

You: i should ask you that

You: your feet are going to suffer because of me

Mingyu: that’s a risk im willing to take

Mingyu: but I gotta warn you, I take my practice very seriously

You: sure, you can carry me back to my apartment after we're done

Sitting on Mingyu’s couch, waiting for him to get back from the bathroom, you’re too tired to do anything else than looking around his living room. It’s so him. The warm and neutral colors make everything feel cozy, with pictures of him and his family hanging on the walls – no ambiguously romantic photos with unfamiliar girls, and everything is so tidy, not one pillow out of place, even after practicing for over an hour. Out the window, you can see the sun starting to set, and the buildings across the street start lighting up. You recognize all of them. 

All this time, he’s lived so close to you. His building barely a ten minute walk away from yours. You can’t help but wonder, what would’ve happened if you kept in touch, if you just walked two more minutes to the park he frequents, or sent him a follow request on Instagram the few times he popped up on your recommended. It comforts you that at least you have this chance to reconnect with him, to make things right. 

But sounding confident over text is easy, and now, you’ve only danced for the whole time you’ve been here, barely even talked about anything else. 

It’s conflicting, the guilt of meeting with Mingyu behind everyone’s back – even if it’s no one’s business –, the excitement of seeing him alone after weeks of only wedding related stuff, and the actual need to practice the dance so you don’t embarrass yourself, all colliding in your mind, making everything awkward for you. 

Like ten thousand spectators, the windows of every apartment watch you through the glass, just sitting, waiting. Mingyu left only a couple of minutes ago, but after the many times you stepped on him, you wonder if he’s actually hurt. 

“Are you okay? Tell me if I need to call a doctor for your feet!” 

You shout with your head looking towards the bathroom door. His chuckle travels all the way to your ears before he opens the door. 

“I’m fine, I swear.” 

As he comes out, your body tingles with nervousness once again. He sits beside you on the couch, unknowingly making your head spin. 

“You sure? I don’t think feet are supposed to withstand all of that.” 

“I’m okay, just tired, why don’t we rest for a bit?” 

They way he sits, on his side, facing you, and his arm resting on the back of the couch, your eyes can’t help but wander to where his arm muscles start showing. Every variation of the phrase “butterflies in your stomach" could describe the way you feel as he watches you, paying so much attention that you mumble your next sentence. 

“This couch is way too comfortable. It makes me want to just stay here the rest of the day.” 

“Let’s do it! We can even have dinner here. If we order take out, we can tell them to leave it at the door.” 

“That sounds nice, but one of us will have to go get it.” 

“When my roommate comes home, he’ll bring it inside for us.” 

“Oh my god, you have a roommate? When is he coming back? I don’t want to be a bother.” You look towards the entry hallway, like he’s about to come in and kick you out. 

You really don’t want to leave, Mingyu’s company is already becoming one of your favorites, but you hadn’t counted on being around another person, and in their home for that matter. You start to get up from where you’re sitting, worried about having overstayed your welcome, but Mingyu’s hand grabs yours softly and drags you back down. 

“I invited you here. It’s not like you’re trespassing.” 

“But I’ve been here for hours, is it not too much?” 

“I guess I don't want you to leave.” 

His hand hasn't let go of yours, his skin against yours waking up your whole nervous system. You like how it feels when he’s looking at you, but you can’t help feeling too observed under his gaze. 

“Should we practice one more time?” You get up as your other hand takes Mingyu’s free one to try and get him off the couch too. He doesn’t fight your push, but you still struggle to move him barely an inch. 

“Now that I think about it, my feet do really hurt.” 

When he stands up, your hands dreadly separate as you go press play on the song you had paused earlier. 

“You’re a big and strong man, you can handle one more dance.” 

The music starts slowly, and when you turn around to go where Mingyu’s standing, he’s quick to put his hands around your waist and bring you to him. 

Like that day in the dance class, your bodies are quickly coordinated. You’ve been over the same dance for over an hour now, so at this point, every step is engrained in your muscle memory forever. 

“Why don’t you take the lead on this one?” He might’ve felt your sudden confidence in the moves, but fails to realize it’s only because you’re doing it with him. 

“Do you have a death wish? The last time I tried to take the lead on a dance like this, it ended really badly.” 

“But you’re doing good now! I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad.” 

“Don’t you remember the senior prom? When I made my date trip and he fell onto the chocolate fountain? He got completely covered in melted chocolate.” He shakes his head, making you more confused. “He dislocated his shoulder. You really don’t remember? 

“I don’t-” He chuckles at your story but stops his words when he realizes you don’t get what he wants to say, “We left early.” 

“Oh… I guess you had a good time with your date.” Thinking about him with someone else puts a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I didn’t have a date, I went with the guys.” Somehow, that’s less believable than you being a good dancer. 

“I vaguely remember seeing you dance with a girl. Is my memory failing me?” You remember because you hated it. 

“Maybe I did dance with someone, but I couldn’t score a real date.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I am! Why don’t you believe me? 

“Because I knew at least ten girls who had a crush on you back then.” 

The dance is already forgotten. None of you make the effort to go over the moves. With your arms hanging around his neck and his hands holding on to your waist, you’re just going around in slow circles, eyes connected as your talk turns into something more. 

“Well, I wasn’t interested in them.” 

“But still, you could’ve easily gotten a date.” You could let the subject go, and maybe you should, but you really want to make your point. “I would’ve gone with you.” 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” 

“But I mean it.” 

“You wouldn’t have gone with me.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do!” His tone gets serious, and it just makes you more desperate to make him understand. He needs to know he’s wrong. 

“No, you don’t! You would know if you had asked!” 

“I wanted to! 

You stop in your tracks, looking straight into his eyes, seeing little hints of shock on his face as he realizes what he said. If your bodies were closer, you’re afraid he could feel that you stopped breathing for a second. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Because I knew at least ten guys who had crushes on you back then,” you’re about to shut him off, but he continues, “and you did end up going with one of them.” 

“So, you did see me.” 

“Yeah, didn’t stay much after that."

None of you know what to say, as your minds work tirelessly to understand what this conversation means. 

“You really should’ve asked me.” There’s so much more you want to say, but you simply can’t. 

“You were kind of popular and, I don’t know… It messed with my head.” 

“I didn’t care about those stupid labels, and I thought you didn’t either.” 

“I know you didn’t, but I wasn’t a confident kid back then, I couldn’t just go up to the girl I liked and ask her out.” 

Your jaw reaches the floor after hearing those words. The girl he liked? 

Speechless for a few seconds, you can only look at him, trying to figure out if he meant to say those words specifically. He seems to be proud of what he said, showing no sign of regret. 

“So, now that you’re all grown up…” you dare to let your fingers caress the skin at the base of his neck, and his hands tighten around you at the touch. 

“One would think that, after so many years, things would’ve changed but-” 

“I don’t believe you’re not confident by now.” 

“That did change, but apparently, other things didn’t, even after growing up.” 

He tilts his head to the side cockily, his piercing gaze making you feel hot all over. 

“Maybe some things aren’t meant to change.” Like an adrenaline rush, it’s your turn to feel confident as one of your hands starts playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I'm starting to discover some things are not that different for me either.” 

“Could it be, perhaps, the same thing I’m talking about?” His arms wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to him little by little. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, you’re being very vague, I could be talking about still enjoying country music.” You joke so he doesn’t notice your heart beating twice as hard as normal. 

“I think you know what I mean.” His smirk is one new thing about him, not that you’ve never seen it before, but the reason behind it makes it way more thrilling to see now. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“You really didn’t know? I mean, back then, I always thought I made it obvious.” His chuckle sends shivers down your spine. 

“I wish I did.” You can’t help but think about how your life would be if you made a move on him all those years ago. “But I never said anything either, I was shy too.” 

“Good thing we can make up for the time we lost.”

His droopy eyes send you down a spiral you have a hard time coming back from, all your insides becoming putty, feeling his want through his embrace, but there’s still one more thing to get to. 

“You know… you say you’re so confident now and whatnot, but I still haven’t heard you say it.” The look you give him is all he needs 

“Fine, you win, I used to like you, and seeing you again made me realize I still kinda really do, I’m always eager to get your attention and to spend time with you.” He pauses to take the quickest breath ever, all while you’re losing yours. “I know we’re not the same people as back then, but if you want to, we can get to know each other, again, more mature and less stupid. I have my regrets about how I handled my feelings in the past, but I won’t make the same mistakes again. And I will ask you on a date after the wedding, just a heads up.” 

“Wow, I was fine with just an ‘I like you’, but it’s nice to see you’re just as down bad for me as I am for you.” You confess with a joke because, how can you possibly answer that? Your brain is barely receiving enough oxygen as it is. 

“And one last thing, I really, really, really, want to kiss you right now.” 

“Then why are you not doing it?” 

It takes a second for the words to register in his head. A second where you only look at each other, almost not believing what’s happening. The air around you gets so thick, so hot, almost unbearably heavy. And just when your hands begin to push his head your way, his lips attack yours.  

All the resurfacing feelings come to life, colliding like a thousand stars that have been running to meet for millions of years. His arms around you bring your body closer to his, forcing you on your tiptoes to follow his lead while his hair tangles between your fingers. 

It's surprisingly slow, yet hungry and desperate, making the other feel everything through the connection of your lips. You move along with him naturally, and when he bites your lower lip as a request for access, you don’t hesitate. His hands creep under your shirt just as his tongue dares to move past your lips, exploring your whole body to his liking. 

Your chests flush together, leaving little to no space between your bodies, and you can do nothing but melt in his embrace. Your hands wander around his arms and back, touching and feeling every muscle they encounter on their way. When his hands travel down your lower back and reach your ass, you sigh on his lips and immediately feel his smirk against you. 

A furious knock on the door makes you both jump and separate, leaving you looking at each other, breathless and with confused faces, until you hear a knock again, as strong as the first one. That’s when Mingyu decides to check his phone and sees it's his roommate, who had apparently forgotten his keys. Both a blessing and a curse. 

“Bro, what the hell? I’ve been calling you for about 15 minutes.” You hear the door opening, followed by a new, deep voice. 

“I told you I had company.” Their voices echo through the hallway. 

When they finally reach the living room where you’ve been awkwardly trying to make yourself look presentable, the roommate's face morphs into something, a mix of surprise and realization. You rush to gather your stuff after muttering some variation of ‘hello’ and 'goodbye' to him. Your heart still pumps twice as fast as normal, and you don’t trust you’ll be able to handle yourself if you stay for longer. 

“I’ll see you on the weekend?” Mingyu asks when you’ve both reached the entry, his hand on the handle, hesitant to unlock the door. 

You want to kiss him again so badly. His lips are parted, still swollen, calling to you to connect them with yours again. 

“Find me when you crash the bachelorette party.” You make your best effort to sound confident and not at all dizzy because of him.  

“You know about that?” 

“The bridesmaids know everything... It’s only a surprise for Olivia.” You peck him goodbye, like a promise for more. And the feeling of his lips on yours lasts all night.

It’s roughly around 1 am. when a high-pitched scream from Olivia announces to everyone at the bar that the bachelor party has officially arrived. 

The effects from all the alcohol you consumed in the last 4 hours are just starting to fade, only a little buzz left. But that doesn’t prevent you from seeing what’s happening all the way across the room. 

Mingyu standing with his hip resting on the barstool, listening to Cassie as she drunkenly asks him something. You want to stop looking, not wanting to let all your previous feelings resurface again, not after the recent development in your relationship with him. But just as soon as you’re about to turn your head the other way, Mingyu interrupts Cassie’s rumbling and tells her something, to which she doesn’t respond, nods awkwardly, and just walks away, leaving him standing there. 

That’s your signal to walk over to him. 

“Looks like I found you first.” 

“Damn, I wanted to get you a drink first.” 

The music and the people drunkenly signing and shouting makes it hard for your voices to reach the other, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to take a step closer to you. 

You stand against the bar as the room grows warmer and warmer the closer his body gets to yours. His height taunts you as he stands against the bar as well, forcing you to look up so you can see the smirk on his face. His fingers play with yours as the intensity of his stare increases. You don’t care that you’re in public, that anyone from the wedding can see you two. Maybe you want them to. 

“How’s your night going?” His hair tickles the side of your face. 

“It was really fun, I might be growing fond of the girls." You don’t remember much, just a vague memory of many different games you played to get drunk, and the feeling of being happy. “How about yours? Don’t tell me you went to a strip club or something like that.” 

“Actually, we did a drunk escape room, didn’t even know those existed until today.”

The closeness between you is getting more worrying by the second, mainly because if you hear his low chuckle next to your ear one more time, you might pass out. 

“That sounds horrible!” You chuckle away from his personal space, only to encounter his hungry eyes already looking at you. 

“It was fun, I wish you could’ve been there.” His honesty has a sultry tone to it that makes your lungs completely empty of air. 

“I’m not sure we would’ve made a good team.” 

“Why? You’re smart! Or at least you were back then.” 

“Hey! I still am!” 

“I really have to get to know this new you.”

The pink and blue lights reflect on his face, giving him the most beautiful sparkles on his eyes, directed at you. 

“It’s not that new, I’m still very introverted, don’t talk much when there’s a lot of people around.” 

“I like that, you’re observant, good thing to be while in a escape room.” 

“We’re still talking about that?” 

“Maybe, maybe not, I don’t really care, I just wanted to spend time with you.” 

“Are you drunk?” You can only ask with a smile plastered on your face, but he shakes his head. 

“You kinda make me feel like I’m a teenage boy again, I don’t know how to explain it.” 

“I think I get it.” You place your hand on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart under it, even harder than the music blasting out of the speakers. 

“You know, back then, every time I had a free period, I would make my friends walk past whatever class you had, just to get to see you, at least for a second.” Out of everything he’s drunkenly confessing, this may be the one that surprises you the most because you really never realized he felt the same. He notices you freezing in place. “Once they found out, I was relentlessly bullied by them.” 

“I sure hope it was worth it.” If the lighting was any better, he'd be able to see the cherry red covering your cheeks and ears. 

“Every second of it.” Everything around the two of you moves slower, like time’s stopping only for the outside world, and the muffled background noises do nothing to pierce the bubble around you. “I really want to take you on a date, a real one.” 

“I would very much like that.” 

You can see the gears turning through Mingyu’s eyes, and you move your eyes down to his lips so he can take the hint. But nothing happens as someone else enters your little world. 

Olivia’s aware that something’s going on, her eyes switching back and forth between the two of you before she speaks. 

“I need your help, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m getting worried about her.” 

“About who? What happened?” Mingyu stays behind you as you turn to Olivia, grabbing one of your hands, and his warmth gives you goosebumps. 

“It’s Cassie, she’s been sitting alone in the restroom for I don’t know how long, she's way too drunk and I can’t take care of her.”

You now realize she’s slurring her words, meaning she’s also too drunk and therefore can’t take care of another drunk person, leaving you no choice but to go help Cassie. You look back at Mingyu, who encourages you to go, even if it takes a little too long for his hand to let go of yours. 

The graffitied restroom provides you with a little more light than the rest of the place, and when you enter, you recognize Cassie sitting on the floor inside one of the stalls. Luckily there’s no one guarding the bathrooms because if she’s seen throwing up, it could potentially get you both kicked out. 

You sit on the dirty floor beside her without saying a word, letting her know you’re here to help without giving her a headache. Her forehead’s resting on top of her knees as she hugs her legs tightly. But after a minute or two of silence, you decide it’s best to check if she’s at least awake. 

“Cassie? Are you okay?” Your hand on her shoulder makes her look up at you. 

“I don’t feel so good, I just want to sit down for a while.” She sounds tired, her husky voice giving away all the talking and singing she’s been doing all night. 

“Do you need anything? I can get you a cup of water.” 

“No, please, just stay here a bit, I didn’t want anyone to see me but I don’t want to be alone.” 

“Ok, I’ll stay, let me know if you need something, anything.” 

Time passes by, the music making it easier for you to not get bored. A few people enter the restroom from time to time, too drunk or too in a hurry to notice you both sitting down. Olivia passes by the door a few times, hovering, checking if everything’s okay (and if you’re still in the same position as the previous time). You just smile and nod, letting her go back to her party time and time again. But at last, in one of her check-ins, she finally walks inside. 

“Hey, Mingyu’s looking for you!” Both you and Cassie look up at Olivia, but her eyes point at you. “What do I tell him?” 

You instinctively look to Cassie by your side, and her expression falls. 

“Don’t, don’t go with him.” She finds the strength to plead to you, but she seems more worried than anything. 

“Why? Did he do something? Is that why you’re hiding here?” Olivia asks, and you realize she didn’t leave after you didn’t answer her. 

“No, no, I mean, yes I’m hiding from him, but he didn't do anything, it was me, I embarrassed myself.” 

“Why are you telling me not to go with him then?” 

“Do you like him?” 

“I-” Wow, blunt question out of the blue. 

“You can be honest, it’s fine.” 

“Yeah, I do, I like him.”

Telling them, her, the truth feels kind of freeing. Finally admitting in front of them that you like someone, after not being able to for so many years, it’s like you can finally breathe. 

“Then, for your own good, don’t go with him, he’s seeing someone.” 

“What? How do you know?” That freedom lasts barely seconds before a new weight falls right on top of your lungs. 

“He told me, when the guys got here, he said that he’s been after a girl for years and they recently started going out.” 

“Are you sure? Did he use those words?” 

“I’m not saying it verbatim, I don’t remember it exactly word for word, but that’s what he meant.” 

Could he possibly be talking about you? How recent is ‘recently’ supposed to mean? You haven’t even started officially dating. Is confessing your feelings considered the start of dating? Is it supposed to be this confusing? Are you going to believe her? Not that Cassie’s a liar, but you don’t know the context nor the exact words he used, and she doesn’t know what happened between you and him either. 

“Should I go tell him something?” Olivia's already standing up, your silence not helping the situation. 

“Just-" You don’t want to push him away, but it’s not the time to resolve this. The whole thing is too confusing to be making desperate decisions at this hour of the night, “Tell him to go have fun with the guys, I’m getting Cassie home.” 

The loudest alarm you could’ve ever set up wakes you up with a jump. Your head hurts like your inside out emotions are building houses inside your skull. But the memories still hit you as soon as your eyelids burst open. Some decisions were definitely made the night before. Wrong ones? That’s to be seen today.

And thanks to the gods and Olivia’s always late waking family, you’re not supposed to be at the venue until 11 am. Only bad news, It’s on a luxury complex outside the city. You have time for a real breakfast and a shower, but all the thinking and feeling will have to wait.

You unlock your phone to find the last text conversation open and the messages you barely remember sending stare at you through the dim screen.

Mingyu: you left so suddenly

Mingyu: everything ok?

You: yeah

You: had to take Cass to her place, she wasn’t feeling well

Mingyu: that’s too bad, hope she feels better

Mingyu: you just got home?

You: yep, about to go to bed

Mingyu: great, just checking before i head to sleep

Mingyu: sleep well, big day tomorrow

Admittedly, you were a little dry. Cassie’s words were still lingering on your mind, making you doubt everything. One side of your brain telling you that he was probably talking about you, he explained what he felt and what he wanted and sounded sure and truthful. But, the other part of your brain, the still self-conscious and self-doubting side, also makes valid points. The void years in between your relationship weren’t mentioned in his confession, and you technically aren’t dating. He hasn’t even asked you out yet! It’s too conflicting. But you know you have to face both of them today. After the ceremony.

The taxi ride to the venue is not only long but full of traffic. The sun shining bright directly to your face, the light humming of the driver to the songs of the radio and the occasional car horn on the distance, somehow make it bearable, with all the thoughts about the previous night, switching sides between the he said she said, it’s nice to have something constant while your minds goes on a rollercoaster.

A rollercoaster that doesn’t stop even when you arrive. As soon as you step foot outside the car, Olivia’s mom rushes you upstairs to where the make-up artists set up. There’s no time to admire the beautiful countryside venue. You walk past the door to where the ceremony’s going to be held later, but rush up the stairs without even looking. The green dress already waiting for you at the door, an infinite echo of voices and even more people running around make the atmosphere feel dizzying.

Nothing slows down for even a second. Even when you’re sitting down having your make-up done, around you there’s only people rushing to do everything, stressing about the little details, people running into the room to tell Olivia or her mom about decorations, the wedding planner coming in and out constantly, checking everything’s in order. It’s kind of beautiful how all this mess has the sole purpose of making today the best day for the couple. Even if it doesn’t look like it, no one will remember the dress that wasn’t properly ironed, or the string of hair that had too much hairspray on it, or the too slippery shoes that made it a chore to walk on the tiled floor.

So much chaos happens between the hair and make-up, and then with the photoshoots, you don’t have time to talk to Mingyu. Your eyes would cross from time to time, but those milliseconds of him in a suit glaring at you from across the room are enough, and there’s so much of that you can take before an internal chain reaction begins.

The walk downstairs, after all the make-up retouches and fixes to any rebellious stray hair that didn’t want to stay in place, feels like the first calm and slow moment of the day. As the steps get closer and closer to the bottom floor, the red carpet muffling the clicking of your shoes, your insides feel fire-like when you see Mingyu waiting for you by the final step, an unknowing smile on his face. His eyes drill holes on your figure, scanning you up and down shamelessly.

“You chose this one, I like it.” He whispers by your ear as you walk to the door, where every pair is already waiting. A little smile shows on your face, but it fades when your eyes encounter Cassie’s, watching the two of you with a frown so little you only notice because she immediately relaxes her face.

The music starts before you can say anything to Mingyu, and one by one, each of the bridesmaids start walking down the aisle, arms linked with the groomsmen, gracefully walking forward as the eyes of every guest fall on them. Your arm tangled with his is the first touch you share since many days ago, and even with all the conflict making your mind a blur, your heart speeds up at the feeling of his muscles.

Nothing seems slow anymore, and the ceremony almost goes by without noticing. There isn’t one second where you don’t feel Mingyu’s eyes on you, making it impossible to focus – or pretend to focus – on what the priest is saying.

The moment your brain reconnects with your ears, Thomas delivers the most beautiful vows you’ve ever heard. You met the guy only once, never even spoken to him, but the way he speaks so fondly about Olivia makes your heart clutch in your chest, and your throat tries to fight it, but you end up bursting with tears. But you’re not the only one with a cascade of dramatic tears falling with seemingly no end. As the room fills with applause and even some whistles at the first kiss between the officially married couple, you see some people with tissues, quietly blowing their nose.

But the never-ending rush in time continues, everyone sprinting to sit at their tables for the reception. The last retouches of make-up get done quickly. The girls gossip to kill the time before the dance, because for them it’s moving so slowly, but in the blink of an eye, you’re going out the door once again, just as Cassie taps on your shoulder. You turn to her, expecting her to be angry, or at least to start speaking, but it looks like she’s still figuring out what to say.

“Thank you, for taking care of me last night, I’m sure you would’ve preferred to enjoy the party.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone, it’s fine, you don’t have to thank me. Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am! But actually, I wanted to apologize.” Your head spins, dizzy from the world suddenly stopping hearing her words. “I didn’t know there was something going on between you two.”

“There’s not- I mean, not much happened, I didn’t want to cause a fuzz over it.”

“But you should’ve told me you liked him, at least! If I knew about it, I wouldn’t have gone after him.” You see in her eyes nothing but honesty. “I know we’re not as close as before, but these are the things we need to tell each other. It’s the girl code.”

“I don’t really know why I didn’t, I know I should’ve, I didn’t know how.” You’ve now started to go downstairs to the reception, already the time to dance in pairs.

“Look, it’s okay if you’re not comfortable telling me this, but did something happen? Was he talking about you last night?”

You’ve reached where everyone is waiting, and you’re too embarrassed to look up and possibly find Mingyu standing there, leg-melting and breathtaking.

“I thought about it but I don’t know, maybe?”

Back at the reception, the music starts, signaling the newlyweds are about to begin their first dance, meaning in no time you’ll have to step in and dance around them.

“I’m going to ask you three questions and you just have to answer yes or no. There's no need for explanation, okay?”

“O…Kay?”

“So, you two knew each other in school, did you like him?” You nod shyly, not looking in her eyes, embarrassed to be talking about this so openly, “Did he like you?” You nod again, “And did something happen recently that would indicate that he would like to date you in the near future?”

You give her a final nod and finally look up at her. She sighs, taking your hand and squeezing it to make you pay attention.

“Then he meant you dummy! Go, talk to him. He’s been staring at you all day like a lost puppy.”

When you dare to look his way, where you just knew he was standing, he’s looking at you, a little smirk on his lips and subtly motioning he's ready to take your hand. You didn’t notice it was already time, and everyone around you stands in their position.

The pairs start entering one by one, and your smile trembles, feeling the eyes of every guest on you. Your fingers barely graze his, but they feel raw, like you can feel every particle of his hand below yours. The electric fire emerging from where your skin connects with his runs through your veins in record time.

But as soon as the music starts and Mingyu turns you so you’re looking at him, everything is forgotten. The steps come easily, his eyes calm but observing, his hand on your waist guiding you as he did every time you practiced.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He whispers, not wanting to disrupt the moment, but knowing it’s the only time you’ll get alone.

“I swear I didn’t mean to.”

You panic. There was so much to do and so few words you could come up with to say to him that maybe you unconsciously avoided him by locking yourself up in the make-up room.

“Did I do something wrong?” He doesn’t sound hurt, but rather just plain curious, eager to work this out between you two.

“No! it was just a misunderstanding,” he waits for you to continue, but the part of your brain that makes sense starts crumbling, making it impossible to form a coherent argument, “I- can I ask you something? It might sound stupid, I’m warning you.”

“Go ahead.” He chuckles, his feet continuing to dance while you've already forgotten about it. One of your hands stays on his shoulder, while the other is being held by him, still in the air by your sides, reaching the height of your shoulders.

“You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

He doesn’t let the silence even come close to the two of you, chuckling quietly so you’re the only one who can hear it.

“I’m not, hard to believe I know, but I’m painfully single.”

“Great, I just wanted to make sure.”

“I remember telling you I want to take you on a date.”

“Y-yeah, of course I remember that too."

The pit of your stomach lights up at the remainder of that afternoon in his home, your bodies as close as they are at this moment.

“Then what made you think that?”

“You just, you said to Cassie last night that you started seeing someone recently and, I don’t know, we didn’t technically start dating, so I panicked.” Saying it out loud to him, it sounds ridiculous, but if he thinks that, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh that, yeah, I might’ve gotten ahead of myself, but hey, think of it as manifesting.” He’s so charming that you don’t care that he’s making no sense.

“Next time, don’t tell a drunk girl who’s flirting with you the wrong information. She might spread it around.”

The synchronized chuckle you let out makes you pay attention to the forgotten situation. You’re dancing and haven’t tripped once, like your muscles got a life of their own and remembered every single step. And you suddenly realize how close your body is to Mingyu’s. One hand down the small of your back, pressing just enough to hold you in his personal space, his face close enough that you could concentrate on his breathing and feel the light exhales on your face.

When the music ends, the applause makes you look around, and your cheeks feel warm immediately, noticing all the eyes on every one of you. But the attention is short-lived, as you and Mingyu walk quickly to your table so the couple can do the welcome toasts. You don't miss how he slides your chair closer to his before you sit down.

Sitting by your side, Mingyu’s body and yours are connected by an electric current, drawing you closer. His knee stays glued to yours, and the cut on the side of your dress allows your bare skin to brush against the fabric of his pants. A conversation takes place between everyone at the table, one of the guys telling a story about something funny that happened with Tom back in high-school, but it’s hard to pay any real attention when Mingyu’s fingers start tracing circles on your knee. He’s not even doing to be a tease. It seems like it’s a habit of his, one that you’re just discovering. You don’t stop your fingers from playing with his, and a subtle smirk forms on his lips at your action.

It’s not like you’re doing anything too flashy or indecent, but you do your best to mask your reactions to his touches, to try and keep the people of the table unaware of the not so innocent things going on under the fancy tablecloth. He only notices your changes because he’s paying attention to you. The way your chest rises just a tad bit more when his hand goes a little over your knee, or how you drink from your cold glass of water when he presses on the skin of your inner thigh, but when he’s about to move his hand off of you, you put yours on his to keep it in place. You also notice things throughout the night, for example, that Mingyu isn’t drinking a lot, restricting to one glass of champagne per serving. You do the same, wanting to remember this night in the future.

Mingyu stands up when the dancefloor opens again, turning down an offer to go to the bar for something stronger than sparkling wine. Instead, he reaches for your hand, silently inviting you to dance with him, to which you agree, with a smile and avoiding his eyes. Following behind him, he doesn’t let go of your hand, even when you’ve reached the spot he wanted. People join you on the dancefloor, drunkenly vibing to the dj set, surrounding you, and blocking you from anyone you know. It’s feels almost private. Whatever song is playing on the speakers, it doesn’t prevent you from following your own rhythm in your own world. Your arms wrap around Mingyu’s neck, and both of his hands hold your waist, mirroring the evening at his place.

“So, tell me, what other embarrassing things did you do when you liked me?”

He throws his head back in embarrassment, sighing with a smile before daring to look at you again. His ears turn a light shade of pink, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat between your bodies.

“I really told you that, did I? I was hoping you wouldn't remember.”

“Nope, I remember it very vividly actually.”

“Let’s leave the embarrassing stories for the future, I wasn’t in my best condition last night.”

“You’re making me too curious now, but how drunk did you get last night?”

“Honestly, I was just nervous about seeing you and about tonight.” He might be confessing another embarrassing thing, but behind his truthful tone, there’s something you can’t quite decipher.

“What’s there to be nervous about tonight?”

Your heels allow you to be in his line of sight, and your chests are too close. If you inhaled deeply, you’d be able to feel him on you. He takes advantage of your new height and forces your attention to go to his lips, smirking shamelessly as he thinks his next words.

“Did I tell you how pretty you look today?"

One hand comes close to your face, removes a strand of hair from blocking your view, and tucks it behind your ear.

“Oh, shut up.”

You can’t even think of a snarky response, your brain melting and showing just how much he affects you. Goosebumps spread all across your arms and back at the feel of his hand caressing your skin.

“I can’t, it’s all I’ve thinking about all day, you, this dress, and you in this dress.”

You instinctively hide your face on the crook of his neck, his cologne invading your senses. It’s hard to think of words when he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you whole.

“I got it because of you. Do you really like it?”

Not that you need any confirmation, since he’s told you twice already, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear it from him one more time. Your reveal makes his smirking lips graze your ear, sending shivers down your spine, and his voice drops an octave to answer.

“I love the dress, but I’ll love it more once I get it off you.”

“I hate you.”

You barely manage to say, your chest rising but breathless at the same time. Your body’s automatic reaction is to push him away, and your hands go straight to his chest to try, but of course it’s pointless. His hands catch yours, not letting you leave his personal space. He taunts you by spinning you around, and once you do a full twirl, he grabs you by the waist again and brings your body to his.

“You have no idea how hard it was for me that day when you stepped out, wearing this.” He gets closer to your ear with every word. You hate it and love it. For one, you can hide from his teasing eyes and blush in peace, but on the other hand, you are cheek to cheek with him, his breath fanning lightly on your side, and you can feel he’s still smirking. “You’re lucky there were other people in the room.”

A breath catches in your throat, and you swallow hard. You thank all the gods there are out there for being surrounded by drunk people. Because to anyone on their senses, your reaction to Mingyu's words would be too obvious.

“I really hate you right now.”

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the heat growing at the pit of your stomach.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“I think it’s quite the opposite actually.”

How are you supposed to play hard to get when his hands hold you like he wants to keep you forever?

“You think you know everything.”

You catch your voice about to tremble when his free hand starts going down the side of your arm, from your shoulder down until your hand, and interlocks his fingers with yours.

“If you hate me then, I can’t tell you the secret I’ve been keeping all night.”

“Have you been secretly writing an article about how to break someone’s heart in 10 days?”

“I love that movie, but it has been well over 10 days, I couldn’t make the deadline.”

“Rom-com connoisseur, noted.” You jokingly nod, but not forgetting what’s important. “Now tell me.”

“So, you know how they told us there were rooms available for anyone that couldn't drive home?” You nod, too enthusiastically. “I may or may not have booked one for tonight, and if you want to, there’s space for one more, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to…” He keeps talking, something about you watching him do something, but you get lost in the way his lips move as he talks, so pink and fast and hypnotizing.

“Isn’t it rude to just leave?”

The question leaves your mouth more to tease him than anything else. You want to be alone with him so badly, feel his body all over yours, his hands everywhere he can reach, ripping this godforsaken dress off you.

Before the last food serving rolls out and everyone scatters to go back to their seat, you sneak out of the reception, but the drunk bodies are not making it easy. Mingyu leads the way with you grabbing his hand and walking behind him. You don’t know if you could’ve managed another teasing touching session under the table.

You take a left turn into the hallway just at the same time as one of Olivia's drunk uncles, a stranger to the both of you, who’s half asleep using the wall to steady himself as he walks. The music echoes through the walls, and you can only look at each other, half about to burst out laughing and half needing to take the others clothes off, as you walk as nonchalantly as possible past the man trying his best to open his door.

Giggling like teenagers, you finally reach your room at the end of the hallway, but the second you enter, the atmosphere changes. Standing by the closed door, shoes off, panting, and frozen in place, you only look at each other. Your breaths regulate, and your smiles slowly fade off your expressions as the realization hits. It’s real. He’s here, and you’re here, in a room just for the two of you. His eyes are bound to your parted lips, but you wouldn’t know, as yours are also unable to leave his.

Like magnets, brutally drawn to each other, your lips finally reconnect in a hungry, desperate kiss. After learning how sweet he tastes, how his lips glide over yours so easily, how he wraps his arms around you to keep you close to him, there was only so much time you could spend in abstinence.

No words needed, the want translating in the way your hands push him against you, his hands traveling across your back, touching and groping everywhere he can reach. After the long day testing your patience, neither of you can slow down.

His fang claws at your bottom lip, making you whimper against him. He drinks in any sound you make, his arms bringing your body impossibly closer to his, almost making you one. No one is in control, both of you just touching and grabbing anywhere you can, desperate for more.

Your mouths reluctantly separate as Mingyu starts leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and biting lightly on your sensitive skin, making you gasp. You can only thread your fingers on his hair, encouraging him to leave any marks he wishes to.

“Is this okay?”

His raspy voice travels to your ears, and you don’t trust yourself to not make unholy noises if you open your mouth to answer. But just as you’re humming, he digs his teeth just above your clavicle, turning your hum into a moan.

He slowly slides the straps of your dress down your shoulders, his fingers teasing your skin on the way down. His hand travels across your chest, only the silky green fabric in between your fiery skin and his teasing fingers. They go over your pointy hard nipples, feeling everything on its way, but not letting it stay anywhere for more than a second.

“Are you going to take it off?”

Your breathlessness makes him chuckle, smug and cocky as ever.

“Rushed?”

“Very. You’re the one that put the thought in my head, now take care of it!” His hands sneak up your back, playing with the zipper of your dress.

“Don’t act so innocent.” His tone goes straight to your core. The fabric around you loosens up as his hand runs down your spine, but he stops before it gets too loose to slip down. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me all day? You’re not slick.”

He takes a step back to take off his suit jacket, absentmindedly throwing it to the side without breaking eye contact. But you don't let yourself get shy.

“Who said I was trying to hide it?”

Your hands run from his shoulders to his chest, unbuttoning his shirt one by one as his breathing speeds up. The warmth of his body envelops your hands, your fingers barely grazing the skin above his pants, and his muscles tense at your touch before you slip his shirt off.

“Now who’s the one teasing?”

Pulling on the red tie around his neck, he swallows hard as you bring his head closer to yours, so close you unconsciously flutter your eyes closed. His bare chest rises against yours as you undo his tie slowly. You could tilt your chin up and break the tension once more, but something in you wants to keep teasing him.

A step back is all you need to have his lips chase you, and he opens his eyes, droopy and confused, to find you slipping your dress off. His stare turns surprised and hungry as you reveal yourself for him, but his body stays frozen in place.

“I’m supposed to do that.”

It’s your time to chuckle now, taking a step forward again. His hands slot on your waist instinctively, traveling to your stomach, enjoying the feeling of your soft skin against his hands.

“You’ll get to do it next time.” The sentence is almost left unfinished, a breath getting caught in your throat when his hands dare go up your chest. But they’re gone in a heartbeat, as they reach your face and tilt it so you can properly look at him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” No teasing tone on his voice.

“I’m literally naked in front of you.” Your hands go back up to his neck, pushing his head slightly down, reaching a hypnotic closeness. “I want this, I want you Mingyu.”

Confirmation is all he needed to let loose, to let the want take over his body and soul. He connects your lips with force, and wastes no time. With his hands on your ass and his tongue working its way inside your mouth, he stumbles backwards until you both fall on the bed.

With you on top of Mingyu, your hands make their way across his chest, his golden skin glistening due to the sweat. You can feel his hard muscles tense under your touch, making him sigh on your mouth when you find his sensitive spots. His hands move to your hips and push you down on him, making you both moan un unison because of the first friction between your cores.

His growing hard grinds deliciously against you. Even with his pants still between you, you can feel how big he is, and the wet patch on your panties grows by the second. Your lips are still smashed together, a mess of saliva allowing your lips you glide faster and hungrier on his, your tongues becoming one, not wanting to separate ever again.

Your hands find their way down his abdomen, reaching where his pants hang on his hips. The absence of a belt makes it easier for you to unbutton them, and he takes the off expertly, all without ever taking his hands off you.

The second your hand sneaks under his underwear, he groans under you, disconnecting your mouths to take a look at you.

“Is it embarrassing to be already close?” His blood red lips are parted, breathing out his confession, and you almost moan, clenching around nothing because of the sight, or his confession, or maybe the whimper he fights when you wrap your hand around him.

“You’re so big, fuck.” You sigh, and the side of his mouth quirks up, but slowly disappears as you start sliding your hand down, smearing the precum on his length.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His eyes have a mix of concern and lust on them, and your body doesn’t know how to react, your stomach flips, your hands tremble, and your underwear grows wetter.

“I know you won’t.”

You climb down on him, your eyesight reaching where his boxers begin to tent. His gaze follows you, like he can’t believe the reality of what’s happening. You take off the last piece of clothing left on his body, and his dick springs free, standing proud and angry red in front of your eyes. The throb on your throat makes you move forward, wrapping your lips around his leaking tip.

“Wait. Don’t.” You look up at him but he’s facing the ceiling, ears red and eyes closed. “I can’t.”

“I haven’t done anything.” You play innocent, and a smirk appears on your face when he finally looks at you, resting on his elbows.

“Exactly, that’s why I can’t, I need to have a little bit of pride left.”

“What do you suggest we do?” You slowly climb up on him again, his hands moving to your hips like they got a life of their own. One hand on his chest and one hand on his jaw, you kiss him softly, and he melts at your touch.

A soft moan is heard, could be from him, could be from you, but your mind is too clouded to care when he rolls his hips against yours, following the pace of your lazy kiss. A rush of arousal takes over your body when he presses you harder against him, his length sliding perfectly with your core, your wetness making it easier to reach every point that makes you gasp.

“I want,” his lips stop working on yours, but his arms keep you from separating. You feel his every breath, every gasp at the friction, and his lips graze yours when he speaks, “I want to taste you.”

“Fuck.” He might just be able to feel the new rush of wetness dampening your panties further and smearing around his hard below you. His hands push your hips up his body. He told you what he wants, and he’s showing you exactly how he wants it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to crush your skull.”

“I wouldn’t mind that, at least I’d die happy.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that if you want it.”

The chuckle he lets out reverberates from his chest up through your whole body. There’s not much you can do besides complying with his wants, especially with the way your body’s reacting to the sole idea of it and the way he’s moving you to where he wants.

His hands sneak under the strings of your underwear, and as you climb higher and higher, he removes them easily, leaving you bare on top of him.

“You’re so wet, shit.” Your pussy pulsates just above his face. You can’t see his reaction, but you for sure can hear it, “I would’ve done this sooner if I knew this was waiting for me.”

From your point of view, his whole face is covered, by you, on top of him, only his messy hair laying on the mattress can be seen. A view that’s dizzying and hypnotic at the same time, and you can’t think of any answer to give him. His breath on your wet core makes you shiver, but you’re afraid to sit down, afraid you’ll hurt him.

Mingyu senses your hesitation and gives you no more time to doubt. His head rises until his tongue meets your folds, flattening on you, desperate to make you feel good. The sudden stimulation makes your legs tremble, and you would've fell on his face if it wasn’t from his hands still holding your hips.

He starts making out with your cunt, moaning and groaning against it like this is also pleasurable for him. His tongue finds every place that makes you gasp, moan and whimper, and with every lap at your folds, a nasty wet sound accompanies it.

A shaky moan escapes out of you when he envelops your clit with his lips and sucks lightly, making you grab the headboard so you don’t fall on him.

You must’ve fully sit on his mouth in your search for support, because he moans louder against your pussy, and you can feel everything. His lips and tongue working to drink every drop of arousal that leaves you, discovering every sensitive spot you didn’t know about.

The tip of his nose bumps your clit just as his tongue finds its way inside your pulsing hole, and you instinctively move your hand down to pull at his hair. The action encourages him to go faster, harder, and when you grind on his face and he groans like he’s enjoying it, you let go.

Riding him, chasing your high, you’re using his tongue for your own pleasure. Your hand on his hair tightens, and you lose the little control you had of your throat. But the unfiltered sounds you make just push him harder. Every one of your senses is clouded. The wet sounds, the way he moans against you, his tongue already knowing where to go to make you squirm, everything culminates without warning.

You cum on his tongue faster than you have ever before. Your thighs tremble at either side of his head, and you realize you’re crushing him between them. But he doesn't let you get up. His tongue continues to work on you,

He cleans you up, drinking every last drop of arousal smeared on your skin. You spasm over him every time he –not so accidentally– flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, starting to get you overstimulated.

You use the strength you have left to push his head back, and take advantage of his surprise to plop down on his side, your back on the mattress and your pussy finally away of his eager mouth.

“Are you okay?”

From the corner of your eye, while you try to recover, you see Mingyu doing his best to clean the lower side of his face.

“Yeah, fuck, that was a lot.” You manage to say in between breaths. “I need a second.”

“If you’re too tired, we can st- fuck.”

You don’t give time to overthink, quickly getting on top of him again, your swollen dripping cunt right on top of his still hard cock.

“Second's over.” Only a little smirk is the warning he gets before you’re grinding on top of him again. All of your juices mix as you slowly ride back and forth, his length sliding between your wet folds deliciously. “I’m clean, and on the pill, are you?”

“On the pill? Unfortunately not.” How he manages to make you laugh even on your horniest moments will forever remain a mystery. “But I’m clean, I’ve never had sex without a condom before.”

“Me neither. I guess this will be a new experience for the both of us.” The sole thought of it makes his dick twitch under you.

“Are you sure?” His hand cups the side of your face, and his eyes look at you with such care that you could melt in an instant.

“Yes, I don’t want to wait anymore. We’ve waited long enough.” That seems to relax him, his hands beginning to roam freely across your torso.

Sliding forward makes the veins of his cock drag along every sensitive spot and you both moan before his tip finally prods at your entrance. A loud hiss comes out of him as you align yourself with his length and push his tip in.

But before you can go any further, he wraps his arms around your waist and turns you around so your back is against the mattress. You gasp at the sudden change, and when he starts slowly sinking into you, filling every possible space inside you, you lose your breath.

His cock being covered by your fluids makes it easier, and when he finally bottoms out, so deep you feel him everywhere, you hear him trying to muffle a moan. Your gummy walls clamp around him, trying to get used to his size. The twitch of his length feels stronger while inside you, and you know he’s trying to resist the urge to pound into you.

“Move, please, I need you.” Your pathetic whimper triggers another smirk out of him, and as he moves down to give you a soft kiss, his eyes darken.

“Whatever my girl wants.”

The slow drag of his cock as he starts sliding it out almost make you delirious, but before his tip slips out, he snaps his full length right back in, making your body jolt upwards. You can't speak properly, a curse you can’t even hear leaves your mouth before he repeats the action, again and again.

“So deep, Mingyu, fuck.” The brutal pace he sets has him abusing every single sensitive spot inside you, even the ones you didn’t know about, hitting relentlessly where it makes you scream, and you’re seeing stars.

“You don’t say my name often,” his voice is raspy and deep, almost mirroring the way his cock pistons inside of you, “I like how it sounds coming out of you."

Your palms are against the headboard and you’re sure the bed hitting against the wall can be heard from other rooms, but when one of his hands sneak between your bodies and starts circling your clit, you stop caring all along.

The grinding of your hips matches his rhythm, accentuating everything as he drives you closer and closer. With his face just above yours, you can only look him in the eyes and let him watch your face contort in pleasure feeling every vein of his cock dragging inside of you. With any other person, you would be self-conscious, but as he finds that spot inside you that makes you squirm, you forget the world around you and focus on grabbing his strong arms for support.

His teeth find your neck again, biting and kissing on your soft skin, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and he doesn’t stop drilling his hips into you. Somehow, you feel him deeper with every thrust, and the only thing you can do is claw your nails on his arms and back, encouraging him more and more.

“You’re so tight, shit.” His hips stutter when you clench hearing his voice. “Tell me you’re close, please, fuck, I don’t now how long I got."

“Yes! Yes, don’t stop.” You tighten impossibly harder around him when you feel him pinch one of your nipples. He’s literally everywhere, stimulating every spot to tip you over the edge.

Your arms and legs cage his body so close to yours that he has trouble keeping up with his pace, but that doesn't stop him from pounding hard. The sound of skin your skin hitting against his and his groans are like music to your ears.

It's when his thumb teases your clit again that you finally snap.

You tremble around him, moaning uncontrollably as he keeps pounding into you, prolonging your orgasm as he pleases and chasing his own. But he’s far gone too. Your sweet moans in his ear and your walls clenching around him so perfectly are enough to have him spilling inside you.

Sleepiness is about to get you when you feel him sliding out you and plopping by your side. Naturally, one of his arms slots under you as your head rests on the crook of his neck.

There’s silence while you both catch your breaths, his hand softly drawing circles on your back and yours on his chest. As reality sinks in, giddiness fills your entire body, and you can’t contain the smile growing against his golden skin.

“Did you do any embarrassing things back then?” The sudden interrogation makes your cheeks turn red.

“I’m guessing there’s no way out of this, right?” You avoid looking up at him to not make your shyness obvious, and you feel him shake his head as an answer. “Fine… you know… your fangs?”

“My fangs?!” Amusement and surprise mix on his voice.

“Fuck this is so embarrassing.” You’re caged between his arms but you manage to cover your face with your hands.

“You liked my fangs?”

“I still do, but yeah, I would just draw little fangs everywhere, I guess no one ever noticed because they looked more like vamp–"

“Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?” He luckily interrupts your embarrassing rant with his pending question.

“Already? You want to see me again that badly?” You feel the chuckle on his chest before you hear it, and at that moment, it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard.

“I plan on taking you on dates at least three times a week. You’re never getting rid of me now.” He embraces you in his arms, chests flushed together, and when you tilt your head up, he’s already looking at you, expectant for your answer. “So, what do you say?”

“Yes, I would love to have dinner with you tomorrow.” The smile he gives you might be the most blinding smile you’ve ever seen. “But just so you know, I do not have sex on first dates.”

A glob of saliva floats on the drink atop your tray. You immediately regret it. Your tongue feels dry, and who knows when your next break will be. There's no time for a glass of water. Serving in time keeps the customers content.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Familiar applause echoes against the gold draped walls and wood floor, reaching the stage in an offbeat rhythm that doesn't match with the song that was just finished.

There was a time when the sole idea of singing to a pleased crowd that idolized your every move put stars in your eyes. When your dream sat first on your list of priorities, what drove you to push harder and keep on living life restlessly until you'd eventually fulfill it. That person, full of hope and willingness, would tell you to keep on going. That person would never consider giving up. That person would've never spat in a regular's drink and served it to him so naturally like you're doing.

Since you were little, music was the way to disconnect from reality, even for just a little while. You used to stick your ears against the wall to listen to your neighbors' wind-up phonograph for as long as possible.

Instrumentals made life manageable. As long as there was a song playing in the background or a neighbor practicing close by, being secluded in your home wasn't so bad.

A woman's voice on a record for the first time changed everything. In that moment, music stopped being for those with time and money to spend on instruments. If you had a voice, if you had a tuned ear, you could be part of the magic too.

It so easily became your dream that it being impossible didn't cross your mind.

The singer smiles at the men not taking their eyes off her. Helen is a master at keeping the crowd's attention, with her short icy blonde hair clipped clean to the side. She told you once, the only advice any of the singers has ever given you, that showing the side of your neck could attract any men within watching distance. You never followed said advice, but you've yet to witness an instance where it didn't work for her.

When the musicians behind her begin a new song, with a seductive saxophone melody and low double bass, the applause dies down and conversations strike up again.

"Enjoy your drink, Mr. Baker."

You set the new drink by his previous empty glass. His yellow teeth appear behind the rising corner of his mouth, his wrinkly gaze not rising from your chest.

He points to the stage as he puts his pipe down on a silver holder. "When are you getting up there alone, gorgeous?"

You prop your free hand on the table, looking straight at his face while showing a better view of what he wants. The fake smile you've mastered feels almost natural to put on.

"After the next Canary," you reply, voice sultry. "Will you stay to watch me?"

At that, his eyes finally see yours. His pale fingers graze yours on the table. Your skin prickles, urging you to get away. He lifts an eyebrow, finally registering your question, and nods you off. He sips on his drink, unaware, as you leave. You hear the bartender's light chuckle as you pass by the bar. He saw you spitting on the man's drink.

As much as you learned to endure the constant flirting attempts and unsolicited touches, you also came to realize that it's the only way to get by without being a singer full time. Every server girl does it as well. If you're not on stage, you need to gather as much attention as possible.

The stage schedule is always the same. No matter how hard you try, how many times you ask, how many men you manage to hold off until closing time, you're never allowed a solo during prime time. At best, you're Helen's third back-up vocalist.

The free jazz show starts at 7.pm, the same time every weekend. The bar plays 78s from the record player in the middle of the sitting area until every table is full, and then, the show starts. The first singer always has it harder. If she's lucky, she'll have the rest of the lineup in her shadow. The luck of the second canary depends solely on the previous performance, and so on. It's in the 9-10.p.m window, when pockets get loose enough and men lose interest in their wives at home, that the Canary gets the most attention. Powerful men don't stick around until their heads hurt and their breath stinks of whiskey. Without fault, by the time you're on stage, your crowd consists of only canned single men wasting the little money they have left.

In the meantime, you've learned to take desperate measures.

When you make them believe they have a chance, when you let them look and don't budge at their advances, some men delude themselves into staying late. When the clock hits half past twelve in the new day, the microphone is in your hands and the double bass accompanies your voice. Only every other table has its chairs occupied, but you know it'd be worse if you weren't showing a bit more leg skin than the rest. That's what works for you, not the neck.

Hidden in the dark at the back of the bar, Harold's silhouette watches you put on your show. His judging glare, always present when you're the view, can be felt from afar. You know a speech of how awful you did will wait for you after you're done.

At 1 am sharp, weak applause follows the dying music and your cut off microphone. Harold escorts the last two drunk men out of the establishment as you escape backstage. They always ask about you, about your tacit promises. You never deliver.

"Thomas Baker was asking for you," Harold enters the small canary changing room after you. "Again."

You register the disdain in his voice. It hasn't changed since he got you the job.

It doesn't matter how many wealthy men you hold back until closing. It doesn't matter if you sell them the most expensive illicit alcohol available at the bar. It doesn't matter that they keep coming back for you, maintaining the speakeasy open with investments and daily splurges. What you do is never enough to earn what you want the most.

Since the Prohibition, most bars across the country shut down, as the primary reason for the wealthy class to attend was the alcohol. But not only did the men lose their source of entertainment outside of their homes, musical joints were declining in popularity as well, and with them, your chance at dedicating your life to jazz.

Everything changed one night at the Grand Central Terminal.

You were determined to leave the city. You took the clarinet your parents worked so hard to buy and the few nice clothes you had, and headed for the train station. Your dad had sent a letter to a distant cousin of his, and you were set to stay with her for a while. The city wasn't for you anymore. Or so you thought.

You arrived at the station with enough coins for a one way pass for yourself. The man on the other side of the cabin scoffed seeing your hand and saw you off the line. Railroad passes had raised its prices days before your decision, without your family's knowledge.

It was a cold February afternoon and you sat there for hours. Each time the line for buying passes was empty, you argued with the worker, pleading for him to let you get on the next train, but nothing you said convinced him.

When the last train of the day was set to arrive, to take off later and end the day at the station, you took one last chance.

"I can send my father to pay the rest!" You pleaded over the worker's sigh. "Please, I need to take the train."

"You're not the only one, lady." He didn't spare you one glance, focusing on the passengers stepping down the Chicago train.

Stylish women with long simple dresses covered the station, accompanied by their equally well dressed husbands, fedoras on their heads and full bags on their hands. The man you had been arguing with all day posed a fake smile in front of the wealthy, ignoring you once more. You'd learned to ignore rich people's judging stares and insulting low mutters long before, so the wave of high class assholes didn't make you budge.

"Look, lady, I'll get in trouble if I let you in. Come back first thing tomorrow with the correct amount and you'll be on the way." The ticket seller tried once more seeing you wouldn’t relent even with waves of people on the way.

"Please, you don't get it—"

"Is everything okay here?"

A man appeared behind you, standing in the line you were blocking from forming. Even taller than you, the hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but you were confident it was not you he talked to.

"Apologies, sir, she was just leaving. What can I help you with?" His client attending smile quivered, but when you stepped out to let the man through, it felt like you lost.

How long would you have to wait until your parents get a spare dime? You thought. The train was going to leave without you on it, your distant aunt would wonder why you hadn't arrived until you sent her a letter explaining everything. Your future would be put on hold, again.

The strange man's deep black gambler hat drew your attention. He was dressed in the latest fashion, expensive fabrics and bougie cologne noticeable from afar, but had no ring on his finger. Had he just come from the Chicago train? Or was he escaping from New York City like you? Your answer came in quickly after the thought ran through your head.

"Do you play, miss?" He asked, nodding his jaw to the clarinet in your hand.

Few times had someone treated you with respect. 'Miss' wasn't a word you heard directed to you often, especially without an arrogant tone. The corner of your mouth tipped upward feeling his attention, and you showed your old, faded gold clarinet with pride.

"Yes, sir. I carry music everywhere I go." It sounded foolish the second it left your mouth, but it was true.

Whether you were home, in your sewing classes with your elderly neighbor, or in the streets searching for the cheapest prices to buy ingredients for dinner, music was your driving force. You sang, whistled and hummed every song you memorized. Mrs. Clarence loved showing off his brand new 78s player, and you urged her to as well in between sewing techniques.

"I have a place where you can play and earn a few dimes for it." The stylish man offered. "We need talented singers to keep the place afloat."

"Are you offering me a job, sir? You haven't heard me play or sing." You asked, bewildered.

"Please, Call me Harold." He winked and stretched his hand. "And I sure am, miss…"

You told him your name with a shake of his hand.

Had he heard you begging for a boarding pass? It didn't really matter at the time. That night, you thought in the moment, God had shown you that not all was lost. Leaving your home, your parents far away, wasn't ideal, you knew it on the way to the Grand Terminal. Instead, you were presented with an opportunity to have a life of your own, playing music and singing like you've always wanted in the city where you'd thought the music scene was blurring away.

You would have never thought how simple-minded you were.

There's a blister on your left big toe. You've gotten used to them over the years, as using the same dancing shoes to work every day has worn them out, its soles hard and no longer breathable as they used to be. You take a peek around the deserted joint. Harold's nowhere to be seen, probably in the basement counting the earnings of the day down to the dime. You decide to take your shoes off and finish cleaning the tables without them.

This is the time you love the most. No one has stopped the 78s player, and the saxophone takes over the song in a magnificent solo. It's one of your favorites the joint plays. You hum along the music as you wipe spilled liquid from the tables and set the half-empty glasses on a tray.

The rest of the girls finished their closing duties while you were on stage, leaving you on your own. You prefer it that way. You don't like sharing a change room with judging women who think less of you because of your stage tactics. Muttered comments about your closeness with Harold once bothered you. Every stare was impregnated with unwarranted jealousy, and you were shut off. Yet the promise of singing for hours on end to a crowd made it bearable, even if it seems to grow distant as the days pass.

"Night, Y/N," you hear as a hand touches your back. You smile back at your friend, voice low in your goodbye return. "Don't arrive too late."

Sophie, hardly swayed away from her own opinions, is the only performer who doesn't ignore your existence. Maybe calling her a friend isn't entirely accurate, but having someone to talk to in dead moments backstage saved you from breaking down in tears many times. She offered you the spare room in her cousin's apartment when you most needed it. You keep to yourself, and she doesn't cross your boundaries. With her off the clock, only one other worker is left on the bar floor with you. And you couldn't wait any longer for the alone time.

A couple tables over, crossing the threshold of the bright stage light to the dim warm lights hovering over the bar, Jeonghan empties and cleans the glasses left half-full by men who prefer to follow the server girls around and dirty talk to their ears.

You walk away from your, now finished, duties to the sound of Jeonghan's question. "First time defiling a client's drink?"

He dries off a glass and sets it in front of your unofficially assigned seat.

The lighting in that part of the joint makes it hard to properly see, however, Jeonghan manages to keep the place happy and the customers entertained well enough, making him the clear favorite of the owners.

Before you prop down on the faded brown wooden chair, Jeonghan's already pouring gin and a splash of seltzer in the glass.

"A lady should not reveal her secrets."

On the way from its place to your lips, Jeonghan drops an ice cube and a slice of lime on your drink. He cares about the excellency of his cocktails. You care about unclenching your back muscles and forgetting the night.

"That was the last pour of my most expensive bourbon," he deadpans, but you catch the corner of his mouth tipping upwards. "You should have spilled it on his ridiculous hat."

"I like having the upper hand." You smile at his chuckle.

The cold drink burns down your throat as you watch Jeonghan slowly cleaning his space. He's accustomed to having your eyes on him, and your silence doesn't scare him off. You hum the last tune on the 78 as he moves around and dances lightly, the smell of different mixes of alcohol disappearing with the time.

Since the first time you were let down by Harold and his promises, Jeonghan gave you a space to slow down and let go of everything weighing you down. He was done for the day, putting on his hat to leave, when you stepped down the stage from the performer's door and sat down on his bar. He let you go on and on about Harold promising a prime time stage time for you only to take it away after. He served you a glass of his favorite bourbon and heard you complain without getting his eyes off you.

For the first time since entering the place, your past or your relationship didn't matter to someone.

You sip on your drink, letting it wash down every heated stare staining your skin and all the shameful words you had to say in the day.

It was all for nothing.

Tomorrow would be the last free show until the following week. Today was your chance to impress the joint's favorite clients and encourage them to invest in the place. Your chance to secure a spot during prime stage time on Sunday. It shouldn't have been a surprise that, to Harold, what you do for the place will never be enough.

"It's very idiotic for him not to put you on up there." Jeonghan's voice does a circle around you. You take your eyes off the lightless stage to find him leaning on the stool next to yours.

"He revealed the schedule?"

Doesn't matter how much it happens, each time fills you with embarrassment. You're just not good enough. Coming to that conclusion wasn't easy. How come something you love so dearly doesn't come naturally? How come, no matter how much effort you put into every walk, every glance, every word and song, you don't get better? Jeonghan being the first to hear the news makes it even worse.

"I heard Helen gloating about getting 9 again when she left the basement," Jeonghan explains, tone soft as if you were about to break.

"She'd pay you more attention if she knew how much Harold's parents like you more than him," you chuckle. You know how much it hurts being ignored because your job isn't deemed worthy enough.

"You talk as if I care." His hand finds your knee, and you let it sit there, lingering, incomparable to any others. "This place doesn't deserve you."

"I have nowhere else to go," you whisper, afraid to speak it into existence. "My family needs me to work."

You close your eyes and hide behind your hands, blocking tears from forming against your will. You haven't seen your parents in so long. At least they get the money you send them, you know as much because they write grateful letters back that you keep in a box under your bed.

The warmth from on your thigh spreads all across your body as Jeonghan stands in front of you, knees touching and hands cupping your jaw. He softly holds your head high, away from hiding, to look up at him.

"You can go back to them. You're not a prisoner here."

"You know I can't do that." You lean into his touch, his thumb caressing your cheek and the faint smell of his soap reaching your nose. "They can't see me like this, I told you."

"They want you to be happy, not miserable for a few coins."

"I will be happy, one day, far from this place. Only then, I can return."

Jeonghan doesn't argue with you. It's a topic you've touched on many times, and he knows your answer will be the same, that you can't run away from your only opportunity.

You jump at the sound of a door handle. Jeonghan puts enough space between your bodies before Harold and Tim make their way up the basement into the ground floor of the bar. But their blond heads barely nod your way, chuckling together about money issues. They get out the back door without turning back. You go seen but unacknowledged.

Though if they'd seen you two, really saw you, you doubt Harold would care. He hasn't cared about what you do off the stage in a long time, but you'd hate for Jeonghan to be on the receiving end of his anger.

"I have an idea." His hands are back at the sides of your face, as if the close call didn't matter.

You lock eyes again, a hopeful glint behind his makes you unable to look away. His thoughts are often unreadable, unpredictable. He tucks a strand of curled hair behind your ear and parts his lips looking at his hand go down your jaw.

"They could've seen us," you warn as his face enters your personal space.

Jeonghan's lips find yours in a mix of sighs and matching gin breath. He holds you close in his embrace, the feeling of his chest against yours replacing the bar digging into your back. You melt into his touch and his unmoving lips pressing yours with quiet passion, savoring the fleeting moment you get with him.

The lingering peck leaves you breathless. Neither of you want to part ways, but Jeonghan does so with a smile painting his face.

"We won't have to worry about them much longer."

"Did you see Mr. Miller paying with a $500 bill?"

"I bet he's giving out more of those downstairs."

"He could spare one for me."

The only empty cushioned chair in the changing room was opposite from the conversations being had, but the loud, proud voices of the Canaries allowed you to hear even the faintest switch in tones.

It was a special performance that day, as the speakeasy had to close early due to heavy policing in the neighborhood. Before any customer could get so drunk they had trouble taking a taxi home, Harold's parents announced the 9 p.m show would be the last of the day. Men were ready to spend the highest dollar bills they had in their pockets, it didn't matter that their play time was cut short.

Helen, Ruth and Anna were taking up all the mirror space, rushing to leave their faces with no trace of make-up and staining the old mirror in the process. Nothing was natural about the lipstick colors they chose, and as their painted cupid's bows disappeared with the swipe of a damp towel, you understood that their goal was drawing attention. Natural make-up wasn't in fashion anymore. You needed to understand their strategies to garner attention on stage.

"Mr. Davis stayed until the end," Helen announced to the room. "I thought he would leave before the show as he always does."

"Nothing a wink and a peek below the shoulder doesn't fix for you," Anna replied, and the three of them giggled in unison.

"Maybe I can convince him to make friends downstairs next Friday," Helen reasoned. "I'm sure his wife wouldn't mind."

"Harry would love that—"

"That is if Yoon doesn't do it first," Ruth interrupted the cheeky conversation, gaining a choir of groans in response.

Sophie was slowly getting undressed on the chair next to yours. She acted like she had all the time in the world, uncaring about what happened around her, but you knew she was listening to every word the others said. The look you two shared nearly took a chuckle out of you.

"He's always watching our stages with such serious looks," Anna added.

"I bet he's the one Harry says tries to convince his parents to change the show schedule," Helen offered, and the discussion continued while you feigned deaf ears.

You knew little of bartender Yoon then, but it was clear the women's view of him was skewed by something you couldn't quite comprehend. The few words you exchanged with him during your serving shift had been nothing but polite. You did feel his eyes on you during that day's show, but decided to push the thought aside. It had just been your first time being a background singer for Helen, and she had been so stern when giving you directions not to steal her show, you doubted anyone was looking anywhere but at her.

You were sliding down your natural-colored stockings when Harold knocked on the ajar door. The three of them batted their eyelashes at him, greeting him with soft tones you haven't heard from their mouths ever before, but he paid them no attention. Their brows frowned as he called your name and asked you to step outside.

If gazes could burn, your body would've been rendered to dust in the swipe of a brush.

Sophie patted you on the back as you stood up. She didn't have to, she barely knew you, but the quiet support helped you get rid of the nervousness of a sudden one to one talk with the boss.

Harold had told you the day before that he'd watch you closely. You knew his review was coming, that it'd be the time to prove yourself worthy. Had he liked it? Would he recommend you for a solo stage? Back then, it didn't matter what time slot you were given, if it meant you could stop serving and were allowed to sing your favorite song, by yourself, to a crowd.

"A lot of important clients watched tonight's show," Harold started. And indeed they had.

You had practiced the moves the entire week, the correct ways to sway your arms to match the other background singers, when to accentuate your hips and legs, but never to wink or tuck your hair. You knew the songs from beginning to end, your neighbors were surely tired of hearing you practicing reaching the low notes from dusk til dawn. You were to support Helen on her show, while simultaneously proving you could sing and follow instructions with hungry, wealthy eyes on you.

Maybe, if Harold was pulling you aside, was to tell you good news. Maybe practice and willingness was finally getting you somewhere.

"Did the owners watch the performance?" You asked, hopeful enough to earn a sigh from him.

"Were they in the audience?" He retorted. You felt silly to even ask. "I will tell them when to watch you."

The reality was becoming clearer by the second, but you still questioned him. "Then, how does the schedule work?"

"When our highest paying customers ask for you, when they stay for you and put your name on the bill to tip, then, you can earn your spot."

"That wasn't—I thought I was here to sing, no, you asked me here to play music. I'm no hoofer."

"I brought you here to keep the joint open. We keep it open with clients willing to empty their pockets every night, either downstairs or with the shows."

He didn't continue. You knew what he meant.

That morning, Harold had kissed you in his bed, watched you preparing breakfast and talked about the importance of that night's show. For a moment, you felt special. It was you he wanted his hands on when not working, it was you who he found in the city wilderness and helped when he didn't need to. That Harold wasn't the same you witnessed inside the walls of the joint.

Everyone saw you going home together each night, it was not a well kept secret. You endured judgment while he put on a façade in front of his parents. It wasn't love per se, why you stayed, it was a desire for something more.

The wooden floor creaked as he waited for your answer. You couldn't look up, ashamed of your too high expectations. "I'll do better."

By the time you finished changing your stage clothes and getting rid of the extravagant makeup, the place was deserted. The Canaries had left while you were with Harold, then he and a woman's voice you couldn't quite recognize passed by the changing room door, followed by his parents while you were cleaning the mirror enough for a reflection to look back.

Will Harold be waiting for you to come to his bed tonight? The thought did nothing, save for bore you. He liked you enough to slip his manhood between your legs until your inner thighs were slick with his release and he sighed against your neck, but never showed the infatuation outside of the walls of his home, and you were starting to grow tired. As quick as he reached his peak, he'd fall deeply asleep without having laid a finger on you, or he'd stay silent when Helen or Anna or Ruth made fun of the repeating schedule. Sooner or later, you knew he'd grow tired of you.

It was a needed uncomfortableness, you thought. You'd keep him happy for the time being and keep your place in the joint. If you weren't needed for the weekly jazz shows, then you had to prove your worth. You had to prove you were needed for it to stay afloat.

At least, you then learned of an alternative, thanks to Harold's running mouth when stressed. You could allure wealthy men without compromising much of yourself. A peek of skin, a soft touch to the shoulder, a mind game between your words and their need to be in women's eyes. Taking longer to return so Harold fell asleep alone was the easy fix you thought of. Later, you could find a new place to sleep. If money was the prime issue, you'd focus on that instead of the owners' son.

The bartender stayed late often, you knew he liked keeping an eye on the place, which is why you didn't find it odd that he was wiping down the cupboards when you stepped down the side of the stage.

"How late is it to ask for a drink?" You asked, mindless of his schedule after work.

He recognized you as you walked across the bar. He smiled and propped two freshly clean glasses in front of the middle stool, as if his closing tasks ceased having importance. "I always have time for one of our stars."

"I would not call myself a star," you chuckled, avoiding his eyes. "I only made my debut just today."

"I'm aware." He didn't ask what you wanted and neither did you tell him. He placed an ice cube in the two short glasses and poured the same amount of an orange-leaning liquid in both. He then grabbed the closest one to him and lifted it as a cheer. "Our finest bourbon as a celebration of your first show and six months working here."

You mirrored his motion, unable to fight the shock showing in your face at his words. The liquid stung down your throat.

"You know so much about me, but I must apologize, your name I don't recall." Your voice doesn't quiver, yet he smiles in understanding.

You thought of yourself to be important back then, so much so that you didn't bother meeting the workers unrelated to the stage. That was clear in your audacity to go and ask for a drink when he was supposed to leave.

Oh, if you knew how little it mattered one server whose dreams were unimportant.

"Your stage companions call me Yoon," he replied, playing with the rim of his glass but paying it no mind.

"They do, but that is not your name."

The corner of his mouth lifted at your rebuttal. He drank what was left of his drink and set it aside to wash again, yet he didn't take his eyes off you.

"Bartender Yoon Jeonghan, pleasure to meet you." He dramatized a shake of hands, allowing you both to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. "What brings you to wallow with a stranger at such hours of the night?"

As quickly as you could, you withdrew your hand from his. How, you didn't know, but Jeonghan reading your behavior so easily rippled a tremble down your veins. Concealing what was on your mind came with a stage job, acting a certain way to appeal to the audience was key, yet Jeonghan read there was something hidden behind your walls within seconds of meeting.

"Work troubles, you know," you attempted to swerve the conversation. He saw through it, you realized by his smirk still present, and you should've known he would. "I would not want to bore you."

"Countless men have come to get a drink and to let out their issues to a stranger like me." Jeonghan didn't give up on his quest. "And, to tell you the truth," he continued, "they all think of themselves to be infinite times more interesting than they are. I doubt you could be as boring as them."

After time and time hearing Harold and the other performers speaking so highly of the clientele, it was refreshing to hear someone else having similar opinions to yours.

That watchful Jeonghan made you chuckle, your cheeks warm due to the alcohol, and gave you a sense of comfort. You could've put him in trouble if you disclosed what you were conversing about, yet he spoke his mind regardless, all so you could open up.

"Well, I am sure I'm not the first one going through this, but I will tell you because you're making time for me." Your glass clinked against the bar, empty, along with Jeonghan's stare focusing on your next words. "Harold brought me to sing on the stage, and today was finally the day when the owners were supposed to watch me and decide if I had what they wanted."

"I see…" Instead of moving to wash your glass, he poured more bourbon in it.

You drank it all at once. "I feel like a fool. I should have known it wasn't all he wanted."

"Hmm," Jeonghan hummed in acknowledgement. You were unsure with which statement he was agreeing. "His parents have been worried about low income, not so kindly advising him to find new investors."

You didn't know how to react. Yes, you were ignorant regarding the joint's business, but you didn't think it would have repercussions on you. Very idiotic. You knew women weren't allowed in the basement for a reason, yet you never bothered to ask Harold. You heard the Canaries conversations about satisfying certain men, yet until that day, Harold had never asked you to do it as well.

At the rage of his parents, he took it out on you and your dream. You were stupid to think you were special in his eyes.

"Glad I'm not the issue here." Your tone came out lower than intended.

"It's not very nice what he's doing to you, but no, I believe he has other things to worry about."

Jeonghan waited in silence, letting you soak up the events of the night. He didn't need to stay behind, go over his working hours, and you didn't want to hold him back either.

It didn't hurt that Harold didn't love you. It didn't even hurt that he was using you, because, arguably, you were using him too. He needed you to keep the place open, and you needed the place open to do what you have always wanted.

And you weren't the only one he was using, if the flowery perfume out of your price range you smelled on his bed, and that he hadn't gone back to look for you were clues of it. That moment, you pitied whoever he had between his arms instead of you. Poor woman wouldn't be satisfied by his refusal to find a female's pleasure place.

"He's not very worried about me, I'm sure of that."

"He's a rake," Jeonghan declared. You wanted to agree, but a smile was all you could muster. "And a selfish one."

You knew the joint was empty, that you and Jeonghan were the only people lonely enough to be there still, but not even the dim lights and background silence eased your nerves of speaking that way out loud. "You cannot say those things!"

"I've known him for long, he knows my thoughts." His serious tone and growing smirk threw mixed signals your way, but it was nothing you could argue with. "And, apologies if my assumptions are unfounded, but you don't seem infatuated with him as the others."

"I suppose I am not, not anymore."

You didn't have to think about your answer, it had become clear earlier. Whether the other stage girls were in love with Harold or were pretending like you, an act in your demeanor must've revealed your truth to Jeonghan. You didn't have to pretend.

"How do you know all of this? No one remembered that I started working six months ago today." You were rather evident in your search for his truth.

"I like to keep an eye on what happens under this roof."

Jeonghan held eye-contact for an undecipherable amount of time, as if his statement wasn't anxiety inducing.

"Will you let the owners know that I was badmouthing their son?"

"That would put me in a difficult position, would it not?"

"I guess it would."

As long as your rendezvous remained unknown to the rest of the workers, you didn't mind that Jeonghan observed and understood everything you thought you were properly disguising. You knew Jeonghan wouldn't reveal what you said, at least if he didn't want to come into trouble by hearing Harold being deprecated and doing nothing about it, or worse, deprecating him as well.

At that moment, you felt weightless. You enjoyed the thought of a person understanding you beyond what you present to the world, without having to explain yourself.

You broke the silence before the night turned longer. "I'm sorry for compelling you to stay here. I shall leave now. Thank you for hearing me."

"You were no bother." Jeonghan's hands tidied up the space, yet his body was turned your way. "Are you going to find him?" He asked, a mix of shy and curious and another feeling you couldn't pinpoint.

"That is not your concern," you snickered. "I have a bed to sleep on. My life does not revolve around him."

"Good." The line of his lips fought a smirk.

You turned around with a smile. You needed to get out of there. "Good night, Jeonghan."

"You're welcome any time."

His voice sounded distant as the back door came closer. You couldn't turn back to watch him. He couldn't see your reaction. And the invitation remained on the air, a flicker of hope.

You did take Jeonghan up on his offer. It wasn't the plan. But like many things that are out of people's control, you didn't anticipate disappointment to become a constant in your life.

Week after week, show after show, client after client, each time that Harold dismissed you, excusing his actions as part of an elaborate plan to keep his family's speakeasy open, you understood that nothing you did was ever going to satisfy him.

Helen reigned the stage each weekend, her shadow filled by you and your voice. Her numbers changed weekly, yet her final song remained the same, as did the way she commanded the attention of the men sitting at the back with ladies on their laps. Your body danced mechanically, your voice in tune with the melody you practiced, your weekly routine of trial, and trial, and trial, and failure. It never changed, save for your eyes getting looser, finding Jeonghan's just in front of the liquor section. He hadn't lied that night.

He was always watching. And he always welcomed you at the end of the night, glass propped on his station, ready to listen to you talk. Most times you complained about Harold, other times you asked Jeonghan to take your mind off everything. And, on rare occasions, you both chose to stay silent, enjoying the other's company while finishing tasks.

Jeonghan became a key part of your day to day life swiftly, like a thread going through silk.

One night, you were set to talk to Harold after not seeing him for weeks.

After your first show, he had vanished, never invited you over to his place again, never sent sweet looking smiles with more behind them. His trips to Chicago were longer, his time on the gambler's table as well. It was like you didn't exist. It wasn't his kisses or his touches you missed, you realized after the first few days. There wasn't anything to miss. What you needed was reassurance that you weren't dragging yourself through the mud for nothing.

You found Harold on the way out of the basement, behind Mr. Miller and Mr. Davis and... with Helen peppering kisses on the side of his neck.

It wasn't surprising. You weren't together, he owed you nothing, and she resented you for being with him and probably jumped at the chance. Your eyes locked with hers as she smugly continued. You didn't want to pity her, but she didn't need to draw the owner's son's attention to get what she wanted. She was talented and easily the favorite Canary out of all of you. You didn't blame her at that moment for wanting it all, but rather despised Harold for taking advantage of her.

The talk went as quick as a flick of Helen's hair. Harold wasn't interested in you anymore, and he reluctantly agreed to talk to his parents about giving you more time on stage.

The realization hit you in the shape of warmth flushing your chest. There was only one person you wanted to tell the good news to: the quiet bartender whose late night conversations had become your favorite part of the job.

Being on the stage alone was everything you thought it would, and simultaneously nothing like it.

The week prior you spent perfecting your number. Filling a 30 minute slot by yourself was no easy feat, but it was a type of stress you welcomed. You sang your favorite songs during every free time you got, picking and choosing the ones that sounded nice together, matching with elegant thought out moves. You watched the other girls perform during the week, a smaller audience since the non-weekend shows were expensive, and informed yourself what the clients liked more.

Not only you had to impress with your talents, you had to keep an audience in awe of you. It wasn't as hard as it seemed, but you wanted to stand out. Doing what worked for the other Canaries wasn't the way to remain in people's minds. It was an interesting study.

Jeonghan didn't see you that week. Not that you had no complaints for him to chuckle at, but you were so focused on excelling that you had no time to spare.

That Saturday, you stayed up until 3 in the morning fixing old stitches on your best gown. It wasn't the most fashionable, it wouldn't compare to the previous looks the audience was going to see, but it was yours. You weren't going to hide behind the fancy dresses in the changing room. Your performance had to be authentic.

You practiced your make-up to flatter your eyes, undoubtedly the part that was going to be watched the least. If the men weren't looking at your leg cutting through the opening you made on your dress, then you had to look them in the eye and, for that moment, giving them a chance to fall.

And your work wasn't in vain.

You did finally arrange a show and performed it in front of an audience. Yet, as soon as you got on stage, time appeared to change its workings, because your dream was over faster than a pour of water.

Song after song, melody after melody, the last thing you thought of was how long you had been waiting, or that less than a third of the tables had clients sitting on them, sober enough to watch you. It was okay, because the light was finally on you, singing your heart out and bringing your imagination to life.

You had to step down the stage eventually. Unfortunately. Your show was the last of the day, and people started leaving as soon as the clocks indicated it was 1 in the morning.

As always, you were the last Canary to leave. The technique to be off by the time the last client leaves was to start cleaning tasks during the last show of the night. The men left were either too drunk or too into flirting with another woman to care that they were essentially being kicked out as soon as the music stopped

You reached the table floor after changing back into normal clothes, maybe more disappointed that you were alone than from the poor audience you had to entertain. The yellow lights over the bar were still on, giving you a flicker of hope that erupted into flames when you heard shuffling sounds behind you.

Jeonghan stood between the empty tables, beside the bar's expensive record player. The wind-up phonograph was kept safe in a glass case that could only be opened with one set of keys. Jeonghan, you saw, had them in his hand with that exact purpose.

You dodged and fixed chairs left messily standing on the way, with a smile that didn't match working over hours and cleaning up people's messes. "You will get in trouble if they see a scratch."

No one was allowed to touch the record player. Not even Harold.

"I could blame it on Mr. Davis, it would be believable enough," Jeonghan joked. Mr. Davis was known for being clumsy when drunk, even breaking several glasses, but that idea didn't ease the little anxiety. "I'm careful, you shouldn't worry. I'm good with my hands."

He gave you no time to fix your breathing. Hiding from your sight, there was a big envelope he opened with ease. You couldn't recognize it, and you watched in awe as Jeonghan gently placed the fragile record on the player. Everything he touched held a delicate feel, even the large needle placed on the fragile record, until every piece was in place.

You had never seen a player being put together so closely before, and his casualness left you in awe.

"Do you own one?"

"I do," he replied, closing the glass case once more, now with a new record in, ready to play. "Do you?"

"Oh, no. I wish." You shouldn't have felt embarrassed, you knew Jeonghan wasn't asking out of spite, but rather genuine curiosity. "My parents couldn't afford it. Our neighbors had one and I would listen to the records they played over the wall. I've seen one up close, but neither my neighbor or her husband dared to touch it when I was around. I loved being in their home, but they were right to not let me get too close to their player. I would've broken it with one touch."

He nodded at your story, smiling to himself. "Why don't you get one for your home now? Your neighbors would be jealous."

"I don't live with my parents anymore, and my neighbors passed away a few years ago."

"I'm sorry." Jeonghan aimed to lay an assuring hand on your shoulder, but hesitated and went back to lay on the player. "Why don't you live with your parents?"

You realized then how vague you had been when talking about your living situation. You couldn't blame him for asking.

"That's a conversation to be had with a drink in hand," you chimed.

It had been a while since you stopped feeling guilty about asking for drinks at night. Jeonghan chuckled lightly at your non-answer request, and turned on the player before heading back to the bar. It always took a little while for the music to start, so you followed him.

By that time, you'd become familiar with the different illicit alcohols available at the bar. The Prohibition didn't stop Jeonghan from finding the best of the best.

"Try this one today."

He slid a glass over to where you were sitting. The usually orangy liquid was now clear as water, with tiny bubbles fizzled on the sides and a slice of lime as decoration. Jeonghan was on a self-imposed quest of finding your favorite drink. You did not have one, and that did not stop him.

"It's gin tonic," he replied to your unasked question. "Sweet and sour."

"Different." You had become accustomed to the drinks he served to most men, the ones that were thick and bitter and couldn't be drunk quickly unless one was already dizzy.

"More your style," he simply replied.

Jeonghan's eyes followed your every move, your fingers draped around the cold glass, your lipstick-stained lips on the rim, your throat gulping down the drink he's been thinking about for weeks.

It was a bartender thing, he thought. He wanted to see you, his most unusual client, satisfied.

The condensation formed around the glass left your lips wet after setting it down. You licked them clean, the faint taste of the lime slowly overpowering the bitterness of the gin.

"That was just as strong as last week's bourbon," you joked.

Jeonghan's face was unreadable. He stared in silence as you let the taste of another sip wash down your throat. Once you got used to the after-taste bitterness, the drink was enjoyable, the perfect mixture of bitter and sour, with just the right amount of sweet.

"I think we found it," he said under his breath.

His mouth opened and closed, hesitant. You preferred the silence to what you knew was waiting for you after he asked what he wanted.

It was then when the record player decided it was time. A soft hum of a low bass invaded the space, cutting through your avoidance and Jeonghan's wonders. You recognized it within the first note.

"This one is my favorite!" You jumped off your seat, already imagining what it would be like to sing a song like that one. "I wanted to perform it today, but I could never do it justice."

"I heard you singing it on Tuesday, liked it, and bought a 78."

Even when you didn't spend time together, he paid attention. You didn't think anyone had heard you singing, but you should have thought Jeonghan would.

"Are you secretly rich? These are a rare kind!"

Jeonghan chuckled, going around the bar like he owned the place. "You would be surprised at how many drunk men tip you when you hear their affairs."

"Oh, am I not the only one you share drinks and secrets with?"

"They could be future investors, it's my job to be kind to them," he deadpanned. "I spend time with you because it is what I want."

His words should have not elicited such a warm rush of blood, yet it coursed through your system against your will. The dim lights might've hidden your face, but if Jeonghan was going to notice something, was your body becoming more shy the closer he got to you.

"How did you come to work here? I haven't asked." He knew your story, your problems with Harold. You took the opportunity to skew the conversation away from what made you flush.

Jeonghan held a hand high, stretched so his palm faced the dimly lit ceiling, and motioned for you to take.

"I will tell you over a dance."

You had no proper attire. The shoes you bought months ago were starting to get worn from everyday use. Your gown was purposely a discreet brown, knee long, unlike dancer dresses with vivid color and short to allow the legs to move.

If it was any other man asking, you'd politely refuse. A woman shouldn't be dancing with whoever asked, and being under-dressed was wrong too.

Yet, Jeonghan was no stranger. You had always struggled to make friends, and this feeling of easiness you had never felt with anyone. Every day, you found yourself wanting the clock to be over, for the joint to be empty, all so you and Jeonghan could have your late night talks.

You took his hand and bowed with a thickening smile.

To the rhythm of your favorite song, Jeonghan placed his other hand just above your hip. He guided you to turn in slow circles, as much as the little space available let you.

His stare burned a blush on your cheeks, but you refused to return the gaze. Harold was the only man you had ever been so close to, yet it would have been ridiculous to compare anything you lived with him to how you felt at that moment.

Jeonghan wasn't imposing, he wasn't making the situation to leave you with no choice. From the placement of his hands, to the polite distance between your chests, you were alone in a room that wouldn't welcome another person until the next morning, and you didn't doubt you were safe.

"So, how did you find this place?"

"I hope this doesn't break your trust in me," he began. What a start! "Harold's parents, Homer and Celia, took me in when I was little."

"That is… a big piece of information," you couldn't avoid stumbling over your words. "I guess I should not be surprised."

"Why?" He scowled, finding your little shock amusing. "They are hardly here, and Harold does not care to hide his dislike for me even if I choose not to say we were raised together."

"Yes, the owners might not be seen here, but you forget, Harold's personality does not change in his home. He hates you over the normal amount for a co-worker." That earned a chuckle from him, and your closeness allowed his breath to fan your face. "So, they offered you a job and he hates you because the clients prefer you?"

"I asked them to place me here," he revealed, smile fainter than before, "I felt like I owed it to them. I didn't want to depend on other people, even if they never complained about having to spend money on me. But I was always on Harold's bad side. He didn't like sharing with a street kid with no family, and didn't like being put boundaries by his parents either."

"I'm sorry, that must've been awful. His parents sound nice, I've never spoken to them."

"Yeah, his—our parents, they were good. I always knew me and Harold weren't the same, and they've made mistakes when raising us, but they meant well. I live on my own now, and came to like this god-forsaken joint. I'll have my own one one day, maybe when the Prohibition lifts."

When it came to family dynamics, there was little comfort you could offer Jeonghan at that moment. However difficult your home life was, it couldn't compare to being taken in by strangers when you had no one left. You didn't want to sour the evening further, but you had to talk after him.

"I'm living with Sophie, do you know her?" Jeonghan nodded. "At the beginning, I accepted when Harold invited me to his place, not only because I thought I meant something to him," you were ashamed to accept it out loud and decided to look down to the wooden floor to continue, "I needed somewhere to be without my parents.

"I know I should be grateful I have a mom and dad who took care of me even in the toughest moments, but I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't bear to see their relationship becoming more about tolerance than love. Some time between working to maintain our home and having to raise me and my unattainable dream, their fire just burned away, and being home was not comfortable and safe anymore, but rather draining."

"Have you gone back since?" His touch hardened in reassurance.

"No," you replied, frozen in place. "Have you?"

"Not as much as I'd like."

He didn't ask for more from you, which you were glad for. Jeonghan remained silent, let you rest your head on his shoulders and swayed you in a non-dance until the song ended.

The silence was suffocating. You felt warm all around from being in Jeonghan's hold, fearing he'd feel your heart beating so fast he'd think you were having a heart attack. And maybe you were. You had just openly spoken out loud the worst thing you have ever done.

"I hope you don't think of me as a horrible person," you whispered.

You couldn't bear the thought of ruining the one good thing you had managed to gain while stepping over people to achieve a stupid dream.

"I would never think of you that way." Two fingers held your chin high from your hiding place, and you had no other choice but to look up at Jeonghan. "Everyone has their reasons. It would not be fair to judge you for doing what you had to."

"I abandoned my family for a foolish dream that has not worked out. It's been a year, and I have barely taken one step in the right direction."

"Expecting to accomplish a lifelong dream without a fight would be foolish, not this. You're working hard, and it paid off today. You were amazing on stage." He sounded sincere. "It was like no other show I've seen."

Tears were dripping down your blushed cheeks. Even then, Jeonghan managed to make you smile. "It was over so fast, I barely remember a thing."

"Trust my word. You have nothing to fear. Be confident in your talent."

"You should talk to the owners about me then, now that I know why they like you so much."

"Harold will duel me if I do so."

Your giggle elicited a matching chuckle of his. He held you closer than before, with both of his hands on your lower back. You welcomed the change in topic and a lessened atmosphere, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You're not awful for being with him either."

Jeonghan acknowledging your past with Harold was like a punch in the gut. It wasn't a secret, and you had complained about it countless times with him, but it was always you who did the talk. You had assumed he pittied you, as you pittied Helen.

"I was a fool for thinking he saw something in me. I wanted to feel that spark."

"He's the fool if he doesn't see how special you are."

You felt a stool digging on your skin, just below where Jeonghan's hands had taken place. You had stopped dancing at some point, you weren't sure when, but you were back to the yellowy darkness of the bar.

"Do you think this place is good for us?" Jeonghan raised a brow at your question, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Not legal, but good to get somewhere after."

"Are you perhaps planning on leaving?" He joked, yet a tint of disappointment was evident in his tone.

"I don't know. I'm not there yet, but maybe in the future, when I'm better settled."

You saw in his eyes, there were more questions on his mind. You didn't explain further, already nervous due to his sudden closeness.

You were pinned between the stool and his wide shoulders, at the mercy of his want to never end the conversation.

"I wouldn't blame you if you left," he settled on saying. "Being around Harold must be hard."

"It's not because of him, but rather his unwillingness to fulfill the promise he made me. Leave it to me to put my trust in a questionable man."

You wanted to laugh at your life choices. Looking back, it should've been obvious that after denying him more unsatisfying sex, he'd put you aside and pick another impressionable woman. Jeonghan didn't find it very funny.

"I could talk to Celia, if you want me to," he offered with the utmost sincerity you had accustomed to hear from him.

"There's no need. They'll come one day and I'll impress them."

He nodded, unsatisfied. "Would you tell me if you needed me to?"

"Jeonghan, it's okay. I'm not telling you this to manipulate you into helping."

"I know you are not. I'm—I want you to know that you can trust me."

Jeonghan looked as if he was pleading you to.

It would not be fair to make a comparison, but you couldn't help it. You thought about the men you saw every day. The men rich enough to buy the world. They came to the bar, bored of their perfect, simple, safe lives, and eyed women who faked interest in them. A self-centered life that stained every corner of the speakeasy, except for the bar.

All the men you came to know were exactly like one another. Drunk wealthy cheaters who cared for no one but themselves. Of those qualities, Jeonghan couldn't be farther from.

"I do," you sincered. "I trust you."

"Good." He exhaled.

Your words relaxed him in place, and he was somehow closer to you than before. He towered over you even when his back was no longer stiff. It felt like a final wall crumbling down. Jeonghan could see even your ugliest parts. The shameful parts, the foolish ones, the ones who chased a dream. You hadn't scared him off.

His dark eyes locked with yours, like a mirror of your thoughts. He had also shared his story. Was he feeling the same as you? Like you could talk about anything with him forever?

The last ounce of trust you had leaned into a 'yes, he did'.

Your heart tugged with something new. Something that made your stomach boil and your skin burn where Jeonghan was touching.

His gaze hadn't derailed from yours. He was watching every thought going through your mind. The trust you felt seemed like something more. You trusted Sophie too, but it wasn't quite the same. If whatever it was, Jeonghan felt it too like you thought, then it'd be no problem.

Your eyes traveled down his face, analyzing his expression as best as you could with the poor lighting. You got caught up on the lower half, on his lips slightly parted to exhale.

Jeonghan crossed the line first.

He was hesitant as he pressed his lips on yours. The touch was soft like no other, giving you a way of breaking it if it was not what you wanted.

Before he could step away and leave a peck as simply that, you cradled the back of his neck, pushing him harder against you. At your encouragement, his hand grabbed your jaw and guided you to him. You both sighed and relaxed into each other, as if you had been waiting a lifetime to feel a kiss like that.

Jeonghan's other arm wrapped around your waist and lifted you over the stool. Your lips molded together, unwilling to separate even when changing positions. You hadn't realized how much you wanted Jeonghan to be the one to make you feel all that you were missing. He kissed you with a purpose, and whatever it was, you weren't going to get in the way.

His tongue licked over your top lip and deepened the kiss. It was indecent and filthy, wrong in every sense of the word, yet stopping was nowhere present in your mind.

Jeonghan led the kiss just like he had led the dance: slow and caring and with only you in mind. Every sound that escaped from you set him in the correct direction. You let him take care of you, let him explore the only part of you unknown to him.

You followed his hand on your jaw and his fiery kiss wherever Jeonghan guided you. His thumb swiped over your lower lip and you opened up to him. He tasted the remains of his drink and erased any trace of someone else. He didn't know he was the only one you had ever really wanted, the only one capable of blurring everything around you and making you focus on the electricity flowing with every touch of your lips.

Your foreheads leaned on the other as you broke the kiss. You breathed on each other, the reality of what happened dawning on you.

"This is wildly inappropriate," you sighed out.

Jeonghan couldn't hide the smile your breathless words elicited.

"We wouldn't want to be improper in such a distinguished establishment."

Of course, Jeonghan was unable to spend a second without making you giggle even in the tensest situations.

Your hands drifted down to his chest, feeling the way it filled with air under your touch. He pushed his hips between your legs, slowly as to give you time to reject more advances. Your lack of stocking lets you feel him directly. You wanted nothing more than to continue feeling him, to let him show you that touching and kissing could feel desirable.

"Is this okay with you?" He asked as his fingers raked down the side of your back.

You nodded and looked into his eyes. He touched and gripped at your chest and thighs over the fabric of your dress, testing each reaction you gave him. You were too reactive to every touch, but he kept going, with more fervor each time you squirmed.

"Did he ever—"

"No." Harold never touched you, not like that. Harold didn't make you sigh onto his lips, didn't draw you to chase his touch, didn't care to know what you liked.

To say that Jeonghan was shocked would've been underplaying everything that went through his mind.

"That damn louse." He hardly ever sweared, but every bit of information you gave him made everything more intense.

He lowered his face and placed kisses down your jaw. You sighed into the thick air around you. Everywhere was on fire, and you didn't want Jeonghan to ever stop.

His hand found the hem of your dress, hiked up above your knees as his hips pushed you two closer. He found your inner thigh, and you shivered.

"You've only been with him?" Jeonghan dared to ask.

"Yes, but—" You were clueless as to how to best explain. He waited for you, halted his touches until you were ready. "He never really touched me. I got him off and he fell asleep."

Jeonghan was shocked once more. "I'd get a good laugh if what you tell me wasn't too outrageous."

"I guessed men were all like him. I have not heard other canaries complaining about their experiences with him."

"Did you complain about him with others hearing?" He tilted his head to the side with a smirk. Except for him, he meant. You shook your head. "Were you okay with me touching you?"

He talked so openly about such an improper topic, you had to hide your face on the crook of his neck so he wouldn't see you blush.

Sex was never something you were allowed to talk about. You touched yourself when the moon was high in the sky, covered your mouth so no one would hear. When Harold was soundly asleep, you twitched at his side searching for what you gave him hours before.

Instead of answering Jeonghan's question, you found his hand under the skirt of your dress. He had distanced from where you wanted him the most, massaging just above your knee. You slid his palm up your inner thighs until his fingers grazed over your underwear. You pressed your head against his clavicle at the feeling.

"Do you want me to touch you? I need you to say it." Jeonghan pretended your reactions had no effect on him, yet the heavy rise and fall of his chest told you another story.

"Please, touch me."

His other hand found your jaw under his shoulder and lifted it up so his mouth could find your neck. "I can make you feel things he never did." He whispered in your ear.

Burning fire coursed down your body into your pulsing core. Jeonghan touched where you felt damp and groaned against your neck. Anything other than your hand was foreign to your core. Even Harold's hard hadn't ventured higher than the pressing skin of your thighs.

"Relax for me."

You obeyed without much thinking, opening up your legs further.

Jeonghan's fingers drew circles where you felt most sensitive. It was a stark contrast to the times when you were desperate enough to touch yourself. Those times had been rushed, shameful even. You didn't want to spend so much time chasing something you weren't sure you deserved.

Yet, in that moment, you wanted to drown in Jeonghan's slow, thoughtful touches. He grazed over every point that went often overlooked. He listened to your reactions, your moans and deep inhales in his ear, and went back to replicate each one of them.

"You sound so sweet," he purred as he pressed harder against your core. "Has he heard you moaning like this? I'd wager he hasn't. He doesn't deserve you."

Every word coming out of his mouth sent shivers down your spine. You could feel your underwear getting uncomfortably wet, sticking to your core and letting you feel each swipe of Jeonghan's fingers better.

"Jeonghan," you sighed into his neck. Your hands gripped the sides of his coat, pushing his chest and arms inevitably closer to yours. "I—"

"Let me make you feel good, like you deserve."

A gush of cold air snuck between your thighs. Jeonghan had moved your underwear to the side. The pads of his fingers touched your wet lips gently, getting you accustomed to the unfamiliar skin. Your hips jerked in his direction, pressing his hand harder against you like you never felt.

"I want—" your thoughts were clouded by his fingers circling the spot that made you gasp. It felt immoral to want it, it felt wrong to even ask it, but Jeonghan kept pleasuring you without a second thought. He wanted to give you anything you asked. It couldn't possibly be as wrong as society deemed it, not if it felt so good. "Make me feel good, please Jeonghan."

Jeonghan let all the air out of his lungs in relief.

Everything became too much for you to handle. Jeonghan let go of everything shielding him from pleasuring you like you deserved, according to him. Every swipe of his fingers against your wet core was thought out, with one purpose.

Your dress stretched far more than it should. It gave in to the pressure of Jeonghan holding your legs open as you trembled on his stool. You heard fabric ripping somewhere along your thighs, but nothing mattered over the bubbling feeling at the pit of your stomach.

Jeonghan muttered, praising nonsense against your ear. Your body reacted to each word with a jerk of your hips, yet you registered nothing beside kisses on your neck and frantic fingers chasing your release. You tugged at his hair, gripped his arms muscles, held on to every bit of his body available within grabbing distance. He was so impossibly close, his hand so impossibly wet gliding over your core.

It wasn't gradual like you were used to. No. Jeonghan pressed on your clit and bit your earlobe and you were done for.

Flames burst without warning across your entire body. Your vision went white. Your knees closed on his hips, holding on to Jeonghan as you quivered against his hand. He kissed along your neck until he found your lips again. You kissed him lazily, letting your breathing go back to normal.

That was how it was supposed to feel? Your throat felt coarse from sounds you didn't even hear you were making. You had never felt too in tune, yet disconnected from your body, known yet unfamiliar.

"Tell me how you feel," Jeonghan asked, demanding yet shy.

"I had never—I didn't know it was like that." Words were hard to find.

Jeonghan let you settle down. He cleaned his hand on the sink and cleaned the mess between your inner thighs. It all felt too intimate, too real. The reality of what you did was dawning on you fast. You two were nothing, and you let him take you like it was nothing.

"Is everything okay?" Of course, Jeonghan read you like an open book. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

You looked down his body, the shadow of his hardness drawing your attention. He made you feel good and you didn't give him anything in return. You were just like Harold.

"I'm sorry. It was all too much," you replied first to his question. You nodded to his hips and asked, "Do you want me to…"

"No need." Jeonghan shook his head, fighting a smile. "Let's go outside."

He had a case of cigarettes in one hand, and stretched the other for you to take.

The back of the bar shone with one streetlight on. The street on the side was clear, as the mandatory curfew would start less than an hour later. Jeonghan lit the cigarette and handed it to you. You inhaled softly. You didn't want the smell to carry onto Sophie's place and raise more questions from her part.

"We could open a proper joint some day," Jeonghan proposed, smiling to himself at the idea. "You'd have all the stage time in the world."

His voice echoed against the grey wall in front of you. There was no reason for him to think of something like that, which only made you match his smile.

"Are you making future plans with me already?" You laughed it off incredulously.

Jeonghan had an easy way for your spiraling thoughts to stop. He brought you back to the real world with a crazy thought and a quirked smile. He was the Jeonghan that made your work days bareable, he wouldn't let you overthink about how wrong everything you felt was.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, and you tingled with the remainder of being pressed against him.

"I'm serious! I like it here but not for it to be my life, and you don't like it here that much either."

"I can't disagree with that."

Could you do it? It was another dream added to your growing list. Opening a jazz bar with none other than Yoon Jeonghan. The thought was crazy enough, but he had said it out loud. He had put it out into the world.

thank you so much for reading! i didn't start writing tihs with the idea of doing it in parts, but life happened :( I'll get to writing the last part asap!

Even before crossing the door, you can hear the noise coming from inside the stadium.

With MLB season at the verge of starting, the team's training days have become longer, their passion stronger, and their presence a ton more palpable in the air than before. It's not so different from any other day from the past weeks, but it still requires a deep breath before coming in.

The first time you stepped foot in the stadium, you were mesmerized by the sheer amount of open space, the different rooms, and the large dining area with glass doors going into the field. But, even after so much time working inside those walls, sometimes it's still hard to grasp the concept of getting to spend your afternoons here, watching the players you used to see on TV and being a part of the little league kids' lives before they get big.

Some days are better than others, like any other job, and you might not have the most important job out there, but you've grown fond of the history happening in the stadium.

The glass door opens under the push of your hands, and you're welcomed by the music from the radio coming from the speakers, and of course, more noise. It shouldn't be bad for long though, because you checked on the schedule before coming in and saw the team's practice was cut short due to unforeseen circumstances—whatever that means.

You change in the employees locker-room, the last minutes before setting the previous barista free. For the next 8 hours you'll be serving cold smoothies to whoever is on the clock. With no practice, it will most likely be a boring and slow day. The dream.

"Hey! You look cheerful… ready to clock in?"

Minghao joins you as you sit and wait for the hour to start. You're not clocking in even a minute earlier.

"As ready as I can!" You respond with a clearly fake smile.

When you saw you were on the schedule with him, it was a relief. It's no restaurant during peak dining hours, but the stadium's diner can be an overwhelming place when an entire team of hungry and tired men sit down. A bad or good coworker can change the day drastically. Even a boring one.

"At least it'll be a slow day, huh?" You chat while he changes behind the curtain.

"Slow? Didn't you see?"

"See what? I thought the team's practice was done for today."

Just a few minutes before, you saw their uniforms walking towards the players' locker rooms. You thought you'll serve some of them who'll prefer to eat something before leaving and that's it.

"Yeah, the MLB team's practice is. But they just bumped up the senior little league's for today." He barely pays you attention as he ties his shoelaces.

The news makes your hands feel clammy, but you persist. "I thought they were starting next week."

Kids. Kids you can handle. Sure, this will affect the entirety of the day in a way you didn't think of beforehand, but it's just the kids. You've got to know them all pretty well after spending plenty of seasons serving them during breaks.

"Apparently some of them got injured so they want to start practicing the new plays ASAP."

"That's so unfortunate!"

You've been a close witness to how hard those kids train to be a part of Little League. Each year they come back with more hunger than before, and the new ones that keep joining work twice as hard to keep up.

"Don't act like you won't enjoy it."

"You think that way of me? Kids got hurt!"

"Oh, no!" Minghao dramatizes, "it sucks that coach Boo will spend double the time here!"

You focus on the last part of his mocking instead of giving in. "Double the time?"

"You really don't check your e-mails."

"Just tell me!" You roll your eyes and get up from your seat as the hour's about to start.

"MLB practice is moving to the spring training center for a while and Little League is getting both slots until they come back."

As much as you hate to admit it—and you will never do it out loud, getting extra time to stare at the Little League coach from afar isn't the worst thing in the world.

Prodigy pitcher turned one of the best coaches in the country, Boo Seungkwan is nothing if not an amazing sportsman to idolize and worship from your perfect spot just by the glass windows. It was your love for the sport that drew you into working at the stadium, and interacting with Seungkwan, at least fleetingly, that helped you stay.

As you and Minghao leave the locker room, the field outside starts getting filled with the Little League team. All ages from 13 to 16, the kids talk to their friends while arranging themselves in a circle to pay attention to their coach. When you focus your eyes, you can see one of the girls with a cast on her right arm, and another one with a medical boot around her right ankle.

"I guess it's not going to be a boring day after all," you try to drive the conversation with Minghao back. "The kids will be more hungry than ever."

"And you'll have a view while you're at it." Minghao follows your eyes into the field just as the coach walks out and calls the team's attention. Damn him.

"You better shut up before I—"

"You don't scare me!" Minghao interrupts, and gives you no time to yell back.

He goes out the glass door into the field to help with practice—they need as much help as they can get with the new schedule, while you have to stay back and replace the previous barista.

"You need to tell your work husband to respect me," you tell Soonyoung, who's standing behind the bar, witnessing the whole interaction with a smirk.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He avoids your eyes, grabbing his bag from under the counter, already ready to leave.

Soonyoung never uses the locker room. He probably doesn't know where exactly it is, even after months of working here. You've always thought it was smart of him, because he's always ready to leave the second his shift is over, but today, that excuse won't do.

"Next time, I'll punch him in the nose and you can nurse him back to health."

Even with his back turned to you and walking away, he manages to flip you off. What a great start of the day.

A few MLB team members hang out on the tables while you wipe the rest of them. It's just an excuse to be seen doing something instead of standing behind the bar looking bored. They eventually take off to their homes, leaving your work space empty once and for all.

You don't really mind having nothing to do for a while. Time may run faster when you have a list of chores to check, but watching baseball practice from afar as if it was your TV screen does a good job at it too.

The field outside, a reddish clay color with green grass on the sidelines, endures the stomping of about 12 kids running in big circles while the pitchers do balance exercises. Minghao's back is to you, surveilling the runners with a watch in his hand. You've been trying to get busy with any possible chore, so you don't know how many laps the kids ran already, but they look as tired as if they were on a marathon.

On the other side of the field, the 6 pitchers follow Coach Boo's instructions. They stand on one leg for minutes, then throw a ball to the kid in front of them, a safe 10 meters away. A pretty standard warming session.

Seungkwan gives all of them indications, helps them with the position of the arms and legs, even demonstrating by throwing a ball to Minghao and hitting him on the back.

With everything turning upside down for the day, you haven't registered the weirdly formal attire he's wearing. Usually, the coach wears the team's uniform, plus a baseball hat with his name on it. But today. Today Seungkwan forgo the orange jersey, opting for a black and white button up with loose sleeves that drift up his shoulders every time he demonstrates a throw.

What he didn't opt out of was the white pants, so clean and tight one would think they haven't been worn once. As Seungkwan notices his legs in the wrong position for the throw, he shifts and flexes his muscles before his right arm extends to its full length at an angle.

The blend of polyester and spandex of the lower part of the uniform stretch perfectly over his hips and thighs, leaving little to the imagination. You've never seen a man with such a prominent ass that only accentuates with a change of clothes. You shouldn't be eyeing him so shamelessly, but it's there on your line of sight, and you're only admiring the curves abruptly turning circular then blending into the flesh of his tights.

"Ahem!" A cough way too close to your form takes you out of your thoughts.

Slowly and with fear, you turn around, finding the two girls that can't play for the season staring at you as if they are about to burst out laughing.

"Oh, hi guys!" You straighten your posture with the best polite smile you can master. "Did you want to order something?"

One of the girls, who's name you're pretty sure is Wendy, giggles as she takes out her phone. The other, Alice, pretends to think for a second before deciding.

"Two strawberry smoothies," Alice smiles, but side-eyes her friend.

Right, that's their favorite. You remember that. You know every kids' favorite thing to order during their break.

For the first time in forever, you're grateful the blender makes so much noise when breaking up the ice. You don't know how you'd handle the awkward silence as the girls watch your every move.

Little devils. That's what you and your coworkers call them. Sure, they're sweet girls and play baseball like their lives depend on it. It's when they're bored on breaks that everything changes.

Week after week, they choose a victim to follow around and "learn about their true life," as they put it. You were caught smoking twice, once during your first month, the second time the exact moment after you saw a sliver of Seungkwan's bare back that time you passed by the locker-room. They also discovered Minghao's break-dance shoes two months ago when he left his locker open accidentally, and Soonyoung’s secret Twitter account he was tweeting from while holding the door for them.

It's dangerous, having those two with nothing to do for so much time. Damn Minghao and his task to help Seungkwan train the team. You'll be these girls' focus, and they already caught you in a moment of weakness.

"So, how are you guys feeling? It's a bummer what happened."

You try to play it off, serve them their smoothies and engage in easy small talk to make them forget about the 5 minutes prior. Maybe if you hold your phone to their faces while playing a Subway Surfers video it'll work.

"We learned not to play Baseball in the park without Coach Boo there," Wendy jokes.

His name makes them giggle in unison, and you pretend not to be affected by it as well.

"You got hurt together? Oh, guys, I'm so sorry!" Both girls sip on their smoothies while staring at you. They could be communicating their next torture tactics telepathically, for all you know. "Is there nothing you can do for the team? I'm sure they'll appreciate some cheerleaders."

"The doctors said we're supposed to be resting," it's Alice's turn to explain. "We promised we'll stay put on our visits to the stadium."

Gears start turning behind both girls' pairs of eyes, like warning sirens going off everywhere in the building. Victim searching seems to be done. You put yourself under their spotlight. You and the glass windows allowing you to see everything Seungkwan does outside.

The girls are lovely. Hearing their school's gossip and nodding along with them is fun during your breaks and during the dead times when they're all eating. Maybe, just maybe, you can get through a few days of their attention.

"What are you doing bothering our best server here?" The voice coming in from the field's door freezes you in place.

Seungkwan steps inside your holy peaceful space, disrupting the little control you had over your nervous system. Sweat stains stick the button-up against his chest in a delightful show of his muscles, panting as if he just ran inside, looking at you with that teasing look you half-hate.

"You give me too much credit for serving smoothies, coach."

"No, no, you keep me and the team happy like no one can."

"Just lucky with the blender, I guess." Scrubbing down said piece of plastic, you try to shrink your body down and contain the flushing he always erupts. "The girls were just telling me how much they love you."

"Were they?" Seungkwan asks with the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

"Yes, coach!" They reply together.

You nod with a knowing smile. As it's known those two are the troublemakers, their usual victims—but mostly Seungkwan, tend to tease them back. He even encouraged you and Minghao once, saying that it kept them on their toes.

"Don't think I won't be fooled by those angel faces you put on, I'll be making sure you guys stay resting."

You fetch the little peanut bowl instinctively, setting it on the bar where Seungkwan's seating without him asking for it. He chats with the girls for a second, snacking on what you lay in front of him. He talks so sweetly, so caring of his team that he works so hard for.

The rest of the team stay outside, all sitting on the freshly cut grass, drinking water out of their decorated bottles and laughing together.

Watching them so comfortable with one another, you still remember the first time Seungkwan showed up. You were so excited to see him in person, Boo Seungkwan, the legendary thrower turned coach. Any other starting coach would hate to get thrown to manage the little leagues, but not him. He came in every day with a smile on his face, remembered every worker's name, and worked his way up to get the trust of the most difficult age group: 13 year olds.

"Really? Are you willing to?" A voice asks, pulling you back to earth.

"W-what?" You find three pairs of eyes waiting for a response, two with matching devilish grins.

"We do need someone else to help the kids stretch," Seungkwan thinks out loud, eyeing the team outside.

Time. To. Panic. Helping the team stretch? You can barely touch your toes while standing, and doing the splits is a no-go. A retired woman of 70 years of age probably has a better physical aptitude than you. There's no way you can tell kids that play sports every day what to do!

Your heart races just thinking about it, having to spend time with Seungkwan as he witnesses the least athletic person to ever exist. Your hands grow hot, threatening to start sweating before you even utter a word back.

"Don't go pale! I'm kidding!" Seungkwan's warm chuckle breaches through your panic and into your heart, a very strange mix of emotions that result in a confused stare. "The girls were just complaining about how hot it is today and how you said you could bring out a cold drink cart to the field."

"I said that?" Your eyes fly to the girls by his side as they try to stop their giggles.

"It's okay if you're busy, you don't need to." His voice is soft, understanding, compared to the wicked girls.

At the back of your mind, you crave the safety of your post. The ease of waiting for tired members of each team to slump down in front of you without even asking for their favorite smoothie, because you already know their orders.

But, maybe… Just maybe, doing something different for once doesn't sound as bad. Under the sunlight, the kids' overwhelming screams can dissolve into noise in the background, it can add something to actually do now that the day has become more boring than usual. And is it so bad to want to feel your heart pumping a bit harder? Who needs drugs when you can get the adrenaline going by spending the afternoon with your workplace crush?

"No! Sure! Yeah!" You nod without making eye contact. "I don't mind at all!"

Off your sight, Seungkwan stands up and gets behind the bar counter. So hard. It's so hard not to look his way when you feel his bodily warmth brushing your arm.

"Good, I need your company out there," his voice reaches from your side, accompanying the fridge door unlocking as he takes a bottle of orange juice. "The team does, too."

You catch a glimpse of a wink fading from his face once you gather the guts to look at him. "Yeah, right, I'm sure they do."

"You can come by after individual skill drills are over!" Seungkwan smiles on his way out the door.

"We'll help you, miss Y/N," the girls, still sitting with barely contained giggles, announce in unison.

You grab their empty glasses, taking the chance to get closer to their faces so they can see the real meaning behind your polite smile. "Oh, then I'm definitely helping!"

The beverage cart shades you from the blinding sunlight outside, allowing you to see the practice as it evolves from skill drills eventually to a full on game.

Seungkwan and Minghao had set up a few different stations for the kids to train in groups of six. While Seungkwan focuses on the throwers and hitters, the coach's assistant with base running and Minghao on the fielders, you're left in charge of the hydrating station. Every five minutes, when they rotate the groups and change the exercises—a thought out way to keep them entertained, you hand each kid a cold bottle of water as they take some time to catch their breaths.

It's easier to give every kid the attention they deserve when split up in small groups, and you see Seungkwan taking his time making sure every one of them gets pointers to help get better. From the way every kid looks eager to receive his feedback, it's clear he's earned not only the kids' love, but also their respect.

"Isn't he so nice?" A voice says next to your cart.

Alice and Wendy sit on the benches, with matching sunglasses and team caps to shade their faces from the sun. They've been sitting there watching the practice and whispering to themselves for a while, but they haven't talked to anyone else, until now.

"Yeah, the previous coach barely gave us directions," Wendy replies, pointed.

"Remember when he sat and ate all of Drew's mom's cookies while we ran around?"

"Yeah, and they were for all of us!"

You try to ignore their conversation as best you can. As a new batch of kids rotate your way, the second to last group before the actual gaming practice begins, you bring out a few waters and orange juices from the cooler.

Not much further into the field, but enough that not one single ball has even come closer to your station, Seungkwan welcomes his new batch of kids. One by one, he lets them throw the ball his way, a few meters ahead, and then throws it back and lets them catch it. He's always with a kind smile on his face, doesn't matter if he gets hit in the chest, legs, or even his feet. Somehow, he notices what went wrong with every kid's throw and catch and helps correct it.

"What do you think, Y/N? About Coach Boo?"

Taking in account that the temperatures are already high, and that you're talking to two girls barely beginning their puberty, your face shouldn't be getting as warm as it is from a simple question.

"From what I've seen from your games and practices he seems to be a very good coach," you settle on answering. Simple, not revealing, and true.

"You see another side of him we don't," Alice prods further.

"I guess I do, and—sure he's really nice. "

But, do you? He never seemed different, always with a smile and a compliment to everyone. Though, maybe the few nights the whole staff went out for drinks does count as seeing him differently.

There was one time when you were so drunk, Seungkwan waited outside the bar until your Uber arrived to even order his own. You told him countless times that it wasn't necessary, and that he'd freeze on the sidewalk if you took his jacket. But he wouldn't listen.

"Are you friends?"

"I'm sure he's friends with the entire staff."

"But are you two friends?"

Your mouth opens to answer, but then another voice comes through, not really saving you. "Well, I hope she likes me enough!"

Immediately, the two girls giggle in unison, not bothering to hide what they're trying to do.

"I guess you could say I enjoy your company," you reply as unbothered as you can. He half smiles, and you counter, "sometimes."

Seungkwan chuckles as he always does, not bothering to hide the smirk that comes out every time you tease him. He turns around, grabs one of the cold juices from the icebox and tells the kids on your station something you can't quite hear.

"Hey!" You take the bottle away from him middle-sip. "Don't leave me without customers!"

"Their time was up!" You don't fight him when he takes it back. "I haven't seen that pretty smile all day! Is the sun killing you?"

You could blame the sun now. What other reason could you have for getting so blushed at a few words? "N-no, I'm fine inside this ice box."

"Sure? 'Cause I felt bad asking you out here to work under the sun."

"Please, you didn't force me."

If anyone was to blame, it'd never be him. Could be the girls scheming to make your life impossible. It could be you and your inability to take your eyes off the coach. It's not his fault his kindness enchanted you.

"Good, I think I'm enjoying you eyeing me working with the kids," he pauses for effect, and it works because air has trouble getting into your lungs. "We'd love more eyes on the practice to help the kids!"

"Oh—I,"

"Actually!" Alice speaks up after a while, "she was just telling us she never played baseball before!"

"What? No, guys, I definitely have," you lie through your teeth.

"It's okay miss Y/N, you don't have to be embarrassed in front of Coach Boo! He's the best teacher!" Wendy adds.

The two little devils grin at your wide open eyes. They really don't care to embarrass you in front of Seungkwan.

Maybe you haven't played baseball since that one time in high-school you tried every sport out there because you didn't want to end up in the running team—which you did. The time you've been working at the stadium must've done something. Before you landed your place behind the smoothie bar, you used to be called to do the jobs no one else wanted to: arranging the field for the practice games. You learned more about the field's and play's organization than you could've ever learned by just watching.

"I know how to play Baseball." You glare at Seungkwan for support, but it seems he caught on to your victim status for the day, and doesn't plan to help.

"Do you? Then show me." He's still wearing the pitcher's glove, which he uses to toss the baseball up without taking his eyes off you.

"I can't right now," you huff, "I mean—you're in the middle of practice! And I have kids to hydrate!"

"The kids are taking a bathroom break before we decide teams for the game." He extends his arm to make a show of the nearly empty field behind him.

For once, you realize there are no child-like screams on the background, no sneakers sliding against the sandy ground. That's what he said to the kids before, he was telling them to take a break. And you didn't notice until he pointed it out. Way to pay attention to your job!

You cross your arms. "Well, I haven't played in a long time." It's a stupid excuse, one Seungkwan sees through immediately.

"That's why I'm here, love."

Almost all alone on the field, except for the occasional sighting of Minghao bringing stuff for the game, you might as well be as red as the clay below you. Has it always been so red? Maybe it's the sun starting to hide behind the buildings. Or maybe it's that you're trying to pay attention to anything that isn't Seungkwan standing a few meters in front of you with smugness painting his face.

"I'm going to hurt you!" You shout his way.

You can't throw a ball. You're not the prodigy pitcher he was. Either the ball will fly out of the stadium because you can't manage the force, or hit him, or you'll throw it straight to the ground and embarrass yourself further.

"Just try it!" Seungkwan smiles in a way you haven't seen him ever, not even for the kids. "I've seen too much for you to be that bad that'll surprise me!"

He isn't wearing his coaching hat. That part of his uniform now sits on your head. So you can see where you throw, he said, but you doubt that'll help in any way.

"That's still too high of an expectation for me!" You can't hear him, but you know for sure he chuckles at your resistance.

Seungkwan doesn't move from his spot. He rolls his shoulders back, relaxing into a more comfortable position to catch whatever throw you're about to perform. You mirror his movements, trying to let go of the tension building up from being under his gaze.

You've seen countless practices, countless professional games, a number of coaches directing players and helping them out. Something should have stuck. Your body should be able to reproduce from memory.

A deep breath and a second where your anxiety-filled brain disconnects from your limbs is all you need to do a Twilight style throw. Left knee up. Elbows against your ribs. Your gloved left hand joins your right, holding the ball with much more force than necessary. You straighten your arm back, eyes focused on Seungkwan squatting to receive the throw.

And.

The ball flies from your hand. Straight into Seungkwan’s left thigh.

You knew where the ball would land as soon as you lost its grip. Seungkwan falls on the grassy side of the field, holding onto his, soon to be bruised, thigh as you run to him.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I told you I suck!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Seungkwan struggles to get the words out.

You broke his leg. Okay, you don't have that much strength, but you broke something. He's so in pain he can't breathe for God's sake! What a perfect afternoon with your workplace crush! Now Seungkwan will have a remainder on his leg to look at and remember how the least sporty person he knows attacked him.

You need a new job. How will you ever come back here after this? You had a 50/50 chance and managed to hit him on that leg!

It's fine. This place gave you tons of experience. Maybe you can apply to stadiums nearby. Soonyoung or Minghao can pretend to be your bosses and give excellent recommendations. This isn't the end of the world. You'll just have to say goodbye to the daily eye-candy.

A sweet sounding laughter takes you out of your doom thoughts.

"You're so worried!" Seungkwan stands up in a chuckle, leaving you dumbfounded, kneeling on the ground. "It didn't hit me that hard, I promise."

"But—you,"

"I'm okay!" To prove his point, Seungkwan stands on the one leg you hit and jumps a bunch of times, "see?"

You can't force down the smile he triggers, immediately helping you to feel better.

He stops and extends his hand down for you to take. At least cavalry isn't fully dead, right? You still don't know how to properly talk to him after this. Oh, how embarrassingly worried you just were, and in front of him of all people!

Seungkwan's fingers drape over yours as he pulls you up.

"I'm still sorry," you rush to apologize for one last time.

"I've had kids hit me harder," he teases. How can he be so charming even in these situations?

"I just thought—I didn't want to hurt you right there."

Your eyes dart down his body, losing focus once or twice where his clothes reveal a bit more skin than normal, and set just above his left knee, dangerously close to where the ball hit. Where you know, under the coaching uniform, surgery scars must cover a big patch of skin.

"Oh." Seungkwan follows your head down, finding the cause of your stress. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't completely healed. Especially coaching kids."

That logic, you can't argue.

"I hope you've had worse hits than that one here," you chuckle, one last try at a normal interaction. "Because if not then I won't be able to talk to you again."

"C'mon! It wasn't that bad." Usually, Seungkwan is one of the most trust-worthy men related to the sports world, but you still catch the devious tone. "Your form just needs work."

"I think it's more than that but—okay."

Your words get cut off by Seungkwan positioning himself behind you, his hands on your elbows, ready to be in teacher mode. He's not giving up on teaching just yet. And if he was any closer, he'd feel your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"You put too much force with your arm," he begins, his touch relaxing your tense muscles with care. "Your secret weapon is the wrist. It helps to throw exactly where you want to."

The trail of goosebumps his fingers leave behind in their way to your wrist is unavoidable. His hands are warm, a physical testament of his personality. This is normal for him, being close to whoever he's teaching. You've seen him helping people of all ages, always with thought and care. It isn't different with you, you're the one making it awkward.

You need to get it together.

"So, I need to aim better? Shocking news."

Seungkwan chuckles dangerously close to the back of your neck.

"Do it like this." His left hand ventures down until it finds your waist. He lightly pushes it forward, tilting your lower body to sideways while the throwing arm faces the front. "Throw it with your whole body."

"I tried that." You cringe at the motion you did earlier.

"You didn't do it wrong, you just need to focus on strength, not on moving."

It'd be easier to follow the instructions if your blood didn't boil in every place Seungkwan touches. He isn't doing anything out of the ordinary! It's just a teaching exercise, but here you had to come and get nervous at every little thing he does.

"It's your fault if I do it badly this time."

He chuckles again. You hope he thinks your rebuttals are funny and not a result of nervousness. If he notices, he doesn't show.

Seungkwan's right hand gets a hold of yours, lacing your fingers to grab the baseball together.

"And if it goes well? Do I get a prize?"

"If i throw well you mean?"

"Hmmm." His hum runs from the back of your neck all the way down to turn your legs into jelly. "What's your target?"

He has you facing nothing but air and glass windows you shouldn't really aim at. Is he expecting a real answer? Not hitting the ground would be enough. You couldn't possibly be expected to think properly in these circumstances.

"Forward?" Seungkwan laughs through his nose. You don't know if you want to look back and see his reaction or hide under a rock forever. "I don't know—that light pole over there. I don't want to break anything."

Something moves on the corner of your eye. "I have a better idea." Seungkwan's voice is filled with an undeniable mischief you can't decipher in time.

You move at his will, his arm molding against yours as you try to follow his line of sight.

Seungkwan lets go of the ball, pushing it forward in a straight line so clean you suspect he's more a machine than a man. Even if his muscles tensing due to the force of the throw demonstrate otherwise.

Almost instantly, you understand what happened.

The white and red ball hits the figure that moved earlier: Minghao. He's far ahead and you barely understand the string of curses leaving his mouth, but his insulted face is enough to get the gist.

"He's going to kill me!" Turning your back on your annoyed friend, you find Seungkwan no longer breathing down your neck, but laughing hysterically. "You did it on purpose! Now he's going to kill me!"

"Please, he loves you," he snickers, looking behind you. "He went inside already."

"He tolerates me, there's a difference. And there's only one person he loves here."

It takes less than a second for Seungkwan to register what you said. He doesn't even give you time to feel bad about airing out Minghao's business. "Oh, yeah," he nods.

You chuckle, still struggling to breathe. "They're so obvious!"

"I always catch Soonyoung watching him through the windows."

You freeze. "You can see inside?"

You figured, a long time ago, that the sun's reflection against the glass made it impossible for people to see inside the dining space from outside. Soonyoung works the same position as you. Shifts together with him or alone. If Seungkwan can see him working the bar, he can for sure see you too.

"I have to see what you're up to from time to time."

Right. He always checks up on the staff. He catches if we need anything or if we're free to help out on the field. It's his duty. Kind of.

"Well, we need to do something about those two because—"

"About who?" A small, high voice interrupts your deflection.

Behind you, Wendy runs after Alice, who's standing almost between you and Seungkwan, looking up as innocently as possible.

"You guys should be sitting down," Seungkwan reprimands with a smile.

"We were looking for Miss Y/N and saw her with you outside," Wendy adds.

The girls look at each other and giggle. Never in the history of the world has something been so obvious. If Seungkwan hadn't caught up to the fact that you were today's victim, he has to know by now.

"Why were you looking for me?" You find your voice after the initial shock.

"Nothing!" Both girls say in unison.

Another way to embarrass you, surely.

Your skin still tingles with the memory of Seungkwan's body behind yours, overpowering your every move by simply existing. You want to run away and scream the memory away. You want to be alone with him and feel his touch again.

If it wasn't for your embarrassingly obvious crush, you wouldn't be here in the first place. You'd be alone and bored behind the smoothie bar, looking out into the practice run and wishing you'd had the guts to do something.

"Do you kids want to be the referees for the practice game?"

"There's nothing in the kids' locker-room!" You scream at your phone stuck between your cheek and your shoulder.

You look under every bench and every open locker for anything that isn't supposed to be there. It's surprisingly clean after an afternoon of being used by the messiest age group of kids, even if the benches and plastic chairs were left anywhere but in their place.

"No yellow beanie?" Minghao asks on the other side of the line.

"I think I'd see a yellow anything here!"

The stadium is basically empty at this hour. The practice ran longer than usual, as the team needed to replace Alice and Wendy and, not only practice what a game without them would be like, but also come up with new plays when they realized the older ones only worked with them.

When, usually, then staff tends to have time to close properly, now you're left scrambling in the search for this beanie one of the kids is missing. Why couldn't he wait until the next practice? Beats you.

"I'll tell him to check his bag again," Minghao proposes.

Beside his voice, you hear him mumbling orders to the kids as they get out of the stadium and into the bus.

"We'll find it and take it to the lost & found. I'm sure he can survive until tomorrow without it."

With that, you take your quest as finished. The day is finally over. You can pick your things up from your locker, appreciate not being followed by two bored girls anymore, and not think about Seungkwan until the next day. Some things are easier than others.

"You heading to the lockers?" Minghao asks, almost smug.

He can't see you from the bar/dining space since you took a shortcut from the side of the field.

"Yeah… " Fabric ruffling on his side tells you what he means to say. "And you're leaving already, aren't you?"

"Privileges of working inside! I snuck my stuff to the bar while you were out on the field." You don't miss the teasing tone at the last words.

"Well, you're opening tomorrow and not me, so," you retort.

"Jealousy is a disease," he chuckles.

"One I don't have! Good night Hao!"

With the kids already on the bus taking them home, no one's around the premises, silence embracing you for the first time since stepping foot in the stadium.

A boring day turned into one of the longest in a long time. Practicing anything new, being plays, player arrangements or both in this case, always takes more time and energy than anything else, and it's your duty to stay until the last baseball team member leaves. That means, on days like these, making sure no kid is left behind (job done graciously by Minghao this time) and being the one to turn off the lights at whatever hour that that is completed is your job.

You've grown used to closing. The white led lights from outside illuminate your walk to the lockers, in a silence that is only interrupted by the sound of a bench being moved.

Damn Minghao. He must've forgotten a kid. Great.

You run in the direction of the sound, your phone ready in hand to call the parents and a cab to take you both home. Why would a kid be hiding in the staff rooms? Asking that would get you nowhere. It happens. You fix it.

"Your friends left already, let's get you home kid—"

The tired words halt their way out when you step into the locker-room.

"But you're still here," Seungkwan snickers at your blank face.

The floor. The locker-room floor is so interesting. Certainly more interesting than your shirtless co-worker standing too close and staring and smiling and not putting his shirt on.

"I thought—" you look behind you, at both sides of the room, everywhere but at him. "Everyone already left."

"Yeah, but Hao asked me to look for something a kid missed, so I stayed behind."

"Oh, yeah, I was looking for it too."

You dare to look up. At his face. With a lot of mental willpower. It's not better. Seungkwan smirks like he knows exactly what's going through your mind. Why isn't he putting the shirt on? It's right there in his hand.

"Are you clocking out?" He asks at your silence.

"Yeah, I—I'll let you change and be back after."

You really only need your bag. Waiting for him will only delay your escape home, but you fear if you spend a second longer repressing yourself with Seungkwan in the room, you'll explode.