#jun angst

𝐀/𝐍 ➙ ahh I adore this story so much!! I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m usually known for my angst works, so I guess this is my moment to shine hahaha. please don’t hesitate to click out or skip the explicit parts if they make you uncomfortable — this one gets a little intense with the kinktober themes 😭 anyways, reblogs (w/ or w/o tags) are always appreciated. love you lots!!

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The house was older than your name.

It stood past the last turn of the countryside road, half-swallowed by the forest, where even the birds refused to sing. The lawyer had given you the address over a call that sounded static, voice clipped, rushed — like he didn’t want to linger on the topic too long.

“An inheritance, Miss L/N,” he’d said. “A private estate. Been untouched for years. You’re the last living relative.” “Relative of who?” you’d asked. “Of the previous owner, Miss Wen.. if I remember correctly. Distant, very distant. She had no direct heirs. You might want to- ah -look through the documents yourself.”

The call ended before you could ask more.

Now, standing at the foot of the property, suitcase in hand, you realised how words could never have prepared you for this.

It was enormous, but not in the modern sense. The house was alive in its decay — a mansion of forgotten gold and black wood, wrapped in ivy that crawled like veins up the cracked stone. The windows glowed faintly amber, reflecting the dying sun. Even the wind that brushed against your skin felt heavy with something unsaid.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, pushing the rusted gates open. “Creepy, but not.. haunted. Hopefully.”

Your footsteps echoed across the gravel path leading up to the grand doors. Each step felt like trespassing on someone’s memory. When you finally pushed the door open, it didn’t screech or fight you like an old hinge should — it sighed, like the house itself was breathing you in.

The first thing that hit you was the smell — grass and rain, faint but fresh, like someone had opened a window minutes ago. The foyer stretched out before you, the chandelier above still glittering under years of dust. Paintings lined the walls. Not landscapes, not still lifes — just portraits. Of the same man.

You paused in front of one. He was handsome in a way that felt wrong for being immortalised in oil paint — sharp jaw, dark, tousled hair that falls around his neck in soft layers, eyes are gentle yet piercing. Scattered across his skin are small, striking moles — near his lips, another on his cheek, and gracing his forehead — as if even the universe couldn’t resist marking beauty where it found it.

Someone had painted him with devotion. You leaned closer. “Whoever you were,” you whispered, “you were definitely the favourite.”

The next few hours passed in quiet exploration. Every room was preserved — sheets draped over furniture, candles that looked half-burned but untouched by time, books still open mid-page on desks. It was eerie, yes, but also intimate. Like someone had just stepped out of the room and would return any minute.

By dusk, exhaustion caught up with you. You found the master bedroom on the second floor — and stopped cold. It was clean. No dust. The bed was made perfectly, the sheets turned down as though waiting. There was even a small vase by the window, a single white rose standing tall in it. You frowned.

“Someone’s been here,” you murmured. Then, louder, calling out just in case, “Hello? Is anyone-?” Silence. Except the faint hum of wind through the old vents. You hesitated, then sighed. “Guess I’ll just lock the door.”

The bed was too soft. Too inviting. You sat down anyway. The pillow smelled faintly of cedar and musk, a scent that didn’t belong to you. Still, the fatigue was pulling you under, and you let your eyes close for just a moment.

—

A breath brushed your neck. So real, so warm, it made every hair on your body stand on end. “You came back.” You bolted upright, eyes scanning the room. “Who’s there?” Nothing. Only the curtains swaying even though the windows were closed.

Your heart hammered as you reached for your phone flashlight. Its glow hit the mirror across the room — and froze you in place. In the reflection, someone stood behind you. A man, tall and pale, dressed in white collared shirt, neckline framing a single pearl necklace that adds a delicate contrast to his look.

Over it, he wears a black tweed jacket interwoven with silver threads, catching light in subtle glints. His expression wasn’t threatening. If anything, he looked relieved. He smiled softly. “You shouldn’t be afraid. I’ve waited long enough.”

You turned around. Empty. Your throat felt dry. “I’m-” You laughed weakly to yourself, trying to shake it off. “definitely calling the real estate agent tomorrow.”

You climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket tightly around your shoulders. But your body refused to relax. When your breathing finally steadied, you noticed something that made your pulse skip again. Your dress.

It had slipped halfway off your shoulder, your collarbone bare. And on your skin, faint as breath, was the outline of a handprint. You stared at it until your eyes blurred, until the scent of roses filled the air, until sleep pulled you back into the dark.

And somewhere, between waking and dreaming, you heard him whisper again — closer this time, almost tender “I’m glad you’re back, Wen Y/N.”

Morning came gently — too gently for an abandoned place. The light that poured through the curtains was soft and gold, catching the dust in the air like glitter. You sat up slowly, your body still wrapped in that hazy, half-remembered dream. There was no handprint now. No scent of smoke or roses. Just quiet.

“Okay,” you whispered, rubbing your eyes. “Maybe I just freaked myself out.” You checked your phone. Now we’re talking. I can definitely live here, there's a signal. It showed the time, 7:43 a.m. You must’ve slept like a rock.

After washing up with the little water that still ran in the bathroom sink, you wandered downstairs. The house looked different in daylight — less ominous, more tragically beautiful. Every surface was layered with dust except for a few areas: the stairs’ rail, the main hallway, the parlour table. Like someone had constantly wiped them.

You knelt beside one of the portraits in the living room and dusted it gently with your sleeve. The man’s painted gaze met yours again, unblinking and patient. His eyes were dark brown, almost gold under the varnish.

There were at least eight portraits in the entire house, all of him. Each painted a little differently: one in uniform, another in casual robes, another holding a book. You moved to the last one by the fireplace — this time, he wasn’t alone.

A woman stood beside him. The artist hadn’t captured her face clearly, but she wore a white dress and veil, hand resting delicately on the man’s arm. A wedding portrait. You tilted your head, curiosity pricking at you. “So.. you were married,” you murmured, brushing the edge of the frame. “And I’m guessing your wife didn’t inherit the place. Lucky me.”

You took a step back, hands on your hips. The house was huge, but not unmanageable. You could make it feel like home again. So you started cleaning.

At first, it was just idle — opening windows, letting air in, humming faintly under your breath. But then something strange happened. The longer you worked, the more you noticed subtle traces of order that weren’t yours: beds already made, a vase refilled with white roses, curtains tied back differently. Someone — or something — had been maintaining this house all along.

You shook your head, deciding to distract yourself before your imagination spiraled like last night. Grabbing your phone, you opened your messages to message your best friend.

Y/N: guess who inherited a horror movie set 😭

Hao 😈: LMAOOO don’t tell me it’s that creepy old mansion your mom mentioned??

Y/N: yeah. the one with zero neighbors and 800 ghosts per square meter

Hao 😈: pls send pics 😭😭

Y/N: hold up

You snapped a few photos: the cracked chandelier, the grand staircase, one of the portraits — you didn’t even realise until later that it was the wedding one.

Y/N: okay ngl it’s pretty. like victorian pretty. you should come here.

Hao 😈: looks like somewhere a hot ghost would haunt.

Y/N: stop! 😭😭

Hao 😈: no bc imagine waking up w/ a ghost husband like “good morning my bride” 💀

Y/N: STOP IT HAO I SWEAR I’LL MOVE OUT

Hao 😈: u say that but u also said ur into tragic romance when bored soooo 👀

You laughed out loud, the sound echoing across the empty hall.

Y/N: fine. if a ghost husband appears i’ll let u know so u can write my obituary.

Hao 😈: deal

You pocketed your phone, still smiling. The house felt a little less lonely now. By afternoon, sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, scattering coloured light on the floor. You carried an armful of old books back to the library and froze when you saw one already open on the table — one you knew you hadn’t touched.

Its pages were lined with elegant handwriting. You could barely read the faded ink, but you caught one phrase clearly underlined: “Bound beyond death, by name and vow.” A chill ran down your arms. You shut the book gently, heart thudding. “Okay.. enough cleaning for today.”

Outside, the wind had stopped entirely. The forest was silent. The only sound left in the house was your breathing — and somewhere, faintly, a low hum. Like someone singing through the walls.

The house was quiet that night. Too quiet.

You settled at the desk with your laptop, your only source of light a small lamp you’d brought from your old apartment. The rest of the room lay in shadows, the wallpaper peeling faintly in the corners as if the air itself had been holding its breath for years.

You cracked your knuckles, muttering, “Okay. Chapter sixty-three. Let’s do this.” The blinking cursor greeted you like an old friend.

Your book — To Breathe Again — had been a year in the making, and your editor had been hounding you for pages. The irony of working on a novel about necromancy wasn’t lost on you. You even laughed about it when you messaged Minghao earlier those years.

Y/N: if i start writing ghost love stories don’t pick me up, i’m doing the right thing

Hao 😈: u kinky mf

Y/N: shut up 😒

Hao 😈: ok but if u get possessed can u at least ask the ghost to edit my thesis

You shook your head, smiling to yourself before getting back to work. Hours passed unnoticed, the rhythm of typing filling the silence like a heartbeat. Sometimes you swore you could hear faint footsteps pacing the hallway — the kind that made the wooden floor groan softly, like memory itself stretching awake. Every time you paused to listen, the sound stopped.

Around 2 a.m., you leaned back in your chair and sighed. “One more paragraph,” you told yourself. But the words on the screen blurred together, and your head eventually dipped forward. You must’ve dozed off right there at the desk.

When you woke, it was morning again. The sun slanted through the tall windows, warm on your face. You blinked against the light, you woke up in the bed “ahm.. did I sleep walk here last night?” you mumbled, stretching your arms.

But your body felt sore in a way that didn’t make sense — like you’d been tossing in bed for hours, muscles overworked and trembling faintly. Your nightgown clung to your skin, a little too loose at the collar and ends almost reaching your hips.

You frowned, rubbing your eyes. It hurts. That’s when you noticed your laptop. The document you’d been writing was still open — but your last sentence had changed. Instead of “She pressed her hand against the cold stone altar..” the words now read:

She pressed her hand against the warmth of his chest and whispered, “I’m home.”

Your heart stuttered. You didn’t remember typing that. And yet.. the phrasing sounded exactly like something you would write. You closed the laptop slowly, the faint scent of something — cedar, musk, and roses — lingering in the air, as if someone had been beside you all night, breathing close enough to touch.

The smell of sizzling butter filled the kitchen, the sound of eggs hitting the pan soft and rhythmic. Sunlight pooled faintly through the old lace curtains, dust swirling in golden ribbons. You could almost pretend the house wasn’t haunted — that it was just another quiet morning.

Almost.

You rolled your shoulders, wincing. There was still a deep, dull ache running through your muscles, especially between your thighs. “Did I- sleep weird?” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. You brushed off the thought with a nervous laugh and reached for the salt.

It must’ve been another one of those dreams. The kind that felt too real, too heavy. You remembered flashes — pale fingers tracing your skin, a whisper against your ear. The dream man’s touch had been so vivid that your body still remembered the heat. You’d seen his face this time too, clear and unblurred, framed by soft candlelight.

And it wasn’t just any face.

Your gaze drifted across the kitchen, toward the hallway where the portraits hung — the ones you’d noticed. You froze, spatula hovering midair.

The reflection in the hallway mirror caught him perfectly — the same slanted eyes, the same mouth curved like a secret. You blinked, once, twice, stepping closer to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks.

It was him.

The man from your dreams.

Your stomach dropped, pulse quickening in your throat. He’d been here all along, hanging silently in those frames, watching you from the moment you arrived.

You forced a shaky laugh, brushing stray hair from your face. “Okay. Creepy coincidence. It’s just- just the power of suggestion, right?” you told yourself, trying to sound convinced. “You saw the portrait before bed, your brain mashed it into a dream. Simple.”

The portrait didn’t answer. Behind you, the stove hissed. And for the briefest moment — just before you turned off the heat — you thought you heard a low voice whisper near your ear, soft and familiar “Good morning, my bride.”

You froze mid-breath.. again, every hair on your neck standing up. The voice was right there. Close enough that you could feel the faintest whisper of air brush past your ear. Your body reacted before your brain did.

“WHAT THE!” You spun around with the frying spatula raised like a weapon, egg still clinging to the edge. “WHO’S THERE?! I SWEAR I’LL- I’LL FLIP YOU TO HELL!!”

“Please don’t,” came a calm, almost amused voice from somewhere behind you. It wasn’t echoing, wasn’t hollow — it sounded real. Too real. “You’ll stain the walls with yolk, and I quite like our kitchen.”

Your eyes darting around the empty room. No one. Nothing. Just the faint sound of your pan still sizzling. Your heart hammered against your ribs. “Who- who said that?” Silence. Then, softly: “Jun.”

You blinked. “Jun..? What? Huh- ha?!” A small pause, then a low hum that almost sounded like a chuckle. “So you can hear me. That’s good.”

Your grip tightened on the spatula. “Okay. Either I’m losing it, or I’m being haunted by a polite ghost who cares about kitchen hygiene.” “Haunted?” Jun sounded genuinely offended. “That’s a rather cruel word for a husband, don’t you think?”

You gawked at the air. “Excuse me- husband?!” “Yes.” His tone softened, almost fond. “You’ve been wearing my ring.” You glanced down — and nearly dropped the spatula. On your left hand, glinting faintly in the sunlight, was a thin silver band. You had no idea when it got there.

“Oh hell no,” you whispered, yanking it off. “This is not happening.” Jun’s laugh was gentle, teasing. “You always say that. I miss hearing from you.”

“What- no, no, no! Don’t gaslight me, Casper!” “That’s not my name.” “I don’t care!” you shouted at the air. “You-! Get out of my house! Out! Whatever supernatural lease you think you have here, it’s over!”

“I’m afraid it’s not,” he said lightly. “This house is also mine.. and to you.” You dragged a hand down your face, spatula still clutched tight. “Great. Fantastic. I move into a cursed house, and my new roommate is a ghost husband with boundary issues.”

There was a low, almost bashful chuckle. “You weren’t complaining last night.” You froze, eyes wide. “Excuse me?” But the voice didn’t answer this time — just a faint, amused hum that faded into the creak of the old walls.

You pointed the spatula at the ceiling. “Don’t you dare ghost-laugh at me, Jun!” Somewhere, you swore you heard the faintest echo of a grin in his voice, that made you drop your spatula “You’re cute when you’re angry, my bride.”

—

You sat at the kitchen counter, laptop open, breakfast cold. The spatula still lay on the floor where you’d dropped it mid-crisis. Your phone buzzed beside your plate. You snatched it up like a lifeline.

[Group chat: “Emergency Life Updates (aka Therapy)]

Y/N: besties i think my house is haunted

Hao 😈: LMAOOOO it’s been 3 days, that’s a record. what happened suddenly??

Y/N: some man’s voice called me his wife while i was making eggs

Min 😵‍💫: ..was he hot at least???

Y/N: I DON’T KNOW I DIDN’T EVEN SEE HIM

Min 😵‍💫: so u married a ghost sight unseen 💀 bold of u

Y/N: IM NOT MARRIED

Hao 😈: sure kinky mf who’s writing a novel exactly with that plot, i think u manifested it loll

Y/N: also i think he’s a victorian ghost level polite. kept saying “my bride” like bro calm down

Min 😵‍💫: LMFAO STOPPPP this is going in my notes. “haunted by horny regency ghost”

Y/N: NO 😭😭

Hao 😈: did u check the portraits u sent me? maybe he’s one of those men 👀

Y/N: that’s the thing. IT’S HIM.

Hao 😈: oh.

Min 😵‍💫: …babe.

Hao 😈: are u sure ur not just having like, a super vivid lucid dream? u do write romance for a living.

Y/N: im literally wide awake and my ghost just argued with me about kitchen cleanliness

Hao 😈: sounds husband material to me. when’s the wedding??

Min 😵‍💫: more like when was the wedding LMAOOO

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why are my friends like this,” you muttered aloud. Why is Mingyu missing out of all times.. Seokmin and Minghao are no help. From somewhere down the hall, a familiar voice replied, low and teasing, “Are you in distress?”

You shrieked and nearly dropped your phone. “HAO HE’S HERE AGAIN.”

Hao 😈: ok listen before u start performing an exorcism, record it. i want receipts.

Y/N: u want me to RECORD THE DEMON?

Hao 😈: for science.

Y/N: i hate you.

You peeked over your shoulder, heart pounding. “Jun?” “I’m here,” came the smooth reply, closer now. “You don’t need to shout, my love.” You stiffened. “Don’t call me that!” “I can’t,” he said softly, like it was the saddest truth in the world. “You’re all I have left.”

The words hung in the air, so gentle it almost made you forget the absurdity of the moment. Almost. You typed one last message with shaky fingers.

Y/N: ok yeah maybe the ghost husband is kinda sad and not bad

Min 😵‍💫: so u admit he’s hot

Y/N: BLOCKED.

You set your phone down, exhaling deeply. “Okay.. Jun,” you muttered, scanning the empty room. “If we’re really doing this ghost tenant thing, why are you still here?” A quiet laugh brushed your ear like wind.

“Devotion. It ties me to the house.. to you.” You groaned. “Oh my god. He’s poetic too.”

It started the same way it had the last two nights. The soft creak of floorboards. The faint shift of weight on the mattress. The air cooling around you as if someone had opened a window. You didn’t move this time.

“Jun,” you whispered into the dark. “You’re here again, aren’t you?” Silence, then “I always am.” His voice came from beside you, smooth as velvet, threaded with something ancient. “You sleep so restlessly when I’m not.” “I sleep restlessly because there’s a ghost in my bed,” you muttered, sitting up halfway.

“Do you even.. sleep?” He chuckled, the sound low and fond. “No. Not anymore.” You exhaled through your nose, squinting into the faint light spilling through the curtains. “Okay, let’s try this again. Who are you, Jun?”

“I’ve told you,” he said gently. “I am your husband.” You rolled your eyes. “That’s not an answer. A name and a marital claim don’t explain why I wake up sore, by the way.” A pause. His voice softened, almost guilty. “I haven’t touched you without your consent.”

You arched a brow toward the darkness. “Really? Because my sore thighs say otherwise.” “I swear it.” His tone deepened, steady and earnest. “Your body aches from something else — the remnants of the bond. The house.. it remembers. And through it, so does your body.”

“The house remembers?” you repeated, half a scoff, half a laugh. “Jun, that’s not- that’s not even science. That’s..” “Magic,” he finished for you, quiet but unyielding.

You stared at the shadows for a long moment. “You expect me to believe that I’m some reincarnated bride living in a haunted love nest?” “I don’t expect you to believe,” he murmured. “Only to listen.”

Your throat tightened — something about the way he said it felt real. Too real. You tried to sound casual. “Then why are you here? Why can’t you just.. move on? Find peace, cross the afterlife, whatever ghosts are supposed to do.”

A silence. Then the faintest brush of a cold fingertip against your wrist — hesitant, reverent. “Because my peace was buried with you.” You froze. “You’ve got the wrong girl,” you whispered, voice trembling despite yourself.

“Perhaps,” Jun said softly. “But tell me, why do you wake up with my name on your lips?” You blinked, stunned. “I- I don’t.” “You do,” he said simply. There was no arrogance in it, only sorrow.

You fell quiet for a moment, staring at the darkness that felt far too alive. “You really didn’t do anything?” “No,” he said, and this time his voice was gentle enough to make you believe him. “Only kissed you when you were dreaming. You looked so lonely.”

Your heart squeezed. “That’s still technically not consent.” He laughed quietly, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “Then I’ll ask properly next time.”

You sighed, lying back down. “There’s not going to be a next time.” “I said that once too,” he murmured. You pulled the blanket over your face, trying to hide your smile. “You’re so dramatic for someone dead.”

“I was dramatic before I died,” he countered, teasing now. “You said you liked it.” You turned to where you thought he was, whispering, “You talk too much.” “And you listen too little.”

Somewhere between his chuckle and your quiet hum of annoyance, your eyes slipped closed. The bed dipped slightly, just enough for you to feel the outline of someone lying beside you. And though you told yourself you didn’t believe in ghosts, you still whispered, just before sleep took you,

“Goodnight, Jun.” A hand — cold but gentle — brushed your hair back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

—

You pushed the front door open with your shoulder, grocery bags cutting into your fingers, sunlight spilling in behind you.

“Jun!” you called out, voice echoing across the empty living room. “I was literally talking to you outside for ten minutes simply about if you do eat or not, and then I realised-” You paused dramatically, setting the bags down on the counter. “You weren’t even there!”

There was a soft hum from somewhere near the hallway — warm, amused. “Why are you talking to yourself outside?” Jun said. You glared toward the voice. “Don’t turn this on me. The delivery guy looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I thought you’re with me. This past few weeks, you never leave me alone”

He chuckled quietly, the sound wrapping around you. “Would you rather I scare other people half to death? Also, I can’t help you outside anyway”

You huffed, unpacking the paper bags. “Still. You could’ve… I don’t know. Come with me? You never go out.” There was a pause — not defensive, just words. “I can’t,” he said simply. Your hands stilled on a carton of milk. “Can’t?”

“The house is my boundary,” he explained. “My anchor. I’m bound here — by the curse, by memory, by you. Step beyond the threshold and I start to fade.” You turned toward the sound, heart softening. “That’s awful.”

“It’s tolerable,” he murmured. “I was alone here for so long before you came.” Your chest tightened. “Jun..” He spoke again, light but wistful. “Besides, I like it here. You fill the rooms with noise and scent and warmth. It’s almost enough to feel alive again.”

You rolled your eyes — to hide the sudden pang of emotion. “You sound like a bad poem.” “I was a bad poet once,” he teased. “You threw my drafts into the fire.” You froze mid-unpacking. “What?” He laughed, low and delighted. “Ah — perhaps that was another life.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.” “I missed being called that,” he said softly.

The quiet after that settled gently, like a comfortable silence between old friends, or husband and wife..? You busied yourself with arranging the vegetables, pretending you didn’t notice the way the air thickened slightly around you — Jun standing close, unseen but undeniably there.

“Hey,” you said after a moment. “If you can’t go out.. what do you do all day when I’m gone?” “I watch,” he said simply. “Creepy.” “Protectively,” he amended, amused. “I walk through the halls. Listen to the wind. Sometimes I read over your shoulder when you’re writing.”

You shot a look toward the dark corner of the kitchen. “That’s definitely creepy.” “Then perhaps,” he said, voice warm with laughter, “I’ll keep doing it.” You couldn’t help it — you laughed too, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, Jun.”

“I was told I made an impossible husband,” he said, tone dipping into something soft, almost nostalgic. “But I like to think I’m improving.” You ignored the way your heart skipped. “Keep the flattery for someone you can actually touch.”

Another pause — this one quieter, heavier. Then: “I can touch you.. just to remind you,” he murmured.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure what to say. The light from the window dimmed as clouds rolled in outside, shadows crawling gently across the old wood floor. You pretended to focus on your groceries again, voice light but trembling slightly.

“Well,” you said, “if you’re going to touch me, at least help me unpack next time.” A faint rustle answered you — the bag of rice shifting slightly on its own, sliding closer to the cabinet.

You froze. Then laughed, a soft disbelieving sound. “Show-off.” From behind you hear his amused whisper, low and tender “Only for my wife.”

—

It was past midnight, the kind of hour where even the wind outside seemed half-asleep. The house was wrapped in silence, save for the soft rustle of paper as you turned another page of your book. The lamp beside your bed cast a warm circle of light that didn’t quite reach the corners of the room, where the dark always seemed to breathe.

You could feel him there. “Jun,” you said quietly, without looking up. “Are you here?” A pause — then that familiar voice, soft and close. “I’m always here.”

You smiled faintly, still reading. “That’s supposed to be comforting, right?” “I suppose that depends,” he murmured, “on whether you believe I’m haunting you or protecting you.”

You tilted your head toward the voice. “You keep saying you’re not haunting me, but it sure feels like it sometimes.” “Would a haunt make your tea every morning?” he teased gently.

“That was you?” You blinked. “I thought I was just.. sleepwalking.” “I can’t do much,” he said quietly, “but I can move little things when the night is kind to me.”

You shut the book slowly, the words blurring. “Why do you do it?” “Because you forget to take care of yourself when you write,” he said simply. “You get lost. I don’t want to see you vanish the way I did.”

Your breath caught. “The way you did?” He didn’t answer at first — only silence, deep and heavy, filled the room. Then, softly “I loved too fiercely. Enough to tether my soul here.” You looked toward the darkness, where you thought his voice had come from. “For her? Your wife?”

A faint laugh, like wind through old glass. “For you.” The room suddenly felt colder, your heart lurching against your ribs. “Jun, that’s-” “I know,” he interrupted gently. “It doesn’t make sense. Not to you. Not yet.”

You pulled the blanket tighter around you, eyes scanning the space though you knew you wouldn’t see him. “You sound like a tragic novel waiting to happen.” “Perhaps that’s why you were drawn here,” he said softly. “Writers always return to unfinished stories.”

You exhaled, half a sigh, half a shaky laugh. “You make everything sound like fate.” “Isn’t it?” His voice was closer now — you swore you felt the faintest brush of fingers along your hair, so gentle you might’ve imagined it.

“You should sleep,” he murmured. “The world outside can wait.” “Are you staying?” you asked, eyes drooping. “I never left.” You smiled faintly, a small surrender, before your eyelids fluttered closed.

Jun stayed — unseen but so achingly near, his presence hovering like a heartbeat in the dark. And when your breathing evened out, his whisper came, softer than a sigh “You once told me you’d find me again. I suppose you always keep your promises.”

The cafe was the kind that looked like a Pinterest board come to life — soft lighting, fern leaves drooping over every table, the faint hum of an espresso machine mixing with lo-fi music. You sat by the window with your laptop open, pretending to edit your manuscript while your three best friends interrogated you like you were on trial.

“So,” Hao started, sipping his iced latte dramatically, “how’s married life?” You choked on your drink. “What- excuse me?” Min snorted. “Don’t play dumb. You literally sent us a picture of another portrait and said, He’s kinda hot for a dead guy. Don’t tell me you’re not crushing on the house ghost.”

You pressed your fingers against your temple. “I was joking!” “Were you, though?” Gyu cut in, deadpan as ever. “You also texted last night that someone made you tea again. Either you have a kind spirit or a trespasser with excellent domestic skills.”

Seokmin gasped theatrically. “Or maybe both!” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “He’s a ghost.” “Then why are you blushing?” Minghao leaned forward with a grin. “Look at her, Seok- she’s blushing!”

“I am not!” you hissed, but your cheeks burned hotter than the cappuccino in front of you. “He’s just..” You stopped, realising how ridiculous it would sound to admit that Jun talked to you every night. That he teased you, cared for you, comforted you in ways that humans can’t even do.

Mingyu leaned back, stirring his coffee lazily. “You’re acting like you’ve got a boyfriend who only comes out after dark.” You glared at him. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Seokmin propped his chin on his hands. “Not yet.”

Hao laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “God, this is gonna be one of her novels, isn’t it? Lonely writer moves into a haunted house, ghost falls in love with her, she says it’s a curse, but he says it’s destiny-”

“Stop quoting my life!” you interrupted, waving your spoon like a weapon. “You guys are the worst.” “We’re the realists,” Min said, still smirking. “You just happen to be living inside your own plot twist.”

For a moment, they all laughed, that kind of carefree, echoing laugh that only happens in midday cafes. You joined in too, trying to drown out the strange warmth you felt under your ribs.

Your laughter stuttered, your eyes darting toward the window. The glass reflected only you and your friends — no one else. You sometimes think every time you’re outside, is he bored at home? Is he okay? That quiet presence. A part of you just wants to stay at home.

“See?” Min teased, nudging you. “She’s spacing out. Probably thinking about her ghost husband.” You forced a laugh, looking back at him, heart racing. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something like that.”

The cafe hummed with lazy afternoon chatter. You sat across from Minghao, Seokmin, and Mingyu, who somehow turned what was supposed to be a casual catch-up into a full-blown roast session.

“You’re into ghosts now, huh? So that’s why you’re not dating anyone alive?” Hao said, chuckling. You jabbed a straw at him. “Minghao, I swear to God-” Gyu raised an eyebrow. “What’s his name again?” You hesitated. The word caught on your tongue. “Jun.”

All three of them stared for a beat before Min smirked. “Jun? You even named him?” “I didn’t name him!” you said quickly. “That’s what he-” You froze. “That’s what his real wife, maybe, called him.”

“Right.” Mingyu nodded, clearly unconvinced. “So this ghost talks to you, cooks for you, and sleeps beside you-” “He doesn’t sleep beside me!” you blurted, heat rising to your cheeks. “He just- he-” “Uh-huh.” Seokmin grinned. “You’re doomed, man. She’s in deep.”

You tried to laugh it off, but your pulse was unsteady. Because later, when you were back home and the house greeted you with that quiet stillness, the laughter from earlier still echoed faintly in your head — you called Jun, yet no one was responding.

You frowned. He always answered when you came home. Even just a faint, teasing whisper — You’re late, little human. But tonight, nothing. Just the quiet hum of air through the vents and the faint ticking of the antique clock in the foyer.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, forcing a laugh. “So we’re doing the ghost-silent-treatment thing now? Cute.” You busied yourself in the kitchen, slamming a cabinet or two a little louder than necessary. Still nothing. The quiet felt heavier now — not the peaceful kind, but the kind that watches you.

“Jun.” You called again, voice sharper. “If you’re mad at me for something, at least say it. Don’t just.. vanish.” The air stirred faintly behind you, like a breath on your neck. You turned, but the space was empty. A shiver ran down your arms.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you’re sulking because I went out with my friends.” You rolled your eyes, more to convince yourself than anything. “You’re not seriously mad, right?” Still nothing. You exhaled. “Fine. Silent treatment it is. You win. I’ll just talk to myself then.”

You started rambling, pacing the living room like a stand-up comic trying to fill dead air. “For the record, they’re friends. Normal, breathing, alive friends who buy me coffee and don’t haunt my house.”

The chandelier above flickered faintly. You stopped. “Did I strike a nerve there?” A faint hum of energy prickled across your skin — the sign that he was listening, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You sighed, softer now. “You know, it’s kind of unfair. You disappear when I talk to other people, but then you act like I’m supposed to just stay here waiting for you to materialise out of thin air.” The silence stretched.

You pressed your lips together. “I’m not yours, Jun.”

That’s when you heard it — not a loud voice, but something that slid into your mind like a thought that wasn’t yours. “Aren’t you?” You froze. The temperature dropped suddenly, enough for your breath to fog in front of you.

“You wear my ring,” his voice murmured now, closer, though he still wasn’t visible. “You live in my house. You sleep in my bed. You call my name every night without realising it.”

You spun toward the sound. “You didn’t answer when I came home. You scared me.” “I know.” The reply was soft, low, guilty — but underneath it, something darker stirred. “You talked about me with them,” Jun continued, voice drifting between the walls, nearer and nearer. “You laughed. You blushed. Did you enjoy that?”

“Jun,” you warned, heart pounding, “how did you even-? Don’t do this.” He let out a breath of what almost sounded like a laugh. “You think I don’t feel it? Every time someone says your name, every time you smile at someone else, it burns.”

Your pulse quickened, a strange mix of fear and warmth tightening in your chest. “You’re not even alive, Jun. What are you implying?” “Maybe not,” he whispered. “But you still make me feel it.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the faint outline of his form starting to shimmer near the hallway mirror — not solid yet, just smoke and memory. “Then don’t disappear like that again,” you said quietly. “If you can feel something, then talk to me. Don’t just.. leave.”

For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the faintest smile crossed his half-formed face. “You missed me.” You scoffed. “You were sulking.” “I was angry,” he corrected. “Because for a moment, I thought maybe you preferred your men.” You looked at the mirror — at his faint, sorrowful expression behind your reflection.

“They're not my men.. they’re my friends. You’re impossible,” you whispered. “And you,” Jun said softly, “are the only thing I’ve wanted in centuries.”

The room stilled. The air grew warmer. You felt the ghost of fingers trace the outline of your wrist — not cold, but not quite warm either. Just real enough to make you tremble.

Jun's reflection leaned closer, his gaze locked on your lips. His hands moved from your wrist to either side of your head, trapping you gently between his ghostly palms. “Say you're mine,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent.

You didn’t answer. He held your hands and pulled you near the mirror, “Do you need to see me, for you to talk?” he said, a little annoyed, you’re not sure whether to you or to himself. You looked directly at the mirror, memorising his ethereal face.

His hands framed your face, thumbs gently brushing your cheeks as he stared into your eyes, making you look at his direction directly, nothing, you can see nothing. But you could feel his presence, his breath ghosting over your neck. “I'm not in the mirror, my wife” he murmured, voice coming from both directions. “I'm here.”

The ghostly hands slid from your cheeks to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He leaned in closer, his translucent lips hovering just above yours. “Let me kiss you,” he whispered against your mouth. “Please.”

You smiled.. “only because you asked this time.” Jun's reflection smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He loved when you teased him, even a little. It meant you weren't scared of him. “Only because I asked?” He repeated softly, his voice ghosting over your lips. “You admitted before that you did without my consent.”

His expression turned serious, one hand moving to gently grasp your chin, turning your face slightly as if preparing to kiss you but stopping himself. “I’m sorry. That was my mistake.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. “This time.. will be different.”

He stared at you intently, his hands steady and gentle. “I'll ask for permission every time. I'll wait for your agreement. And if you say no, I'll stop.” His voice was quiet, sincere. His eyes searched yours, looking for understanding.

You parted your lips slightly to answer. “Then go on.” That was all Jun needed. He surged forward, capturing your mouth softly at first. He tested your response — one hand cupped your cheek possessively while the other slid around your waist. You hummed softly, making him deeper. Now this is weird but also kinda hot.. I’m kissing the air.

Jun’s kiss grew more insistent, his tongue gently probing your mouth. He tasted sweet, like a phantom memory of honey and mint. His hands roamed from your waist downwards until they gripped onto your hips firmly pulling you closer towards him. You can feel him.

You gasped against his mouth as he pulled you closer, his cold hands gripping your hips tightly. Jun took advantage of your open mouth, deepening the kiss even further by pushing his tongue inside. He tangled it with yours, exploring your mouth thoroughly as if he was trying to memorise the taste of you. “Fucking hell, you taste like heaven.”

“For someone who’s dead, you curse so strongly.” You said laughing in between the kisses. In the mirror, you can see him smirking against your lips, his voice husky and amused. “Even ghosts can curse when they’re kissing someone they’ve been longing for.” His hands slid down to your thighs lifting them slightly as if trying to pull them around his waist.

You giggled, the sound muffled against his mouth. Jun groaned, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. He pulled harder, attempting to wrap your legs around his unseen waist. The mirror grew warmer, fogging up completely as their kiss grew more intense, more desperate.

“Jun.. my imaginations may be wild, yet I can’t do this to someone I can only see in the mirror”

Jun’s smirk faltered. For a second, his reflection looked as though it was flickering — as if even his smile could no longer hold shape. Then he stepped back, his eyes dark and distant. “You can’t see me because you’re not supposed to.”

Before you could ask what that meant, his hand — cold but firm — grasped your wrist. The mirror rippled like water as he pulled you through the hallway. You stumbled after him, feet barely touching the ground, until you reached a door you had never opened before. It was the last one at the end of the corridor at the third floor — carved oak, locked since the day you moved in.

“Jun, wait-” But the door creaked open on its own, revealing a dimly lit room heavy with the scent of old wood and faded perfume. Dust particles drifted lazily in the air, but beneath the decay, everything was preserved. A canopy bed stood at the center, its sheets neat, untouched. A wedding veil lay folded at the pillow’s edge.

“This room” you whispered. “I never-” “Because you weren’t meant to remember it.”

Jun’s voice was quieter now, stripped of playfulness, stripped of warmth. He stood by the window, you can’t even see his figure under the pale afternoon light. You could see the garden though — but you know his eyes were solid, endless, tired.

“You walk through this house like a stranger because you are one. But once, you weren’t.” Your chest tightened. “What are you saying?” He looked at you, a faint tremor in his hands. “You can’t see me because you can’t even remember who I am.”

The words felt like a knife — sharp, but dull in disbelief. “That’s impossible. I just moved here. I just-” Jun shook his head. “No. You came back.” He stepped closer. His voice softened, trembling with a kind of desperation you’d never heard from him before.

“You promised me you would, before you died.” Your breath caught. “Died?” “Before you died,” he said again, slower this time, as if tasting every syllable. “You said you would find me. You said, ‘Wait for me. Even if it takes lifetimes, I’ll come back.’”

You blinked rapidly, a faint ringing in your ears. Your mind refused to accept it — but your body remembered something. A pulse in your fingertips. A flash of a wedding ring. A man’s laughter. A voice saying My Jun.

He continued, eyes glimmering like glass. “I remembered everything. That’s my curse. I have lived every life remembering you — who you were, how you died, how you looked at me the day we said our vows. Every damn lifetime.”

The room felt like it was spinning. You staggered back a step and looked around the room, dizzy. That’s where you realise, this room is the real master bedroom, with another portrait.. where Jun and the same woman from downstairs. The difference is that you could see her face clearly now.

A face that is very familiar to you. A face that you see everyday. It’s your face. It’s you. “No.. Jun, that can’t be real. That’s-” “You’ve always said that,” he whispered. “Every life. Every time we meet, you never remember at first. But I always do. And every time, I find you.”

You shook your head, heart pounding painfully. “Then why am I here? Why this house?” “Because it’s where we lived,” Jun said simply. “Where I built a home for you. And where I died waiting when you didn’t come back.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He looked around the room, his gaze softening with memory. “They called it devotion. I called it punishment. I’ve been bound here, in this house, between life and death, waiting for you. Every creak of the floorboards, every breeze through the window — it’s been you I’ve been calling.”

You sank onto the edge of the bed, the veil beside you brushing against your hands. “Then.. I died?” Jun nodded slowly. “You did. In this life, you lost control of your car the day before our wedding anniversary. You were coming here.” He knelt before you, his touch barely grazing your knee, but warm now, almost human.

“You survived,” he whispered. “But you lost your memory. You forgot me.” Tears burned your eyes before you even realised you were crying. “So that’s why I can’t see you. Because part of me still refuses to remember.”

Jun smiled sadly, brushing your tears away with fingers that faded halfway through the motion. “You can’t see me because you don’t believe in me anymore. And without your belief, I’m barely here.”

You tried reaching out to touch him, his hands guiding your hands to his face — his cheek, his hair, anything solid — but your hand passed through his face like mist.

Until it didn’t.

Warmth bloomed under your touch. Solid. Living. Real. You gasped softly, feeling your heartbeat stumble as Jun’s features sharpened in front of you — the faint curve of his smile, the mole beneath his eye, the soft slope of his nose. He was no longer just a shimmer in the mirror; he was right there.

He was beautiful. And familiar. He’s divine.

The air pulsed once and then everything tilted. The floor beneath your feet dissolved, colours shifting, walls melting into light. You blinked and suddenly, the world changed.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy of white sakura trees, their petals falling like snow. You stood under an arch woven with lilies and pearls, your hands trembling as Jun slid a ring onto your finger.

“Do you promise to haunt me even if I die first?” you teased, your voice catching from laughter and tears. Jun’s lips curved into that same half-smile you’d later dream about. “I’d rather haunt the world than live in it without you.”

You threw your head back, laughing softly, pressing your forehead to his. “That sounds like a curse.”He smiled against your lips. “Then I’ll gladly be cursed.”

—

You stood in front of the house you live in now — only brighter, newer. Boxes piled high on the porch, sunlight filtering through the vines climbing the walls. Jun appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Our forever home,” he said, kissing your temple.

“It’s old,” you murmured. “And it creaks.” “So do we, sometimes.” You laughed, swatting at him. “That’s not romantic.”

He leaned closer, whispering, “Then let me try again.” He kissed your shoulder gently. “Our love will creak too, old, stubborn, and impossible to let go.”

—

The sound of clinking porcelain. You sat at the wooden kitchen table, hair still messy from sleep, while Jun poured you tea with that same careful grace he did everything with.

He kissed the back of your hand. “You always forget breakfast when you write.” “And you always act like I’ll starve in two hours,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Because you will,” he replied, sliding the cup toward you. “My wife, the novelist who forgets she has a body.” You smiled, reaching out to tug him closer by the tie. “You talk too much hubby.”

He chuckled. “I love you” you smiled “I love you more”

—

The clock struck midnight, the house silent except for the faint hum of the record player. You were in your pajamas, barefoot on the hardwood floor. Jun appeared behind you, holding out his hand.

“Dance with me,” he said simply. “There’s no music.” “There’s us.”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his. He spun you once, your laughter echoing in the dim light. The two of you swayed lazily, the world shrinking to the warmth of his hands on your waist and the sound of your quiet breaths syncing together.

—

Thunder boomed outside, rain drumming against the windows. You were both huddled in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a single blanket. “Tell me something true,” you murmured, tracing his palm with your finger.

Jun’s gaze softened. “When I first saw you, I thought I had seen you before. Like in a dream that I’d already lived.” “And did you?” you asked.

His silence was long, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Maybe I’ll tell you in another life.” You frowned. “That’s unfair.” “Then stay with me in this one,” he whispered, voice low, almost pleading.

Both of you laughed, as the warmth between you two became one, cuddling at the stormy weather at the bed.

—

“Jun, stop reading over my shoulder!” you groaned, swatting him lightly with your pen. “I can’t help it,” he said, grinning. “Your characters sound like us.” “They do not.”

“They do. ‘The stubborn man who won’t take no for an answer,’” he quoted dramatically, pointing to the page. “That’s clearly me.” You threw a crumpled paper at him. “Then I’ll kill your character next.”

“Then I’ll haunt you,” he teased, eyes glimmering. You rolled your eyes. “Then I’ll marry you out of guilt.” “Perfect. My plan worked.”

—

Sunlight peeked through sheer curtains, painting soft stripes across the bed. Jun’s arm was draped lazily around your waist, his chest rising and falling behind you.

“Jun,” you murmured sleepily. “You’re heavy.” He chuckled, half-asleep. “You used to like it.” “I changed my mind.” He buried his face into your hair. “Too late. You married me.”

You sighed, smiling to yourself. “You’re impossible.” He kissed your shoulder. “So are you. That’s why it works.”

—

The dining room was dim except for candles you hastily lit on a lopsided cake. Jun entered the room and froze, eyes widening as you yelled, “Happy birthday!” “I told you not to-”

“You think I listen to you?” you said, grinning. “Make a wish before I eat it all.” He stared at you for a moment before blowing the candles out. “I already did.”

You blinked. “What’d you wish for?” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “To live long enough to grow old with you.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “That’s so cheesy.”

But he smiled softly. “Cheesy things are true things.”

—

The smell of oil paint filled the room. You sat by the window, sunlight catching in your hair while Jun worked on a portrait of you. “You’re taking forever,” you complained, swinging your legs.

He looked up from the canvas, smirking. “You move too much.” “I’m bored.” “Then talk to me.” You tilted your head. “What should I say?”

“Say something I can remember,” he said. You smiled. “I love you.” He paused, brush mid-air. “That’ll do.”

The memories collided with reality, your breath ragged as you stumbled back. The house, the mirror, the kitchen — everything shimmered and settled again into the dim golden light of dusk.

You were crying. Not from fear, but from the weight of recognition. “Jun,” you whispered, your hands trembling as they cupped his face. “I remember everything.”

Jun smiled through the tears shining in his eyes. His thumb brushed the corner of your lips like he’d done a thousand times before. “You came back to me.”

Your lips trembled. “And you waited.” He nodded once, a soft, broken laugh escaping him. “Every lifetime.”

His smile turned into a hungry kiss as he pressed you against the old bed where you shared countless moments together you’ve forgotten. His hands roamed over familiar curves remembered through centuries of waiting — for this exact moment where memory returned fully between two souls meant to be entwined forever.

His hands trailed down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed along your jawline. Suddenly, he pressed a cold finger to your neck, activating a necromantic chill that made you gasp and arch into him. “Do you remember my touch?” He whispered huskily

A wicked smile spread across his face as he remembered your kinks. He reached over to the bedside table and lit a candle, the flame flickering to life in the dim room. He started playing with temperatures, his breath, his touch being entirely cold, and the candle.. the wax. He dribbled hot wax onto your collarbone, watching as you gasped and your eyes fluttered closed. He knew exactly what you liked.

He kissed down your neck, his mouth alternately hot and cold like fire and ice. “Wife.. you taste so good.” His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone with wax on it as he slowly unbuttoned your shirt, revealing more skin for him to worship.

One hand continued the slow torture of dripping hot wax onto your skin while the other hand slipped under your bra, teasing your nipple with cold fingertips. “Cold or hot first?” He didn't wait for an answer, switching between hot wax poured onto your chest and his ice-cold hands caressing your skin.

This leaves you shivering and gasping beneath his touch. He unhooked your bra, throwing it somewhere as he continued his assault on your senses, his mouth claiming one hardening nipple while his fingers played with the other.

Junhui worshipped your body like he’d been starved for centuries — because he had been. His mouth trailed down to your stomach, kissing and licking each inch of skin he uncovered. He unbuttoned your pants slowly, almost reverently, pulling them down your legs along with your underwear.

He spread your legs gently, his cold hands contrasting with the heat of your core. He leaned down, blowing a cool breath over your clit before he spoke. “I remember everything about you. Every moan, every gasp, every shiver.”

“And I remember how you used to drive me crazy with that mouth of yours.” You spread your legs wider, teasing him deliberately. Jun groaned, pressing a freezing cold kiss directly onto your clit. “Stop teasing me with your knowledge of my body,”

His cold tongue replaced his lips, licking a slow path up your slit before sucking your clit into his mouth. He used his fingers to spread you open further, his ice-cold digits pushing inside you suddenly. You gasped and bucked against him. “Uhmm-hmm jun..” “You used to call me hubby.” He murmured.

“My hubby,” He growled against your sensitive folds, his fingers curling inside you while his tongue worked overtime on your clit. He remembered every spot that made you moan hubby. His other hand snaked up to pinch one of your nipples hard, making you arch into him.

“You used to grab my hair and fuck my face when I do this..” He demonstrated by sucking hard on your clit while pushing three cold fingers deep inside you, curling them exactly how you used to love. “Ugh! Fuck-”

You instantly wrapped your legs around his head, gripping his hair tightly and riding his face as you moaned his name like a prayer. Jun moaned loudly, his fingers freezing cold inside you as he remembered how much he loved being used by you.

“God, you always ride my face hard when I touch you like this.” He added another finger, spreading them wide inside you, hitting your favourite spot. He blew cold air onto your clit again, watching your body tightly coil with remembered pleasure.

“Stop reminiscing,” You pushed his head away sharply. He laughed softly, his mouth wet with your arousal. “No more remembering how you used to bounce on my face?” He teased, trying to pull your hips back down onto his mouth. You smacked his head lightly, “Asshole.”

He caught your hips sharply, pulling you back. He spread your legs wide, feasting on you like a starving man. His fingers still inside you, curving them perfectly as he ate you loudly, slurping and sucking your clit like it was his last meal.

Your body tightened like a bowstring as he remembered exactly how you liked it. Within minutes, you were crying out, your legs shaking as you came hard against his mouth. “Junhui- God! Aghh Oh my- fuck!”

He kept eating you through your orgasm, his cold fingers never stopping their relentless attack on that sweet spot inside you. He loved how you tasted, how you moaned his name like a dirty prayer. When your legs finally stopped shaking, he pulled away slowly, licking his lips.

He sat up, his face glistening with your juices. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at you with hooded eyes. “You taste even better than I remembered,” he said huskily. He spread his legs slightly, palming his hard, cold erection through his pants.

“My turn, hubby.”

You smirked and slowly removed his jacket and white collared shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted abs. He lifted his hips so you could pull down his pants and boxers in one smooth motion. His massive, erect dick sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack.

His hands came up to grip your hair as you looked down at his length. He was already cold and hard, leaking pre-cum. “Take it in your mouth,” he ordered roughly, his Chinese accent thickening with desire. His hand tightened in your hair possessively. “Open Wen Y/N”

You spread your lips slowly, taking the tip of him into your hot mouth. He hissed sharply, his hips bucking slightly. “Damn it,” He muttered softly, watching your wet mouth stretch around him. “You used to deep throat like a pro.” He gripped your hair tighter, guiding you slightly.

His eyes rolled back as you suddenly took him deep into your throat without warning, your nose pressing against his balls. He let out a choked groan — “Fucking hell..” His hands tangled in your hair desperately as you started bobbing up and down rapidly, sucking hard “Shit.. shit- shit, you’re even better now!”

His cold dick throbbed in your mouth as you kept deepthroating him, your tongue pressing against the sensitive vein underneath. He could barely speak, his voice coming out strained “Fuck...fuck..fuck! Goddam- Ughh”

With a loud, muffled groan, he came down your throat, his hips jerking uncontrollably. You swallowed every drop before pulling off with a wet pop. He fell back onto the bed, panting heavily. “Still so noisy” You commented dryly, crawling up his body.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent. “Sure sure..” He murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse. “You’re the loud one. Always screaming my name.” He started kissing and sucking on your neck possessively. “My hubby.. still so good for me.”

He rolled you onto your back, covering your body with his. I can’t even see the ceiling. His cold hands gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head. His dark brown eyes bore into yours intensely. “Turns out, my wife gives even better head now. I wonder how else she’s improved.”

One hand slid under your thigh. “Spread for me, Y/N. Let me check if that tight hole still belongs to me only.” His voice was low and commanding.

He pushed your legs apart roughly, his cold dick already hardening again. I’m fucking a ghost. He’s so cold. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head against your sensitive spot. “You know what I love about this position?” He asked, his voice husky.

“What?” You barely said, “It lets me go deep,” He answered darkly, pushing your thighs back sharply and slamming inside you hard. He hit the bottom instantly, making you cry out loudly. “See?” He pulled back and thrust hard again, making you bounce on the bed. “Noisy.”

He started pounding into you relentlessly, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with your loud moans and cries. One hand remained on your wrist above your head holding it back while the other on your thighs “Fuck-” He groaned, “Too loud, my wife”

His thrusts became deeper and harder, hitting that spot inside you perfectly. Your loud moans turned into high-pitched screams as he fucked you brutally. “Shut up...shut up”

He slapped a hand over your mouth as you screamed during another deep thrust. “AHHH-” “Jesus,” He muttered against your neck, “You sound like a fucking porn star.” He bit down on your shoulder to muffle his own groan, still fucking you mercilessly.

Your world turned into a blur of cold hands gripping your body painfully, eyes glinting menacingly above you, and a ghostly cock pounding into you. You could feel every inch of him stretching you open, hitting depths you never knew existed. “Mmph..”

You felt possessed, fucked by a literal ghost who showed no mercy. His cold body slammed against yours relentlessly, making the headboard bang against the wall loudly. Your screams were echoing, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth.

Tears streamed down your face from the intense pleasure-pain as he hit your cervix with every thrust. Your nails scrambled against his back, leaving red marks on his pale skin. You felt like you were being claimed by a supernatural being, completely at his mercy. “Nghh!”

Your tears only seemed to fuel his hunger for you. He watched, mesmerised, as they spilled down your cheeks and dripped onto the pillow. “Adorable,” He groaned, his voice laced with dark desire. “My pretty wife crying while I fuck you stupid.”

Mid-thrust, an abrupt memory flashed through his mind — the candle he had lit earlier, still burning softly nearby. A wicked smirk crossed his ghostly face as an idea struck him. “Hold that thought..” He suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and whimpering. “Don't move.”

He quickly reached the candle, dipping his cold fingers into the melted wax. The room fell silent except for your laboured breathing and soft sniffles. “I forgot you’re a ghost, and how you can’t feel pain.” He chuckled then looming over you with a sinister grin and wax-covered fingers. “Spread wider,” He ordered darkly. “Let's play a little game.”

Without warning, he pressed the warm wax against your sensitive entrance, pushing it inside you slowly. You gasped at the foreign feeling, your hole stretching to accommodate the wax. He added more, filling you up with the warm substance before snapping his fingers. “Cold now.” The wax instantly hardened inside you,

Leaving you with a feeling of extreme fullness and pressure. He pushed your legs back even further, until your knees were practically touching your ears. “Now, let's see how long this pretty little human can hold still while I fuck her with a frozen, wax-filled hole.”

He lined up his cock again, pushing the head against your entrance. He groaned as he slowly slid in, the hardened wax making you even tighter than before. “Goddamn,” He grunted, “You feel insane right now.”

With a sharp thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you. The sudden intrusion forced a loud, strangled moan from your throat. “Ahh..! F-fuck..!” You bucked your hips instinctively, only for the wax to shift inside you uncomfortably. “N-no...ahh- st-still..”

He wrapped a hand around your throat to hold you down as he started thrusting his hips slowly, each thrust causing the wax to grind against your prostate pleasurably. Your moans turned into broken whimpers as he fucked you with that unrelenting fullness. “Shh, my wife.. just take it”

He picked up the pace, his hips slapping against yours with wet smacks. The wax inside you began to melt slightly from the friction, creating a warm, sticky sensation that had you moaning uncontrollably. “Ahh..ahh...ahhh!”

Your loud, desperate moans sent him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, hitting your prostate dead on as he came hard inside you. “FUCK!” He groaned loudly, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his hot cum. “HUBBY!” You screamed as you cream his cock as well inside.

He stayed buried inside you, his heavy breathing gradually slowing as he nuzzled against your neck. The melted wax and his release dripped out of you messily, coating your inner thighs. After a moment, he pulled out slowly, watching as more fluid followed. “Mmm”

You looked down at the mess between your legs, then back up at him with confused eyes. “How.. how are you cumming? You're a ghost” He smirked mischievously, “Ghost sex has its perks, wife. My spirit can still produce semen.”

“And trust me, it feels just as good as real cum would.” He chuckled softly, floating down to clean himself up with some tissues he got at the night stand. “Plus, being dead means I can fuck you for hours without getting tired.”

Your eyes widen, completely not understanding what happened just now, “can I get pregnant..? BY A GHOST?!”

He raised an eyebrow at you, then shook his head with a soft laugh. “No, Y/N. You can’t get pregnant from ghost sex.” He explained, “My spirit might produce semen, but it lacks the necessary components to impregnate anyone.”

“Oh ok,” you sighed, relieved. His smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he went back up to top you, hovering between your legs. “So basically, I can fill you up as much as I want, and there’s zero risk of an actual baby.” He leaned down to kiss your neck and the night was long.

The morning light slipped through the old lace curtains, pooling soft gold across the floorboards. The air was warmer than usual — almost gentle, like the house itself didn’t want to disturb you. You stirred under the sheets, your body still aching in ways you couldn’t explain, every muscle sore but tingling with something that felt like longing.

This bed feels more like me, than the other bed. I love to be back.

Jun sat beside the bed, his elbow resting on the headboard, chin on his hand, smiling softly. “You’re awake,” he murmured. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was something different in his gaze — something steady, quiet, almost resigned.

You groaned, trying to sit up. “Remind me to never let a ghost manhandle me again.” He laughed — that deep, melodic laugh that used to echo down the hallways when the house was still alive. “You weren’t complaining last night.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, cheeks warming as you tried to swing your legs off the bed, “that was before I realized ghosts apparently have stamina.”

Jun leaned forward, catching your wrist before you could stand. “Careful,” he said softly. “Don’t move too fast. You’re still sore.” You rolled your eyes. “I can handle it.”

“Of course you can,” he teased, standing and offering his hand anyway. “But let me handle you for once.” You took his hand without thinking — it felt solid now, warm even. The thought almost made your chest ache. “Since when did you get so smug?”

He smiled faintly, leading you toward the kitchen. “Since I got my wife back.” You froze mid-step, and for a moment, your breath caught. He said it so casually, like it was the most ordinary truth in the world. But something in his tone — that faint tremor beneath the calm — made your heart twist.

“Jun..” He only smiled again, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Breakfast first. Heavy hearts need coffee.”

He made pancakes. You didn’t even think ghosts could cook, but the smell of butter and sugar filled the air, and when you asked how he did it, Jun just shrugged. “You said you missed the scent of home,” he said, flipping one perfectly golden. “So I borrowed it from your memory.” You laughed. “That’s creepy and romantic. I can’t decide which.” “Can’t it be both?”

The rest of the day passed in a strange sort of domestic bliss. You both cleaned the bedroom — or at least, you did, and Jun hovered around you, pretending to help but mostly teasing you. He brushed wax off your cheek, steadying you every time you leaned too close.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked suddenly, when you caught him watching the sunlight through the window. He turned to you, smiling faintly. “Miss what?” “Being alive.” For a heartbeat, his smile faltered. Then he said quietly, “Not anymore. Everything I ever wanted.. is standing right here.”

You stared at him — the soft glow in his eyes, the way his voice trembled like he was holding back something heavy. You didn’t press. Instead, you reached out and brushed his hand — and this time, it felt entirely real.

Jun blinked, then smiled again, softer this time. “See? You’re getting stronger.” You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to your forehead — his lips almost warm now. “It means you’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Even when I’m not here to make pancakes for you.”

You looked up sharply. “What are you talking about-” “Nothing,” he interrupted, smiling again — that same too-gentle, too-final smile. “Just saying.. ghosts like me don’t get forever. So promise me, if I ever fade away” He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “…don’t stop living.”

You didn’t know why, but the air grew heavier around you. The sunlight dimmed. You forced a laugh. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Jun chuckled softly, though his eyes were glistening in the light. “Maybe. But if being dramatic lets me stay in your memory, then I’ll take it.”

You stared at him for a long time, the ache in your chest tightening, and for a fleeting moment, you swore you could see through him — just a shimmer, like heat rising from pavement. But you blinked, and he was solid again. Smiling. Alive in his own way.

And so, you smiled back. “You’ll have to work harder than that to get rid of me.” He leaned in and kissed your lips. “I know,” he whispered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

—

The night came gentle, like the world itself didn’t want to wake you. You sat on the veranda with Jun, a single candle flickering between you — its flame bending and swaying with the wind. The garden was quiet, the air thick with that faint sweetness of rose and memory.

Jun leaned back in his chair, watching you instead of the stars. You didn’t notice at first how still he’d become. “I used to dream of this,” he said softly. “Of what?” “Peace.” He smiled faintly, eyes never leaving your face. “I thought I’d forgotten what it felt like.”

You chuckled, sipping your tea. “You sound like someone who’s about to give a farewell speech.” “Maybe I am.” You frowned. “Jun.”

He turned toward you, eyes reflecting the candlelight, gold and endless and unbearably sad. “You remember everything now, don’t you?” You blinked. “What do you mean?” “Us,” he whispered. “Before this life. Before this house. Before the accident.”

The words hit you like a chill. The images — faint, half-remembered — started to surface. The rain. Screeching tires. The ring glinting against the pavement. Jun’s voice calling your name, desperate, echoing. And then.. nothing.

Your throat tightened. “I- I saw flashes. I thought they were dreams.” He reached out, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. His touch was lighter than before — fading. “They were memories. The last ones we shared before everything ended.”

You shook your head, tears already welling. “Ended? No.. we found each other again, didn’t we? You said you waited for me-” “I did,” Jun said, smiling. “Every life I remembered, I searched for you. Sometimes I found you. Sometimes I didn’t. But this time..” He paused, his voice breaking. “This time, you came back to me.”

“Then why- why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Because I am.” You froze. “No.”

He moved closer, cupping your face, thumbs tracing slow circles over your tears. His hands were almost see-through now — light bleeding through his fingers. “My curse was to remember every life,” he said softly. “To live them all until I learned to let go.”

“Jun, stop-”

“But yours,” he whispered, “was to forget. To live free of the pain. To start again.”

—

The moment the words left his lips, something in your chest cracked open — a white flash of pain, too bright to bear. And then..

White walls. The soft hum of machines. A dull ache at the back of your head. You blinked your eyes open and found yourself lying on a hospital bed. Your throat was dry, your body heavy. The faint rhythm of a heart monitor keeps time with your shallow breathing.

“Mingyu- she’s awake!” You turned your head weakly. Three faces came into focus — Mingyu, Seokmin, and Minghao — all hovering near your bed, eyes wide with relief. Mingyu reached out, holding your hand tightly as if grounding you.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice trembling. “You scared us.” You looked at them, confused. “What.. happened?” Seokmin’s smile faltered. “You got into an accident. You’ve been out for a few days.”

You nodded slowly, your mind foggy. But as you looked at their faces — familiar yet oddly distant — you felt something off. Something hollow. “Was anyone else with me?” you asked after a moment.

They froze. Minghao looked down at the floor, his jaw tight. “No,” he said finally. “You were alone when they found you.” You frowned, trying to recall anything — a road, a sound, a name. But your head throbbed the harder you tried. There was nothing. Just blank space.

Days passed, and you went home, that doesn’t even feel like home. You walked through your apartment, touching the furniture, tracing the edges of picture frames that held no faces. You caught your reflection in the mirror and felt the strangest ache, like someone else should’ve been there beside you. Someone who wasn’t.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you sat on your bed and whispered into the dark — not knowing why, or to whom. “Maybe it’s not about moving on,” you murmured, clutching your chest where that invisible ache lived, “but trying to remember the memories I’ve already lost.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realised you were crying. You didn’t know what you were grieving — only that your heart was mourning something you couldn’t recall.

—

You sobbed, shaking your head violently. “Then why- why bring me back here? Why make me remember?” “Because you deserved to know you were loved,” Jun said, voice trembling. “Even after death. Even after forgetting. You were my heart in every lifetime, and I needed you to know that before I go.”

The candle flame flickered. His form wavered, the edges of him breaking apart like smoke. “No,” you cried, clutching his shirt — your hands passing through him. “Please, stay. I’ll remember you this time. I swear, Jun, I won’t forget”

He smiled faintly, leaning forward until his forehead touched yours. “You will. You have to. That’s how you live.” He said. You sobbed. “Then what now? What happens to us? To you” “You live,” he said gently. “You finish your book. You keep the house. You keep going.”

“As for me.. I’ll keep waiting. Like I always do.” You shook your head violently. “No. No, you can’t. You deserve to move on.” “How can I?” Jun whispered. “My heaven was you. This is my fate.. I finally have the reason to cross the afterlife for this life, Y/N.” You felt the warmth of his breath one last time as he whispered,

“Find me again, in another life, my bride” The candle went out.

Silence filled the house — that heavy, sacred kind of silence only grief can make.

You sat there long after, whispering his name into the darkness, your tears falling onto the wooden floor. When the morning light finally touched the veranda, there was no trace of him — just the faint scent of cedar and rose and the ghost of a handprint on your cheek.

And for a moment, as you looked toward the mirror inside the house, you swore you saw him smiling.

Then he was gone.

And on the bed beside you, the veil stirred gently — as if brushed by unseen hands. unheard voice.

𝐀/𝐍 ➙ and that’s a wrap!! thank you so much for reading — I hope you liked it!! we’ve still got a few more left on our 2025 kinktober prompt list, next up is jeonghan, then wonwoo. see you all soon! stay safe, healthy, and a little unhinged, loves mwaa

⋆˚࿔ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @blssble @astraleaa @kwonxy @k4trinabluu @ateez-atiny380 @loveforred @chandaleeeee @starringhani @acphengene @yoonjeo @shininghoshstar

Jun sniffed back a laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“Nooo,” he drawled dramatically, pretending to be offended. “It’s a three-colored cat. There’s no such thing as an ugly-color cat.”

Anya tilted her head — her usual thinking pose — lips pursed, eyes narrowed. Then she released a long, exaggerated sigh. “Alright. What color cat?”

“Three-colored cat,” Jun repeated, smiling as he shifted her higher on his hip.

“Oh!” Anya perked up instantly, kicking her legs in excitement. “It has orange! And black! And lots of white! Cute!”

Her joy burst out of her like sunlight — warm, bright, and impossible to contain. She wriggled in his arms as if ready to launch straight toward the kitten, and Jun tightened his hold with a soft grin, laughter slipping out before he could stop it.

“Can we bring it home, please?” she pleaded. “I’ll take care of it. Promise.” Her eyes grew round and glossy — the exact weapon she used whenever she wanted something. A tiny pout trembled at the corners of her mouth, just enough to make Jun’s heart clench in the helpless way only fathers understood.

“We need Mama’s permission for that,” he said gently, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. His tone carried that soft responsibility — the kind meant to cushion disappointment without crushing hope.

Anya froze. Her pout deepened. “But Baba…”

“That’s the rule,” he reminded her, tapping the tip of her nose. “Big decisions need Mama’s yes.”

She slumped against his shoulder with dramatic defeat, letting out a sigh far too heavy for a four-year-old.

“Mama always says no…”

Jun smiled — quiet, helpless — because she wasn’t entirely wrong. “Well,” he murmured, lowering his head to kiss her hair, “maybe she’ll say yes this time.”

Anya peeked up, hope flickering back into her eyes like a small spark relighting. “If I say ‘please’?”

“If you say please,” Jun whispered, “and… maybe if the kitty likes you back.”

As if summoned, the tricolor kitten let out a soft meow and turned its head toward them, its eyes curious and unafraid.

Anya’s mouth fell open in wonder. “Baba,” she whispered urgently, tugging at his shirt, “I think it likes me.”

She hesitated — a tiny, worried crease forming between her brows. “But what if Mama still says no?”

Jun shifted her closer, lowering his voice to something tender and steady. “I’ll find a way, baby,” he promised. “Anything for you.”

*

“No…”

You stared at the bathroom light switch like it personally betrayed you. One click. Nothing. Another click. Still darkness.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh and facepalmed. Of course. Of course he did. There was only one man in this house capable of creating chaos with the confidence of a movie villain, your husband, Jun.

First, the jar incident. Every lid tightened to the strength level of “Olympic gold medalist.” You’d nearly dislocated your shoulder trying to open the salt. And of course you had to call him over for help. Which was extra annoying because you two had just argued about the tricolor kitten Anya begged to adopt.

Second, the water spontaneously giving up on life while you were washing dishes. You’d been mid-scrubbing a plate when the faucet sputtered.

Cue you yelling, “Jun, the sink is having a breakdown.”

He “fixed” it and, very conveniently, took over dish duty with suspicious cheerfulness.

And now? The bathroom light. Sabotaged. You flicked the switch again — aggressively this time — just to make sure he heard.

Right on cue, Jun appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom like he’d been waiting backstage for his entrance.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, voice all soft innocence.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, giving him your best “I am onto you” stare.

“Why? What happened?” he said, mirroring your posture — leaning back on the wall, arms crossed, smile growing way too fast for someone who was supposedly concerned.

“Stop it,” you said flatly. “You know I don’t like cats anymore.”

Jun lifted his eyebrows as if you just accused him of murder.

“We’re done talking about the cat, babe,” he declared, hand on his chest like a man reciting wedding vows. “You said it was final. No cats. And I respect that.”

He said it so sweetly you almost believed him. Almost. Except for the tiny smug curl at the corner of his mouth.

You exhaled sharply and ran your fingers through your hair. “Then explain this,” you gestured wildly. “The jars. The water. And now—”

You flicked the switch again like you were summoning a ghost. “The light won’t even turn on.”

Jun walked toward you, humming thoughtfully, inspecting the light with all the seriousness of a man checking a potato.

“I’ll fix it, babe,” he said, patting your shoulder. “No need to get all worked up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, I am worked up. I’m fully worked. I’m premium worked.”

Jun bit back a laugh — badly. “Why would I sabotage the house?” he asked, as if the answer wasn’t four years old, chubby-cheeked, and currently plotting with crayons in the living room.

You crossed your arms tighter. “Because you and your daughter want a cat.”

Jun pressed his lips together. “Allegedly,” he corrected.

You threw your hands up. “Oh my God.”

He leaned closer, smiling like you just declared war. “Babe,” he whispered dramatically, “this is all a coincidence.” You stared at him. Another flick. Dark.

He stared back. “…Coincidence?” you repeated.

Jun nodded, eyes sparkling. “A very adorable coincidence.”

Jun tightened the last screw on the light fixture, stepped back with a flourish, and flicked the switch. The bathroom lit up instantly. He turned to you with both hands raised like he’d just completed a magic trick.

“Done. You may do your thing here, your majesty.”

You stared at him. Long. Hard. The kind of stare that usually came right before you chose patience over prison time.

Then you sighed. A deep, soul-drained sigh. “I don’t want to act childish,” you said slowly, “but you’re definitely doing one, Wen Junhui.”

Jun clutched his chest dramatically. “I didn’t do anything, babe…”

“Yes,” you muttered, brushing past him, “and I’m the Queen of England.”

You stepped into the shower, letting the water drown out your irritation. But the whole time, you could practically feel Jun smirking from outside — smug, confident, absolutely certain he’d win.

And annoyingly, he would.

By the time you stepped out, skin warm and hair damp, Jun was sprawled on the bed like he owned every inch of it. One arm behind his head, shirt riding up just enough to show the faint lines of his stomach — he always looked like this right after mischief, relaxed and very, very pleased with himself.

You grabbed your towel tighter. “Jun,” you called.

He hummed, eyes on you instantly.

You exhaled, defeated but strangely lighter. “Bring that cat,” you said. A pause. “Tomorrow.”

*

Anya had been talking nonstop since the moment Jun buckled her into her car seat.

The kitten — tiny, fluffy, and extremely confused — sat in the small carrier Jun had oh-so-mysteriously “already prepared,” right beside her. Every few seconds, a tiny paw poked through the bars, batting at the air.

“Mama, it likes fruit names,” Anya declared with the confidence of a CEO presenting a business proposal.

Jun tried — truly tried — to keep his eyes on the road, but his smile kept growing each time Anya babbled another name.

“Kiwi,” she repeated, leaning forward to stick her face against the carrier. “Do you like Kiwi? Blink if yes.”

The kitten blinked. Anya gasped dramatically. “Baba! It said yes!”

Jun laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “That’s not how blinking works, baby.”

“Yes it is,” she insisted, crossing her arms with a tiny huff. “Cats blink when they like you.”

You turned a little in your seat, raising a brow. “She’s not wrong,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Jun shot you a look — that soft, ridiculously fond look — the one that appeared any time you defended his daughter’s logic.

Anya wasn’t done. “Or Banana!” she chirped, tapping the cage lightly. “Banana is yellow. This cat has orange. Orange is ALMOST yellow. So Banana!”

The kitten meowed once, confused but cooperative.

Jun let out another quiet laugh, the kind that rumbled warmly through the car. “She’s really committed,” he said, glancing at you with a grin. “Kiwi or Banana, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips betrayed you, curving up despite yourself.

“But… isn’t Kiwi Banana gonna be scared to go to the doctor?”

Anya’s voice was small but grave, the kind of seriousness only a four-year-old could summon over a tiny creature sitting in a pet carrier.

They were on the way to the vet, and the kitten — newly christened Kiwi Banana, thanks to Anya’s triumphant declaration of “Three colors, two names, one kitten!” — let out a soft mewl from inside the cage.

Jun glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “You think so, baby?”

“Yes,” she said immediately, clutching her stuffed bunny tighter. “Doctor means needles. And needles means… ouchie.”

She made a little face, scrunching her nose in sympathy toward the kitten.

You turned slightly in your seat. “Anya, the vet is a nice doctor. They help animals feel better so they can grow strong and healthy.”

Anya didn’t look convinced.

“But Baba, what if Kiwi Banana thinks we’re betraying it? We just met! What if it runs away from home and never forgives us and becomes—”

She paused dramatically.

“—a wild forest cat?”

Jun’s laugh slipped out before he could catch it. “A wild forest cat?” he echoed.

“Yes!” she said, pointing one finger into the air like she was explaining a legal clause. “Because if you feel betrayed… you go to forest.”

You pressed your lips together, holding back a laugh.

“Is that how it works?”

“Yes,” she said again, with absolute finality.

Jun shook his head with a smile. “Baby, Kiwi Banana won’t get scared. You know why?”

Anya leaned forward a little. “Why?”

“Because you’re going with it,” Jun said gently. “And Kiwi Banana already likes you.”

The kitten meowed right on cue, as if agreeing.

Anya gasped softly, eyes going wide.

“Baba… it said yes again.”

Jun shot you a look — proud, soft, slightly smug — and your heart dipped, warm, despite your earlier resistance.

You turned back to Anya. “And you can hold its paw while the doctor checks it, okay? That’ll make it feel safe.”

“Mama,” Anya said suddenly, her tone shifting into that quiet, suspicious softness children use right before exposing adult secrets.

“You seem to know a lot about cats.”

“I thought you don’t like cats,” she added, squinting at you like a tiny investigator.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t dislike cats,” you said carefully. “I just… don’t prefer them.”

Anya tilted her head. “But you said vet is nice doctor. And you held Kiwi Banana like he’s a fragile egg. And you said he needs warm towel and quiet place and also you wiped his eye—”

“Okay, okay, detective,” you cut in, holding up a hand. “I know basic things.”

Jun turned his head for a second, the movement small, almost hesitant—like he’d just said something he wasn’t sure he was supposed to.

“Mama used to have… ten cats,” he said quietly.

The words hung there, softer than before, slipping into the air the way old memories tend to resurface—uninvited, but gentle.

You didn’t respond right away.

Your gaze had drifted somewhere past the kitten, past the parking lot, past the afternoon light—somewhere Jun couldn’t follow. Not yet.

Anya, oblivious, perked up. “Ten? Mama, really?”

But Jun wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking at you. The way your fingers tightened slightly on the strap of your bag. The way your breath paused—just a moment.

The way your eyes stayed distant, even though your face tried to arrange itself into something casual. He’d heard the story before—briefly, vaguely. Ten cats. A busy little house. You, smiling in every memory.

You finally blinked, shaking yourself back. “That was… a long time ago,” you murmured, giving a small smile that didn’t sit the way your real smiles usually do.

Jun watched you for another second—really watched—before turning back to Anya.

“Yeah,” he said, gentle. “A long time ago.”

The tone settled over the three of you like a soft breeze—warm, but carrying something else in it. Something unspoken. But for now, he didn’t press.

For now, he just understood.

*

“We’re doing it together…”

“Don’t leave me!”

“Please…”

“Don’t—!”

You shot up with a broken gasp, air clawing its way into your lungs. Your chest heaved, fingers trembling against the sheets as the last echo of the nightmare clung to you like something alive.

Jun stirred immediately. He blinked awake, already reaching for you before he was fully conscious.

“Love?” His voice was soft, rough from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer—your breaths came short and sharp, sweat cooling along your temples. He pushed himself upright beside you, worry settling into his features the moment he saw your expression.

“Hey… hey.” Jun cupped the back of your head gently, guiding your forehead to his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s just a dream.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, as if needing proof that he was real—that he was here.

Jun wrapped an arm around you, firm and grounding, the kind of embrace that held you without trapping you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m right here.”

The room was dark and still, the only sound was your uneven breathing—slowly, slowly softening as his thumb traced steady circles on your arm, coaxing you back into the present.

“Is it the fire again?” Jun asked quietly, once your breathing began to steady.

You hesitated—then gave a small nod.

Jun didn’t press. He simply reached over to the nightstand, fingers closing around the glass of water he always left there for you before bed. Just in case.

“Here,” he murmured.

You took it with slightly trembling hands and brought it to your lips, sipping slowly. The cool water helped—grounding you, pulling you away from the lingering heat of the flames in your dream. Jun watched you with gentle eyes, his hand resting lightly against your back, steady and present.

When you lowered the glass, he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“You’re safe, love.”

The dream always came the same way— a fire swallowing your childhood home, flames crawling up the walls faster than your legs could run. And your cats— all ten of them— were trapped inside.

In the dream, you always tried. You always screamed for them. You always reached for the door even when the heat blistered your skin. And just like every time, you always failed.

Only one of them had survived in real life. It had escaped the fire by a miracle— bolting out through the back window just in time. You found it the next day, shaking so hard its small body rattled against your arms.

Life after losing the house was no kinder. You moved from place to place, your one surviving cat clutched to your chest, its terrified eyes mirroring your own. The only difference was that you’d become good at pretending you weren’t scared.

“We’re doing this together,” you used to whisper to it at night.

But even together wasn’t enough. It left you, too— not by choice, but by life’s cruelty. And the wound it carved into you never really healed.

You remembered crying over the tiny grave, hands shaking as you pressed the soil down. “I should’ve given you a home.”

That guilt settled in your bones. And from then on, you weren’t the same. You distanced yourself from cats— from the memories, from the attachment, from the possibility of losing something you loved that deeply again. Any cat was too close to the past. Too close to the fire. Too close to the pain you never let yourself revisit.

You ended up on the living room couch that night, legs curled beneath a blanket, the shadows quiet around you. Sleep wouldn’t come—not after the nightmare, not with your heart still unsteady.

Jun was already fast asleep in the bedroom, worn out from the day. And you— you didn’t want to show him this side of you again. Not tonight.

A tiny meow broke the silence.

You blinked, surprised. Kiwi Banana—somehow—was already padding across the floor, wobbling a little as it hurried toward you. You hadn’t even noticed Anya’s door was open a crack.

Before you could react, the kitten hopped onto the couch and plopped onto your lap, immediately purring. Its tiny paws kneaded at the blanket as it made itself comfortable, then finally rested its head on your thigh with a soft sigh.

A small smile tugged at your lips. The ache in your chest loosened. “You’re just like her,” you whispered. Your old tricolor cat. “Same color… same personality.”

Kiwi Banana answered with a muted little meow— whether in agreement or mild complaint, you couldn’t tell. You let out a tiny chuckle anyway. The fear you’d been carrying—of loving a cat again, of remembering—faded just a little.

“Tell me she’s okay…” you murmured, hand brushing gently over its tiny back. Kiwi Banana cracked one eye open, stared at you, meowed once— and then, in true cat fashion, turned around to present its butt to you before settling down again.

You snorted softly. “Rude,” you whispered, still smiling.

You leaned slowly against the couch’s armrest, your hand resting lightly on the kitten’s side. Kiwi Banana’s breathing grew slow, steady—warm against your leg.

And before you realized it, lulled by the soft purring and the quiet comfort, your eyes drifted shut. Sleep came easier this time.

*

You woke to the soft sound of someone whispering nearby—light, excited, and terribly close to your ear.

“Mama… Mamaaa, look…”

Your eyelids fluttered open, slow and heavy. Morning sunlight was already spilling through the curtains, warm and gold against your skin. The blanket had slipped halfway off, and curled right on top of your stomach was Kiwi Banana, purring like an engine.

Then you saw Anya. She was kneeling beside the couch in her pajama shorts, hair sticking in every direction, eyes wide with pure wonder.

“Mama, you’re soooo cute…” she whispered dramatically, as if she’d stumbled upon a rare forest creature. “Sleeping with Kiwi Banana… like best friends…”

You groaned softly, rubbing your face. Kiwi Banana stretched, tiny paws pressing into your shirt before settling again. “Anya… why are you awake this early?”

Though judging from the light, it wasn’t that early—just earlier than your usual waking time.

She puffed her cheeks. “I woke up and kitty wasn’t in my room! So I followed it. And then—” she pointed at you with all the intensity of a detective revealing a culprit— “I found this.”

You glanced down at the kitten sprawled on you like a warm, furry badge.

“Mama likes Kiwi Banana now?” Anya asked, hope sparkling in her eyes.

The kitten yawned—as if answering for you.

You exhaled, resigned. “…Maybe a little.”

Anya clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. It didn’t work. “BABA!!” she shrieked towards the hallway, “MAMA LOVES KIWI BANANA!!”

From the bedroom came Jun’s sleepy, confused voice, “What—already? It’s morning…”

You covered your face again. Too late. L The whole house already knew.

Kiwi Banana didn’t stay that tiny for long. Months passed, and somehow the kitten who once fit perfectly on your stomach grew into a round, spoiled ball of fur—with a belly that jiggled when it trotted and a face that had perfected the art of guilt-tripping you into extra treats.

Jun swore it wasn’t his fault. You swore it wasn’t yours. Anya didn’t swear anything—she openly blamed both of you.

“Mama, you love Kiwi Banana too much,” she complained one afternoon as the cat waddled proudly across the living room like a royal parade float.

You scooped the chunky creature into your arms anyway. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Kiwi Banana purred, melting into your embrace with the confidence of a cat who knew it was adored.

The fear you once held—the ache of old memories, the guilt, the trauma—had softened over time, replaced by something gentler. Something healing.

Jun wrapped an arm around your shoulders from behind, resting his chin lightly on your head as he watched the cat kneading your shirt with chubby paws.

“Told you,” he murmured with a smile, “you were always a cat person.”

You shot him a look. He kissed your cheek anyway. Kiwi Banana flopped dramatically in your arms, exposing its belly in complete trust.

And for the first time in a long, long while, loving a cat didn’t hurt. It felt like coming home. The home you built now—warm, noisy, messy, full of laughter. Full of Jun, full of Anya.

And full of one very fat, very loved Kiwi Banana.

End.

Footnote:

Grief lingers, but love does, too.

Two years ago, the fire took my home… and all the little lives I loved within it. The guilt clung to me like smoke, staining everything I touched. But my tricolor Simi — my brave girl — survived long enough to show me that even in ruin, love doesn’t burn out so easily.

Fly high, my baby.

I carry you in every quiet morning, every soft memory, every warm place my heart still knows how to hold.

Under the moonlight —

Come, save me now

It was that time of the night when the sky was pitch black — save for the full moon and the stars shining so bright, a sight almost impossible in the city. Jun winced as he stepped over a leaf, making a crunching sound. The sound of the ocean could be heard faintly from where he was. He found this path accidentally, when he had wandered far into the forest away from the camp. It was late at night then, just like now — something he found solace in.

The path led to a rocky shore, violent waves crashing with the jagged edges. Jun slowly stepped in the sand, taking a deep breath of the salty air as the wind blew around him, pushing his hair back. His shoulders dropped as a slight smile made its way onto his face. He looked around, slowly trudging towards a stone to sit on. The tide was on the calmer side tonight — with lesser, calmer waves crashing on the rocks.

The moonlight reflected off the water, making the place seem almost ethereal. Leaning back, Jun closed his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean wash out whatever worries he had. He opened his eyes after a while and looked up at the sky above him. Full of stars and constellations that he grew up watching. He could see the constellation Draco, its dragon-like tail making it identifiable among the others. Constellation Lyra caught his eye next, marking its harp shape.

Going through the stars, he noted as many constellations as he could, recollecting the stories related to them. He smiled ruefully as he spotted Hercules. That was a story Jun thought about quite often these days. Immensely powerful yet exploited by the gods, being punished for something he didn't even have control over. Jun could think of a few people who came under that category.

A scene flashed quickly in his mind. Bodies everywhere. Explosions. The scent of smoke. Disappointed gods. Demigods kneeling on the floors of Olympus. He blinked it away, refocusing on the stars as he used the sound of the waves to ground him. He took a deep breath, sitting up straight and looking at the ocean.

It was dark and inviting — the unknown somehow calming him rather than scaring him away. He got down from the rock carefully, deciding to return to his cabin to finally sleep. If his calculations were correct, it was about an hour before the sunrise. Even though he hated mornings these days, he also knew that he would be most energised then due to his lineage.

Taking a step towards the path he came from, he stopped when he felt something hard under his shoes. It was a stone pierced through at one edge — a hag stone. Rare. Protective, if the stories were true. Jun observed it under the moonlight before pocketing it and resuming his journey towards the cabins.

Reaching cabin eleven, he quietly closed the door behind him, careful not to wake any of his siblings. Taking the stone out, he felt it once again before placing it by his bedside along with the other shells he had collected from the very same shore. He lowered himself on his bed, pulling the blanket up and slowly drifting off to sleep, hoping that tonight, he won't be plagued by nightmares.

The grass was soft as you walked on it, little bushes brushing past your knees as you passed them — covered with flowers of many different colours. The breeze was cool, especially for a summer month. Spotting a rivulet, you stepped closer and saw little fishes swimming in it. You bent down and touched the water, feeling the cold liquid coat your hand. The fishes circled around your wrist, lightly tapping it and then quickly backing away.

The wind whistled, swaying the trees along with it. You look around with a smile, glancing up at the late afternoon sky. There were very few clouds in sight. This seemed like a nice spot to take a nap. Dipping your feet in the water, you leaned back on your elbows, sighing contently. Your eyes closed shut as you drifted to sleep, the last sight being that of a cloud in the sky which seemed bigger than before.

You felt something wet drop on your skin as you woke up. In the time you had been asleep, the clouds grew bigger and darker, almost covering the entire sky now. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you felt something tug at your ankle. Glancing down, you see the water circling around your foot before you felt another pull. Then another. Trying to pull away, you watched with growing horror as the water reached up to your knees, continuing to pull you in.

Looking in front of you, you realised that what was once a rivulet was now growing in size by the second. And it was trying to drag you inside it. Glancing around helplessly, you realised the grass and the trees were gone. There was nothing left but sand. The water had now reached your thighs before you shouted for help. There was no sound other than that of the ocean. You were truly as alone as it looked like.

Your body was getting colder and colder as the water reached upto your chest. You began thrashing, trying to fight back as much as you could but to no avail. The water had reached upto your chin before you stopped moving, seemingly having accepted your fate. You closed your eyes as your ears got flooded and you were engulfed by the waves pulling you deep into the ocean. "You can never escape the sea," a voice echoed. And that was the last thing you heard before your world went dark.

You woke with a jolt, sitting up straight and taking in huge gulps of air. It was just a dream, you think trying to calm yourself down. The only sound to be heard was your heavy breathing and the sound of the clock.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

You get down from your bed, feeling the cold wood beneath your feet ground you slightly. The air was cold, you observe with a shiver, as you go to close your window. You take in the scene in front of you. Large trees at the outskirts of the camp, beyond which it was sea.

Moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water, making it look alluring and inviting. Something inside you shifted at the sight, something primal, ancient almost, reminding you of how long you had gone without the sea. You shut the window tightly, going back to bed hoping you could sleep without any trouble.

You were plagued with dreams of the waves echoing around you.

The early morning sun grazed Jun's face as he looked over at the demigods sword-fighting. Just from the technique, very sharp and clean, it was evident that they were Ares' kids. He was seated on the stairs of the arena having come here almost an hour prior to watch the sunrise. Yawning as he rubbed his eyes, he glanced around and noticed that there were other demigods present as well.

He could spot Chris, clad in his fighting gear, leaning over to whisper something in Lexie's ear. Hearing footsteps, he glanced up to see Mike jogging down the stairs and waving at him. Jun smiled and watched him leave before turning towards the fight. It seemed like the previous match was done and they had found a new opponent to challenge.

Ready to zone out again, Jun froze when he caught a movement from the corner of his eyes. He turns sharply towards the source, hand already on his knife incase it was needed. Just a few leaves rustling. He relaxes, a bit sheepish now as he looked around to check if anyone else had noticed that.

He sees you on the opposite side of the arena, eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make sense of whatever you were reading. You seemed to have trouble, growing increasingly frustrated as the seconds passed. You had a higher degree of dyslexia when compared to an average demigod, something which you hated more than anything — Jun would know, as he was the one who read books out loud for you whenver you asked.

He observed you for a while. Your wavy hair seemed to catch the sunlight everytime you ran a hand through it, an age-old habit of yours. Jun sighed, turning his attention elsewhere. What was the point if you didn't even look at him these days?

He couldn't blame you though, everyone had changed after the war. Some more than the others. He just wishes you wouldn't go out of the way to avoid him everytime you caught sight of him. Honestly, it didn't even seem like the war was over. Everyone was always on edge, as if waiting for the next attack.

Hearing a ruckus, he snapped out of his thoughts as he looked towards for the source. Standing there at the centre was a guy, blonde haired, donning a full armour for the sword fight. Ahh, the infamous Soonyoung. Or maybe Hoshi, as he liked to be called. If Jun had seen you retreating inwards and away from everyone, he could say Hoshi did the same.

The only difference was, you seemed to be spending more time in your cabin and Hoshi seemed to spend more time in figting arenas and grounds. Any news Jun had heard of him recently was always followed by the fact that he had wonded someone with an unnecessarily nasty punch. Which seemed to be his exact intentions again as he lunged at his opponent with a wicked grin.

A loud slam echoed around the arena as the two moved their swords quickly with precise footwork. It was a surprise to see that the other demigod was keeping up with Hoshi for as long as he had. Hoshi was a beast when it came to fighting, his strength and strategies forged by relentless training and discipline.

The clanking of the swords continued for a while longer, both of them maneuvering smartly around each other and looking for any weak points to hit in the opponent. Seemingly having found one, Hoshi quickly manages to push his opponent on the ground and hover over him with his sword in hand above his neck. The demigod beneath him huffed, out of breath and frustrated as he surrendered begrudgingly. Hoshi nods his head, satisfied before he turns around and leaves the arena as quickly as he came in.

You shove your hands deeper into your pockets, shivering slightly as you make your way towards the Dining Pavilion. It was early December, with the first snow of the year having occured just a few days ago, painting the camp white. You follow the footsteps in the snow, left by the other demigods, already looking forward to the warmth of the Pavilion.

You sigh in relief, rubbing your hands when you finally get inside and feel the heat spread through your body. You glance around, setting your scarf down at your table which was as empty as ever. The Ares table was also surprisingly empty, but given that it was quite early in the evening, you figured they were just sparring for sometime before supper. Soonyoung did tell you that they had fixed training sessions and this was one of the slots.

Your eyes then instinctually go to the Apollo's table and you feel a slight pain in your chest — maybe grief — as you take in the number of demigods present. They were all talking, looking happier than ever, but you could see it in the way Connor's smile dropped whenever he turned to his left, only to realise that his twin brother was no longer there with him. Or in the way Mia thought nobody noticed how often she zoned out, almost seeming like she was fighting prophecies in her mind.

If only you had stopped them from fighting in the water

You drag your eyes away from them with a shaky sigh. Everytime you closed your eyes, you could see the day play out in your mind, moment by moment without any mercy. A war inside the ocean, a tsunami washing out everyone who dared to cross it. You let out a huff, trying to fight against the negative emotions taking over your body as you cross your arms.

Since you were earlier than the expected dinner time, you decide to take a seat as you watch the campfire suddenly getting lowly lit, probably Goddess Hestia's doing. You liked Hestia, Jun had told you that she helped him a lot on his quest before the war. She also seemed like one of the only Gods who did not actively look for ways to trouble the demigods, so that was a plus.

Your eyes go towards the Apollo table again as you see Chiron approaching it. He's probably discussing about the Capture the Flag event being held tomorrow. Your eyes involuntarily go to Jun, seeing him talk to Chiron. The first thing you notice about him is his smile, always the smile — gentle and shy.

Infact, you remember the first time you had met him back when you both were ten, you were constantly trying to get him to laugh at your jokes, and he always did, no matter how lame or stupid they were. The next thing you notice are the dark circles under his eyes.

Was he having problems with sleeping again?

He always stayed up whenever the prophecies got too loud. He was one of those, along with Mia, who had the power of seeing the future more vividly than the rest of their siblings. Hence he was also very sensitive to dreams and nightmares, often times choosing not to sleep to avoid them.

You got to know of that fact just a couple of years ago and had tried everything to get him to sleep well, hanging out in the infirmary when his cabin became suffocating for him at night. You had even tried singing to him, something you were terrible at and you still remember the fond look he had in his eyes as he tried not to laugh. That was the night when everything had felt immensely real, your sleepy mind and traitorous heart giving you hope that maybe, just maybe even he felt the same about you.

Well, that was over a year ago, just before the war and you doubt he even thinks about you now after you stopped talking to him and basically threw your friendship away. There was also the fact that most of his siblings died under your leadership in the war. You were sure he hated you, you wouldn't blame him if he did.

Just as you were about to look away from him, he catches your eyes and looks startled for a moment before his face settles into something deeper. The world seemed to still, the rush of the incoming campers almost reducing to a lull as your eyes focus on his completely.

He always had this effect on you and you hated how just one look from him was enough to melt you, especially now that you were sure he must hate you. His lips curl slightly at the edges as he seemed almost relieved, which you didn't know what for. You feel his gaze go all over your face, checking upon you, just like it did after the war ended and you had come back to the medical site.

You still remember the conversation that had gone down right after that, with you refusing to speak to anyone but him just to break the news of his siblings. His shocked face, almost ghostly white still haunts you to this day. You look away, your heart heavy as you repeat all the reasons in your head, for the umpteenth time, as to why you should stay away from him.

He deserves better people in his life than a murderer

All you've caused right from the beginning is pain to everyone around you

Why would he be any different?

You dig your fingers into your sleeves, staring hard at the fire as you wait for your breath to calm down. The fire seemed to grow bigger as more and more campers piled into the Pavilion. You will your legs to still as you unclench your palms and finally feel your breath return to normal.

You had struggled a lot with panic attacks at the start after the war, but now you were getting better at handling them without having to bother others. You had a technique of counting till ten and humming a lullaby right after, which calmed you down significantly these days. You decide to distract yourself by thinking about tomorrow's Capture the Flag and going over all the strategies you had learnt over the years.

You look up, startled from your thoughts as you see Soonyoung sit next to you on the table. You hadn't even seen him approach. Your eyes widen as you take in his state. He was sporting a huge bandaid on his chin and a cut near his eyebrow. "What happened to you?" you ask as you look for any other place where he might be hurt. You looked down at his hands in his lap as he clenched his fist. His knuckles were bruised as well.

"Oh these are nothing, just some fight that went messy," he replied casually, avoiding eye contact. You raise an eyebrow, "A sword fight went so messy that you bruised your knuckles?" you ask already sniffing out his lie. He hesitates before saying, "This wasn't a sword fight, I was engaged in physical combat and the mortals sure know how to throw a nasty punch."

"Gods Soonyoung, the mortals?! I thought you had just gotten into a brawl with one of your siblings. Why were you even messing around with the mortals?" you exclaim. "I was just curious as to how they fight and snuck into one of their events. Their techniques are different than ours and I sure have a lot to learn from them. Maybe I should go back soon and ask them to teach me their ways", he ponders.

"Hoshi, you cannot go to the mortal world. What if some monster comes after you? Do you really want to fight more, especially without anyone helping you?" you knew you had offended him when you saw the expression on his face. You wince slightly as he replies, "You know I can very well handle a few monsters on my own. Need I remind you who lead the war with you? As for the mortal world and the fighting, I know you're worried that I'm fighting too much these days but trust me, this is what Ares' kids do. We study wars and different combat techniques. I like learning them and I'm having fun".

Knowing there was no changing his mind, you let out a sigh as you say, "You're right, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to reprimand you, just be careful." He gives you a side-hug as he replies cheekily, "It's fine, I know you're worried but I've managed to win a fight with you, I'm sure I can handle anyone at this point".

That gets a smile out of you as you ask, "Who patched you up though? Is someone else handling the infirmary now because that does not look like Jun's work". He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes again as he replies, "Just some mortals, I didn't go to the infirmary." You frown at him, about to question him more when Chiron rises from his seat and announces the commencement of dinner, "Everyone will gather together and go cabin by cabin to the campfire to offer a portion of their food to the gods."

You miss the sigh of relief Soonyoung lets out as you both rise up from your table and fill your plates with food as you wait for your turn. "Now the cabin three, Poseidon's cabin, can go burn their food in the fire." Chiron says, eyeing Soonyoung as you both step closer to the campfire. You let out a chuckle as you see Soonyoung huff. While not against the rules, it was still unusual for campers to sit at the tables of different cabins during meals.

Throwing a portion of your food into the fire, you suppress your laughter as you see Soonyoung throwing only a carrot into the fire. "Geez Soonie, leave some for yourself too. The gods don't need that much food." you tease as he replies, "To hell with the Gods." You pause as you look up at the sky which immediately rumbles with thunder making you both snicker. Zeus was so predictable. You both take a seat at your table, digging into the food as you discuss about the Capture the Flag. Soonyoung starts explaining the strategy that he thought of as you interrupt him, "Wait I'm with the Ares cabin this time?"

"Yes, unless you want to team up with the Apollo's cabin as usual then feel free to switch. I'm sure Jun would love to have you on his team again." he says looking up from his plate, already knowing what your reply would be. "You're a menace. Fine, I'll play on your team. Also, we both know Jun doesn't like Capture the Flag so I doubt he'd want to participate let alone have me on his team." you reply as you glance at Jun before looking away, not wanting to make eye contact with him again. Soonyoung hums looking straight at you as he replies , "That's true but I'm sure he would be enthusiastic to play if it meant that you would stop avoiding him."

"I'm not avoiding him, it's just…complicated", you say looking down at your plate as you pick at the vegetables. "I know", you hear Soonyoung say gently before he, thankfully, changes the topic to the post-dinner campfire.

You both discuss how to sneak away into your respective cabins after just a few songs and Soonyoung's happy that you're a bit more cheerful than before. He saw how shaken up you were when he had just joined you at the table earlier in the night, you were probably going through another panic episode. He hated how you didn't ask for help and wanted to manage everything on your own.

Soonyoung knew you just needed some time before you started talking to Jun again and unlike what you believed he was sure Jun didn't hate you. Quite the opposite actually. Anyone with eyes could see that Jun was smitten with you even after months of silence from your end. Soonyoung just hoped the two of you would figure it out eventually, he missed his friends together even though he was third-wheeling most of the time.

Now, onto the capture the flag game, he couldn't wait to implement the game plan he had learnt from the mortals. He grins excitedly as he goes into the full details of his strategy with you, knowing that you needed a distraction and that you'll have a lot of fun.

You take a deep breath, fiddling with your helmet as you wait for the game to start. Looking over to your right, you spot Soonyoung giving instructions to few of your teammates. Your team consisted of the Ares-Poseidon-Hermes-Hephaestus cabins and Hoshi had gone all out this time with the strategy. The plan was that both of you would be trying to capture the flag of the opposite team while the others either guarded your flag or laid out obstacles for the other team.

You would be running directly towards the other team's flag while Soonyoung would take a sneakier path that he was sure most of the campers didn't know about. You double-checked that it wasn't very dangerous because you were sure if given the chance, he would go into the labyrinth as well.

Your path was much simpler, you just had to run through your side of the forest, cross the river and then cross any of the obstacles laid out by the other team. You had your bracelet in your pocket, one that was gifted by Jun ages ago, which would transform into a sword when clicked.

Each of the participating cabins had contributed atleast one magical item for today's game. Jake from Hephaestus cabin had this idea of forging hot metal which would increase the temperature within seconds once activated, disabling the opponents from the fight.

To nobody's surprise, Soonyoung had liked this idea very much and encouraged the team to use them whenever they were stuck in a fight. Strapping a few of these balls inside your belt, you looked up when Soonyoung approached you.

"Are you sure you're ready to swim across the river? I know you have been staying away from the water for a while", he says with a frown, looking worried. Well, you had thought of this multiple times after Soonyoung had explained his strategy. Though slightly apprehensive, you knew you had to face your fear and get over with it. You had avoided your water powers for almost a year now and it was starting to take a toll on you, being that far away from the water.

"I'm sure Soonie", you reply with a smile, assuring him. He nods at you as he moves to the others, ordering everyone to get to their positions quickly. You hear Chiron blow the horn, signalling the start of the game as you exchange your signature fist-bump with Soonyoung before running off into the forest.

The woods were pitch-black, and you stand still for a few seconds waiting for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Since you had grown up training in the woods, the path to the river was almost muscle memory. This part of the forest had the least number of monsters so you knew you had to minimise the time spent in this patch.

You run quickly, leaves crunching beneath you as the wind pushes your hair back. You reach the river in record time, taking a deep breath in as you try to keep your nerves at bay. You feel the memories of the war threatening to take over your mind before you block them and jump into the water.

The moment you touched the surface of the river, it felt like a thousand needles had penetrated into your skin. You felt the water seep through your clothes as you allowed yourself to be dragged into the river. You breathed out calmly and felt the bubbles rise up towards the surface.

You hoped the water could still recognise you. Soon enough, you could feel a bubble form around you, breathing becoming a lot easier. Your clothes started drying as the bubble took you to the surface of the river. With little to no difficulty, you manage to swim to the shore, feeling energised by being in the water.

Being away from the ocean for so long had definitely taken a toll on you. Your immunity and stamina had reduced significantly, something Soonyoung had pointed out, worried if you would be able to do this for the game. It was the doubt he had that spurred you into action, making sure that you would be the one to capture the flag before him. That was how it was with Soonyoung. If there was anyone who could push you to your limits so that you improve, it would be him.

Getting out of the river, you quickly double-check for all your weapons before you start running towards the hill which you were sure had the flag of the opponent team. You come across a huge chunk of leaves, a poorly laid trap by the Apollo team. You step aside swiftly, continuing your journey. At the foot of the hill, you hear the rustling of a few branches which makes you pause.

You take out your bracelet, which immediately morphs into a sword, as you brace yourself for an attack. You see Connor jump down the tree and step in front of you, followed by many others from the opponent team. You tap your foot, a bit unsure if you could take on so many demigods in a fight. It had been quite a long time since you had been in a sword fight and the clock was ticking. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the heat bomb fastened to your belt before dropping it.

You see their faces morph into panic and then confusion as they all gather around the ball, bending down to look at it. Had they not learnt anything during training? You count till three before watching the smoke start to rise from the bomb.

You slip away with a slight smirk as they start shrieking at the rapidly rising temperature. Though lasting only for a couple of minutes, the heat bomb did have rapid affects. Everyone would have to vacate the area within a minute if they didn't want to be severely burnt by the heat. Jake really outdid himself this time.

Keeping the time in mind, you run as fast as you can up the hill only stopping once you're sure you got a safe distance away from the bomb. You wait for a minute to catch your breathe before starting to run up the hill once again. You really wanted to get to the flag before Soonyoung. Reaching the top, you slow down to a tip-toe, not wanting to alert the demigods guarding the flag.

Peeking your head out of the woods, you look around trying to locate the flag. This was a barren patch of the hill, with little to no grass growing on it. Slowly taking a step forward, you keep your sword ready just incase it was needed. Seeing the flag at the edge of the hill, you smile triumphantly before you notice the person beside it.

Oh.

Even though he had his back turned towards you, you could still recognise him anywhere. You take slow steps towards the flag, hoping they would not notice. You'd rather not fight with Jun today. You stop in your step as Mia looks up from her seat beside the flag and notices you. Well, there goes your plan of not fighting.

She whispers something to Jun and you stay rooted at your spot as he turns towards you. Something which you didn't want to decipher crosses through his eyes as he takes out his sword and steps towards you.

"Look, I don't want to fight. Can you just give me the flag? I'll get out of your hair after that. I just really need to beat Soonyoung", you say as you look into his eyes. You could feel yourself getting pulled into them before you shake your head slightly and look away. It was always those damned eyes. Jun suppresses a smile, deciding to tease you slightly as he replies, "Tell me why you've been avoiding me for so long first and maybe then I'll give you the flag. Otherwise you'll just have to win it from me."

Your breath stutters as you take in his words, your gaze jumping around all over his face. He had grown his hair slightly and a few strands were falling into his eyes. You clenched your hand, fighting the urge to brush them back. This was not the time to be having these thoughts about Jun. You smile, deciding to go along with his teasing as you reply, "Game on then, Mia you're the referee for this match."

Mia raised her eyebrows as she nodded. She didn't want to witness a match between the two of you. There were already enough moments like these throughout the year, but if this was what it might take to get you both to finally talk to each other, then she would be all for it. She couldn't stand Jun moping around for another day.

You both unclasp your swords and stand in front of each other. Though Jun preferred Archery more than sword fighting, he was pretty good at using a sword as well. He had grown up observing Soonyoung and you training, and he had picked up on a few tricks himself.

Stepping forward, he waits for you to deliver the first blow. He had no plans of playing the offensive today. Quite frankly, the only reason he suggested this match was so that he could spend some time with you where you didn't act as if he never existed.

You take a swipe at his side, watching him block your sword and pushing it away slightly, making you frown. Why wasn't he attacking you today? You go at him with even more force but watch him do the same thing again. "Why are you not putting your full effort today Jun?" you ask, your frown deepening. "What do you mean, this is my best", he replied, casually stepping away from one of your attacks.

You scrunch your eyebrows, before deciding to play a move which would force him to attack you. "Look, you really aren't doing your best! You could've easily defeated me right here. Why are you going easy on me?!" you exclaim after seeing him twist his wrist and disarm you for a second, before kicking your sword back towards you. He just smiles slightly, deepening your frown. Gods, he was so annoying.

Remembering that you still had a match to win, you come to the conclusion that his strategy might just be to distract you from bringing their flag to your team. Deciding to finish the fight, you fling your leg around his, his sword rattling somewhere away as you point yours to his neck.

You both huff, taking deep breaths of air as Jun starts to smile. "You're still as competitve as ever, glad to see that hasn't changed", he says, looking up at you, making you roll your eyes as you pull your sword away from him.

You stretch your neck as you pick up the flag, looking at Mia who simply raises her hands in surrender. You stop near Jun, who was still laying on the ground as you say, "And you've gone soft, Junnie." Looking at the smile he gives you, you can't help but break out into a grin of your own before schooling your expression. Stepping away from him, you nod at both of them before breaking into a run down the hill. You still had a match to win.

The way back to your team wasn't very difficult. You just had to set off the heat bomb once, though this time they were faster in running away than before. The swim across the river was also easier than before, which was something that made you feel more energised than ever.

Reaching your team site, you see Soonyoung tapping his foot on the ground with his arms crossed. He breaks out into a smile as you run towards him while removing your helmet and say, "You didn't even stand a chance Soonie, I got there before you."

He takes the flag out of your hands with a chuckle as he ruffles your hair. "You are correct about that, the climb up the cliff was way too difficult", he says with a groan as he stretches. "I told you it was reckless and difficult but when do you ever listen to me", you scold him as you cross your arms. He just laughs at you fondly before you ask, "Did the other team even manage to capture our flag?"

"No, our defense was really strong. They spent most of the game in a sword fight and at last they gave up", Soonyoung replied with a shrug as he leads you to the rest of the team. The team breaks out into cheers as they see the flag in Hoshi's hands. This was the first Capture the Flag you had participated in after the war and you were glad you had managed to win for the team.

You see the opponent team approach as you all gather towards the fountain waiting for Chiron to announce your team as the winner. You spot Jun, only to find him already looking at you with a smile. You frown at him in return. Weird, didn't he hate you? You hear Soonyoung stifle a chuckle making you look at him with the same frown still present on your face.

"What's so funny?" you ask him. "Nothing, just the fact the you're so oblivious it's actually hurting me", he replies with a shrug, still grinning. Was he talking about Jun? Just as you're about to question him further, you see Chiron emerge, everyone hushing each other to listen to the winning announcement.

Chiron clears his throat, pushing his glasses up as he says, "The winner of this week's Capture the Flag competition is Team 1 which was led by Soonyoung. They especially had very good defense strategy. Give them a round of applause." You grin as you clap with the rest of the demigods, happy about how the day had turned out.

Everyone started dispersing when Connor suddenly shouts, "Oh, what is that?". You turn to look at where he was pointing and see the Oracle of Delphi slowly approaching the crowd. Shriveled-looking with long black hair clung to her skull, she wore a headband and a tie-dyed green dress. Her beaded necklaces moved with each step she took.

You take a step back, trying to blend into the crowd hoping that she wouldn't approach you regarding the prophecy. Remembering that the Oracle's presence always affected Mia and Jun more, your turn to look at them. You see Jun clutching his head, before his gaze suddenly snapped to you.

His worried look only scared you more as you took another step back, watching the crowd split to make way for her. She, slow as ever, continues to walk towards where you were just moments ago and stops in front of Soonyoung. You huff out a breath, relieved, immediately feeling guilty later for such a reaction.

A green mist pours out of her mouth, surrounding each one of the demigods as her hissing starts echoing inside your head.

You shall go east, along with the daughter of sea

A journey, embark on it or destruction you shall see

Venturing into the ever-changing maze

You shall realize the fate in the haze

Face the undefeated once again

Conquer it and power you shall regain

The Oracle of Delphi collapses onto the rock beside Soonyoung, her eyes turning black, probably never to move again for many centuries to come. You make your way through the crowd, reaching Soonyoung and placing a hand on his shoulder. You feel the eyes of rest of the campers on the two of you as Chiron ushers all the cabin heads to the Big House.

Turning back, you look at Jun standing with his lips pursed and arms crossed. He meets your eyes almost immediately and you could see the waves of worry in them even from such a distance. The quest mentioned a Daughter of the Sea. Unless Poseidon had a secret daughter you never knew of, it was you that was supposed to go on this quest with Soonyoung.

You look back at Hoshi worriedly and he reaches up to squeeze your hand on his shoulder slightly before letting go as you both walk towards The Big House together. Looking back, you see all of the other cabin heads following you, Jun included, with his head down and fist clenched deep into his pocket.

You face the door again, the voices of Mr.D and Chiron already audible. This was the first quest assigned to a demigod after the war, nobody daring to seek the Oracle till now. Taking a deep breath, you raise your hand to knock on the door before hearing a faint "Come in". You look at Soonyoung as he opens the door for the both of you to step in.

There's a slight ache in your forearm by the time you put the revolver down. It is a sunny late morning out at the shooting range on the day of your birthday. And while your colleagues will huff and grunt about this being your idea of a birthday treat to them, you can see just how much fun they're also having on this rare day off away from gruesome case files and life-threatening chases.

You grab a kale smoothie from the cooler and head over to Jihyo, one of your closest friends at your team who also happens to be the last one to arrive.

"What took you so long?" you ask, handing her a baseball cap.

"Grabbing the present that your secret admirer sent to the office," she hums, opening the backdoor of her car for you to take a loot at the ridiculously sized bouquet of red roses that has a card stuck there somewhere in between. "Don't worry, I had it personally screened, there are no hidden cameras or wires or anything of that nature. Just plain old roses and a sappy little note that has a tear-smudge on the ink."

"What the fuck…"

"Seriously, how are you one of the best detectives on our team and you're getting stalked?" Jihyo scoffs, "if I were in your place, this guy…whoever he is, would be gone and erased from everywhere by now."

You roll your eyes, lugging the giant bouquet in between your arms with the intention to transfer it to your own car.

"I am not getting stalked, I'm pretty sure it's just my ex trying to win me over."

"Well that's even more of a reason to pew-pew him down." Jihyo jokes (or at least you hope that's what she's doing when she gestures shooting the flowers with her finger guns.)

"I'm not hunting down my ex," you laugh, "he's just being desperate and pathetic. Let him grieve."

"Why did you guys breakup again?"

"Oh he was embarrassing," you sigh, placing the flowers in your trunk and leaning against it without shutting it full, "he was obsessed with the idea of us adopting kittens and insisted on addressing us as mommy and daddy. And then, when I'd say no because I was just so busy at work trying to catch a fucking mob-boss who is wrecking havoc over here, he'd curl up in a throw blanket and his grandma's knit-cardigan and weep for hours into a bowl of ice-cream."

Jihyo blinks blankly at you, her eyes wide with this haze of half-surprise and half-amusement. And then, she bursts out laughing. "Where did you find him? On tumblr?"

You humor her further, "Worse. Wattpad. He'd read and write Robin fanfics."

"Like the bird?"

"No, like Robin from Batman."

"Yikes."

"I know," you huff out, "we also used to split rent 70-30 with me being the one paying the 70%…I don't even know why I dated him for all these years."

"Okay not to play the devil's advocate but you were young," Jihyo slides her fingers in the back-pockets of her denims and leans her weight over onto her left hip like she does whenever she wants to get her point through, "And I'm glad you got right onto the Wen Junhui case immediately after your breakup to distract you, unlike me."

You grimace, "yeah, I still remember how you got back with Nayeon four and a half hours after breaking up with her."

"Well if only there was a notorious mob-boss for me to catch, I wouldn't have willingly put myself back into my wife's leash."

"Except that you would have," you counter.

"Who am I kidding? Yeah I would have."

She leans down with you, and gives you that sheepish grin that you've come to associate with the mentions of Nayeon and you both burst out laughing. As trained detectives, discipline and resistance races in your veins with blood. But how strange it is that it is love that has Jihyo on her knees apologizing to her girlfriend and has you going all soft on your pestering, inconvenient ex-boyfriend.

As you both begin to head towards the golf-course instead of the shooting range when Jihyo complains about not being in the mood to be surrounded by the loud shots and smell of smoke, your conversation gets more business-like.

"Any leads on Wen Junhui?"

Your mouth sours at the mention of his name and you are grateful for your sunglasses that hide your anxious eyes. "We almost got to him last week, caught in action and what not. But there was an unprecedented change in their plans at the last minute…almost like he sensed us following him."

Jihyo nudges the golf-ball with the toe of her shoe. "Which could mean two things—he's either a psychic, or we got a leak."

You feel your shoulders tighten at the mere prospect of that happening. Your team is highly confidential when it comes to his case with only a handful people having all access to the entire blueprint you are to follow while the others just obey commands. Having a mole on the team essentially means being nothing less of a suicide-squad trapped in a maze you yourselves concocted as you wait for the hidden bombs to go off.

"That is somewhat ridiculous," you say, swinging the golf-course, "but not entirely out of the realm of possibilities. Has that ever happened at the department?"

"The intelligence is usually able to detect spies within a week of such mishaps but considering Junhui has managed to slip right out of your clutches like three whole times now, I don't know anymore."

"I mean who would be ready to risk it all over a couple million bucks like that?" you reply, "ruining your career and putting your own security in jeopardy."

"Well sometimes people do it for something more than just the money," Jihyo counters, flicking the sweat off her brow, "the thrill, ego…love of the game."

You scoff, "Well if we do have a mole, they better have a worthy reason for this because I'm not losing my promotion for not being able to catch a guy who calls himself The Shadow's Edge."

You swing one last time and the ball arcs across the green to land somewhere near the edge of a sand-trap.

Throughout the ride back, your phone doesn't stop pinging from all the messages your ex sends you. Jihyo has a time of her life reading them out to you from the passenger seat while your colleagues laugh, half-drunk, half-dazed from overeating the sugary honey-vanilla cake your coworker Mingyu had prepared for you.

"Oh he sent a teary-eyed cat sticker you guys!" She laughs, clutching her stomach and flashing your phone screen to the audience at the back.

"Seriously bro that's like his twenty-sixth text in the last one hour." Mingyu remarks, leaning forward to check out the profile picture of tree cartoon cats on top of each other—something that has been amusing him ever since he saw it.

Another ping as you roll your eyes.

"Show-stopper guys it's the six minutes long voice note!" Jihyo gleefully announces, garnering everyone's attention.

Her thumb hovers above the screen to press play but before she can, you snatch it away from her. The air within the car shifts from that of jest to confusion when you take an unfamiliar turn that leads to a different neighborhood than the one you had to drop your coworker Seungkwan in.

"Wha-"

"This is getting ridiculous," you announce, halting the car at a curb, "I'm going to confront him."

"He lives here?" Mingyu asks, ducking his head to catch a glimpse of the humble-looking exterior of the apartment building.

"Yeah in the area," you reply, unbuckling your seatbelt and then turn to Jihyo, "you take the car and drop everyone off, I'll call a cab for myself while returning."

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" She asks.

You give her a saccharine smile, "yeah I can handle that loser. I'm pretty sure he's all cooped up in his gaming chair jacking off to my pictures or crying."

"Or both?" Seungkwan suggests and you slam the door to their face before turning around to gather the flowers from the trunk.

"Happy birthday!" You hear your friends call out before the car drives off the vicinity.

You are surprised to see Wonwoo lying idly in your ex-boyfriend's drawing room when you press the pass-code and enter his apartment.

"Didn't he fire you?" you ask, prompting him to cock his head to a side to catch a glimpse of you beyond the screen of his laptop.

"Well, after your minions pulled the little stunt at the dock last month, it seems like Jun did need my help after all."

"Need help with what? Inserting mics in the flowers he sends to my workplace thinking that you guys won't get caught?"

"Did we?"

"No," you answer, purposefully dropping your handbag over his head, "and its all because I warned you guys beforehand about the change in the screening and surveillance tech at the agency."

"And we adapted pretty quick, don't you think?" It's not Wonwoo's low uninterested voice that answers this time around, but the sharp playful one of your ex-boyfriend.

Still in that knit-cardigan, still donning the cat-printed pajamas as he cleans what looks like some part of a revolver.

His eyes do a generous sweep over your body—smirking at the swell of your chest, hungrily taking in the tanned taut skin of your abdomen visible through your crop-top before finally settling on the flowers in your hand.

"Seriously Jun?" you huff, "sending tampered flowers at the agency? What if Jihyo caught it?"

"Then she would have taken them in as evidence and spent another six months trying to trace where they came from no avail." He says, blowing a puff of air through whatever he has been polishing, "isn't that how that inefficient department of yours functions anyways?"

"Inefficient? Yes. But they're not stupid." You scold, placing the flowers over the coffee-table and pouring yourself a cup of water, "you jeopardized yourself and me with this stupid stunt."

You fish out the clean-wipes that you always keep in your denim to rub your DNA off of the glass that you just drank from.

"But how else could I have eavesdropped on you spreading lies about me to your coworkers?" Jun comes around behind you, looping his arms over your waist. His lips catch your earlobe with a gentle kiss before he pulls it between his teeth just enough for a shiver to run through your body. "70-30 rent split, huh?"

Wonwoo clears his throat from behind your intertwined bodies, "you know its no use for you to wipe your DNA off the glass if you're going to let him fuck you in the apartment…I guess you're aware that would leave more than just DNA behind."

You roll your eyes at his crassness, this is why you never liked Wonwoo to begin with and wanted him gone from Jun's team.

But when has Jun ever listened to you? Cause if he did, wouldn't you be in a normal relationship like literally everyone else?

But to your surprise, Jun's hold over you tightens as he slowly, menacingly fixes Wonwoo with a look that is enough for anyone to discern as a silent 'Shut up before I make you regret this.'

Wonwoo blinks twice before jolting up, silently closing his laptop and tucking it under his arm—understanding his cue to leave. But then he hitches and quickly grabs the bouquet that you have just put down. "I…uh, I guess you wouldn't want a mic-ed up object here while you guys…y'know? Unless you are into that and want me to—"

"Leave, Jeon." you command and with the flowers in one hand and his laptop in the other, he does.

You tremble at the warm, wet sensation when Jun licks at the skin of your neck. "So where were we…yeah, the 70-30 split?"

"I did cover your rent twice, asshole."

"Well it was because you always insisted on jumping my bones whenever you could and it made me lose out on all the shifts I could have taken." He says, spinning you around and pressing you against the wall before trapping you with his body. "If we really think about it, it's you who pushed me to this profession…because you just couldn't stop fucking me and I needed to earn somehow."

Your hands trail up over his cardigan until your fingers hook deep over his shoulders.

"This is exactly why I broke up with you." You mumble, "you're so manipulative…I guess I dodged a bullet."

"But you still choose to sleep with the gun."

And with that, his mouth crashes down on yours. Hot, open, hungry. He kisses you over and over again until your mouth limps open and when it does, he immediately seizes the opportunity to shove his tongue in and taste you real deep and real good.

"Fucking missed you," he grunts, peppering your jaw and neck with bites and kisses while you clutch onto his hair, trying to station your senses. "Delicious, aren't you?"

He pinches your nipples one moment before groping your ass the very next and your head swims with how he can be everywhere at all times all over your body. You fist at the fabric of his shirt, shoving his cardigan away while he unbuttons your denims like they have personally done him wrong. Once the fabric pools on the ground, you have barely any time to react before he's hoisting you up and throwing you on the couch.

You push yourself up on your elbows when he hovers above you, desperate to feel him again and he buries his hand in your head to support you as he makes out with you, even more ferociously than before. You moan a little in pain when he lands a particularly harsh bite on your mouth before sucking on it.

"Don't bite me you brute!" you scold, "it'll leave a bruise."

Now it would be a complete lie to say that Jun and you never indulge in wilder, hotter side of things. But such passion, you know, is only reserved for special occasions. In this case, your birthday.

Which reminds you, shouldn't you be the one in command today?

He is focused nibbling on a particularly sensitive spot right above your lacy bra when you push him until he's sprawled half up, legs spread on the couch. He helps you by taking his t-shirt off and you begin peppering little kisses, making sure to leave bruises of your own—those from your lipstick and your teeth—all over his chest.

And then, just when his grin begins to deepen at the thought that you might just trail your kisses down to where he'd love to see you, you surprise him by turning around to sit on his lap with your back facing him.

"Wanted to try something new," you announce seductively, kissing the tip of his nose as he stares at you wide eyed.

Two of your fingers slither down to take your panties off, slowly, sensually, while keeping your eyes locked at him with a silent challenge. He obeys your demand so fast that its funny as he tries balancing you on his lap while undoing his pajamas to get himself free.

You laugh regardless of the hollow feeling that continues to weigh down on your gut—he still hasn't wished you a happy birthday. In a card and through his theatrics, sure. But not in a way that would matter.

His teeth sink in the curve of your shoulder when he finally settles you down on his cock and despite his constant slew of 'Missed you's, you feel relieved that you had snatched your heart back from him ages ago.

One of your arm loops behind to clutch on his neck while the other holds onto his freakishly big palm as you begin to move in sync with him on his lap. Your eyes roll and your mouth hangs limp as he stretches you until the ache settles into a familiar pleasure. No matter how many times you fuck Junhui, you can never adjust to the feeling of him digging deep in your guts.

Slow, deliberate thrusts as his cock drags through your spent, slippery cunt make you shiver like you're left out cold and naked in a snow-storm. Exhausted whines begin leaving your lips when you realize how hard it for you to maintain a good form in this position. But, on point to your character, you do not even think about giving up or turning around to beg him to take charge. You plant your feet harder on the ground and relax your hips, trying to maintain some sanity.

He drops his head to your shoulder in a groan, sweat slicked chest sliding against your back.

"Always so fucking warm," he babbles, "always sucking me in…I thought you'd be tired of the same dick by now."

His fingers come down to stroke your nub while you ride him.

"How can I get tired of you when you play with my pussy like that?" You retort, nuzzling your nose under his jaw.

Your eyes flutter open, drinking the sight of his curls sticking to his temples, lips swollen red from all that brutal making out, chest heaving—and it involuntarily makes you clench hard.

"Fuck don't do that!" he warns at the impact, "you're gonna make me come."

"Well that's the point." you pant, doing your best to clench him harder this time around.

Your nails begin digging deep into his forearms, right by the scar he had gotten last year, and you grind harder when you taste the buildup of your release in every inch of your oversensitive body. Junhui can't help but obey your body's commands when you come. In tandem, his thrusts start to falter, getting sloppier, louder, wetter. He kisses you hard before dragging his lips over to your cheek, smudging your lipstick all over it as he goes.

You gasp when he joins you in the throes of your pleasure, pulling out and aggressively stroking his length until hot ropes of his semen land all over your lower abdomen and slick mound, coating your skin with himself.

You slink back into his body, spent and sweaty and so satisfied. You pat his cheek when he asks you if you're fine, not knowing if that question of his emerges out of a place of genuine concern or mockery as he watches you lie unguarded over himself knowing full well the edge you have been treading upon is that of knife owned by him.

"Don't you ever send a bugged device to me again Junhui," you whisper, when he begins to relax behind you, "you have no idea how easily I can bring you down and walk away from this without a scratch."

You feel him go taut under you, but he tries to play it cool—like he always did—by folding his arms behind his head, his eyes sporting a playful glaze of confidence and a 'You sure about that?' look.

"If you wanted to, you would have done that by now baby." he says, "so tell me, why haven't you thrown me behind the bars yet?"

Your gaze flicks down to the mess in his lap, the pool of sticky slick, and back to his eyes. "Do you wanna know?"

"Do I wanna know?" he repeats annoyingly, before recapturing your lips and letting his fingers travel down back to your heat as your thighs part on their own like they always do.

permanent tags:

@mellowamour @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits @J3nnch3ls3a @princessjazzyjazz @livelaughloveseventeen

@sousydive @izzyy-recs @livmarauder @vwintershire @cherrymayz

@novalpha @honglynights @eskoupe

VALENTINES TAGLIST FORM

MASTERLIST

Smut warnings - This is only the first half (12k) of the story and there is no smut in it yet. Warnings will be added for the second half!

The End: 27th December 2024 

"Careful!" 

You quickly swerved to the side of the road, the car screeching to a stop as the honking truck zoomed past you.

Fuck. Gripping the steering wheel tight, you let out a sigh of relief, your wandering thoughts returning to the present. That was close. 

The man beside you mumbled something under his breath as he unbuckled his seatbelt before alighting the car and opened your door, wordlessly asking you to get out.

You complied, allowing him to take over your role as the driver and quietly slid in the passenger seat.

Adjusting the mirror he glanced up and down the snow clad road before driving off into the darkness. Again, without saying a word. 

That's how things had been between the two of you for a while now. Silent. 

Some might say that after nearly 10 years of being together, the two of you didn't need words to communicate anymore, you just understood each other so well. But only you knew the reality - there was nothing left to say. Everything was at the edge of falling apart. 

You glanced down at your hands, fingers fidgeting. Yes it was cold but it was the emptiness that bothered you. 

Your boyfriend shot you a look before his hand hovered over the controls of the car. 

"Are you feeling cold?" 

See, he didn't understand. He never seemed to understand. And you were tired of explaining but a tiny voice in your head said to try just once more. 

"My mum was asking why there's no ring yet?" Caressing the fingers of your left hand, you looked up, far off at the skies where the morning sun still hadn't made its way up. 

“And what did you say?” 

You turned to him, not hiding the incredulous expression donning your face, “What am I supposed to say Jun?” He looked straight ahead, eyes more focused on the road than required. “How does one answer a question like this?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed with his gulp. “That....we’re not ready?” 

“And looking at us, who will buy that?” 

Jun kept quiet again, perhaps because he knew you were right.

The two of you had been together for the majority of your lives which meant your families, friends, colleagues all were a consistent witness of your relationship. Even over the last week, when you were spending Christmas with your family at the ski cabin, your sister wouldn’t stop talking about how you two were perfect for one another. She didn’t know that behind closed doors, in the privacy of your room, the two of you slept with your backs facing each other.

Jun sighed, noticing you were getting lost in your thoughts again. “Why do we have to justify ourselves to anyone anyways Y/n? This is our life-” 

“You’re right, there’s no need to justify anything to anyone. But you can tell me why, right?” You half turned towards him, leaning against the car door. “You and I can talk about why we’re nearing our thirties and still haven’t made any decision about getting married?” 

“Jesus, twenty five is not considered thirties Y/n." He rolled his eyes exasperated. "Besides, what does age have to do with marriage? Getting married should be something that we decide because we want to spend our lives with each other.”

You blinked at him. “Then do you not want to spend your life with-”

“I did not say that.” He glanced at you before quickly looking back at the road. “Of course, I do. Baby, you and I live together, we do everything together, we are as good as married-”

“So then a wedding would just be a formality right-”

“No, it would be a show!” You flinched a little as he raised his voice, annoyed. “It would be to show the world something, to prove to others that we are committed and will last through it all, as though signing a few documents is a guarantee of that.”

“Marriage isn’t just about that Jun. Do you have any idea how many things will become easier - buying a house, getting loans, so many logistics-”

He scoffed, shaking his head slowly. “That’s what marriage is to you? A practical, logical, legal binding?” 

Biting your lower lip you let out a deep breath. “If you think it should mean much more or that it should be made purely on emotions then what’s stopping you? Or do you not love me anymore-”

“Why would you say that?” He groaned, like he was tired of this conversation. “I do love you, more than anything. Which is why I want you to be able to focus on yourself without taking the burden of a marriage. I want you to fulfill all the dreams you have for your career, for your professional growth-”

“Jun, I can do all of that while being married too-”

“Marriage changes people! It changes priorities, it changes expectations-”

“So that’s what you’re afraid of? Expectations? Because I expect you to be a bit more responsible? To get your act together-”

“It won’t stop at that will it?” He sighed. “This is all our life is going to be - First it’ll be about dividing household chores, who’ll do dishes, who’ll take out the trash. Next it’ll be about finding the perfect house and having children-” 

“We’ve talked about this and you said you didn’t have a problem with having children Jun.” You snapped at him, triggered at his words. “I’m not getting any younger here-”

“And I’ve not grown up!” He slammed the wheel with his hand. “I do want to have kids someday but not now, not any time soon. I… I can barely look after myself, how am I going to look after a child? And if I’m incapable it will mean that you will have to carry the burden of it all - of raising the child, of me and of yourself and I don’t want that for you.”

You fell silent again, realising that the conversation was going just like it always did.

You would go on to insist that you were ready for whatever was to come and the time was right now, Jun would insist that he isn’t willing to let you take on so much and that marriage shouldn’t be about timing, it should be about wanting to be with each other. You would then claim he’s being too emotionally driven about this and he would claim that you were being too practical and the conversation would just be about the two of you justifying your point of views, reaching no conclusion. 

This is what happened every single time. This was what was going to happen again now. And frankly, you were tired of it. 

“When did we start wanting such different things?” You glanced at the road that disappeared into the darkness. The early morning light was not enough to illuminate the path ahead. “I thought…. we were perfect for each other, that we were meant to be. After nearly ten years, where did it all go wrong?”

You didn’t mean for it to sound hurtful, but Jun had always been the sensitive one.  

“Just because we’re not in the same frame of mind right now, doesn’t mean all the years we shared mean nothing.”

“But what does it mean?” You smiled sadly. “We aren’t growing, we aren’t able to help each other grow, what was the point of it all? Ten years and…. we achieved nothing.” 

It was like you were leaving arrow after arrow to pierce his heart - he knew you were the reasonable kind - always planning, always making lists, always marking milestones. Whatever you were saying now, had to be the result of a moment of frustration, not because you were questioning the love that you had for each other…. right? 

You weren’t regretting this, were you? 

He let out the breath he was holding. “Then maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.” 

Please say I’m wrong Y/n. Please say prove me wrong, please say we’re worth it. 

Although you were never really one to be driven by emotions, Jun always was. The one who never forgot anniversaries, the one who always tried to make every moment special, the one who always reminded you that you were not each other’s habits but each other’s love. Had things gone so far that the man who savoured every moment of being in love with you, thought it was better that you never met? 

“Is that what you really think?” You whispered, ignoring the feeling of something pricking the back of your eyes. 

Jun turned to you surprised. How could you even think that? Of course not-

“Careful!” 

Headlights beamed from right across, but this time, Jun’s quick swerve was not enough. 

As the car skidded wildly, with a sickening crunch it slammed into the side of the oncoming truck, the momentum sending it toppling over, rolling violently onto its roof with a screech of metal. As it came to a stop, the sun rose from above the clouds far away and steam rose from what was remaining of the crumpled vehicle. In the heavy stillness that followed, alongside the eerie whisper of the wind, streams of red mixed with the white of the snow. 

Your boyfriend’s hand extending towards you was the last thing you saw before everything went black. 

The Afterlife: 31st December 2024 

Pain. 

Unbearable pain. 

That's what was searing through his body, over and over again. Everywhere, in every inch…. Just pain. 

Perhaps because he hadn’t stopped running. 

Jun had been running in the forest for what seemed like forever. Where to? He had no idea. Where from? He didn’t know that either. 

All he knew was he was looking for something he had lost. Something clearly precious to him. Something he couldn’t live without. 

Yet ignorantly, he kept running. Until....

Jun.

Your voice echoed around him like a soft whisper. Finally stopping by the lake, he looked around, frantically trying to find you. 

It was then, across the frozen crystal clear waters he saw you - beautiful as ever, the only bright thing in the dark, daunting woods. 

He wanted to go to you, he wanted to be with you but the slippery ice didn’t let him take a step forward. 

Instead, you took a step back. 

Then another one. 

Then another. 

Jun continued to call out your name, trying to stop you from receding into the shadows but in vain. Slowly you disappeared into the darkness, the black of the woods engulfing you as Jun fell to his knees, the ice cracking under him. 

Shutting his eyes, he attempted to stop the pain but it only got worse. It was just pain, pain, pain. 

When he opened them, white flickering lights were strangely swaying above him. 

Blinking, Jun tried to see clearly but just then, the ice finally gave away, submerging him into the cold waters. 

As the icy waters of the lake dragged him down, Jun felt his eyes slowly shut again and your name was the last thing he remembered.

The Awakening: 27th January 2025 

The blur flickering light of the ceiling became clear as the rhythmic beeping of machines slowly pulled him from the depths of unconsciousness.

Head throbbing and body aching, an unsettling sense of disorientation washed over him, like he had been asleep for too long. Slowly raising himself on his elbows, Jun looked around, eyes finding the strange setting of a hospital room, the overwhelming smell of antiseptic finally hitting him. 

Shutting his eyes again, he tried to recollect what happened, how he ended up here……

“Y/n…” 

The argument. 

The crash.

The sight of your eyes fluttering shut as blood trickled down your face. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, looking at all the tubes and wires attached to him, holding him back. Without an ounce of care, he tugged them off, triggering the loud alarms of the machines but before his feet even touched the cold tile of the floor, the doors flung open and a handful of people donning impeccably white coats spilled in, looking worried.

“Sir, please don’t-”

“Where’s Y/n?”

“You need to calm down, you’re not ok-”

He grabbed the collar of the man before him. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Where is Y/n?”

“We…” The doctor looked terrified. “Who is Y/n?”

Annoyed, Jun tugged on his shirt harder. “The car crash, there was a woman with me in the car, in the passenger seat, where is she?” 

“What woman?” The man stuttered, looking at his team confused. “You were brought to our hospital alone.” 

Shocked, Jun loosened his grip, allowing the doctor to quickly move back, putting himself at an arm’s distance. 

Alone?

“That’s not possible….” He muttered. “She was with me, she should be here…” 

“The accident happened in the countryside so you were taken to the nearest emergency care but your injuries were too severe so they shifted you here, to the city hospital.” The doctor looked at him slightly hesitating. “Maybe there was a woman with you, but she wasn’t brought here. Either her condition wasn’t serious enough or she didn’t….”

Eyes narrowing, Jun looked at the shivering man before him. “She didn’t, what?”

“S-she didn’t make it-”

“How dare you?” He spoke between gritted teeth, charging towards the doctor, only to be quickly held back by the nurses around him. “How dare you even suggest something like that-”

“Mr. Junhui, I was only stating the possibility-”

“What you’re saying is not possible-”

“Sir please, your heart rate is getting erratic-”

“I don’t care, I need to find her-”

“You can’t leave.”

“Stop me if you can.” Jun pulled himself free from the grip of those around him, leaving for the door, glaring at the crowd challengingly. 

Only one of them dared to step forward - a woman, one not wearing a doctor’s coat, looking at him with sympathy rather than fear. 

“Sir please….” She whispered softly, slowly approaching him, ignoring the worried looks of those around her. “I understand your worry and I’m so sorry for this but you need to calm down…. I have no other choice.” 

Jun frowned as she neared, maintaining a strong, unavoidable eye contact, the contents of her hands completely missing his vision. Before he could understand what was happening, there was a prick in his arm, hands reaching out to him and the flickering light blurred again as his eyes shut. 

28th January 2025

“Let me go.” 

The events from about 24 hours ago had repeated again. 

The fluttering lights, the machines, the wires, the tubes, the doctors - everything happened in the same sequence except there was one difference this time. When Jun tried to pull on the wires and swing his legs off the bed, he found all four of his limbs restrained. 

“Please.” He whispered. “I need to find Y/n.”

“Sir, there really was no woman brought along with you.” The woman’s eyes reflected the same sympathy they had since the day he had been wheeled in. “We got your records from the emergency center you were taken to.” 

Pulling out a bunch of papers from a file, she placed it on his lap. “There was a woman with you but she was discharged from there within a week.”

“A-a week?” Jun stuttered, looking around. “How long has it been since the accident?” 

“Almost…” She looked at the papers thoughtfully. “Almost a month. You’ve been unconscious all this while, you sustained a traumatic injury to your-”

“What about Y/n?” 

Stepping up and reading through the papers, the doctor from earlier spoke with his expertise. “She had a severe injury on her head too but she gained consciousness about a week after the accident and she…. just left.” 

“Just left?” It felt as though something cold was just dumped on his head. “Just left me?” 

“Mr. Jun, we’re not sure what exactly happened but….” The woman looked at him uncertainly. “The last few weeks that you were here, no woman has come to visit you. Y/n hasn’t been around.” 

Jun let out a shaky breath, “She probably didn’t know I was here. She… she must be looking for me, she must be so worried. I should go to her-” 

“You’re not well enough to leave.” The doctor spoke from behind the woman, worried even though Jun’s movements were restrained. “I wouldn’t suggest-” 

“I don’t want your suggestion. I want you to open these-” He tugged on the belts. “-so I can go.” 

Everyone exchanged looks, shifting in their places.

“Open them!” 

“Again, I’m sorry Mr. Jun.” The woman approached him slowly, an injection clearly visible in her hand this time. “This is for your good.” 

Once again, everything became blur before it all went dark. 

31st January 2025

“She didn’t pick the call.” The woman without a coat, who’s name Jun learnt was Mira, walked up to him. “Again.” 

Sighing, Jun looked outside the window. The streets were busy - cars were going up and down, people were walking about, some laughing, some stressed. But everything was moving, everyone was moving. Only his life had come to a standstill. 

“Do you remember anyone else’s number?” 

Jun shook his head. “Who even memorises numbers these days? Everything is stored on my phone-”

“-which broke in the accident.” She finished for him. 

“I only remember my girlfriend’s number because she forced me to remember it in case of emergencies like these.” He chuckled softly, walking up to the wall with the pictures of the two of you stuck all over. He ran his fingers over the picture of you hugging him from behind, head resting on his shoulder. “She was always so well prepared, always a step ahead….. except now.”

When Jun woke up 3 days ago, Mira had been there to tell him you were nowhere to be found. She had looked for you at home, which had been abandoned for over a month, at the library where you often worked on your projects, at the stores where you preferred to shop, at the park where you jogged every morning. You were nowhere. 

Your family was nowhere to be seen either - the house was locked and the neighbours claimed they had gone somewhere overseas. There was no trace of you at all - it was like you had vanished into thin air, like you were just a mirage, a dream. 

“I wish I could help Jun.” Mira walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, looking around his apartment. “I’m sorry the only thing I could assist you with is getting you back home. But I had someone clean up the place so it should be more habitable now.” 

“Thank you Mira, for everything.” He muttered, slowly moving her arm away, tearing his eyes away from the photographs. “I’m sorry, I… I think I should….. shower, I smell like the hospital.” 

She nodded as Jun disappeared into the washroom, wordlessly asking her to leave. Grabbing her bag, she shot him one last sad look as she hesitatingly made her way out. 

Standing before the mirror, Jun sighed at his reflection - he had never seen himself look this lifeless. Wincing in pain, he removed his shirt slowly, pulling it over his head - almost healed gashes and wounds were littered all over his torso. 

The memory of an injured you flashed behind his shut eyes.

“Where are you Y/n?” He whispered, trying not to let his voice shake. “Come back to me.” 

Jun glanced at the small coffee shop across the road, one he had never seen before, the hanging sign board slowly swaying in the cold wind - Lonely Hearts Cafe. 

So many things had changed over the last month. He, who was the biggest homebody known to mankind, could not bear to stay in his house for another minute. Not where every inch of it was filled with the essence of you, where everything was a reminder of you. A part of him was relieved that there were pictures and traces of you were everywhere - that meant you were real, not a figment of his imagination…. but that also made your absence hurt more. 

He had spent the last few hours wandering the streets mindlessly, trying not to let everything outside the haven the two of you built together remind him of you too. 

But there you were, in your favourite pizza shop on the corner of the street, munching on a slice. Just as he approached, shocked and frantic, you disappeared, like you were never there. And then he saw you again, at the hairdressers this time, getting just the ends trimmed, like always. And then you were by the butchers, petting that little dog you adored. And then by the lake, glancing at the frozen waters, vanishing as usual when he approached to stand by you. Even though you weren’t really around, his eyes found the memories of you everywhere - it was like he didn’t know a life without you. 

There was no life without you.  

The cafe he was currently staring at was perhaps the only place that Jun knew he wouldn’t see you. It looked new, like a business that had just freshly found itself in this vicinity but something about it was also whimsical and fairytale-like, as though it was someone’s old dream came true. Jun had never been a coffee kinda guy - Chinese tea was usually his go-to beverage so it didn’t make sense why he felt this strange urge to go in. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t be haunted by your absence there.

At first, he took a step ahead, attempting to go towards it but he was unable to take another - he didn’t want to not see you. Even though it hurt, he’d rather see the memories of you everywhere than familiarise himself with a life without you. 

So shaking his head, he turned away, heading back home, going back to everything that reminded him of you when…… something caught his eye. 

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him again because there was no way…. 

Inching closer, ignoring the oncoming traffic and the screaming drivers, he crossed the road, standing right before the large glass windows of the shop. Slowly raising his hand, he wiped the condensation off the frosted glass, catching a clear sight of what was inside. 

You. 

There you were, walking about in a little checkered apron, placing cups of coffee on the table as you flashed your bright smile at those who were seated. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jun turned around, fists tightened painfully. You’ll disappear again, just like all those times before, you’ll disappear again, he was just imagining this, projecting his innermost desire. You weren’t really here….right? 

But the sound of your laughter told him he was wrong. Quickly turning back, he caught sight of you again, making your way to the counter, putting cash into a large glass jar on the wooden shelf. 

As though in a trance, Jun walked over to the door and pushed it open, eyes not leaving you as you laughed and scribbled something down on a notepad before walking to the tables with a bounce in your strut he had never seen before. 

Just as your name found itself on the tip of his tongue, you stopped your tracks and turned around, eyes finding him walking in, lips curling with a wide smile. 

“Hi sir, welcome to Lonely Hearts Cafe.” Clutching the notepad to your chest, you beamed at him. “Do you want to take a seat or get a drink to go?” 

“Y/n…” He whispered, barely able to hear himself, taking a small step ahead.

“Oh I almost forgot,” You softly smacked your head. “If you’re interested, we’re having a small valentines special event, for singles. Any two people who get the exact same drink will be paired to sit at the same table. It’s kind of a ‘if your tastes match, maybe you guys will too’ sort of concept?” 

Given he was staring at you with a vacant expression, you blinked at him like you weren’t quite sure if he understood. 

Jun didn’t understand. Why were you behaving like he was a stranger? Like you didn’t know him. 

Maybe…. this wasn’t you.

“So…” Tucking your loose fringes behind your ear, you tried searching his face for an answer. “What would you like?” 

Jun’s eyes flickered to the healing gash on your forehead, the night of the accident, flashing in his mind again. 

It was you. There was no doubt it was you. 

And so without a second thought, Jun took two big strides, pulling you towards him, wrapping his arms around you tightly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Excuse me?! Sir-”

“Where have you been?” He muttered, not realising you were struggling to break free from his grip. “I’ve been looking for you-”

“Get off me!” Using all your strength, you pushed him off you, causing the man to take a few staggering steps back, shocked. 

All heads in the cafe turned towards the two of you, a strange silence descending upon the room before hushed whispers broke out. Flashing a fake smile at everyone, you quickly grabbed Jun by his wrist, leading him out of the cafe, shutting the door behind you. 

“What the hell was that?” You glared at him. “Sir, I don’t know who you think you are, but that was unacceptable.” 

Jun blinked at you confused. “I thought….I thought-” 

“I don’t care what you thought.” You crossed your arms looking stern, all the warmth from earlier having left your being. “If I ever see you in my cafe again, I swear to god I will call the cops.”

“You…” Jun looked at you incredulously. “You’ll call the cops on me?” 

“Most definitely.” 

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Why would you call the cops on him? Were you mad at him about something?

Jun’s racked his mind, trying to think of the last conversation the two of you had. The night of the accident. He couldn’t remember all too well, but the image of you glancing at your empty ring finger flashed in his mind. 

“Is this about….getting married?” You frowned as Jun ran his hands through his hair. “If it really means this much to you then, fine, let’s get married. I just wanted it to be-”

“Married?” You looked at him like you couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Why on Earth would I marry you? I don’t even know you-”

“Jun!” 

At the sound of his name, Jun turned around, only to find himself being slammed into the familiar chest of a tall, lanky man. The fragrance of expensive perfume immediately told him who it was - His best friend Minghao. As Jun tried to break free from his friend’s untimely interruption, Minghao held him tight, whispering in his ear. 

“Don’t say a word.” 

“Mr. Xu.” You glanced at the intertwined figures of both men, eyebrows furrowed. “You know this man?” 

“Y/n.” Breaking free, Minghao threw his arm around Jun, flashing a hard smile. “This is Jun, he’s a dear friend. Sorry if he said anything or got out of line - he was just discharged from the hospital after a big accident, he’s a bit disoriented.” 

“Oh.” You looked at him up and down as though it all made sense and you were unable to decide whether to feel sympathetic or stand your ground. “Mr. Jun, I’m sorry you went through all that but whatever you did, that was not appropriate at all.” 

“Y/n what-”

“Yes of course.” Minghao squeezed Jun’s shoulder, shutting him up. “He won’t be troubling you again.” 

“If you really do need a cup of coffee, there are a lot more shops down the street that I’m sure will suit your taste.” You took a step back, reaching for the door again, expression unreadable. “Please don’t come back to me.” 

With that you pushed the door open and disappeared into the cafe allowing Minghao to finally let go of his friend who turned to him, beyond confused. 

“What…. What was that?” He pointed at you, waiting the tables again inside, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t exist. 

“Jun…” Minghao let out a shaky breath, looking carefully at his friend. “Let’s go home, I’ll explain everything.”

“No.” Shaking his head frantically, he reached for the door again. “I’m not going anywhere without Y/n.” 

Moving quickly, Minghao put himself in between, blocking the way. 

“Please.” He held his hand out. “Y/n, she…. she won’t come with you.”

Jun looked at him incredulously. “Why not?” 

“Because she doesn’t remember….” Minghao spoke slowly, watching his friend’s face carefully. “She doesn’t remember you.” 

The throbbing pain was back. 

Actually, it never left. The pain was always there, it was him who had suppressed it under everything else. But with the revelation of things, it became unhinged, freely coursing in his being, hurting everywhere. 

Minghao poured Jun another cup of tea as the two men sat at the dining table, the latter still clutching a photo of you, trying to make sense of all that he was told. 

“She….she doesn’t remember me at all?” He frowned, still confused. “Because of…. you?” 

“Because she doesn’t want to.” Minghao corrected his friend, yet again. “Jun, it was her choice to do the procedure.”

The procedure. 

Minghao had spoken all about it in great detail for the last half an hour. It all went over his head though, Jun didn’t register a single piece of the information thrown at him except one thing - the procedure was to remove memories. 

Yes apparently that was a thing. A new initiative by Minghao’s company - a simple medical procedure in which one could choose to erase their memories of a certain period of time. A process straight out of the sci-fi books - one so ridiculous, Jun would have never believed it if it weren’t coming out of his best friend's mouth. 

That his girlfriend had gotten all her memories of him wiped from her mind. 

“It makes no sense.” Jun shook his head. “Why would she want to forget me? Why would she choose to…”

Minghao looked at his friend staring at your photo sadly. He had always known Jun to be someone full of life - he was ambitious, passionate and always bursting with energy. But now he looked like the whole world had come crashing around him. 

“I’m sorry Jun.” Minghao could feel the guilt eating him on the inside. “All of it happened in my company, right under my nose but I had no idea Y/n had gotten it done till it was all over. Maybe if I had reached the clinic just a little earlier, I could have stopped them from injecting the serum-”

“No Hao, whether you could stop her or not, it won’t change the fact that Y/n wanted to….” Jun swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “She didn’t want to just leave me or walk away from this relationship, she wanted to erase its entire existence from her life. To pretend like it never happened. But why…”

“I wish I knew Jun.” Minghao shook his head softly. “All I know is that this choice mustn't have been easy for her - to forget you she had to have the last 10 years of her life removed. That’s how far she was willing to go to…”

Minghao's words rang in his ears. 

10 years….

Maybe it would have been better if the last ten years didn’t happen at all.

The night of the accident…. that's what he had said. 

Oh god, was that why you….

What had he done? 

“Jun?” Minghao snapped his fingers before his friend's face. “Where are you lost-”

“This was a mistake.” Jun shook his head. “This was all a horrible misunderstanding. I didn’t mean…”

“Mean what?” 

Jun couldn’t even recall why he had said that. It was like his brain was suppressing the stupidity from recurring. 

“I need to talk to her. I need to fix this.”

“How exactly-”

“I’ll marry her, right this instant if that’s what it takes-”

“Jun no-”

“Hao, yes.” He turned to his friend, determined. “I can fix it. I can talk to her and sort this out. Just help me put her memories back again-”

“That’s not-”

“-and I’ll make her see how much I love her-” 

“Jun, that's not possible.” Minghao raised his voice, interrupting his friend’s rant. “Dealing with memories isn’t child’s play. It's one thing to remove them, but to restore them? That’s impossible.”

It felt like everything around was shattering. “You mean she won't ever….”

Minghao shook his head, delivering the final blow. “She won't… ever.” 

Jun stared at the photo in his hand. 

Minghao, who had insisted on staying the night, had hit the shower, his tea sitting cold in its cup. 

Cold draft was blowing in through the open kitchen window. The tips of his fingers were frozen but they were not colder than the thing wrapping around his heart, eating it away.  

Minghao’s last words as he was lingering by the door rang in his ears. 

“Y/n chose to forget you Jun, she chose to restart her life. Maybe it’s best that you do too.” 

Restart his life? Pretend like you didn’t exist and move on? How on Earth was he supposed to do that? 

He glanced at the room around him - at the pictures of you on the walls, at the vase you brought back from your trip to spain, at the coasters you always made sure to use, at the rug you specifically had made to match the couch, at every single thing in his life that was a testament of you. How was he supposed to forget all of it? 

But the truth was, you had forgotten it all. You had walked out of his life, your home and everything the two of you had built together over the last 10 years. None of this around him meant anything to you anymore. 

You had built a new world for yourself, one which Jun had reached, lost in his thoughts. The cafe, the coffee, the customers, the infectious smile on your face, the little bounce in strut, the way your hair fell over your shoulder as you’d turn - you had built something that had no trace of him but more importantly, you looked so happy. Jun couldn’t remember the last time he saw you smile this wide, or even laugh at something stupid. The winter was harsh on the city outside but everything around you seemed so warm. 

Maybe Minghao was right. Maybe it was best that he forgot it all too. 

1st February 2025 

“Where do I put this?” 

Jun turned to Mira who was holding up a bunch of books in her arms. 

“They're all cookbooks, but I'm not sure whether to put it in the box with her law books or in the one with magazines.”

“We can just leave these out.” Taking them from here, Jun walked into the kitchen. “We don't have to put away everything.” 

Sighing Mira followed him. “Jun, boss said everything. Everything that belongs to her, everything that reminds you of her.” 

Jun stared at the books in his hands. Two hours ago, he was sprawled on the couch half asleep, your scarf wrapped around his hand, a frame with your photo in his arms. Much to his annoyance, the consistent ringing of the bell forced him to drag himself to the door and standing on the other side was Mira. 

Jun didn't think he would ever have any reason to see her again but apparently, Mira wasn't just a random hospital staff who helped him - she was in fact Minghao's employee, a psychiatrist who worked in his Memory Wipe project and was asked by him to look after Jun till he came around, as a favour. That day when she left the apartment, she had immediately told Minghao about all that happened - that's how he found his friend declaring he was ready to marry you in front of the coffee shop. Mira though, had no idea about you or that you had your memories wiped - she only found out when Minghao, who left early in the morning for a meeting, sent her over to Jun’s house with a new phone and a contract. A contract to obliterate the last 10 years of his memories. 

“You want me to erase her existence?” Jun furiously muttered into the phone. “How did you even think-” 

“Will you be able to survive with her memories?” Even though he couldn't see his face, Jun knew Minghao was donning a sorry expression. “It'll kill slowly you, Jun. Not being able to be with her, not being able to forget her, not being able to move on. If I had to name something worse than hell, this is it.”

For long after the call ended, Jun stared at the contact papers on the coffee table, his mind disturbed. As much as he didn't want to distance himself from you, could he really live with the fact that you'll never be his again? It had been barely 2 days since he was awake and he was already at the verge of losing his mind. Maybe it was better he too forgot it all. 

But it also pained him to think that if both of you forgot everything, then there was no one who truly knew the kind of pure and unwavering love the two of you shared over the last ten years. At least for the sake of those, he had to stay strong, he had to live with this. But could he really? 

And it was thoughts like this that had him rooted to his chair for over an hour. 

“You don't have to decide now.” Mira interrupted his cycle of thought, tired of watching his unmoving figure. “The procedure is simple. I already have the 10 year formula ready in your name. All you have to do is just come by the centre when you're ready - one injection and it'll be done.” 

As much as Jun was grateful for the time, there was one thing Minghao wanted him to do immediately - clear the apartment of anything and everything that belonged to you. That's what the two of them were in the middle of right now as Mira glanced at the cookbooks in his hands. 

“Jun, whether or not you want to get the Memory Wipe, you need to get rid of all these things. You won't ever move on otherwise-” 

“They're cookbooks.” Jun rolled his eyes, placing them on the shelf of the kitchen. “Has it not occurred to you that I might use these myself?”

Mira stared at him like she didn't believe him but Jun ignored her. There was no way he was going to get rid of every last bit of you. What would be left of him then? 

All your clothes were packed and stashed in the store room, all the pictures of the two of you were taken down, your books, your things, everything was sealed and locked away. Except a few that Jun refused to let go - the lavender cream you used every night, the harmonica you loved to play, the cookbooks you swore would make you a better chef than him. Jun didn't have the heart to walk away from all of it just yet. 

Giving up, Mira began walking away. “I'm going to put her shoes away.” 

“Wait.” Aligning the books hurriedly, Jun quickly ran over to the closet. “Maybe just leave those heels.” 

Mira looked exasperated. “What use could you possibly have of women's footwear?”

Nothing. Jun just loved those black stilettos you wore to work - the sound of them against the wooden flooring was what told him you were home everyday. 

“Jun, this whole thing isn't just about you getting over Y/n. If you plan to do the Memory Wipe, you especially need to do this” Mira stood up sighing. “Imagine losing 10 years of your life and coming home and finding a woman's things all over. You won't remember her, you won't know what happened, you won't have any answers, it'll drive you mad. Please, listen to me, you need to get rid of it all.”

Jun turned away, peeling his eyes from the closet as Mira put the last of your footwear in the boxes, looking at him sadly. 

“How did Minghao even design this procedure?” Jun glanced at the contact papers fluttering on the table. “I knew he was indulging in some biomedical R&D, I had no idea it was this intense.” 

Mira chuckled. “Biomedical R&D barely covers the scope of what he does. Let's just say the Xu enterprises dabble in a lot of things and the Memory Wipe is their latest project. Actually its just undergoing it's last clinical trial - it’s not even advertised or available for the public.” 

“How did Y/n get to know about it then?” Jun frowned like it didn't make sense. “Minghao never talks business with me and I'm sure he's never mentioned it to her either. Then…”

“There were a bunch of lawyers involved in the legal aspects of the clinical trials.” Mira confessed, shrugging. “Maybe she heard from someone in the fraternity.” 

“Funny.” Jun smiled sadly. “Y/n has never been one for office gossip. She just liked to get her work done and head straight back home. It was always about efficiency and not wasting time.”

Mira smiled. “That's an admirable work ethic.” 

“Right? I wish I had that.” Jun glanced out of the window at the snow tumbling out of the sky. “Maybe she wouldn't have had to work so hard if I did.”

“What do you mean?” 

Jun glanced at Mira who had joined him, before continuing to stare out. 

“Y/n always believed in working hard. For her, a job was simply a means to make money. She didn't associate it with dreams or passion, it was just… survival? Me on the other hand, ever since I was a child, all I wanted to do was be an actor. I spent the last, god knows how many years, chasing that dream, picturing myself before the cameras, walking down red carpets. If I look back at my life, all I see are auditions and rejections and more rejections.” 

“It's not wrong to want to live your dream.” 

“No it's not but I don't know how right it is to live with your head in the clouds. Y/n always had her feet on the ground - that was the only reason we survived through it all.” 

“So your story is the ‘opposites attract’ kind?” 

“I guess.” Jun laughed softly. “We were polar opposites actually. She hates talking, I'm always chatting away. She's a mess, I'm neat. She hates doing household chores, I love doing them. Even in food, she loves sweet things, I like them spicy. Our preferences in anything, be it music or movies or where to go or what to wear, they were always so different but I guess….that's what made things fun. Sometimes she'd adjust for me, sometimes me for her, and though things weren't going our way, we were happy because we were making each other happy.” 

“Wow.” Mira let out a breath. “I always thought being in love with someone entirely from me would be difficult to handle.”

“If I'm being honest, there were times it did get difficult.” Jun wiped the condensation off the window with his hand, catching sight of your cafe across the street. “Y/n lived life like it was a checklist. Graduating high school at 18, then law school at 23, first job at 24, marriage at 25, three kids by the time she's 30, retired by 55, starting an organic farm business at 57 and then dying whenever - she had her whole life planned. Me on the other hand, I… live in the moment, go where life takes me. Everything around us is so uncertain, think about the accident”

Jun’s voice shook as fragments of it flashed in his head.

“We could have died, life as we know could have ended, so what's the point in deciding everything so prematurely? I take life by the day, I enjoy every moment - one day I'm doing martial arts classes for kids, one day I'm teaching old women some Chinese dishes, one day I'm doing a modelling contract. End of the day, I still make money to feed myself and pay my bills, I just don't go to bed having the next 10 years of my life planned and somehow….. I think that's what drove us apart. That's why she…” Jun let out a deep breath. “That's why she decided to start afresh. Her practicality and my emotional disposition just… didn't find any middle ground.” 

Mira softly placed her hand on Jun's shoulder, caressing it with her thumb. Clearing his throat, he took a step back, tearing his eyes away from the coffee house. 

“We should probably continue with the packing.” 

Mira nodded as she followed him, the two of them sorting things silently this time. Normally Jun wouldn't ever let go of a chance to talk about you, but now, given he had to speak about you in past tense, Jun couldn't bring himself to talk about you over and over again. Minghao was right, it was all just getting harder and harder.

And so, the next few hours were navigated in mostly silence and occasional questions. By the time the sun had begun to set, the two of them were done - all of your things had been neatly packed and put in the store room, the door locked, keys stashed in Mira's pocket for safe keeping. A couple of things had been piled by the door to be thrown out, Jun's take out dinner had arrived and Mira was lingering by the door, ready to leave. Yet the contract papers were sitting on the table, like an elephant in the room. Unable to hold herself back anymore, Mira sighed. 

“Jun, I know Minghao left the choice to you but as a professional and as someone who cares about you, I think it's best you…. " She gulped. "sign the contract. I've seen some couples after the clinical trials, trust me, you don't want to live this weight-” 

“Mira,” Jun’s voice left him between gritted teeth. “It's been barely 2 days since I got to know about what Y/n did. I haven't even decided if I am to be sad or angry or stay or move on.” He shut his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “The only reason I agreed to keep her things away or allowed someone else to even touch them was because one, I trust Minghao more than anything and two, if I really want to, I know I'm strong enough to break the door of that storeroom and get everything back. But what you're asking of me, is a permanent change. Please just…. Let me think things through at my pace.” 

Mira blinked at him, her hand on the handle of the door, unmoving. 

“Thank you for your help yet again Mira, but I think it's time you go.” 

And before the apology even left her mouth as she stepped out, Jun shut the door behind her, leaning against it.  

He just needed some time. That’s all.

Or at least that's what he thought but in just a few hours, he realised he didn't. 

Yesterday was perhaps bearable because Minghao, although he didn't speak much, was there in the house. Today though, heating up his food all alone, sitting at the table by himself, walking around his house in the dimness of the night lights, staring at the empty walls and empty shelves - it was all too much. Jun couldn't bring himself to go another day like this, forget the rest of his life. 

Taking a deep breath he sat on the couch, pulling the papers towards himself, then pen in his hand shaking. 

He wasn't strong enough for this - he couldn't go on without you. 

Finally making up his mind, he gripped the pen tight and signed the contract. There was no other way. 

But the universe said otherwise. 

If Jun had just turned around and gone to his room, things would've gone down very differently. Maybe if he decided to sleep instead of clearing the dishes and throwing the trash, he would've never thought about clearing all the boxes that Mira left by the door. Maybe then he wouldn't have come across that box. 

At first glance when he opened it, it seemed like odd bits of trash - there were pieces of paper, little trinkets, bills and what not. He was just about to throw it when his eye caught the familiar logo on one of the bills - the Lovers Cavern. The first Michelin star restaurant that Jun had taken you to on a date. Frowning, he ran his fingers through the contents of the box, recognising them one by one. Carnival and movie tickets, the crinkled wrapper of the ice cream he loves, the magnets from your first road trip together, the dried corsage from your first dance together…. everything was a thoughtful piece of the time the two of you spent together. 

You had been carefully saving them over the last 10 years. 

Jun stared at it wordlessly, lost in thought. He had never taken you as one for sentimentality. Hell you didn't even like taking photos or recording videos of your time together, he was always the one who had to pull you in, forcing you to smile. He had always assumed those small moments meant nothing to you but this box told him a different story - you had been treasuring them all these years in your own way. This relationship wasn’t just part of a checklist, you had been emotionally invested in it since the beginning, since 10 years. 

Jun could only imagine how much his words must have hurt you that day…. Clearly enough to make you take such a big step. You didn't walk away because you wanted to. You walked away because of him. His words made you…. it was his fault. 

Walking over to the window, Jun glanced at your cafe, watching as you stepped out with a couple of bags in your hands, turning off the lights and locking the door. As you balanced your things in your hands, waving for a cab, Jun slowly realised….. Minghao was wrong. 

His only options weren't to either live with your memories alone or forget you and move on. There was a third one. One that Jun was about to choose. 

He was going to get you back. He had done it once and he could do it again. 

Jun was going to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

2nd February 2025 

Rubbing the back of your sore neck, you sat down at the benches outside the cafe, enjoying the cold. 

One might think you were stupid for sitting in the snow clad street in just a small dress and an apron but the heat of the coffee was getting unbearable. Sipping on your own coffee, you glanced at the hustle and bustle down the street. Everyone looked so busy, like they were navigating life with a purpose. This coffee shop had always been your purpose, the dream you had been living for almost a month now yet something felt unfulfilled. Something was missing. Before you could figure out what, a voice broke you out of your reverie. 

“Is the same drink, same table offer still going on?” 

Raising your head, you let your eyes find the man who interrupted the few minutes of your me-time.

“Mr. Wen Junhui.” You cleared your throat, letting the annoyance show on your face. “I believe I had asked you not to enter my shop?”

“You did.” Jun nodded, sitting down beside you, a few feet away. “And I did not enter your shop - technically I'm outside.” 

You glared at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Well since you're such an ardent follower of what I say, you shouldn't be sitting with me either because-”

“Because I need to have the same drink as you, right?” Jun cocked his head at you, raising his cup. “And I do.” 

“There's no way.” You chuckled, taking a sip. “I can assure you, you don't.” 

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” Jun took a sip, smiling to himself because he knew he was not wrong. No one knew you better than him. “But I think that's a caramel macchiato with hazelnut cream.”

Lips slightly parted in surprise, you stared at him. 

“M-maybe.” You muttered, taking a sip yourself. “But I still don’t think it’s the exact same-”

“Yeah, it might not be exact.” Jun shrugged nonchalantly. “Not like I’m lactose intolerant or anything but I felt like taking it with oat milk today.” 

The cup nearly slipped from your hand. You were lactose intolerant. You always took your coffee with oat milk. 

Choosing not to tell him that, you simply continued to stare at the busy crowd. Jun let out an inward sigh of relief knowing he had earned the place to sit next to you. 

“Y/n…” Clearing his throat, he corrected himself. Baby steps Jun. “Ms. Y/n I uh actually wanted to apologise about that day.”

You turned to him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. 

“I had actually just gotten out of the hospital that day and I don’t think the anesthesia wore off completely so I was apparently just going around and…. proposing marriage to various women.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you didn’t believe him. 

“It’s true, I spent the whole day today saying sorry to every business owner on this street…. And drinking the same coffee order as them. I think I’m going to have a tough time in the bathroom tomorrow….” 

Scoffing, you turned away from him and if Jun didn’t know you better, he wouldn’t have known you were hiding a tiny smile. 

“Again I’m really Ms. Y/n, I wish that didn’t happen and that we could have a fresh start. I was really looking forward to having coffee here.” 

Letting out a deep resigned breath, you stood up, chugging the last of your drink. Tossing the cup in the bin, you turned to him, clasping your hands before you politely, giving him a small smile. 

“Mr. Wen Junhui, welcome to Lonely Hearts cafe. We’re a small business that opened just a month ago so we’ve got some really good deals on coffee and cake. We even have a Valentine’s day event - you get to share a table with the person who has the same drink as you. I hope we see you around.” 

Returning your smile, Jun got up, giving a small shrug. “That Valentine’s day event is interesting - I would love to… be seen around.” He chuckled, holding his hand out. “It’s nice knowing you Ms. Y/n.” 

Glancing at his outstretched hand, you slowly took it, wrapping your fingers around it. Somehow on the cold winter day, there was a strange warmth radiating between the two of you. 

“It’s nice getting to know you too Mr. Jun.” 

3rd February 2025 

“You know, you don’t look like someone who enjoys coffee.” 

Jun turned at the sound of your voice, finding you right beside the door he just walked in. You had a tray in your hands and an amused smile on your face. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“The face you made yesterday?” You laughed as you walked in, Jun following behind you. “I’ve never seen someone look so disgusted while drinking coffee.” 

Jun suppressed a smile as he leaned against the counter. “Oh so you were watching me.” 

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards the machines. “I happened to see.” 

“The one yesterday was just too sweet.” He shuddered, recalling the taste. “My taste buds were dying.” 

“Well obviously it was sweet, it’s caramel.” You pulled out a piece of cake, putting it on the counter as a waitress walked over, taking it. “Did you expect it to taste like Malatang?” 

Oh Jun would love some Malatang right now. 

“No, but something told me your coffee would taste much better than that one.” 

You chuckled, pulling up a cup. “Is that going to be your order for today?’ 

“Nope.” Jun shook his head. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” 

“What I’m having?” You frowned, confused. 

“How else will I be able to share a table with you?” 

Jun could tell you were holding back a smile. “And why would you want to do that?” 

“I thought coffee with a side of conversation would be nice.” 

“I’m working.” 

“I’ll wait.”

“I only get off at 5.” 

“I’ll wait.” 

“And then I need to head straight home.” 

“I just need 10 minutes.” 

You raised your eyebrows like you were trying to figure out what his intentions were. Meanwhile, he looked at you determined, like he’ll wait for a lifetime, if that’s what it took. Sighing you pulled out a piece of cake and set it before him. Then changing your mind, you quickly swapped it for a couple of lemon biscuits and slid it to him. 

“They’re on the house.” 

And with that you tightened your apron and walked away, leaving Jun staring at his favourite biscuits on the counter. 

“Do you need any help?” 

You looked up from the table you were cleaning at Jun who was still here, his coat discarded, cheeks flushed red and eyes tired. 

“I have staff Mr. Jun.”

“She left.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Told me to inform you.” 

“Huh.” You frowned. “She always stays till I close for the extra ten I hand her every day.” 

Jun remained silent, looking away.

“You paid her.” 

“I was just helping her go home fast.”

Sighing, you straightened yourself, crossing your arms. “Okay what is it, what do you want?” 

“I told you, a conversation.”

“Well that’s what we’re having right?” 

“Right…” Jun cleared his throat, unsure how to frame his sentences while you continued to look at him expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, you rolled your eyes and continued cleaning up. 

“I was thinking…” You held out the tray, making him quickly free his hands to hold it as you began stacking plates and cutlery on it. “You’re a woman.”

“Are you doubting it?” Frowning, you walked over to the trash can, Jun right behind, struggling to balance everything. 

“No! I mean I wasn’t thinking if you were a woman, more like I was thinking since you’re a woman and I’m a man….” 

Jun trailed off completely lost about where he was going with this till you relieved him of the weight in his arms, placing the tray in the sink. 

“Mr. Jun,” You untied your apron, tucking it on the rod of the drawer. “You only have 10 minutes.” 

“Okay okay.” Jun recomposed himself, watching you pack up your things for the night.  Looks like he just had to get straight to the point. “Yes I have 10 minutes right now, but my worry is, we only have 10 days.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It's Valentine's in 10 days….” Jun muttered below his breath trying to gauge your reaction. 

“Are you…” You narrowed your eyes at him unsure. “Is this your way of asking me out?” 

“No god,” Jun groaned, running his hands through his hair. “I swear I planned it so much better in my head-”

“Don’t.” 

And with that one word, you crushed everything. All the hope, the longing, the yearning.  

“Look Mr. Jun, normally I wouldn't go into the details but I don't want you to think I'm blowing you off but about a month ago, I got a Memory Wipe. I lost the last ten years of my life and I’m still trying to come to terms with how much things have changed.... I’m just not ready for any kind of commitment.”

“But….” Jun blinked at you confused. “You smiled…”

“Sorry?” 

“Yesterday and today…. I thought, you might also…” 

“Mr. Jun.” You sighed, donning your jacket, zipping up. “You’re a good looking man, you’re sweet and I can tell you’d be a good conversation but I didn’t mean for it to be more than that. I just assumed it would be some harmless flirting.” 

“I don’t want it to just be harmless flirting.” Jun shook his head. “I want something more. I like you and I want to-” 

“Like me, why?” You looked at him confused, grabbing your bags. “We’ve barely spoken more than 5 sentences to each other.”

We’ve been in love for more than 10 years Y/n. 

“I can’t explain it, it just…. feels right.” 

“Well I can’t function based on your whims and feelings, can I?” 

Jun stood frozen as you turned off the lights and opened the door, stepping out. Grabbing his jacket he followed you, watching you lost in thought as you locked the door before you turned to him. 

“Look, you seem like a nice guy and I’m sure you’ll find someone. It just can’t be me, I’m not in the space for it.” Adjusting the bags in your hands, you shot him an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry Mr. Jun.”

And with that you walked away, your figure moving further and getting smaller as cold winds returned to the city. For some stupid reason, Jun hadn’t anticipated this - he didn’t think about the possibility of you rejecting his advances. He just assumed the two of you would fall into the comfortable pattern of dating each other and everything would slowly return to normal. Your disappearing self was telling him otherwise….

No. 

Jun couldn’t allow this to happen. He couldn’t lose this chance.

“Wait!” Pulling his jacket over his shivering body, he ran to you, half tripping on the way. “Wait, please.” 

And you did, looking at his panting, coughing self standing in your way, trying to catch his breath. Searching your bags, you handed him a bottle of water but Jun ignored it, looking at you questioningly. 

“If whatever happened to you a month ago, didn’t happen, would you agree to go out on a date with a guy like me?” 

“I….” You looked around confused. “I don’t know.” 

“Do you have any other reason not to give us… to give me a shot?” Crossing his fingers, Jun tucked his hands in his pocket. “Any other reason to say no?” 

“Not really, no.” 

Bingo. 

“I’m sure the aftermath of the Memory Wipe hasn't been easy but life won’t stop just because you want things to pause.” Gulping he looked at you expectantly. “Look Y/n I too am in a space where things are difficult where I want to hit rewind, but I realised maybe it’s better to hit restart and I want to try that with you.” 

“Jun I…” 

“Here’s my suggestion, just hear me out.” He clasped his hands, ignoring the cold drafts. “Give me 10 days, just 10 days to change your mind about us. I know I can do it, I know I can make you see I’m worth it, that we’re worth it.” 

“You’re really not going to take no for an answer are you?” 

Jun shook his head, his face falling. “No I…. I don’t want to force you. I was just suggesting-”

“What if I’m not convinced in 10 days?” You sighed, looking at him unsure. “Will you leave the idea of ‘us’ behind and not pursue me anymore?" 

“It won’t come to that-” 

“If it does.” 

“If it does,” Jun took a deep breath. “Then you’ll never see me again. I promise.” 

And with that you went silent, like you were considering it. Jun prayed to all possible forces in the universe - please say yes, please say yes, please say yes. 

“Okay.” You agreed, slowly nodding your head. “You have 10 days. If I’m not convinced, then on the 10th day,  we’re done and we’re never seeing each other again, deal?” 

Smiling on the inside, Jun ignored the little victory lap his head was doing. “Deal.” 

“And you’re sure this will work?” 

Phone against his ear, Jun nodded confidently.

“Positive.”

“What if you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak again?”

“I’m not.” Jun rolled his eyes. “I know I can get her back. This time I’ll be better-” 

“Haven’t you noticed?” Minghao voice was filled with caution. “She’s somehow not the same. The Y/n you knew was a hard core, cut throat lawyer. This Y/n is a barista who sells coffee and the idea of love.” 

Jun hummed in thought. “Maybe. But deep down, she’s still my Y/n and I’m her Jun. I know her better than anyone else, I can do this-”

“And if you can’t?” 

“Then I’ll live with it. But I can’t let her go without trying.” 

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” 

“I don’t want to consider that possibility.” 

“Jun be realistic. How on Earth do you plan on convincing a woman who thinks you’re a complete stranger, is struggling with her amnesia, and more importantly doesn’t want any commitment, to date you?” 

Jun sank into his couch, staring at the ceiling.  

“I have no idea.” He confessed.

“Exactly, what if things get worse for you-”

“Can you just for once be a tad bit more positive?” Jun sighed. “Look at the bright side of things. Like for example, Y/n knew I didn’t like coffee-”

“-you make the most disgusting face known to mankind when you drink it, anyone would know-”

“-and she knew I like malatang-”

“-you’re Chinese Jun. I think that was a safe guess-”

“-and she knew lemon biscuits were my favourite dessert.” 

This time Minghao went silent. 

“Nothing snarky to say?” 

When Minghao continued to keep quiet, Jun frowned, sitting up. 

“Hao do you think she… remembered?” 

“That’s not possible....” 

"You don't sound as sure as last time." Jun noted.

Minghao let out a deep breath, like he was frustrated. “Theoretically, a memory restoration is not possible but hearing you I.... I can't tell for sure - we're also still not done with the clinical trials so I cannot exactly negate the possibility."

"So,,," Jun's eyes widened. "You're saying there is a chance she might remember everything?"

"A really really small chance.....” Minghao emphasised. "Or it could just be that since Y/n has known you for ten odd years, some her actions are just reflexive - ingrained in her subconscious after years of habit." 

"But you're saying there's a small chance she might remember me again?"

Minghao sighed. Clearly, his friend wanted to just hear one thing.

"Yes. Perhaps if she's repeatedly exposed to you or to something of her past, she might remember certain things again-"

"Enough to make her want to come back to me?"

"I cannot promise that-"

"But I can try." Jun whispered, the cogwheels in his mind turning. "I have to try and Hao, I think I know exactly how."

"How-"

Cutting the call Jun tossed his phone aside and quickly grabbed the box he had stashed below the tea table, opening it. He ran his fingers again through all the memories you had saved, a small smile forming on his face.

Jun had 10 days to win you back - that meant he had 10 chances to remind you of all the good days the two of you shared. 10 memories he could recreate, ones that you yourself had stored in this very box. 10 ways he could prove 'us'..... was truly worth it.

And just like that, Wen Junhui knew exactly how to make you fall in love with him all over again. 

You stared at the photo hanging on your wall, arms crossed, eyes slightly damp.

You look so happy,....he looks so happy. 

Just like he did when you agreed to give him 10 days to woo you. 

Sighing you tore your eyes away and stared at the ground, blinking the tears away. 

“Just 10 days," You whispered, voice shaking. "….. and all of this will be over.” 

So he's a gentleman? You've always thought he might be. He certainly has always spoken to you more kindly than a lot of the other players. Not that the bar is high.

"That's 80 percent of what you talk about, Cheol." And that's Jeonghan.

"Guys—" It takes you a little longer to recognize his voice. Because you rarely hear it at a normal volume. The male cheerleader with the megaphone. His regular tone is far less aggressive. It's almost soft. "I don't think—"

"Of course I fucked her."

Well, miracles don't really happen all that much. Besides, you told your roommate, so this is practically the same thing—

"Why? I mean, were there curves under that big t-shirt and jeans she always wears?" Joshua. You knew he didn't like you. It was only the tone of his voice, but you knew.

"I know Wen wouldn't care either way, but I only fucked her to be sure she had a pussy!"

The laughter is boisterous, loud and piercing.

Oh.

You'd turn around and leave if you could, but you came here for a reason. An errand the coach sent you on even though he could do it himself if he had a mind to.

You wait for the laughter to subside before entering. The silence is almost louder than the hilarity was a second ago.

"Choi," you begin, eyes forward to the empty lockers. It's only the four of them. The showers are occupied with the rest of the players. Small favors. "Coach wants to see you and Hong. To discuss today's game."

You dare to look at them then. Captain, his comrades Joshua and Jeonghan, usually up to mischief. Joshua looks a bit abashed, Jeonghan is holding back laughter, but that's hardly surprising.

The cheerleader is on the other side of you, and you refuse to look at him. Why would you care about his opinion? He's not even a part of the team. Barely.

Seungcheol nods at your summons, smirk curling at his lips as Joshua passes by you toward the offices. Your one night stand pauses next to you, saying your name low and tantalizing. Or it would be if you hadn't overheard what you'd overheard.

"Good to see you."

You raise your eyes to his (he's stupid tall). You might want to yell or even cry, but you haven't spent most of your life around men who think they know more about baseball than you to not hide your feelings successfullly.

And your blank expression is your absolute best weapon.

He falters for a second before following Joshua down the hall and away from you. When you go to pick up a discarded helmet and bat (you think it's Vernon because it usually is), you mistakenly look over to Jun who is seated on the bench, eyes on you. When your eyes meet, he tentatively smiles at you.

Does he think you're amused by all this?

Your eyes narrow (so much for the blank expression) and you quickly leave the locker room with your head held high.

You remember the first game. It felt like years since you watched a game live without being on staff. You weren't working with the team yet, your advisor was still trying to convince the athetic director that it contributed to your study and help to offset your tuition (your mom was grateful for that even if she never said so directly).

You bring along Binna, who isn't enthusiastic. Your new roommate prefers the theatre department, and spends most of her time in the art studio (you have no idea why she paired with you), but she likes going out and trying things.

A baseball game is one of them.

"I'm going to be so annoying," she prempts as you sit. "I know nothing about how this works."

You laugh. "It's okay. I know too much, so you'll probably be annoyed at me for explaining too much."

The game hasn't begun yet, but you're bringing a plate of dumplings and sodas for you and Binna to split. You glance to see that the cheerleaders have made their way to the top of the dugout. The image barely makes an impact on you, two female cheerleaders and a male leader (complete with megaphone), starting with chants and cheers to get the crowd revved up for the game.

You can't imagine that it's easy to do that with college kids. Especially on a hot nearly summer day.

"I know that guy," Binna says the moment to plop back down beside her.

"Hmm?" You offer her the plate of dumplings and she grabs one.

"The cheerleader guy…he's a second year. He's…um, he's besties I think with the TA in my Drawing I class."

"The hot one?" You're quoting her because you were not enrolled in any art class, so had never seen an Art TA, let alone an attractive one.

"Shut up. Yes." She squints at the cheerleaders. "That's definitely him. Jin or Jun or something. He's modeled for us."

"Naked?"

"No." She hits your arm, laughing. "Not yet."

You shake your head, eating a dumpling and settling in to watch the game. You occasionally look away from the field to the cheerleaders, but despite doing more than chants and call-and-response (he does a backflip and you're impressed), you dismiss them as pretty and on-rhythm.

It took some finagling but after producing a letter of reference (and a phone call that you begged your high school's baseball coach to make), you found yourself as a freshman, working alongside the equipment manager for the university's baseball team (mascot!!).

Nang Duho showed you the ropes reluctantly. You sensed the lack of enthusiasm and general distrust (because you were a girl? because you were young? because you wanted to do this kind of work?), but it wasn't the first time you'd run into the attitude.

You'd survived high school after all.

Once Nang realized you were authentically interested, he warmed to you. You think he liked being called seonsaengnim, especially since the players more often than not called him 'ahjussi' or just Nang-nim. It didn't take long for him to give you the bulk of the maintenance, the bats, the gloves, the cleats. You preferred that over laundry, even though you couldn't avoid that, especially when his back acted up.

You remember how the players watched you on your first day. Similar distrust and skepticism. You pushed the rolling laundry cart while each player dropped in his uniform. They seemed to be waiting for you to blush or avert your eyes at the exposed skin. You didn't stare, but you didn't blush either. Granted that you could appreciate eye candy, you weren't that flustered with naked torsos or legs. After years of putting up with high school players, you were pretty much desensitized.

"Oh…I do my own."

It's a soft voice. Not quiet persay, but it makes you think of a stuffed animal, snuggly and huggable.

Strange thought about a voice.

"You do your own…" you trail off as you look at him, and his uniform. He's handsome, most of the guys seem to be, but like his voice, his good looks seem softer. Warm brown hair, wavy and striking eyes.

"Jun's our resident cheerleader," the player next to him says cheerfully, knocking shoulders with Jun (?). Jun smiles, bright like the sun, nearly matching the player next to him.

You look at the long pants and top, same colors as the baseball uniforms. "Does it need special treatment?"

The cheerleader shakes his head. "No, but—"

"Toss it in. It's fine."

He blinks at you, as if he thinks you'll change your mind.

"Thank you," and tosses it with the rest of the uniforms. He turns back to his nook, giving you a glance at a small tattoo along his right shoulder blade. You can't distinguish it (something with whirls and script - pretty) and you've already stared too long.

You continue.

When you stop the cart by a senior player, Park someone, he says something oh so clever about laundry and the fact that you're female. You blink at him before pushing the cart toward the other side of the locker room. There's some guffaws and snickers.

It's not new. You don't like it, but it's not new.

"It's only because Park can't do his own laundry and still has to go home on the weekends so his Eomma can do it for him."

You snap your head to the new voice. Handsome, deep-set brown eyes, messy black hair. He's smiling with unbelievably rosy lips.

"Seungcheol," he says to you.

You nod, unsure how to respond other than to give your name. The broad-chested player, shirtless, drops his uniform into the cart before winking at you.

He repeats your name. "Pretty."

It's a miracle that you get out of that locker room without flushing (but it happens the moment you're safe.)

If you didn't love baseball so much, you might have quit after that eavesdropping experience from hell. But not even Choi Seungcheol, current captain in your second year of university, can dull the beauty of watching a baseball streak past the fence, or Chan's incredible catch in left field against NCT's hardest hitter Mark Lee.

You love the game. Your mom told you that your father had often played the game on the radio, holding up the speaker right next to your mom's swollen womb. She'd found out she was pregnant when the Korean Series was in Game Seven, and your father was convinced it was a sign of future greatness.

Was there disappointment when you were born a girl? A little. But Korea had a fantastic women's softball team, so you weren't out of the running as of yet.

However.

When you were six and had been 'playing' tee ball for two years, you didn't need your father to break the news to you that it was a delusion to hope to play in high school, college, or professionally. You knew it by your coach's expression every time you swung and missed for the tenth time, every time you tried to steal a base (not allowed in tee ball), every time you threw your cap to the ground to 'discuss' the ref's call with the ref. You knew that even at age six, you should do better, that your motor skills should have better capabilities.

You knew.

Perhaps someone else would have chosen a new direction, a new sport, hobby or passion. Your mom took you to dance lessons, sat you with a piano teacher, started you early on cram school.

You tolerated these deviations a little. You weren't exactly a rebellious child. But you were stubborn. You indulged your mother but you always ended up back where you belonged.

Baseball.

By the time you were at university, you had cemented your career path into the realm of sports management. The advisor stuck with you brought up several other options, based on your exam scores, but you denied, politely, each one.

"Why did you take it?"

"I thought Poetry would be easy. I mean, they're short, not long novels, right?" You know it's a dumb excuse, but you really didn't think it'd be this impossible. Having a 200 level literature class required for your minor in communications is heresy in your opinion. But your academic advisor shows you no mercy.

Not that you expected it, but one can hope.

Binna (you're still surprised that she wants to keep rooming with you after first year) shakes her head at you.

"You can't drop it."

"I know. They lulled me into a false sense of security starting with Robert Frost and Yun Dongju at the beginning."

"Go to the tutoring cener, they probably can help you."

"Ugh," you groan and let your head thump onto your dorm desk. "I hate looking stupid."

"You don't look stupid. Your grades say you are stupid."

You throw a pencil at her as she laughs.

When you enter the Art building, you do so with caution. You pass fellow students, some probably your age and year, and yet there is nothing in common. Their style, the way they talk, how they carry a sketchpad and fancy pencil in hand…nothing like you with your one bag that carries your laptop and musculoskeletal text book (because taking classes for sports medicine was also a terrific idea on your part).

Binna had wanted to go get a bite together and study after her painting class, so here you were. In unfamiliar and terrifying territory.

Class should be over, but you don't see your gregarious roommate anywhere. You pop your head into the studio to see the back of her head, in front of someone you don't know. But the way you can tell how fast she's talking and general vibrating of her body, you can guess who it is.

Minghao, the gorgeous art TA.

"Binna?" You take one timid step into the room, the smells of paint and some kind of cleaner accosting your nose. You sneeze then furtively look around to see if anyone is offended by your unbelonging presence.

Your roommate hears your sneeze, not her name (figures) and turns before grinning.

"Hey!" She waves you over and you wonder why people feel the need to include you in conversations when you have nothing to contribute. She loops her arm once you're in striking distance. "Minghao, this is my roommate."

The TA nods at you, face not really welcoming, but not repulsed either.

"Wait, that reminds me. She's failing Poetry and I was wondering if you knew anyone who might wanna help her out?"

You might kill Binna.

"I'm not failing," you mutter.

"Close enough. Most of your friends are humanties and arts, right?" Binna is solely focused on Minghao and you can't fault her for making use of anything to keep talking to her crush. You just wish it wasn't you and your lack of academic prowess.

Minghao tilts his head to the side as though pondering Binna's uncalled-for request.

"Actually…" he trails off when someone comes from the other side of the room. You had only noticed the easels, the visual cacophony donning the walls of current and past students' artistic expressions. But there's a curtain that separates the main part of the classroom from what looks like an alcove, an office space perhaps for the professor.

But it's not the professor pushes aside the curtain and walks out.

It's the cheerleader, Jun.

You glance away, embarrassed to be a part of this conversation now with someone from your baseball world. Even if you and he rarely interact or speak. He always says thank you when you gather his uniform, but there's no reason for the assistant equipment manager to make conversation with the cheer team.

If you had to tell the truth, you were intimidated by Jun, Raon and Dohee (his counterparts). People that pretty tended to be unwelcoming to people like you, so you avoided as a precaution. Raon and Dohee never left their uniforms for you to launder and you never sought them out to offer.

And you've never forgotten that laughter.

"I was gonna say that Jun's solidly a Literature major. He likes poetry."

"It's a minor," Jun says, wrapping his arm around Minghao's shoulders casually.

"Not the way you take each and every class offered."

"They're fun." Jun smiles winsomely at his friend who huffs at him, but it's goodnatured, you can tell. There's an ease between them that tells of years of friendship, even if they're both only third years.

"Sure they are," Minghao answers easily. Jun winks at him, coy and flirtatious before turning to you.

"Hi there."

You wave, like an idiot.

"You two know each other?" Minghao asks.

"She's on staff. With the team."

Minghao nods and you wonder, as an artsy person, what he thinks of your sports bent. You also appreciate that Jun says nothing about you doing his laundry. You do much more (equipment manager includes all matter of bats, gloves, helmets etc), but it seems that's the only thing the players ever say about you (That's a bit unfair to several members of the team, but for generalization purposes, a laundress is basically what half or more of the team sees you as).

"I can help…if you want. I took that class and the prof likes me." Jun is smiling at you, practically the same smile he uses on his friend.

Why?

"Uh…I wouldn't want to put you out."

Binna pinches your side and heavens favored, you do not externally show the jolt it gives you.

"She'd be so grateful. As would I, who has to hear her tangents about how none of it makes sense more often than you'd expect."

You think about pinching her back, but she would not handle it gracefully and bring about all the attention to your 'abuse.'

"It's not problem." He slips his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans that hang on for dear life. You force your eyes from the sliver of skin showing between hem and waistband. "Give me your number, I'll text and we can set up a time. What poem are you working on now?"

You shrug because you do not remember, handling his phone so you don't get your fingerprints on it (you feel grubby next to these three: Binna in her wrap dress that should seem too formal for class but her painted shoes make it work, Minghao in black ripped jeans and a t-shirt, but with a bandana tied in a belt loop and long hair pulled-half back—he looks like a sixties beatnik artist, and Jun in those low hanging jeans and t-shirt that looks like it shrunk in the dryer). You type your number in, hoping no one notices that you delete a couple times, highly anxious so you can't remember your number. They're all chatting about something that you can't follow when you hand his phone back.

"Thanks," you manage to get out. Jun's smile widens and except for when he's leading the chants, you've never seen him like this. In the locker room, he's subdued, quiet, almost unnoticeable among the larger personalities (and egos) of the players.

It's a nice smile.

"It'll be fun."

"Yeah, Jun loves to share all his useless knowledge."

Jun laughs before clacking heads with Minghao who gives him an unimpressed look (but his eyes are amused).

You tug on Binna's arm, hoping you can make a quick getaway. Your roommate is staring with big ole heart eyes at her TA.

Subtlety is not Cho Binna.

"We'll, uh, see you guys," you mutter, again pulling, this time harder, on Binna's arm.

"Yeah, see ya. Thanks again Minghao, Jun," she effuses, finally coming with you.

You wait until you're way out of earshot:

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"You used my failures as a student to talk more with your crush."

"I did. And I would support you if you did the same." She is unbothered.

"I don't have any crushes."

"Yes, well, that's your issue. Not mine."

After your last crush, you took a firm hold on yourself and decided not to crush again. Certainly not anyone related to baseball.

"I don't even know Jun, he could be a jerk." He probably is.

"He is not a jerk. I've drawn him twice now, and he's really sweet."

You pull up short. "Naked?"

Binna's haughty expression is a facade, you know it, but it still makes you roll your eyes.

"Why would it matter? It's art, not porn."

"It's just weird. If you've seen my soon to be poetry tutor without clothes."

"Would rather see Minghao—" She cuts off laughing when you break away and jog several steps in front of her, effectively ending that line of conversation.

You tap your pencil against the open page of your poetry textbook (still expensive and weighty despite poetry being a 'short' medium), half-looking across the lawn for the baseball cheerleader/poetry tutor.

He'd texted you that very evening about a good time to meet. He was well aware of when baseball practice was, so you couldn't really use that as a fake excuse.

You don't have to like him and he doesn't have to like you for the tutoring to be successful. As long as you don't say anything about that conversation and he doesn't, well, then, it's old news. You just need to pass this class.

Your brain meanders off of your impending tutoring session and onto duties for tomorrow's practice. Mingyu, true to form, stumbled into the only muddy puddle on the field after the rain days ago. You've treated his uniform, but are doubtful that it'll come clean when you wash it.

"Hi!"

You jump (observational skills lacking today it seems) at the super close voice. You barely noticed the shadow he cast across the table you'd commandeered in the quad.

Jun is holding two takeaway cups.

"I got two drinks; a flat white and a pumpkin spice. I like both, so I figure one of those could be your type of coffee."

You're staring at him with your mouth partially open, like a buffoon. It's not entirely your fault. The pink of his tshirt is the brightest pink you've ever encountered outside of the Barbie doll aisle at the toy store. Possibly brighter.

"Do you drink coffee?" he asks, sitting down across from you with grace you envy. Especially with a bag slung over one shoulder and a cup in each hand. "I just assumed—"

"I do, um, thank you. I'll take the pumpkin spice if you're sure."

He sets (presumably the pumpkin spice one) in front of your text book.

"It's completely fine. I promise." His smile's brightness matches his shirt's and you wish you'd thought to bring sunglasses.

"Thanks again. For doing this. I feel like Binna kind of bullied you into it."

"She strikes me as someone who is very…proactive when she wants something," he says easily, sipping his coffee and letting out a satisfied sigh. "Caffeine, nectar of the gods."

"That's Binna. Very…forthright."

Jun's smile turns mischievous. "And she wants Hao."

It takes you a second to realize who he's talking about, Binna only every calls him by his full first name.

"Oh, um…" You don't exactly want to out her if she prefers not to have the rejection option. For all you know, Jun and Minghao might be more than just friends.

"It's not hard to see."

"Does—he know?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Jun chuckles. "He moves as fast as a glacier in personal matters. All he cares about is art, classes, his family, and his friends. In that order." He points to your textbook. "Ready then?"

"I guess." You open the textbook to the most recent poem that you have a quiz on tomorrow. "I appreciate you doing this. I imagine you have enough to do with cheering, the art class modeling, and your own classes."

"We're all busy, arent we?" he says, brushing off your 'thank you.' "You just have to make time. Besides, we're…kinda teammates."

You blink at him. "I suppose. I don't really do much for you or Raon and Dohee."

"You wash my uniform every time."

"That's not impressive." You look down at the poem, eyes going over the words again like it'll make sense.

"I've always admired you."

Your head snaps up from the anthology. You imagine the dumbest expression is on your face, but you can't help it. You never expected to hear that from anyone, let alone him.

"You do? I mean, did?"

"I do." He leans forward, not in a seductive way, but like he enjoys being closer to you. "A lot of people wouldn't want your job. It's not exactly glamorous."

You roll your eyes. "I don't think even glamorous jobs are all that glamorous."

He laughs, a light and breezy thing. It's unfamiliar to your ear. "You have to do their laundry. I know what they smell like after a game. All too well. It's beyond disgusting."

You can't help wrinkling your nose. "I always want to plug my nose with something. I'm kinda desensitized, but some days it's bad."

"But you still do it."

You rest your arms on the open book, half-covering Tennyson. "The uniforms, the bats, the balls, the gloves…all of it needs to be in the best condition."

"So they won't complain? Or blame a bad hit on you?"

You know who he's talking about. It makes you shift in your seat. Early in your time, one of the seniors, now gone, definitely blamed the care of his glove for a fumbled catch.

It hadn't been your fault, but you'd still taken the criticism because sometimes it's easier.

"It's not about them."

"It's not?"

"It's about the game."

He rests his chin in his hand, eyes direct. It's disconcerting how focused he can get. "You really love it?"

No one usually questions this. You're surrounded by baseball players and coaches and staff. Your long-suffering roommate doesn't get it, but has never asked. She assumes it's about the players.

It can be, but not in the way she's thinking.

You nod to his most likely rhetorical question.

"Why?" Okay, so not rhetorical.

"Why?"

"I mean…I get enjoying sports, but you don't really seem interested in our football team or even our state-winning volleyball team."

"I went to a match last year," you mumble. Freshman year had had you attempting to do social things. The campus was full of opportunities to meet people, try new things, and in general be someone new.

The attempt didn't last fall semester.

He's smiling at you, not patronizing or condescending. Like he enjoys whatever you're saying.

"I just like what I like."

He taps your textbook. "And you don't like this?"

You know you're pouting, but you can't help it. "I don't see what this…war poem has to do with me. Or anything I will ever encounter in my life."

"Well," he begins, finally leaning back, but stretching way up revealing more inches of his torso. It's not chilly yet, it's summer's last gasp, but you already anticipate the impending briskness with your baggy long-sleeve sweatshirt. "It is about a battle. But it's more than that." He returns to touching the poem in your textbook. "Look at the numbers. You're good with numbers, right?"

You nod, still skeptical, as you reread about whatever a light brigade is. He hands you a highlighter. It's neon pink.

"Doesn't seem to fit the vibe of the poem."

"I bet Tennyson loved pink," he says easily. "Mark each mention of numbers. What do you notice?"

"It's only 'six hundred'."

"Now look at the words around each mention."

You do so, lips twisted with mild distaste.

"'Left of the six hundred,'" he quotes. "They didn't all make it."

"So?"

"So….how often do you go into a situation, already knowing you're gonna lose?"

"That's stupid."

"Is it? Or is it brave?"

"Stupid."

"So don't play another team that's so much better than yours?"

You sit back and cross your arms. "Playing a better team usually makes you better. But this is war. People die..and…that's stupid."

He doesn't say anything immediately, head tilted to the side, like a cat judging you. "Okay." He points to another line. "Sabres…you know what those are?"

"I'm not stupid. Swords."

"I don't think you're stupid," he says quickly. "Soonyoung would have said it was a tiger."

You laugh, knowing that's exactly what the shortstop would think. "Are you close with the team? I know you have to use their locker room, but I never see you with them other than that."

His smile freezes before dropping. "I wouldn't say close. Some of them are friendlier than others."

"Soonyoung."

"Obviously." He grins, some of the light in his dark eyes returning. "Mingyu. Chan. They're nice."

You hear a lot in the silence. "Not any of the others?"

He meets your eyes. "Sabres…swords, as you correctly named them. Swords against gunners." He indicates line 29.

"Wait, what?" you look back at your textbook. "They didn't have guns?"

"No."

"That's…more stupid."

"That was their orders."

"Screw their orders. They should have ran…um, retreated." You follow toward the end of the poem.

"They do. See the repeated 'Cannon' lines?" He continues when you nod. "Notice the change in directions."

"They're leaving." You huff a sigh. "How'd-you know all this?"

"Well, I've taken this class before. But also…" he pauses, thinking. "I like them? I mean, it just takes time and thought to figure out what's going on. I like doing that. Like a puzzle, or scavenger game. I like trying to figure stuff out, especially when it's not obvious."

"Weird."

His smile is a flash, but it strikes you that it's not as happy as it should be. "I guess."

You want to say something, that 'weird' isn't a bad thing, that you appreciate that he is good at this because you are definitely better off than an hour ago with this poem before he sat down.

But you don't because he's moved on to talking about the last stanza. But you think about the dropped smile after he's left and you're still sitting at the table in the quad. You watched him walk away in those jeans and short hot pink t-shirt for longer than you'd care to admit.

And how his laugh didn't sound like any of the laughter you heard in the locker room that day.

"The words…" you groan. "The words are…not words."

"They absolutely are words. Just not the ones we use now." Jun is laughing at you. You can't blame him because you are being petulant to the extreme. "You know what, just listen, okay? I bet you understand more than you think."

And so he begins to read the fourteen lines by one John Keats. You try to focus, but you zone out a bit. Jun's voice is nice to listen to, not bracing or strident, or combative. It rolls like waves, gentle.

"What do you notice?"

"It rhymes."

He half-grins. "Yeah. What's the scheme?"

"Alternating lines. every four then it changes." You pause, looking over it. "Except the last six?"

"Exactly, which goes against the rhyme scheme for a sonnet."

"Okay, yeah, fourteen lines."

"Other than the title spelling it out, what do you think it's about?"

You stare at it for a lot of seconds. "Honestly? If it wasn't called 'To Sleep' I'd think it was about death. I mean…the whole final line—'casket'."

He nods. "You know Keats died at twenty-five years old?"

"I think I read that in the introduction."

"He also, through his letters, seemed to think he would die young. A lot of his family died of the same disease, tuberculosis. So…maybe it is about death and not sleep. What else makes you think that?"

"Embalmer."

"Good. What about poppy?"

"What about it? It's a flower."

"It's the flower that makes opium, which they used to treat sickness back then."

You stare at him. "That's…that's horrible."

"Yeah, it was the only way they knew how to mitigate the pain." He stares back. "Opium is a downer, meaning is slows things down, whereas something like cocaine is a upper, speeds things up. So opium and sleep and death…"

"All peaceful, but not."

He cocks his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, opium might make you slow down, but its deadly, right?"

"Certainly can be and is addictive which doesn't help."

"Sleep can be peaceful, but often not. People have nightmares, night terrors, tossing and turning, just can't rest."

"And death?"

"Its not peaceful. Even if someone goes 'peacefully.'" You even do the air quotation marks with your fingers. "It's not peaceful. It's still loss. And that rips a hole into those who are left."

You don't notice how he watches you while you close the textbook and recap your highlighter (he brought you your own this session, a beautiful serene blue) and start to pack up.

"You okay?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah. I just…I remembered I need to take care of some stuff." You finally meet his eyes. "Thank you for your help. I think I'll be okay on the quiz next week."

"I think you'll be just fine."

You shouldn't have told Binna that you passed that quiz because now she's got your phone, texting Jun about it and that has somehow elicited an invitation to go out with he, Dohee, Raon, Minghao, and some guys named Seungkwan and Seokmin. All artsy students to your understanding.

"No fucking way."

"Come on. You never hang out with my friends."

"I don't hang out with anyone. Except you."

"Yeah, that's for your therapist to dive into."

"I don't have—"

"But you could," she says and goes to her closet. "Come on. I've been to one party with the baseball team." You wince even though she doesn't mean anything by it. But it was that night. even though that was this past spring, it still haunts you.

Probably because the last sex you had was disappointing and…unfulfilling.

"Wear this." She tosses something at you and you grab it because you don't want to argue, or maybe you want something different.

Who knows?

The bar that you ride to, in an Uber with Binna, is one you don't know, which is unsurprising as you're not a big drinker, even less when it costs you money, but still you've heard enough from classmates and the team to be familiar with names of the local watering holes.

But Cheers doesn't sound like a place anyone of your age would readily spend time socially.

"It's great. It's where most of the art students hang out. I've been hoping for an invite."

"I won't fit in."

"Enough alcohol, everyone belongs."

True words.

Binna easily gets a pass from the bouncer who doesn't seem to even care that you might not be of age (you are, but still). Inside are splashes of color, music you've never heard (but it's nice and not too overpowering), and people.

So many people, but despite that, it's not impossible to keep up with Binna who heads to the bar. She orders two shots of something. You try to decline, but she isn't dissuaded. You knock it back and ask the bartender for a lemonade as she gets something you've never heard of. When it comes out, you take a sniff since she offers you a sip and you think the alcoholic fumes singe your eyebrows.

Binna plans to party.

"I'll stick to the lemonade."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't protest. She grabs your hand and drags you away from the bar. You see some familiar faces, or are they just familiar from the alcohol burning in your stomach and through your body, in the flashing lights? You don't know but you're happy to let Binna lead this race.

"Found you!"

Jun jumps up to hug Binna; a tight, real hug before he turns to you.

You have no idea how she found them. Maybe she does have Minghao radar because there he is, leaning against the wall, looking oh so artsy and broody. He's listening to a guy you don't know, jabber on about something, incredibly expressive. You see Raon and Dohee sitting on a couch with another unknown guy, all laughing.

It shouldn't be intimidating, but you are tempted to run home.

"Hi."

You look up at Jun, decked in long sleeve shirt, the neck of it defines the word 'plunging'. His hair, that you've never considered long, is half pulled up and he's wearing glasses.

"Hi," you remember to reply. He's grinning widely at you. You wonder if he's drunk to be so happy to see you.

"I knew you'd do well."

What? Oh the quiz. Binna's excuse for all this.

"I wouldn't have without your help."

He leans closer and you repeat your words. You're sure the flush on his face is from alcohol and the warm room, not your gratitude.

"You look nice," he says, glancing at the skirt and top Binna forced on you. It's by no means too revealing, but as you live in work out clothes, or your staff uniform, it's practically a costume.

"Binna," you explain.

He grins again and clinks plastic cups with you.

"You look good, too," you blurt out, unable to look away from all the collarbone you can see. Why is that more affecting than those cropped t-shirts you see him in so much? "You always do," you add in case he takes offense.

"I do? Thank you," he hugs you to his side. If he notices how you freeze at his touch, he doesn't show it. "Come, meet everyone."

You recover though he hasn't let go of you, moving his arm from your waist to over your shoulders. You remind yourself that you've seen him do this with Minghao.

You wave awkwardly at Raon and Dohee, who wave back far more gracefully and excitedly than you did.

"It's so fun to see you out!" Dohee says loudly to be heard above the din of people and music. You shrug in response, unsure of what to say.

"That's Seokmin, he's a theatre major," Jun says, mouth so close to your ear (presumably so that you can hear him) that his breath tickles. You shiver and he tightens his hold. "You won't be cold long," he says before introducing the other guy. "Seungkwan who is Mass Communications and basically never shuts up."

"Fuck you, Wen." Accompanied by a corresponding hand gesture, and a big smile.

Jun blows him a kiss. "If you ever want to meet people, just tag along with him."

"So never do that, got it."

He chuckles at your retort as you sip your lemonade. "Come on…" He leads you to sit at the small table in front of his co-cheerleaders and Seokmin. You're fairly content to stay there, listening to them chat about the university's theatre department (possibly more drama than the baseball team, so that's affirming). Jun doesn't leave your side, seated next to you, arm brushing yours every time he moves or gestures to add to the conversation.

At some point, he taps your empty cup. "I'll get you another. What is it?"

"Just lemonade," you say. "And you don't—"

"Just lemonade." He smiles. "Not a drinker?"

"Not if Binna is going hard." You point toward your roommate who has somehow convinced both Seungkwan and Minghao to go and dance with her on the dance floor. "Seems safer to not."

"Lemonade it is." He takes your cup and walks back toward the bar. You watch him go before turning back to see three sets of eyes on you.

"What? Why…why are we looking at me?" You stutter at the sudden attention.

"Jun was very excited you decided to come tonight," Raon says, smile all-knowing.

"Oh. I mean, I did do well on the quiz because of him."

"That's not it," Dohee interjects. "He likes you."

Seokmin starts to cough. "You just fucking outed him, Hee. Why would you do that?"

"It's so obvious," she laughs. "And it's cute. Like he's the sweetest guy to ever exist—"

"Hey!" But Seokmin's protest is ignored.

"And you're like the most normal person he's ever been into."

"Normal?"

"Yeah, like not high-maintenance, or drama-ful or anything like that." Dohee reaches over and squeezes your knee, casual and reassuring. "You are so much better to have around than Nang-nim. Chan loves you."

Jun plops down at that, holding out the lemonade. You take it and try not to look at him. His friends could be wrong after all.

"Chan loves who?" he asks, offer the other cups of alcohol he purchased.

"Our impressive assistant equipment manager," Raon singles you out.

"That's because you helped him with his batting stance, right? That's why he's hitting better."

You can't help but stare at him now. "How…how did you know that?"

His grin and eyes are too warm. "I was checking something with where we stand on top of the dugout. RaRa nearly tripped and fell off the last time, so I was making sure the maintenance request was actually carried out. Saw you two out there. You were instructing him, weren't you?"

RaRa is such a cute nickname is your first thought. Your second is that you had no idea anyone knew of your impromptu coaching session with Chan when he'd first joined the team. He was a first year, eager to impress, but while his fielding skills were terrific, he lacked at bat.

You noticed, you don't know why no one else seemed to. So one day, when you were searching for a missing glove (Mingyu or Vernon, you can't remember) after practice, you found Chan out in the batting cage, swinging and hitting, but the ball not going as far as you're sure he wanted. So you wandered over and made a suggestion about how he stood. He listened. And he hit better.

It wasn't rocket science.

"I'm not…players aren't supposed to be coached by anyone else. Please don't—" You can't lose your job. What would you do at university if you didn't work on the team?

Study only?

Jun regards you for several moments, eyes dark in the minimal light. You want to look away because he is almost too pretty to look at for long, but you don't; hoping he understands how important it is.

"Lips are sealed."

You let out the breath you were holding. "Thank you."

"Enough talk, we're here for a good time, right?" Raon speaks up, breaking the gaze that Jun has on you. Raon grabs Seokmin by the wrist. "Dancing, darling."

He rolls his eyes but follows her, grabbing Dohee's hand to drag her out as well. Dohee in turn, tries to grab for Jun, but he dodges her hands.

"Finishing this," he shouts as they disappear toward the crowd that writhes and gyrates. He turns to you once they're gone. "Wanna dance?" He sips his drink, eyes lasered on you.

"I…I'm not exactly coordinated. I was a pretty poor tee-ball player." You gulp more of your lemonade.

"Well, that has nothing to do with dancing," he says casually. "Dancing is about looking ridiculous and doing it confidently."

"Confidence is also not my best attribute."

"Bullshit," he retorts, setting down his mostly empty cup to lean closer. You swallow more lemonade. "You walk through that locker room with the carriage of a queen. You are more confident than the rest of us."

"A facade." Maybe that one shot was more tongue-loosening than you thought.

"Fake it till you make it, huh?" His eyes drop once before he stands and offers his hand. "One dance. In celebration of your successful quiz."

"A celebration of your tutoring skills."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I'll dance to that." He takes your hand even as you're standing, about to find a good excuse (restroom maybe?), and leads you away from the safety of the couch and table. You stumble to keep up with his long legs, your eyes dropping to how his pants fit and then you chastise yourself.

You've seen him in less than this even if you weren't meaning to. The locker room was a veritable menu of male bodies of various types and sizes. You've never thought about him like that. Ever.

It's definitely that one shot Binna made you drink.

Your nose wrinkles at the smell of so many people and perfumes, but Jun spins you so you're in a small circle with the people you know. Your eyes find Binna's, who is sporting some moves with Seungkwan, while Minghao watches her passively (or interestedly, it's really impossible to tell with him). Binna is drunk enough that she doesn't seem surprised at your presence in a dance circle (more almond-shaped really).

Seokmin is happily sandwiched between Raon and Dohee, though you'd argue his moves are more impressive than theirs. You didn't know men could move their hips like that.

Jun's hands fall to your shoulders, paused as though waiting. You don't shrug him off, so his hands slide down your arms to your fingers. He takes one and spins you back round to face him.

"I'm really not good at this," you tell him again.

He taps your forehead with his index finger. "Stop worrying and thinking so much. Close your eyes." The last sentence, his mouth is at your ear so you can hear him above the music. You nod and do just that because not looking at him seems like a much better idea than looking at him so close. He lifts your hands to drape them around his neck, his own falling to your hips.

It is easier to move to the thumping bass with your eyes closed. It's easier not to worry about how you might look if you can't see anyone watching.

He says your name, his mouth touching your ear again; you shiver. "You're better coordinated than you think."

You risk opening your eyes to look up at him. The glitter around his eyes and on his cheekbones catch the strobing lights and he looks otherworldly. You forget what he's just said and stare at him for much too long. His smile turns embarrassed and you quickly move in his arms to face the group.

Binna mouths something at you, and you don't really know what she says, but you know you'll hear about it later (you do and it's all about how Jun's hands were on your hips and waist, and how perfect you two looked together; but Binna is drunker than you've seen her so you chalk her observations up to alcohol). The song morphs into another and you move away from the group, miming that you need water. Jun is reluctantly to let of your hand and once you're away from them, from him, you let out a deep breath.

You are never telling Binna that being near Jun makes it hard to breathe.

Can't meet today

everything okay?

sick

You look at your messages for several seconds. Binna pokes you with her bottle of nail polish.

"What's up?"

"Jun's sick."

"Oh that sucks."

You text back: I'm so sorry. Do you need anything?

you're sweet. i'm good. hao fed me.

"Are Minghao and Jun roommates?"

"Yes. Since they were first years. I think the school thought putting two exchange students together would help with the transition to Korean Uni." Binna blows on a polished nail.

"Do you know where they live?"

"Why?" She raises her eyebrows. "Why do you think I'd know that?"

"Really?"

She laughs effortlessly. When you grow up, you hope to be as carefree as Binna seems to be.

"I thought I could bring him some soup. Or something."

Binna stares at you for a few seconds.

"What?"

"Do you like him?"

"What? No. He's…kind of a teammate."

"So you'd do this for anyone?"

"Well…anyone I've exchanged more than five words with."

"Valid." She still doesn't look away. "I do know where they live."

"Of course you do."

When you knock on the door, you have to set down one of the two bags you're carrying. You're actually bending down to pick it up when the door opens and there stands Minghao, bottom half of his face covered with a mask.

"Hi."

He raises an eyebrow. "You here for Jun?"

"Yeah, I figured you couldn't cook for him every meal, so I brought um…soup and other stuff."

You're pretty sure Minghao doesn't hate you, or even dislikes you. You probably don't even enter his mind unless you're right in front of him. But his resting face (mostly eyes and eyebrows due to the mask) is blank with a touch of annoyance. Binna thinks it's HOTTT, but you realize that you like when you can see what a person is thinking or feeling.

Someone who smiles.

"Come in," Minghao steps back and then grabs from a stack on the little table in the entryway. "Wear a mask. No idea what he's come down with, but better safe than sorry."

You take the mask and slip it on as you set your hoarde of 'get better' items on the kitchen counter. It's more a suite than a regular dorm room and you hope you get lucky as an upperclassroom to have an actual kitchenette and living area, tiny as they are.

"He's um…if he's asleep, I can just leave…"

One of the doors past the sagging couch opens and Jun is standing there, looking the most un-Jun-like you've ever seen him. There's a lack of pink, minus his nose being quite red. He's wearing baggy orange sweats that look like they belong to someone taller and wider than him, and a threadbare faded green tshirt.

He says your name, and it's hoarse though delighted.

"Go back to bed, you moron," Minghao monotones. "You'll hate yourself if you get her sick."

"Hey Jun," you begin, walking over with your two bags. "I grabbed some medicine for you, ginger chicken soup, and lots of cough drops. I didn't know what kind you liked, so I got a couple."

He's still leaning on the doorframe, less like a male lead in a romance, and more like someone who might collapse if they let go.

"You…" he starts coughing and you back away from the coffee table and sofa. He leans his head on his arm. He looks miserable.

"I'm guessing you won't make tomorrow's game."

He makes a face, but doesn't speak. He's probably wanting to avoid a coughing fit.

"Will Raon and Dohee be okay without you?"

He shrugs before texting on his phone. Yours pings a second later.

can you watch out for them? sometimes ppl are shit at away games.

"Of course." You watch him a few seconds longer, how his hair is matted to his forehead, damp from sweat and you feel for him.

It's not fun to be sick. Especially away from home. And he is really far from home.

"Feel better…and you know, message me if you need anything else."

He smiles the smallest smile. It's happy, as much as he can be feeling like he does. But it makes something tug in your chest to see it.

He mouths thank you before stumbling back into his bedroom, the door not closing all the way, so you see him flop on his bed, his feet covered in pink socks.

How odd that you've danced, club-danced with him, but seeing his pink socks feels more intimate.

When you turn around to leave, Minghao is watching you.

"Um, if you need anything for him, like if you get stuck here or whatever…uh, let me know? Or Binna?"

He nods slowly, eyes not moving away.

"Okay, see you," you hurriedly say and open the door to leave.

"See you," and he says your name, which you realize is probably the very first time he has. Why does that feel like you have received his approval?

You see out Raon and Dohee once you arrive at the away team locker rooms. Dohee laughs when she opens the door for you.

"You know you don't have to knock. You are one of us."

You know she means your gender, but the 'one of us' phrasing feels especially kind.

"That…I wouldn't want to assume."

She laughs again as you walk in to see Raon straightening her top.

"I just wanted to see if you guys were okay. Without Jun?"

"It's annoying. Neither one of us likes having to used the megaphone, but…" Raon shrugs. "Hao said he was pretty sick."

"I saw him yesterday, he looks like the least Jun-like I've ever seen him."

Dohee and Raon share a look before turning back to you.

"You saw him yesterday?"

"Uh, I went by. We were supposed to have a tutoring session, but he said he was sick."

"So you just went by?"

All of a sudden you feel like you're in a courtroom, on the witness stand. You half-expect to hear 'objection'.

"I brought some stuff…" You feel unequiped to continue. "He asked that I look out for you guys. So…that's all."

They look at each other then at you again and it's inevitable, like an anvil falling in a Looney Tunes episode. You should never have walked in here.

When Jun wakes much much later, there's a number of texts and notifications on his phone. He squints at it for a few seconds, assessing how he's feeling and if looking at a screen will induce any nausea (as it did yesterday).

Honestly, he feels pretty good. Not like, run a lap or two (like he's even want to do that), but not like 'fall across his bed like a fainting Regency woman' either.

He'll call it a win.

There's a knock on his door, but it opens before he can croak out a 'come in'. Hao peers in, still masked.

"Alive?"

"More so than yesterday."

"Did you get the video?"

After being friends with Hao since first year of uni, Jun believes he can read the enigmatic man decently well. It's harder with a mask covering half his face, but the sparkle, slight but there, in his eyes warns Jun that something good or terrible has happened (honestly, knowing Hao for over two years, as roommates, does so little to uncover what the man is thinking).

"Video?" Jun's voice is on par with a life-long smoker's at this point.

Hao plops on his bed, opens his phone and places it right in front of Jun's eyes.

It takes many seconds (his brain is foggy with remnants of illness and medications) for Jun to understand the scene playing out on his roommate's phone. He immediately clocks Dohee and Raon, standing on top the dugout, dressed in their away game uniforms; the motions and choreo so familiar to him. The person to the right of Dohee is Mingyu, who is on the injured list currently for a possible concussion (it didn't happen during the last game, but in the locker room after practice when Mingyu decided to try and film the most recent TikTok dance challenge and failed miserably due to a bench, discarded cleats and Chan doing the dance better; this all occurred before Jun contracted the plague), standing with his arms crossed, staring down the patrons in the seats.

While Mingyu is new to the cheer lineup, that is not the change that shocks Jun the most. No, it's the person in the middle, his normal spot when he's not dying. This person is wearing his uniform top, though the trousers are definitely not his.

"Is that—"

"I got a message from Dohee, you probably have one too, though you've been sleeping."

"I'm in recovery right now."

"Sure," Hao takes his phone back, presumably looking for the message while Jun stumbles to opne his phone and see his notifications.

"It's on the team's instagram page?" Jun says hoarsely. "They never put us on there, or rarely at least."

"Hey Hao, wake up Junnie and tell him his girlfriend might just take his place. She isn't quite the peppy sort, but she does the cheers really well," Hao reads then plays the video again, this time with sound.

Jun's rarely heard you speak loudly, or yell or shout. Sometimes you raise your voice in the locker room to be heard because it's chaos in there, but it's barely more than a normal speaking voice volume.

The megaphone amplifies, obviously, but you are doing really really well. Your movements are stilted, though he doubts you even got the chance to learn them prior to participating in this. But by the end of the video, which has been spliced to include most of the cheers, probably cutting down two hours of footage to a minute, you move much more naturally, showing a little of the rhythm he saw in you the night at the club.

And you're smiling.

At first, it's a forced smile. One he's seen many times. But, probably with the infectious silliness of being flanked by Dohee and Raon, your smile grows, both warmer and in size.

It must be the medication, but he thinks he likes you wearing his uniform top despite it not fitting you in the slightest.

"Why did…" Jun coughs, covering his mouth and rolling in the opposite direction from where Hao sits.

"Why did she fill in your spot? I dunno. Guess you'll have to talk to her." Hao starts out of the room before pausing at the door. "I ordered some chicken and ginger congee from the place in the city."

Jun pushes himself up. "You are the perfect man, Xu."

"Fuck off."

When you walk into the locker room before practice after the away game, the room turns silent. Which never happens, not since you were introduced back in the beginning.

"Um, here to check on any last minute equipment issues? Something we might have missed." You always do this. Come in before practice or a game, a secondary check that even in your and Nang's meticulous surveying the items needed for the players, something could be missed. Sometimes there is nothing. Sometimes a player sees a crack or dent or missing cleat. It's never hostile.

The atmosphere feels hostile today.

"You know we lost," Seungcheol begins, breaking the brittle quiet.

You nod. You might not have been going back and forth with bats and gloves, but you were still very aware of the score and its resolution.

"Why do you think that is?"

You want to answer. You're know that the Boyz were a stronger and younger team, primarily made of up underclassmen who had a lot to prove. Also, the team had been without Mingyu due to the incident with his head and the bench, and that loss would make the team struggle.

But you rightly assumed that the captain's question was rhetorical.

"Because you decided you didn't need to be doing the job you were brought on for. No, you're up in the stands, playing at cheerleader. What the fuck?"

You hear a couple grumbles, echoing his statement.

"Nang-nim was there—"

"Shut it, first year!"

You move instinctively between Seungcheol and Chan who had spoken up. It hasn't escaped your notice that the captain is hard on the baby of the team, who shows immense promise and works so hard. You also know that Chan has the making of being a leader in his own right, leading by example.

He is also, exceptionally more talented than Seungcheol is. You guess the captain probably knows this.

"I cleared my absence from game duties with both the coach and seonsaengnim. I don't see how my not being there contributes at all to the final score."

Seungcheol laughs; and unsurprisingly, Jeonghan and Joshua do as well. It's a mean, mean-spirited laugh; full of poisoned barbs.

"You don't think I couldn't tell the gloves hadn't been properly oiled? My cleats were weak? Were you so excited to be seen as a girl that you forgot your actual responsibilities for the team?" He scoffs. "You're like the worst kind of cleat chaser. In it for the nearness, but can't even offer something in return."

It feels like a punch to the gut. The very idea that anyone would compare you to a baseball groupie. You know that isn't true. You know that most of the team knows that isn't true. You know this, but it hurts anyway.

You are trying to come up with the right response, when you hear someone else come in the locker room.

"Wen, you're back!" Soonyoung would always misread the room and signals, but his happy reaction to Jun returning does distract you for a moment. You turn to see Jun, looking far more healthy than the last time you saw him, though still a bit peaked.

He doesn't go to his cubby but walks up to you, and something in his face tells you that he isn't unaware of the words just pronounced in this space.

"So…captain," Jun begins, standing next to you calmly. "You admit that you need her, but accuse her of being just a 'cleat chaser' when all she does is clean up after all of us, makes sure that you have what you need for every practice, every game. Doesn't make a lot of sense. Did you get hit on the head or something? Might need the team physician to check you out."

"This isn't your business, Wen. This is about the team."

"Oh, okay, so now she's a part of the team."

You can see Seungcheol's frustration at how Jun undoes his poorly constructed argument.

"She's staff and—"

"So not a cleat chaser. Man, you really have to get your story right."

The moment Seungcheol lurches forward, as though to hit Jun, or you, who knows at this point; Mingyu, Chan and even Soonyoung break in between, stopping Seungcheol's intention. He looks more surprised than angry at this point, though the narrowing of his eyes returns when he realizes that he's being blocked, by part of his own team.

Neither Jun nor you are physically intimidating, but Mingyu's height and build, Chan's wiry muscle, and Soonyoung's chaotic energy…all of it is enough to be threatening.

It doesn't hurt that the coaches enter right then to get the players on the diamond for practice. The entire team all trudges out; your little protective squad last to go. Chan squeezes your shoulder as he passes.

You fall to the nearest bench when all that remains is you and Jun.

"You okay?" he asks softly, moving to sit next to you. "I only caught the last bit, but—"

"I'm okay." You look at him, your heart slowly down as your body realizes it doesn't need to fight or flee. "Are you? You were really sick."

"I'm better." He clears his throat, betraying that he's not totally healed.

"You look better."

He says your name. "Are you really okay? That was…that was aggressive."

"I'm sort of numb, I guess," the words slip out before you can hold them back. " I've heard a version of that probably most of my life, though usually not so directly. That the only reason I do what I do is because of guys." You straighten your shoulders. "I appreciate the back up, but you have to spend more time with them in here. I don't want you to—"

He leans forward, his forehead knocking yours, but lingering there. "Stop worrying about me, I'm fine. I didn't grow up doing Wushu for nothing." He lifts his head.

Your expression shares your confusion.

"Martial arts." He flexes a bicep. "This isn't just from my nights at clubs or cheering."

It pulls a smile from you. "Noted."

He lets his arm fall before reaching to cover your hand. "He's an asshole."

"Yeah."

"He always has been, he just hides it better than others."

"I really have shit taste in men, huh."

You both freeze as you realize it's the first time you've acknowledged that you slept with Seungcheol to anyone other than Binna.

"No. If you had shit taste, you'd still be into him…you aren't still into him, are you?" Jun's been looking at your hands, his still holding yours. He looks up at the end of his question, eyes betraying the answer he wants to hear.

"No." You laugh, drawing your hand away, feeling horribly embarrassed by the entire turn of conversation. "I have my issues, but I'm not masochistic."

"Good." He straightens up and looks around the empty locker room. "Speaking of…that day that you walked in on him…talking about you."

You turn on the bench, shaking your head. "It's nothing. It's not surprising."

"I should have said something. I should have defended you. I'm so sorry I didn't."

You look back at him, surprised. "You didn't laugh."

"No, of course I didn't, but I didn't speak up—"

"You didn't laugh. I thought you did. Because I didn't know your laugh then. But I do now. And you didn't laugh. Thank you."

He shakes his head, looking at his lap. "Don't thank me. I should thanking you…and asking why you filled in for me at the game? One of them could have done the megaphone part."

You feel your face heat so fast you imagine you look like a cartoon character with smoke rising from your skin.

"It was Raon and Dohee. Their decisiion, they were adamant at having me fill in. I didn't want to, I did a terrible job and…we are all happy you're back."

"I'm not mad. I was just surprised. You seem like someone who permanently likes to stay in the background."

"I do. I will not be repeating that experience. So do not get sick again."

He laughs before coughing a bit, turning his face away from you. "Okay. But you weren't bad at all. You were pretty cute."

Can your face get hotter?

"I was not."

He makes a face at you, disbelieving. "I saw the video…videos, actually. I stand by my statement."

You stand up, hands fidgety because you don't know why he's saying things like this. "I should…go to practice. I am happy to see you, less pale and ill-looking."

He stands as well, tucking the cardigan around himself like he's cold. He looks soft and far less sparkling. More glowing like a single candle over fireworks.

"Me too. Happy to see you." He looks over at his cubby. "Can we meet later? I need to make up the tutoring session we missed."

"Jun, you don't have to—"

"Sure I do. It's still Romanticism, isn't it?"

You shrug. Like you have a clue.

"I'll text you."

"Okay," you whisper and hurry out the door.

It turns out to be easy to reschedule, because the Carats do not make the playoffs. The final loss, which has nothing to do with you because you are back in your regular position, doing the things you always do, clinches the 'out of the running' for the team. It's your second season with them, first time full season, and you forget how much time you have when you're not at the ball field every free minute.

Seungcheol, Joshua and Jeonghan, all seniors, are quiet and sulky when the locker room is on final clean up. You watch all the players trod out, taking their personal things with them, leaving the team properties behind.

Chan turns to grin at you and wave.

You'll place money that he'll be captain by his junior year.

Clean up is well, gross, as a season's worth of sweat and dirt and general man has built up, but it's a nice thing to have done, especially when everything is inventoried and put up for the off-season. The players will still hit the gym to keep up with their health regimens, but you're no longer needed.

Unfortunately, poetry class is not over, not yet.

"It's all death," you claim, your voice more shrill than you prefer to keep it. But you've just read the poem for this week—there is another but this one is effing long—and you are over it. "Every single freakin poem is about death."

"Most art is? I mean, literature is about sex or death…usually. That's a freebie, when you take the exam and maybe get stuck; write about sex or death."

"But this is…stupid. It's long and wordy and stupid."

He chuckles. "So you don't like American romanticism, so noted."

"'Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,  / Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed  / By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,  / Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch  / About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams'," you read monotonously. "Like I said with the Keats poem, death is not peaceful, or calm or pleasant!"

You realize you are almost yelling and even though it's not the library, but the common area in the student union, you still attract attention. You hunch over and frown.

"Did you read the other poem?"

"No. This one took me forever to get through."

"Here, let's go through the other one." He stands up, leaning over to flip the pages in your textbook, apparently able to read upside down. You look up at him, some of your ire fading at his proximity. He's finally given into the approaching winter; wearing a long-sleeve shirt, another cardigan, and corduroy trousers. His hair is messy from the wind outside and he looks fully back to healthy, cheeks rosy from the same outside zephyr.

"Jun?"

He sits back down, nodding to the pages. "Read it."

You don't say anything, not entirely sure what you would have said anyway. Your eyes scan the poem, catching the rhyme first, then the repetition, then—

"Wait, what is 'the good night'?"

"Take a guess."

Well, it's been pretty much the same theme, so you apply death to 'the good night.'

"It was the poet to his father. When he was dying."

You mouth the words of the final line, also a repeated line, "'Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'"

"It's also called a villanelle, which is a really specific poem structure, and really hard to do and—" He cuts off and says your name. "What's wrong?"

You wipe your eyes, aware now that you're leaking tears. "Nothing."

He reaches out, hand over yours. "Tell me."

"I don't—"

He looks around, how public this all is, and scoops up your book and bag, along with his. He tugs on your scarf, still around your neck and you follow him outside.

It's blustery, leaves dancing in circles around the quad. His hair dances in sync with the leaves, and he leads you to a copse of trees where the wind is slightly blocked. He slides your book and pen in your bag before pulling out a small package of tissues.

You wipe your face, trying to not think about what you're thinking about, but it's impossible. You keep seeing the words of the poem.

Jun doesn't say anything. He leans against a tree, waiting and watching.

"My dad loved baseball," you say slowly. "Like…loved it. Knew every member of every team, coaches, and why teams did well and why they didn't. He knew everything."

"Is that where you get it?"

You nod.

"I figured he wanted his only kid to play, but I'm not good. I'm really not good. So I did the next best thing. I learned everything about it. Statistics, the players, the trades, the fact that if someone would just plant his foot a little to the left, he'd swing so much better." You sniff and look out across the quad, feeling the wind play with your hair. "He died. When I was ten."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. He never properly got to be traumatized by teenaged me." You laugh, but it's hollow. "He refused an experimental drug. After chemo, he was tired and so sick. It wasn't guaranteed, nothing is in a hospital, but he could have tried. Even if it didn't work. Even if all the possible side-effects, like memory loss or no appetite happened." You force yourself to look at Jun. "I wanted him to fight more, but he didn't want to." You swallow the lump in your throat. "We…I wasn't enough for him to try and stay."

He doesn't ask, and you're glad because you would have said no, but he pulls you in for a hug, tight. He rests his chin on top of your head.

"I doubt that."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe he didn't want you to see him worse?"

You look up at him, surprised to see his eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Maybe the drug could have made him worse, um, his body, or his mind."

"Like the memory loss, like not recognize us?"

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't that be worth the risk if you got to stay alive?"

You realize he's still holding you, but he's warm and his cardigan is really soft. You don't move.

"I can't speak for your dad. I've never been in that situation. But if…if it meant possibly losing memories of those I loved? I think I might have considered not taking the drug." He kisses your forehead and you freeze. "Maybe he wanted to keep those memories and that love for as long as he could."

Your eyes well up again, and he tightens his hold.

"I'll mess up your shirt."

"And I'll survive that," he replies, so you bury your face in his chest, tears flowing. He rubs your back as you do, seems unbothered that you're gripping him like you might collapse without him.

You miss your dad. You always miss him.

When you finally let go, Jun relaxes his hold on you, but doesn't let you detach completely.

"Wanna go get ramyeon? My treat."

Later that evening, after you're both so full of noodles and broth, and talked about baseball, cheering (he got into it because someone he liked in high school was one and they had an opening for a male cheerleader; he got the position but that someone never returned his feelings —'honestly, they were kinda a horrible person, so maybe you're not the only one with bad taste in romantic partners') and poetry, he walks you back to your dormitory.

"Thank you, Jun. With the class, and just…you know, being a really nice person."

He grins. "It's not hard to be nice to you."

"Oh please." You wrinkle your nose. "I was definitely not friendly to you in the beginning."

"You weren't?"

"I never understood why baseball needed cheerleaders, so no, I wasn't exactly amicable."

He's still laughing. "But you still offered to wash my uniform. And you still always nodded at me when you saw me. Besides, cheerleading isn't a needed thing. It's a joyous thing, to be encouraged, to join together as a group, to lift up and not bring down."

He stops where the sidewalk intersects with the path to your dorm. You look at him in the light of the streetlamps. He still is exceptionally pretty; bright smile and bright eyes, hair messy from the day.

You're wrung out from all the emotions, so you can't be held totally responsible when you raise up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Maybe the forehead kiss gave you permission, or you've gone crazy.

But it feels like saying 'thank you' isn't quite enough.

When you land back on your feet, he's staring at you.

"Sorry if that—"

"Can I kiss you?"

Perhaps you shouldn't be surprised. Not after the way Dohee and Raon talked at the club that night, or how Binna has teased you about bringing him soup when he was sick.

But you still are.

"Yes."

He leans down, cupping your cheek in his hand. You're frozen, unsure all of a sudden how kisses work. He doesn't kiss you immediately, just sort of breathes you in, his nose brushing along yours before fitting his lips to your lips. It's incredibly soft and warm, like him. And you find yourself leaning into it, mouth opening for a taste. He returns taste for taste, teasing and igniting heat in you.

It doesn't go very far, only enough for you to miss him the moment he breaks the kiss.

"So…we'll have to revisit that," he says, his face even more rosy post-kiss.

"You mean, not on a day that I dump my entire childhood trauma on you?"

He catches your smile and leans in for another kiss, this one quick. "Next time, I'll share mine." He straightens up. "And in case it wasn't obvious, I like you."

Shouldn't really be surprising, but somehow hearing it is marveling to you.

"I like you too."

"Oh, that's good. Be weird otherwise."

You laugh, outright laugh after crying only hours earlier. "Just a little bit."

He nods toward your dorm. "You go in. You have a quiz and soon final exam to study for."

"I have a really good tutor."

His blush, even apparent in the bad street lighting, is so cute.

"Good night."

"Good night, Jun."

poems mentioned:

"Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"To Sleep" by John Keats

"Thanatopsis" by William Cullen Bryant

"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas

• you definitely help pull him out of his comfort zone.

• dating him is like having a new unpredictable adventure every single day.

• he’s very good when it comes to taking care of you — always making sure you’re taking your medicine when you’re sick and not overworking yourself when life gets too hectic.

• you’re always constantly checking in on him and making sure he feels heard and seen.

• he would drop anything and everything for you (even if it’s glass.)

• jun is actually really slick when it comes to flirting, but with that being said, he also gets flustered easily whenever you reciprocate.

• sometimes he struggles with explaining things or getting his point across, but overtime you’ve become a master at decoding his words.

• he’s the first person to call whenever you want to do something stupid — he would never say no to you.

• he’s always on a mission to make you smile and laugh.

• he freaks you out with the way he sleeps, but there’s nothing buying him a sleeping mask won’t fix 😃

• would teach you inappropriate phrases in his first language, but wouldn’t tell you what it means.

• laughing at minghao when you go tell him the phrases and he stands there shocked cause wtf did you just call him ????

• late night walks are a common thing in your relationship.

• he’s always trying to convince you to get a cat.

• you being starstruck when he just randomly brings a kitten home out of nowhere.

• keeping the kitten anyways and referring to it as “your child.”

• he claims it’s practice to prepare yall for an actual kid.

• he’s always kissing your forehead.

• the type of boyfriend who would love for you to put lipstick on and pepper his face with kisses.

• shamelessly posts the selfies of him with your lipstick marks all over social media.

• you constantly get side-eyed by seungkwan cause he still holds a grudge against you for “stealing” jun from him.

• being bad at ball sports together.

• y’all are a hundred percent the type of couple to make a pillow and blanket fort in the living room.

• y’all grocery shop together always, but end up getting junk food instead of what yall originally came for.

• his energy always peaks whenever he sees you.

• jun never really complains about his worries, but you have a talent for coaxing it out of him.

• he’s always offering to give you shoulder rubs.

when you read his message, it makes you freeze. 'you think she's cute? i've seen much cuter ones than this...'. you scoff dropping his phone on the table. shocked couldn't begin to describe it. you felt delirious. what could minghao possibly know about you? what did he know of you that concluded that you weren't right for jun?

sure--he was handsome. pretty too. a little too pretty. maybe more prettier than you. you weren't envious of him, though, you liked admiring. but if his friend doesn't think so--

"hi," jun chirps, entering the room again. "didn't take too long, did i? are you hungry? we can order something if you'd like--"

you shake your head, rising from the couch. "n-no, it's okay. i think i have to leave soon anyway..." you say, checking the time on your phone while glancing at jun's. "thank you for inviting me, though."

he blinks, confused at your sudden departure. nevertheless, he respects your decision. "oh. would you like me to walk you down?"

"no, no, it's alright, jun. thank you." with that, you try to play it off coolly like there's not tears threatening to fall down. "i'll see you... next week?"

"sure. we can go to that place you've been talking about. i've been wanting to go ever since you brought it up," he agrees, picking up your bag for you. when he reaches for his own phone, he laughs at his screen. "oh, y/n! i need your opinion on something." unlocking his phone, he opens the message between him and his friend--the same one you read--revealing the whole thread.

"uh--"

jun puts his screen to your face, scrolling to the images. "my friend doesn't think this cat is cute. but i think she's the cutest on instagram. he doesn't know what he's talking about. you think so too, right?" he rambles, "do you want the handle? i can send you it."

now you blink in confusion. adjusting the bag on your shoulder, you shift uncomfortably feeling totally stupid. he doesn't have to know for now, you think. "indeed the cutest cat..."

"right?" he says, leading you to the door while patting your back. "anyway, bye--"

"wait, actually, i can stay a little longer," you interrupt, "sorry, i just thought i had to be somewhere but it can wait. i think."