#exo angst

“It’s not about the trip, and you know it!” Kyungsoo’s voice had ripped through the air. He was standing by the coat rack, his chest heaving, his fingers trembling as he gripped his jacket.

“Then tell me what it’s about!” Your voice cracked. You reached for his arm, but he flinched away. “I’m standing right here. Talk to me.”

“That’s the problem.” His dark eyes were brimming with a frustration that had been simmering for months. “I’m standing right here, and I’ve never felt more alone. You don’t see me anymore. You just see the person you want me to be.”

“That’s not true. I’ve tried so hard to make this work.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he whispered. Kyungsoo looked at you with a weary kindness that hurt worse than the shouting. “You shouldn’t have to try this hard to love me.”

“Kyungsoo, please. Let’s talk.”

He shook his head slowly, reaching into his pocket to set his spare key on the console table. “I can’t keep pretending that we aren’t already broken.” He looked at the door, then back at you one last time. “It’s over. I’m leaving.”

The sound of the lock clicking into place had echoed through the hallway, a finality that had left you standing in the center of a room that was suddenly much too large.

Now, three days later, that click still rang in your ears, a constant reminder that the space beside you in bed was going to stay cold. Your eyes drifted to the front door, and the memory of that final night surged back, vivid and cruel.

You stared at your phone, but the lock screen remained empty. There were no notifications from him. No “we need to talk,” no “I’m sorry.” You let out a long, ragged sigh that felt like it emptied your lungs of everything but lead, and finally dragged yourself out of bed.

Every step toward the kitchen felt heavy. You pulled open the fridge, hoping for a distraction, but it was a graveyard of shared habits. At the very front sat an empty milk carton—the one thing you had always nagged him about. Kyungsoo never could remember to throw the damn things away. You stared at it, waiting for the flash of irritation that usually came, but there was only a dull, throbbing ache. Even his flaws were something you missed now.

Back in the bedroom, you rummaged through a pile of laundry, desperate for a layer of warmth. Your hand snagged on a soft, familiar fleece, and you pulled it out—only to realize it was his hoodie, tangled up with your own clothes as if it didn’t know it wasn’t supposed to be there anymore.

The first tear tracked a hot, salty path down your cheek before you could stop it. You squeezed your eyes shut, shoving the fabric back into the dark depths of the closet. You grabbed one of your own oversized ones instead, pulling the hood low over your head like a shield, and grabbed your keys.

The walk to the convenience store happened in a daze. You were a ghost among the living, moving through the aisles of the store and making your way back home without registering a single face. But on the way back, your feet betrayed you, slowing to a halt at the park near your building.

You sat down on a secluded bench under a sprawling oak, remembering all. This was the place of a thousand memories—picnics on the grass, late-night walks, and the sound of Kyungsoo’s low, melodic laughter echoing.

Another tear escaped, and you wiped it away with a frustrated, trembling hand. Stop it, you told yourself. Just eat. You unwrapped your sandwich with shaking fingers and took a bite, but it felt like chewing on dry paper, and no matter how hard you tried to swallow the grief, it clawed its way up. A sob broke out of you.

The sound of your own misery was immediately met by a sudden, metallic clack against the pavement. Startled, you looked up, your vision blurred by a fresh veil of tears. Just a few feet away, a figure stood frozen. A phone lay face down on the concrete between you, forgotten.

It was Kyungsoo.

His shoulders hunched, his eyes wide and blinking rapidly, clumsy, startled. He looked like he had been trapped in the act, because he had been. He wasn’t just passing through; he was standing close enough to have been watching you, his own guard completely shattered by the sound of your crying.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Kyungsoo didn’t reach for his phone. He didn’t even seem to realize he’d dropped it. His gaze was fixed on your face, on the hood pulled low over your eyes and the trembling sandwich in your hand, looking at you with a raw, pained expression that mirrored your own.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he whispered.

You stared at him, the sob still echoing in your chest. “I live here.”

Kyungsoo winced as if you’d slapped him. The realization of how pathetic he looked—standing there, caught hovering near the apartment he’d walked out of three days ago—seemed to settle over his shoulders, making him sink into himself.

He looked small and stupid. And he knew it.

Kyungsoo struggled to find his voice, his throat working visibly as he tried to form a sentence that didn’t sound like a lie. His hands, usually so steady and capable, were trembling at his sides, twitching toward the phone on the ground and then away again. But every second he stood there was a reminder of something that didn’t exist anymore.

You couldn’t sit under your favorite tree and let him watch you fall apart.

With jerky, agitated movements, you wrapped the remains of your sandwich back into its crinkled plastic. You stood up abruptly, your legs feeling like lead, your only goal being the safety of your dark bedroom where you didn’t have to look at his face.

“Wait—!”

Before you could take a single step, he moved. It was a clumsy, desperate rush, his feet scuffing against the gravel as he lurched forward to close the gap. Kyungsoo didn’t grab your arm, but he stepped directly into your path.

“Please,” he choked out. “Just—stay for a second. Don’t go yet.”

You kept your gaze fixed on the dirt at your feet, the fabric of your hood acting like a curtain between you and the man who had just dismantled your world. You didn’t have the courage to look at him, or you might shatter completely.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a total idiot, I know that. I was angry and tired, but I shouldn’t have said those things. I shouldn’t have walked out. I shouldn’t have broken up with you.”

You remained frozen, your back to him, your lips pressed together in a thin, hard line. You didn’t say a word. The silence from your side seemed to make him more desperate.

“I went back to my place, and it felt wrong,” Kyungsoo continued, his voice cracking as he stepped a fraction closer. “I keep reaching for my phone to tell you something, and then I remember—I realized I didn’t even give you a chance to nag me about the milk carton one last time.”

Kyungsoo let out a short, wet laugh that sounded more like a sob.

“I thought I wanted space, but I’m suffocating without you,” he confessed, his voice dropping to that low, vulnerable register. “Please, just say something. Tell me I’m a jerk, tell me to leave, just... don’t look at the ground like I’m already gone.”

You turned around slowly, but your eyes didn’t meet his. Kyungsoo didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands trembling as he cupped yours within his own. His palms were warm, a startling contrast to the biting chill that had settled into your skin over the last three days. He held you with a desperate kind of gentleness, as if you were something fragile he had already dropped once and was terrified to break again.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He looked at you with pleading eyes—those dark, expressive eyes with the same exhaustion you felt.

“I was wrong,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against the backs of your hands in a rhythmic, frantic motion. “I was an idiot to think I could just walk away from us. I’ve been miserable. I haven’t slept. Every time I close my eyes, I just see the way you looked when I left.”

Kyungsoo squeezed your hands; his voice was raw with vulnerability. “Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll be better. I’ll listen more, I’ll stay. Just... please don’t hate me. Please tell me I haven’t ruined everything.”

He searched your face, his gaze darting from your red-rimmed eyes to your trembling lips, waiting for any sign.

“I was too embarrassed.” His grip on your hands was tightening as if he were afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “I drove past a dozen times. I sat in my car outside the building for hours, staring at your window, but I couldn’t bring myself to knock. I didn’t think I had the right to call you after what I said. I just… waited. I waited until I saw you walk out because I couldn’t stand the thought of another night not knowing if you were okay.”

You finally looked at him, your voice coming out hoarse. “You’re an idiot.”

Kyungsoo flinched slightly, his expression faltering. He scanned your features, trying to figure out if that was a final judgment or a sentence of mercy.

You looked down at where his hands were still desperately covering yours. “You’re a total idiot,” you repeated, a fresh tear spilling over and landing on his thumb. “But I miss hearing you nag about my cold feet.”

Kyungsoo let out a breath—a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to deflate his entire body. It was the sound of a man who had been holding his breath for three days, finally finding oxygen. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closing in pure, agonizing relief.

“If you’ll let me...” he whispered, more a vow than a question.

“Come here.”

You didn’t offer a grand speech or a promise that everything was okay, but you let him take your hand. That was enough. The walk back to the apartment was silent, but it wasn’t the hollow silence of the last few days. It was a shared quiet, thick with the things you weren’t ready to say out loud yet. As you pushed the door open, the familiar scent of the entryway hit you, and for the first time in three days, it didn’t feel like a tomb.

You stood in the hallway, watching him. Without a word, Kyungsoo headed straight for the kitchen. You heard the fridge door open, then the empty milk carton hit the bottom of the trash can.

He turned to face you, leaning his back against the counter, looking smaller than he ever had in this kitchen. “I’m sorry about the milk,” he said, his voice a low, rough murmur. “And I’m sorry for being a coward.”

You leaned against the doorframe, your hands buried in the sleeves of your hoodie. “You didn’t just leave the milk, Kyungsoo.”

He flinched, the pain clear on his face. “I know. I know I did. I thought if I ran away, I wouldn’t have to face the fact that I was failing you. But I was just failing us both.” He took a hesitant step toward you, his eyes searching yours. “Can you... can you ever forget me?”

You let out a shaky breath, the last of the ice around your heart finally cracking. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered again, but this time, the edge was gone. “A total, clumsy idiot. But if you ever leave a key on that table again, don’t bother coming back for it.”

A small, broken smile touched his lips—the first sign of the Kyungsoo you knew. “I’m never letting go of that key again. I promise.”

He pulled you into a hug so tight it nearly stole your breath, wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, as if he were memorizing the scent of you all over again.

“You’re shaking,” he muttered with a protective growl.

“I haven’t really turned the heat on,” your voice was muffled against his chest.

Kyungsoo let out a low sound of frustration—at himself, and did it for you. Without a word, he swept you off your feet. He didn’t just carry you; he tucked you into his chest, his arms forming a fortress around you. He carried you into the bedroom with a focused, steady stride, refusing to let even an inch of space exist between your bodies.

He laid you on the bed, but he didn’t pull away. The duvet was a cocoon around you, but it was his arms that finally made you feel safe. Kyungsoo began to pepper your face with soft kisses, but, desperate, landing on your temple, your cheek, the corner of your eye.

“I’m never leaving again.” His lips lingered on your forehead. “I was so stupid to think I could breathe without you.” Kiss. You tried to turn your head away, but he caught your chin gently, turning you back to face him. His eyes were soft, overflowing with a tenderness that felt almost physical.

“I mean it,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. "I’m gonna take care of you, love you endlessly, and… fill the fridge.”

You felt a tiny, involuntary huff of air escape your nose—the ghost of a laugh.

Kyungsoo noticed immediately. His eyes lit up, and he redoubled his efforts, his kisses moving to the tip of your nose and then down to your jaw. “I’m gonna be so overprotective you won’t even be able to find your own socks because I’ll be busy warming them up for you.” Kiss. “I’m gonna be a total nuisance.” Kiss. “Tell me you hear me.”

He nudged your nose with his own, his thumbs stroking your cheeks in a rhythmic, soothing motion. “Tell me I’m a nuisance, but tell me you’re keeping me.”

Finally, a small, genuine curve was formed on your lips. You let out a soft, watery chuckle, burying your face in his chest to hide your growing smile.

“You’re a nuisance,” you whispered into his shirt. “A total, overprotective idiot. My idiot.”

Kyungsoo let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his chest expanding against yours. He wrapped his arms even tighter around you, pulling you so close there wasn’t a single draft of cold air left between you.

“Yours,” he murmured, pressing one last, deep kiss to the top of your head.

Your movements were more frantic than he knew you for. With one a bit too sudden of a motion, the blade cut through the skin of your finger, and you let out a low murmur to cover up the hiss of pain, putting the finger to your lip in mild annoyance. It was more than clear that the cut was not the only reason behind your frustration.

Baekhyun didn’t move.

In any other situation, he would react – mock you a bit for being clumsy while being the first one to bring the first aid kid, maybe pretend to be a vampire struck by the scent of your blood, maybe even panic a little in this cute, puppy-like way if he felt that the amount of blood is greater than acceptable.

But now he didn’t, and it sparked a bit of hurt in you as well, but also brought your attention to the fact that maybe dismissing things and try to make them gentle only worsened the pain that would eventually come. The anxiety of the future that you exposed him to was not like the boil-the-frog that you planned to perform. You wanted to avoid confrontation for as long as necessary, until things dropped naturally. You didn’t expect him to hold onto it.

“Can you be honest with me? Are you able to?” His tone started to show that he, too, was growing frustrated. “Tell me what’s going on. Did something happen? I’m sorry if I can’t catch the clues, but if you made it obvious, then I’m just plain stupid.”

“Nothing… happened. And I’m sorry, I didn’t make it obvious. I didn’t know, how.”

He frowned ever so slightly, taking a step towards you. You backed against the kitchen counter, placing your hands on each side – your finger stung a little, but it was merely a scratch. The real wound was growing in your soul.

“If nothing happened, then why? Did you grow bored of me?”

“Of you?”

“Yeah. Please be honest with me. Just no more sweeting things up, alright?”

His tone was calm, but it lacked softness, it was almost business-like.

“I don’t know how anyone would get bored of you, Baekhyun” you admitted in a breathless whisper. You were starting to feel foolish, really. “And especially myself. That’s why I don’t think I can take it. I don’t think it’s fair to you. But I’m also not fair to myself. You just mean… too much to me.”

 “Too much?” The frown of the man’s face only deepened. “Why is something telling me I should not feel flattered?” A bit of frustration was slipping into his own tone as well.

You let out a deep sigh.

“I started off as your fan, Baekhyun. I thought that with time, it’ll be more… normal. That you’ll feel like a normal person. But somehow it’s not like that. Somehow… it feels like my life is even more about you than it was before. I feel like a creep. Like I’m using you to fulfill a fantasy.”

“Are you?”

“No!” You denied right away, but your voice faltered. “I… don’t know.” You crossed your arms on your chest, fixating your gaze somewhere down below.

To your surprise, Baekhyun let out a breathy laugh. The laughter didn’t feel light and cheerful, like his usual ones – it was heavied with worry, with some sort of underlying agony.

“Okay, let’s talk about this. We need to talk about this.”

His hand reached towards you and he pulled you by your arm, almost throwing you off balance when he pulled you towards the living room, snatching a paper towel on his way and putting it into your still bleeding hand. “You’re right. Do you think I didn’t consider it? That this wouldn’t work out? That it would feel fake? Heck, I talked to so many friends about it, and most of them said it’s not a good idea. But you know what?” He pushed you onto the couch and sat himself on the stool, bringing it close so that your knees almost touched – if only you let yourself relax, they would rest against each other naturally, but you were stiff and trying to almost shrink within yourself. “You know what? I’ve known you for a year. And I could always trust you. You’ve had so many chances to take advantage of me, and you didn’t. So I don’t want to think about how you could – potentially – hurt me. But we need to talk about the other part.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious that…”

“No, no. You’re thinking about what it’s like, for me, to date a fan.” He didn’t even let you finish, but it was as if he could read your mind, already knowing your thought process. “I want you to be honest and tell me what it’s like to date an idol. Because you’re right, you could be using me. But you also said it’s not good for you. And you’re right, because I could be using you, too. So be honest with me and tell me if I ever hurt you.”

So many memories came flooding at once – not of pain, not at all, but of all things that could have led to one tragedy or another. Your whole relationship, like a videotape.

Sure, your relationship was not always perfect. Barely a year has passed. Not long enough to develop a deep understanding of each other, but long enough for many things to happen, to get to know each other at least.

Not all of it was beautiful. There were arguments, some of which almost ended in a breakup. But they made you stronger, that much was undeniable – with each and every single time you almost fell apart, it felt like you knew each other a bit better, knew what things not to do and not to say, but which helped to soothe the atmosphere and help you get back along.

You had one, most important rule in your relationship.

That no matter what happened between the two of you, you would play fair.

That one time he lied to you about being at work while he was not – that one hurt. When you found out he’s not at the office in the first place, you even thought he was cheating. Wouldn’t that be understandable to assume in such a situation? You had every chance to cause a scandal on spot. But you didn’t. You knew that pulling his whole career down because of your relationship wouldn’t be fair. No matter how much it hurt, it was completely out of the equation.

It turned out he was with his friends – he really wanted to go out, but felt bad for not giving you much attention these days. You felt almost pitiful, seeing him crumble in front of you, all worried that you will feel like he doesn’t want you, when he genuinely didn’t have that much time, and it was just one evening with friends. You smacked him in the head for feeling bad about spending time with friends. And he learned that he can be honest with you.

Another time, you were all excited upon his album release. Seeing him on the stage later on made you feel all kinds of things, the way he moved, all the effects, clothing, makeup – all putting emphasis on his heavenly physique, as if you were watching an angel dance. He came back home disheveled, with remains of makeup on his face, but as excited as you were. You would give all of you to him at that exact moment, more than he would ask for, more than you would feel confident to give any other time.

But it was still early in the relationship, and Baekhyun knew that you weren’t ready. That, drunk on him as you were, you could regret it later, even feel disgusted with giving yourself in this easily, that your gentle mind wouldn’t be able to trust yourself with your own body. So he indulged you with kisses here and there, and then gently tucked you into bed, making sure that it all went smoothly, that it didn’t feel anything like a rejection, but a gesture of utmost care.

It took a few more months before you opened yourself to him fully, and he never rushed or reminded you of how eager you were back then. He could have had it all back then, but he decided to wait. That’s how you learned he’s more selfless than you ever even aspired to be.

“You didn’t” you spoke after what felt like ages, to the point you wondered if you even responded to the correct question. “You didn’t… hurt me. Did I ever hurt you?”

“No, you didn’t. You’re just hurting yourself all the time” he mentioned, jokingly motioning towards your hand, which you wiped hastily with the paper towel. “So if nothing bad happened, why the ifs? You realize it’s not going to stop if we just break up?” It was a rhetorical question, and you glanced up at him with a pout, feeling almost schooled by the way he talked. “You believe it’s a matter of just us, but, as much as it sounds ridiculous to say it, it’s all in your head. No matter who you’re with, you’re going to assume the worst. Won’t it be like that? Be honest with yourself.”

You crossed your arms again, feeling defiant for a moment, because his words were almost too much for your ego to take.

But there was some small part of you, somewhere at the edge of your consciousness, that not only knew that he’s correct, but also wanted it to be correct – because if it was just you, then you could learn to maybe keep those pessimistic parasites at bay, and… you wouldn’t have to suffer the loss that, despite weeks of preparation, didn’t feel like any less of a torment and regret that would come, were you to finish things as you originally intended.

All the beliefs, all the dogmas, that you carefully built over the past weeks, were falling apart in front of your eyes, confronted with very simple logic on Baekhyun’s end. You almost felt stupid for letting things get this far without confronting him earlier. Weren’t you the one who demanded honesty? Wasn’t he the one who proved you can trust him with your vulnerability?

“I’m… sorry.”

You felt yourself fall apart as well. Your body slumped down, relaxed knees rested against Baekhyun’s, and he put his hands on top of your thighs, as if in this exact moment, while knowing that he has you with him, he didn’t want to risk losing you again.

“Don’t be for feeling like that, things are never easy, now are they?” Here it was – the signature smile, the warm one that tore through the clouds of the darkest of your days, warm and welcoming. “But I am upset that you held it from me for so long” he whined. With the whine, he finally moved from the stool and onto the couch next to you. His arms shamelessly snuck around you, engulfing you in the close embrace that you knew so well, felt so good within. Partially pulling you into him, and partially leaning into the back of your shoulder, Baekhyun released a long sigh against the skin of your back, warm air slipping underneath your blouse – you missed it. You almost didn’t realize how distant the two of you became, and how long has it been since you felt his body against yours. But now, despite all of that, it felt good, it felt right. As if your souls have never detached from each other.

Maybe there was some form of destiny between the two of you; maybe it was not just a parasocial relationship that evolved into something that could turn dysfunctional so, so easily – maybe it was written in the stars that one way or another, the two of you would find each other, and it just so happened that you spotted him first, from afar, slowly making your way.

How else would the two of you find each other, after all?

Maybe you learned something this time, too. Maybe it wasn’t much, just the beginning of a stronger, even more intimate bond that would last years and years, and light years, and through all your reincarnations, with some of them as pitiful as they could be. Maybe it was just an accident that this time you were in such a position – in another life, would you be a princess, and he be a peasant?

But these were only some other ifs, fun to think about, but not worth spilling your heart over.

In this life, in this universe, you were his, and he was yours. And everything else was just more or less accidental circumstances that brought you closer together.

Only at the back of your head, you wondered if one day, the tale of hopes and stars would fall, and that dream would turn into a nightmare, fueled by your lives’ imbalance and selfishness that neither of you knew in each other.

What the fuck. I repeated the word in my mind. Godfather. Then I speak it, slowly, and with the resolve of a magician when he says 'Abracadabra' to an audience

Godfather.

You let it marinate between your lips and tongue.

But it tastes weird.

No, I told him, it doesn't sound right.

It does not have to sound right, he protested. It just have to sound enought to bring him back to consciousness and stop what he's doing.

"To stop the sex?" I summarized the words he can't seem to say out loud. As if saying the word "sex" would make it any less flustering for him.

He looked at me. He was flushing, I noticed.

"Yes," he confirms, with hesitation of a shy schoolboy who had his first wet dream.

I sighed. I didn't know this would be too complicated.

But who am I kidding--requesting your best friend to take your virginity is a complex matter in and of itself. One that has probably been the subject of too many reddit threads and fanfics.

"Fine," I gave up at last, because I honestly just want to get this over with--even though I was thinking about it for years--and truthfully, I'm getting less turned on as this topic on safe word drags on.

Chanyeol's eyes lit up. Great, he said.

Then he kissed me.

Shit, that was fast.

And hot.

He kept on kissing me.

Hard.

So hard, I momentarily felt the impact of his teeth against mine, but subsequently cushion with the overwhelming thought which brought warmth to my mind, and of course, body.

That he is kissing me.

His hands tell a different story, however. Contrary to the dominion I thought I would be engulfed with, his hands were softness, and tenderness, and gentleness, and delicateness, and... whatever noun there is that can describe the feeling of someone caressing your back and waist with firmness and grace.

"May I?" he asked. I had thought to play hard to get, to rival the eagerness by which I was retuning his kisses. But alas, my body betrays me, and before I knew it, I was nodding with much anticipation as he unbuttons my blouse and kisses the peeking top of my humble breasts.

God, he whispers against my chest, as his tongue takes a quick swipe on my left breast, the tip accidentally revealing the faintest peek on my nipple. I fucking moaned. God, indeed.

"Do you like that, sweetheart?" he asks, but I just looked at him with confusion, because fuck I didn't know my breasts were that sensitive. And can feel that terrific when touched.

And damn--sweetheart?

I'm dead.

He didn't wait for an answer. I guess the moan I gave was enough validation. Thus, encouraging him to remove the clasp of my bra, and watch as the straps fall slowly on my bare arms.

"You're so beautiful," he compliments. Of course, I thought, any naked, topless woman would be beautiful to anyone. Duh.

But even before the smirk can form on my lips, he was moving again. Somewhere south.

Like, literally, his lips were moving south while his hands remain pinching the mounds of my now bare breasts.

"Hi," he says, the last letter dragging from his unholy mouth.

Wait. What. What happened. I didn't realize what he was doing until he's in front of my chest again, his fingers circling my nipples with patience and... wonder? Seriously, his eyes couldn't get any bigger.

But that was brief. As I find myself now position between his leg. His right leg in particular.

"Do you want to.. grind on me?"

Fuck.

This guy seriously knows me.

I nodded, shyly, to pretend like I'm not overly-excited when I so wanted to ride him from the moment he agreed to what I thought was a stupid, but now otherwise, brilliant proposition.

He put his hands on my waist, and they began to move as I slowly move back and forth against the rough texture of his pajama bottoms.

To be specific--his red, polka-dot pajama bottoms that matches a pair with Zzart. Such a nerd.

"You can go harder.. It's just me." Fucking hell, he really knows me quite too well. "You don't have to be shy," he adds.

And so I did. But damn I have to be careful. I don't want to come undone at his thigh, because that will clearly manifest just how I want him.

We must wait.

And wait did we do, because it took Chanyeol a long period before he finally decided it's high time to lie down now, remove his pants, and underwear, and carefully, place himself between my legs.

"Okay." Okay, I say in return.

Okay. Now what.

"I will just try first to put the tip, alright?" He says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Just the tip, then please, please, tell me if you're feeling uncomfortable, 'kay?"

I nodded, and was about to smile at him, but he surprised me with a kiss. A long, tender one, that I started wondering if he momentarily forgets that it just takes one "accidental" push from my leg before his cock is buried inside me.

"I lo--" he says but quickly stopped. What? I was watching his face but was honestly so turned on right now that I didn't have time to even process what he was about to say.

But he shakes his head, as if to calm himself and said, "thank you, Y/N" instead.

Huh. Okay fine, that's clearly now what he is supposed so say earlier.

But, god, whatever.

And then he puts it in, and I'm not kidding when I say I literally saw the stars through that fucking ceiling.

***

"I'm so sorry, fuck."

I turned to him. Contrary to the firm and determined boy resolved to take my virginity earlier, Chanyeol was now so downtrodden, he actually perfectly reflects the poverty-stricken boys in Charles Dickens' novels.

Here's the gist of what happened:

1. He came.

2. I did not.

The specifics?

1. He probably got way too excited and started grinding hard against me, losing every will to restrain himself. I mean, you could tell from the way his hips became sloppy when he put it all the way in and his eyes rolled back and his fingers marked and pinned my waist down to the bed. He literally has to dump his face in the pillow next to my head to muffle all the sounds he was making.

And

2. I may or may not have resisted cumming.

Yes.

Yep.

"It's okay, Chanyeol," I persuaded him. "It's not my first rodeo, and it happens."

"Huh?" his previously sad eyes, now looking at me with confusion.

Oh shit. Too much information there, Y/N.

"I-I-I thought.." he begins, "I thought that was your first.. That I was your first.."

OH. Oh that.

I laughed at him, quickly putting on my panties, picking up the Hanes shirt I was wearing, my bare breasts still all naked, but surprisingly were not catching Chanyeol's attention more than what I said caught it.

"Chanyeol, you are the first man," I explain. "Or my first dick if you put it correctly."

Laughter from me, but not from him.

Still looks of confusion from his direction.

"But my pillows fully know I'm not the innocent I claim to be, with the amount of grinding they get every night."

Okay...... Looks of confusion now replaced with looks of bewilderment.

"Okay not every night. Even they get tired of me."

Laughter.

Finally not coming from me.

Laughter, so much laughter, god. And surprisingly, a look of wonder.

"Damn, I envy your pillows."

And just like that, the laughter was gone, and looks of confusion were now coming from me.

Huh.

***

"Would you want to go on a date with me tomorrow?" Baekhyun has sent the message a while ago, so no one can blame him if he kept looking at his phone, retesting every single time if the wifi is on to make sure he doesn't miss any reply.

He was lying on the couch, his mind just thinking of all the wrong ways this could have gone. Have you read it already? But it has been 5 hours ago. Maybe she lost her phone? In transit also, probably? Accident? God, no. No, no, no, no.

Ping.

He leapt out of the couch.

And his heart leapt out of his chest.

Yes, of course. :)

And he is leaping all around the room now, the brightness from his phone illuminating his dark apartment, with your reply for all the world to see.

“Sorry,” I shrug. “I’ve promised to visit for the first time with somebody else.”

Eunbi and I don’t talk much these days. Immediately after I left for the rest of my book tour, Chanyeol got in touch with Junmyeon and passed along Eunbi’s phone number. For a while, we spoke every night. I can’t name the date we fell out of touch. Whenever she comes to mind, I text her. Realizing that I hadn’t mentioned my vacation, I pull my phone out of my pocket and take a picture of the bustling street. 

As I begin my text, Junmyeon leans across the table to suggest, “Maybe you could see it with her. She’s been staring at you for about ten minutes.”

I follow Junmyeon’s gaze to a woman wearing a yellow sweater over a white dress. I squint and blink my eyes, distrusting my senses. 

Junmyeon says, “Kyungsoo—”

I scramble out of my seat and say, “I’ll be right back.” I race to her table and ask, “Eunbi? Is that really you?”

She looks up at me and smiles. She says, “I’m so happy you found me!”

I laugh, and I want to cry as I say, “I am too.” 

Has she missed me as much as I have missed her? Has she dreamed of this moment like I have? Has she decided whether to kiss me if our paths cross again?

I don’t wonder long. She stands and brushes her lips against mine. “Junmyeon cares about you a lot. He told Chanyeol that you missed me. He went out of his way to plan for me to be here.” 

I glance back at Junmyeon. He frantically looks away, milk moustache still intact. I say, “He’s always been meddlesome.”

“Chanyeol, too,” Eunbi says. “The two of them are a dynamic duo.” 

“Let’s sit,” I say before pulling her chair out. We sit across from each other in silence for a moment. Then, I gather the nerve to ask, “Are you happy?”

She blinks at me. “What?”

I observe, “That is not a yes.” 

Smiling, she says, “Yes, of course, I’m happy! What about you? Are you happy?”

Where the block of ice once stood in my chest, I feel the warmth of the spring day. I nod and say, “I am. It’s been enchanting to meet you again.”