#jhs fluff

His friends won’t let him slip out of their gathering this year; the annual Christmas dinner. They’ve grown wise to his excuses, having humored them too many times before. This time, they said, he simply has to come, or they’d drag his sorry ass out of his apartment themselves. So he’d agreed, and before he could stop himself, he’d added a lie—a plus one. A date. Why he’d said it, he didn’t know. A flare of bravado, maybe, or a strange wish that he could bring someone to light the way through the season he loathes. But he hasn’t had anyone in years, and now the promise lingers uncomfortably, as cold as the snow itself.

Just as his thoughts are tangling around the dreaded dinner and the impossible gift, something catches his eye. Through the haze of snow, a flickering glow lights up the street. LEDs twinkle on a small shop sign, casting warm light onto the swirling cold. The words, “Books & Coffee,” curl across the sign in whimsical letters. Through the frosted windows, he catches a glimpse of cozy warmth inside—painted winter scenes, shelves filled with books, and the faint haze of steam rising from mugs. A chance, he thinks. A book for Namjoon, maybe, and a cup of coffee to thaw his mood.

With a shake of his head, he steps toward the shop, hoping the warmth within might push back, if only for a moment, the frost of memory that clings to him so stubbornly.

He pushes the door open, expecting the cramped and dim interior of a hole-in-the-wall shop. But as he steps inside, he pauses, surprised. The space stretches wide and tall, a quiet maze of towering bookshelves reaching toward the ceiling like trees in a literary forest. The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and fresh coffee, as warm and comforting as a blanket against the cold. Each shelf brims with books of every size, color, and genre, neat little labels dividing worlds of romance, mystery, fantasy, and more. And there, at the back of the store, his eyes catch on something unexpected—a grand coffee station, part of the cashier’s desk, decked out with bottles of liquor that glint invitingly beneath the dim lights. He frowns, amused, wondering just what sort of bookstore he’s stumbled into. 

Around him, people sink into overstuffed couches and mismatched armchairs, nestled beside little tables piled high with books and steaming mugs. Some read in hushed solitude, while others murmur in low voices, their laughter rippling like warmth in the cozy air. He laughs to himself, an ironic chuckle at the scene—it’s like he’s wandered into a romantic comedy set. Christmas decorations hang from every possible ledge, string lights wound like ivy around the shelves, falling snow draping down from the ceiling, like something straight out of The Great Hall in Hogwarts. It’s kitschy, as if the store itself is leaning into the absurdity of holiday cheer, its charm so overdone it loops back into endearing. He can’t help but picture it: a flower stand in one corner, and his “perfectly quirky holiday shop” bingo card would be complete.

Not knowing where to start, he begins wandering among the shelves, eyes skimming over the labeled sections—romance (divided by spice levels, he notes with a faint smile), “how-to” books, self-help guides, fantasy, young adult, crime thrillers. He feels lost, in more ways than one, unsure what might interest Namjoon. A philosophy book, maybe? Or poetry—something brooding and introspective, since Namjoon’s always been the type to lean into “the deep stuff.”

Just as he’s contemplating how ridiculous it is that he, of all people, has to pick out a “meaningful” gift, he glances up and spots you at the counter, your lips curved into a soft smile. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, he feels something unexpected—a flicker, like warmth pressing through the cold. You’re watching him with a light in your eyes, a warmth that, to his surprise, disarms him, even makes him feel almost…seen. Before he can look away, you’re already walking toward him, smile unwavering, and a strange, unfamiliar shiver runs down his spine.

“Do you need any help?” you ask, your voice soft and welcoming, your gaze roaming over him in casual appraisal.

If he had a flirting bone left in his body, he might have found a response, something charming to match the spark in your eyes. He thinks you’re cute, sure, and there’s no mistaking the interest in the way you’re looking at him. But he doesn’t have it in him, not anymore. It’s been too long since he’s let himself flirt, or even felt the desire to.

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I’m…looking for a book. For a friend. Got stuck with him in Secret Santa this year,” he shrugs, hoping that explains enough. 

You nod, listening with a gentle attentiveness that surprises him, as if every word he says matters. 

“Alright,” you reply, a bright smile lighting up your face as you clap your hands together in delight. “What kind of books does he like?” you ask, leading him further into the store with a spring in your step, your energy contagious, warming the air around you.

For a moment, he finds himself smiling back, the heaviness he carries lifting ever so slightly. Following you, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, this little shop—with all its quirks and kitschy charm—has a kind of magic after all.

A faint, almost reluctant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you move, graceful and light, as if the weight of life has never touched your shoulders. You float through the shop like someone untouched by scars, unshadowed by loss. He envies that ease, that freedom—it stirs something in him he thought he’d locked away. For a moment, he wishes he could go back to that version of himself, the one who moved through life without feeling every step like a burden. He sighs, catching himself and remembering you’d asked him a question.

“Ah—Namjoon’s into poetry,” he says, clearing his throat. “Existential stuff. The deeper, the better.”

Your smile grows, wider and brighter, and he catches sight of your slightly crooked front tooth—a small imperfection that only makes you look cuter as you bounce across the store. “I know just the thing! Follow me,” you sing, your voice lilting with a joy that contrasts starkly with his own. 

As he trails after you, he finds himself standing a little taller, rolling his shoulders back, almost as if he could let the weariness fall away. You lead him to a tall bookcase near the back of the shop, beneath a quaint little sign that reads, “Poems; a penny for your thoughts?” He raises an eyebrow at the cheesiness, but something about it is endearing, and he feels a hint of warmth sneaking in, thawing the corners of his frozen heart.

“So, this whole section is poetry. Anything specific you think he’d like, or should I recommend you something?” you ask, turning to him with eyes that feel soft and inviting, like an open door.

He hesitates. “Honestly, I’m not sure. He’s…well, his taste is kind of serious, and sometimes it’s just boring to me,” he admits, shrugging. A hint of worry lingers, hoping he hasn’t come off as rude—especially if poetry is something dear to you. But your smile doesn’t falter; if anything, it seems to soften, unfazed, still welcoming him in.

“Perfect! Then I know exactly what to recommend to you.” Your eyes light up with a spark of joy that catches him off guard, making his heart stir with an unfamiliar flutter. Reaching for a thick book, you cradle it like something cherished, a small treasure passed down. Your fingers trace the cover, vibrant and abstract, alive with colors that swirl and dance. He peers at the title, upside down but legible: Seasons Change, People Change: Thoughts on Personal Growth Inspired by Mother Nature.

You hold it out to him, gently, and begin with a quiet, thoughtful enthusiasm. “This collection is one of my favorites. Each page is filled with illustrations—paintings and sketches that bring the words to life. It’s divided into four sections, one for each season. It’s beautiful, but it’s also challenging, introspective. I keep it close for those days when I need something grounding, something to remind me to keep growing, even when it’s hard.” Your voice is soft, reverent, and the passion in your words flows freely, making his heart stumble a little, a pulse he thought had quieted.

Without a second thought, he feels himself drawn in, already captivated by your summary and the way you cradle the book like it holds some kind of quiet magic. He feels it—the warmth and lightness in your presence thawing the edges of something inside him. He thought he’d long forgotten this feeling, but as you stand there, glowing, he realizes maybe it isn’t gone after all.

“Do you want to get him this one, or should I find something else?” you ask, your eyes gleaming with a playful spark, the kind of light that could brighten even the dimmest of days.

He lets out a chuckle, low and gravelly, surprising himself. The sound feels foreign, rusty, like laughter hasn’t escaped his throat in a long time. “No,” he starts, and then realizes you’d offered him two options, so he clears his throat and clarifies, “I want this one. Thank you.”

Your smile widens, and there’s that same warmth in your eyes, shimmering with a joy he hasn’t felt in years. “Awesome,” you murmur, a quiet delight in your voice as you turn to lead him back to the counter. He follows, watching the way you move, the easy grace of your steps, the little bounce that seems so at odds with his own heavy tread. He can’t help but notice the care you put into even the smallest details—how your fingers skim over the cover as you scan the book, your voice soft as you tell him the price. He nods absently, hardly hearing you; he’s already decided this book, chosen with such thought, is worth every penny.

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He chuckles again, awkward this time, and you respond with a light laugh of your own, a sound that melts the air between you. “I’ll wrap it up real quick,” you say, reaching for a roll of delicate paper. “Just a sec.”

He watches, captivated by the way you work. Your hands move smoothly, almost lovingly, as you fold the paper with practiced ease. You add a final touch—a bit of decorative tape, a couple of small stickers, a tiny pocket for a note. There’s a grace in your movements, a tenderness he hadn’t expected to find in something so ordinary. It strikes him that you must do this every day, that you’ve wrapped countless books just like this one, yet you treat each with the same reverence. For a moment, he’s transfixed, caught up in a little world where every gesture, every detail matters.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him the book, now carefully wrapped and nestled in a paper bag.

“Will that be everything for you today?” you ask, smiling softly as if you can sense he’s still lingering, still caught in his own thoughts.

“Oh—actually, no!” he exclaims, a laugh slipping out, and it’s genuine, unexpected. “I’d like a coffee to go, please.”

“Of course,” you reply with a little nod, and he watches as you glide over to the coffee station, your hands moving gracefully as you work the machine, pouring a steady stream of coffee into a simple paper cup. You bring it to him with a quiet smile. “Here you go,” you say, handing him the cup, its warmth seeping through the paper and into his fingers, spreading heat into his bones.

“Thank you,” he says, reminding himself to return your smile. There’s a warmth there, an ease he hasn’t felt in a long time, and he finds himself thinking, just for a second, how pretty you look with that gentle expression, with the easy way you move through the world. If only he weren’t so closed off, so weighed down by his own wounds. You’d be the kind of person he’d love to ask out, if his heart hadn’t already been numbed by the cold.

But no—he’s too far gone for that. So he simply raises a hand in farewell, turns his back, and steps out into the biting wind. Snowflakes swirl around him, cold against his cheeks, but his coffee is warm in his hands, sending up gentle tendrils of steam that vanish into the icy air. He trudges through the snow, his footsteps muffled, his mind unexpectedly lingering on you—your warm laugh, the way your eyes glinted with life, as if joy itself lived inside you. 

Maybe he should let himself try again. Maybe he should take a chance and see what could happen, let someone in, just once more. His friends have told him enough times how much he needs that, how he should stop closing himself off. But then he remembers how content you seemed, untouched by the darkness he carries, and he can’t bear the thought of bringing his storm into your sunlight, of tainting that brightness with his own shadows. It’s better this way, he tells himself, better not to risk another heart—especially not one that shines like yours.

The sun spills across the snow outside, making it glisten like a field of tiny pearls scattered over the earth. Inside your bookstore, the warmth of Christmas lingers in every corner, filling the air with the quiet glow of string lights, the soft hum of holiday music, and the scent of coffee mingling with cinnamon. It’s just the way you love it—cozy and inviting, a small world apart. The fragrance stirs memories of Christmases past, when warmth and wonder felt boundless. It’s nostalgic, yes, and you find yourself wanting to pass that feeling on, to wrap it up like a gift and place it into the hands of every person who steps through the door.

This is why you opened this bookstore with its coffee corner, a place where stories and comfort blend as naturally as words on a page. You’ve always been captivated by the written word, knowing full well how a single story can slip beneath your skin, change your world, and leave you breathless with a sense of wonder. A story can make you pause, whispering, wow, this was amazing, or surprise you with glimpses of yourself in its characters. Some books show you new paths; others mirror the parts of yourself you hadn’t quite understood.

This is the magic you’ve always chased—a quiet enchantment found only in books—and why you can’t help but adore recommending them. You believe in the power of words, that the right book at the right time can light up a reader’s world. And here, among the shelves you’ve lovingly arranged, you get to share that magic every day, welcoming others into a world that feels like home.

Every person who steps into your little winter wonderland is met with a genuine smile, and if they’re looking for a recommendation, you’re ready to sprinkle a bit of joy their way. Life hasn’t been simple for you, and you’ve had to fight for much of what you have now, but it’s made every small thing feel that much more precious. Every creak of the floorboards, every cover softened by countless hands, every whispered exchange about a new favorite book feels like a gift.

It’s midday on a bustling Saturday—one of the busiest days of the week—and today’s book club meets in half an hour. You glance at the clock and start setting everything up, filling the air with extra anticipation. You prepare an assortment of drinks: coffee, of course, but also tea for those who prefer it, poured into festive mugs that add a little extra cheer. You drape fluffy blankets over the cozy couches and scatter them with soft pillows, transforming your reading nook into a haven from the cold outside. Freshly baked muffins and cookies wait on the table, adding a hint of sweetness to the air.

In your hands, you hold today’s book—a thrilling, spicy fantasy where a young woman uncovers a hidden truth about herself, discovering magic and mystery with the help of a tall, dark, brooding stranger. It’s the perfect pick for this crowd, an escape into a world filled with intrigue and impossible love. Your bookstore hosts a range of book clubs, something for every taste, from cozy mysteries to heartfelt memoirs, so everyone who wanders in finds a place to belong.

As you check the time again, the chime of the door opens, and members trickle in, mostly women but with a few men scattered among them. They settle into the chairs, cradling their warm drinks and pulling out their books, eyes bright with anticipation. You begin, reading snippets aloud, leading discussions that bounce from laughter to quiet reflection as everyone shares their favorite lines, passages that moved them, questions that linger. Hours slip by in an instant, and even after the meeting ends, people linger, reluctant to let go of this cozy, book-filled oasis. Some stay to read, sipping slowly at their cups, while you return to the counter, greeting the steady stream of customers that fill your little shop. 

As you move between the bookshelves and help others find their next escape, you feel a quiet pride. This place is yours, filled with stories, laughter, and a touch of magic in every corner—a small universe where people come to feel less alone, warmed by the same words that have guided you all your life.

As you wait, relaxed, watching for anyone who might need help, your mind drifts back to a few days ago, to that stranger who walked in with the quietest of presences, searching for a gift—a book for his friend. Namjoon, that was the friend’s name. You realize now you never caught the stranger’s name. He was handsome in an understated way, but there was a heaviness about him, like a cloud clinging to his shoulders. That sadness had tugged at something inside you, urging you to offer him a touch of the holiday warmth filling your little shop. Despite his guarded nature, you saw those small cracks, those fleeting moments when he softened, letting in a glimmer of the joy you tried to share.

Now, with closing time just around the corner, your thoughts drift back to him and that lingering, frowning gaze. Just then, the bell chimes, pulling you from your thoughts, and to your surprise, in he walks, the same stranger, stepping through the door with a hint of apprehension. For a split second, he looks vulnerable, almost unsure—but as his eyes meet yours, his expression shifts, confidence replacing hesitation. His small smile is radiant, a rare glow that catches you off guard, like a sliver of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to leave you wondering what storms he’s weathered to dim his light this way.

You greet him with a soft smile of your own as he steps up to the counter, stopping just before you. 

“Hi,” he says with a steady voice. You return the greeting, about to ask if he needs help with anything, but he speaks first, voice a touch uncertain but warm.

“Remember that friend you helped me find a gift for?” he asks, scratching his head, as though he’s slightly unsure of himself. You nod, intrigued, and he clears his throat, glancing away for just a moment.

“Well,” he continues, his voice steadying, “we’re having a Christmas dinner tomorrow, and I thought... Maybe you’d like to come with me?”

You blink, taken by surprise, and a laugh escapes as you say, “I don’t even know your name,” your tone light, not saying no, but letting him know you’re curious, open to this unexpected invitation.

“Ah, right—my bad,” he says, stretching his hand toward you with a shy smile. “I’m Hoseok. And you?”

You take his hand, his warmth surprising you, and you giggle, “It’s Y/N,” you reply, your voice soft, the sound of your name feeling different in the warmth of his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeats, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Pretty name,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but feel the faintest hint of flirtation woven in his words, though there’s still a nervousness in his eyes.

Then he takes a small breath and adds, “Just to clarify,” he hesitates, his voice wavering with a hint of uncertainty, “you’d be going as my girlfriend. Well, my fake girlfriend.” He chuckles nervously, almost wincing at his own words. “I mean—if you’re good with that?”

The words hang in the air between you, unexpected and just a bit surreal. Fake girlfriend? You blink, caught off guard, studying his face as he scratches the back of his neck, stammering slightly, realizing, perhaps, the absurdity of it all. “I told my friends I’d be bringing my girlfriend,” he explains, his cheeks coloring, “but, well… I don’t actually have one.”

There’s something so earnest, so endearingly awkward about him that you can’t help but smile. And before you know it, you hear yourself saying, “Yeah, sure. I’d love to be your fake girlfriend.” The words come easily, and even though you’ve only seen him once in your bookstore, something in his gaze feels steady, genuine. Maybe it’s a leap, but you’ve always trusted your instincts, and right now they’re telling you he’s worth it. If this brings him a little joy in the midst of whatever shadows he’s facing, you’re happy to oblige.

Hoseok looks stunned, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief, and then a broad smile lights up his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice filled with relief and a soft gratitude. He tells you he’ll pick you up tomorrow, and you exchange numbers and addresses, the simple gestures somehow feeling significant.

As he heads out into the frosty night, his figure disappearing into the snow-dusted street, you’re left smiling to yourself, the weight of the unexpected encounter settling over you. You lock up the bookstore, half-wondering at the mystery of it all, but feeling strangely certain this is exactly the kind of magic the season brings—unexpected, a little reckless, and wrapped in the glow of winter lights.

You clasp your hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, nerves fluttering in your chest as you wait for Hoseok to pick you up. You agreed to join him at his friends’ Christmas dinner as his pretend girlfriend, but now, in the quiet of your apartment, doubt creeps in. You’ve only met him twice in your bookstore, barely know him beyond fleeting glances and brief exchanges. The thought of walking into a room full of strangers prickles at your confidence. But you remind yourself that it’s just like meeting new faces at the shop. Slowly, your shoulders loosen, and your breathing steadies.

Glancing at your wristwatch, you see it’s nearly time. You grab your keys, lock the door, and head down the stairs, feeling the soft knit of the Christmas sweater dress Hoseok insisted you wear, an odd sense of comfort in its silly design. Apparently, you’re “matching his ugly sweater,” as he’d said with a laugh. Wrapped in your winter coat and boots, you step into the night, the cold air crisp and bracing as delicate snowflakes drift through the air, illuminated by the warm amber glow of the streetlamps.

Headlights sweep up the road, and Hoseok’s car slows to a stop in front of you. He’s waiting, the dim light from the dashboard casting a soft glow across his face. You open the door, sliding into the passenger seat, where warmth radiates from the heater and a familiar cinnamon scent lingers in the air. Hoseok greets you with a quiet smile, though his eyes hold a hint of his own nerves.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says softly, watching you as you fasten your seatbelt. He shifts into gear, guiding the car down the snowy road. His fingers clench the steering wheel, and after a moment, he glances your way. “So…you remember our backstory from last night?”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I remember the texts,” you say, warmth lacing your voice. “We’re childhood friends from kindergarten who recently reconnected when you moved back into town.” 

He hums approvingly, tapping his fingers lightly on the wheel as he stops at a red light. “Perfect. My friends are probably going to ask a million questions—I hope you’re ready for that.”

You shrug with a playful confidence, grinning as you glance over at him. “I think I can handle it.”

The two of you share a small, knowing smile, though the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you. Here you are, headed toward a stranger’s holiday dinner, to pretend to be his girlfriend. You don’t gain anything from this beyond the joy of helping someone out, but still…there’s a little thrill in the adventure.

The city lights gradually fade as he drives out toward the quieter suburbs, snow dusting the dark roads until he finally turns into the driveway of a quaint little house, string lights twinkling around the doorframe like stars. Hoseok cuts the engine, the two of you sitting in the hushed stillness for a moment, watching as the snowflakes swirl gently outside the windshield.

“We’re here,” Hoseok murmurs, and you catch his smile, warm as the headlights reflecting off the falling snow. “This is actually my friend Namjoon’s place,” he says, reaching for a carefully wrapped gift on the seat. Watching him, you suddenly wonder aloud, “Should I have brought something, too?”

He waves his hands between you, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry—you didn’t draw a name for Secret Santa, so you’re all set.”

Relieved, you step out into the brisk night, following him along the snow-dusted path. As you approach the door, he reaches for your hand, his grip both grounding and electrifying as he gives a gentle pull, guiding you to the doorstep. You bite your lip nervously, a bundle of nerves and excitement building, when the door swings open. Standing there, smiling with dimples that carve deep into his cheeks, is a man who strikes an oddly familiar chord.

“Hi, Hobi,” he greets, his voice rich and welcoming, before glancing at you with a knowing twinkle. “And this must be your girlfriend?”

Hoseok’s hand presses lightly against the small of your back. “Yes, this is Y/N,” he introduces you with a soft squeeze that sends a rush of warmth through you.

You follow them inside, feeling the sudden coziness of the house—a subtle warmth, holiday lights casting a glow over walls adorned with paintings and art pieces. When you step into the dining room, you stop, eyes widening at the grand bookcase stretching along the wall. It reminds you of your own bookstore, and you can’t help the delighted laugh that escapes you.

You’re greeted by Hoseok’s friends, easy smiles and lighthearted jokes melting away your nerves. There’s a surprising ease to slipping into this role, to letting Hoseok’s arm find its way around your shoulder, his touch landing at the small of your back, drawing you in for a gentle hug every so often. His casual touches feel natural, and you find yourself leaning into him as if you’ve known each other for far longer than two brief meetings.

As the evening unfolds, though, you notice something. While you’re chatting and laughing with his friends, Hoseok seems quieter, reserved, watching more than talking, an unexpected contrast to the warm person who’s held you close all evening.

Soon, everyone settles at the table, and you find yourself between Hoseok and Namjoon, whose familiarity still niggles at your mind. Drinks are poured, laughter fills the air, and a delicious meal is shared. The room falls into a comfortable quiet as everyone eats, voices softened as plates empty and contentment settles in.

“So, how did you meet our Hobi?” a tattooed guy—Jungkook, you think—asks with a curious smile.

You recount the story Hoseok gave you, weaving it with a smile. Jungkook nods, seemingly convinced, and around the table, friends accept your tale with knowing grins—except for Namjoon. You catch the soft scoff he tries to hide, though the others brush it off. When you finally turn fully to face him, catching his eyes, recognition strikes.

Of course—he’s a regular at your bookstore. You’ve seen him countless times, tucked into a corner with a book in hand, quietly immersed, though he’s never spoken to you and always leaves without buying anything. You wonder if he remembers you too, if he feels the same familiar spark, or if it’s just you, standing in the company of strangers who somehow feel just a bit like home.

A pang of doubt twists in your chest. If Namjoon has indeed pieced together that you’re not Hoseok’s real girlfriend, then the secret you’re helping carry feels a little heavier. You remember Hoseok mentioning their long history, and you wonder how well Namjoon can see through this little charade. But as dinner goes on, he stays silent, leaving you in an unsettling limbo of half-glances and unsaid words.

The night drifts on, and laughter fills the room as everyone exchanges Secret Santa gifts. You can’t help but smile as each friend unwraps their present, the spark of surprise and joy lighting up each face. When it’s Namjoon’s turn, he opens Hoseok’s gift—a book—and he pauses, his gaze slipping to you in a flash of recognition. You avert your eyes, warmth creeping into your cheeks, uncertain of what he sees or thinks.

When the last of the presents has been exchanged, Hoseok turns to you, a small, wrapped package in his hands. “For you,” he murmurs, his smile soft, almost bashful. Surprised, you unwrap it, revealing a tiny sun plushie with a wide, beaming grin. Its warmth brings an involuntary smile to your lips, and you clutch it close. “Thank you, dear,” you say, leaning in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Hoseok’s friends exchange giggles and knowing looks, and Hoseok whispers softly to you, “It’s for being my partner in crime tonight.”

As the evening winds down, you join in clearing the table. Hoseok has drifted to the couch, his figure outlined by the window, eyes distant and fixed on the winter night. A weight lingers in his expression, a deep-seated sadness that seems miles away from the warmth of the room. You’re about to go to him, to ask if he’s alright, when you feel a strong hand at your wrist, guiding you into the hallway.

It’s Namjoon. His presence is grounded and steady, like an oak tree catching you in the autumn wind. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see both questions and answers swirling there, like he’s holding onto a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to speak.

“So, should I be thanking you for the book?” Namjoon chuckles, his smile gentle yet curious, as though he’s only half-convinced of your innocence in the matter.

“Not really,” you reply, grinning as you deflect his gaze with a little shrug. “I just helped him choose because he’s hopeless with books—unless they’re comics.” You laugh, hoping your nonchalance hides the truth beneath the surface.

He laughs, nodding. “Yeah, sounds like him. Comics are about as close as he gets to literature.” His eyes flicker with warmth as he continues, “So, what’s your kind of book? What authors and genres do you get lost in?”

Before you know it, the two of you are deep in conversation, voices lowered in the hallway like you’re sharing secrets. Time becomes a vague notion, and the room around you seems to fade, leaving only the vibrant world of books—their characters, settings, and journeys—alive between you. Talking about stories, you feel a rare lightness, as if Namjoon is the first person in ages who shares the same deep love for them.

“You should drop by the bookstore sometime,” you say with a smile that feels wider, warmer. “We have a book club, too. It’s not as fancy as this,” you laugh, glancing toward the festive room, “but it’s a cozy crowd.”

Namjoon hesitates, then rubs the back of his neck, a flicker of shyness breaking through his cool exterior. “I might just take you up on that.” He pauses, as if summoning courage. “Actually… could I get your number? There’s that book you mentioned earlier—I’d love to hear more about it sometime, but…” He glances at the room filling with laughter and goodbyes. “Looks like this night’s wrapping up.”

For a brief second, you wonder at the request, but something in his gaze, earnest and unguarded, assures you. With a soft smile, you hand him your phone, and as you exchange numbers, a quiet sense of possibility lingers in the space between you.

He must know, right? That you’re only pretending to be Hoseok’s girlfriend? 

And yet, Namjoon has said nothing, given no sign that he’s in on the secret. With a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you find Hoseok across the room, engaged in conversation with Seokjin. You drift over and settle next to him, and he instinctively wraps an arm around you, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that feels almost natural, if not a bit intoxicating. It’s easy to lean into his warmth, to fall into step with this rhythm of borrowed closeness, though your heart betrays you with a quiet flutter. Hoseok is both charming and soft-spoken—the kind of person you might fall for. But as he laughs and smiles, you sense a faint veil behind his joy, as if he’s holding something back, a quiet sadness simmering beneath his surface.

Your curiosity pulls you closer, like you’re skimming a page of a novel you’re not yet allowed to read, catching only glimpses of the sorrow he hides. You wonder what story lies beneath his charming front but stop yourself; after all, tonight you’re nothing more than strangers playing at love.

Later, as he drives you home through streets blanketed in snow, a mellow Christmas tune hums softly from the radio. He’s quieter now, eyes focused on the road, his features thoughtful, even solemn under the glow of passing streetlights. You wonder what’s shifted within him, what’s brought on this sudden retreat. You want to reach out, to ask if something’s wrong, but the words linger on your tongue, uncertain. Instead, you fall silent as the car slows, then stops outside your building. A strange reluctance holds you there, as if the air itself has thickened, laced with words neither of you are quite willing to say.

After a pause, Hoseok turns to you, clearing his throat, his hand resting on your thigh—a gesture that’s both tender and strangely formal. His voice is low, soft as he murmurs, “Thank you for being my fake girlfriend tonight. You… really made it feel real.”

He says it softly, his voice carrying a hint of sadness that catches you off guard, a weight that settles around your heart like mist on a winter night. His words linger, unspoken emotions woven into the silence that stretches between you, and you find yourself wondering—what happens now, with this fragile connection suspended in the cold, quiet air?

“It was nothing. Really—you’re welcome,” you say, a gentle reply you hope sounds reassuring, though it feels distant, safer. Perhaps the middle of the night isn’t the time to unearth things better left unsaid. Yet the thought crosses your mind: will you see him after this? Wasn’t this just a single act, a temporary arrangement?

“Will I… see you again?” you hear yourself ask, your voice soft, almost hesitant, as if it too fears rejection.

Hoseok’s hand retreats, and he glances down, a subtle sadness clouding his eyes. “I… I don’t think so.” His words feel heavier than they should, an unexpected blow that leaves you feeling emptier than you thought possible. You hardly know him, yet there’s something unspoken etched across his face—something hurt, guarded, and you ache to reach out, to tell him that whatever he’s holding back, he doesn’t have to carry alone. But he’s closed himself off, walls too high for a stranger’s comfort to reach.

You sigh, swallowing the pang of regret, clenching your hands to steady yourself. “Oh… okay,” you say, masking the ache with a soft, hollow smile. Your fingers twitch, wanting to bridge the gap between you, to offer some small comfort—but his posture tells you he isn’t ready to accept it. He looks away, his expression distant, already far ahead on a road you’re not part of, his face cast in shadow.

With a deep breath, you open the car door and step out, lingering just a moment longer before whispering a soft “Goodbye.” He barely meets your gaze as you close the door, and before you know it, his car is fading into the darkness, leaving you alone on the sidewalk, wrapped in silence and the unsettling ache of missed chances.

You stare after him, shivering under the streetlights, wondering if you should’ve pressed, if you should’ve dared to ask what weighed him down. But the night stretches on, and you’re left there with only your thoughts and the haunting feeling that you missed something rare and beautiful that might never return.

Hoseok feels hollow, a sinking weight that hasn’t lifted since he saw that crestfallen look on your face when he left you at your door. He’s not blind; he knows he messed up. But there’s something about this season, the way it reaches into his chest and pulls him under, leaving him fighting against a tide that he’s been trying to ignore for years. And now Christmas Eve is almost here—an anniversary of grief he hates most of all—and the closer it gets, the more his mood tangles, turning dark and unmanageable.

Why does he always ruin things? You were so sweet, so bright, your hand fitting perfectly into his like it was meant to be there. It’s been so long since he’s felt even a spark of warmth like that. Having you beside him at the dinner helped, too, lifted the weight for just a moment. But now, he’s gone and left you with nothing but silence. He knows he’s worried you, knows he’s made you question yourself. And yet, his heart twists at the thought of texting back, at unearthing the reason for his darkness.

The worst part is he’s seen every message you’ve sent, each one left unanswered, and with every passing day, they’ve dwindled until now… there’s nothing. He can’t blame you for giving up—he’d have done the same. And still, something in him aches at the absence, at knowing he’s pushed you away when he’s wanted to tell you the truth. Wanted to let you in. But the truth feels as vast and heavy as the winter sky, and he doesn’t know how to share it. He doesn’t know if he ever could.

His friends have noticed, too, hounding him with questions that scrape against his guilt, asking him how he kept you hidden for so long. Namjoon even laughed and asked how he’d managed to keep such a “childhood friend” so secret all these years. Hoseok’s stomach tightens with the weight of his lie, the flimsy story unraveling before him like a thin thread he can’t control.

He scrubs a hand through his hair, frustration thick in his throat. How could he possibly tell you what’s really going on when he knows it would change how you see him? How could he bare himself to you, darkness and all, without fearing he’d lose the brief light you’ve brought into his life? The thought circles in his mind, relentless, as he wonders if he’s ever been brave enough for the truth—or if, this time, he’s finally lost the chance.

The doorbell cuts through the heavy silence of Hoseok’s apartment, and when he swings open the door, there stands Namjoon—tall and composed, bundled in a long coat, a beanie tugged low, thick glasses catching the faint winter light. He’s holding a houseplant, its green vibrant against the muted backdrop of the street.

“Mind if I come in?” Namjoon asks, but before Hoseok can even respond, his friend steps over the threshold like he’s been here a hundred times. Hoseok stands, caught off guard, words barely forming in his throat.

“Uh, sure,” he finally stammers, wondering what could have brought Namjoon here at this hour, unannounced and unreadable.

Namjoon places the plant—small, resilient-looking—onto the dining table, then slips off his coat and drapes it over the chair, pulling it out with a quiet determination. Hoseok follows and sits across from him, still dazed, feeling like he’s been summoned to some private tribunal.

Namjoon clears his throat, fixing Hoseok with a steady, discerning gaze. “You and Y/N,” he begins, words deliberate, “have you told her why you can’t stand Christmas?”

Hoseok’s breath catches; his throat tightens. He forces himself to shake his head. “No, I haven’t,” he manages, the words heavy.

Namjoon leans forward, his posture stern yet somehow protective. “So you’re not serious about her?” he presses, voice low but insistent, as though each syllable is meant to peel back the layers of Hoseok’s tangled emotions.

“No...I mean—” Hoseok hesitates, feeling the urge to confess he’s cut things off, ended this entire charade before it grew more complicated. But Namjoon speaks again, his voice shifting, a rare gentleness threading through.

“I stopped by her bookstore,” he says, and Hoseok holds his breath, tension prickling beneath his skin as he waits, unsure of where this is heading.

Namjoon’s eyes soften, and a small, genuine smile flickers across his face. “She’s really sweet, you know. Bright. Kind. I think she’s exactly what you need—if only it were real.”

The words pierce through Hoseok, his heart stumbling. He feels his pulse race, the subtle grip of panic and dread mixing with something that feels painfully like hope. He knew this moment would come, knew someone would finally see past the lie, and yet there’s relief in the admission. He can’t hide, doesn’t want to.

“So...you figured out it’s fake,” he mutters, defeated, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

Namjoon nods, arms crossed, his expression shifting to something sterner, more disappointed than Hoseok could have anticipated. “What I don’t understand,” he says, voice firm but low, “is why you’d hurt her feelings like this.”

Hoseok flinches, each word like a heavy stone sinking into his chest. Hurt you? The idea stings, unearthing a guilt he hadn’t let himself feel fully until now. He’d thought this arrangement would protect him, keep everyone at a safe distance. But hearing it said aloud—that he’s hurt you—tightens the knot in his chest, makes him realize just how much he’s let his own grief pull him down, dragging someone else along with him.

He searches Namjoon’s face, but his friend’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding him accountable with a simple, unrelenting question. And for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been too afraid to let himself feel something real again.

Hoseok’s gaze meets his friend’s, a trace of confusion flickering there, but then, with a pang, he remembers the look on your face when you’d asked if you’d see each other again. He can still see it—how your expression fell at his answer, the sadness that slipped across your features.

Namjoon leans forward, his tone gentler but resolute. “You know... I think she actually cares about you,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking his head in amused disbelief. “I don’t know how you manage to pull that off while acting like the Grinch himself,” he scoffs, “but somehow, this girl’s worried about you. You really should go talk to her, at least apologize for being a complete ass.”

Hoseok feels his chest tighten, leaving him mute, almost stunned. He knows Namjoon is right; he knows it all too well. But saying what he feels, peeling back that scarred armor—especially around Christmas—is something he’s almost incapable of doing.

“I don’t know if I can, Joon…,” he murmurs, the words coming out more fragile than he intended. “I just think telling her everything will only make her sad,” he says, his gaze dropping to the table, his hands clasped tight as though they could somehow keep his emotions contained.

Namjoon doesn’t let him off that easily. “And what do you think she is now?” he retorts softly, but with enough weight that the words feel like they land with an impact. Hoseok’s eyes widen, struck by the truth that he’d been dodging all along.

He’d thought, maybe, you’d be angry at him—mad, frustrated, but surely you’d move on quickly, brushing him off as just another mistake. After all, you were nothing more than strangers bound by a silly pretense. But hearing Namjoon say it so plainly, he realizes just how deeply he’s been fooling himself. And underneath the weight of his resentment for this season and the pain tied to that distant, bitter December night, he can’t deny the truth—he finds you kind, thoughtful, even hopeful in ways that he barely remembers feeling himself. 

If things were different—if his grief hadn’t swallowed him whole, if he could loosen the grasp of the past—he could almost imagine himself with someone like you. But here he is, still tethered to that haunting memory, letting Christmas slip by year after year in the shadow of that loss. 

Namjoon watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks, his voice quieter but unyielding. “Hoseok, we’ve all tried to tell you. The past can’t be a place to live, no matter how much it calls you back.” 

And Hoseok feels the truth of it—a weight and a choice lingering like the chill of winter air, urging him, perhaps for the first time, to break free.

It’s nearly Christmas Eve, and you’re setting up for the last book club gathering before the holidays—a special, spicy session in the fading afternoon light, centered around a tale of witches, dragons, and the tangle of morals. While you lay out the books, aligning them carefully on the tables, your mind drifts to Hoseok, stirring with thoughts you can’t quite suppress. Namjoon’s words echo in your memory, nudging you to give his friend a chance. But the emptiness of your unanswered texts lingers; despite the messages you’d sent with tentative care, Hoseok has remained silent. A part of you aches to reach out just once more, yet the other half insists on self-respect—if he doesn’t want the comfort you offered, the space to unburden himself, you tell yourself that’s fine. Still, beneath that quiet resolve, a sliver of frustration seethes, and it slips into your work, reflected in the books you place down a bit too roughly, each one landing with a defiant thud.

Tonight’s book club promises to be a lively one, with more attendees than ever before. You’ve even roped in a few friends to help rearrange the store, setting up extra couches and stools to welcome the crowd, and handling the front counter while you join the readers. Despite everything, the prospect of the gathering fills you with a kind of joy that’s untouched by disappointment. Here, surrounded by stories and souls eager to explore them, you feel anchored, reminded of the warmth and kinship that words can forge even on the coldest nights.

Everything is ready, and as people start trickling in, the space soon brims with warmth and laughter. Every seat is filled, and latecomers, wrapped in thick blankets, settle on the floor, adding to the cozy, intimate atmosphere. Soft candlelight dances across the room, casting a gentle glow over festive mugs brimming with coffee and tea, and you smile, savoring the joy that settles over your little bookstore. You begin speaking about the new indie author whose book you’re exploring tonight, diving into themes of morality, which quickly spark a spirited debate among the readers. 

But then your phone vibrates, faintly insistent in your pocket. At first, you ignore it, but when it continues, you excuse yourself with a sheepish smile and slip away to the counter. A string of messages from Namjoon lights up your screen.

[19:23] Namjoon: Hi 😀  

[19:23] Namjoon: Sorry to bother you again, but  

[19:24] Namjoon: TY for letting me visit your bookstore 📚  

[19:24] You: You’re welcome anytime! 😊  

[19:24] Namjoon: and finding that book for me  

[19:24] You: np at all 😀  

[19:25] Namjoon: I know that your relationship with Hobi is fake, but I really wanted to say that I think you’ll be good for him ☀️  

[19:25] You: Really? 🥹  

[19:25] Namjoon: I hope you’ll want to get to know him. He’s a really great guy 👍  

[19:25] You: I do! Yeah. I had a feeling there’s a nice guy under all that sadness 🥹  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, yeah. He actually used to be the happiest and brightest person, but…  

[19:26] Namjoon: Ahh, sorry 🙇  

[19:26] Namjoon: It’s not my place to tell you.  

[19:26] Namjoon: You should talk to him 🙂  

[19:26] You: DW! I didn’t want to pry. I’ll ask him himself 🥰  

[19:27] You: TY for looking out for him. You’re a good friend 🫂  

[19:27] Namjoon: Always. He’s one of my oldest friends and I just want to see him happy again 🥹  

[19:27] You: I’ll try talking to him. I hope he finally responds 🙏  

[19:29] Namjoon: Please do, otherwise I’ll kick his ass!

You smile at Namjoon’s last message, the warmth of his words lingering as you slip your phone back into your pocket. But a tangle of thoughts and emotions stirs within you. Namjoon seems genuinely hopeful for you and Hoseok, nudging you toward him with a gentle insistence that Hoseok might just need someone to reach out. You’d promised to try, but doubt lingers at the edges—what if it’s all in your head, an illusion woven by the quiet moments you shared and the loneliness he wore like a mask?  

Yet, the image of Hoseok as the “brightest person,” as Namjoon described, sits heavy in your mind. What could have dimmed that light? And as you glance out at the book club gathering, a part of you wonders if, somehow, there’s still a chance to bring a bit of that warmth back to him.

Hoseok finds himself aching for your smile, the warmth you seemed to pour out effortlessly, and the sharp, clever humor that softened his edges in ways he didn’t expect. Namjoon’s words echo in his mind, words that have been unraveling him slowly, urging him toward the chance to make things right. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his feet carry him almost unconsciously toward your bookstore. He knows you’re working tonight, but he doesn’t care about timing or convenience; he only knows he needs to see you, to finally apologize and hope you’ll give him even a moment of your time. He’s prepared to accept whatever you’re willing to offer—even if it’s a closed door.

As he steps inside, the familiar warmth and scent of cinnamon and worn paper embrace him, comforting and bittersweet. You glance up from the counter, and the softness of your smile catches him off guard; relief flickers in his chest—you haven’t yet written him off. He makes his way over to you, offering a tentative, apologetic smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, noticing the subtle spark in your eyes, something between surprise and hope. “I came to order a coffee…and give you a proper apology,” he adds, his voice warm, almost pleading.

You let out a small chuckle, the sound light but genuine, and turn to make his coffee. “Is this one to go?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he replies, a hint of a grin breaking through his seriousness. “Actually, I was hoping for one of those festive mugs, and maybe to borrow a book and stay for a while—if that’s okay.”

A warmth lights up your eyes, and he feels his heart lift, his nerves unraveling just a little. “I think that’s a great idea,” you say, and reach for a whimsical reindeer mug, the kind with a scarf winding into the handle, speckled with snowflakes. You fill it with steaming coffee, setting it before him with a soft, inviting smile.

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the mug as he gathers his thoughts, then he looks up, meeting your eyes as he speaks. “I owe you an apology,” he begins, his voice low and earnest. “For everything. I know there’s no excuse, but Christmas has always been…well, it’s not exactly my season,” he trails off, catching himself rambling, and gives a nervous chuckle. “But I didn’t mean to take that out on you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, truly, and I’ll try to be better.”

The smile you give him is small but warm, like a flicker of forgiveness, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he can start letting go of his past.

You hand him the reindeer mug, warm and brimming with rich coffee, smiling as you pass it to him. “I’m glad to hear it, Hoseok. You were acting like an ass there for a bit,” you say with a playful glint in your eyes, “but that’s in the past now—you’ve apologized.” Gently, you slide the mug across the counter toward him. “Here’s your coffee. Pick out whatever book catches your eye,” you add softly, your voice warm.

He nods, pausing for a moment as he clears his throat. “Actually,” he begins, a bit hesitant, “that poetry book you recommended for Namjoon…do you have another copy?”

“I do,” you say with a quick smile, nodding toward the poetry section. “It’s right over there.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, wrapping his hands around the mug and savoring its warmth. “Figured I could use a little introspective magic.” With that, he takes a long sip, the comfort of the mug slowly thawing his cold fingers.

He makes his way to the poetry shelves, pulls down the book, and settles into one of the plush armchairs in the corner. For a long time, he reads quietly, the pages offering him solace in ways he hadn’t expected. While his usual reads lean more toward comics, he feels something settle inside him as he lets himself sink into the rhythmic flow of the verses. Every so often, he looks up to see you moving gracefully through the shop, helping customers, laughing softly with a warmth that feels magnetic. He realizes, almost with a pang, that this warmth is something he used to feel too, before the shadows crept in. Maybe that’s part of the draw he feels toward you—you radiate the kind of light he’s been missing.

From the corner of his eye, he notices you glancing over at him, and when he catches your gaze, a soft blush creeps up your cheeks. You offer a shy smile, and he returns it with a gentle wave, feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, nestled into that armchair, his coffee long finished and now sipping tea. Hours seem to slip by, but he doesn’t mind. As he flips through the poems, he’s surprised by how deeply they resonate with him. Some verses are quiet and sad, others comforting, and some seem to reach into the bruised places he’d long tried to ignore. He closes the book, his heart feeling just a little less heavy, and places it back on the shelf.

Finally, he walks to the counter, holding the empty mug in his hands. A grateful smile lingers on his lips as he approaches you, words forming in his mind like the first sparks of something new.

“It’s getting late, so I should head home,” he says softly, a smile spreading across his face. “Thank you for the coffee and…the poetry. Your store feels like a warm hug, honestly—cozy and comforting.”

You smile, touched by his words. “That’s exactly the atmosphere I was hoping for,” you reply, taking the mug from his hands and placing it on the tray to be cleaned later. 

He lingers, shifting slightly, his eyes dancing around the room as he gathers the courage for what he wants to say next. “I, uh…” he clears his throat, glancing up at you, “I’d like to come back sometime soon. Maybe we could actually hang out?” His voice wavers just a little, and you catch the flicker of nerves in his expression.

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out on a date?” you tease, letting a hint of mischief dance in your gaze.

A blush creeps into his cheeks, but he nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah, actually… I’d like to take you out. Not here in your store. How about a movie or something?” he mumbles, trying to hide his hopefulness.

“A movie sounds nice,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your own chest.

“How about the day after tomorrow?” he asks, his eyes brightening with relief and anticipation.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Sure.”

His blush deepens, and his grin widens as he waves goodbye, stepping out into the night air. As he heads home, he feels lighter, like a weight has lifted, the warmth of your smile lingering with him, warming him even as the winter wind swirls around.

Hoseok insisted on watching one of those cheerful Christmas movies, the kind that swells with improbable reunions and holiday cheer, even though you’d told him he didn’t have to—any genre would’ve been fine. But he’d insisted, almost stubbornly, saying that it’s what he wanted. Yet, even as the lights dim and you settle in, you can feel the irony of it: this bright, glittering warmth on screen, and something distant in his gaze that it doesn’t quite reach. 

You’ve got a tub of buttery popcorn between you and sodas on the floor by your feet, but your attention isn’t really on the movie. Something about a girl rediscovering her family…you’ve seen it before, enough times to know every twist and turn by heart. Instead, you focus on the space between you, the openness of your hand resting on the armrest, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, intertwining his fingers with yours, a soft thrill of warmth lights up your chest. 

He hums contentedly, gently squeezing your fingers, and after a while, his head leans softly against your shoulder, his breathing falling into a slow, steady rhythm. When you glance down, you realize he’s drifted off, and a small smile tugs at your lips. He must be exhausted, though you don’t even know what he does for work, what fills his days with the kind of weight that would make him fall asleep so quickly.

You let him rest, his warmth comforting against your shoulder, and time slips away until the credits roll and the lights blink back on. As he stirs, blinking sleepily and straightening up, a hint of embarrassment flickers across his face, but you brush it off with a reassuring smile, finding that you liked the feeling of him resting against you.

“Want to come back to my bookstore?” you ask as you both step out into the cold night, snowflakes swirling gently around you. Your fingers find his again, as natural as breathing. “We could have a drink. It’s closed for the holidays, so it’d be just the two of us,” you add with a smile, looking up at him.

He yawns, nodding. “I’d really like that.”

You walk together through the snow-dusted streets, laughter mingling with your steps, until you reach the bookstore, keys jingling in your hands as you unlock the door. Inside, the quiet space welcomes you both, the ceiling lit with floating snowflakes casting a soft glow over the shelves and cozy reading nooks. You both shrug off your coats, and you lead him into the back of the store, where the barista machine hums quietly in the corner.

“How about hot cocoa?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a little late for coffee.”

He nods, a soft smile touching his lips as he settles into one of the armchairs. You start grinding cocoa beans, the rich aroma filling the air, and set two festive mugs beneath the machine, watching as it pours thick, velvety cocoa. The air is warm, and somehow you feel more at home in this quiet moment than you have all season, the world outside reduced to the gentle hush of falling snow.

With the cocoa steaming in your hands, you settle into one of the oversized, cloud-soft couches, and he sits across from you, mirroring your small, hesitant smile. The bookstore feels like a world away from the outside, a sanctuary where the soft hum of holiday lights flickers gently, and the scent of chocolate mingles with the faint, comforting smell of old books.

You take a slow sip, letting the warmth fill you. “So,” you ask, voice gentle but direct, “do you want to tell me why you hate Christmas so much?”

He pauses, caught off guard, nearly choking on his own cocoa, and you watch his face flush, caught somewhere between embarrassment and hesitation. Realizing you’ve gone right to the heart of it, you quickly add, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m just…curious. But it’s okay if you’re not ready.”

For a moment, he seems to shrink inward, his face turning soft with a sadness that feels ancient, like a weight he’s carried for too long. He takes a breath that’s almost a shudder, expanding his chest as if even breathing through it hurts.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he says finally, his voice so low it’s barely a whisper. “It’s that I’m scared you’ll look at me differently, that I’ll just…bring you down.” His words are vulnerable, stripped bare, trembling with the unspoken.

Reaching out a little, you reassure him, “I won’t. I promise. But really, there’s no pressure. You only have to share what feels right.”

He nods, but there’s something in his gaze that shifts—like he’s waging a silent battle, torn between hiding and the need to unburden himself. He fidgets with his fingers, then places his mug carefully on the table, as though any movement could shatter the quiet around you.

“It’s just…” He hesitates, casting his gaze downward, then continues, “I want to tell you, because…well, only my closest friends know. And I think you deserve to know too, since I’ve been such an ass to you…” he trails off with a nervous laugh, tinged with sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he begins. “It happened when I was seventeen,” he says, voice low and brittle. You set your own mug down, instinctively leaning forward, drawn to the rawness of his words.

“It was Christmas Eve,” he says softly, staring past you, somewhere into the painful fog of memory. “There was a storm—snow swirling thick, icy roads. And…” He pauses, his voice trembling, his words hitching, thick with emotion.

Instinctively, you move over to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he struggles for composure, his breath shaky. Leaning into your touch, he swallows hard, gathering the words from somewhere deep, each one a fragile release.

“My parents and my sister…” he chokes out, his voice shattering into tears, and you draw him closer, feeling him tremble against you. One of his hands finds yours, his grip tight, holding onto you as though he fears the memory might pull him under.

“They died,” he whispers, and the words break free like a dam bursting. His shoulders shake as the full force of his grief surfaces, raw and unrestrained. He buries his face in his hands, and you gently place a hand on his back, offering the quiet comfort of your presence as he unburdens himself.

He leans into you, surrendering to the weight of years of sorrow. “And it’s all my fault,” he sobs, the words barely discernible through his heaving breaths.

Softly, you murmur, “How do you figure that?” Your voice is low, gentle, as though you’re trying to hold him steady with your words.

“Because…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “I asked them to go out that day. The star on the tree was broken, and I’d wanted everything to be perfect, so they went out just to get a new one. And they never came back.”

His confession lingers in the air, heavy, each word carving deeper into the silence. You pull him close, holding him as he cries, his sobs echoing softly through the quiet bookstore. 

You pull him closer, letting your warmth envelop him like a soft blanket, as if you could shield him from the pain he’s held onto for so long. “But it wasn’t your fault,” you whisper, gently, your words like a balm, “How could it be? They were adults, Hoseok. If they hadn’t wanted to go, they wouldn’t have. You didn’t force them, didn’t ask for a storm. It’s horrible and tragic, yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry this, but…it’s not your fault.”

A sob breaks from him, raw and filled with years of bottled sorrow. “But it is,” he cries, his voice catching, “If I hadn’t been so insistent about that damn star, if I hadn’t wanted everything to be fucking perfect…”

Tenderly, you tighten your embrace, gently rubbing his back. “But you can’t know that, Hoseok. No one could know.” Your words are soft but sure, reassuring, each one carrying a warmth you hope he can feel. “Sometimes…things just happen, things we can’t control.”

“It’s been over a decade,” he says, his voice a fragile echo. “But every Christmas—every snowstorm, every time I see the lights, I’m right back there. All I see is them, and I hate it.” His voice trembles with anger, grief, and resentment. “I hate the snow, I hate the holidays. That storm, those roads…it’s all ruined for me.” He breaks again, the words torn from him, and you hold him through his tears, letting him release everything he’s held in, feeling each tremor as he cries.

For a while, you just stay there, giving him the space to let the sorrow pour out, letting him lean into you fully. You say nothing, just hold him, until the sobs subside to quiet sniffles. His voice barely a whisper, he murmurs, “I just want them to come back…” and the raw ache in his words tugs at your heart.

Your chest tightens with empathy, the pain he’s carried so vividly there before you. The weight of it all is almost unbearable, and now you see why he’s buried his light under layers of grief for so long. But there’s something else there, too—a longing to break free, if he only knew how.

Finally, you find the words, speaking softly. “Look, Hoseok…I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. And it’s unfair, all of it. But you’ve carried this for so long, like a stone around your neck, dragging you down. It’s part of you, yes, but maybe…maybe it doesn’t have to define every part of you forever. What if you could let a little of it go?”

He’s quiet, thinking, eyes still glistening. “I don’t think I can,” he says softly, looking at you as though searching for permission to forgive himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve to be happy…”

You reach for his hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours. “Hoseok,” you say, voice steady but warm, “we all deserve to be happy. We’ve all faced loss and scars that linger, but we don’t have to carry them like this. I’m not saying you need to forget, but…maybe you can let the pain be something else now, something softer, something that blooms instead of weighs you down.”

He looks at you, brow furrowed, as though he’s trying to understand. “Like turning it into something beautiful?” he asks, his voice so low, so vulnerable.

“Yes,” you nod, a small smile breaking through. “Like tending to it, like planting seeds where the pain was, and seeing what beautiful things might grow. Hold onto that pain, but let it bloom into something beautiful rather than letting it scar. Nurture it like a garden, tend to it with care, so that the memories don’t define you, but become parts of you that you can cherish, like petals of a rose you keep alive. New memories, maybe. Or something to honor what you loved about them.”

He looks up, eyes glistening with tears, and yet you can’t help but think he looks so heartbreakingly beautiful like this—vulnerable, raw, his heart laid bare.

He stares into the distance, thinking, his fingers still laced with yours. For the first time, you catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes, fragile but alive. The weight is still there, but something else is there now, too—a softness, a beginning.

“Namjoon told me you used to be like the sun itself, and I think it’s time to let your light shine again. I can see glimpses of that warmth, those pieces of who you were. You deserve happiness, Hoseok. Don’t you think?” Your hand gently cradles his cheek, thumb brushing softly against his skin.

His breath shudders, voice rough and tremulous. “I… I’m not sure.”

You squeeze his hands, a comforting weight. “I’m not saying it will happen overnight. But you deserve the world, and maybe…maybe it’s time to let yourself imagine that.” You search his face, noticing the exhaustion in the redness of his eyes, the weariness clinging to him like a shadow. He’s been carrying his world alone, and it’s wearing him down, thread by thread.

“Listen,” you whisper, “we don’t have to talk about it anymore tonight. You look so tired. How about this—I’ll find some blankets, and we can sleep on the couch, together?” Your arms hold him close, an offer of sanctuary, one he so clearly needs.

He nods, and you rise to gather the blankets, arranging them softly around him before settling beside him. You help him lie down, his head resting on your lap as your fingers drift tenderly through his soft brown hair, tracing gentle circles. Your fingertips graze the shell of his ear, and you feel a delicate shiver ripple through him. Slowly, his breathing steadies, the tension in his face unwinding as you touch his cheek softly. His eyes flutter shut, though a few quiet tears slip free, trailing down the bridge of his nose to rest, shimmering, on your thigh.

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” you murmur, voice almost a breath against the quiet. “I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure your parents and sister would want to see you smile again, to see you living freely.”

He hums faintly, a soft sound that melts into the stillness, leaning unconsciously into the warmth of your hand. With a tender impulse, you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your lips meeting his skin like a promise. “You’re a beautiful sunflower, Hobi,” you whisper, the words a soft caress.

A small, fragile smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his breaths deepening as he drifts, his body finally surrendering to sleep. Your heart aches for this gentle soul, and yet you feel strength in the quiet resolve settling over you. Though you’ve barely begun to know him, you feel an undeniable pull—to protect, to nurture, to help him find his way back to the light. You want to see him reclaim the happiness he’s buried, for you feel, deep down, that he deserves it more than anyone.

As you press your hand softly against his shoulder, you settle beside him, closing your own eyes, and together, under the soft weight of blankets, you both drift into the quiet peace of sleep.

His chest feels strangely lighter, as if the weight he’s carried so long has finally loosened its hold. The scent of old paper mingles with a trace of last night’s cocoa, stirring softly around him, and he opens his eyes to find two forgotten mugs, their contents now cold, sitting on the table. Morning light streams through the bookstore’s large windows, casting delicate beams across the room, where tiny particles of dust dance and swirl like winter snowflakes caught in a golden glow.

And then it hits him—he’s in your bookstore. He fell asleep here, his heart laid bare, resting in your gentle embrace. Last night, he poured out his grief, his regrets, his guilt, and you’d held him in the quiet safety of your lap, soothing him with words that linger in the air, as soft as the dawn light now filtering in. He feels a warmth settle in his chest, something lighter and more hopeful taking root, gently nudging the darkness aside.

He turns, catching sight of you still asleep beside him, your lashes fluttering against your cheek in the gentlest rhythm, like the delicate wings of a butterfly resting between flights. You look so serene, so quietly beautiful, and in this moment, he feels his heart expand, filled with a quiet gratitude and a strange, new kind of peace. He isn’t fully healed—not yet—but he feels the faintest beginnings of something brighter, a light beginning to shift within him.

You were right, he realizes. He doesn’t have to carry his grief alone, doesn’t have to let it take root so deeply. His friends had tried to tell him before, but somehow, he’d resisted. With you, though, it felt different. Maybe it’s the way you looked past the jagged edges of his sorrow and saw the flicker of light he thought he’d lost. Maybe it’s the way you listened, without pity, without judgment, your compassion flowing freely, like a balm to his worn-out soul. He feels a rush of quiet reverence—for your kindness, for the safe harbor you offered, for the hope you unknowingly planted in him. And he knows, somehow, he’ll carry this moment with him forever.

You stir softly beneath him, your body stretching as you wake. Your eyes meet his, soft and warm, and in that gentle gaze he feels understood in a way he hadn’t thought possible. You smile, a tender smile that feels like the start of something new.

“I loved our talk yesterday,” you murmur, voice laced with warmth and care. “How are you feeling?”

He hums softly, the morning light catching the hint of a smile on his lips, “I feel… lighter, actually.”

“That’s good. I’m so glad,” you whisper, fingers tracing gently along his cheek, your touch soft and warm. A shiver rolls through him, and he feels goosebumps rise, like your kindness has left its own quiet mark on his skin.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice tender and full. “Thank you for listening, for everything… truly.”

You smile, brushing a strand of his hair back with a quiet laugh. “I didn’t do anything—you did that,” you say, your voice a soft tease. 

He chuckles, feeling his heart swell as he sinks a little deeper into your lap, his gaze locked on yours. “You’re good with words,” he replies, leaning into your touch, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long.

“I read a lot,” you chuckle, fingers weaving gently through his hair, each stroke grounding him more fully into this quiet moment.

He clears his throat, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an unexpected tenderness, “What are you doing tomorrow? On Christmas Eve.”

You pause, a flicker of surprise lighting your eyes before you break into a gentle smile. “Nothing, why?”

A smile spreads across his face, slow and earnest. “I’d really like it if you’d come to my place. I want to make dinner for you, to thank you. For all of this.”

Your eyes soften, glistening with a look he can’t quite decipher, something warm and unspoken that makes his heart beat a little faster. And then, leaning closer, you brush a kiss against his cheek, your lips feather-light and warm.

“I’d love to,” you whisper, and your words, simple as they are, feel like the beginning of something he hadn’t dared hope for.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the quiet streets are bathed in the soft, amber glow of street lamps, their light dancing on the fresh blanket of snow as you wait for the bus that will carry you to Hoseok’s place. A warmth bubbles up inside you as you think back to yesterday—when you finally glimpsed the beautiful light that has always flickered behind his eyes. That warmth wrapped around you, like a blanket on a cold winter night, and filled your heart with a joy you can’t quite put into words. 

Seated now in the gentle hum of the bus, you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the world blur past in a whirl of twinkling lights and shadows. Your mind keeps drifting back to Hoseok, that ray of sunshine who’s somehow already become a quiet storm in your chest. You’ve never felt like this for anyone—never this quickly, never this intensely. You know you like him deeply, but there’s so much more to discover. This dinner, you think, could be the start of that journey. 

As the soft strains of Christmas music fill your ears, you imagine what his home might look like—wondering if it would feel as warm and comforting as his presence. The bus slows, and you press the stop button when you realize the next stop is just a heartbeat away from Hoseok’s apartment. The doors open, and you step out into the crisp, dark afternoon, your breath puffing out in delicate clouds as you trudge through the snow, boots crunching with each step toward his building. Finally, you find it. You shake the snow off your boots before making your way up the stairs, your heart fluttering as you ascend to the right floor. You reach his door and knock gently, anticipation coursing through your veins. It’s only moments before the door swings open, and you’re met with an embrace of warmth—both from the cozy glow spilling out from inside and from the inviting scent of something delicious drifting in the air.

Hoseok stands before you, wearing a red Christmas apron, with a pocket embroidered with Santa and snowflakes at the edges. The sight catches you off guard, and you can’t help but smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Wow,” you begin, taken by surprise, but he grins back, the same joyful light in his eyes. “—Handsome, right?” he finishes your thought with a laugh, and you join in, smiling even brighter. “Yeah,” you laugh, nodding, “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” You slip off your coat and shoes, feeling the warmth of his home wrap around you like a soft embrace.

You look down at your dress, a silky golden thing that rests just above your knees, with the barest hint of your collarbone exposed. Beneath the apron, you catch the outline of his dress shirt, festively adorned with Christmas prints, and the way his dress pants fit him perfectly. Without thinking, you reach out, gently grasping his bicep, surprised by how solid and strong it feels beneath your touch. You open your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but for a moment, the words slip away, leaving you with only the quiet flutter of your heartbeat.

“I used to go all out at Christmas,” Hoseok says, his voice soft, catching your gaze as he notices you watching him. “When my family was still alice… it was kinda our tradition. And,” he pauses, the weight of the memories hanging between you both, “I thought maybe I should replace those dark memories with new ones. Water the flowers, like you suggested.” 

The sincerity in his voice pulls at your heart, and you feel a warmth spread inside you. He really took your rambling words to heart, didn’t he? It’s almost too much, the way he’s reaching for healing, for light. You blink quickly, trying to stop the tears from spilling over—because God, if he keeps this up, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold it together. 

He smiles softly at you, a smile that carries both gratitude and something more, before gently guiding you into his home with a hand resting at the small of your back. “Come in,” he murmurs, as if he’s sharing more than just his space, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself. 

You step inside, and the atmosphere is instantly warm, comforting—like stepping into a dream where all the colors and memories belong exactly where they are. His personal items are scattered thoughtfully around the room, each object, each piece of art, telling a story of the man himself. The walls are adorned with splashes of color, vibrant yet intimate, as if the house breathes with the same life that hums in his veins. It’s the kind of home that makes you smile involuntarily, grounded and cozy, much like him. 

You follow him into the kitchen, small but inviting, its walls holding the scent of simmering food and something more—something like hope. Your stomach rumbles with anticipation as you watch him finish off the last details of the meal, every movement graceful and purposeful. It’s like watching an artist at work, and your senses are overwhelmed by the delicious aroma that fills the air.

He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up with an easy, practiced motion, revealing arms veined and strong—muscles flexing as his hand moves to stir the pan. Your mind drifts for a moment, caught between admiration and the soft, flickering thoughts that begin to dance behind your eyes. His presence feels like the warmth of the sun—comforting, yet powerful.

“Do you want wine?” he asks, his gaze meeting yours as he reaches for a heat-resistant mat to place the pan on. 

“Yeah, but just one glass,” you answer, your voice steady. You don’t want to cloud the clarity you feel in this moment—not today. Not with this quiet intimacy swirling between you two, a pull that feels magnetic, like you’re drawn in by the gravity of his kindness and the warmth of the space he’s shared with you. 

When you step into the dining room, the sight before you takes your breath away. The table is set perfectly—candles flicker gently, casting a soft glow across the room, while a delicate Christmas playlist hums in the background. The ambiance feels like something pulled from a dream, and your heart flutters as you take it all in. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice quiet with awe, still unable to fully comprehend the effort he’s put into making this evening so special.

Hoseok chuckles softly, a smile curling at the corners of his lips as he drags a stool out for you to sit. “Actually,” he says, placing the food carefully on the table, his eyes warm and earnest, “I had to. It’s the least I can do.” He pours wine into your glass, his fingers brushing the stem gently, and as he looks up at you, something shifts between you both—something that feels like the beginning of a new story.

You blush and smile, warmth blooming inside you, feeling a kind of happiness that only his presence seems to create. It’s a glow that wraps around you like a soft, sunlit blanket, a feeling you know he brings to others when he’s not weighed down by his sorrow. But tonight, Hoseok is different—lighter, freer. He’s like a person emerging from the dark, letting the painful past be nothing more than distant echoes, fading into the background of his life. There’s a spark in his eyes, a lightness to his spirit that wasn’t there yesterday. You know the sadness still lingers in him, but damn, seeing him fight to reclaim joy is nothing short of beautiful.

His movements are more confident now, flowing with a grace that seems to echo his shifting mood. The pain didn’t vanish overnight, but he’s making a conscious choice to let go, to change, and that’s the most powerful thing. It feels like watching someone wake up, piece by piece, from a long and heavy slumber.

You take a sip of your wine, and the quiet hum of contentment fills the space between you. As you begin to eat, the flavors on your tongue are nothing short of heavenly, and you realize—he’s not just kind, not just tender, but he’s an incredible cook too. Your heart swells, and you glance at him, finding his smile—soft, genuine, a reflection of the warmth that’s spilling out from inside him. He’s smiling with his eyes, and it makes you feel elated, like everything in the world has aligned just perfectly. 

Then, you feel something nudge against your foot, warm and gentle, and your gaze drops to see his foot brushing against yours. You can’t help but giggle, a little burst of joy that seems to bubble up from your chest. You drink a little more, letting the wine relax your senses as you continue eating, savoring every bite until you’re almost too full to move.

“This was so delicious, Hobi,” you say, your voice soft, full of admiration, as your hand stretches across the table, finding its way to gently caress his. 

He smiles, his lips curling into a playful smirk as he meets your eyes. “Mh. Thank you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in warmth.

“But you’re the one who deserves all the thanks and praises,” he adds, his voice thick with sincerity, his gaze never leaving yours. You blink, surprised by the depth of his words, and feel your heart stir with a tenderness you can’t quite explain.

“Me?” you laugh, a little incredulous, the sound light and playful, like you’re both caught in this beautiful moment of connection.

“Yeah,” he nods, his voice low and filled with gratitude, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had the strength to face my pain, to let the old me—the me I thought was lost—come back to life.” 

His words settle in your chest, heavy with truth, and it stirs something deep inside you. 

“Instead of sitting here with you today,” he continues, his voice raw and real, “I’d probably be lying in bed, bitter, angry at the world and everyone in it. But here I am, actually enjoying Christmas. Actually enjoying life again.” 

The rawness of his honesty catches you off guard, and your heart aches with the beauty of it. A few tears well in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming sweetness of his words. His gratitude, so pure and so deeply felt, moves you in ways you didn’t expect.

He caresses your hand back, the warmth of his touch sending a ripple of warmth through your chest. “Thank you for guiding me back towards the light,” he whispers, his voice soft yet resolute, the sincerity in it making your heart swell. 

Your eyes flutter, feeling a mixture of gratitude and happiness for him. This is the light you saw the moment you met him—the flicker of hope beneath the surface of his pain—and now, with gentle patience, he’s found his way back to it. To see him embrace it, to see him live in it again, is nothing short of breathtaking. And in that moment, you realize just how incredibly sexy that is—this strength, this vulnerability wrapped in his quiet confidence. 

Without thinking, driven by the pull of something deeper, you lean in across the table, closing the distance between you, and your lips meet his in a kiss so tender it almost feels like the world stops. 

For a fleeting second, there’s hesitation in him—surprise, perhaps—but then his hands cradle your cheeks, his fingers slipping into your hair, and he moans into the kiss, pulling you closer, deepening it. 

Your heart races, the connection between you sparking like wildfire. You think, with a flash of clarity, that it was only ever a matter of time before this moment arrived, before your lips touched in the way they were always meant to. 

When you pull apart, his brown eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, as are yours, and you feel the heat between you intensify, every nerve in your body alive with the electricity of the moment. 

He leans in again, lips brushing against yours as his breath quickens, and you feel something stir within you, something deep and primal, fluttering in your chest. 

He pulls back again, and his voice is laced with desire, hushed but intense. “Do you want to see my bed? It’s nice and soft,” he asks, his gaze still smoldering.

You blush, the heat rising to your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh—a breathy sound, teasing and full of playful mischief. “Yes, but I’m more into the harder beds.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening into something more dangerous, more magnetic. “You are, are you? So you like it hard?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge to it now, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“Maybe,” you tease, batting your lashes as your heart begins to race. You rise from the stool, the air between you thick with unspoken promises.

“Which way to your bedroom?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the heat between you palpable, electric. You can already feel the pull of him, the temptation of what’s to come.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for yours, and you feel the warmth of his touch ignite something inside of you. “This way,” he murmurs, his fingers threading through yours as he leads you through the tiny hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the anticipation building like a slow crescendo, your pulse quickening with every heartbeat. The air feels thick with tension, charged, like a storm ready to break. As you step into his bedroom, the world outside seems to disappear, and all that exists is him—his presence, his touch, the way he’s looking at you with that fire in his eyes.

Before you can take another breath, he pulls you into his arms, one hand sliding behind your neck, the other settling on the small of your back. His lips crash into yours, deep and smoldering, igniting the very air between you. You melt into him, your heart pounding in your chest, your body aching for the closeness, for everything that’s about to unfold.

His tongue dances with yours, a teasing, intoxicating rhythm that sends shivers through your bones, a soft, helpless moan slipping past your lips and into his. The air between you is electric, alive with a pulse that pulls you both closer until clothes become mere shadows cast aside, and your chests rise and fall in time, breaths mingling as one. He guides you down onto the bed, and you gasp, bouncing softly against the mattress, a laugh escaping you—only to dissolve as he hovers above, his gaze dark and consuming, savoring every curve, every inch as though you were his finest vintage.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent, as his hands trace along your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You shiver, the warmth of his touch awakening every inch, every nerve, until your skin hums under his fingertips. His lips descend, his breath warm against your skin as he moves lower, his gaze holding yours in a promise, a delicious anticipation that pools and aches within you.

“Can I touch you, make you come on my tongue?” he whispers, his voice low, pleased. You nod, breath hitching, and when you gasp a desperate ‘yes,’ he presses deeper, spreading you open, his lips finding your pussy, soft and warm, as a shudder rushes through you like a wave.

He doesn't hesitate, diving in, his tongue moving in slow, devastating circles that steal your breath, exploring you with the kind of hunger that unravels you. You gasp, hands tangling in his hair as he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you steady, his own groans vibrating against your skin as his mouth moves against you, relentless, devoted. The wet sounds echo, shamelessly intimate, drawing you closer to that edge, your pulse quickening as his nose brushes your clit, a shockwave of pleasure sparking up your spine.

Your fingers knot into his hair, tugging, a fevered plea spilling from your lips as he drives you higher. A skilled flick, a press, and your hips roll forward, chasing the pleasure he's offering, breath coming fast and shallow. “Hobi,” you gasp, feeling the tidal pull of release, the wave cresting just at the brink. “I’m so close, I—”

He pulls back only briefly, his voice a husky command. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste it.”

The endearment sends a dizzying rush through you, a warmth that winds tight in your core, pushing you over the edge. With a final swirl of his tongue, you fall, your muscles clenching around him as his name shatters from your lips, your body arching, pulsing with every wave that rolls through you. He doesn't let up, holding you through every tremor, his mouth and fingers steady, pulling every last bit of pleasure from you.

When your breath finally slows, he trails kisses up your body, lingering over the swell of your hips, your stomach, each touch a worship. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, then your jaw, his face gleaming with your warmth as he murmurs, “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“That tickles,” you giggle as his lips trail across your cheek, finally capturing your mouth in a tender, lingering kiss. There’s a faint taste of yourself on him, but it’s lost in the intoxicating warmth of his presence; you’re drunk on him, submerged in the depth of his touch, his scent, the pull of his breath against yours. It’s astonishing how deeply you feel for him already—as if you've known the quiet rhythm of his soul and the dance of his heart for years, not days that turned to weeks.

“Was it good?” he murmurs, his eyes bright and searching, holding a playful tenderness that only he seems to bring out in you.

“It was incredible,” you pant, your body slowly easing down from the dizzying high, a blissful afterglow humming through every inch of you.

“Then let me give you another,” he says with a teasing glint, the promise glistening in his voice as he leans closer.

You blink, surprised, a trace of doubt slipping through your words. “Are you sure?” It’s not that you question his skill—he’s just shown you what he’s capable of—but you’ve never been able to reach that edge twice in such quick succession.

His expression softens, his eyes tracing over your face with quiet understanding. “You’ve never orgasmed twice in a row, have you?” He asks, his voice gentle, knowing. You bite your lip, nodding, your cheeks warm.

“Then lean back, relax,” he whispers, a warmth threading through his voice that feels like a promise waiting to unfold. “Let me do all the work.”

He guides you to sit up, leaning comfortably against the headboard, and settles in beside you, close enough that his heat seems to melt into your own. With a soft, lingering kiss, his lips capture yours again, while his fingers trail a path down your body, finding the sensitive peak of your breast and teasing your nipple with a gentle, rhythmic squeeze that draws a moan from deep within you. His hand moves skillfully, squeezing, massaging, until your skin tingles beneath his touch, each sensation like a spark flickering into life.

When his hand finally moves lower, tracing the curve of your thigh, you’re already quivering with anticipation. His fingers find that sensitive spot between your legs, his touch feather-light but insistent as he circles your clit, the glide slick and warm, a sensation that sends tremors through your body. A soft moan escapes your lips, melting into his as his finger slips inside you, a slow, steady rhythm building as he moves in and out, each motion drawing you closer to that simmering heat just waiting to burst.

His lips never leave yours, each kiss drawing you deeper into the haze of his touch, your body moving in sync with his, rolling against him as his hand works its magic. You’re already beginning to unravel, each touch, each whisper against your skin making you feel like you’re on the verge of combustion. Not quite over the edge yet, but right there, teetering, every nerve alive, every inch of you utterly and completely his.

“Mmmhh,” he breathes against your lips, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before pulling away to meet your gaze. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and inviting, filled with a warmth that makes your pulse quicken.

“Ah, Hobi,” you pant, your hips instinctively moving in sync with his hand, matching each subtle movement with a desperate rhythm.

“You like that, huh?” he teases, his voice soft but laced with a confidence that sends a shiver through you.

“I do,” you moan, breathy and unguarded. “You can… add another.”

He obliges, slipping a second finger beside the first, the added stretch sending a spark of pleasure rippling through you, and you can’t help the delighted mewl that escapes your lips. He moves with a steady, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling, finding just the right spots, each motion igniting something deeper, pulling you toward that familiar crest of pleasure. For the first time, you believe—maybe you could actually come again.

Your head falls back, resting against the headboard, and he seizes the moment, his mouth tracing along the exposed curve of your neck. His lips, warm and firm, press kisses to your skin, each one sending a wave of electricity through you, and as his teeth graze just beneath your ear, you giggle softly, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, each word brushing against your skin like velvet, sending delightful shivers coursing through you. “Think you can handle a third finger?”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping as you murmur, “Maybe… Are you getting me ready for that monster cock of yours?” you tease, voice wavering with laughter and heat.

He laughs, the sound low and deep, and slides a third finger inside, his mouth brushing your ear as he murmurs, “I’ve got to make sure your sweet, tiny pussy can take me.”

The words strike something in you, a spark that seems to light you from within. Your body welcomes the stretch, feeling fuller, each movement of his fingers heightening the tension building inside you, every push and curl driving you closer to the edge. You’re lost, breathless, a soundless cry caught in your throat as his thumb grazes your clit, sending you spiraling, stars dancing in your vision as pleasure wells up from within.

“Are you close again, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice thick with desire, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling in a way that’s both messy and perfect, igniting every nerve.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word more a breath than a sound, your hips rolling in time with his hand as he dips his head to your neck, then your cheek, each touch gentle, yet searing. He catches a stray tear of ecstasy on his lips, and then he finds your mouth, kissing you deeply, his body pressing against yours, chest against your breasts, the closeness amplifying every sensation. The world fades around you, narrowing to just the two of you, to his fingers, his lips, his warmth, everything feeling achingly right.

Before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, your body pulsing around his fingers as he moves within you, steady, guiding you through every wave of your release. You’re left breathless, panting, as the pleasure washes over you, his fingers still moving, coaxing every last tremor from you, until you’re spent, lost in the warmth of his embrace.

“See?” he grins, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “I told you I could make you come again.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling empty, your body still pulsing in the delicious aftershocks of his touch. He holds his slick fingers in front of you, and for a moment, you think he’ll ask you to taste yourself. But instead, he surprises you, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, his lips parting as he sucks them clean, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, and your body responds instinctively, clenching at the image of his self-indulgent pleasure.

“That was… incredibly hot,” you murmur, still breathless, your hand finding his chest as you push him gently back against the headboard. He gives a soft, surprised laugh but lets you take the lead, his body relaxed, trusting. His legs part under your touch, his cock heavy and hard between them, and you feel a rush of excitement knowing he’s been waiting, building up desire, just for you.

“Oh, okay,” he breathes, his voice breaking into a pant as you lean in. You spit into your hand, wrapping it firmly around his dick, feeling the warmth of him under your palm, the slight pulse of anticipation. His eyes close, his head tilting back, a moan slipping from his lips as you begin, your hand gliding over his length, making sure every inch is slick and ready for you.

Without hesitation, you bring your mouth down to him, taking him in fully, your lips stretching around him as you ease down. He gasps, his body jerking slightly, unprepared for the sudden depth, and you stay there, breathing steadily, relaxing as you let him fill you completely. Above you, he murmurs something unintelligible, a string of curses and soft sighs that only drive you further.

You pull back, letting him slip from your lips with a soft, wet sound, the cool air hitting his skin as he opens his mouth, stunned. “Damn, Y/N, I—”

But before he can finish, you take him in again, his words dissolving into a low groan as you move, finding a rhythm, hollowing your cheeks around him as you hum, feeling him pulse with each sound. The slight salt of his precum lingers on your tongue, a taste that feels both intimate and thrilling. His hands find your head, fingers threading into your hair, and you feel him tense above you, fighting for control. But then his grip tightens, and he pushes you down gently, deeper, a raw, breathless whisper escaping him.

“Fuck,” he pants, his voice breaking as you take him all the way in again, your eyes watering slightly, the warmth of him filling you completely. He presses his palms to your cheeks, drawing you up, meeting you with a hungry kiss, his mouth capturing yours in a fervor that leaves you both breathless, your bodies pressed close as if to savor every last taste, every last touch.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his eyes meeting yours, deep pools of desire and awe, the kind of look that sends warmth pooling low in your belly.

You giggle, shifting down the bed and tugging at his legs, playfully coaxing him to lie flat beneath you. As he settles back, you crawl over him, gazing down, feeling the heat between you like a magnetic pull. Slowly, you lean down, capturing his lips, letting the kiss deepen until it feels like you’re both tumbling into something endless.

When you pull back, your voice soft, you ask, “Are you okay with doing it raw?” His face flushes, his eyes darting to the side for a moment, vulnerable, unguarded. “If you have condoms, that’s fine too… I’m clean, and—”

He interrupts, his words stumbling. “It’s fine. I—It’s been a long time for me, but… it’s not like I haven’t… I mean, I’m not a virgin… it’s just been a while since—”

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile, your other hand resting on the warmth of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded with desire. “I just want you. Right here, right now.”

He inhales deeply, his chest expanding under your hand before he breathes out, a quiet “Mkay.”

That’s all you need. With a slow, deliberate motion, you swing your leg over his hips, settling yourself above him, your hand finding him, guiding his dick to you. Gently, you press yourself against him, letting the head of his cock tease you, a tantalizing friction that makes his face tighten with a mixture of pleasure and impatience.

“Don’t tease,” he pants, his voice a husky whisper.

“Says the master of teasing,” you quip back with a grin, and finally, you begin to lower yourself onto him, savoring each exquisite inch as he fills you, stretching you with an overwhelming, delicious pressure. Every nerve ignites as you sink down, hands splayed on his chest, his skin hot and firm beneath your palms. His eyes stay locked on yours, dark and hungry, and as you begin to roll your hips, a soft moan escapes you—he feels so perfect.

“God, you’re so big,” you murmur, voice wavering as you ride him, your movements picking up a steady rhythm, each glide smooth and effortless, your body still sensitive and wet from the pleasure he’s already given you.

“You look so beautiful on top of me,” he breathes, his voice thick with awe as he watches you, his gaze tracing the way your body moves, the rise and fall of your breasts as you ride him. His words make your pulse race, and your body clenches around him in response, your hips picking up speed, moving faster, deeper, chasing that place inside you where everything blurs into pure sensation.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, your mouth finding a spot just below his jaw where you suck softly, marking him as yours. He groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough, his need written in every small movement.

When your lips return to his, he kisses you fiercely, and you slow your hips, grinding against him with deep, rolling movements that leave you both breathless, the friction between you a heady, delicious ache. His hands hold you with a greed that makes your skin tingle, his grip firm and possessive, as though he’s trying to savor every second, every feeling. 

He begins to thrust up into you, his movements sudden yet electrifying, each stroke catching you off guard in the most thrilling way. A gasp escapes your lips, raw and breathless.

“Ah, fuck,” you pant against his ear, your voice a broken whisper.

“Good?” he murmurs, his tone low, teasing.

“Mhm, yes,” you moan, your voice trembling as his hands pull you down, anchoring you to him, while his hips drive up to meet yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust sends a delicious shock through you, his cock filling you so deeply that you feel entirely claimed, entirely his.

“Let me flip you over,” he pants, and with a strength that feels effortless, he shifts you onto your back without ever leaving your body. Your legs wrap instinctively around him, locking him in place as he plunges deeper, each thrust building a rhythm that’s quick, relentless. Your hands fall back, palms open beside your head as he holds you there, his hips moving in an unyielding rhythm that sends you spiraling, your vision blurring with pleasure.

Above you, he’s sweating, his chest heaving as he breathes out, “Think you can come again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice barely a breath, each word trembling with the anticipation building low in your belly.

“Let’s find out,” he replies, his voice thick with determination. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak as he sucks, sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thrusts remain deep, unyielding, each movement pressing against your most sensitive spot, and you feel yourself unraveling, piece by piece, as his scent surrounds you, grounding you in him.

He moves to the other nipple, and as his lips close around it, your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, pulling him closer, feeling the delicious pull of another climax gathering, stronger, more overwhelming.

“I think… I think I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, every nerve alive with the approaching edge, feeling yourself build higher and higher, almost unbearably.

He hums against your breast, the vibration rippling through you, and when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, your body seizes, your pussy clenching around him—hard, locking him deep as your vision whites out in a blinding rush of sensation. The world blurs to nothing, a soft ringing filling your ears as your chest heaves. You dimly register his eyes on you, his gaze intense, enthralled, as you let go completely, surrendering to the pleasure.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, endless, consuming, as he continues to thrust, drawing every last bit of sensation from you. It feels like it will never stop, his body perfectly attuned to yours, his movements relentless, and you’re left breathless, utterly taken by him, lost in the exquisite pull of his touch.

“Oh my—fuck,” he rasps, his voice catching as he stills, releasing himself into you with a shuddering breath. His chest heaves, spent and utterly captivated, and as he catches his breath, he murmurs, “Shit, I didn’t ask if I could come inside you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a tired, blissful warmth spread through you. “It’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft and slurred, still drifting in the hazy warmth of pleasure. Despite your exhaustion, your body continues to pulse around him, a lingering hold, like it’s reluctant to let him go.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you. “You’re still squeezing me,” he says, giving a few gentle, lingering thrusts to help you both ride out the aftershocks, savoring every last sensation.

“This… has never happened before,” you murmur, a soft giggle escaping as the warmth fades and your body begins to relax. Finally, the last traces of tension melt away, leaving you both drowsy and satisfied.

“I hope it was good for you,” he says, letting his weight rest against you, his chest pressed to yours as his breathing steadies.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. “It was incredible,” you whisper, a tenderness in your voice that makes him chuckle softly. He nestles his face against your collarbone, eyes closed, sinking fully into the afterglow.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble against your skin. “It was incredible for me too.” For a moment, the two of you lie there, basking in the quiet peace between breaths, in the warmth of skin on skin. He shifts slightly, resting his head on your chest, and you feel his arms wrap tighter around you.

“I could lie here forever,” he breathes, his voice soft and content.

You giggle, brushing a thumb over his shoulder. “Sounds nice, but you’re just a little bit heavy,” you tease, your voice trailing off with a sleepy laugh. “But… Can I stay? I’m so tired, and I really don’t want to go outside in the cold snow.”

He draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips brushing over your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay. Sleep. And in the morning… I’ll make sure to fuck you real good all over again.” He tilts your chin up, sealing his promise with a warm, lingering kiss that leaves you feeling lightheaded, even now.

“That,” you sigh, smiling as you close your eyes, “sounds perfect.”

Slowly, he slips out of you, and though you feel the absence, he’s back almost immediately with a warm cloth. His hands are gentle, his touch soft as he lifts your legs to clean you with careful attention, leaving a trail of warmth where he touches. You hum, your body responding to his tenderness, and he smiles, brushing a kiss to your knee as he finishes.

“Do you want to sleep in a shirt?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he watches you start to drift off.

You shake your head, smiling sleepily. “No, I’m too tired to move… just come and spoon me,” you murmur, your voice already fading as you feel yourself slipping into sleep.

“Naked?” he teases, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief.

You smirk, stretching out your words, “Yeah… unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the least,” he replies, flashing a cheeky grin before slipping into bed beside you. He slides in behind you, pulling the covers up over both of you as if sealing you in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His body, warm and steady against yours, is like an anchor, and within moments, the world fades away, and you’re sound asleep, cradled in his embrace.

Morning comes gently, with the soft tickle of Hoseok’s breath grazing your neck, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as you begin to stir. You shift slightly, and he wakes, nuzzling close to you, his lips pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice rich and low.

You chuckle, turning your head slightly to face him. “Good morning… and Merry Christmas.”

He yawns, then his face lights up with a lazy, warm smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice filled with a happiness that feels both new and deeply familiar, like something cherished but long forgotten. The two of you laugh softly, as if sharing a secret, wrapped in the fullness of each other.

You wonder if he’s ever spent Christmas with anyone since his family passed, but something tells you not to ask—not when everything feels so gentle and good. His hand drifts down your body, his fingers finding the curve of your hip, settling on you possessively, and giving you a playful squeeze.

“Can you turn around?” he whispers, a subtle seriousness beneath his tone. “I want to ask you something.”

You shift to face him, and it’s like the morning light itself is gazing back at you—he’s radiant, his smile warm and glowing, spilling over with something tender and unspoken. For a heartbeat, you’re breathless, marveling at how a man could look this luminous, this achingly beautiful, as though he’s sunlight made flesh.

“What do you want to ask me?” you murmur, your own voice soft, a smile tugging at your lips as you reach to gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze twinkling with a mix of happiness and something bolder. “Would you… be my not fake girlfriend?” he asks, eyes dancing with playful mischief, though you can tell he’s holding his breath.

You can’t help but laugh, fingers threading through his hair. “So… you mean, a regular girlfriend?” you tease, tapping your chin and pretending to ponder it, though your heart already knows the answer.

He nods, grinning but waiting, his eyes fixed on yours, full of hope.

Without another word, you lean in, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s both deep and tender, lingering as if to say all the things words can’t quite hold. When you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, gaze soft as though he’s still catching his breath.

“Yes,” you whisper, a smile lighting up your face, “I want to be your not fake girlfriend.”

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ requested taglist: @nora12379 @back2bluesidex @joonsmagicshop @hobi-love @bangtan-tee-86 @itsmina29 @vintageroses10 @hoseoksluna @knjjjk @ktownshizzle @angellekookie @miksancheese

→ Author’s endnote: so… how are we feeling after riding this emotional rollercoaster of all the feels™? Are we okay? Did it wreck you just a little? Or were you like, “meh, this sucks”? Be honest—I can take it (I think) 😅 I may or may not have poured way too much of myself into Hobi, and then used OC as a therapy session to bandage my own emotional wounds 😂 Why do I do this? Every. Single. Time. But hey, at least we’re all healing together, right? 💜 Anyway, I really, really hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me all your thoughts, feelings, and maybe even your favorite moment—it means the world to me! 🫂

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

                You’ve known Jeong Hoseok for five hundred and forty-one days. It took you thirty-four days to realize he had become your closest friend at work, and since then it’s been five hundred and seven days of you and him meeting at the coffee machine every day to gossip about your other coworkers.

He’s your favourite coworker. Every day since you’ve started working at this company, you’ve sat at the desk across from him. Every day, he’s offered you a bright smile and wished you a good morning. Every day, he’s eaten lunch with you, talking about how he used to dance when he was a kid and how his mother would dress him all formal with a little red bow tie.

And two hundred and nineteen days ago, at last New Year’s Eve party, Hoseok held your hands because they were freezing while you stood outside watching the fireworks.

Two hundred and nineteen days. You think you should have understood your feelings for him since then, but you’ve been blind to it. That early March afternoon when he said his mother wanted him to go on a blind date and you’ve felt your heart breaking in your chest at the perspective of him going, you weren’t able to explain your reaction to him. You blamed it on your throat hurting, and he bought cough medicine for you that he brought at work the next day.

In late May, when you ended up being stood up by your other coworkers for your usual end of the month lunch, you think you almost realized. But when he mentioned his last date had ended well, you furrowed your brows and then asked him about it.

Halfway through the month of July, when he told you that he believed he’d be single forever, with that bright smile of his that always makes flowers grow on the soil of your heart, you whispered that you didn’t believe it. When he asked you to repeat, you said, “Don’t we all feel this way”.

Today is the 7th of August. You’re out on the annual camping trip of the company – not an actual trip, just a day on the countryside, next to a small lake where you swam in the early afternoon. And today you feel like you’ve been blind. Because he’s been in your life for five hundred and forty-one days, and you’re only now realizing that maybe, the way your heart flutters every time you see him is not because he’s a dear friend. Though you reckon the flutters started after New Year Eve only, so maybe you've only been blind for two hundred and nineteen days.

You’ve been drinking a little. Just a few glasses of rosé wine throughout the day, and you’ve watched him drink a couple of beers. Brought him one when he finished his last one without him even asking. It had your hands clammy with anxiety, but he didn’t say anything, just thanked you as you sat back next to him.

The sun has set now, and you’re lounging by the fireside. Some of your coworkers already left, and only the closest ones to you are still here. None of them know what you’ve realized today, and you’re quick to notice how Ryunjin sits close to Hoseok. How she speaks to him in ushered tones, and you think maybe, after all, your eyes opened two hundred and nineteen days too late.

He looks your way once, and when your gazes catch your heart stops in your chest. He smiles, infinitely soft, infinitely kind, and your cheeks burn. You’re lucky the firelight hides it, and you take a sip from your cup to distract you.

When Ryunjin puts her hand on his arm, telling him they should go look at the stars on the lake, you feel your heart drop so low in your chest it physically aches. To your surprise, Hoseok invites everyone, and everyone gets up to go.

It’s you that he falls into step with, even though Ryunjin is just a step in front of him.

“You’ve been silent,” Hoseok says, gently. “Where’s my gossip partner?”

You choke on a chuckle, and then worry at your bottom lip. “Sorry. I… I’ve been feeling weird.”

“Do you need to go?” Ryunjin asks, kindly, because even though you don’t like how she’s been around Hoseok, Ryunjin is nice. “I think Youngseo and Chaeryeon were talking about leaving.”

The two girls in question are up ahead, and they don’t hear Ryunjin. But you feel like she’s trying to get rid of you, and it hurts, just a little.

“I can drive you,” Hoseok suggests, and you almost stumble on your feet.

Because is it really a good idea to be encased in Hoseok’s car for the hour that the drive back is? You highly doubt so, yet you can’t find it in you to refuse. Not when Ryunjin mentions she thought Hoseok was driving her back, and Hoseok says she can always catch the ride with Youngseo and Chaeryeon.

You’re twenty minutes into the drive home, spent in an awkward silence, by the time Hoseok asks, “Are you okay?”

You can’t really tell him the truth, right?

“Yeah, I actually feel better,” you lie.

“I’m glad,” he says gently, and then you’re encased in another ten minutes of silence, only interrupted by him humming to the music on the radio. Until you realize you shouldn’t have said you’re better, because he says, “Is it just me or is Ryunjin into me?”

You freeze, and then turn to glance at his profile. “Is she? I don’t think I noticed.”

Another lie, and he obviously doesn’t catch it.

“She kept talking to me today,” he continues, and he sounds genuinely … happy.

Needless to say, it breaks your heart.

“Did she?”

“Yeah,” he says. He glances at you once, before chuckling. “That’s why I wanted to go. I’m so awkward, what would I have done for an hour with her in my car? I would have just made a fool of myself.”

All you can think to ask is, “Do you like her?”

It has no business sounding as aggressive as it does, and this time Hoseok catches up to it.

“I don’t know… Why?”

You nibble at your lower lip, anxiety flooding your entire being. “Just wondering.”

“Mmh,” he lets out, and then the atmosphere shifts.

It shifts into even more awkwardness, into Hoseok sending you weird glances that you ignore as you look out the window on the passenger side, watching the streetlights as they grow more common when you near the city.

Hoseok doesn’t hum for the rest of the way, doesn’t tap his finger on the wheel in time with the beat of the song. And when he parks his car in the office's parking lot, not turning the engine off right away, he turns to look at you.

“Why are you weird about this?”

You freeze with your hand on the doorknob. “I’m not weird.”

“You’ve been weird since I mentioned Ryunjin,” he insists.

“I haven’t.”

He throws you a no-bullshit look, one eyebrow cocked. “You usually always gossip with me and now you just haven’t said anything.”

You scoff, shooting him a quick look before finding solace in the world outside of the window again. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”             

“Your opinion?” Hoseok suggests, shrugging his shoulders. “You know Ryunjin, maybe she told you something?”

“So, you do like her?”

He’s growing frustrated. That much you can tell as he runs a hand through his hair and makes a vague move that looks like ‘how am I supposed to know’.

“Maybe? She’s attractive and she’s nice, I’d be stupid to miss the opportunity.”

“Right,” is all your able to answer.           

He watches your profile, bores hole into it, and then he turns off the engine and the doors immediately unlock. You quickly open the door and step out because frankly you need air, need to get away. Because you were stupid, not to realize before. You were stupid to not understand what those flutters in your heart were, were stupid to not understand that you didn’t like to think about him going on dates because you were falling in love with him. Had probably fallen in love with him two hundred and nineteen days ago, as he had held your freezing hands through the New Year.

He follows you out of the car. “Y/n, come on,” he says, jogging to where you’re powerwalking towards your car. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” you say, scoffing. In a fit of rage, you add, “Actually I do.”

You stop, turning to look at him. His eyes are a little wide, a little scared, and his usual bright smile is miles away from his features.

“What’s wrong then?” he presses, voice small.

“I fell for you without even knowing it and, jesus, does it hurt that you can’t see it.”

Hoseok goes very still. You don’t think he’s even breathing, as you stare at each other. The silence stretches, and he doesn’t even blink. He does become blurry though, as tears slowly fill your eyes.

And when you realize that he’s not going to say anything, you turn around, shame draped on your shoulders, trickling down into your very stature as you take a first step away. And then a second, and a third one, and you think maybe tomorrow, on this two hundred and twentieth day of the year, what happened today will just be a nightmare.

It materializes into reality as one tear slips on your cheek, and you wipe it with the back of your hand angrily.

That’s when he says your name. So softly, like the flutter of an infant’s lids as they sleep. You’re not even sure you heard it – you feel it more than anything. It wraps around your heart, heals the slow unravelling.

He stops you, with one gentle hand wrapped around your wrist. His fingers are warm, light, and when he tugs to make you turn, you give in. Mostly because he has startled the tears away, and you look up at him, thinking he’s never looked at you with that much of a serious look on his face.

He murmurs your name again, and it settles in your soul, building a home for him there.

When he kisses you, supple lips meeting your awaiting mouth, you sigh, and let him pull you in. He cups your cheek with one hand, ever so gently as if he thinks you’re the most precious porcelain, and his other hand holds your waist. You rest yours on his chest, feeling the rapid tap-tap-tap of his heart under your fingertips. His organ traces a melody into your palm, strong and steady. When he pulls away from the kiss to look down at you, you think he’s shining, brightly, blindingly so. He is the sun, and maybe you’re the Earth. Maybe you’ll grow and nurture life under his warm rays.

At least that’s how you feel when he pulls you into another kiss, this one languid, slow and passionate. When his tongue teases your mouth, you meet it with your own, and immediately you know his taste will intoxicate you, in the best ways that it can.

After a long and small eternity, Hoseok pulls away again, and he offers you a sweet smile. “I fell for you so long ago,” he admits. “But you never…” he trails off, shakes his head slightly. “I never thought it was reciprocated.”

One of your hands reaches up, and you shakily trace his jaw with the tip of a finger. His skin is soft, like a rose petal, yet infinitely warmer. “I think I was oblivious to it. Until today…”

“Can I take you out on a date?” he asks, a little suddenly.

You smile. “Where do you want to take me?”

He shines even more at the sight of your smile, at the fondness tracing words of affection in your eyes. “There’s this place I go to dance sometimes. It’s bright, and they also have arcade games. It’s my favourite place, and I always thought you’d love it there.”

Your heart fills with warmth, flutters with tenderness. “I’m sure I will.”

And of course you do. Because it’s a little piece of him, and you’re realizing every day that you love every single piece of him. The good and the bad. It might have taken you two hundred and nineteen days to realize it, but you’re in love with the very tapestry of his soul, with every single thread that makes him.

A hundred and forty-six days later, Hoseok holds your freezing hands into the New Year, and this time he kisses you as the first fireworks explode into the cold night air, shining colours on you. They match the explosions in your heart that every swipe of his tongue brings to you, and you reckon that, in the six hundred and eighty-seven days of you knowing him, Hoseok has always made your heart shine.

She takes the phone from his hand, and she can’t help the giant smile on her face even as she gives him a roll of her eyes. He sends her a dramatic wink, and she forcefully ignores the way it makes her feel all giddy inside. She unlocks his phone with the passcode she knows by heart and begins to scroll through his photo album, smiling down at the screen as she finds the pictures of their friend Taehyung’s dog. It seems Hoseok is telling the truth — Yeontan’s nails are a bright, sparkly pink. She lets out a giggle as she sees a picture of the polish bottle — one that's most definitely not for dogs. She swipes to look at the next photo, and then she stops. Her smile falls.

She hadn’t been supposed to see it, she’s sure.

A selfie on Hoseok’s phone of him and a girl she vaguely remembers from their university, sitting in a restaurant together in fancy black leather dining chairs. It’s recent. He’s wearing his nice blue button-up — her favourite one, the one that looks incredible against his skin — which means he’d dressed up. It’s so painfully obvious that it was a date, and it’s also painfully obvious that for some reason, she isn’t supposed to know about it. He hadn’t mentioned it at all.

She stares at the photo for a minute, and she can’t stop the way her heart sinks into her stomach. He looks so… happy. He always looks happy — it’s Hoseok — but seeing him looking like this in a photo next to a girl, on an obvious date, has her feeling all kinds of strange. She suddenly feels like she’s going to cry.

Why hadn’t he mentioned it?

Then again, why does she feel like she has some kind of right to know? He doesn’t have to tell you everything, she reminds herself. Sure, he’s one of her best friends and sure, usually they do share every detail of their lives with each other, but it isn’t mandated by their best friend law.

She’s still hurt, though, and desperately wishes she wasn’t.

Her and Hoseok had met in the library on campus the year before during a busy exam season. She’d been looking for a seat, growing tired of searching when she had locked eyes with him. The shock of someone looking back at her had jolted her slightly, but then he’d smiled and raised his eyebrows at her, moving his bag and gesturing for her to sit down across from him. She’s never asked him why, but she guesses that she’d looked a little desperate. She doesn’t care, though — all she knows is that she’ll be eternally grateful for that day. Not just for the seat, but for the friendship she’d gained in him after.

At the time, they’d both been stressed about making it through to graduation and worrying about what comes next, and bright-eyed, loud-laughing, wonderful Hoseok was exactly what she’d needed.

They’d spent nearly every waking minute together in their last year of school — in the library, at cafes, at each other’s houses, sometimes getting drunk on the rare nights they’d allow themselves to slack off. He's seen her both hungover during an 8am lecture as well as dressed to the nines for graduation; he’s the one who’s always ready with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and an open couch when her dates fail (though she really hasn’t been on that many since she met him), or whenever she’s freaking out over something that feels impossible to fix (which is when he would remind her that most things are pretty fixable). She’s gotten used to him being one of the people she turns to for everything, gotten used to him being one of the first people she tells all of her good (and bad) news to.

She’d thought it was the same for him, and it feels terribly strange to realize that he’d kept something like this from her.

“They gave you a large drink by accident with no extra charge,” Hoseok announces as he returns to the table, and she quickly scrolls back to the picture of Yeontan’s nails. “Score.”

He slides back into the booth, handing over her Coke and burger. She thanks him quietly, but he doesn’t seem to notice the change in her mood, at least not at first. He takes back his phone, chattering on about how putting the nail polish on the dog had been Jimin’s idea, but she finds it hard to focus on the conversation now. She spends the rest of the evening trying to act normal, but her mind is racing.

Since they’d graduated and started their full-time jobs — her as a barista at a shitty French cafe (temporarily, she hopes, because her studies had not been in the art of latte making and milk frothing) and Hoseok as a dance instructor (not temporarily, she hopes, because it’s all he’s ever dreamed of) — they’d both become so busy. At first, it had been hard to find time for each other, but they’d figured it out — they always did. They both finished work every day at the same time and always called on their walks home every night, and every Sunday, they met for brunch.

How had telling her he had a girlfriend slipped his mind?

She feels a bit pathetic — of course he’s started dating. Why shouldn’t he have? It had been terribly naive to believe that in the last year, he hadn’t been on a single date. She isn’t blind — she knows how wonderful he is (he’s so wonderful). She knows how fast a simple compliment from him can render someone a little breathless (he’s so genuine). She knows how it feels to be the sole focus of his attention (he cares so much). She knows. And it was stupid of her to assume that no one has tried to do anything about it — that no one has tried to snatch him up.

Why hasn’t she ever done anything about it?

Why has she always assumed that he’s already hers in some way, when really, she’s never asked him to be?

(Later, when Hoseok does eventually ask if she’s okay, she lies.)

She can’t forget the picture.

She can’t find it in her to talk to Hoseok about it, either.

So naturally, she starts to ignore his texts.

She isn’t stupid — she knows what this is. She also knows that, for someone who’s not stupid, she can actually be quite a dumb bitch.

Of course she has feelings for him. Of course she does. How could she not?

She knows that ignoring his calls isn’t fair, not when they’ve called every day for two months now. Not when he means so much. Still, after a week, she’s used nearly every excuse in the book in her attempt to avoid him.

I’m sorry, Hobi, I had to stay late. I’m sorry, Hobi, I left early and forgot to tell you. I’m sorry, Hobi, I didn’t get the notification that you called. I’m sorry, Hobi, I’m tired. The only one she hasn’t used is the truth: I’m sorry, Hobi, but the thought of you having a girlfriend is killing me.

The first couple of days, he’d been disappointed, but he’d understood. By the end of the week, though, she knows he isn’t just disappointed. He's hurt.

Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: alright. Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: can you just text me when you’re home safe please? Y/N: home Y/N: btw I meant to tell you, but I can’t meet up tomorrow Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: what? why?

She spends far too long sitting there on the floor, desperately trying to think of a response. She can’t. It’s only a few minutes later when he texts again, and she swallows the lump in her throat.

Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: seriously? Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: we haven’t spoken at all this week and now you’re cancelling brunch? Hobi 🤸🏼‍♀️: did I do something?

Her heart is pounding.

Y/N: I'm just tired

She’s staring at the screen, watching the way the three little dots appear and then disappear. She bites at her thumb, trying to steady her breathing, but she doesn’t know what she’s waiting for. What does she expect him to say? She’s so obviously lying.

She nearly drops her phone when it lights up with a phone call.

She stares at her screen as though it’s grown legs, her fingers trembling. His contact photo is a picture of the two of them on their graduation day, one of her favourite pictures of them ever, but right now it’s making her heart ache. Instead of answering his call, she throws her phone onto her bed and nearly bolts into the living room.

She spends the next hour in the fetal position in front of her TV. What she expects is a million texts from him if she ever regains the courage to look at her phone again. What she’s not expecting, however, is for him to show up at her door less than an hour later. She’s curled up on her couch, desperately trying to avoid her thoughts as she attempts to watch something on Netflix. She’s so distracted that she’s already had to rewind the same part of an episode of Crash Landing on You a total of seven times when she hears a knock.

She freezes. There’s no way.

She waits for a moment, but when the knock sounds again she pauses the show with a shaking hand and heads to her front step, holding her breath. She thinks she knows who might be waiting on the other side, and she doesn’t know if she has the strength to face him. When she opens the door and they lock eyes, she feels as if she’s been punched in the gut.

“Hobi?” She’d known as soon as she heard the knocking that it was him, and still the only thing she can say is his name.

“Can I come in?”

She nods – she’s never been able to say no to him. Then again, he’s never had to ask if he’s allowed to come inside her apartment before.

“Why did you come all the way here?” She asks as she lets him inside, closing the door and crossing her arms in front of her as a futile means of protection. “Aren’t you tired after work?”

“I was worried about you.”

Her heart is pounding as she attempts to say steadily, “I’m fine.”

He regards her with a look that says he knows she’s lying, and that he’s hurt by it. She winces.

“You cancelled brunch.” He pauses, and his voice grows quieter as he adds, “and you walked home alone, right?”

She’s perplexed by his second comment, her eyebrows pulling together. She hadn’t been expecting him to say that. “What?”

“Did you walk home from work alone?”

“Yeah… Like I do every day,” she replies, confused.

“Listen,” he breathes, and he just looks at her for a moment before his next words come out in a rush. “I know you can handle yourself even better than I can in a fight but I’m so used to calling you and knowing when you’re home safe that I may have been super worried when we didn’t call this week.”

She didn’t think about that. “Oh.”

He looks embarrassed.

“I thought we just called to help pass the time,” she finally adds, a little dumbly.

“I mean — it’s that, but also the safety thing. That might be more of an excuse, because it could just be that you’re my favourite person to talk to and I want to talk to you whenever I can.” He takes in a deep breath before searching her face. “I’m sorry for coming if I shouldn’t have, I just — I just needed to see you to make sure you were okay.”

She’s quite literally stunned – Hoseok tended to ramble when he was excited or nervous, but she’d never heard him like this before.

“I’m okay,” she finally says weakly.

“Okay.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Then are we?”

“Huh?”

“Are we okay?”

It’s then that she nearly falters. “It’s just one week, Hobi, it’s not that deep.”

Her words come out sharp and defensive, and he looks entirely taken aback – for good reason. The silence that comes after is uncomfortable, and she doesn’t like it at all. She hates it, actually. Why had she said that?

“Whoa, okay, no.” She can count on one hand the number of times Hoseok has been genuinely annoyed in the year she’s known him, but she can see it happening right now before her eyes. “I will not be gaslit right now.”

Her cheeks flush, because he’s right.

“Hoseok—“

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that you haven’t been acting weird, and I’ll drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a weak answer – she knows it, and so does he.

“You have to give me more than that.”

She pauses. It’s gotten increasingly harder to breathe as she settles on something that’s not a complete lie. “It’s just that… I’ve just been feeling weird this week, Hobi.”

“Why couldn’t you just tell me that?” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I had a bad week too, and we could have helped each other through it. Knowing that I was going to see you tomorrow was the only thing keeping me going.”

She can’t help the sharp inhale she takes at his words, and he seems to realize the intimacy of his words at the same time as she does. He stumbles over himself to continue.

“I just mean… Sundays are the only time we get to see each other, and you bailed without an explanation. That, plus all of the weird excuses you’ve been making not to call. One or two days I understand, but it’s been a week.” He kicks at the ground, his eyes falling from hers as he adds, his voice softer now, “I miss you.”

She feels so terribly strange, and she has no idea what to make of any of this. All she knows is that she’s hurt him, and nothing is right until she fixes that.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says honestly, and she knows she’s about to crack. “I guess I just figured that your girlfriend wouldn’t love it if you called me every day when you were with her, or if you had breakfast with me every Sunday.” She can’t help the words as they come out. She tries not to sound bitter, but she can’t help it as she adds quietly, “Thanks for not telling me about that, by the way.”

His eyebrows are drawn together as he looks back up at her in surprise. “My… girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, her eyes on the ground, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“What girlfriend?”

She looks back up at him. “Huh?”

“What girlfriend?” He repeats. He looks genuinely confused as he adds, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Why did you…” He trails off, eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you think that I had a girlfriend?”

She’s blushing furiously now. “I saw a picture.”

“A picture?” He’s growing increasingly puzzled, and she doesn’t blame him. “Where?”

“On your phone.”

“When?”

She feels like she’s being questioned by the police, and her back’s against the wall. She winces. “When we were at brunch on Sunday. I was looking for the pictures of Yeontan’s nails and I saw a picture of you and that girl from school looking real cozy and you guys were obviously on a date and took a picture together so I just assumed…”

She trails off as she realizes: she just might have fucked this one up.

“Do you mean _____? I didn’t know you knew her. Did you see her around my dance classroom last year?”

She nods, feeling increasingly more stupid as the seconds pass.

“She just started teaching at my studio, which was a fun coincidence. After her first shift, I took her out to welcome her,” he explains. “Which I do for every new employee, now that I’m one of the lead choreographers.” He still looks confused. “I definitely told you about that, didn’t I?”

She could vaguely recall Hoseok saying a couple of weeks before that he’d taken a new coworker out for dinner. She’d been too busy being proud of his promotion, so she’d simply lumped it in as part of his new duties.

“I’m not… I’m not dating her.” He says the words slowly, almost carefully, and she feels like a clown. “I didn’t mention her name because I didn’t know you even knew who she was.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her around,” she mumbles. She’s sitting on the arm of her couch now, and she can feel Hoseok’s eyes on her. She wishes the floor would swallow her whole – she doesn’t think she’s ever been this embarrassed in her life.

“Y/N.”

She looks up slowly at her name, trying her best to seem nonchalant and unaffected by this revelation, but as soon as their eyes meet she knows he’s seen how red she is. He seems to debate something before he speaks again, and she knows then that she’s done for.

“Are you saying that you were avoiding me because you thought I was dating someone?”

She feels her cheeks flush even more. “I mean,” she begins defensively, “I would hate it if the guy I was seeing called the same girl every day.”

“Yeah…” he trails off. “That makes sense, I guess.” He concedes slightly before he adds, “But it’s us.” His voice is softer as he speaks the last part. He searches her eyes, and she feels hot under his gaze. “If I was dating someone, wouldn’t you want to talk about how we’ll deal with it instead of ignoring me?”

She bites her lip, crossing her arms. All she can do is nod, afraid that if she speaks she’ll say too much. She looks down, and she can feel his gaze still on her.

“We’re friends, right?” He speaks again, quieter this time, and the uncertainty in his voice nearly makes her flinch.

“Hobi,” she says, her voice catching as she steels herself to meet his gaze. “Of course we are.”

“So then why didn’t you just talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” is all she can say, and suddenly Hoseok’s back straightens. She can see a light go on in his brain as he searches her face, and she feels her heart rate begin to speed up. Don’t. Don’t push it, Hoseok. Don’t–

“Are you…” he begins, but cuts himself off before he tries again. “Did it bother you?”

Her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening. “What?”

The wind is almost completely knocked out of her as she realizes that now he looks almost… nervous. A little bit hopeful, too. His gaze begins to flicker between her eyes and her mouth, and she can do nothing but wait, frozen in place.

“The thought of me seeing someone,” he elaborates, his voice lower than before. “Did it bother you?”

She thinks she should probably take a step back. He’s too close. Too close to her physically - and far too close to the truth. She can feel her resolve crumbling as she tries to come up with an answer that isn’t a lie — or a confession.

“Hoseok…” Her voice wavers, and she watches as he swallows.

“Because,” he says slowly, as though he’s weighing her reaction before he continues, “if it was the other way around, it would bother me.” His eyes search hers, and it takes her a second to register his words. “It would bother me a lot, actually, if you started dating someone else.”

She’s still completely frozen. Her mind is racing, processing, but she can’t come to a logical conclusion – other than one that this whole time, she’d been sure was impossible.

“Why?” Is all she can say.

He smiles a little bit at that. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

She looks down. “I just don’t want—”

“I like you,” he interrupts. “I like you so much.”

Everything goes still.

It takes a split second for her to meet his eyes again. Her brain has effectively stopped working, and she thinks she must be dreaming. Hoseok laughs nervously at her silence, and she swears she’s never seen him like this in all the time she’s known him. Shy. Worried. When she doesn’t respond, his face falls a little.

“Please tell me I’m not reading this all wrong.”

Her brain is taking far too long to catch up with the words he’s saying, but she knows she has to say something. “No,” is all she manages, and despite her incredibly vague answer, he looks to be put somewhat at ease, his shoulders relaxing even just the slightest bit, his eyes hopeful now. “You’re not reading it wrong at all,” she finally offers again.

Suddenly, he’s smiling down at her like she hung the moon.

She can’t help but wonder how many times he’s looked at her like this — the exact same way she’s always looked at him. She can’t fathom any of this. He likes her, too? Her Hoseok feels the same way that she’s felt for months?

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He asks softly after a beat.

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

His hand reaches for hers, pulling her closer as he threads his fingers through hers. “I don’t know, either. I guess I just assumed that we would always be like this. That I would always just… get to have you. It was selfish of me.”

She can’t help it — she laughs. It’s something of a choked laugh mixed with a sob, a noise of hopeful disbelief. It feels like he’s taken the words directly from her mouth.

“I really like you too, Hobi. So much.”

She somehow gets it out, and then suddenly he’s even closer. He’s all around. One hand is on her waist, the other brushing against her jaw, long fingers soft as he touches her like he’s always wanted to. His eyes are gazing down at her in a way that renders her incapable of any thought but one.

She pulls him in by the front of his shirt, her mouth finding his in a single slow, soft kiss.

He hums, a soft note of pleasant surprise, and she feels distractingly light on her feet. She can feel him smiling as she hesitantly pulls away, and as he beams down at her, she can’t help but admit to herself that she’s so in love that it hurts.

“Date me,” he whispers. “Let me date you so hard.”

She’s beaming too as she nods, another laugh escaping her as he all but pulls her in flush against him, both of his hands on her back. He kisses her again, and he’s soft and warm, and now — he's hers. He’s finally hers. Her hands find his face and then move to thread through the hair at the nape of his neck as he kisses her again, and again, and again.

"Yeah, we are. But I haven't physically seen her in awhile, plus we've both been busy so our communication hasn't been consistent." Isaiah and Tre watch Hoseok as he stares you down, gripping onto the basketball in his hands tightly. He can't even lie, seeing you makes his heart do flips. He's nervous, scared— he just wants to have a good fucking game and impress you. God, you look prettier than ever. Everything he thought he felt before was only solidified by seeing you tonight. There were always unspoken feelings between you two, but it never really bothered you both over time because you enjoyed where your relationship was, you enjoyed each other's company and you didn't want to ruin it. But today, after seeing you after how long, he's not even sure, he really wanted you to know. He wanted you to know everything, wanted to let you know how lucky he's been to have you by his side all these years no matter what. No pressure to take things beyond what it should be, no pressure to make shit official and put labels. No pressure to be more or less.

You were the definition of solid.

"Why don't you go say hi, champ?" Tre chuckles.

"In a bit." The three watch as you whip your head towards him, huge smile plastered onto your face. At this point, OKC is the only team out on their home court and the Golden State Warriors hadn't come out to shoot just yet. You continue to keep your eye contact as you make your way towards him down the front row. Hoseok feels his palms getting sweaty, knees kinda buckling and shit because, damn. He feels a little guilty that he didn't try harder to see you when he could, but this works too, he supposes— you're a fucking beauty and he gets reminded of how weak you make him. Maybe it was best to not see you as often as he wished; you'd distract him in the worst ways.

"Hobi!" You call him in that cute voice of yours, arms already open to welcome him into a hug. The size difference between you two is perfect, and the way he slips into your arms is perfect. You smell sweet, you are sweet. He can't believe he's actually setting his eyes on you right now.

"Y/N, fuck." He keeps you against him, holding you tightly, taking you in. "I didn't know you were coming! I wish you would have told me." Hoseok pulls away, hand slowly creeping down to the small of your back that Tre and Isaiah catch.

"I know, I got invited last minute and figured I could at least surprise you too while I'm at it." You smile at him. "It's so good to finally see you again."

"I know, I'm sorry. I've just been busy, I—" You shake your head and gently tap his chest.

"It's okay, you don't have to explain. I know."

"You look really good." He looks at you up and down while you blush. Then it suddenly hits him— you were invited last minute? "Wait, are you here with someone?"

"Huh?" You ask, unable to hear from the sudden roar from the Warriors fans in the crowd, the Dubs now heading out onto the court in their warmup gear. Hoseok watches as you turn over your shoulder, eyes darting from player to player as if you were looking for someone.

"You said someone invited you last minute? Are you here with Maia?" He waits as a small smile creeps up on your face when your eyes finally rest on something, someone, perhaps— Hoseok can't fucking tell right now— before you turn to look at him and nod.

"Yeah, yeah. She's here." You point over at one of the front row seats, where Maia waves. Hoseok returns the favor before bouncing the basketball in his hands onto the court. "I'll let you get to it though, okay? Goodluck out there, b." You give him a toothless smile before hugging him once more.

"Thanks, b. Really happy to see you here."

"I am too." You respond. "Maybe I'll be able to catch you after?" He nods, giving you one last wave before watching you walk off. He looks out onto the floor as he dribbles, slowly throwing up shots to see if he could catch who you were eyeing, who you were looking for. There was no way Maia would have invited you to a game since she wasn't all that interested in basketball, so who else could it be? Hell, he was at a loss. He wasn't sure—

Actually—

He's distracted after putting up a shot from the sideline when he catches Yoongi, the best [he hates to admit it, but it's true] shooting guard on the Warriors, eyeing him with a dumb fucking smirk on his face. They try to keep it civil on the court, sure. But Hoseok doesn't know anything about him besides his stats and how good of a goddamn shooter he is. Probably one of the major pains he's had to face on the court whenever his team was set to play against the Dubs. He has to give it to him though, he doesn't really get into any trouble and is rarely ever caught in rumors like Jungkook is. He keeps his head in the game and keeps his shit straight. Still.

He doesn't know him like that.

And so it clicks, because after Yoongi flashes that smirk his way, he turns to you and you blush from ear to ear. He gives you a nod before licking his lips and throwing up a three-pointer to show off [because he fucking can and Hoseok knows it'll make any pussy wet]. Hoseok watches as Yoongi makes his way over to you, pulling you into a big, tight hug before looking down at you. Something inside Hoseok churns, and he hates it.

He doesn't know that look you give Yoongi because you never gave him that look before. It was an unfamiliar look, one that he's never experienced before. And he hates it, because Yoongi gets to experience it.

Yoongi invited you to the game. You were mainly here for Yoongi, not him.

And that's the shit that fucking sucks.

"Yoongi's over there talking to your girl." Tre snickers.

"Yeah I can fucking see that." Hoseok clicks his teeth and sighs. "He invited her to the game. So technically, she's not really here for me."

"Don't say that and get all dramatic, bruh. If she didn't care about your ass, she wouldn't have made the effort to say hi first and all. I'm sure she thought of you too."

"Whatever." Hoseok says, brushing it off. So much for catching up and being honest with you tonight. All of a sudden, shit seemed a lot harder, a lot dimmer for Hoseok.

You were mainly here for Yoongi, not him.

He repeats it in his head, over and over again. Maybe it'll make it easier for him to detach.

Yeah fucking right, though. Who was he kidding? This was you he was talking about, and that's the shit that fucking sucks, too.

-----------------

“You will be transported to a new dimension after spending one month in each of them for this experiment,” the animated voice crackled from the speakers. “The inhabitants in those universes will already have memories of you to help you blend in easily. You are to live a normal life during these experiments while making sure not to disclose your true identities for that may cause unnecessary complications.”

The voice kept going on about the experiment that you no longer had any interest in after the first few minutes. You fiddled with the necklace around your neck in boredom while you waited for the meeting to be adjourned. This wasn’t the first time you were going to travel between dimensions and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last, so having to sit through the same briefing over and over again felt completely useless and a waste of time. 

The only reason you even attended these were to get your files for the potential dimensions you may get sent to. The management really needed to get their shit in control and stop sending you to these places with little to no information. 

You understood that these experiments were to test out the stability and how each universe was doing after being created but it made no sense for the management to send out travellers blindly like they do, they could at least provide you with a little backstory for your character rather than a list of ’potential’ places. Even those weren’t certain and that made no sense! For an organisation that thrived to keep peace and regulation of all dimensions, their system was chaotic as fuck.

You only came out of your thoughts when you felt someone nudge your leg under the table. Glancing up from your necklace, your eyes met that of a cheeky looking Hoseok who was now pushing a little harder against your leg, now that he had your attention. 

‘Hi,’ he mouthed happily only for you to answer with a raised eyebrow. ‘I miss you,’ he mouthed again, jutting his lower lip out in a pout. You snorted at his antics, coughing to hide your smile when the sound caught the attention of those around you. 

It was only when they shifted their attention back to the screen at the end of the room to continue with the briefing that was ongoing, did you finally look back at Hoseok. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a pen and tore a paper from the diary they provided for the meeting before hastily scribbling down something and sliding it to the man sitting in front of you.

‘We’re literally sitting in front of each other.’

Hoseok picked up the paper and quickly read the content on it before grabbing his own pen to write his answer down and passing it back to you.

‘But I can’t hold your hand right now :(‘

You bit your lip to stop the smile that was fighting to shine through when you saw his adorable handwriting under yours. How someone could be as endearing as Hoseok was beyond you, but you loved that about him.

Wordlessly, you pretended to pay attention to the briefing once more while you slid your hand towards Hoseok to let him hold your hand. You could feel the way his smile brightened when his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing it gently.

You shook your head as you bit your lips harder to fight the smile that was now on your face when you squeezed his hand back.

-----------------

Walking out of the conference room, your hand was still engulfed by Hoseok’s bigger one. Your face was flushed in embarrassment as you walked out. It wasn’t because you were holding his hand, but rather the fact that he never let go after the meeting was over. So you had to walk from your seat to the end of the table with the said furniture in the middle of you as you walked. 

“If I didn’t love you as much as I do, I would’ve kicked your ass by now, just so you know,” you grumbled as you walked down the corridor towards your shared room. 

Hoseok laughed, his grip around your hand tightening as he bumped his shoulder with yours. “Good thing you love me then! It would be a nightmare to jump between dimensions with you otherwise.”

“Who said it’s still not a nightmare to have you as my partner?”

“Don’t be rude.”

“Make me,” you teased before quickly freeing your hand from his and running towards your destination.

“Come back here!”

-----------------

It was the day of action, as you liked to call it, the day when you were supposed to start experiments. 

“You ready?” Hoseok asked as he came to join you in the transport chamber.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Promise to find each other no matter what?” he asked while putting his pinky finger out, smiling at you.

You laughed as you wrapped yours around his. “Of course.”  

“I’ll see you around then.”

You only hummed in agreement before pressing the power button on the transport bracelet and the world went dark.

-----------------

You woke up to the blaring alarm of your phone, blindly looking for the device to turn the godforsaken sound off. When you failed to find it, you pushed yourself up from your bed to scan the area, getting more irked the longer the sound went on. 

Finally, your eyes landed on the black vibrating phone on the ground and you had half a mind to just stomp on the damn thing and break it. Picking it up, you harshly tapped on the stop button and sighed when the apartment went quiet, closing your eyes to bask in the peace. 

Wait. Apartment? 

Your eyes shot open again as you examined your surroundings, trying to decipher which universe you were in currently. The place seemed like any other average looking apartment in a bustling city. You unlocked your phone when you felt it vibrate in your hand, realising it was a text from someone saved as ‘Chicky Chimmy’. 

Opening the conversation, your confusion only grew at the text.

“I’m a student, huh?” You pondered as you grabbed a random outfit for the day along with what you assumed to be your books on the reading table in your room. You then proceeded to head down and out of your apartment. “Could’ve been worse.”

-----------------

Stepping out of the elevator, you saw your… friend impatiently leaning against his car looking at you with displeasure all over his face. You gave him a sheepish smile as you approached him, praying to whatever higher power that he says his name for one reason or another. From the previous conversations you had after taking some time to go through your phone, the two of you were supposed to be best friends so you weren’t in a position to ask his name.

“Y/N our class starts in 30 minutes and it takes 30 minutes to get there!”

“Hehe?”

He faced palm, moving to go around to the driver's seat. “Just get your cute butt inside.”

----------------

The moment Chimmy parked his car inside the university, he dashed out of the car with you close behind, panicking about how mad the professor was going to be for being late.

You almost bumped into him when he stopped in front of a classroom, shooting you a nervous glance before slowly stepping inside the class. The two of you couldn’t even get two steps in before the voice of the man teaching the class boomed across the room.

“Y/L/N Y/N and Park Jimin. Late again, I see?”

Again? How many times have we been late before? Jimin’s a cute name though, perfect for him. You smiled slightly at your thoughts before fixing your expression to be neutral before the professor could catch you. 

“We’re so sorry professor! This will be the last time!” Jimin pleaded, fidgeting on his spot.

“That’s what you said last time, Mr. Park,” the professor replied, looking unamused.

“Pro-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” A new voice joins, the person who barged in after the two of you hunched over and panting from surely having run to class.

“Mr. Jung Hoseok, I did not expect such tardiness from you.”

Hoseok! You felt your heart rate kick up just at the mention of his name. It’s not often the higher ups make it easy to find your partner but it seemed that they were feeling courteous this time.

Hoseok’s eyes met yours and he flashed you a giant smile, one that had his eyes turning into crescents before looking back at the professor with a dashin smile. “I’m sorry sir, it surely won’t happen again.”

The professor sighed, rolling his eyes when he looked back at Jimin and you before muttering, “That’s what they always say.” Shaking his head, the professor gave a small nod. “Go to your seats and don’t be late again. Especially the two of you, Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Park.”

Jimin bowed before grabbing your hand and dragging you to the back of the room, taking a seat and patting the one beside him urgently. Glancing at Hoseok one last time, you sat beside Jimin. 

You couldn’t help but pout at the sight of Hoseok sitting somewhere else and already interacting with the strangers around him as if he knew them for a long time. He was always a social butterfly but it was always shocking to see him get accustomed to new universes so easily.

“You look amazing today, just so you know,” Jimin whispered in your ear, his eyes trained on the board even as he spoke.

“Thanks.”

-----------------

It was lunch time and Jimin had basically dragged you to the cafe near the university, claiming that cheap and instant coffee was the only thing his body needed to go through the day. 

“Coffee is great and all but you need actual food too, you know,” you nagged Jimin as he downed his second cup of coffee in one sitting.

Placing the brown coffee cup down, Jimin raised his index finger as if giving a speech. “People need a lot of things, doesn’t mean they have it though.”

You gave Jimin an unimpressed look. “Stop trying to be a philosopher and get some food in you, tiny.”

“I’m literally taller than you.”

“I will fight you, Park Jimin.”

----------------

“I still don’t get why we need to do this,” you grumbled as you stretched your hands and legs.

“Because,” Jimin said, dribbling the orange basketball as he waited for you to finish. “Warming up is important before starting any exercise to decrease the chances of pulling a muscle or something.”

You snort at that, stretching one last time before dropping your hands. “You make it sound like I’m going to exercise.”

“Y/N we’re literally in PE class.”

“And?”

Jimin could only give you an unamused look before shaking his head in defeat, his newly dyed pink hair bouncing from his movement. 

-----------------

You were sitting in the library surrounded by textbooks for the upcoming exam when you felt someone pull out the chair in front of you and take a seat. Paying them no mind, you continued drowning yourself with new information from the book when you felt someone nudge your leg under the table.

You glanced up from the textbook in front of you to see none other than Jung Hoseok sitting in front of you with a smile. Just before you could shoot him a smile and delve into a conversation, your brain reminded you of the fact that it had been a week since you came to this dimension and this the first time he tried to come talk to you after seeing each other in that one class on day one. 

Scoffing, you looked back down at your book, ignoring the way he nudged your leg again to get your attention.

“Are you mad at me?” He finally asked when he realised that you were ignoring him.

“What do you think?”

“What did I dooooo?”

You slammed the pink covered book in your hand shut, looking him in the eye. “What did you do? Oh I don’t know, maybe because you basically ignored me for a week? Acted as if I don’t exist?”

Hoseok frowned, trying to take your hand in his but you moved away from him. “I’m sorry baby. I’ve just been so swamped with work. Did you know I’m the dance club leader and a part of the student council in this universe? I swear I would’ve come up to you earlier if I had the time!”

“I tried talking to you a few days back, you acted as if you didn’t even know me,” you replied, not being able to hide the hurt from your tone. “You didn’t seem busy then, you were just having lunch and laughing with your friends.” 

“Baby…”

You sighed, pushing away the chair and standing up. “Forget it, I’ll see you around, Hoseok.” Collecting your books, you gave Hoseok one last look before walking away.

-----------------

You were currently playing with the dog Jimin recently adopted on his couch when he plopped down beside you with snacks. You had come over for movie night but now you were more interested in playing with his dog than the movie.

“So you going to tell me why the Jung Hoseok has been following you around like a lovesick puppy for the past week?”

“No, because there’s nothing to say,” you replied, not paying much attention due to the energetic puppy that was jumping about on your lap.

Jimin groaned, placing the bowl of snack down on the coffee table and then taking the chocolate coloured labrador puppy away from you - much to your protest. “Stop playing with Doggo and give me the tea!”

“I still can’t believe you named your dog Doggo.”

“That is not the main topic of this conversation and you know it!”

You sighed, rolling your eyes so hard that your head hurt a little. “There’s nothing to say, Hoseok and I talked in the library when I was studying for the test and then had a little argument and I left.”

Jimin scoffed, his lips pulling into a pout as he crossed his arms. “That’s the weakest tea I’ve ever gotten. Give me the details! Since when do you two know each other enough to be having ‘fights’?”

“I-” you stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse. “We don’t! He just approached me in the library and I found him really annoying.”

Jimin gave you a skeptical look. “Y/N… You’ve had a crush on him for like a year now. You find him annoying?”

“Yes?” You answered, though it sounded more like a question. “What do you want me to say something like ‘Oh we’re actually dimension travellers and know each other from before and this is all just an experiment? Don’t be ridiculous!” You rambled, laughing nervously when you realised that you had basically just exposed yourself.

“Huh?”

“Listen! I liked him but he’s actually annoying, so that’s over.”  

“If you say so…” Jimin conceded hesitantly, still looking at you skeptically which now looked more concerned.

-----------------

You had successfully avoided Hoseok like the plague for almost the remainder of the time you had in this dimension. You knew what you were doing was petty and it really wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t come talk to you at first, but now you were in too deep to stop being petty. Not that it stopped Hoseok from trailing after you anytime he could, trying to get you to talk to him.

“Y/N, please stop!” You heard Hoseok call from behind you but you kept walking, ignoring him like you usually did. “Oh for fuck sake,” you heard him grumble before you felt someone grab you by your wrist and twirling you around for their lips to press against yours.

You were about to push them off when you realised that it was Hoseok who had kissed you, not a random person and you unconsciously melted into it. Your arms slithered around his neck to pull him closer as his hands wrapped around your waist to move closer to you too.

Breaking the kiss, Hoseok pressed his forehead against yours while looking you in the eyes. “It’s the last day here before we move on and who knows how long it’s going to take us to find each other there. Stop being mad, please?”

Not being able to help yourself, you placed a kiss on his nose, stepping away from him and smiling cheekily. “I’ll see you around, Hoseok.”

-----------------

“YOU KISSED HOSEOK IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CORRIDOR! OH MY GOD I NEED THE DETAILS!” Jimin exclaimed when you met up with him after school. He was your ride home after all. 

You only laughed, your face flushed in embarrassment. “Uh huh, how about I tell you all about it tomorrow?”

“Promise?” He asked, looking at you in disappointment that he couldn’t get you to tell him everything right then.

You shook your head, looking away from him. “We’ll see.” 

No point in making a promise that you knew you couldn’t keep it. You were going to leave tonight, who knows if you’ll ever come back here or if he would ever remember you once you left.

-----------------

The next time you opened your eyes, you were underwater. At first, panic took over you from the possibility of you drowning. But when you opened your mouth, rather than feeling the water rushing in and suffocating you, you found out that you were completely fine.

“Huh?” You blurted out Your eyes widened when you realised that you could hear yourself clearly underwater too. Looking around, your eyes zeroed in on the shimmering tail that began from your waist down. “HUH?!”

You looked around only to see nothing but water, a few fish swam by you but that was about it. It wasn’t your first time in a fairytale universe but it was your first time being a mermaid. You wondered if Hoseok got transformed into some sort of mythical creature like you too. 

“Oh well, I hope he’s safe.”

-----------------

You didn’t know how much time passed but you were still blindly swimming around trying to find out where to go. You had breached the water at one point and sat on some rocks by a beach in true fairytale mermaid fashion but even then you found nothing of interest. You did get to sit and watch the clear blue waves peacefully for a while but that got boring after some time, too.

“I never thought I’d miss wearing sandals but here I am,” you sighed to yourself before jumping back into the water.

You were just about ready to give up and just sit on the sea bed when you saw a cave underwater. You couldn’t help but snort at how similar this felt to the fairytale ‘Little Mermaid’ you used to read when you were younger. All you needed was some evil old witch to be residing in there and a prince charming to drown some time soon so you could save him and lose your voice.

Having nothing better to do, you began swimming down to the cave to explore it when you felt someone grab you and drag you away from the cave entrance urgently. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing, let me go!” You exclaimed as you tried to wiggle free from your captor.

“Stop struggling, you’re going to get us caught by the hag!” A deep voice harshly whispered in your ear. 

The mention of a hag had you stop struggling. “Caught by the what now?”

You felt your captor loosen their grip around you, giving you the perfect chance to move away from them. You turned to come face to face with a beautiful man… er merman? 

“The hag? Evil sea witch out to get merfolks?” the man asked, looking at you incredulously at the fact that you seemingly had no idea as to who the hag was. “Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been swimming for ages now and you’re the first creature I found,” you explained.

The man hummed, tapping his lips as he scanned you over before breaking out into a large boxy smile. “Well then, nice to meet you! I’m Taehyung, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

Taehyung gasped when he heard your name. “Y/N? As in Y/L/N Y/N?”

“Why do you know my name?” You asked cautiously. Fuck, were you supposed to know who he was? If that was the case then why were you transported away from them, also he didn’t seem to know you before you introduced yourself.

“Princess! Welcome!”

Excuse me, WHAT?! You choked on nothing. “Who?”

“You! Princess! Welcome!”

When you were thinking about this universe being a knock-off ‘Little Mermaid’ universe, you didn’t think that would be the right assumption. 

Not knowing how to act, you shot Taehyung an awkward smile, waving a little. “Thank you?”

“You have to meet the others! Let’s go, princess!” Taehyung exclaimed excitedly before grabbing your hand and swimming away from the cave.

-----------------

After Taehyung had brought you to others, you met 5 other mermen - each almost unimaginably beautiful. It was a pleasant surprise to see this dimension’s Jimin, he was just as sweet and excitable as the one before.

After the initial meet-up, you got to know that you were indeed the daughter of Triton - something that had you laughing at the absurdity for a good five minutes much to the confusion of others - and you were supposed to be visiting ‘your kingdom’ to get acquainted with everyone before your coronation and living here.

As Taehyung had escorted you to your room, you had joked that all you needed was a handsome man to drown so you could save him. Which, in hindsight may have been a very weird thing to say from the look Taehyung gave you. 

Currently, you were exploring the kingdom, asking people if they knew of anyone by the name Hoseok, only to end up with no clue as to where he might be. No one had any idea about Jung Hoseok and you were getting worried about not managing to find him.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realise that you had left the premises of the city and wandered away. You stopped in your tracks when a giant shadow moved above you, completely leaving you in the dark. 

You looked up to see what blocked the sun when you realised you were directly underneath two ships, the sound of fighting barely audible under the water but present nevertheless. Curiosity getting the best of you, you cautiously swam up to peak above at what was going on, only to find that a full on war was ongoing between the two ships. 

“Damn, am I in a Grimm Brothers Fairytale or the Pirates of The Caribbean movie right now?”

You didn’t have much time to ponder, however, because you noticed someone eerily similar to Hoseok going overboard and you dove underwater for him.

“I swear if that’s actually Hoseok, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Catching the sinking body, you almost wanted to let him go so you could swim over and slam your head against a rock when you realised, it was indeed Hoseok. 

Muttering a few curses under your breath, you proceeded to drag Hoseok towards the beach close by to make sure he didn’t drown before you could give him a piece of your mind.

-----------------

Hoseok sat up abruptly, his nose, throat and eyes burning as he coughed violently. “Mother of bitch, that’s salty,” he spoke, his voice hoarse from almost drowning.

“Of course it is! What were you doing on a pirate ship?!” You exclaimed, hitting his thigh with your palm.

“Y/N?” He asked, his eyes widening when he realised that it was you in front of him.

“The one and only.”

“Oh thank goodness you’re alright!” Hoseok exclaimed, pulling you to his chest and resting his head on top of yours after placing a kiss there.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said, your voice muffled by his chest from the way he held you close.

“Hm? What was your question?” He asked, letting you go to face you properly. 

“What were you doing on a pirate ship?” 

“Ah! I’m the captain!”

“What? Why don’t I get to be badass characters like you,” you whined looking away from him petulantly. 

“You don’t need a character to be badass, you’re a natural one!” He happily answered, grabbing your chin to make you face him. “You look beautiful baby, but how’d you find me?”

“Are you telling me that you didn’t notice this huge ass tail I have?”

Looking down at your words, his eyes widened, voice rising in pitch with his excitement. “Oh my god you have a tail! You’re a mermaid!”

“Gee? Am I?! Wow Hoseok, thank you for enlightening me!” You mocked his excitement. You didn’t want to act so short with him but the adrenaline running through your body after basically finding the one you love drowning had your brain going haywire.

“Are you mad at me again?”

“I don’t know, Hoseok. Am I?”

“You know I don’t choose the roles I get!”

You sighed, feeling guilty for the way you acted towards him. “I know, it’s just. At first I couldn’t find you anywhere and when I did, you were drowning and it just fucked me up. I know I was joking about how I’m Ariel from Little Mermaid and I need to save a drowning prince but this was not what I was expecting.”

Understanding as ever, Hoseok gave you a sad smile before pulling you back into his embrace again, running his hand through your hair in the way he knew you loved. “It’s okay, I understand. I’d be worried too if I were you, just don’t be mad at me, you know I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Can I have a kiss?” he asked after the two of you basked in each other’s warmth for a moment. 

You pulled back from him, scrunching your nose at him, feeling shy when you noticed how intensely he was looking at you. Grabbing the collar of the shirt he was wearing, you pulled him down for a kiss, pouring out all your emotions into it - from how much you cared for him to how sorry you were for the way you acted. You hoped that he would understand. 

Hoseok kissed you back with just as much emotion, pulling you close and smiling into the kiss. Breaking away from it, he gave you a blinding smile, one that had your heart melting like butter. 

“I love you,” you whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would make you break from all the emotions that were rushing through your heart.

“I love you too. I need to go now, can see my ship coming towards us.”

You nodded, not really processing his words, too busy staring at his gorgeous face. Hoseok realised the fact you didn’t pay attention to his words, making him smile wider. Waving a hand in front of your face, Hoseok chuckled when you seemed as if just coming out of a trance.

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Not really,” you shrugged.

Hoseok threw his head back in laughter. “I said, I can see my ship coming towards us as we speak so I reckon it’s time to leave, baby. I’ll make sure to come visit you here as much as I can in the time we’re here.”

“Promise?” You asked, offering your pinky to him as you looked at him through your lashes.

“Promise,” Hoseok answered, wrapping his finger around yours, giving you one last smile as he stood back up. 

“I’ll see you around, alright?”

“I’ll see you around.”

With that you swam back to the sea, waiting just out of sight to make sure that Hoseok was okay before actually leaving. 

Halloween has always been one of your favorite events in the year. You like cosplaying, making your own costumes and putting on an alter ego even for just a couple of hours. You even came up with this year’s costume right after Halloween last year. You were excited when you found a beautiful red trench coat in a vintage shop just a few days after, complete with the red wide brim hat. Unfortunately because of the pandemic, your Halloween plans are cancelled, and your debut as Carmen San Diego has to wait for another year.

Fortunately, because of the pandemic, your boyfriend’s travel plans abroad are cancelled, and for once he is able to spend Halloween with you. Despite his busy schedule for the upcoming comeback, he has made sure he has 31 October free. You both are pleased to spend the night together at your place, away from the other members, for your Halloween movie night. He even bought matching Snoopy pyjamas- yours has Snoopy and Woodstock jumping out of a pumpkin shouting ‘Boo!’ and his has poor Charlie Brown clutching his heart in shock.

You know your boyfriend is the jumpy type, screaming and squealing at the smallest sound. And he has been very adamant that you will not be watching any horror movies of the supernatural type. So you have chosen Train to Busan and Shaun of the Dead. Although both are zombie movies, there aren’t many jump scare scenes and the gore level is pretty tame. You are quite sure your boyfriend won’t be hanging on to you for dear life throughout the night.

Hoseok settles on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn on his lap as you start the first movie, Train to Busan. He claimed he has seen it before, albeit he covered his eyes 99% of the time.

He is still quite relaxed over the opening scene, until the dead deer on the road came back to life. He sits closer to you, pressing his side tightly against yours.

“Hobi-ah, it’s not even 5 minutes into the movie!” You tease him.

“The deer, YN, it’s a zombie deer!” You chuckle and pat his head. He laughs and tries to relax, but you feel your body starts leaning to one side with Hoseok pressing so much onto your other side.

Hoseok makes some comments as the movie unfolds- how cute the little girl playing the daughter is, how good looking Gong Yoo is in his suit- and you know it is just his way to calm and distract himself over what is to come. He hides behind your back when the injured young woman gets into the train and squeals when the little girl saw a person getting jumped by a zombie at the train platform.

Everything goes downhill from there. He keeps telling the characters to run, to hide, to fight the zombies, all the while with a deathly grip on your hand. You even had to save the bowl of popcorn from falling off his lap because he is moving too much, agitated.

“It’s ok Hoseokie, I will protect you,” you coo at him.

“Ah, YN, I should be the one protecting you but I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything.” He laughs nervously.

“No babe, we’ll work together, right. I’d arm myself with a baseball bat to smash the zombies’ heads.” You tilt your head. “You know, I don’t understand why they don’t just aim at their knees. Break their knees, they wont be able to chase after you.” You wonder out loud.

“Wah YN, you’re really thinking seriously about this.” Hoseok is practically sitting behind you know. His hands are on your shoulders, massaging them gently except for the few times when the zombies get too close to the characters and he squeezes your shoulders hard. Super hard.

“Of course, in an apocalypse we must think critically to survive. I’d kill the zombies, you can be in charge of food. Rationing, cooking. You’re much better at planning than I am. And when I’m tired of killing zombies, you can give me shoulder massages.”

Hoseok chuckles at that, and kisses the back of your head.

You both continue the movie, Hoseok now sitting behind you and you between his legs. You crack up a few more jokes, pointing out some of the mistakes the characters in the movie commit, and promising your boyfriend all those errors have been etched on your brain to ensure you wouldn’t do the same in a zombie apocalypse. Hoseok is more relaxed now, laughing and teasing at how serious you are planning your and his survival.

Until you come to the scene where the selfish executive pushes the high school girl to the zombies to save himself.

“Poor Wooshik,” Hoseok says, “he has to see his girlfriend turn into a zombie!”



You scoff at the scene, especially at the part where Wooshik’s character is cradling his girlfriend and apologising to her. “It’s stupid,” you comment, “he’s gonna die soon.”

And sure enough, once the girl has stopped convulsing and truly turned into a zombie, she bites her boyfriend.



“See!” you shout. “He’s so stupid, he’s survived all this while only to die because he can’t leave his girlfriend!”

Hoseok pulls your body aside, half turning it so you can face him.

“Babe, if I got bitten by a zombie, you’d stay with me, right?” He asks, eyes serious and voice earnestly worried.

“Of course not! You’ve been bitten!” You answer, perhaps too quickly.

“So, you’d leave me behind?” His voice is rising, full of disappointment and hurt.

“Well, do you want me to die with you or to continue surviving?”

Hoseok looks puzzled at your question, and unable to answer.

“I mean, if I can put you in a place where you’d be confined after you become a zombie, yeah I’d stay with you,” you think out loud, “but say in that same situation like in the movie, where you’d easily jump me and eat my brains, I’d probably kiss you goodbye right after you get bitten then I’d run to save my ass.”

“I am seriously hurt, YN. I can’t believe you’d leave me.” Hoseok pouts.

“Well if I don’t leave, YOU would kill me! Is that any better?” You counter.

He huffs and you both continue watching the movie in silence. You find it funny that Hoseok would take it so seriously and you want to laugh at the silliness of it. But you also know you need to do some damage control to cheer up your sunshine.

“Hobi, in an apocalypse, we have to think logically and critically. We can’t let emotions make decisions for our survival.” You turn slightly so you can drape an arm around your boyfriend. Your position has shift so now you’re sitting sideways in his lap, and you kiss his cheek tenderly.

“I love you, and I’d never ever leave you, you know that. And even if I had to, because you’re turning into a zombie, I’d be crying and crying over losing you for days, months, and even years. I won’t stop thinking of you. And I’d be blaming myself for failing to protect you. And I give you permission to haunt me to my dying days as my penance.”

You turn his head to face you, and you kiss him softly on his lips. “I love you, Jung Hoseok.”

“I love you too, YN,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you back sweetly.

Then he suddenly lets go of you, and you stumble back on the sofa. “Oh my god YN! Gong Yoo! That evil executive bit him!”

Hoseok is practically fuming, “Ah, that selfish man, I hate him! Why does he have to bite Gong Yoo? That poor girl, she now has to see her father turn into a zombie!”

You right yourself up, staring at your boyfriend in amusement. “Aish YN, I can’t believe Gong Yoo is turning into a zombie.” Hoseok is truly looking very, very affected by the turn of events in the movie. And when Gong Yoo’s character throws himself off to save his daughter, you are pretty sure your boyfriend is in the brink of tears.

Hoseok is now leaning forward, and asking you if the little girl will survive. You feel like telling him that no, the girl will become a zombie too just to tease him. But he is gripping your hand so hard at the ending scene of the movie, shouting at the soldiers not to shoot the girl and the other survivor. And when the girl starts singing while crying, Hoseok is shaking your shoulders while still screaming for the girl to survive and live.

Once the end credits roll, Hoseok plops back on the sofa, breathing heavily in relief. You look at him, and announce, “OK, let’s not watch Train to Busan anymore. This movie does not do you, or us, any good.”

“I agree, YN, it’s just too sad. Too sad!” He laments.

Too sad? You scoff and swat your boyfriend. He reacts in his typical manner- eyes wide and face full of innocence while asking you what he has done to earn a smack on his arm. You jump on him, tickling him and pretending to eat him like a zombie would, and he trashes around, laughing hysterically, trying to escape you.

He finally manages to flip you and pin you down. His laughter dies down to a soft smile, and he leans down to kiss you.

“I love you, my zombie killer. Happy Halloween.”

—

His fingers trail over the labels, each more outlandish than the last—Kraken’s Kiss, Barnacle Hex, Brine Shrink Serum, Seafoam Spritzer. His gaze snags on one: Mermaid’s Blush, rumored to melt even the frostiest heart. But that isn’t why he’s come. He swallows hard when he finds it—The Heart of the Abyss. The bottle churns with a dark violet liquid like liquefied twilight. Legend claims a single drop can awaken an all-consuming passion, the sort that defies reason and bends destiny itself.

His pulse thunders as he reaches out. One bottle. No, better take two—who knows if the fabled brew will work or simply drown him in regret? Just as his hand closes around them, he glimpses the reversal potion—pale as moonlit brine—and snatches it up too, though he tells himself he’ll never need it. Love can’t be dangerous, not really.

Carefully, he tucks the vials into the woven crossover satchel he’s borrowed from Namjoon. The bottles clink together with a delicate chime that makes his skin prickle. He’s cinching the flap closed when a muffled commotion shivers through the water.

His breath stops.

A shadow darkens the cave entrance. A presence stirs—cold, ancient, aware.

Panic flares in his chest, and he shoots for the exit, desperate to vanish into the kelp before the owner can catch him. But fate—damned, inescapable fate—has other plans.

A figure blocks the mouth of the cave. She drifts forward without a sound, her silhouette resolving in the gloom—hair like an inky halo of eels, eyes pale as reef-bleached bone. Her black robes ripple around her as if she’s part of the darkness itself.

He freezes. Seokjin has warned him the Sea Witch is no mere potion-peddler, but nothing prepares him for the cold gravity of her gaze.

“And what,” she purrs, her voice low as the ocean’s trenches, “do you think you’re doing in my domain?”

Words tangle on his tongue. His mind reels, every clever excuse fleeing like minnows.

“I—I…” he stammers, throat tightening. He grasps for any story that might keep her from noticing the precious bottles concealed against his ribs. “I came to…to buy a potion. For a prank. A harmless one.”

Her eyes gleam with an uncanny light. For a moment, she says nothing. Then she smiles—a thin, knowing smile that makes the water seem to grow colder.

“Didn’t the King and Queen teach you never to trespass in a witch’s lair?” she asks, gliding closer.

His tail twitches in frustration. Even here, even now, someone has to invoke his parents.

He forces a shrug, summoning what remains of his defiance. “I was only waiting for you.”

A ragged hush settles between them. Her eyes flick to the shelf he’s been rummaging through, and he feels the blood drain from his face.

“So,” she murmurs, “what’s your poison?”

His throat constricts. “W—what?”

“The potion,” she says, a sliver of amusement sharpening her tone. “Surely you didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

He scrambles for something—anything—to say. “Do you…have something to make a merfolk grow a beard?” The absurdity of it almost makes him laugh—almost.

She tilts her head, studying him as though she can peel back every layer of his thoughts. Then she drifts to a squat bottle the color of glacier melt. “Bubble Beard Brew,” she says coolly. “It won’t give you a true beard, but the bubbles last a few hours.”

“Fine,” he croaks, feigning indifference as his hand slips into the satchel to steady the stolen vials. “How much?”

“For you?” She smiles again, a smile that sends an icy ripple down his spine. “Ten gold coins.”

He fishes in the bag, fingers brushing the precious bottles he hopes she hasn’t noticed. His heart bangs so hard he’s sure she can hear it.

“Deal,” he whispers, pressing the coins into her waiting palm. Her fingers linger on his skin, her touch somehow both silken and cold as a tidepool in winter.

He swallows. “Thank you.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “My pleasure.”

Suddenly, the walls feel too close, the shadows too deep. He eases back, nearly bumping a jagged outcrop slick with algae. He needs to leave. Now.

The Sea Witch watches him, lips curling in a smile that promises she knows far more than she’s saying. He turns, heart drumming in his throat, and shoots away into the open water, the cave’s darkness receding behind him.

Only when the cold currents of the deeper sea swallow him does he dare to breathe again—and even then, he isn’t sure he’s truly escaped.

“Isn’t that the girl from last week?” Yoongi drawls, lifting his glass to his mouth, though his eyes stay locked on the darkened entrance of the club.

Hoseok doesn’t have to look. He already knows it’s you. He feels your presence sliding over his skin, heat blooming in its wake.

“It is,” he murmurs, taking a long swallow of his beer as if it can drown the memory of your body, your taste, the way you clung to him like you never wanted to let go.

Yoongi chuckles, eyes glittering with mischief. “Looks like she wants another round with you.”

Hoseok lets out a slow sigh. Of course you do. He keeps telling himself it was just a fling—a perfect, blistering one-night stand. But you didn’t feel like any other woman. And that’s the problem. He’s trying to be like Yoongi—unbothered, unclaimed. No entanglements. No vulnerability.

But before he can steel himself to look away, you’re already walking across the club, hips swaying in a silken little dance that makes his pulse thunder.

“Hi, boys,” you purr, your gaze sliding over Yoongi before fixing on Hoseok. A smile ghosts over your lips—soft, dangerous.

Heat shoots through him like a live current, the memory of your bodies tangled between sheets flooding his mind so vividly he almost forgets to breathe. You are temptation incarnate. And some dark, reckless part of him wonders if you’re worth shattering all his carefully constructed rules for.

You lean over the table, palms splayed wide, the neckline of your dress dipping scandalously low. Your skin glows under the flickering neon lights, and Hoseok feels every nerve in his body come alive.

“You never told me your name last time, baby,” you murmur, voice silken with suggestion. Your pout is all wicked invitation, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Yoongi sputter into his drink.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs under the table like he’s inviting you to crawl into his lap. “That’s because I don’t do relationships. Only casual hookups—no strings, babygirl.”

Instead of retreating, you only smile wider, like you’re savoring the challenge. “That’s such a shame,” you say, tracing lazy circles against the tabletop, “because I seem to remember you begging for more.”

His breath catches, and for the first time in a long time, Hoseok wonders if he’s finally met someone who can match him step for step. No one else has ever managed to pierce that shield he keeps around his heart. But you… You’re different.

And maybe that’s why his thoughts drift, unbidden, to the vial tucked away in his bag—the Heart of the Abyss, the potion that promises a love so intense it’s almost legend.

Before he can answer, Yoongi clears his throat. “Do you want a drink?”

You tilt your head with a soft smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

As Yoongi slips away, you slide into the booth beside Hoseok. The bare skin of your thigh brushes against his glittering jeans, and he feels it like a jolt straight to his cock.

“So…” you purr, fingers skating up his thigh, “your name, please.”

He doesn’t move to stop you, only meets your gaze with a dark, hooded stare. “Name’s Jay.”

Your breath hitches, lashes fluttering.

You’re about to tell him your own name, maybe to anchor yourselves in something real, but he lifts a finger to your lips, silencing you with a soft, possessive hush.

“No need to remind me,” he whispers, voice rough. “I couldn’t forget you even if I wanted to.”

Your heart stumbles. Gods, he’s dangerous.

Yoongi returns with a neon cocktail, setting it in front of you. You’re still breathless when you pull away to murmur, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” before disappearing into the shadows of the back hallway.

“She’s really into you,” Yoongi mutters, though there’s no judgment in his tone—only resignation.

Hoseok doesn’t reply. His mind is already spiraling, caught between desire and something deeper he refuses to name.

Before he can overthink it, he rummages through his bag, fingers closing around the cool glass of the potion vial. He uncorks it, the dark violet liquid shimmering like bottled twilight.

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s a love potion,” Hoseok says flatly.

“Why?”

Hoseok swallows, voice low. “Because… I don’t know if I’m capable of real connection. But if there’s even a chance…” He trails off, unable to finish.

Yoongi rubs his temple. “I don’t condone this.”

“It’s harmless, hyung.” He tips the vial into your drink, watching it swirl into a luminous vortex. “Besides—maybe this is exactly what I need.”

Yoongi sighs but doesn’t argue further.

Moments later, you return, moving like a vision—hips swaying, eyes locked on Hoseok with open, hungry intent. You take your seat, delicate fingers curling around your glass.

“So, Jay,” you murmur, voice thick with promise. “Now that I’ve found you again…what do you say to coming home with me?”

His smirk is slow and predatory. “Let’s finish our drinks first.”

“Deal,” you say, though your eyes are already smoldering with anticipation.

Your gaze flicks to Yoongi, teasing. “Should we bring your friend along?”

Hoseok lets out a bark of laughter, loud and bright, drawing startled glances from nearby tables.

“No, no, babygirl,” he says, leaning in so close your perfume wraps around him. “I want you all to myself.” His mouth grazes your ear, and you let out a soft moan.

“Okay.” Your voice is a breathless surrender.

With trembling fingers, you drain your cocktail in one long pull, not caring about the curious shimmer of the liquid. Hoseok watches, heartbeat quickening. He wonders how long it will take to work—if it works at all.

He swallows the last of his drink, rises from the booth, and waves goodbye to Yoongi, catching your hand in his as he leads you across the dance floor.

The lights strobe in pulsing patterns, casting his smirk in flashes of pink and blue. You feel the heat of him against your side, the ridge of his cock brushing your hip as he pulls you into a grinding sway.

Your breath comes in ragged little gasps, desire hot and heady in your blood.

By the time you reach the door, you’re practically shaking with need.

The humid summer air hits you like a furnace. You barely manage to flag down a cab, and when you finally slide into the backseat beside him, his hand closes around your thigh, fingers pressing in hard enough to leave bruises.

The ride to your apartment is a torturous blur. Every second feels like an eternity. You can’t remember the last time you’ve wanted someone this badly—or wondered if maybe you’ve never wanted anyone else at all.

And if the potion works…maybe he’ll feel it too.

When the cab slides to a stop in front of your apartment complex, you’re already halfway out the door, your heart thundering so hard it feels like it will tear you open.

You grab his hand—warm, calloused, impossibly sure—and all but drag him behind you, your breath ragged with anticipation. The lobby is hushed and golden, like a secret, and you stab the elevator button with a trembling finger. The instant the doors glide open, Hoseok is on you, his hunger a living force.

He pushes you inside with a rough, possessive urgency, crowding you back until the cold steel wall kisses your spine. His palms slap the metal on either side of your head, caging you in. For a heartbeat, he just looks—his gaze raking over your bare thighs and the slip of red lace beneath your dress, a firestorm sparking in his dark eyes.

Then he surges forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that feels like it could rip your soul free of your body. You gasp against his lips, your hands fisting in his shirt as your knees weaken. He notices—of course he does—and with a growl that vibrates against your tongue, he slides his hands down, rough palms squeezing the curve of your ass before dipping lower.

In one smooth, powerful motion, he hoists you up. Your legs lock around his narrow hips, your arms loop around his neck, and your laughter comes out soft and breathless.

His body presses you into the elevator wall, his hips grinding against your core as his tongue tangles with yours in a kiss that feels endless. Heat pools low in your belly, and your head tips back, exposing your throat to the hot drag of his mouth.

The elevator dings.

He doesn’t set you down. He carries you out into the shadowy hallway like you weigh nothing, your heart hammering in your chest as he strides straight to your door. With a trembling hand, you fumble your key from your tiny purse. He takes it from you without a word, unlocks the door, and kicks it open.

Darkness swallows you both, but it doesn’t matter. He moves like he’s been here a hundred times, like your space already belongs to him. He stalks toward your bedroom, and the moment he reaches the edge of your bed, he tosses you onto the mattress.

You land with a gasp and a shiver of pure want, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him. He looms at the foot of the bed, his breathing ragged, his eyes gone black with need.

“You look like a fucking dream, babygirl,” he rasps, voice rough as gravel. “Gods, why the hell did I ever pretend I could stay away?”

You can’t help it—you open your legs, the silk of your dress sliding up to reveal the wet stain on your red lace panties. His gaze snaps down, and he licks his lips like a man starved.

He steps closer and grasps your thighs, pulling you down the bed until your ass hangs off the edge. The air itself feels electric, shimmering with something half-real, half-magic.

“Hold still,” he growls, voice low and almost reverent. His fingers glide up the insides of your thighs, spreading goosebumps across your skin. He pushes your legs together, his knuckles grazing your slick heat as he hooks his thumbs into your panties. He drags them down—agonizingly slow—exposing you inch by inch.

Your breath catches, your skin practically glowing in the soft spill of hallway light. You’re so wet you can feel the heat of your arousal on your thighs.

He doesn’t touch you right away. He just stares—devouring you with his eyes, like you’re some forbidden treasure he’s finally claimed.

“Glad I saved room for dessert,” he murmurs, voice dark silk, his gaze locked on where you pulse and ache.

“Then dig in,” you whisper, the words barely a breath.

He slides you even closer, his breath searing against your swollen folds. The first touch is maddening—a single, hot stroke of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. You jerk, a strangled moan catching in your throat.

“Jay?” you manage, propping yourself up to see him.

“Don’t worry, babygirl.” His smile is wicked. “I’m going to savor every fucking drop.”

Then he feasts on you.

His tongue is relentless—licking, sucking, swirling in messy, obscene strokes that make your vision shimmer. He tastes you like he’s searching for the secret of life itself, his hands anchoring you, fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You whimper, your hips rolling up to chase more, but he doesn’t rush. He licks you slow, deliberate, the coil of need inside you winding tighter and tighter. Each time his tongue drags over your clit, your body jolts like lightning.

“Fuck—” You gasp, clutching his soft brown hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and you swear you feel your soul slip loose.

Your thighs start to tremble. Your breaths come in broken, ragged sobs.

When he finally closes his lips around your clit and sucks, pleasure detonates through you like an explosion. You arch off the bed with a shattered cry, your vision blanking to white.

He doesn’t stop. He holds you pinned with his mouth and keeps sucking, keeps lapping, until your body goes taut again and the first orgasm breaks free of you.

The sounds—your hoarse cries, his ragged breathing, the slick, sinful noises of his tongue—melt together into something primal and raw.

When you finally collapse back against the bed, boneless and gasping, he draws back, his mouth and chin wet with you. His eyes glow in the darkness, almost feral.

“Damn, babygirl,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

He watches, utterly transfixed, as your pussy pulses—opening, fluttering, clenching around nothing—like it’s still trying to pull him in. He sees the slow, glistening trail of your release sliding down your folds, catching the soft light like liquid moonlight. You lift your head, dazed, and meet his gaze. He looks wrecked—hair wild, eyes blown wide with lust, his face slick with your essence.

The sight alone nearly unravels you.

He lets out a low, ragged groan as he leans in again, his tongue darting out to catch the delicate rivulet before it can spill onto the sheets. He laps at you with almost reverent hunger, dragging the hot, wet length of his tongue through your folds, gathering every last shimmering drop.

His mouth seals over you, and he presses his tongue slowly, deeply inside. The sensation is so devastatingly intimate your entire body tenses. Your toes curl, fingers clawing at the sheets, every nerve alight as pleasure coils tight and bright in your core.

Before you can even brace yourself, another orgasm detonates through you—blinding, all-consuming.

You cry out, voice hoarse, vision going white at the edges as your release rushes free in a sweet, shuddering flood. You feel it—feel yourself soaking him.

And when your gaze clears, you can’t believe what you see: Hoseok’s face slick with droplets of your pleasure, shining like he’s been anointed. You just squirted. On his face.

A strangled laugh bubbles from your throat, equal parts embarrassment and awe.

Hoseok chuckles darkly and swipes his tongue across his cheek, tasting you with a satisfied hum. “You are fucking incredible,” he growls, voice thick with pride.

You huff out a breathless, shaky laugh. “I… I didn’t even know I could do that.”

He looks smug, eyes hooded as he studies you—like he’s just claimed something no one else ever has. “I did.” His thumb strokes over your trembling inner thigh. “And gods, it’s all mine.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat rolling through you, your skin prickling with need.

“If you slide up the bed,” he purrs, fingers trailing higher to tease along your hip, “I promise I’ll fuck you real good. Like last time…only better.”

You don’t have to be asked twice. Desire thrums through you, delicious and inexorable, and you scramble back onto the pillows. You tug at your dress, but the tight fabric refuses to budge past your hips.

Hoseok watches you struggle for a beat, then lets out a low, wicked laugh. “Need help, babygirl?”

You nod, flustered, and he moves in, sliding his palms up your sides as he peels the dress away with slow, unhurried deliberation. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. Once you’re bare except for your lacy bra, you fumble with the clasp, your hands clumsy. He eases it open, and the garment slides away, exposing your breasts to the cool air—and his heated gaze.

While you tremble under his stare, Hoseok straightens, shedding his glittering pants and tugging off the white tank top that clings to his chest. The sight of his body—golden skin stretched tight over lean muscle, abs cut and glistening—makes your breath catch.

“Shouldn’t you take those off too?” You gesture to his straining boxers, your voice soft but wicked as your gaze drags over the obvious outline of his cock.

He cocks an eyebrow, one hand wrapping around himself as he gives a languid stroke that draws a raw, needy sound from his throat. “Hmm…should I?”

“If you want to fuck me,” you tease, batting your lashes as though you’re innocent—when you’re anything but.

He smirks, dark and feral, and pushes his boxers down his hips. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, already glistening at the tip. Your breath hitches, desire licking up your spine like fire.

He fists himself slowly, watching the awe on your face with a low groan. “Do you have condoms?”

You hesitate—because yes, you did last time, but right now? You need all of him. You need nothing between you and that unbearable, perfect stretch.

“I want you raw,” you whisper, your voice a plea and a dare. “Please.”

For a single moment, he studies you, searching your eyes. Then something dark and possessive flickers in his gaze, and he moves over you, bracing himself with one hand on the bed as he lines his cock up with your entrance.

Your pussy flutters, aching to be filled.

He grabs your thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he pushes forward. The thick crown stretches you open, inch by slow, delicious inch.

“Fuck—” you moan, arching up into him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He groans, his head falling forward as he slides deeper, your walls clinging greedily to every inch.

“More,” you beg, voice ragged. “God, please—don’t stop.”

He obliges you with a vicious snap of his hips, burying himself fully. The stretch steals your breath, pleasure sparking like lightning through your veins.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he pants, voice rough and broken as he pulls almost all the way out—only to drive back in with a hard thrust that makes you cry out.

You can’t answer. You can’t think. All you can do is feel—the hot, dizzying pressure of him inside you, the way your walls flutter and clutch at every retreat and plunge.

His pace picks up, hips slamming into yours, the wet sounds of your bodies joining filling the room. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, the sight making his eyes go even darker, as if he’s losing himself in you.

And gods, you want him to.

When his fingers find your clit and start to circle—firm, relentless—you keen, hips jerking helplessly against his.

“Ah—fuck—” you pant, your voice dissolving into a moan as your pussy clenches even tighter around him.

His groan is ragged, reverent. “That’s it…gods, you feel so fucking good—so perfect.”

You feel yourself shattering all over again, your body going taut as he thrusts harder, deeper, as though he’s determined to carve his name into your very bones.

“Damn, babygirl,” he rasps, his voice ragged as he drags a trembling hand through his tousled hair, sweat shimmering on his flushed skin. The way he looks at you—like you’re something unreal, a fever dream he never wants to wake from—makes your pulse stutter and your core clench around him.

He feels so good inside you, so impossibly thick and deep that you can’t believe your luck—like fate itself guided you to find him again in that pulsing club, to let him fill you like this. Gods, you’re so close your whole body starts to quake. The coil inside you tightens to a snapping point, and you gasp, your back arching as your walls flutter around his cock in desperate, greedy spasms.

“Fuck—” he groans, voice cracking as he watches your face twist in bliss, as he feels you tighten so perfectly it steals every coherent thought from his mind. His thrusts turn erratic, ragged, like he’s fighting to keep from unraveling.

“I’m almost there,” he pants, hips driving into you, every movement sending shockwaves of ecstasy through your oversensitive body. You whimper as your orgasm surges over you, molten and all-consuming, making your vision spark white.

He feels it—the pressure inside him, the dark need that’s been building from the second he laid eyes on you. He tries—tries so hard—to pull out, to spill his release across your belly, but your hands snap to his hips with unexpected strength. You drag him flush against you, locking your thighs around his waist, and the feel of you—wet, pulsing, claiming—makes his mind fracture.

“Fuck—” he snarls, voice breaking as his cock throbs and he comes hard inside you, flooding you with his heat. Your name tears from his throat, half-groan, half-prayer.

When he finally stops shaking, he sags over you, panting raggedly, sweat dripping onto your heaving chest. His forehead drops to yours, and for a moment neither of you moves.

“Shit, sorry,” he murmurs, frustration tensing his jaw. “I…I didn’t mean to come inside you.” His eyes search yours, wary, but you only smile—slow, wicked, satisfied.

“I wanted you to,” you whisper, your voice honey-sweet and lethal. “I wanted all of you.”

His chest tightens, something fierce and bewildering blooming behind his ribs. He huffs a shaky laugh, brushing his lips over yours. “Gods, you’re going to ruin me.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer until you can feel his heart racing against yours. “Then stay. Stay the night.”

He hesitates, because he never stays. Never gives anyone this. But with you, everything feels different. Like he’s already yours and he doesn’t even know how it happened.

You pout up at him, pupils still blown wide. “Please?”

He curses softly, because he’s already lost. “I could never say no to you,” he admits, voice hoarse, and slowly withdraws from your body. You feel a hot trickle of him slide down your thigh, and it makes you shiver all over again.

“Maybe…” he swallows, trying to collect himself, “we should clean up before you tempt me into another round.”

You giggle, light and giddy, and nod. In the dark, he follows you into the bathroom, both of you moving like you’ve done this a thousand times—helping each other wash the sweat and heat away, stealing kisses as if you can’t bear to be apart for even a second. When you finally crawl into bed, he spoons you, gathering you against his chest like something precious he refuses to lose.

The dawn slowly bleeds into the room, pale gold catching on tangled sheets and the curve of your hip. Hoseok blinks awake, feeling you warm and soft in his arms. For a moment he simply watches you breathe, and something he can’t name curls tight in his chest—something that feels suspiciously like hope.

You stir, eyelashes fluttering. When you finally open your eyes, you smile—sleepy and so heartbreakingly sweet it makes his throat go tight.

“Morning, babygirl,” he murmurs, voice low, rumbling against your skin.

You yawn and stretch, your palm drifting across his cheek and down to rest over the ridges of his stomach. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth.

“How are you feeling?” he asks carefully, wondering if you feel any different—wondering if the potion worked after all.

You giggle, a sound like warm honey, and your gaze locks with his. “Fantastic.”

Relief flickers through him. He lets out a quiet sigh and starts to rise, convinced whatever magic he tried to summon must have failed.

“I think I’m in love with you,” you blurt, voice trembling with a truth you can’t hold back any longer.

He goes still. His heart thunders in his chest, and he turns to stare at you, the air thick between you. “What?”

You crawl closer, your eyes wide and unguarded. “I love you,” you repeat, softer but certain, like it’s the only thing you know.

For a moment, he can’t speak. He thought this was just pleasure—just lust and sweet escape. But now, looking into your eyes, he feels something sharp and terrifying and beautiful all at once.

He gulps, mouth dry, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free of his ribs.

The potion wasn’t supposed to work. It was just a precaution. A superstition.

But it did.

And fuck—he doesn’t know what the hell to do now.

Cloud nine. Pink skies. Fluffy. That’s how you feel inside. Like a dream wrapped in cotton candy, floating on a breeze scented with sea salt and sun-kissed skin. Life feels like a walk on roses—petals brushing beneath your bare feet—a feeling you never really thought you’d get to feel. But ever since Hoseok entered your world, everything’s shifted.

The spark that ignited the first moment your eyes met has only grown, a wildfire licking through your chest, brighter and wilder with each breath. He’s intoxicating. You crave his nearness, the soft cadence of his voice, the way his laughter sounds like the ocean. You think about him constantly—and you never used to be like this. Never.

“Can’t you feel it?” you ask, voice light, teasing, as you hand him another bite of your shared lunch.

You’re sitting on a checkered blanket on the beach, sun filtering through gauzy clouds. Seagulls caw overhead. The breeze brushes your skin like silk, and the world feels too perfect, like a moment suspended in magic.

Hoseok turns to you, chopsticks poised in midair, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then he leans closer, brushes your shoulder with his own, and steals a bite of lettuce.

“Maybe a little bit,” he says, lips tugging into a soft smile.

Your heart flutters. Gods, his smile is unfair.

But something flickers behind his eyes. Something distant. Like he’s measuring every word before he speaks. Like he’s holding something back.

He keeps coming back to you, that much is clear. Little visits, small excuses—“just to see how you’re doing,” “just testing the vibe,” he says with a chuckle, every time. But there’s something methodical in it, something calculated. You try not to let it get to you.

But it does.

Because your feelings? They’re no longer just a crush or a flirtation. They’re wild. Intense. Consuming. You're spiraling into something deeper with every shared glance, every casual brush of his hand. And it terrifies you.

After lunch, you both lay back on the blanket, your legs stretched out, toes buried in warm sand. The ocean sprawls out before you, endless and glittering under the afternoon sun.

“Do you ever wonder what’s out there?” you ask, watching the horizon.

“All the time,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost distant. “Secrets. Monsters. Beauty. Maybe all of it.”

You turn to look at him, surprised by the tone in his voice. There’s a shadow in his expression. Something ancient, something weighty.

“You sound like you’ve seen it.”

He only smiles again, that evasive curve of his lips that never quite reaches his eyes. “Maybe I have.”

There are moments when you think he sees you. Really sees you. When he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, or when his gaze lingers too long on your lips before he looks away. Moments where his fingers skim your skin a little slower than necessary. Moments when the silence between you feels heavy with possibility.

But then he pulls back. Every time.

You laugh at something stupid he says and he stares at you like he wants to memorize the shape of your joy. But then he clears his throat, looks away, and changes the subject. Every time you reach out emotionally, he flirts but never truly opens up. It's playful. Safe. Distant.

And the longer this goes on, the more you begin to question what’s real.

Because the feelings inside you are too much. You fall asleep thinking about him. You wake up yearning for him. You dream of him, ache for him, need him. And it doesn’t feel like you. Not really.

You’re usually guarded. Wary. You take your time. But this? This feels like an obsession that’s taken root in your bones, and no matter how you try to pull it out, it only digs in deeper.

One evening, after another long walk where Hoseok brushes your hand but never holds it, you finally blurt it out.

“Something’s off.”

He glances at you, startled. “What do you mean?”

You stop walking, staring out at the waves. “I don’t know. I just… I feel like I’m not in control of myself anymore. Of my feelings. Like I’m... under some spell.”

His face tightens for a split second. So fast you almost miss it. But you don’t.

You take a step closer. “Have you ever felt like that? Like something inside you isn’t yours?”

He hesitates. A breath caught in his chest. Then, he shrugs it off with a charming grin. “I mean, falling for someone is a kind of magic, right?”

But the way his eyes avoid yours says everything. He knows something. You know he does.

That night, you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, your heart a frantic drumbeat in your chest. The feelings inside you won’t stop growing. They’re twisting vines, tangling through your soul. You crave Hoseok like he’s air. But some small voice in the back of your mind whispers: This isn’t natural.

And still, he comes back. Again and again.

He sits beside you at twilight, watching stars emerge from the velvet sky. He hums under his breath as he helps you cook dinner, his elbow bumping yours like it means nothing, like it means everything.

One night, as the moon rises full and pale over the waves, he shows up at your doorstep, soaked from rain and smiling like you’re the only light he needs. And for a moment, you forget to question. You forget to fear. Because he looks at you like you matter.

He stays longer each time. Sleeps beside you some nights, claiming it’s too late to head back. You talk until the stars blur and your eyes grow heavy. His arm brushes yours and you freeze, breath caught, because his touch feels like the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You fall asleep with his scent in your sheets. And when you wake up alone, you ache.

You’re falling. Fast. And you don’t know if it’s real.

And Hoseok? He’s torn. Caught between guilt and desire. He knows the potion should’ve worn off by now. But it hasn’t. And your eyes shine brighter each time you see him. Your devotion deepens. And with it comes the unbearable question:

Would you love him like this without the magic?

The truth clings to the edges of his conscience like salt to skin. You deserve the truth. But he’s afraid. Because somewhere along the way, your laughter became his favorite song. Your joy, his sanctuary.

And maybe... just maybe... he’s starting to fall, too.

Another evening, you walk the shoreline hand in hand, the water cool against your feet, your hair tousled from the sea breeze. Hoseok’s fingers graze yours lazily, like he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s just… casual. But it isn’t casual for you. Every brush of his skin sets something alight in you—wild, electric, addictive.

The sky has turned deep lavender, stars beginning to scatter across the heavens like someone spilled silver dust across a velvet canvas.

“I want to swim,” you say suddenly, your voice breathless—not just from the walk or the sea air, but from the ache that’s grown inside of you like a fever.

He raises a brow, smirking. “Now?”

You nod and toss your cover-up aside. You’re wearing a sheer slip of a dress over your bathing suit, but even that feels too heavy. “Come in with me.”

You don't wait for his answer. You walk straight into the water until the waves lap against your thighs, your hips. You let out a small gasp—it’s cold, biting even—but you welcome it. Maybe it'll cool the heat curling between your legs.

You turn, and he’s already walking in after you, still dressed. But that doesn’t stop him.

He prays this short exposure to saltwater won’t turn him back to a merman.

He reaches you just as a wave crashes against both of you. You stumble, laughing, but Hoseok catches you, his hands firm around your waist. He pulls you against his chest, soaking wet now. His eyes flicker with something more than mischief. Hunger.

“I should be stopping this,” he murmurs, his voice low, nearly lost in the crash of the waves.

“Then stop,” you whisper.

You’re daring him. Begging him.

He doesn’t.

He kisses you like he’s giving in to a temptation he’s tried to resist for far too long. His mouth is warm and wild against yours, saltwater dripping down his neck, his shirt plastered to his skin. He lifts you effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, and you feel the bulge straining against the wet fabric of his pants.

You moan into his mouth. “I can’t get enough of you.”

He groans, stumbling with you out of the water towards safety, and onto the soft sand behind a dune, somewhat shielded from view. The stars above are your only witnesses.

“I’m soaking,” he mutters as he lays you down, water dripping from his clothes.

“I don’t care.” Your fingers are already at his shirt, tugging it over his head, revealing the wet bronze of his chest, his abs tight and glistening in the starlight.

You lie back as he slides your swimsuit straps down your shoulders, slowly, reverently. His lips follow the path, kissing every inch of exposed skin.

The wind shivers across your bare skin, but you don’t feel cold. Not with Hoseok above you, looking at you like he wants to consume every last piece of you.

When he pulls the fabric from your hips, his eyes drop to your core. You’re already slick for him, your arousal mixing with the saltwater, and his jaw clenches.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, almost in awe.

“For you,” you breathe.

He pushes your thighs apart and runs his fingers through your folds, groaning when he feels how ready you are. He leans down and licks a long, slow stripe up your center, his tongue curling against your clit, making your back arch against the sand.

You whimper as he circles your clit, teasing it with the flat of his tongue, sucking just enough to make you tremble.

Then his mouth is gone. You almost cry out.

“Hoseok, please…”

He shushes you with a kiss, then presses the head of his cock against your entrance—bare again. No warning. No barrier. You don’t care. You want to feel every inch of him.

“Is this okay?” he asks, breathless.

“Yes. Yes.”

He pushes in slowly, your walls stretching around him, and it’s dizzying—how full you feel, how intimately he fits inside you. His groan vibrates against your neck as he buries himself completely, resting there a moment, like he’s overwhelmed too.

You clutch at him. “Move, please—”

He pulls back and slams back in, and your cry is swallowed by the wind. He sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours, sand sticking to your back and thighs as you rock beneath him.

It’s filthy. It’s raw.

And it’s perfect.

He kisses your mouth, your throat, your collarbone—one hand gripping your hip so tightly it might bruise, the other sliding between your legs to rub your clit again. You come undone around him, a scream caught in your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a breaking wave.

You clench around him, and that’s what finally breaks him.

“Fuck—” he growls, and then he’s coming too, deep inside you, his body tense above yours as he throbs within your still-pulsing walls.

He collapses beside you, both of you panting, tangled, covered in salt and sweat and each other.

You roll to face him, your fingers trailing across his chest. “Why does it feel so… intense?” you whisper. “Like I’m going to fall apart if you stop touching me.”

He looks at you, eyes soft now. But you catch it—hesitation. Guilt, maybe.

He says nothing, just pulls you close, kissing your forehead like it’ll make the question go away.

But it doesn’t.

It lingers in your chest, thudding in time with your heartbeat.

And later, when you're lying in his arms on your couch—his head resting on your stomach, your fingers in his hair—that ache returns. That fear.

Because you don’t know if this is love, or if it’s something else entirely.

Something you never asked for.

Something that might not even be real.

The days melt together like honey on warm bread.

You’re not sure when the heat of infatuation began to shift into something deeper—something you can’t name. But it’s there, soft as morning light, settling into your bones.

It starts with the way Hoseok doesn’t leave.

Not after that night on the beach. Not after the teasing glances or the toe-curling moans or the tangled limbs slick with sweat. He just... stays. Sometimes he leaves for a day, maybe two, but he always returns. You don’t ask where he goes. He never tells. And when you do ask—really ask, with that creeping dread under your ribs, the one whispering something’s not right—he simply kisses you. Or distracts you. Or makes you laugh.

So you laugh.

A lot.

He makes everything fun. Grocery shopping turns into a chaotic dance battle in the produce aisle. You catch him serenading a cantaloupe like it deserves to be on a throne. When he insists on pushing the cart and crashes into a shelf of cereal, you both end up sitting in the middle of the floor, giggling like teenagers.

You never giggled like this with anyone else.

At night, you cook together. He chops vegetables with surprisingly precise fingers, humming a melody you've never heard before. You wear his shirt and nothing else, and he pretends not to be distracted—but he always is. The sizzle of oil, the clatter of pans, the way his hand slips under your shirt when he walks behind you, brushing over your hip like it’s instinct.

He teaches you how to dance barefoot in the kitchen, twirling you until you collapse into his arms, breathless with laughter.

It should be perfect.

But there’s a heaviness under the sweetness.

Because it all feels... too much. Too fast. Too good. Your emotions are a pendulum—one moment soaring, the next crashing. You’ve never felt this attached to someone so quickly. And the deeper you fall, the more out of control it feels. You tell yourself it’s just new love. You tell yourself not to question it.

But sometimes, in quiet moments, doubt creeps in like fog across glass.

“Do you feel it?” you ask him one evening, curled together on the couch. There’s a documentary playing, something about coral reefs, but neither of you are really watching.

He shifts slightly, his fingers still tracing idle shapes on your thigh. “Feel what?”

You bite your lip. “This. Us. It’s intense, isn’t it? Like we’re on fire all the time. Doesn’t it scare you a little?”

He pauses. The silence stretches too long.

“You think too much,” he finally says with a soft smile, brushing your hair from your face.

You want to believe him.

But you don’t.

One evening, you take him to your favorite place: the little rooftop garden above your building. The city lights glow below like fallen stars, and overhead, the real stars begin to glitter in a velvet sky.

You pull out a battered notebook filled with your messy handwriting and half-finished constellations.

“I used to draw stars when I felt lost,” you tell him quietly. “When I couldn’t sleep, when the world felt too loud. I’d come up here and just... look up. Remind myself I’m small. That nothing matters and everything does. That I can still make something beautiful.”

He watches you. Really watches you.

Not the way he does when you're naked beneath him. This is different. His gaze is reverent. Like you’re made of moonlight.

You hand him the book, and his fingers tremble slightly as he flips through your sketches. A drawing of Orion. Notes about the phases of the moon. Doodles of your favorite moments beside stars you made up yourself.

“You make the world feel soft,” he says, almost to himself.

Your breath catches. “What?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “Nothing. Just… stay like this for a bit?”

You lie on your back, head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

And that’s when you feel it. The ache.

Because if this is fake—if any part of it isn’t real—you’re going to break.

It happens on a Wednesday.

You’re arguing about something stupid. The dishes, maybe. Or the fact that he disappears for hours without telling you where. It’s lighthearted at first, flirty even. You call him a secret agent; he calls you dramatic.

But then he says it.

“Maybe you’re just addicted to attention.”

You freeze.

He regrets it the second it leaves his mouth. You can see it in his eyes.

You turn away, wounded, angry, but mostly—scared. Because he might be right. Or worse: maybe you’re not the one in control at all.

You don’t yell. You just say, quietly, “You think I’m not real. That what I feel for you isn’t real.”

He doesn’t answer.

Which is answer enough.

You sleep apart that night.

He almost leaves. But in the end, he can’t. He sleeps on the couch, watching the shadows on your ceiling, heart twisting in a way he doesn’t understand. Because this was never supposed to matter. This was supposed to be temporary. Fun. A way to escape.

But you’ve become his haven.

His storm and his stillness.

You take the stress off him.

And it terrifies him.

Days pass. You make up. Kind of. You pretend things are fine, and they almost are.

You watch movies together, sitting too close on the couch, fingers brushing the popcorn bowl. One night, you fall asleep during a romcom, drooling on his chest, your hair tickling his chin. He doesn’t move. Just stares at you. Tracing your profile with his eyes. Memorizing you.

He realizes then: he wants this.

Not just the sex. Not the thrill. Not the escape.

You.

Your laugh. Your star maps. The way you hum while you brush your teeth. The way you lean into him when you’re cold without realizing it. The way you challenge him, even when he tries to deflect.

He wants all of it.

Even if he doesn’t deserve it.

Even if it was built on a lie.

The vial still sits in his satchel. The antidote. He stares at it some nights, fingers wrapped around it, wondering if it would make you stay.

But he never gives it to you.

Not yet.

Guilt claws at his insides. Because maybe you do love him now. Maybe it is real. But how could he ever know for sure?

He starts to wonder: If the potion wears off... will you still want him?

Or will you run, furious and heartbroken, the moment the truth crashes down?

Because love can survive distance.

It can survive doubt.

But can it survive betrayal?

He doesn’t know.

And the fear of losing you is the only thing keeping him here.

So he waits.

And he watches.

And he falls.

Deeper than he ever meant to.

Beneath the sea, the palace of Naraeum glimmers with iridescent blues and greens, its coral spires winding into the currents like a dream built from moonlight and pressure. But inside the royal chamber, the atmosphere is anything but serene.

Hoseok stands tall before the throne, his chest heaving, his gills fluttering in agitation. His parents, King Haesan  and Queen Haeryeong, gaze down at him with eyes carved from centuries of tradition, unmoved by the heat in their son’s voice.

“You’re in love? With a human?” Queen Haeryeong repeats, her voice slicing through the water like a blade of ice.

“Yes,” Hoseok replies, jaw clenched. “Her name is—”

“We don’t care for her name,” King Haesan  growls, leaning forward in his coral throne, the golden crest of Naraeum shimmering against his broad chest. “What you’ve done… meddling with surface magic, tampering with potions of binding—you know that is forbidden.”

Hoseok doesn’t flinch. He expected this. Still, it stings.

“I never meant for it to go this far,” he says, voice softer now. “I just wanted a taste of freedom. I wanted something real.”

“And instead, you let yourself become infatuated with a surface dweller. A human. A temporary thrill.”

“She’s more than that.”

His mother narrows her eyes. “You were promised to the daughter of House Virelle. A mermaid of royal blood.”

“I don’t want to marry her!” Hoseok snaps. “I don’t want any of this—the throne, the court, the politics. Do you even see what it’s like to live up there? To breathe air, to laugh, to taste food that…” He falters. “She makes me feel alive.”

The chamber stills. The silence presses down like the weight of the ocean itself.

Finally, King Haesan  speaks, his voice low and unyielding. “Then make your choice. Return to your duties, prepare for your coronation, and marry your intended—or be stripped of your title, your powers, and your birthright. If you leave again, Hoseok, you will not be welcomed back.”

A hush echoes through the hall. Even the guards shift uncomfortably.

Hoseok’s heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. The temptation to defy them is hot in his blood, but the fear coils just beneath. If he goes back… that might be the last time he ever sees Naraeum. The last time he swims these waters, calls them home.

He swallows hard. “I just want to see her one more time. Just to say goodbye.”

His mother’s gaze darkens. “And what then? You’ll break her heart? Disappear like the lie you are?”

He doesn’t answer. Because he doesn’t know.

Later, in the solitude of his tide-woven chambers, Hoseok paces. Ancient magic hums in the kelp-wrapped walls, and glowing jellyfish swirl in lazy spirals overhead. But none of it soothes him. Not now.

He drifts to the table where he hid the small crystal vial—the last bottle of The Heart of the Abyss glistens inside like a captured moonbeam. If he gave it to you, he’d never have to wonder if your feelings were real. You’d love him, unconditionally. You’d never leave.

But the thought sickens him.

He doesn’t want you like that. Not anymore. Not with illusion clouding your heart. He wants your real laughter. The way your eyes crinkle when you talk about the stars. The way you lean into him during a movie, half-asleep, fingers brushing his thigh. The way you sigh when the world feels heavy, but still press on.

A mermaid with sapphire fins and tail, and ceremonial piercings floats outside his chamber. The betrothed. Distant. Beautiful. Dutiful.

She doesn’t laugh like you.

Hoseok turns his back and begins to pack.

He breaks through the surface that night, the moon silvering the water around him. Each breath of air tastes like guilt. Like longing. Like something he never wants to let go of.

Maybe he won’t tell you everything. Maybe he can just say goodbye. Or maybe… maybe he won’t be able to leave at all.

Because beneath all the lies, all the magic, all the duty—Hoseok is beginning to realize something that terrifies him more than the wrath of his kingdom:

He doesn’t want it to be the potion. He wants it to be real.

And the worst part is… it just might be.

The stars above are watching. And they never forget.

The sun dips low on the horizon, casting warm amber light through the slanted blinds of your apartment windows. Everything feels heavier today—like gravity itself is conspiring to drag your heart deeper into your chest. You’ve been spiraling since this morning, unable to shake the ache behind your ribs, the sense that something has been off for too long.

And then, there’s a knock at your door.

You don’t need to look. You know it’s him.

You open the door slowly, and there he is: Hoseok. Wind-tossed hair, flushed cheeks, shoulders tense under his loose hoodie. His gaze flickers toward you, and for a brief second, it softens.

“Hey,” he says, voice a little too quiet.

You step aside without a word, letting him in.

The silence is thick as he walks into the familiar space—the place that’s become more his than yours lately. He notices the sketchbook still open on the table, the empty mug by the couch, the blanket that still smells like him. He takes a breath. He thought this would be easier. Say goodbye. Walk away. But now that he’s here—

Something inside him cracks.

“I came to say goodbye,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—”

But then his bag slips from his shoulder and lands with a soft thud onto the hardwood floor. The flap opens. Something rolls out.

Two vials.

One full. Labeled antidote. One empty. Labeled love potion.

Your heart stops.

You stare.

“What the hell is this?” you ask, stepping forward. The full vial glows faintly with swirling golden liquid. The empty one still smells faintly sweet and metallic, like something magical. Your fingers tremble.

Hoseok freezes. “Wait—don’t touch that—”

But it’s too late. You’ve picked them up.

You whirl on him. “What are these?”

He doesn’t answer.

Your chest tightens. “Tell me the truth.”

He looks away, jaw tight. “I can’t.”

Your voice breaks. “Did you ever love me at all?”

“Don’t,” he whispers.

You step closer. “Do I even love you? Or did you make me?”

His eyes finally meet yours, wild with guilt, panic, sorrow. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

You feel like you’ve been slapped. The words echo through you.

“It was a game?” you ask, voice cracking. “Some little... magic trick?”

“I didn’t think it would work,” he says, frantic now. “You were supposed to forget. I wasn’t supposed to—”

“Fall for me?” you spit. “Too late for that now, isn’t it?”

The tears sting hot in your eyes. You shove the empty vial against his chest. “You stole my choice. My feelings. My body. And now you want sympathy?”

He’s shaking his head, helpless. “I wanted to tell you. Every time I came back here, I wanted to. But then I’d see you and—”

“What even are you?” you cut in, voice low and shaking. “Where did this come from?”

He says nothing.

Silence stretches, thick with betrayal.

Your hands curl around the full vial—the antidote—without him noticing. You tuck it behind you in the pockets of your jeans.

“I can’t believe I let myself fall for you,” you whisper. “I thought this was real.”

“It was,” he pleads. “It is. For me.”

You shake your head, taking a step back. “I can’t trust anything you say.”

Hoseok’s breath hitches. “Please don’t make this goodbye.”

But it already is.

He did come to say goodbye, but it’s not really what he wants.

“Get out,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, a thousand emotions flashing across his face. Then he nods once, slowly. Turns to leave.

When the door closes behind him, you sink to the floor, clutching the glowing vial to your chest. You don’t even know what’s real anymore.

But the pain?

That’s all too real.

Silence follows—thick, ringing silence that presses against your ears like you’re underwater. Like the weight of the ocean itself has followed him into your apartment, only to collapse in on you the moment he’s gone.

You’re standing in the middle of the room. Barefoot. Bare-hearted. One hand curled tightly around the glass vial.

The antidote.

It’s cool against your palm, deceptively innocent. A shimmer of lavender clings to the liquid, swirling gently like it knows what it is—what it could undo.

You stare at it, your hand trembling.

What are you even holding?

It looks like something out of a fairytale. Something you’d find in an ancient forest hidden behind a waterfall, or nestled in the satchel of a cursed prince. Something you were never meant to touch. And yet here it is, in your apartment, in your hand, and all you can do is stare and try not to cry again.

You don’t even know what it would do.

Would drinking it turn everything off? Would it erase the yearning in your chest? That spark that turned into a flame that’s now burning you alive from the inside out?

Or worse… what if it doesn’t change anything at all?

You press the vial to your forehead, shutting your eyes.

You remember how it felt when he kissed you like he’d never get the chance again. When he looked at you like the stars had come down to Earth just to live behind your eyes. When he laughed with his whole body, when he danced with you in your kitchen, when he held your hand like it was sacred.

What if none of it was real?

A sob claws its way up your throat, but you choke it down. You’re so tired of crying. Your cheeks still sting from earlier. And your heart? It’s just… frayed. Torn at the edges. Like a love letter that’s been folded and unfolded too many times.

You glance at the door, half-expecting him to come back. Half-hoping.

He won’t.

He looked too broken to even try.

Your fingers tighten around the vial.

Did he ever love you at all?

Was any of it him? Or were you just a puppet being pulled by the strings of some ancient, stolen spell? Was your heart even your own?

You want to scream. You want to smash the vial against the floor. You want to throw it at the wall and watch the magic splatter like it could take the pain with it.

But you don’t.

You walk over to the little shelf beside your door—where keys and stray coins and forgotten lip balm go to die—and set the vial down, like it’s just another trinket. Like it’s not the most dangerous thing in your entire home.

It stands there quietly, glowing faintly under the hallway light. A perfect lie, bottled.

You stand there for a long while, arms wrapped around yourself, teeth buried in your lip, staring at it like it might offer answers.

It doesn’t.

You don’t know what to do with it. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because if it takes away your feelings… what if there’s nothing left?

What if the love was yours all along?

Or worse—what if it never was?

You turn away with your chest aching, your whole body aching, like love is a poison and you’re finally feeling the full dose.

And yet… even through the betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak…

You still love him.

And that? That’s what hurts the most.

Hoseok returns to the sea, deflated.

The ocean embraces him like a mother, but it no longer brings comfort. It’s too cold. Too quiet. Too still. Nothing like the warmth of your apartment, your laughter, your heartbeat beneath his fingertips. His chest aches from the weight of it all as he swims deeper into the sun-dappled waters, toward the golden towers of Naraeum.

He had hoped to say goodbye. Maybe stay. Or maybe… he doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that you didn’t want him—not after what you learned. And the worst part? He doesn’t blame you.

The kingdom of Naraeum lies in a shimmer beneath the sea, golden spirals and coral domes, majestic kelp gardens woven with light. Its streets are patrolled by armored eel-guards and decorated with mosaics of sea gods and ancient battles. It is beautiful, but to Hoseok now, it is hollow. As if everything had turned into a painting—colorful, but unmoving.

His return is swift and unspectacular. He doesn’t cause a stir. Just a disgraced prince dragging his heart behind him like an anchor.

His parents are waiting.

Queen Haeryeong and King Haesan  sit on their thrones made of pearl and bone. They are radiant, powerful, terrifying. The court is full, and Hoseok bows low as the tide holds its breath.

“You’ve been gone too long, son,” his mother says, her voice as cold and crisp as cracked ice.

“And with no explanation,” his father adds, the disapproval thunderous in the quiet throne room.

“I…” Hoseok begins, but his throat is dry. He forces the words out. “I visited her to say goodbye.”

A hush falls.

“My human girlfriend.”

Gasps echo through the hall. The queen’s jaw tightens. The king’s trident digs into the floor.

“I don’t want to marry the mermaid you chose,” Hoseok says, forcing himself to stand tall. “I don’t want to be a prince. I don’t want that life.”

The fury that rises in their faces is swift and merciless.

“You’ve embarrassed this kingdom,” Queen Haeryeong spits. “You left when we explicitly told you not to. Your actions are treasonous.”

He doesn’t flinch.

But when the king stands, trident in hand, the weight of what comes next crashes over Hoseok like a tidal wave.

“You will be stripped of your title. Banished. Never allowed to return—”

“I’ll marry her!” Hoseok yells. “I’ll marry the mermaid.”

A stunned silence.

“Just… please. Don’t take the sea from me.”

There’s a long, tense pause. The court watches as the king and queen silently confer. And finally, Queen Haeryeong nods.

“Very well,” she says. “You may remain. But from this day forward, you are forbidden to surface. You will forget the human girl and perform your duties to Naraeum.”

He bows his head.

But forgetting you is impossible.

Days pass. Then weeks.

And everything feels… wrong.

The ocean used to be his haven. But now the vibrant corals look dull. The sea-songs that once made him dance now sound like funeral dirges. He swims through palace corridors with a fixed smile, but it never reaches his eyes. He attends royal functions, watches kelp plays, trains in sword-dance rituals—but he feels like he’s in a dream he can’t wake from.

His betrothed is beautiful, kind in a distant, royal way. She tries. But she is not you.

Sometimes she touches his hand, and Hoseok resists the urge to pull away. When she speaks, he hears your voice instead. When she laughs, he aches for your real, unpolished joy. You made him feel alive. This… this is just routine.

Taehyung visits often, and floats beside him on the palace terrace one evening, watching jellyfish drift by like lanterns.

“You’re hopelessly in love,” Taehyung says with a sigh.

“No, I’m not,” Hoseok lies.

Namjoon, on the other hand, does not let him off so easily.

“You stole a potion from the Sea Witch and used it on a human?” he scolds, arms crossed. “Do you know what kind of consequences that could have?”

“I didn’t think it would go this far,” Hoseok says quietly. “I didn’t think I’d…”

“Fall in love?”

He doesn’t answer.

Late one night, unable to sleep, Hoseok finds himself holding the last vial of the potion.

He doesn’t even know why he still has it. But the liquid inside still glows faintly, like temptation. Like ruin.

He tucks it into a satchel and swims.

Down. Deeper than he’s ever gone.

The waters are icy here, swallowing the light. Only darkness and silence. The dark end of the ocean. Home of exiles. Home of her.

The cave yawns before him, a jagged wound in the rock. And inside, a soft flicker of strange blue light.

The Sea Witch is doing her makeup with strips of kelp and shimmering eel scales, seated in her throne of cracked clamshells. She doesn’t even turn.

“Come to return what you stole, boy?” she asks, her voice like silk soaked in venom.

Hoseok freezes.

“Yeah... sorry,” he mutters.

She stands slowly and spins to face him, too gleeful, too radiant in her madness. “Why are you sorry? Everything was almost going the way it was supposed to.”

He narrows his eyes. “Supposed to?”

She circles him like a shark.

“I knew about your little surface excursions. I knew you’d come to me eventually. You were always weak for newness, for thrill. It was too easy.”

His heart hammers.

“You used the potion on a human, didn’t you?” Her smirk is maddening.

He says nothing, but that’s answer enough.

She cackles, gleeful. “The Heart of the Abyss is harmless on merfolk. But humans... oh, it eats them alive.”

Hoseok sways in place. “What do you mean?”

“Did she become obsessed with you? Did she lose her free will?” she coos. “Love stolen by potion never dies. It mutates.”

He growls, “Mutates into what?”

She leans in, whispering, “Madness. Until she dies. Of heartbreak, or love so heavy it crushes her.”

Hoseok’s stomach drops. His world spins.

“What about the antidote?” he shouts. “Will it fix it? Reverse it?”

She laughs again. “Maybe. Maybe not. If it does, she won’t remember you. Or herself.”

He trembles with rage. “Why would you make something so dangerous?”

She grins. “Because I need you. To make a hybrid child.”

He recoils.

“That child would break my curse. Restore my beauty. Lift the ban your oh-so-pure parents placed on me.”

His fists clench. He’s just a pawn in her twisted revenge. And you… you were caught in the crossfire.

The thought makes him sick.

“You want to reverse it, don’t you?” she says, swimming closer.

He doesn’t answer, just turns and storms out of the cave, his red tail slicing through the water.

He needs the antidote.

He rushes home, tears stinging his eyes, tearing through the palace, turning his quarters upside down.

But it’s gone.

Gone.

And that’s when the fear truly sets in.

It’s been months. And you feel like you’re dying.

Not physically—though some mornings your limbs feel like lead, and your bones ache with emptiness—but emotionally, spiritually. Like your soul is slowly leaking out of your body, leaving you hollow, a mere echo of who you once were.

You wake up each day slower than the last. Your eyes are glassy, your skin dull. Nothing tastes right. Nothing sounds right. Music, once your favorite escape, just makes you cry. You haven’t laughed in weeks. The apartment is quiet now, full of dust and ghosts, and there’s an ache that no amount of sleep can dull. Everything smells like him—his scent lingers on your pillow, and his hoodie, still hanging by the door, is the only thing you haven’t had the heart to wash.

You’re unraveling. And you don’t even know who you are anymore.

You used to be strong. Independent. You never fell fast for anyone. You never obsessed. But this? This all-consuming, bone-deep ache for Hoseok—it’s not love. It’s torment.

It’s madness.

And you know it’s not just your heart. It’s something deeper. Something unnatural. Because no human should feel like they’re being eaten alive by grief over a man who was never even fully yours.

You glance again at the small glass vial sitting on the shelf by the door.

The antidote.

You’ve stared at it every day since the night he left, the night everything fell apart. You’ve thought about drinking it a thousand times, but the fear of what it might do to you—of who you’ll be without this ache—keeps you frozen.

What if it erases everything?

What if it makes you forget him completely?

…What if the love you feel for him isn’t even real?

That last question has haunted you most. Ever since you found the vials, everything has slowly made sense and shattered you all at once. Your mood swings. Your obsessive attachment. The way you couldn’t stand to be apart from him, like your lungs forgot how to breathe if he wasn’t near.

You used to think it was fate. A cosmic kind of love.

But now…

Now you know better.

You stand in front of the shelf, the air in the room feeling heavier than ever. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the vial, the soft clink of glass against your fingertips sounding louder than thunder. The liquid inside shimmers faintly in the light, like something ancient and powerful, something alive.

You whisper to the room, maybe to yourself, maybe to the universe. “Please… let me go.”

And then you drink it.

It’s cold on your tongue, almost metallic, and it burns slightly as it slides down your throat. You wait, bracing yourself for pain or magic or lightning to strike. You wait for your heart to stop aching, for the madness to quiet.

But nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

Your breath catches. Your eyes flick to the mirror across the room. You look the same. Your heart still hurts. Your head is still spinning. You still want him.

“No,” you whisper, voice cracking. “No, no, no.”

Tears flood your eyes. Because if it wasn’t the potion—

Then it was real.

And that truth is almost worse.

Because if this love was yours from the start, if you gave it freely, fully, without knowing he had taken something from you—then the betrayal is deeper than any magic. Because he didn’t have to steal your heart.

You would have given it to him.

You collapse onto the couch, curling into yourself like a dying star. You cry into the fabric, clutching his hoodie to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to this world. The ache doesn’t leave. The antidote doesn’t erase anything.

It just shows you what’s left behind.

And what’s left behind… is heartbreak.

“Are you really sure about this?” Namjoon asks, his brows creased with worry, arms crossed as he leans against the coral archway of Hoseok’s chamber. The current swirls gently around them, soft and cold, like the hush before a storm.

Hoseok doesn’t look up. He’s packing again—tossing clothes and a small satchel of belongings into a bag, his jaw tight, his movements sharp with conviction. Every breath feels like fire. Every second wasted is one closer to something irreversible.

“I’m going,” he says.

Yoongi watches him silently, perched on a slick rock shelf. His expression is unreadable, but his silence says enough—he doesn’t agree, but he won’t stop him either.

“You’re leaving the night before your wedding,” Jimin says quietly, voice soft with disbelief. “If your parents find out…”

“They’ll banish you,” Namjoon finishes grimly.

Hoseok finally stops and turns to them, the pressure building in his chest too much to hold back. “I don’t care,” he spits, and for once, his voice cracks under the weight of it all. “I don’t care. She’s sick. She’s dying. I can feel it—something’s wrong. I did this to her.”

Jungkook swims closer, his voice calm but unsure. “You don’t even know if the antidote worked, or if she took it at all. She could be fine.”

“She’s not,” Hoseok says, his hands shaking. “I know she’s not. I can feel it. I’ve felt it for weeks.”

He breathes hard, closing the bag with a sharp tug. His heart pounds in his ears. His tail flutters restlessly beneath him. He’s not prince material. He never was. He doesn’t want duty. He wants you.

“I won’t sit here and plan a wedding I don’t want,” he says quietly. “Not while she suffers. Not while there’s still a chance I can fix what I broke.”

“Even if she hates you?” Yoongi’s voice is flat. Real.

Hoseok hesitates.

“Even if she hates me,” he answers, because he already knows you do.

There’s a heavy silence. The weight of all his decisions hangs between them, thick like salt. Then, without another word, he slings the bag over his shoulder and swims out of his room—past the ornate kelp-draped palace, past the singing schools of silver fish, past everything he was ever supposed to be.

He doesn’t stop.

Not when the city disappears behind him. Not when the reef lights fade into pitch black. Not even when the cold edge of the ocean starts scraping against his skin like a warning.

Because nothing in this whole world matters if you’re not in it.

The surface hits him like a slap.

The moon is high. Stars scattered like salt across a deep navy sky. The air tastes different up here tonight—electric and raw. He shivers, legs forming with a shimmer of magic, sea foam hissing as it clings to his skin before fading.

He finds the stash of clothes tucked beneath a rock by the shoreline. His favorite glittery jeans and a plain white tank top—comfort in a world that feels entirely too sharp now.

He pulls them on, heart racing.

The city lights are humming in the distance. His legs still feel unsteady, but he doesn’t care. He walks barefoot across the sidewalk, the concrete warm from the sun’s memory. The noise of the world floods into his ears—cars, music, people.

Your world.

His chest aches just walking through it.

When he reaches your apartment, he hesitates for just a breath before knocking.

No answer.

He knocks again. Harder this time.

Still nothing.

His heart lurches. Is he too late? Did the potion take you already? Did the antidote fail? He nearly chokes on the panic rising in his throat.

Then, the door across the hall opens.

It’s a neighbor—a woman in her thirties with a tired ponytail and sleepy eyes. She blinks at him, confused, then recognition dawns.

“Oh. You’re back.” Her voice is tight. “She’s not here.”

He swallows. “Where is she?”

The woman crosses her arms, eyeing him with clear judgment. “She’s at the club tonight. First time she’s left the house in weeks.”

His breath catches.

“She’s been sick, you know.” Her tone sharpens. “Crying for months. Barely eating. I almost called someone, I was that worried. What the hell did you—”

But Hoseok’s already gone, running barefoot down the hall, past the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time like the floor’s on fire. Because you’re still alive. You’re alive.

But maybe not for long.

He can’t afford to wait. The obsession mutates, the Sea Witch had said. Into heartbreak. Into madness. Into death.

He runs faster.

Faster than he ever has.

Because this might be the last chance he has to save you.

He’s rushing now.

The moment he bursts through the club doors, his breath catches in his throat. The lights flash blue and gold, bass pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat. The very place you first met—where time seemed to pause—now feels like the edge of the world.

And then he sees you.

Sitting alone in the corner booth, lit up by flickering neon. A drink in hand, a faraway look in your eyes. You’re here. You’re alive. And you look… different. A little haunted. A little tired. But still devastatingly beautiful.

He walks over, fast but hesitant, like approaching a wild thing that might bolt.

He slides into the booth across from you.

You glance up, eyes scanning his face with a mix of vague familiarity and open suspicion.

“Hi, babygirl,” he says softly, voice hoarse, like the words hurt coming out.

You stare at him like he just told you the sky was purple. Like maybe you’ve seen him in a dream, or a nightmare.

“Babygirl?” you repeat. “Who the hell are you?”

His heart sinks. “Hoseok. I—Jay. It’s me.”

He watches you for a reaction, something, anything that will tell him what’s left inside of you. His voice breaks a little. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Oh, I remember you,” you say brightly, a smile curling across your lips—but it’s the wrong kind of smile. “We’re destined. I want to have your children. The stars told me.”

Hoseok’s soul flatlines.

“I—what?” he chokes.

You lean in, close enough for him to smell your perfume, sweet and familiar, and your lips part with a whisper:

“I want you to fill me up with your babies.”

If he had still been a merman, his tail would’ve curled up like a dying leaf. Instead, his face flames red, hotter than a volcanic vent. He swallows, heart pounding in his throat, completely unprepared for this level of emotional whiplash.

“Did you… take the antidote?” he asks, suddenly unsure of what’s real anymore.

You sip your drink lazily. “I did.”

He leans forward, gripping the edge of the table. “And?”

“It made me better,” you say, casual as anything. “I was dying, you know. Slowly. It was awful. My brain felt like it was melting.”

He goes pale.

“But I’m okay now,” you add, twirling the straw between your fingers.

“But… if you took it… how can you remember me?”

You smile again, this time softer. Wiser. “I just do.”

He stares, throat tight.

“And now that you’re back…” you trail off, dragging the silence like velvet, “we can make a baby.”

He makes a horrified sound in the back of his throat.

Then you break into laughter, shoulders shaking, your hand pressed over your stomach like it physically hurts to hold it in.

“I’m messing with you,” you grin. “Jesus, your face.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

“I’m not obsessed with you anymore,” you say, and your voice is calm, almost kind.

That hurts more than anything.

“You don’t… love me anymore?” he asks, quiet, and the question cracks his chest open.

You tilt your head. “Oh no. I still love you.”

His whole world tilts.

“I just know I do now,” you explain. “Not because of some magic. Not because of a potion. I know it because you broke me and I still wanted you. That kind of love is either real… or really stupid.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Maybe both.”

“Probably.”

A silence falls. But it’s not uncomfortable. It’s thick. Weighted with all the things left unsaid.

You take another sip of your drink and meet his gaze again. “So… do you still love me?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I’ve always loved you,” he says. “Before the potion. After it. During it. I didn’t even know what the potion was going to do. I was stupid. And selfish. And scared.”

You nod, absorbing it, but your expression doesn’t soften.

“That’s cool,” you say. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything. The truth. No lies. No magic. I know your real name now, Hoseok. So tell me who you are. Why you drugged me. What the hell you really are. And then…” you pause, “I’ll decide what to do with you.”

He’s breathless. But he nods. Because this is more than he deserves. And he’ll give it to you—all of it.

Even if it ends with you walking away.

Because love isn’t about control. It’s about choice. And this time… you get to choose.

Hoseok leans in, trembling with the weight of everything he’s about to tell you.

And he does. He spills it all. About the potion. The Sea Witch. Naraeum. His royal duties. The guilt. The panic. The love. The heartbreak. He doesn’t try to make himself look good—he just gives you the truth. Raw and unpolished.

You sit in silence, absorbing it.

You don’t speak when he finishes, not for a long time. Just sip your drink. He watches you with a kind of reverent terror, like your judgment will be his only fate now.

And then, finally, you set your glass down.

You look him dead in the eye, smirk curling on your lips.

“Okay,” you say. “You’ve got one shot.”

You stand, walk to the edge of the booth, and turn to face him, holding out your hand.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

He laughs, more relief than sound, and takes your hand like it’s sacred. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world. Which you kind of are.

Months pass.

And just like that, love grows—without potions this time.

It’s messy. Beautiful. Real.

Hoseok lives with you now. On land. In a cramped apartment that smells like sea salt and lavender. He doesn’t miss the ocean, not really, though he visits the shore often. Sometimes the guys come up—Taehyung bringing trinkets, Jungkook complaining about jellyfish stings, Namjoon scolding everyone like a worried mother.

His parents still won’t speak to him. But he doesn’t regret it.

Because you laugh when you wake up beside him. You hum when you cook. You still call him “babygirl” sometimes, just to mess with him.

And he’s never been more alive.

It’s late.

The air in your apartment is heavy, the window cracked open to let in the ocean breeze. Moonlight spills across the bed where Hoseok sits, shirtless, his hair damp from a shower, eyes fixed on you like you’re gravity itself.

“You still mad at me?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

You crawl toward him, slow, deliberate, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you approach with a smirk that’s all danger and reverence. “Are you gonna punish me?”

You hum thoughtfully, straddling his lap. “Might.”

“Mm,” he breathes, hands settling on your hips. “Promise?”

You kiss him.

It starts slow, soft—like you’re still searching each other. But then it deepens. Gets hungrier. All the months of longing and pain and forgiveness melt between your mouths. His fingers press into your thighs, your nails rake down his chest. It’s not just lust—it’s claiming.

“Tell me it’s real,” you whisper against his lips.

“It’s real,” he groans, voice breaking. “I love you. No magic. No lies.”

You rock your hips against him and he gasps, head falling back.

“Good,” you murmur, licking into his mouth. “Because I’m going to ride you like I own you.”

He laughs—hoarse, desperate—and flips you beneath him in one smooth motion.

“You do,” he breathes, kissing down your neck. “You’ve always owned me.”

Clothes fall away.

Moans fill the room.

And for the first time since all of this began, it’s not fate, or magic, or prophecy.

It’s just you.

And him.

And love. Real, wild, imperfect love.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @fancypeacepersona, @ktownshizzle, @pjmxxjm, @ajoonniice, @kookiewithluv, @mikrokookiex, @rapmonjoon94, @parkitrighthere *still vibing with the old taglist, I pretty much don’t give a fuck anymore, can you tell?

→ requested taglist: @allie-in-the-moon @bangtannie7 @suker4angst (sorry I can’t remember if this is all, but I hope it is).

→ Author’s endnote: I hope it didn’t suck 🥲 Thank you for reading and for supporting me 💕

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