FIRST COMES THE SILENCE. It's your only warning as the world peels away from you, the murmur of the court fading to the background until even the sound of voices are lost to the stillness. The warmth leeches from you next, a cold tingle blooming through you like spreading frost in winter, your arms getting heavy. You sit abruptly as the world shifts and the throne room fades to something else, something wet and freezing cold.

Rain.

Rain is falling in relentless sheets that are so cold it hurts, even through the vision. In front of you is a battledfield churned to a sea of black mud, cut up by boots and the hooves of war horses and the deep wheels of the machines of war. Broken wagons lie half-stuck in the mud, their splintered wheels jutting up from the chaos, some still spinning. Banners in colors lost to the black mud with symbols you can't make out in the rain hang in sodden ribbons, snapped from their poles.

The smell chokes you. Wet earth. Wood smoke. Blood. So much blood that it fills your mouth, warm and metallic. You cough, falling forward into the vision so that your knees hit the mud with a wet squelch. Your hand catches on metal and when you look down, the broken body of a soldier is beneath you. His throat is a scarlet gash, opened up from a sword, his eyes vacant and staring at the rainy sky.

You recoil, snatching your hand away as you fall backward into the rain, ass sinking into the mud. Somewhere to your left, a horse screams, high and shrill until the sound is abruptly cut off. A man a few yards away crawls through the mud with a single arm, the other several yards behind him where the fingers are still curled around the hilt of a broken sword. He drags himself toward you as though he's asking for help, and you scream and look away.

The world tilts and your vision changes abruptly, each image overlapping the other in flashes of light and sound. Thousands of bodies. A river choked with them. A bridge with the banners of the northern king. The emperor - your emperor- on his war chariot, the wheels turning as he crosses the bridge.

Suddenly, the vision releases you. You crash forward, wood striking your knees hard enough that you cry out as your hands shoot out. Your palms skid across the ground, stinging as skin tears open. Bile burns at the back of your throat and you taste the blood before you realize you've bitten your tongue again, the iron taste in your mouth real. You feel the wet warmth of blood as it trickles from your nose, splattering too brightly against the dark wood beneath you.

The wooden floor is cold beneath you as your vision swims and the throne room reassembles itself. You look up to see the wooden pillars that vanish into a vaulted ceiling with incense burning in their holders. Torches and braziers fill the room with heat, the orange flames licking along the twisted metal and casting long shadows across the waiting courtiers. Everything feels too bright and too sharp and you wince, the headache behind your eyes hammering you as soon as the vision fades in full.

Someone kneels beside you and you know without looking that it's Junhui, the smell of vetiver and cedar comforting with the taste of blood and salt in your mouth. His hands find you first, fingers calloused from sword work as they wrap around your hands, steadying you. The touch grounds you and pulls you back from the battlefield that's turned to the headache stabbing in your skull.

When you don't pull away from him, Junhui slides one arm behind your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, hauling you up and into his arms as though you weigh nothing at all. He's careful when he sets you on your feet, hands braced on your biceps as you sway a little. You're vaguely aware of how close he is, lashes fluttering as you look up at him.

"You okay?" He asks, voice soft.

Before you can answer, the emperor demands, "What did you see?"

You don't look at him. Looking at him only makes things worse. Instead, you stare in the distance as you taste the copper dripping from your nose.

"The north," you murmur. Each word costs you, your head throbbing, vision blurry as the headache grows. "The northern kingdom."

Beside you, Junhui presses his hand to the small of your back. It's barely there, but it's something, your heart fluttering as his thumb moves in small circles, grounding. You don't know if anyone else notices, but you notice, and that's all that matters.

"You'll invade at the height of the rainy season," you continue as your ears begin to ring. "When the rivers are high and the roads turn to mud from the rains. You'll win."

The throne room erupts into applause and cheers as the courtiers shout in triumph. Soldiers pound their fists against their armor, and the emperor rises in your peripheral vision, spreading his arms as he laughs, the sound booming across the room. The firelight from the braziers seems to brighten with their glee, the shadows dancing across the pillars as smoke drifts in the rafters from the incense.

You want to vomit as the nausea rises sharply and suddenly. You press a hand to your mouth and Junhui notices immediately - of course he does. He always notices. His hand slides around your waist and pulls you toward him, steadying you as he angles you so that his body shields you from the worst of the light and sound.

"Your Imperial Majesty," Junhui says, bowing deeply. The emperor turns to stare at him, cheeks ruddy and red from the heat of the hall and the glee. "If I may, the Sacred needs to rest. The vision has taken much from her. Might I escort her to her chambers?"

Sacred. You hate the title. Hate that it chains you to the emperor you've just predicted another victory for, so long as he attacks at the precise time that you've instructed. You've been his sword and shield since you were a little girl gifted to him and his growing empire, helping him knock his opponents off the board one by one.

You hate him. You hate him more than you hate yourself for being useful to him, but you have no other options. He hates you too, you think. Beyond being a cruel man, he's as shrewd as they come. You don't think any of your glares go unnoticed, and though you think he'd love to revel in your misery, he's careful with you, too afraid to break you and lose access to the future you promise.

He waves a hand dismissively, turning back to the crowd. "Yes, yes, take her. We have plans to make. The rainy season is coming soon and we have to make preparations immediately."

Junhui doesn't hesitate, his hand urging you toward the great doors at the far end of the throne room. You lean into him more than you mean to, your legs unsteady beneath you as the smell of the hinoki incense cling to your robes.

Behind you, the celebration continues, growing louder as the emperor orders courtesans and entertainment. You're grateful when the doors close behind you with a heavy thud to muffle the noise, leaving only the muffled quiet and the cool winds of winter rustling the trees in the imperial courtyard.

Junhui's thumb traces small circles against your side, another one of those small gestures that's just for you. They are few and far between, so you hoard them like a gluttonous child hiding mooncakes in their pockets, determined to keep them for your darkest days. You know it means nothing - not the way you want it to. He's kind to you because it's his duty and because someone must be. Because perhaps he pities the broken oracle who bleeds for an emperor who doesn't deserve victory.

Still, you let yourself cling to these moments anyway, your small fantasies of romance and being stolen away keeping you from going mad.

The cold air hits your face, sharp and biting. It does nothing for the pounding in your skull and if anything, the headache splits deeper, a white-hot spike driving through bone with each step you take. Your stomach lurches as bile floods the back of your throat, bitter and burning. The courtyard tilts, the bare branches of the plum trees blurring into dark streaks against winter grey as you start to tip over.

Junhui catches you before you lose your footing in full, arms sliding beneath your knees and around your back to haul you up and against his chest. You want to protest as he cradles you against him, but another wave of nausea hits you and all you can do is press your face against the cool leather of his armor and hope you don't retch all over him and embarrass yourself forever.

"I've got you," he murmurs, voice low and right against your ear. "Just hold on."

He moves quickly through the courtyard. You're aware of his footsteps and the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of his breathing. The world narrows and becomes only the warmth of his body and the steady beating of his heart against your cheek.

Your chambers are in the eastern wing, far enough from the celebration that it fades to nothing as he walks. He shoulders open the red lacquer door to your room and carries you inside to the smell of sandalwood and jasmine.

The chambers provided to you are modest, silk screens painted with cranes and willows, a low platform bed draped in pale green silk and piled high with soft blankets and pillows. The latticed window let the winter sun filter, the delicate shadows dappled across the polished wooden floor. It's the only space in the palace that is entirely yours, and you crave it, spending most of the days in the dark as the pain in your head recedes.

Junhui lowers you onto your bed like your spun of glass before he arranges the cushions behind your back, propping you up so you're half-reclined. His hands linger at your shoulders for half a second before pulling away, and you miss his warmth immediately.

"Wait here," he instructs.

"As if I could do anything else."

He huffs, amused as he crosses to the small table near the window. He opens a porcelain pitcher and pours it into a wooden basin. You let your eyes close, the sound of his hands in the water the only sound. He crosses back toward you and when you open your eyes, he's kneeling at your bedside and reaching out with a cool, damp cloth to press against your head.

You can't stop the small sound that escapes you. The relief is immediate. It isn't enough, of course, but it's something and something is better than nothing.

When he puts it down, he gestures to your robe. "Your outer robe is making you overheart. Maybe I?"

You nod, too exhausted to care about prosperity or about rules. Junhui has seen you more vulnerable than anyone else has the right to, and you know it means nothing untoward as his fingers work on the clasps and ties with practiced efficiency, never lingering where he shouldn't.

He eases the heavy brocade from your shoulders, leaving the lighter inner layers. You can breathe again, feeling the winter air that slips through the cracks kiss your overheated skin. You sigh in relief, leaning back onto the pillows as he folds the robe and sets it aside before turning his attention back to you.

Taking the cloth up again, he leans forward and wipes at the dried blood under your nose and on your chin, his touch so gentle it makes your heart squeeze, the feeling inside of you that you refuse to name cracking open a little more. When he's satisfied, he leans back on his heels, watching you.

"You don't have to do this," you mutter, head falling back on the pillows as you stare up at the ceiling. Your head still hurts, thoughts swimming. "The emperor didn't assign you to nursemaid duty."

"My duty is to you," he says sharply. "Not to the emperor or court or anything else. It's to keep you safe and keep you well. That's all that matters to me. This counts."

You love that he says it. You hate that he says it. His words are both burden and balm, and he has no idea how much you want to believe them, how much you want to let yourself imagine that this devotion means what your foolish heart wishes it could mean. That you wish that when he touches you with tenderness, it's because he wants to and not because he must.

But you know better - you always have. The ancient scrolls about oracles - the Sacreds - have always been clean that oracles should remain untouched and unspoiled, pure in body and spirit. The moment an oracle is touched and spoiled by the intimacy only known between lovers or concubines, they become nothing more than ordinary women.

The emperor has no use for ordinary women. The moment you are anything less than the Sacred, he'll toss you out or worse - keep you as something to spoil and besot and remind you how far you've fallen from graze.

You accept Junhui's care because you're selfish enough to want it, even though it means nothing. You let him adjust the blanket around you and smooth the hair back from your damp forehead, and you let yourself pretend for a moment that this is a moment born of love rather than duty, and that you can have this. That you can have him.

"Thank you," you whisper, though you know he doesn't realize what for.

Your eyes close against the sting of the day, your headache taking over. His hand finds yourself beneath the blanket and his fingers thread through yours gently as he squeezes.

"Rest," he says softly. "I'll be here."

You nod and feel the weight of exhaustion pull you under, dreaming that his sweeping thumb across the back of your hand is because he loves you, and not because it's his duty.

-

Voices wake you. Junhui's voice is raised above them all, cutting through an argument like a blade. You open your eyes, the dark outside your window telling you that the sun has not yet risen. You sit up slowly and the room spins, the dull ache behind your eye and neck telling you that you're not yet free of your earlier vision's repercussions.

"She needs rest," Junhui snarls. "The visions are demanding and he has asked for them more and more. You will not-"

"The emperor has summoned her," someone else answers. "We have our orders."

"And I have mine. Yours can wait until morning."

"It is morning."

"It's barely beyond midnight!"

Your body still feels hollowed out, mouth dry and skin sweaty. You think you've only been asleep for a few hours, but you push yourself up onto your elbow, pausing as the room sways. When it stops, you get up and head to the door, opening it so that a sliver of the torchlight from the hallway falls across your room.

Junhui turns to you at once, his face twisted in anger. He blocks your doorway, his body a wall between you and the three imperial guards standing in the corridor beyond. Their armor gleams in the firelight, lacquered black and red, the emperor's colors. They don't care that you can barely walk or that your hands are shaking. They only care about their orders.

"You should be resting," Junhui growls. "I will handle-"

"It doesn't matter." You meet his eyes and see frustration burning there, a helplessness that you feel too. "If the emperor summons me, I go."

"You can barely stand."

"I must manage."

"You shouldn't have to."

"Can you help me dress properly?" You whisper the question for only him to hear, the other guards lingering.

For a moment, Junhui's eyes flash, something unreadable crossing his face so quickly it's there before you can understand. He nods tightly once and pushes inside, not letting the guards catch a glimpse of you before he shoulders the door shut.

Darkness swallows the room. You stand on unsteady feet as Junhui rummages around for a match before lighting a candle with a single strike. The orange glow makes him look haunting, sharp features sharper, eyes so dark they reflect the light of the candle back while he moves around the room.

He moves efficiently, retrieving a new robe from your wardrobe. It's deep blue silk embroidered with silver cranes, one of your favorites. He crosses the room toward you and you lift your arms a little as he settles it over your shoulders, helping you pull your arms through before he's tying off laces.

When he's finished, he grabs a single comb, gathering your hair low at your neck to twist it up and give you some breathing room. Cool air brushes against the back of your neck and you're grateful.

"There," he mutters, standing in front of you.

"I'm ready."

It's a lie. You feel like you're made of paper, like someone could blow you away or cut right through you. But you remain standing anyway, and Junhui sighs, hand sliding to the small of your back as he guides you in the candlelight toward the door and into the hallway.

Neither of the guards acknowledge you. They simply begin walking, expecting you to follow. You do, and Junhui stays close, his hand never leaving your back, his grip firm enough that you can lean into him whenever the room tilts and becomes unsteady again.

The walk to the throne room feels endless. Each step sends an unsteady feeling up through your legs, and though the sharp pain of earlier is gone from your skull, the dull ache that remains isn't much better.

Your stomach churns with anxiety as you walk through winding halls. You know that the emperor has summoned you for another vision. He's done it over and over more recently, each promised victory and small win making him hungry for more, making him addicted to the future, to moves and countermoves.

Winter air bites at you as you cross the courtyard. Junhui pulls you closer and you smell him, vetiver and cedar. His body blocks most of the cold, and you lean into him, seeking heat. He lets you as the guards lead you to the throne room doors, the massive panels of dark wood bound with iron looming ahead.

The guards push the doors open and the familiar scent of hinoki incense washes over you, mixing with the acrid smoke of the burning braziers in the hall. At the end of the hall, the emperor sits on his throne, leaning forward in his seat, fingers drumming against the carved armrest.

There is no court this time - just a small handful of advisors and generals standing in clusters along the pillars, which means this isn't spectacle. It's business. Nervousness settles sourly in your stomach as you approach, footsteps echoing on the polished wood floor. Junhui's hand stays at your back until you reach the proper distance where he steps aside - but not far. Never far, even in the presence of the emperor.

You lower yourself into a bow and your knees nearly give out. Junhui is there in an instant, his hands firmly on your waist to keep you from falling forward onto your face as the room spins. You grimace through it, hands clutching your sleeves as you take a few deep breaths to regain composure.

"Your Imperial Majesty," you manage. "I'm here."

"Finally. I've been waiting."

You straighten slowly with Junhui's help and meet the emperor's eyes. They're dark and calculating, fixed on where Junhui's hands remain for a moment before he steps a respectful distance away once more. A needle of fear stabs at the back of your neck, sharp and cool.

"I want to know about the Free Isles," the emperor says. "Can we take them immediately after the northern kingdom, when they think they're safe? With the resources from the north, they should be no match for me."

Your heart sinks. The Free Isles are a chain of islands far to the northeast, fiercely independent and protected by treacherous waters and storms that only northern ships are made to cut through. The emperor has wanted them for years, but has never had the ships to take them. Of course he wishes to take them as soon as he has ships, the greed and desire to plant his flag on free shores insatiable.

You lick your lips. "I may not be able to see right now, Your Imperial Majesty. Using the gift this close together-"

"I don't care about your discomfort." He waves a hand dismissively. "I care about the future of my empire. Now look. Tell me what you see."

Behind you, Junhui tenses. You stare at the emperor and see no room for argument, no mercy. You knew he was not a merciful man the way he conquered lands, but you hadn't expected him to risk damaging you like this.

Nodding, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. You hate reaching for visions - oftentimes they come at random, seizing you when you're in a crowded room or alone in the bathing room. Sometimes they take you faster than you can summon them. But reaching for them feels like reaching into a wound every time, painful and sharp.

Pain explodes behind your eyes, white-hot and blinding as you dip into the well of your power. You feel your nose start to bleed again from the force, hot copper flooding your mouth. Your own heartbeat hammers too fast, too loud, thundering in your ears like the emperor's war drums.

The vision comes to you like a knife to the gut, stabbing and painful. You're on the deck of a ship - no. You are the ship, the wood of your body groaning, the spray from the sea cold and sharp. The sky above is storm-black, choked with clouds so dark they're almost green. Lightning splits the sky and for one blinding moment, you see dozens of ships bearing the emperor's colors, their red and black sails straining against wind that screams and tears at the sea.

In front of you, a wave rises ahead. It's impossibly tall, a mountain of water that climbs climbs climbs toward the sky until it comes crashing down. The world becomes water - cold, crushing. You can't breathe and salt water floods your mouth and nose, choking you. Your lungs scream and wood splinters, the sound like bones breaking. Men scream, but the sound is lost in the roar of the ocean.

When you surface, you're you again, not the ship. Another ship lets out a resonant crack as the mast falls, crashing through the deck. Some soldiers jump, some cling to the side. The sea takes them as the ship goes down, the water pulling them into the belly of its black depths. You feel terror like never before, but the storm doesn't stop.

Another wave. Then another. Ships splinter. Bodies vanish underneath the waves. So many bodies. The ocean swallows them whole, greedy and hungry, taking and taking and taking.

Through the ocean spray and chaos, you see land. The Free Isles rise from the sea like teeth, their rocky shores and cliff spread open like a mouth laughing to the sky. Warriors dot the cliffs, lit up only by the flash of lightning as they watch the storm do the work for them.

A wave crashes over you and drags you down to the bottom of the sea. In the flashes of light that shine through the murky ocean, you see pieces of ship floating, red and black banners sinking toward the depths of the sea, bodies thrashing as the undertow pulls them down down down.

The vision releases you and you're drowning in air instead of water, gasping, choking on nothing. Your knees buckle and you catch yourself on the floor, palms slapping against the polished wood as blood gushes from your knows. Junhui's hands are already on you, trying to stop you from collapsing into the red pooling on the floor beneath you. Voices swirl around you, but you can't make out anything they're saying, the roar of the sea - or your blood rushing in your ears - drowning out everything else.

Slowly, words come back to you. Your head lolls to the side as you look up at the emperor, his face furious and impatient as he slams his closed fist against the arm of his throne. "Well? What did you see?"

"Failure," you choke out, coughing on imaginary mouthfuls of water. "The Free Isles cannot be taken. The storms will do the work for them and the islands will not fall."

"Look again, then!" He booms. "Find a solution!"

"I cannot-"

You don't know when the emperor stood up, but he's in front of you suddenly, his hand moving faster than you can track. The blow catches you across the face, snapping your head to the side. Pain explodes along your cheekbone, bright and sharp and the throne room spins.

Junhui moves. One moment he's behind you, the next he's between you and the emperor, his body a wall of rage. His hand goes to his sword, fingers wrapping around the hilt to slide the blade free just enough that the ring of metal cuts through the room.

Every guard in the room tenses. Hands fly to weapons. You hear the whisper of steel, the creak of leather armor as soldiers shift their weight, ready to strike. The advisors along the pillars press themselves back against the wood, their faces pale that Junhui would dare to draw steel in front of the emperor.

The emperor goes very still. His eyes narrow, and for a moment you see something flicker there - surprise, maybe - before his face twists with rage at the affront. You look at Junhui, and though you can't see his face, his rigid shoulders say it all.

"You dare," the emperor hisses. "You dare to draw steel in my presence? You dare threaten your emperor?"

"My mandate is to protect her." Junhui doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. His shoulders are squared, his stance wide and grounded. "From any threat. Even you, Your Imperial Majesty."

The advisors go rigid. You can feel their shock radiating outward, a physical thing. This is treason. Open defiance. The kind of thing that ends with heads on spikes outside the palace gates. Your heart hammers against your ribs. The room swims, gaze blurry from the emperor's blow and the vision's aftermath and the realization that Junhui is signing his own death warrant for you.

You try to reach a hand up to tug on his sleeve but you can't move - you can barely think. You're broken on your knees, the taste of iron and salt in your mouth, looking up at Junhui as he remains in front of you.

"You forget yourself," the emperor snarls. "You forget who holds your life in his hands, who holds her life in his hands."

Junhui's grip tightens on his sword. "I forgot nothing, Your Imperial Majesty. I took an oath in front of you and this court to protect her from all, including the throne. This is my duty."

"Your duty is obedience. Your duty is to serve me. Everything in this palace - every guard, every servant, every Sacred - exists to serve me."

"I cannot break the oath I gave you, Your Imperial Majesty."

The emperor's face goes dark as silence permeates the room. Red creeps up into his neck and cheeks, his breathing labored as he works himself up, his rage choking the air in the throne room. Junhui stands in front of you anyway, his eyes forward, exterior calm.

You try to stand. Your legs don't cooperate, blood dripping from your nose and mouth, spattering beneath you. Your whole body trembles and you want to tell Junhui to stop, to save himself, but your voice doesn't work.

All you can do is watch. Watch him risk everything. Watch him stand between you and the most powerful man in the empire. Watch him choose you over his own life. Something cracks open in your chest. Something that feels like hope and terror and longing all tangled together. Something you can't afford to feel.

For a long moment, no one moves or breathes. The guards wait for the order to strike while the advisors stay out of the way, trying to become invisible in the pools of shadows between the pillars.

Finally, the emperor laughs. The sound is harsh and startling against the silence, echoing off the walls.

"Get out," his voice is ragged. "Both of you. Get out of my sight before I have you both executed."

Junhui doesn't wait for him to change his mind. He turns, hauling you to your feet with careful hands, and guides you toward the doors. Your legs barely work and your face throbs where the emperor struck you. You ignore the pain, instead focusing on the way Junhui's arm is around your waist, holding you up as you somehow make it across the throne room.

Outside, the world is bitter cold. The courtyard tilts on its axis, and you feel Junhui's arm tighten around your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear.

"He'll kill you," you try to say. But your voice won't work. The words come out broken. Slurred. "Junhui, he'll-"

"Shh." His grip tightens. "Don't talk. Just breathe."

But breathing hurts. Everything hurts. The edges of your vision go dark and fuzzy, like looking through a tunnel. You can hear voices, but they sound distorted and echoing, like you're underwater again, drowning in that vision of ships and storms and mean screaming as the ocean devours them whole.

Your legs give out completely. You feel Junhui catch you. Feel his hands on your face.

Then nothing. Just silence.

-

The first thing you become aware of is warmth. It isn't the oppressive heat of the throne room, but it's the soft warmth of your room, the smell of sandalwood and jasmine comforting. The light comes second, soft and flickering, the orange glow soft behind your closed eyelids.

When your eyes flutter open, you see candles. Dozens of them burning in their holders, casting dancing shadows against the silk screens that divide your chambers. You're still in your bed, though the heavy outer layer of your robes are gone. Someone has covered you with a thick quilt embroidered with dragons - your favorite.

You try to sit up and immediately regret it. Pain lances through your skull - not the white-hot agony of a vision, but a deep, bone-weary ache that makes your stomach turn. You let out a small sound, barely more than a breath, and freeze when you realize Junhui is watching you from the side of your bed.

He's removed his armor, dressed only in the red and black robes of a palace guard. It catches you off guard - you've never seen him without his armor before. It makes him look unguarded, his dark hair disheveled and falling across his forehead slightly. His elbows rest on his knees, his head forward as his dark gaze pins you to the mattress.

"You're awake."

"I think so." Your voice comes out broken and harsh. "I hope so."

Junhui moves immediately. He reaches for a cup on the low table beside your bed and slides one hand behind your head carefully as he helps you lean forward to drink. The water is cool with a hint of medicinal herbs and you gulp, coughing a little.

"Careful," he murmurs. "Small sips, no gulping."

It soothes your throat and you manage three sips before pulling back, letting Junhui set the cup aside as he carefully sits back down beside you, pulling his chair closer.

"How long was I out?" You ask, sinking back down.

"Six hours. Maybe seven. I lost track."

Seven hours. You've been unconscious for seven hours. The weight of that settles over you like a stone. Seven hours of Junhui sitting here, watching over you, waiting for you to wake. Seven hours of not knowing if you would.

"The physician came," Junhui continues. "He said you need rest. That you can't keep doing this."

You close your eyes. The exhaustion is bone-deep. Soul-deep. It lives inside of you, in all of the spaces between your ribs and in the hollows of your chest, pumping through your blood, threaded with everything breath. You're tired of this, tired of being the Sacred, tired of having headaches, tired of being split open and rendered useless by visions you've never asked for, tired of serving a man you despise and resisting the man you want.

"I hate this," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I hate this. I hate the visions. I hate being this, I hate-"

Your voice cracks down the middle like ice over a frozen lake, everything you've kept inside of you welling to the surface, rushing forward in an onslaught you cannot stop. You feel the tears spilling over as your hands fists the quilt and you cry.

"I wish I didn't have them. I wish I didn't live like this," you choke out. "I've lived like this since I was a little girl, unable to live how I want, to do what I want. It isn't fair Jun. It isn't fair! I want to be nothing, I want to be no one!"

Junhui says nothing at first. You can't look at him - can't bear to see what's written on his face. Pity, probably. You hate that the most, that he probably pities you, that he's nice and sweet and kind because no one else is.

He startles you when he moves. You look up to see him move from sitting on the chair to the bed, his weight on the mattress making you dip toward him as his hand slips beneath the quilt to find yours, his fingers lacing with yours. The touch is unexpected and gentle, palm warm against yours. Solid. Real. Calloused but comforting.

Junhui is looking at you. Not at the wall, not at his hands, not at some distant point beyond your shoulder like all the other courtiers when you're collapsing or bleeding or writhing in pain. He's looking at you, his dark eyes are steady on your face, and there's something in them that makes your heart hammer, something that looks almost like pain.

"If I could take them from you," he says quietly, "I would. In a heartbeat I would take them away."

You stare at him - really look at him for the first time since you woke to see exhaustion etched into every line of his face, dark circles beneath his eyes. You examine each part of him - the slight slump to his shoulders that he never allows when he's on duty. The way his hair falls across his forehead, disheveled and uncombed. He looks like he hasn't slept. Like he's been sitting here beside your bed for hours, watching over you, waiting for you to wake.

The worry hasn't left his gaze. You can see it there, sharp and clear in the way his eyes move over your face, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain. The way his jaw tightens when his gaze lands on the mark the emperor left on your cheek.

There's something else there too, something you've seen before but didn't know how to name, something you never let yourself hope for, but only dreamed about. Something in the way he holds your hand - not like a guard on duty, but like you mean something to him beyond being his charge.

Your heart pounds. This is dangerous. Forbidden. But you're so tired of being careful. So tired of denying yourself the one thing you want. So tired of pretending that his kindness is just duty, that his gentleness means nothing, that you don't feel the way you do.

"There is a way," you hear yourself say.

Junhui's brow furrows. His thumb stops its gentle movement across your knuckles. "What?"

Your mouth goes dry. This is it. The precipice. You could pull back now. Laugh it off. Pretend you meant something else. Say you were talking about running away, or finding some mythical cure, or anything other than what you're actually suggesting, but you're so tired of pretending.

"The visions," you say slowly. Each word feels like pulling teeth. Like dragging something heavy and sharp up from the depths of your chest. "They're tied to - um - purity."

Heat floods your cheeks. You can feel it spreading down your neck, across your chest. Can feel the way your skin burns with shame and something else. Something that might be hope or fear or both tangled together until you can't tell them apart.

You can't look at him anymore. Can't bear to see his reaction. So you stare at the quilt instead, studying the neat stitching and the way the gold thread weaves through the red fabric. At the way the dragons dance.

The silence stretches. You count your own heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. By the sixth, you want the ocean from your vision to swallow you whole so you can escape this embarrassment, realizing that you've misstepped

"They would go away?" His voice is hoarse. Halting. "The visions?

"Yes."

Another silence. This one longer. Heavier. You can feel it pressing down on you like a physical weight. Can feel the way the air in the room has changed, like all the air has been sucked out and replaced with pure pressure. When you risk a glance up at him, he's not looking at you. His gaze is fixed on the blanket, jaw tight and lips pressed together in a thin line. You can see the way his chest rises and falls with each careful breath, can see the tension in his shoulders.

"Are you asking me to take them from you?"

The question lands in silence between you. You say nothing, and when Junhui looks up at you, his gaze is more intense than you remember it, his eyes dark and pupils blown. You swallow thickly, and when he squeezes your hand to push for an answer, you can't speak. You give a tiny, imperceptible nod, nearly shaking as you admit to the unspoken question.

For a moment, nothing happens. Junhui just sits there, his hand in yours, his breathing careful and controlled. You can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Can see the way his jaw works, like he's trying to force out words that won't come. Can see the conflict written across every line of his face.

Then he pulls his hand away.

Devastation crashes through you, the loss of his touch immediately. He stands and turns away from you, shoulders rigid as he takes two steps toward the door before stopping, his back to you, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"No."

The word comes out hard. Final like a door slamming shut, like the last nail in a coffin.The rejection lands harder than the emperor's slap, and you feel the shame hit you like a physical thing because why would he? Of course he doesn't want you like that, of course he wouldn't abandon his duty. And you are his duty, his burden, a Sacred he's wrong to protect and nothing more.

The shame is crushing. Suffocating. Heat floods your face, your throat, your chest. You can feel it burning through you like fever, like fire, like the aftermath of a vision but worse. So much worse because this pain is your own fault- your own stupid, foolish, desperate mistake.

You want to disappear. To sink into the bed and never emerge. To pull the quilt over your head and suffocate yourself with it. To take back the last five minutes and pretend this conversation never happened. To go back to before, when you could at least pretend that his kindness meant something. That you meant something to him beyond duty.

"I'm sorry," you say quickly. "I shouldn't have, I didn't mean-

"It would be an abuse of my power." Junhui still doesn't turn around. His voice is carefully controlled, but you can hear something underneath it. Something that sounds almost like anguish, maybe. "I'm your guard. You're vulnerable and desperate and I will not take advantage of that."

The words should make you feel better, should reassure you that he's honorable, that he's thinking of your wellbeing, that he's protecting you even from yourself. But all you feel is shame - the kind that is all-consuming and that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. The kind that makes you want to claw at your face until the heat and the humiliation and the desperate, aching want are all gone.

"No, sorry," you rasp. "It's an abuse of my power. I'm the one asking. I'm the one - I'm sorry, Jun. That was awful of me."

Your voice breaks on the words. Cracks down the middle like everything else inside you.

"I'm so sorry. Forget I said anything. Please."

The embarrassment is crushing. Suffocating. You've never felt so small. So foolish. So utterly, completely exposed. You want to disappear and to take back everything you just said and pretend this conversation never happened.

Silence stretches so long that you can hear your own ragged breathing and can feel the tears leaking between your fingers as you press your hands to your face, trying to hide the same and agony there.

Footsteps draw your attention, but you don't lower your hands. You can't even look at him, can't bear to see the pity or disgust on his face. But then his hands are on your wrists, pulling gently.

"Look at me," he murmurs.

You shake your head. Keep your eyes squeezed shut. The tears are flowing freely now, hot tracks down your cheeks, and you've never felt more humiliated in your entire life.

"Please," Junhui whispers. "Look at me."

Something in his voice makes you obey. You open your eyes and find him kneeling beside your bed. His face is level with yours, close enough that you can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. Close enough that you can see the way his own hands are trembling slightly where they hold your wrists.

"Do you have feelings for me?" The question comes out low and soft, his dark eyes searching yours with an urgency that makes your heart skip. "Please be honest."

Your heart hammers against your ribs. This is it. The moment where you could lie. Could protect yourself. Could pretend that this was only ever about the visions, about freedom, about anything other than what it really is.

"Of course I do," you whisper, heart hammering. "You're the only one who sees me as a person. Who treats me like I'm not a tool. I know I'm just your assignment and that you don't care for me that way, but you always-"

Junhui's mouth crashes against yours and the world stops. One hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair while the other frames your jaw gently, careful not to touch the bruise where the emperor struck you.

You gasp against his lips and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, tasting you like he's been starving for it. Like he's been holding himself back for so long and finally, finally, he can let go.

You've never been kissed before, never been touched like this. It turns you to molten, your hands finding his shoulders to brush up toward his neck, your fingers threading though his hair as you kiss him back with everything you have. He tastes like tea and something spicey, something that makes heat pool low in your belly and makes you want more.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps that match your own.

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your lips. "For so long."

He doesn't pull away. He stays close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your face, can count each individual eyelash, can see the way his pupils have blown wide with want. His hand is still cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. The other still frames your jaw with that same careful tenderness, his thumb resting just below the bruise the emperor left.

Your heart is racing. Thundering so hard you're certain he can feel it. Your whole body is trembling, and you can still feel the ghost of his mouth on yours, the pressure and heat of it.

"Then why did you pull away before?" You pant. "Why did you say no?"

"Because I was afraid." He says it so quietly you almost don't hear him. His thumb moves against your jaw, soft and soothing. "I was afraid that if I touched you - that if I gave into the want - that I wouldn't be able to stop and that I would ruin you. That I'd take something from you that you couldn't get back, that I would spoil you and it would be the worst abuse of power I could imagine."

"You wouldn't-"

"I'm a man who wants something he shouldn't have." His eyes burn. "A man who is supposed to protect you, not have you. I could stand feeling for you and resisting - but if you felt the same…"

"I do."

His eyes close briefly, like hearing you say it causes him pain or relief. You cannot tell which. When they open again, there's something raw in them. Something desperate and hopeful and terrified all at once.

And then he kisses you again, softer and slower this time, like he's trying to memorize the taste of you. This kiss is different from the first. Less desperate. More deliberate. He takes his time, exploring your mouth with a patience that makes your whole body flush with heat. His hand slides from your hair down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that make you shiver.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again. But this time, there's no fear in his eyes. No hesitation. Just want, pure and undisguised for once. His thumb traces your lower lip, and the way he's looking at your mouth is like it wants to kiss you again and again and again.

"If we do this," he says quietly, "there's no going back. You'll lose the visions. The emperor will have no use for you, and you'll be-"

"Free," you cut him off. "I will be free."

You catch the hand that's been tracing your lip and press it against your cheek, turning your face into his palm. His skin is warm against yours, rough with calluses. It's real and solid and everything you've ever wanted - everything you've ever dreamed about.

"I want to be free," you say again. "But I also want you. I've dreamed about it for so long - thought it could only ever be a dream. Nothing more."

Something shifts in his expression. His pupils dilate further until there's barely any brown left behind the want, behind the desire. He looks at you now like you're something to devour, not protect, like you're the only thing in the world that matters. A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold runs down your spine as his hand moves from your cheek to your throat, not squeezing but resting there, feeling the way your pulse thunders under his thumb.

"Are you sure?" His voice is rough and strained. "There's no undoing this. You need to be certain."

"I've never been more certain. Please."

Junhui nods, leaning forward to capture your mouth in a soft, sweet kiss. "Okay," he murmurs against your lips. "Okay."

He stands slowly, and for a moment you think he's leaving and that he's changed his mind. But then he shrugs out of his outer robe, letting it pool on the floor. His hands go to the ties of his inner robe, and you watch, entirely transfixed as he undresses. His body is all lean muscle and old scars, beautiful in the candlelight. Beautiful in a way that makes your mouth go dry and your heart race even faster.

Then he's on the bed with you, carefully moving the quilt aside, his hands finding the ties of your robes. He pauses and looks up at you, his eyes serious. "Tell me if you want me to stop. At any point. Promise me."

"I promise."

He nods and undresses you slowly, peeling back layers of silk with careful attention, his fingers brushing your skin gently. When you're finally bare before him, you expect to feel exposed and vulnerable, but he looks at you like you're something otherworldly, like he cannot imagine what he's seeing.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs. His hand traces the curve of your waist, your hip. "So beautiful."

Junhui leans down and kisses you again, slower and deeper this time, his mouth moving against yours with deliberate intent, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you open for him. The taste of him floods your senses as he cups the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, angling your face so he can kiss you deeper.

A soft moan escapes you and he swallows it, his other hand sliding down your side to trace the curve of your waist and your hip, dropping to your thigh. Each touch leaves fire in its wake. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, like you might combust from the inside out.

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're both breathing hard. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and wet. He looks at you like he wants to devour you and it lights you up inside. You push closer to him, hands shaking as your fingers trace his forearms, feeling the veins and muscles beneath his warm skin.

"I want to taste every inch of you," he murmurs against your lips. His voice is rough. Raw. "I want to learn what makes you gasp. What makes you beg. Can I do that?"

You can barely form words. Can only nod, your heart thundering so hard you're certain he can hear it.

"Use your words," he says softly. His thumb traces your lower lip. "I need to hear you say it."

"Yes." Your voice comes out breathless. Desperate. "Yes, please."

The smile that curves his lips is devastating. "Good."

Then his mouth is on your throat, hot and wet and perfect. He kisses the hollow beneath your jaw, the sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you shiver. His teeth graze your earlobe and you gasp, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders. The muscles there are hard beneath your palms, flexing as he moves.

He works his way down, kissing and licking, occasionally biting just hard enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your collarbone, he pauses, his tongue tracing the delicate bone before his teeth close over it gently. The sensation shoots straight between your thighs, and you feel yourself getting wetter.

"Jun-"

"Shh." His breath is hot against your skin. "Let me take care of you."

His mouth moves lower to the swell of your breast, and he kisses the soft skin there, his hand coming up to cup you, his thumb brushing over your nipple. His touch is feather-light but it makes you arch into him, a whine escaping your mouth as you beg for more.

He gives it to you, his mouth closing over a nipple as he sucks gently. You arch into him, the sensation overwhelming as his tongue circles the sensitive peak, flicking over it before his teeth graze it gently. You almost come apart right there, melting.

"That feels- oh Gods-"

"Tell me." His voice is muffled against your breast. "Tell me how it feels."

You can barely think. Can barely form coherent thoughts. "So good. Please don't stop."

He doesn't. He lavishes attention to your chest - sucking, licking, biting - until you're trembling beneath him. You're so wet now you can feel it, the slickness between your thighs and the ache there driving you mad. As if reading your mind, his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin. When he reaches where your thighs are shut tight, he pauses.

"Open for me," he murmurs against your breast.

You do. Spreading your legs, letting him see how wet you are, how much you want him.

"Gods," he growls. "Look at you."

His fingers brush through your folds, his touch light and barely there, but enough to make you gasp. He brings them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he licks them clean and the sight is so hypnotic that you find yourself staring, face flushing with heat as he grins.

"Taste like the Heavens," he murmurs. "Need more."

Before you can process what he means, he's moving down your body, kissing his way down your stomach, your hip bones, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. When his mouth presses to your core, you nearly scream, his tongue licking through you slowly, parting your wet folds. The pleasure is unlike anything you've ever felt, sharp and overwhelming, and your hands fly into his hair, gripping the dark strands, unsure if you're pulling him closer or away.

"Oh," you gasp. "I can't-"

"Yes, you can." His breath is hot against you. "Just feel it."

His tongue circles your clit gently and your hips twitch to meet his mouth, thighs shaking as your eyes squeeze shut. It feels maddeningly good, and when his tongue starts flicking over your clit directly, you feel the way your breath catches, the way you twitch under him. He holds your hips down to keep you skill, humming lightly as he devours.

And Junhui devours, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on that sensitive spot. Sometimes he sucks on it gently, and the sensation makes you cry out. Sometimes he flicks it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, building the pleasure higher and higher until you think you might die from it. And just when you think you can't take anymore, he slides a finger into your heat and you feel yourself clench hard.

"So tight," he groans. "So perfect. You're going to feel so good around my cock."

The crude words make you clench around his finger. Make more wetness flood between your thighs. He notices, and you can feel him smile against you.

"You like that?" His voice is teasing. Knowing. "You like when I talk dirty to you?"

"Yes." The admission comes out breathy. "Yes, please."

"Please what?" He adds a second finger, stretching you, and the burn is delicious. "Tell me what you want. I'll give you everything."

His fingers curl inside you, finding a spot that makes you see stars. He works you patiently, fingers stroking inside of you, pressing against that spot over and over and over while he sucks gently on your clit, driving you higher and higher.

You're trembling. Shaking. Your hands are fisted in his hair, your hips moving against his mouth despite his attempts to hold you still. The pleasure is so intense it's almost frightening. Like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the abyss.

The tension that's been building inside you finally snaps and you fall over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, clenching around his fingers, and you cry out his name as pleasure floods through you. It's overwhelming. All-consuming. Wave after wave of sensation that makes your vision go white, makes your whole body shake with the force of it.

Junhui works you through it, his fingers still moving inside you, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure until you're boneless and gasping beneath him.

When you finally come back to yourself, he's kissing his way back up your body. His lips are wet with you, and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. It should be embarrassing - should be shameful - but you don't care, licking into his mouth hungrily, pulling him as close as you can.

Junhui's hand slides between your thighs again, and despite the orgasm you just had, your body responds. Arching into his touch. Seeking more. He positions himself between your thighs, the hard length of him pressing against your entrance, and even through the haze of pleasure, you feel a flutter of nervousness. He's big. Bigger than his fingers. And you're not sure-

"Look at me." You do. His eyes are dark and intense, but soft and entirely focused on you. "We'll go slow. If it's too much, if you need me to stop, you tell me, understand?"

You nod. "Yes. I understand."

"Good." He kisses you again, soft and reassuring. "I've got you."

Then he's pushing in slowly - so slowly - the stretch is immediate and intense. More than his fingers, more than you expected and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, fingers sliding against his sweaty skin as your nails dig in.

He stops immediately. "Breathe. Just breathe."

You do. Deep breaths that help your body relax, help you adjust to the intrusion. After a moment, the burn eases slightly, and you nod. He pushes in another inch. Then another. The stretch intensifies, bordering on painful, and you whimper.

"I know." His forehead rests against yours. His whole body is trembling with the effort of holding still, of going slow. "I know it hurts. But you're doing so well. Taking me so perfectly."

The praise helps. Makes you want to be good for him, makes you want to take all of him. You breathe through the burn, through the stretch, and slowly your body adjusts. He steals another kiss from you as he sinks to the hilt, distracting you with his tongue and the way he groans into your mouth.

When he breaks the kiss, he's pressed as deep as he can go, the feeling so full and so good you can barely breathe. Junhui is just as affected, panting and shivering as he drops his head to gaze where you're joined, letting out a curse.

"You feel so good," he pants. "Like you were made for me."

You clench around him experimentally, and he groans, his hips jerking involuntarily. It feels good to squeeze down, a sensation you'd never imagined, and you do it again, a small little sound leaving your lips as he groans again.

"Don't," he rasps. "Don't do that or I won't last."

"I want you to feel good too," you whisper. Your hands slide down his back, feeling the hard muscles there, the way they flex and shift as he holds himself still. "I want to make you feel the way you made me feel."

"You do." He kisses you, tongues tangling briefly before he breaks the kiss to press his lips against your jawline. "You have no idea what you do to me. How long I've wanted this. Wanted you."

"Then have me."

Junhui lets out a desperate sound but nods, his hips starting to move slowly. It makes you gasp, the friction intense and the drag of his cock inside you so good. The pain has faded completely now, replaced by pleasure that builds faster than you can keep up with.

You wrap your legs around his waist, taking him deeper, and he groans into your shoulder. The angle changes and suddenly he's hitting something inside you, that same spot that makes the world spin and the pleasure spark right behind your eyelids.

"There," you gasp. "Right there, please."

"I know." His voice is rough. Strained. "I can feel you clenching around me. So tight. So perfect."

He picks up the pace, still careful but full of urgency now, thrusting deeper until you can feel yourself climbing toward another peak. His hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation is overwhelming, both too much and not enough and too everything.

The pleasure crests until it breaks and your second orgasm hits you harder than the first, your body clenching and spasming as you cry out his name. It's more intense than before, more overwhelming, like every nerve ending in your body is firing at once.

Seeing you lose it is all it takes for him. He buries himself deep as he can do and you feel the pulse of him inside of you as he comes, his entire body going rigid, every muscle locked tight as he whimpers a broken sound in the shape of your name.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and for a long moment neither of you moves. You just hold each other, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync. You can feel him still pulsing inside you, can feel the warmth of his release, and the realization that it's real and not a fantasy anymore makes your eyes sting with unshed tears.

Carefully, he pulls out. You both wince at the sensation but he's gentle, rolling to the side and pulling you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly. You can feel his heart racing, and his lips press against your brow, soft and sweet while his fingers trace patterns on your spine.

"I'm taking you away from here," Junhui says eventually.

You lift your head to look at him. "What?"

"Tonight, if possible. Tomorrow at the latest. Somewhere the emperor can't reach you. Somewhere you can be free."

"Junhui, you can't - your position-"

"I don't care." He cups your face in both hands. "You are sacred to me. Not because of your visions or your gift. Because of who you are. And I'm not willing to share you anymore. Not with the emperor. Not with the court. Not with anyone."

Your breath catches. "You'd give up everything? For me?"

"I already have." He kisses you softly. "The moment I stepped between you and the emperor, I chose you. There's no going back from that. So we go forward. Together."

"Where will we go?"

"East to the river provinces. I have family there who owe me favors. They'll hide us until we can figure out something more permanent." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "You'll have a life beyond the throne room. Beyond the visions. I promise you that."

Tears spill over. For the first time in your life, you feel safe - not because of prophecy or position, but because someone has chosen you for you. Because Junhui has chosen you over everything else.

"You wanted to be no one," Junhui whispers. "You can be no one to everything else. But to me, you are everything. You are not the Sacred - you're just sacred to me."

You nod, throat tight. "I would like that."

You didn’t seem too keen on sharing a stage with any of them, your eyes raking over nimble fingers and carefully shaped nails, bulging biceps and deliciously thick thighs almost bursting through bedazzled tights. You seemingly didn’t feel anything for the people you dismissed with a wave of your pen, leaving behind a trio of men – a trio that includes him.  

And he kind of likes the way indifference floats off you. It’s like you’re just like him.  

One in blue (27), one in white (82) and one in black, him.  

Number 1. The first to arrive, early that Tuesday morning.  

“We won’t get an understudy if you’re this picky, sweetheart.”  

He can hear the injured trapezist soft laughter from behind you, something rich in it settling into his bones – he thinks his name is Infinite, he’d seen him on a poster on Canal and Mercer. You let a smirk tug at the corner of your lips as a woman next to him clears her throat, before walking backwards towards them; the tassels of your leotard swinging with your every move. You set your clipboard down on the chair you’d been sitting on when all the auditionees had filed in, before folding your hands behind your back and giving them an award-winning smile; all teeth and ruby red lipstick.  

“Welcome to the Skyline Soirée.” You speak confidently, your eyes darting to the man in blue rolling his. Your smile drops to a much gentler one, a hint of cynicism in the back of your eyes, “you can go, 27.”  

“Are you serious?”   “Out.”  

“She’s ruthless.” He hears another man speak, joining the pair behind you; the loud, unmistakable crunch of an apple sounding in the ring. You roll your eyes, setting your shoulders back before looking at him and the other man in front of you. You tilt your head at them, and it would’ve been cute if there wasn’t that emptiness filling the back of your eyes.  

It makes him a little giddy.  

“As I was saying, welcome to the Skyline Soirée. Our circus has been the longest standing trapeze-centered circus in Manhattan since 1902, and been passed down through four generations. Much like there is history to trapeze, there is history to our circus. Our first ringmaster was Park Hyoseop, who built this empire centered around trapeze. He was succeeded by Park Minhyuk, and Park Hyunjin. Finally, we’ve been handed over to our very first female ringmaster, Park Jihyo.”  

Jihyo raises her coffee cup with a small smile on her lips, and he gives her a curt nod back before returning his attention to you. You’re pacing in front of them, your hair cascading down your back before you sharply turn to a stop.  

“I will preface this audition with the fact that you will not be the star of the show. You are merely an accessory, a background character...”  

You point at a poster on one of the circus pillars, your smiling face plastered on it with a sparkly leotard in candy apple red. His eyes scan the poster, taking in the way the color really brought out your eyes – before you point to another across the room. Still you, posed perfectly in your seemingly trusty gold hoop, in a white leotard with angel wings: the face of the Skyline Soirée.  

The star of the Skyline Soirée.  

Being in your presence made his skin prickle.  

“Should you pass this audition, you will become a temporary trapeze artist with the Skyline Soirée for the next eight weeks. After eight weeks, we will revisit your contract with us, as we expect Minghao to be performance ready by then.” You set your shoulders back again, your dark green leotard twinkling in the low light as you point at the injured trapezist. “Should we like you, you could become one of eight trapeze artists and continue within our circus as a permanent member of the team. If you get that opportunity, I recommend you stay in my good graces.”  

He feels his teeth ache at your demand for respect.  

He hears the wheels that hold the sandbags start turning, and he glances over your shoulder to see the apple-eating man starting to move things around. You smile inwardly, before turning back to the men as he stares at you with wide eyes. There’s a tick in your brow as you make eye contact with him, trailing your gaze down his frame before turning on your heel.  

His cheeks feel hot as you walk away.  

“I will be performing a basic routine once, so pay attention. You’ll have to recreate this, and it’s really quite simple. Couple spins, couple suspensions...if you know what you’re doing, you’ll get it done.” You shrug, seemingly disinterested in any excuses as you walk backwards. He and No.82 clear the ring out; the sound of the spotlights being clunked on making you visibly excited. You grab the thick rope in one hand, giving it a hard yank as Middle of The Night by Elley Duhé starts to play throughout the arena. You seemingly can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips; likely habit from over a decade of performances as you’re pulled up by the rope.  

Of course, he knows you’ve been with the Skyline Soirée for twenty-one years. He knows all about you and your gold hoop. He does his research, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t?  

He watches calmly as your body contorts around the rope, wrapping your ankle in the tied noose as you’re swung around the arena. The momentum blows your hair back as you spin in tight circles, your eyes trained for what he assumes is the familiar gleam of your gold hoop as it is swung your way by the quick-footed man tossing it to you. You grab it, twisting your body into the curve of the swing, flipping in and out of it with a grace only mastered by years of dedication. He’s sure you can feel the eyes on you all around the arena, he’s sure you feel at home as you grab yet another rope being swung at you – wrapping it around your thighs with ease and fully flipping yourself upside down. You narrowly miss him, your fingertips just barely grazing the sequins of his leotard as you swing past him.  

You seem to feel free, as you grab another hoop being thrown at you, and he can practically feel the sting of the rope burning into your bare thigh as you flip yourself onto the cool metal. You fold your legs around the hoop; the metal tucked behind your knees and the curve of your ribcage almost identical to that of the hoop as you spin in tight circles to the middle of the ring. The song comes to an end as you’re suspended a few feet above the ground, your smile dropping as you position yourself to be pulled off the hoop by the same man; strong hands gingerly pulling you off the hoop.  

He’d overheard a few of the other auditionees talk about that. That you were a princess to this circus, that Jihyo once said you were too valuable to jump down from any distance. One wrong move meant metatarsal fractures, sprained ankles, even dislocated knees.  

It wasn’t worth the risk.  

You thank him softly, the gleam in his eyes making your shoulders soften as his fingers squeeze you gently before he slips away.  

He feels his stomach tighten, his body moving before his mind as he brings his hands together in a soft clap; your brows raising as you look over at him, his head nodding curtly. More clapping fills the room from your teammates, and you look flustered as you clear your throat, hearing snickering from Minghao’s general direction before he stops and tucks his hands behind his back.  

You turn to face him and the other auditionee.  

“Easy, right? Who wants to go first?” You smile brightly, resting your hands on your hips as the man in white winces.  

“I think I’ll have to forfeit. I was told this would be flying trapeze, not static. I apologize for wasting your time.” He speaks carefully, and your eyes widen slightly as he picks up his bag and gives a quick bow. You don’t even get a chance to speak before he’s out the double flaps, where a few children peer in to get a glimpse of the auditions. You wave, and they squeal lightly before sprinting away.  

“They must really like you around these parts,” he says gently, moving to fold his hands in front of him. You tilt your head, hearing the spin of metal on metal as the rope is thrown to you from behind.   

“Let’s see if we like you, huh?” You hold it out to him, and he only smiles softly; taking the rope gingerly before stepping carefully into the ring. He steps to where you started, give or take an inch – and he hears the man who helped you get down rustle around before the music starts again. With a quick thwip of his wrist, he’s in the air – and you move back to watch him glide expertly through the air.  

He catches the man’s throws with a finesse that would make anyone’s skin litter with goosebumps, curling through your trusty hoop with poise. He can feel the bated breath surrounded him as he nails each of your twists, your figure moving backwards to follow him around the arena before your thigh bumps Minghao’s arm. His hand grabs it, squeezing the plush flesh as you furrow your brows in concentration.  

He swings past you smoothly, his hand gracing your cheek ever so slightly; your eyes averting as he shoots you a wink. He notes the quick scowl in your face, the tick in your jaw as you shift your weight as he splays himself across the second hoop. He feels the heat of your gaze trail the curve of his hip, tonguing your cheek as the scattered sequins of his leotard catch the low light.  

He’s suspended above the ground just as you were, but he flips out of the hoop and faces Jihyo, Minghao, an openly impressed unnamed man, and you.  

“Thank you for the opportunity.” He speaks softly, demurely, even; bending at the waist carefully as his chest heaves up and down in steady breaths. He catches the way a smile tugs at the corner of Jihyo’s lips, Minghao’s hidden by his hand yielding a lit cigarette. You circle him like a dog does before lunging in for a bite, raking your eyes over him as you observe the elegance in his posture.  

“Good shoulders,” you murmur, clicking your tongue three times as you stand in front of him. You splay your hands on your hips, before glimpsing over your shoulder; his eyes following the soft slope of your neck. Minghao gives you a smirk, a shrug of one shoulder as you look back, your eyes catching the sliver of the thin gold chain beneath his leotard. You push his shoulder suddenly, watching his sturdy form as he hardly wobbles.  

Your lips curl into an oddly impressed frown, and you circle him again – pushing the center of his back with the tips of your fingers, humming as he doesn’t budge. You gently nudge the back of his knee with your foot, smirking inwardly as he glimpses over his shoulder at you with an amused look playing in his eyes. You shrug, folding your hands behind your back with a sly smile as you carefully slide over to Minghao.  

“You like him?” You ask, loud enough for him to hear as you lean against the chair. Minghao takes a quick drag of his cigarette, his arm wrapping loosely around your waist as he blows the smoke away from your face. He watches Minghao’s fingers dig into your hip gently, annoyance settling in the pit of his stomach.  

“Good posture, firm shoulders. Sturdy...sexy.” Minghao shrugs, making you nod as you slither over to Jihyo. The ringmaster rolls her eyes with a smile as you wrap your arms around her neck and smush your cheek to hers as he folds his hands in front of himself. The unnamed man from before bumps his hip to yours, planting a quick kiss to your hairline.  

“I second the decision.” Jihyo shrugs, “he seems...able. Great physique, we’ll do a physical to make sure he’s in good health.”  

“It’s up to you, though, babe. It’s your domain, after all.” Minghao clears his throat. You tilt your head as you meet his eyes across the ring, patting Jihyo’s shoulder as you run your tongue over your teeth.  

“You got a name, hotshot?” You ask, leaning your forearms on the back of what was originally your chair – one that now the unnamed man occupies. Your fingers brush his bare shoulders, pinching the skin playfully as he tugs his sleeves over them with a pout.  

“Junhui. Wen Junhui.”   “Where are you from, Wen Junhui?”  

“Boston, Mass.” He states clearly, and he remains stoic as he notices the way you all stiffen, a chill running through your bodies simultaneously.  

The Boston Extravaganza had been dismantled from the roots just three weeks prior – the ringleader, Kang Minseok, murdered after his first Sunday in the spot. The investigation is pending, but he’s sure it’ll close. 

Just like all the others. 

Performers had fled into the depths of Manhattan, seeking refuge from their now broken home. To his knowledge, Jihyo had been gracious enough to take in a few performers, but nothing too major. She’d made calls all over, sending people all around the Northeast with the promise of work – should they arrive safely.   

If he was anyone else, he would agree that it is painful – to see fellow performers lose their touch as they navigated the streets of your city in search of work. Performers retired the sparkling leotards for brown aprons, espresso machines and thumbing through tip jars for their share of the feed.  

He knew that Jihyo hadn’t intended to take in another trapeze artist, he’d been floating around the circus long enough to know exactly what the weaknesses were – though it seemed Jihyo ran quite a strong ship. Minghao, as if right on Junhui’s schedule, broke his foot last weekend – falling from the hoop at four feet of suspension, and you’d been left to swing through your carefully practiced routine alone. Junhui had watched every performance from the stands, hidden behind cheering families and bored teenagers; chewing on salted caramel taffy and taking notes in his phone.  

Jihyo had enough with what she called her Lucky 7...which was pioneered by you.  

The brightest star of them all: the final performance to seal the night. The one who led the ending bow and wore hand-bedazzled leotards made by Jihyo. You stood in the middle of the performers; your shoulders set back in confidence as you thanked the city of New York for joining you for yet another glorious performance.  

He’d heard Jihyo joke that her ownership of the Skyline Soirée was just for show.  

Of course, it wasn’t. He’d heard a lot about her in particular – she was kind, smart, confident. A creative businesswoman who did not let anything get between the success of her and her circus. She saw potential in everything and everyone, never once giving up in the face of adversity – even when one by one, circuses across the country were destroyed from their sturdy foundations.  

“I was part of the–”   “We know.”  

Jihyo nods carefully, and his eyes catch your hand running through your hair as you trill your lips. You nudge the unnamed man, “Mingyu, where’s my clipboard?”  

Mingyu.  

“Well, welcome to the team. Eight weeks, Wen. Then we’ll see if we keep you on board. Sounds good?” Mingyu raises a brow, pulling the clipboard from under his meaty thigh and flipping the page to the contract that would bound Junhui to the Skyline Soirée for two months.   

“We have three days of practice, and four performance nights. No breaks aside from the nine hours of sleep we’ve allotted in the schedule. It’s important that we are well rested.” You say pointedly, before grabbing the clipboard and clicking the sparkly pink pen. You wave him over with a flair of disinterest, your eyes bored as he makes his way over and takes the pen from your fingers. Jihyo stands, taking the clipboard and gesturing around.  

“Sign here, and here. Initial here, here, here and here. You’ll have to consent to a physical examination over on Canal and Mercer with Dr. Hong and Dr. Yoon, they're our primary care providers for the Skyline Soirée. They’ll take good care of you.” She nods as Junhui takes the clipboard gingerly, scribbling his life away. “You will also have to meet all the other members of our team, but you report to Y/N and Mingyu every morning. They’re your team directors. Think of it like we’re corporate and they’re your managers.”  

Mingyu disappears into the shadows of the arena, and Jihyo talks shop for what feels like an hour – but Junhui’s eyes drift to you and Minghao. You seem relatively close; Minghao’s hand nestled on your upper thigh, fingers kneading the flesh gently as you whisper amongst yourselves. You talk with your hands a lot, gesticulating at the open air and tracing shapes that Minghao understands seamlessly; your brows furrowing as you repeatedly hit the side of your hand to your palm, pointing at something Junhui can’t see at the top of the circus arena.  

“...And Y/N will introduce you to everyone. We’ll get you a handbook and a physical appointment before Wednesday.” Jihyo nods, Mingyu walking forward with a thin book; the circus name plastered across the front with a picture of the main cast on the cover. He holds it out to Junhui, and only then does he notice the pink bookmark already sticking out from the middle of it.  

“You’ll have to go over this before Wednesday, because you have more documents to sign. Y/N will introduce you to everyone and show you to your trailer. Welcome to the Skyline Soirée, Junhui.” Jihyo holds her hand out, and Junhui smiles brightly, taking her hand gingerly and giving it a firm shake. She smiles in return, bowing slightly before dropping her hand, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to get back to. Make yourself at home.”  

“I will, thank you.”  

Mingyu watches Jihyo walk away with his arms crossed, and you and Minghao do the same. There’s a blanket of silence that falls over the four of you, before Minghao taps the ash off his cigarette, taking a final drag before putting it out on the ashtray on his thigh.   

“So,” he blows the smoke out, making you scrunch your nose as you wave it away from your face. “You’re from Boston?”  

“Not technically, but that’s where I came from.” Junhui shrugs, mindlessly rifling the pages of the handbook. “I was part of that circus the longest, so I guess I just got used to saying that.”  

“Where are you from originally?” Mingyu asks next to him, making Junhui’s lip tug up into a lopsided smile that screams pity.  

“Washington.”  

You stiffen visibly but clear your throat as Minghao glances up at you with a look of concern on his features. You give him a pained smile, before clasping your hands in front of you.  

“I think it’s time we introduce Junhui to the rest of our cast, hm? Mingyu, Minghao?” Your eyes and voice are pointed in a way that you don’t want Junhui to understand, but he rolls his eyes as he folds his hands behind his back. “Come, you’ll want to meet everyone before we take you to your trailer.”  

“Ah, ah! Jihyo said you have to introduce and take him home. There was no we in that.” Minghao retorts next to you, before flashing a mischievous smile at Junhui, “enjoy your stay, Junhui. I’m glad to see someone as skilled as you taking my place for the time being.”  

“I hope you feel better soon, Minghao.” He nods gently, before Mingyu makes his way over and helps the man up, the crutches leaning against one of the pillars being picked up in one hand as he practically throws Minghao over his back. Both men give him a quick wave and a smile, before snickering to themselves as you huff, your hands curling into fists at your side as Junhui takes long, silent strides to settle at your side.  

You seem startled as you glance over and see him next to you, your eyes flashing with a veil of disinterest before you tongue your cheek.  

“Hi.” He says softly, before holding his hand out. You glance down at it, “I don’t shake hands. You already know who I am.”  

“Do I?” He tilts his head, dropping his hand to his side before you press your red lips into a thin line. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

“Pleasure.” You cross your arms on your chest, “first things first, we are not friends.”  

“I didn’t assume we would be,” Junhui smiles, “but I get you. Strictly business.”  

You let your eyes scan him shamelessly, before turning your nose up and clicking your tongue.  

“Minghao is my long-term partner, but I’ve done trapeze with everyone on the Lucky 7. You’ll have to show that you can work well with them before we can even consider you to be a part of the team permanently.” Your voice is level, but you sound bored as you raise a brow at him, “but if you don’t get along with me, it won’t happen for you, anyway. What I say goes.”  

You don’t give him a chance to respond, opting to walk away. He follows silently, watching you carefully step over the edge of the ring and duck behind the curtains. He’s met with a mess of people prepping – some people are stretching, others are being laced up into costumes, Jihyo is carefully holding three pins in her lip as she holds a tape measure to a girl’s waist. No one cares to look up as you make your way through – their eyes glued to their own projects as you stop in front of a frosted glass door, your knuckles rapping on the frame in a memorized pattern.  

The door opens, a bright-eyed man smiling almost instantly as he sees you.  

“Y/N!” His plump cheeks almost hide his eyes entirely as he throws his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. You’re slightly stiff before your arms wrap around his waist, the man not noticing Junhui standing behind you until you clear your throat.  

“Hosh, we’ve got company.” Your voice is muffled against his shirt, and the man’s smile drops before his eyes find Junhui. He waves lightly, the man straightening and letting you go as he tilts his head.  

“Minghao’s replacement?”   “He has a name, Hoshi.”  

You roll your eyes, pushing past the man. Junhui holds his hand out instinctively, the man taking it firmly as a whistle is heard in the room.  

“Junhui. From Boston.”   “...Hoshi. Jersey City.”  

“Nice to meet you, Hoshi. Is that a stage name?” Junhui asks as Hoshi drops his hand gingerly, earning a shrug.  

“No one goes by names here, really. It’s all stage presence unless you’re Y/N. She’s who she is in and out of the ring.” He flips a sign next to the door to say In Session before moving to the side to let Junhui into the room. He ducks inside, Hoshi following and closing the door as what seems like a barre dance studio comes into view. The walls are lined with mirrors, with a trio of men scattered across the room. You’re standing at the far-right corner, aggressively moving through a rack of sparkling leotards and skirts. There is a desk covered in first aid supplies, a half-filled kit sprawled open, and a roll of dressing strewn everywhere.   

Minghao sits in the desk chair, with Mingyu carefully wrapping his foot as the smell of Tiger Balm fills the room.   

Your shoulders are tense as you thumb at the sleeve of an orange leotard, your fingers visible through a torn hole as you scowl. You turn on your heel, clearing your throat and gathering the attention of everyone. The men seemingly scramble to stand in a line; their shoulders taught and backs straight as you step in front of them; Hoshi and Mingyu joining the lineup without a second thought. Junhui watches as you settle against the bar, crossing your arms on your chest.  

“Gentlemen, we’ve got a new addition to our team.” You speak clearly, but their eyes don’t avert to Junhui as you click your tongue. “Wen Junhui from Boston. He will be taking Minghao’s place for the next eight weeks, should he pass his physical exam. You are all to remain attentive in your routines, and I will be taking someone on as an understudy should Junhui or I get injured or fail to perform up to the Skyline standards. I expect you all to be on your best behavior, and I know you won’t disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”  

“Yes, ma’am.” The men sound off almost robotically, before your shoulders relax slightly.   

“You will all have time to introduce yourselves later, but this is just something quick to get it out of the way. I’m going to show Junhui to his trailer, and I expect you all to have picked out lunch by the time I get back.” You run a hand over your face lightly, before pointing directly at Hoshi, “no more disco fries. You’ll get sick like you did last time and then I can’t have you understudy because Jihyo will make you sit out.”  

“You’re such a party pooper.” Hoshi pouts, making you snicker inwardly before you call a break with a clap of your hands. The men huddle together; several phones being pulled out as Junhui watches you push off the barre. You don’t bother looking at him, making your way to the door with a wave of your hand for him to follow you. He does just that, opening the door for you and earning a purse of your lips as you slip out.  

“You sure run this team like the Navy.” He comments gently; that gets him a sliver of a smile as you shake your head.  

“No, I don’t. They just know what they need to do.” You reply, “they’ll introduce themselves to you during lunch. Or after, or whatever. It’s up to them; they don’t owe you anything.”  

Junhui doesn’t respond, keeping his eyes trained on the sway of your leotard tassels. Your body is fluid, no tension carried anywhere but you’ve seemed to have trained yourself to keep it together. Like you’ve got your own demons, several skeletons in your own closet – but none strong enough or big enough to show the effects of them on your face. You carry yourself with your shoulders set back, your chin tilted up; poised, confident, brave.  

Strong.  

You stop in front of a door, the blaring red sign above it reads EXIT.   

“You’ll get a keycard that lets you in and out of the building. Hansol should get it to you before sundown, but since Jihyo stuck you with me for the time being, we’ll use mine. You only get one before Hansol makes you fork over ten bucks, so most of us just leave it hanging here.” You gesture at the wall, keycards hanging from a hook on different colored lanyards. You grab the first one off the hook, flipping it over to see the name Dahyun in blue permanent marker, “if you have any technical problems, you go to Hansol. If you have any wardrobe problems, you go to Hansol.”  

“I assume I’ll meet Hansol soon, right?” He watches you nod as you push the door open, and dozens of trailers come into view. They are sectioned off behind chain fences, seemingly in teams – Lucky 7, Clown Alley, Arson Avenue, Staffing Street.  

“Arson Avenue?”   “It’s for the fire artists. They’re further back because they practice outside, and we can’t let anything catch on fire.”  

You push the gate open on the Lucky 7 set, the trailers lining the fence with four on each side, with a bigger one lining the back of the lot. You beeline for it, typing the code into the door before glancing over your shoulder.  

“Wait here. I have to get your keys.”   “Is this—”   “This is my trailer.”  

You say nothing else, slipping inside the pink door and disappearing inside. Junhui rocks on his heels, trilling his lips as he looks around. Everyone’s names are plastered on their trailers and decorated accordingly, it seemed; Hoshi, DK, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Infinite, Dino. There is one empty trailer next to yours, stark white and plain as opposed to the plethora of colors around the sector.  

“Okay, found them.” You slink back out of your trailer, holding a set of keys in your hand. “You’ll have keys for the next eight weeks, and we’ll get someone out here to give you a keypad if you end up signing on permanently. In the meantime, don’t lose these; Jihyo hates the locksmith, he’s difficult.”  

You roll your eyes but make your way over to the empty trailer. His eyes catch the gold foil stars on the sides of your white trapeze boots in the high noon sun, your leotard twinkling in the light as you yank the door to the trailer open. You feel around the side for the light switch, flicking it on before beckoning him forward.  

“I know that the Boston Extravaganza had you set up in dorms, but Jihyo really wanted us to be more like a community rather that roommates. Roommates can have tension, which can cause issues in the ring and then we’re all messed up. So, this will be yours for the time being.” You nod curtly, “you’ve got a kitchenette, closet, bathroom, shower. The couch is a futon, but if you’re here longer, you can get a bigger trailer, and we’ll switch it out with a bed. Of course, no one stays all that long, so...good luck.”   

You lack a bit of empathy as he steps inside, “we’ll arrange Seungcheol or Jaebeom to give you a lift back to your hotel room so you can get your belongings. We run a strict schedule around here, so lights out by ten. You don’t have to sleep, that’s your prerogative. We’re up by six in the morning, breakfast at seven and arena by seven-thirty. Lunch is at one, dinner is at six-thirty, and we have cast-wide dinners once a week. Any questions?”  

You’re apathetic as you blink at him, eyes tired as your arms cross against your chest. He tilts his head at you, before holding his hand out. Your brows furrow, “I don’t shake hands.”  

“My keys, sweetheart.”  

If you’re embarrassed, you’re good at masking it – shrugging your shoulders before holding his keys out to him by the ring. He takes them gently, spinning them on his fingertip before clasping his hand around them.  

“How long have you been with the circus?”   “Since I was six.”   “Do you like it?”  

“It’s everything to me.” You say plainly, “it’s all I know. Do you have any questions about this? Because I’d like to get back for lunch.”  

“You’re not very welcoming, are you?” He raises a brow, and you stiffen slightly; tonguing your lower lip before sighing.  

“I don’t warm up to newcomers. I know better, and so should you. Now, if you don’t have questions, I’d like to get a move on.” You give him a pointed look, making a show of exiting the trailer as he sets the handbook down on his counter. He watches as you inch away from the trailer, flipping the page to the pink bookmark.  

Across the top of the page, in bold Times New Roman is exactly what he thought would be there.  

ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY.  

“Bingo.” He mutters to himself, running his eyes over the page quickly before tossing the entire book across the trailer onto the futon. He’d look over it later; tucking his keys into his palm before slipping back out. You’re halfway across the lot, and he moves like molasses before smirking at himself when you look over your shoulder with an annoyed expression.  

“Junhui! Move it!”   “I’m coming, I’m coming.”  

 Lunch moved fast. The team practically inhales their food, and you perched on the edge of the desk and shared chips with Minghao; shy smiles and his fingers tracing shapes into your bare thighs. He gets introduced to everyone and quickly learns that yes, while stage names were mostly used – he could quickly get used to calling everyone by their real names. DK was Seokmin, Dino was Chan and Hoshi was in fact, Soonyoung.   

He also quickly learns that not everyone on the trapeze team is from New York and New Jersey aside from Soonyoung, Minghao from Syracuse and Seungkwan, who is from Hoboken – Seokmin is from Chicago, Mingyu is from Kapolei, and Chan is from Atlanta.   

You’re from Manhattan, born and raised. You grew up here with Jihyo, Minghao and Hansol, lost everyone and won everything back almost immediately. He learns just that, no context – in hushed whispers, from Hoshi.  

“She’s sweet,” he had said, shoveling the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “She just doesn’t trust new people. Let her warm up to you, it’ll happen eventually.”  

You made no effort to do so for the remainder of the day.   

Junhui was introduced to both Jaebeom and Seungcheol right after lunch, because Jihyo had called them during lunch to inform them that Junhui had been signed on. The pair drove him to his hotel to help him gather his things before letting him know he had an appointment the next day with Dr. Yoon – before driving him back and helping him get settled in the trailer.  

“How’d you get on with Y/N? Was she nice?” Seungcheol asked gently, and Jaebeom had a seemingly knowing look in his eyes as he smirked inwardly. When Junhui answered unsurely, they shared a pointed glance before Jaebeom spoke up.  

“She’s a bit cold right off the bat, but she’ll get better. She just doesn’t know you yet.”   

It seemed as though everyone tried vouching for you to comfort him – like it wasn’t his fault that you were standoffish, but he’d certainly be subjected to your behavior because he had no choice. You were the star, and you were going to stay the star; your behavior was to be tolerated, you were to be respected and you were held in high regard no matter his opinions about your rightfully earned position, his opinions about the cast that enabled your behavior, or his opinions about you.  

He would have to tolerate it, to tolerate you – whether he liked it or not.  

Junhui can’t imagine a mystery more enticing.  

He spent the rest of the night in his trailer. He showered, the water pressure shittier than it had been in Boston but he was no one to complain. He draped himself across the futon, legs covered in black sweatpants and donning his dark green zip-up – and he cracked open the Skyline Soirée Cast Member Handbook right back to the pink bookmark.  

“Anti-fraternization policy,” he reads, rolling his eyes with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What, can’t bang the star of the show?”  

Apparently, it’s just that: he literally can’t – it’s right there in black and white.  

The Skyline Soirée prohibits the ideation, intention or execution of any romantic advances or relationships between employees. This includes staff members, ringmasters and performers; should employees engage each other in romantic or flirtatious advances, it is heavily recommended that both (if not multiple) parties keep their relationship at work strictly professional. This policy has been implemented since November 19th of 1989, during the second generation of the Skyline Soirée legacy.  

Beneath the paragraph is your name.  

LUCKY STAR CLAUSE – ANTI-FRATERNIZATION POLICY, SUBSECTION B-2.  

An edit has been made to the original 1989 anti-fraternization policy following the Midnight Menagerie murders. Whoever is considered the star of the show (‘Lucky Star’) is not to be romantically linked with anyone involved in the cast, staff or outsourced providers. If said relationships are established, Lucky Star contracts with the Skyline Soirée are to be ceased immediately. This clause has been implemented since May 26th, 2015, in order to protect the Lucky Stars of the Skyline Soirée – of whom since have only been Sidney Kim (1997-2013, b. 1982) and Y/N Lee (2013-present, b. 1997.) This clause to be updated every time a ‘Lucky Star’ is voted into rotation.  

“Midnight Menagerie murders...” he murmurs to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. “What does a romantic relationship have to do with any of that?”  

He scoffs, turning the page with a tick in his jaw – only to see an introductory journal-like page. There is a smiling portrait of you in the top right corner that looks recent; your eyes bright and your red-lipped smile wide as you looked into the camera like you were absolutely enamored. There are more photos – you in 2002, holding onto a little girl that looks a lot like Jihyo. You in 2009, sat in front of a birthday cake. You, in 2015 – your high school senior photos taken inside the circus arena, wearing your graduation cap and gown while perched on your hoop and dressed in a pink mock neck leotard with matching aerial boots that had gold glitter stars on either side.  

You in 2019, holding three silver trophies and a lopsided crown atop your mussed hair – captioned Jules Léotard Trapeze ‘19 Champion, Y/N Lee.  

LUCKY STAR – Y/N LEE.   

"If you’re reading this, you’ve joined the Skyline Soiree. I hope you’ve received a warm welcome,” Junhui reads aloud, before blowing air out of the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t say warm, but it was certainly something.”   

He trills his lips lightly, resting his cheek on his knuckles as he reads across the page. You joined the circus at six years old, with Jihyo’s family taking you in after your parents were murdered on Christmas Day in 2001; your mother a reporter for the Garden City News, your father a detective for the NYPD. You’d long loved the circus, hence probably why you got the starring role – and something about it made Junhui’s chest hurt.   

He felt a few tears sting his eyes as he kept reading your story; how you dedicated your entire life to the circus and skipped out on graduation because it was a Saturday evening, and you were set to perform with Minghao. You talked about how you learned to drive in a 1975 Vista Cruiser in Rochester one summer, and how Halloween being your favorite holiday. Summer is your favorite season, your favorite color is green, and you talk about how much Jihyo loved celebrating your birthday.  

And you never mentioned Christmas again.  

“I hope you love the Skyline Soirée as much as I do. Maybe we’ll perform together! This is from 2019 Y/N, so if you’re reading this again: maybe you’ll win another JLT! Skyline Stars, we're brighter together!”  

Junhui sighs, clicking his tongue before turning the page once more. A page full of Jihyo, followed by pages full of the rest of the cast and crew: Hoshi, Tzuyu, Mingyu...  

Minghao.  

“Boyfriend. Against the Lucky Star Clause...that’s a Lucky Star boyfriend. Cute.” He mutters, sucking his teeth before reading across the page. Nothing catches his eye much – trapeze artist since the age of sixteen and joined Skyline a year before you became the star of the show. He spent his childhood split between Syracuse and Manhattan, spending the summers in upstate. He mentions you twice – how you helped him learn, and how honored he was to be your right hand.  

The yearbook of sorts ends with Jihyo. She talks about the legacy of the Skyline Soirée and how much pressure it is to be the head of it all – but she mentions you, and how easy you make being the star look. How easily you soar through the air and how much hope it gives her – how much hope you give the entire cast.  

Junhui wonders if Jihyo really is the Ringmaster she says she is.  

He tosses the handbook to the side, his eyes catching the clock hanging above the kitchenette. 8:45 PM.  

“Lights out by ten...I have time.” He pushes himself off the futon, grabbing his cap off the dinner table – trading it for his phone, which he powers off and slides onto the hardwood. He tucks his hair under the cap, taking his keys and flicking all the lights off with the switch by the door. He cracks it open, hearing a laugh ring through the air as he slips out and locks it behind him. He sees the twinkle of your leotard in the moonlight, your face lit by Minghao holding a lighter to the end of a cigarette between your lips. Your hair is tied up, the slope of your neck speckled with glitter from your outfit.  

You’re sitting on the steps of Minghao’s trailer, and you’re both seemingly trying to ignore the ruckus coming from Mingyu’s trailer – until you glance up, your eyes bright even in the dark lot.  

“Where’re you going, hotshot?” You don’t sound very interested, but there’s a look on your face that says you’re suspicious. Minghao is sat on a folding chair, his injured leg rested across your knees with your hand holding his shin.  

“Out.” He replies, shrugging his shoulders as your brows furrow.  

“It’s almost lights out.”   “Key word, almost. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”   

He gives you a quick smile, before shoving his hands into his pockets and making his way out of the lot. He skirts out of the back gate, spotting a neon bar sign a block away.  

“Perfect.”  

IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING WHEN YOU HEAR RUSTLING OUTSIDE.  

You’re lying in Minghao’s bed, your eyes burning as you peel them open. Minghao’s face is buried in your neck, his hand tucked under your sleep shirt as you tilt your head back to peer out his window. The sun is bleeding in as your fingers fumble with the blinds, making Minghao stir before feeling him bury his face deeper into the slope of your neck.  

You can barely make out who you assume to be Junhui – wearing a zip-up hoodie and the cap he wore last night was now backwards on his head. You squint slightly, as if it’d make it better – only to watch him flick the lights of his trailer on and slip inside.   

You tongue your cheek, dropping your hand from the blinds and wrapping your arm around Minghao’s shoulders. He presses a chaste kiss to your skin, before his voice fills your ears.   

“You worry too much.”  

You roll your eyes, feeling his hand slide higher up your back as he drums his fingers against your skin.  

“I do not worry.”   “I can practically hear the gears turning in your head. He’s new, he’s not a psycho killer.”  

“You don’t know that.” You mutter, draping your leg over Minghao’s hip and feeling his lips curve into a smile. “He could be. We don’t know anything about him. He could be a Scorpio.”  

“I’m a Scorpio.”   “Yeah, and you’re evil.”   “Not psycho killer evil. And don’t forget you asked to be edged, I didn’t do that on my own.”  

“God forbid a girl try new things with her boyfriend. And shut up, we said we wouldn’t talk about that after we broke up. Keep the boundaries, man.” You roll your eyes, but your smirk gives you away as he snickers against you.   

Your relationship with Minghao was...intriguing, to say the least.  

Sure, you’d known better than to ever let anyone outside of Mingyu know that the two of you were more than friends – and he only knew because he caught the two of you at an ice cream parlor when you were eighteen. The two of you had been dating for a year at that point, and there was no point in denying it when you were very much holding hands under the table.  

Forced proximity is bound to stir up some feelings.  

You broke up after four years. Neither of you were too sure as to why, but something between you changed. You mutually ended things three months after the JLT Awards, but the two of you remained close – the best of friends, almost.  

With some benefits sprinkled in.  

Neither of you had to mourn the loss of the relationship all that much, and Minghao didn’t really extend his affections to anyone else. The casual touching, sharing a bed, comforting you when you were (rarely) feeling out of your element – it was all reserved for you, but Minghao certainly slept with other people, as did you.  

Minghao and Jihyo were truly the only ones that saw you out of work-mode. Jihyo had known you your entire lives, and they were also the only two that truly knew what happened to your parents.  

You weren’t there when it happened. You were much too young to know any of it, really – but you learned as you got older that your parents had made too many enemies and too quickly. Jihyo’s mother was your father’s partner on the force, and they both worked for the 9th Precinct. Your parents were close to the Parks, and you’d been put into her care for the night so your parents could make the trip up to your aunt’s house in Syracuse and bring her and your cousin down for the New Year.   

They never made it – your father took a wrong turn in Washington Heights and subsequently sent the 34th Precinct into a frenzy. You found out through the nightly news that your parents were stopped at a red light on W. 170th Street after having missed their turn on W. 165th Street on their way to the NY-9A. Pitch black at 11pm on a Tuesday was perfect for an ambush – and you try not to think about the holidays all that much anymore.  

Truth be told, you found solace in the Park family. You felt good knowing that Jihyo was your best friend, to know that her family legacy continued through her for being the first-born niece and that she considered you, at this point, her sister. You felt good finding a sense of belonging, and you ignored the sinking feeling in your chest every time Christmas fell on a Tuesday – 2007, 2012, 2018...  

It would be a while before another in 2029.  

It wasn’t like the holidays were all that easy for you, anyway. You hated the way that everyone walked on eggshells around you, as if you were going to snap at any moment. As if it wasn’t already twenty-two years ago, and you were fine. Everything was fine, and you were moving on. You had to move on.  

“Do you think he’ll be good? Actually?” You murmur as Minghao rests his forehead against your clavicle. He hums, before leaning back slightly, “why? You don’t?”  

You purse your lips, letting out a defeated sigh.  

“I’m just worried about the entire ordeal of onboarding someone new. Jihyo wants a chemistry run before the end of the day, but he has to get his physical with Jeonghan this morning. I need to get Hansol to call Orbit Studio so they can get his headshots so we can print him onto the weekend posters, there’s just so much to do that I can’t worry about whether he’s good.” You bury your nose in his soft hair, “and then you’ve got that checkup today, right? To see if you need surgery?”  

“Will you stop worrying? Everything will be okay. Jeonghan and Joshua have Junhui at nine, so we’ll run a routine with Soonyoung until he gets back at eleven. We’ll run the routine with him until lunch, then I’ll be out from two-thirty onward. I’ll keep you updated, and we both know that if I get surgery, I’m going to be just down at the clinic for rehabilitation. I’m not going to disappear, and you can’t let this situation get you out of sorts.”  

Minghao’s voice is stern as he speaks, and you jut your lip out as he rolls his eyes.  

“Don’t pout at me.”   “I can do whatever I want.”  

He mimics you, his hand beneath your shirt squeezing your hip as he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek.  

“What time is it?” He sighs, rolling onto his back with a pained groan that makes you scramble up. You fix the pillow that goes under his ankle, feeling his hand trailing your thigh soothingly before his fingers squeeze the back of your knee. “Babe.”  

“Uh...six-fifteen. I’ve gotta get ready,” you mutter, swinging your leg over his hips and pressing a quick kiss to his nose. “I’ll see you out there, right? Mingyu should be barging in here soon.”  

He peers up at you through tired eyes, his hands sliding up your thighs before his fingers dig into the soft flesh.   

“I miss you.”   “I’m right here, Hao.”   “That’s not what I mean, and you know that.”  

You sigh, “I’ve just been busy. Things are so crazy right now, and you know I have to help plan the Horror Nights with Jihyo and Hansol. I’m still here.”  

“It’s like I can still hear her...” Minghao feigns distress, snickering to himself as you scoff, shoving his shoulder lightly. He sticks his tongue out at you, his fingers toying with the hem of your underwear as you lean down slightly.   

“What if the new guy—”   “We’re not playing this game. You won’t like it.”  

His tone is warning, making your skin prickle under his hands as you smirk. You press a kiss to his lips, nipping at his lower lip before patting his shoulder.  

“We’ll see. I’ll leave the door unlocked for Mingyu, and I’ll make your plate if I get there first.” You say softly, earning another kiss from your ex-boyfriend as you slide off his lap and slip your house shoes. You don’t bother grabbing the robe that you left on his couch last night, simply pulling his door open and sliding out with a mischievous grin.  

You cross your arms on your chest, shivering slightly at the cool autumn air as you hop off the trailer steps. Mingyu is stretching in front of his trailer as you make your way to yours, only to hear a wolf whistle from the direction of Soonyoung’s trailer, the unsoiled hinges of his door making you scowl.  

“Shut up!” You yell, hearing a giggle as you climb the steps to your trailer. You punch in your code, stretching an arm over your head as you pull the door open and step inside. Your rack of leotards comes into view, and you make your way over.  

It doesn’t take you long to get ready – and you can hear the ruckus of the boys horsing around in the lot as you swipe on your second layer of lipstick. You chose your candy apple red leotard, the matching aerial boots laying unlaced across the foot of your bed – your stomach churning slightly as hunger begins to set in, mixed with an unsettling feeling.  

You hated this feeling.   

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You mutter to yourself, pushing yourself away from the vanity and grabbing your boots and keycard off your bed, beelining for the door. You push it open, sitting on the edge of the steps as Mingyu manages to pin Soonyoung to the concrete.   

“I said I fucking yield!” Soonyoung’s voice is slightly choked as you smile inwardly, tucking your chin to your chest as Mingyu lets go of Soonyoung’s arm that he was holding against his back. “God, you’re such a fucking tool! It’s not like Tzuyu’s ever gonna look your way.”  

“She did once, and she’ll do it again. Ye of little faith, my man.” Mingyu huffs, nudging Soonyoung’s rib with his foot and earning a scowl. “Plus, it’s not like she’d look at you instead of me. She loved me once.”  

“Key word, loved. Past tense, dipshit.” Chan calls from the door of his trailer, stretching his arms over his head. You tongue your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, lacing the back of your boot up before Seokmin and Seungkwan duck out of their trailers with sweatpants low on their hips and mussed hair. They don’t bother greeting each other as they meet in the middle of the lot, linking pinkies and making their way out of the lot to the tent for breakfast.  

Mingyu flashes you a quick smile as he makes his way to Minghao’s trailer, punching the code into the keypad as you give him one back. You stand up, instinctively wiping your backside of any dust or rubble before Chan and Soonyoung start making their way to the tent with their arms linked.  

“You go ahead, superstar. I’ll get him there.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, likely feeling the tension radiating off your muscles. “Don’t forget to check in with Jihyo.”  

“Yes, Dad. I got it, Dad. Anything else, Dad?” You scoff, smiling as he sticks his tongue out at you. You clasp your hands behind your back, forcing a skip in your step as your bare toes touch the cool concrete. You make it halfway across the lot before hearing the creak of Junhui’s trailer door opening, making your body come to an abrupt halt as you spin on your heel.   

He’s dressed in a black long sleeve, scrunched where the hem meets the waistband of his sweatpants. He’s wrapping his wrists in oxide tape, catching your eye as he tears the edge of the tape off with his teeth and smooths it over. He raises a brow, maintaining eye contact as he rolls out another piece.  

“Good morning.”  

His voice is gravelly, and you purse your lips as he stops next to you. You glance at his hands as he wraps his other wrist, before you clear your throat. He smiles softly as you tilt your head, clicking your tongue with feigned disinterest as you turn back to face the lot.  

“Good morning, Junhui.”  

He chuckles as you start moving forward again, following behind you in silence. Your shoulders grow rigid as you feel the heat of his gaze settle on them, and you clasp your hands behind your back to have an excuse to roll them back. You hear the sharp tear of the tape as he finishes the wrap, and you merely glance over your shoulder as you reach the gate.  

“How was your first night?”  

He smiles inwardly, tucking the tape into his pocket as he unlocks the gate and holds it open for you.  

“You and I both know I got back an hour ago, don’t play coy.”  

You feel a heat grow in your chest, the skin of your arms prickling as you raise a brow, “where were you?”  

“Are you my keeper, Y/N?”   “In a sense.”   “Cute. I went out. Easy.”  

You crinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms on your chest, “first of all, don’t call me cute.”  

“I’m not calling you cute,” he says pointedly, shrugging. “I’m calling the fact that you think you can boss me around cute. You might run this show, but I’m just visiting. Act like it.”  

Your eyes widen slightly, his eyes running over you as he gives another shrug of his shoulders. He slides past you, a scoff falling from your lips as he waits for you to step out of the lot. He shoves his hands into his pockets as you fall into lockstep with him, before turning to you just as you both reach the back door of the arena.   

“I won’t be here from nine to eleven. I’ve got my physical, and Jihyo told me to let you know?” His voice holds curiosity as you roll your eyes, nodding as you hold your keycard in between your fingers.  

“We’ll be running a chemistry read when you get back. Do you know if you’re getting blood drawn? We’ll have to run it tomorrow if you are, and that could set us back for the Thursday show.”   

“I figured I was, so I was wondering if you’d run a routine with me now instead?” He asks gently, your shoulders stiff as you look up at him, “just before I leave. It’ll probably only get two runs, because I have to leave by eight-thirty.”  

You trill your lips, “I think we’d have to get Hoshi in on it, he’s usually the one who choreographs our routines. Unless you have something prepared, you’ll have to wait until after breakfast. Is that cool?”  

He nods, and you press your lips into a thin line as you nod; your hand holding the keycard to the door and hearing the buzz of it unlocking. He pulls it open, letting you walk inside first. The gaggle of cast members comes into view – and everyone is comfortably serving themselves breakfast off the table, their hair in all sorts of disarray and half of them still in their pajamas. You look across the fruit tray to see Nayeon chewing with her eyes closed as Dahyun limply gels her hair back, making you smile inwardly as you see Soonyoung and Chan sitting on one of the bigger beanbags with their backs pressed to one another.  

“You guys really are like a family.” You hear Junhui murmur behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see him trailing everyone around the room. His eyes stop at Tzuyu, watching the way she’s taping her ankles as Seungkwan holds a piece of melon to her lips. “You even feed each other.”  

“If you consider that family,” you shrug, grabbing three plates to serve yourself, Mingyu and Minghao. You let Junhui look around, feeling the heat of the cast members’ gazes on your back. You quickly shovel food across plates and balance the three of them on your arms before beelining for the usual table you occupied with your ex-boyfriend and your second longest friend. Junhui gets waved over by Soonyoung, so you part ways without feeling any sort of guilt.  

Breakfast goes by rather quickly. Mingyu and Minghao are the last ones to trail in after Jackson and Jinyoung, apologetic looks on their faces as they near your table. The three of you eat in mumbled whispers, with Minghao asking what Junhui stopped you about. You don’t bother responding, gesticulating to the air as you chewed around a piece of bread.  

The show gets on the road soon after breakfast – you offer to help clean up, gathering plates and cups when Hansol gives you a deadpan look. He takes the items from your hands, pointing to the arena behind you as you huff.  

“I was just trying to help.”   “I know, doll. But this isn’t your job. Go be our neighborhood friendly Spider-Man.”  

Junhui is already talking shop with Soonyoung by the time you, Minghao and Mingyu make it to the ring. Everyone else has scattered to their respective practice areas, and Junhui is spinning one of Nayeon’s balls on his fingertip as he gestures at the air. He’s saying things you can’t quite make out, but his eyes are bright and cheery as you set out a chair for Minghao to sit in.  

“Wipe that look off your face. Everyone is going to think you don’t want to be here, and you’re the one who sets the mood. Lighten up.” Minghao’s voice is warning as Mingyu helps him into the seat, making you scowl as you cross your arms on your chest. You lean against the side of Minghao’s chair, watching the way Soonyoung and Junhui get on.  

“They’re friendly for having just met.” You mutter, only to hear Mingyu snort next to you before he talks over his shoulder as he makes his way up the steps.  

“You’re the only one who doesn’t warm up to strangers. We’re running a business here; we have to be nice to each other.”  

“Nice to each other doesn’t mean being buddy-buddy.” Your nose is scrunched as Minghao gently pinches your thigh, your hand moving back to swat at it. “Stop it.”  

“You look nice.” He murmurs, “I like the red.”  

“I know you like the red, Hao.”   “You’re a tease.”   “You know it, babe.”  

“Y/N, can you get over here? I think we’ve figured something out!” Soonyoung calls, and you quickly plaster a smile on your face before turning to walk backwards. You point at Minghao, “don’t leave for your check-up without telling me, alright?”  

“Yeah, yeah. Go be a superstar without me.” He fakes a pout, making you shake your head as you step into the ring. Junhui tosses the ball towards the bleachers set up around the sides, stretching his arms over his head.  

“I thought of this with Chan last night, so we’re going to have to work out the tweaks as we go. Mingyu already knows most of it, so don’t worry about hoop cues. Cool?” Soonyoung looks eager to get started as Chan fiddles around with the stereo, his fingers typing rapidly into his phone before calling over his shoulder.  

“You want Iris or No Ordinary Love?”   

Your eyes widen, and you turn to look at Soonyoung, “Hosh, those are love songs.”  

“Hardly,” he brushes you off, but you see Junhui’s eyes as wide as yours as he opens his mouth to speak – only to get cut off by Soonyoung replying to Chan with Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls. He calls out to Mingyu to toss one of the ropes, before looking at you and Junhui with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat, “you ready? Let’s go.”  

“Time check, seven-fifty!” Minghao announces from his seat, crossing his legs at the knee as he clicks his pen. Junhui nods, grabbing the rope as Mingyu throws it and holding it out to Soonyoung, who glances at the phone Minghao holds up.  

"Okay, we have to move fast.”  

“We can just learn it tomorrow,” you try, and Soonyoung gives you an odd look.  

“No,” he shakes his head slowly, “if you learn it tomorrow, he won’t be in the Thursday show. We’ve already started advertising a new face, Y/N.”  

“I’m worried about the time crunch.” You’re making excuses, and Soonyoung can tell as he scoffs, “Y/N, it’s one run. You’ll never get comfortable if you dig your heels in every time we have a new cast member.”  

You feel your cheeks hot as Junhui gives you a pitying look, but he clears his throat and taps Soonyoung’s shoulder.  

“If she wants to run it alone first, we can do that. I learn fast, it’s not a big deal.”   “No, Junhui. This is a duo routine, not a single. I’m going to run it with Chan once, and then you’ll get as far into it as you can before you have to leave.”  

You feel a bit of annoyance settle in the back of your throat as Soonyoung shakes his head at you. He takes the rope from Junhui, tugging at it with a quick flick of his wrist as Chan runs into the arena, handing his phone to Minghao before stepping into the ring. He flashes you an understanding smile as a hoop is tossed down from Mingyu, and he grabs it gingerly.  

“Don’t worry, Y/N. It’s not super romantic or anything, but we’ll have to run it by Jihyo tomorrow so she can give her input. You have to focus on me, though, because I’m doing the part you would take over. Soonyoung is doing Junhui’s.” He nods, before perching into the metal of the hoop as Soonyoung yells a start cue.  

You and Junhui share a quick glance before grimacing, and you cross your arms on your chest as you back out of the ring and sit on one of the bleachers. Junhui follows, albeit standing off to the side of you instead of sitting. Iris starts pouring through the arena, and you fix your eyes on Chan as he’s swung around the arena.  

The men are fluid as they spin around in tune with one another, curling their bodies around the metal of the hoops Mingyu is expertly gliding into their hands. Soonyoung is holding onto Chan tightly with every twist of their bodies – Chan is flipping through hoops and Soonyoung is catching him by the hips, at one point, his ankle as Chan glides through the air. It’s almost like a dance of will they, won’t they; the routine ending with Chan’s back curved around the inside edge of the hoop, his legs crossed at the knee as he suspends Soonyoung with one hand. The older man lets go of Chan’s hand and falling to his knees into the sand-filled ring with a soft thud as the song ends.  

“And we’d cut the lights all dramatic like the moment Junhui lets go of your hand!” Chan calls from the swinging hoop, making you press your lips into a thin line at his bright smile. He flips out of the hoop the way Jihyo always scolds you for, dusting his hands of sand as he helps Soonyoung up. “What do you think? Anything you want to tweak?”   

“You want me to perform a love lost with a man I just met?” You raise a brow, a scoff bubbling past your lips as you shake your head. “Sure. Why not?”  

“Don’t make me hurt your feelings.” Soonyoung rolls his eyes, “be what you are. A star, but above all, professional. Knock it off.”  

Something you’ve never liked about Soonyoung is how little wiggle room he gives you to be a brat. He’s stern and serious, hardworking even when the situation begets a bit of silliness – but you can’t say it hasn’t kept you in line. He’s been witness to many breakdowns, snot-faced sobbing, and his is the loving hand that swipes arnica on your bruises before making you run the routine again.  

No star without the sky, they say.  

“Tape your wrists, let’s get this show on the road.” Junhui gently tosses a roll of tape at you, and you barely catch it as he moves to talk to Soonyoung. Chan gives you a soft frown, resting his chin on your shoulder as you grit your teeth.  

“You won’t always be able to work with people you know,” Chan’s voice is soft, and you feel a squeeze of his fingers on your shoulder as you turn slightly to look at him. You sigh as he bores his eyes into your face, “you look pretty, by the way.”  

“Thanks.” You close your eyes, pressing a quick kiss to his sweaty forehead. “You’ll spot us, right? Mingyu didn’t put the net out this morning.”   

“Junhui is good, he won’t drop you or anything. He was in here this morning, Jihyo told us.”   

Your brow furrows – you were sure Junhui arrived at the lot right as the sun rose. Tonguing your cheek, you nod anyway; quickly wrapping your wrists and handing the tape to Chan gingerly.  

“Well, let’s get it started.”  

Chan had been right about Junhui.  

He didn’t drop you, not once – much less did you have a moment where he wasn’t touching you. Professionally, of course, but something about the way his fingers were warm around your hips made your face hot. He moved you gracefully – catching you with every flip, every twist, maintaining a searing eye contact that makes your skin prickle. He glanced once at your lips – even leaning forward slightly in a way that made your stomach flutter, but you knew it was all for show. You caught glimpses of Minghao filming the routine before Jihyo came to collect Junhui after the third time you ran through it – and you didn’t bother thanking him before moving out of his way.  

He didn’t seem peeved in the slightest.  

And you don’t like how it bothers you.  

Minghao left shortly after lunchtime, giving the back of your head a quick kiss when Jaebeom came to get him. You swallowed your worry, along with the lunch that was threatening to come back up – but you told yourself you were worrying over nothing. Minghao would be back in his trailer tonight and you’d be nestled into his side just like old times.  

You don’t explain to Chan why your hands are shaking as you retape them for the second time, and you don’t say anything when Junhui makes his return from the clinic with his arm bandaged and a sucker in his mouth. You simply grab the rope as Mingyu throws it to you, chewing on your cheek before letting an annoyed breath out and tugging on the rope.  

Soonyoung’s voice is like the buzz of a dying fly in your ear – and you actively ignore it by swinging around with Chan like he’s not even there. You feel Chan’s fingers dig into your waist, into your legs as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary happens until you miss a hoop cue – and you meet the ground faster than a New York Minute.  

You don’t hear anything for a moment, your ears ringing – your body limp against the sand in the ring. You’re crowded almost immediately, your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you push yourself to your feet quickly. Your eyes meet Mingyu’s concerned ones, but you can’t hear what he’s saying as you wipe yourself of the sand sticking to your skin.  

“Y/N.” Seungkwan's hands grab your shoulders, and you feel your nose burn as humiliated tears fill your eyes. His face immediately softens, “does anything hurt?”  

“No.” Your voice is thick as you push his hands off your shoulders, holding them to his chest. You take a wobbly step back from the group of men huddled around you, Seokmin’s face full of misplaced guilt as you clear your throat. “I’m good. Really. Just...missed the hoop.”  

“Y/N, are you –”   

You cut Mingyu off with a wave of your hand, “let’s run it again. I’m just going to get a drink of water. Uh, break.”   

You give them a thumbs up, pushing past them as the first tears trickle down your face. You hear them talking within themselves as you make your way out of the tent, grateful to be met with an empty room backstage as you run a hand over your face. Your shoulders hurt from the impact, but you’d know if something was wrong. You always know.  

“So fucking embarrassing.” You mutter inwardly, running your hands over your bare arms in an attempt to self-soothe. Your hip hurts as you pace like a caged animal, before you force yourself to stand in front of the fountain and hold the push bars to let the water come out of the spout. You can hardly bring yourself to drink any more than to soothe the burn of humiliation in your throat, your fingers gripping the sides of the basin to ground yourself.  

You’ve fallen before. It’s not a big deal.  

“She’s just distracted. So many things are happening around her, I’d be distracted too. Give her a minute, she’ll get back on her feet. Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.” You can hear Seokmin's voice from your spot in the backroom, your eyes squeezing shut at the sound of your name.  

Y/N always gets back up; there’s a reason she’s the star.  

You’ve always loved the spotlight. You worked hard for it; you’d rightfully earned it.  

But it feels like a burden at times.  

Shaking yourself off, you nibble on your lip as you pull the tape off and reach for a new roll off one of the carts. You wrap your wrists carefully, tearing the end of the tape off with your teeth before tossing the roll back onto the cart. You wipe at your eyes carefully, sniffling inwardly before rolling your shoulders back and making your way back into the tent. Soonyoung looks at you first, rushing out of the ring towards you but you just give him a pointed look as you move past him.  

“Don’t baby me,” you call over your shoulder, stretching your arms over your head as the rest of the men disperse to the bleachers. Junhui gives you a soft glance that makes your brow furrow, but you keep walking as Mingyu makes his way back up the stairs and Chan timidly stands in the middle of the ring.  

“Any updates from Minghao?” You say in Seungkwan’s direction, only to be met with a thumbs down as he picks up the hoops he’s polishing. You nod grimly, your eyes catching a bruise forming on the skin of your left arm where you’d landed. “Thanks.”  

The rest of your allotted practice goes horribly – everyone is walking on eggshells as they correct your moves, as Chan makes it a point to hold you even tighter than necessary, so you don’t have another slip. It bothers you down to the bones, even if you know they’re doing the best they can with what you’d allow.  

You don’t get hurt. You’re the star. It’s not allowed.  

You run the routine so many times you’ve lost count and you’re almost certain you could do it in your sleep – but Soonyoung still looks dissatisfied as Chan helps you off the hoop. He opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Mingyu’s hand covering his face as the taller man smiles brightly.  

“It’s dinner time, and I think we should call it a night. I’ll see you and Junhui here tomorrow morning, before breakfast. Think you can stomach that?” Mingyu uncaps his pen with his teeth, scribbling across Soonyoung’s clipboard as the lot of you huddle around them. You pat Chan’s back gently as he pants, sweat dripping off his face as he crouches. “Y/N, ice that shoulder, will you? I don’t want to hear any complaints.”  

“My shoulder is fine, Gyu,” you roll your eyes, only to feel Soonyoung’s fingers tug at the sleeve of your leotard to show the bruise bloomed across your skin. You swat his hand away, sticking your tongue out as you reach for a water bottle off the cart Seokmin had wheeled in after your fall. “That’s a wrap, team. Eat up, we’ve got a busy weekend ahead of us.”  

You excuse yourself without another word, beelining for your trailer. You avoid interactions with anyone else, grabbing a random keycard off the hook by the door and feeling your skin prickle at the cold air. You grimace, crossing your arms on your chest as you jog into the lot and punch your code into the trailer door.  

You tug your clothes off without much thought, fiddling with the showerhead annoyedly. The water is scalding against your back but soothing to your muscles. Your hair feels heavy on your head as the water soaks it, and you wrap your arms around yourself to feel a warmth that not even the hottest of water could bring.  

You feel your chest fill with worry as you think of Minghao. He would’ve called by now or come back if it was nothing. He would’ve at least sent a text, but you’d left your phone in the trailer so you wouldn’t be distracted by the incessant need to check on him.  

You finish in the shower quickly; haphazardly drying your hair before grabbing your phone off the dresser while still in your towel. You scroll through the notifications before seeing three missed calls from Minghao — timestamped four hours ago each.  

You immediately press the button to call him back. The line rings once, twice – before Jihyo picks up.  

“Hey, Y/N.” She sighs on the other side, and your chest tightens as you sit up quickly.   

“Hey, Jihyo. Is he –”   “He’s in surgery. They said they had to do it today or he’d risk permanent damage. Though, I don’t know how this isn’t medically permanent damage, too.”  

“Fuck,” you squeeze your eyes shut, running your hand over your face as they prick with tears. “Is he almost out? Can I go see him? Have you eaten anything?”  

“He just went under twenty minutes ago. He’ll be out soon, they said it only takes two hours. You can come see him tomorrow, because he’s gonna have to stay in the recovery ward for the next six weeks. And yes, I’ve eaten, so you can’t use that as an excuse to come up here. I’ll tell them not to let you in, so don’t try it.” Jihyo says sternly, your eyes rolling as tears spill out. You sniffle lightly, hearing her sigh on the other end.   

“He’ll be alright. You know Hao, he’s a trooper.” She shifts, likely uncomfortable in the hard plastic chairs at the hospital. “How was practice? Junhui got blood drawn, so I hope you guys didn’t tag him in.”  

“I fell,” you admit quietly, tears rolling down the side of your face as you lean your head back, “missed a hoop cue.”  

“Level one to ten?” Jihyo is tired, and you let out a limp chuckle, “just a few bruises. My ego took the brunt of it; I was so embarrassed.”  

“Y/N, people fall all the time.”   “Not me, Jihyo. I don’t fall, ever.”   “Bullshit, you fell three times last year.”  

“You get what I mean,” you mutter. You pick at your nails, “Soonyoung’s been hard on me today. Says I need to be professional and not treat Junhui like a stranger.”  

“He’s right, babe.” Jihyo laughs, clicking her tongue. “Junhui’s nice. He and I chatted a bit on the way to his physical, he’s very sweet. It’d do you well to get to know him.”  

You scoff, “no way. Who’s to say that he even stays with Skyline? I know better than to get attached.”  

Jihyo snorts on the other end of the line, “eat dinner, crazy girl. Get an ice cream cone, if you want. You need one for that bruised ego.”   

“You’re supposed to comfort me! My best friend is in surgery, I fell during practice and you’re laughing at me!” You whine like a child, only to hear her laugh slightly harder.  

“Babe, you’ll be alright. Go get some ice cream with the guys, take the card. It’s in your wallet. I’ve gotta go, I’m halfway through the episode where Ted gets dumped at the altar. Be good.”   

Jihyo hangs up before you get a chance to say anything else, and you let out a frustrated sigh as you get a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The bruise spanning your shoulder isn’t very big but it’s painful to look at as you reach for your moisturizer. You run through your night routine, slathering cream down the slope of your neck and rubbing deodorant on before tugging on a sweatshirt and sleep shorts. You pull on a pair of thick socks, shoving your phone and wallet into the pocket of your sweatshirt before tugging on a pair of sneakers.   

You don’t bother entertaining the prickle of your skin in the cold air as you step outside of your trailer – only to see Junhui ducking out of his with his cap pulled over his head.  

You don’t say anything as he clambers down his steps, pulling the bill of his cap lower before he glances up and locks eyes with you. He stops, making you raise a brow as you trail your eyes over his attire. Sweatpants and the same sweatshirt he was wearing the night before.  

“Going somewhere, hotshot?”   “Out.”  

He shrugs casually, tucking his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head at you. You slowly take the steps down, “where?”  

“What’s it to you, princess?”   “Maybe I wanna tag along.”   “Not an invitation.”  

You tilt your head at him before shrugging your shoulders, “well, I’m looking for company, anyway. What says you ditch your plans and join me?”  

He tongues his cheek, clearly fighting back a smile as he pulls his hand from his pocket, swinging his keys around his finger.   

“Depends on what you’re doing.”   “Going out, hotshot.”   “You’re cute.”  

“I know,” you roll your eyes, before turning on your heel. “Feel free to follow along or go about your own plans. Just know you’re missing out on a sick ice cream run if it’s the latter.”  

You get a few feet ahead before hearing him chuckle lightly, almost in defeat as he moves forward. He falls into lockstep with you, reaching up to flip his cap backwards as he opens the lot gate for you to slide through. You shake your head as you do so, walking through the darker alley that leads to the trailers, sealed off by yet another gate. You push it open, holding it wider for him as he tucks his hands into his pockets.  

“How’s Minghao?” He asks gently, and you sigh.  

“He’s in surgery.” You nod slowly, pursing your lips as you feel him move you to the inner part of the sidewalk as he takes the street-facing side. Your hips bump with every step, “he’ll be out for the next six weeks. I’m going to go see him tomorrow during breakfast.”  

He hums in response, “and ice cream makes you feel better?”  

“I always get ice cream when I have a weird day.” You admit, and it feels like driving a knife into your chest as you do so. “Things just feel weird. I’ll get over it.”  

“Being vulnerable isn’t supposed to be scary, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.”   “I don’t know that.”  

Your response is quick and quipped, earning a raise of his brow as he presses the button to cross the street. You stuff your hands in your pocket, the wind biting at your legs keeping you grounded.  

“Sorry.”   “No, don’t be. I get it.”   “Do you?”  

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt by the things they love.” His voice is gentle, and he instinctively takes your elbow in his hand as you both cross the street. “In this case, by those you’re supposed to trust. I don’t blame you, because we’re just coworkers. But if you knew me, even a little bit...you’d know I’m just as loyal as everyone else on your team. I just won’t let you treat me like an option, especially when I was onboarded specifically for you.”  

You don’t respond, opting to glance at his hand on your elbow as you reach the other side of the street. He drops his hand, tucking it into the pocket of his sweatpants as you keep your gaze on the ground. You don’t say anything for the next two blocks, silently kicking gravel and giving strangers a curt nod – and Junhui keeps his hands tucked in his pockets unless he’s pressing the crosswalk buttons.  

“You said you’re from Washington, right?” You mumble as you spot the ice cream parlor a block and a half away, the pink neon light that says Momo’s flickering in your line of vision. He hums, nodding before looking at you with a raised brow.  

“What of it?”   “What made you move to Boston?”  

He sighs, clicking his tongue as he shrugs, “just like you have your secrets, I have mine.”  

“Oh, come on.”  

He chuckles inwardly as you both stop in front of the parlor, and he reaches for the door handle with a one-shouldered shrug, “eye for an eye.”  

You roll your eyes as you duck inside the warm shop, your eyes meeting the owner’s as she aggressively wipes at the counter with a damp rag. She smiles brightly, dropping the rag and wiping her hands on her pink apron before shoving open the ice cream case.  

“Y/N! Chocolate almond, yes?” She grabs the scoop out of the warm water, her eyes sparkling as she glances over your shoulder at Junhui. Her smile turns into a smirk, and she expertly flips the scoop in her hand before glancing back at you, “you brought company. He’s cute.”   

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t gas him up about it, it’ll get to his head.” You wave her off teasingly, before pointing your thumb at him, “Junhui, this is Momo. Momo, this is Junhui. He’s my partner while Hao’s out.”  

“Nice to meet you,” Momo reaches her hand over the ice cream case, “Momo Hirai. I own this parlor and another in Newark, if you’re ever in the area.”  

“Wen Junhui, it’s a pleasure. I’ve been to your place in Newark; I was part of a circus there before I moved to Boston. And then, well, here.” He shakes her hand politely, and her eyes flash with something you don’t quite recognize before she smiles again.  

“Boston, you say? Were you part of the Extravaganza?” She asks, grabbing a cup from the stack to her left and dipping her scoop in the warm water again before she pushes the case open. Her hand dips into the chocolate almond tub as Junhui nods, “yeah. I can’t believe that things got so insane. I lost a few friends to the...incident.”  

Junhui’s voice turns a bit bitter as he glances at his shoes, and Momo frowns as she drops the perfect scoop of ice cream into the cup for you. She slides it over the case and sticks a spoon into the cup, “I’m sorry to hear that. Have they got any updates?”  

“Nothing that I’ve heard of, but the detectives made it a point to keep us out of the loop. They questioned us for a few weeks and now it seems like they’ve just dropped the case. It feels like a load of bullshit, pardon my French.” Junhui rolls his eyes, digging the toe of his sneakers into the brilliant white tile. Momo’s eyes soften, “I hope you hear something soon, Junhui. Can I interest you in a scoop? On the house.”  

“Nah, I’m alright.” He shakes his head, and you clear your throat softly, digging in your pocket and pulling out your wallet. You take out a ticket that you keep for emergencies, holding it out to Momo.  

“You should come see us tomorrow. It’ll be his first performance with Skyline; I’m sure some support would be great.” You smile softly as she takes the ticket between her fingers and pins it on the corkboard next to her register.  

“I’ll do my best to get out there. Shop’s been slow anyway, what with the weather. You’re the only one crazy enough to get here and in those shorts, Y/N. God, what have I told you about wearing shorts when it’s cold!?” She scolds you, only for you to elbow Junhui lightly as you spin on your heel.  

“I’ll listen about my shorts when you listen about your skirts. And your tops, and your shoes—”   “I’m a business owner, I have to match the aesthetic of my shop. Even if it means a pink miniskirt in October!”  

“Love you, Momo.” There’s a lilt to your voice as you wink at her, pushing the door open with your body as she rolls her eyes and waves. Junhui mirrors her with an amused smile as you skip out, holding the spoon with a nibble of ice cream flat against your tongue. He chuckles as he falls into lockstep with you, fixing his cap before pressing the crosswalk button.  

“It’s nice to see you relaxed.” He hints, “you’re so...professional.”  

“Consider that Momo is my friend of many years.”   “Consider that maybe I need a friend, have mercy. I’ve lost mine along the way.”  

You can tell the joke feels cynical to him as he scrunches his nose, and you look over your shoulder at him, “did you, actually?”  

“Of course, I did. I was there for a year. You’re bound to make some friends.” He shrugs, leaning against the pole as he looks at you with a pointed look. “I’m not saying we have to be friends. We don’t. I’m just saying that you don’t have to warm up to me, because it’s unlikely I’ll warm up to you. I’m a man scorned, and too many times at that.”  

“Then why are you so nice?”   “Why would I be mean to you, when the entire point of our relationship is to build trust? We can’t work together if you don’t trust me, it’ll affect the performance and the chemistry we have in the ring. It’d be a slap in the face to Skyline for me to be a douche to you after you’ve all given me a chance to start anew, even if my heart isn’t ready to be here.”  

Your mouth opens to say something, but you’re cut off by the light changing. He gives you a quick smile before pushing off the pole and beckoning you forward as he starts to cross the street. You follow along, your hip bumping his before his hand on your shoulder moves you in front of him just as the light turns green again.  

“Gotta move faster, princess. Can’t replace the star of the show that quickly.”   “You’re sick and twisted.”  

He snickers as you gape, “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry and then I’m really fucked. Perspective.”  

You’re both silent for the next block, Junhui’s eyes roaming the buildings and shops lining the neighborhood around you.   

“You grew up here?” He asks, and you nod as you spoon your ice cream into your mouth. “Your whole life?”  

“Yep. Born in Kips Bay and moved to East Harlem when I was six. Been in the circus ever since.” You nod slowly, before glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “You read the handbook, right? You know why.”   

“Knowing why versus wanting to get to know you outside of that are two different things. I’m sure you’re tired of people walking on eggshells around you because of that. You won’t get that with me.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue. “Not that I don’t care, I do. I just...don’t want to be babied about my loss, so I assume you don’t, either.”  

“Agreed.” You mumble, running your teeth over your tongue before tossing the rest of the ice cream in a nearby trashcan.   

You pull your hood over your head, shoving your hands in your pockets before sighing, “can I ask what your plans were for tonight?”  

“Same thing they were yesterday.”   “Which was?”  

He smiles inwardly, tonguing his cheek, “I mustn't say, it’s not appropriate to share my moonlight activities with a lady of your...stature.”  

“Oh, come on! You act like you’re so mysterious, but I know, deep down, you wanna tell me.” You turn your nose up at him as he laughs inwardly, shaking his head as you huff. “Junhui!”  

“I’m doing what any guy does when he’s single and coping,” he sucks his teeth, “I get a drink and take a cute girl back to her apartment, maybe freak it. Maybe not.”  

“You get laid?” Your voice is incredulous, and it makes his brows raise in surprise, a laugh of disbelief falling from his lips as he looks at you.  

“Why is that so surprising? You think you’re the only person I have chemistry with?”   “This is not about me.”   “Trust me, one of us gets laid enough and it’s certainly not you.”  

“How presumptuous of you, Mr. Wen.” You scoff, your cheeks hot as he bumps your arm. “And how inappropriate! I am your coworker! One could even say I’m your boss!”  

“Mmh, I love a woman in power.”   “Ew!”  

He bites back his smile as you scrunch your nose, “don’t flirt with me.”  

“You think that’s flirting?” He raises a brow, but you’ve both reached the alley gate as you put your hands on your hips. He punches the code into the pad, giving you a quick glance as he speaks, “you’ve never lived if you think that’s flirting.”  

“Okay, virgin.”   “We both know that’s not true.”  

You make a face of disgust, only earning another laugh from him as he opens the gate to let you in. He doesn’t follow, instead leaning against it and tilting his head at you. You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he sighs.  

“Earlier, when you fell,” he starts, your shoulders going rigid as he clicks his tongue, “you’re not hurt, are you? Genuinely?”  

“No. I’m fine.” You mutter, “plus, I don’t get hurt. That doesn’t happen to me.”   

“You’re not indestructible.”   “And you’re not my dad, so don’t act like you care.”  

You swallow the immediate regret that lays flat on your tongue as he looks slightly taken aback. He brushes it off quickly with a nod, sucking his teeth as he pushes off the gate.  

“Well,” his voice is level, “just thought I’d check. Forgive me for caring, princess.”  

“Stop calling me that.”   “I will, when you stop acting like the world revolves around you.”  

He smiles gently, drumming against the gate with his fingers, “now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got somewhere to be.”  

The gate shuts in your face before you can reply, and you can hear his shoes against the graveled pavement walking away. You scoff, tonguing your cheek as you turn on your heel and make your way back to the lot.  

You ignore the twist in your stomach, focusing instead on the warm glow of the fire artists still practicing in their section. You follow it to your own lot, seeing the majority of your team filing into it for the night. A sigh falls from your lips as you tuck your hands into your pockets, calling out to them.  

“Guys! Wait up!”  

JUNHUI NOTICES THE ROCKING OF YOUR TRAILER AS HE STOPS AT THE LOT GATE.  

It’s been two weeks since he arrived at the circus. Your practices together have been rigid, but the chemistry is still there and Jihyo commends it. Soonyoung has repeatedly told you to let loose, to relax, but you’re stiff in Junhui’s presence and you blame it on Minghao’s absence – but Junhui sees right through you.  

And something about the way you act around him – distant but like you’re searching for something...it makes his chest warm. Not in a way he’d ever expected, either – and it’s distracting him from the whole reason he even joined Skyline.  

Your first performance together, however, was a huge success. You hid your insecurities behind the bright smile you wore, the sparkle of your custom leotards, the bounce of your hair. You touched him enough to sell it, enough to make everyone believe there was something there – but only he felt the tremble of your fingers and the way your breath hitched with every movement against one another.   

You were the star everyone talked about, and the star everyone loved. You spoke loud and clear, your voice never wavering even as your hands trembled behind you. You entertained families who wanted pictures, posing cutely and answering questions about Minghao’s absence vaguely. Your body was rigid at the mention of him, but you quickly played it off and invited the families to return next week for more performances and whatever special treat the concessions stand would have that weekend. You spent your time smiling until your cheeks hurt and Junhui saw the way Jihyo massaged the back of your neck after every performance despite you telling her you didn’t need it.   

Junhui, on the other hand – spent his time studying you and the way you acted around everyone, sans Lucky Star Boyfriend (formerly known as Xu Minghao.) You were more reserved with the fire artists, but you got along swell with the clowns. Tzuyu, the tightrope walker, often enjoyed conversations with you – only for her eyes to travel to Mingyu, who would already be looking at her.  

That was another person of interest for Junhui – Kim Mingyu. Tall, smart, sweet. Flirty.  

Too close to you for his comfort. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, but not of coworkers – one of past lovers. One of people who have seen each other bare it all, one of people who have smelled the sweat off each other’s bodies and instead of turning away, licked it off.  

One of people who have sealed wounds with their tongues, instead of leaving the other to die.  

Despite that very visible chemistry, you had no interest in Mingyu, and he had none in you. You worked together well; you egged him on when you caught him watching Tzuyu practice her routine. He teased you back, he talked about her excitedly and you were just as excited to entertain his rants about her. The two of you were glued at the hip, and it was clearly something that happened once – perhaps to get it out of your systems, or just to get the curiosity of it out.  

However, your chemistry with Soonyoung was palpable. The two of you bickered and bitched at each other like lovers in a quarrel only for Soonyoung to pull you into a hug at the end of practice and kiss your cheek. He’d ask if you’re alright, if you need anything; he’d sweep your hair off your sweaty face while holding you close to him with an arm around your waist. He’d squeeze your hip, your lips planting on his cheek before swatting him away.  

Almost like the moment Minghao turns his back, you’ve got someone to take care of you.  

None of the other men have this chemistry with you. Seokmin and Seungkwan are very respectful, but in the same way best friends are. They tease you and make fun of you, but they take their role in your life and on your team very seriously. They practice with you diligently and prove time and time again (over the last weeks, at least) that they are not replaceable.   

Chan...has a bit of yearn to him. He watches you with puppy eyes that say he’s absolutely enamored with you, that say he’s waiting for his turn in your arms, in your mind...  

In your bed.  

Chan looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, like he’ll never know anything better. He does trapeze with you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to know he should be the next person that wins your heart. He holds you tenderly, and Junhui notices the way he blushes beet red every time a routine has his face close to yours and the way he can’t even hold eye contact when you smile.   

Junhui notices the way that no one else has managed to spot this. The way that Chan immediately looks away if Junhui catches him staring at you, or how he rubs his neck awkwardly when you’re stretching in the barre room. Junhui notices the way Chan saves the blueberry yoghurt cups in case they’re running low because they’re your favorite and the way that Chan cannot stand his spot next to you at the trapeze table being taken by Soonyoung.  

He’s a tortured soul, Lee Chan.  

A part of Junhui hopes that the reason behind your trailer rocking is that you’ve finally given the poor guy a chance – but instead, the door slams open to you kicking Soonyoung, Seungkwan and Seokmin out with drenched hair and pajamas.  

“Don’t you ever wake me up like that again! I was just starting to fall asleep!” You throw a grey bucket out with them, the plastic thunking against the back of Soonyoung’s head as he scowls. You’re fuming on the steps, looking at your soaked pajamas that are clinging to your body as Seungkwan and Seokmin bolt for the lot gate. Junhui barely manages to move out of the way before they skirt past him, and you’re still yelling at Soonyoung – who is yelling back that he wasn’t even there when they dumped the bucket on you.  

“What’re they yelling about?” Mingyu’s voice makes Junhui jump, the younger man’s canines peeking through his bitten smile. Junhui scowls, holding a hand to his chest as Mingyu brings a cup to his lips, World’s Best Dad worn across the ceramic.  

“Someone threw water on Y/N while she was asleep. She threw the bucket at Hoshi’s head.” Junhui’s voice is almost bored as he explains, crossing his arms on his chest as Mingyu snickers.  

“Yeah, that sounds about right. We saw Minghao last night and he said he wants us to keep her on her toes, but I don’t think he meant like this. Especially when Y/N has trouble sleeping at night.” Mingyu shrugs, and Junhui peers over his shoulder at him. “What?”  

“Since when?”   “Since when, what?”   “Since when does Y/N have issues sleeping?”  

“Oh, pft. As long as I’ve known her.” He shrugs, “even longer, most likely. She’s always shared a bed with Jihyo or Minghao, so I just assume it was a difficult transition. We shared a bed once when we went up to Rochester two summers ago, she went to bed early and tossed and turned for ages until I turned in. Fell asleep the moment I got under the covers.”  

“Huh,” Junhui clicks his tongue, and Mingyu only shrugs again as you and Soonyoung keep yelling at each other. You’re in his face now, and Soonyoung is eagerly feeding the fire when Junhui looks at Mingyu, “should we stop them?”  

“We could, or we could let Y/N tire herself out.”   “...I’m kind of fearing for Hoshi’s safety.”   “If she beats his ass, it’s been long coming. You’ve only been here a week, but he pisses her off like no other. Not even I get on her nerves that bad.”  

Junhui lets a snicker fall from his lips as you pull your wet shirt off your body and throw it in Soonyoung’s face, the cloth landing on his chest with a wet plop. Your own is covered by an equally soaked tank top, the peaks of your nipples prominent as Junhui shields his eyes.  

“And you can re-choreograph today’s routine by yourself!” You screech, before the slam of the metal door to your trailer is heard. Mingyu sucks his teeth, and Junhui peeks through his fingers to see Soonyoung clutching your wet shirt in his hand as he runs the other over his face. He bends at the waist, grabbing the bucket and tossing the shirt into it.  

“You walk in to ask if she wants to get ice cream and are met with a wet shirt to the face.” He grumbles as he walks past Junhui and Mingyu. Mingyu sighs before turning on his heel, following behind Soonyoung as Junhui stares at your trailer.   

The lot is empty now, and the moonlight is bright against the tops of the trailers.  

He can see you moving around the trailer through the windows, and he keeps his head down as he crosses the lot to gently knock on your door. Any rustling inside stops, a low muttering heard as you throw the door open. It hits his shoulder, your scowl immediately dropping as you put your hands up. You’ve already changed into another set of pajamas, but your hair is sectioned off and still damp.  

“Shit, I’m sorry. I thought you were Hoshi, are you alright?” You wince like you’re the one in pain, but Junhui just brushes it off and glances at you with concern.  

“Are you? You looked like you were about to pop a blood vessel when you were yelling at him.” Junhui crosses his arms, but your brows are furrowed.  

“I’m fine. Go to bed.” You move to close the door, but still momentarily. “Why do you care?”  

He only smiles, tucking his hands into his pockets as he shrugs.  

“See you.”   “Junhui.”   “Be sure to stretch for me, princess. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”  

“Ugh!” You make a face as he clambers down the steps, “what is with all of you today?! Why do you all hate me?!”  

You almost manage to slam the door, but Junhui’s faster – he grabs the door before it closes, gently pulling it open as he leans against the frame. Your eyes are riddled with fatigue, and you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off.  

“You must be so tired, hm?”  

“Yes, I am,” you mutter pointedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to get to bed.”  

“Why, so you can toss and turn for a few hours and give us hell when you get up tomorrow?” Junhui raises a brow, “why don’t you just admit you’re having trouble? Did no one ever teach you how to ask for help?”  

For the first time, Junhui sees defeat cross your features. You nibble on your lip, sighing before your shoulders lose their tension and you turn into the trailer. Junhui takes the chance to poke his head into it – the walls powder blue and everything organized in an almost torturous way. Your leotards are set in rainbow order, all your boots clipped to the hangers. A black couch that looks almost cloud-like lines the back wall, facing a heavily stocked vanity with hot hair tools and makeup neatly slotted away aside from one fuchsia blow dryer sitting on the table.  

You slump in the black vanity chair, crossing your arms on your chest before your head lolls to the side. You blink at him, gesturing at the blow dryer.  

“Do you know how to work this? My shoulders hurt.” You admit quietly, and Junhui nods silently, toeing his shoes off and leaving them outside before stepping into the trailer. You move forward to plug it in, but he taps the back of your chair to stop you as he does it himself. “Lowest setting, please. Too much heat will make my head hurt.”  

Junhui stands behind you, watching the way your eyelids grow heavy as he silently dries your hair. You make eye contact several times through the mirror, only for them to fall shut at the feeling of Junhui’s fingers against your scalp.   

“How’s Minghao? You got a chance to check on him yesterday, right?”  

“He was too tired to talk to me. I just sat with him until he fell asleep,” your voice is almost tender, but you click your tongue. “Mingyu and Hosh got him in the morning, and I got stuck rehearsing with you for Jihyo.”  

“Hey, I said you could leave.”   “I didn’t want to. I don’t need to let anyone down. Work first, feel later.”  

Your admission is whispered, barely audible over the sound of the dryer. Something in Junhui’s chest sinks as he peers at your tired face, the way your body is slumped against the cozy chair and he sighs.  

“You’d never let me down.” He rakes his fingers through your hair, before turning off the dryer and unplugging it. He wraps the cable around it, sliding it into the empty slot on your vanity before looking over his shoulder at you.  

“It’s not just about you.”   “I know, but I am part of the ‘everyone’ you speak of. At least, for now.”  

“Are you going out tonight?” You ask, blinking up at him slowly as he lies on instinct – shaking his head before thinking. You tilt your head back, the slope of your neck visible to his eyes as you sigh, “can you keep me company until I fall asleep?”  

He only nods, pushing down his subtle annoyance as he takes off his cap and hangs it on the hook by your door. He shrugs off his sweatshirt, “how long?”  

“You don’t have to.”   “I want to, but I need to sleep too, you know.”   “Bullshit, you’re out until four in the morning.”  

“I love that you keep tabs on me, princess. Makes me feel wanted.” He teases, watching you roll your eyes as you slide off the chair, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a soft groan. You roll your shoulders before gesturing at the light switch, “turn it off and come with me.”  

He does as you ask, his eyes catching the tension in your calves as you make your way to the door that separates your bedroom from the living area. He follows behind quickly, watching the way you gather the sheets you’d taken off the bed and stuff them into the hamper at the end of your bed.  

“They’re such jerks,” you mumble inwardly, “they know I can’t sleep well without Minghao.”  

“Just Minghao?”   “I don’t remember the last time I slept in here alone.”  

“Where do you want me?” He ignores the drop in his stomach as he watches you pull the duvet back, hearing you let out an exhausted laugh that makes your shoulders shake.  

“Are we fucking or something? Just lie down, man.”   “We cou—”   “Shut up.”  

Junhui bites back his laugh as he approaches the side of the bed, before you flop onto your back on the left side, “don’t worry about any water patches, it mostly soaked into the mattress topper. So just lay wherever.”  

You look pained as you stretch your legs, and Junhui perches on the edge of your bed before reaching over gently and squeezing your calf, “do you not stretch before bed?”  

“I’m too tired to stretch right now.” You sigh, your shoulders sinking into the mattress, “and Minghao usually helps me before I go to bed, anyway.”  

“Minghao not being here is not a reason to neglect your muscles. You’ll get hurt and then we’re all screwed.” Junhui says pointedly, and you raise a brow, sitting up on your elbows.   

“Minghao usually–”   “Minghao isn’t here, princess. So just let me help you.”  

You huff, but Junhui’s gaze is pointed and you roll your eyes as you lay back down again. Stretching isn’t intimate, perse – but you can’t make eye contact as Junhui’s fingers dig into your thighs and calves as he moves your body around. You wince here and there, murmured apologies spilling from Junhui’s lips before he eventually stops, kneading the muscle of your calf before sighing.  

“What’s your deal?” He asks, and you peel an eye open to look down at him. He squeezes your leg, making you lazily swat at him before resting your hand on your stomach. He lays on his beside you, holding himself up on his elbows as he peers at your face. You close your eye again, “elaborate.”  

“Why are you so uptight?”   “That’s certainly one way to ask me why I’m so hardworking and dedicated.”   “Well, no.”  

You snort, your lips curling into a soft smile as you shrug, “I have a lot of weight on my shoulders, but it’s nothing I don’t love. Ice cream with the team or alone is usually the only way I get out of here. I don’t have hobbies or vices because I don’t have time, but I love trapeze so much that sometimes, I think it doesn’t matter.”  

You grimace as you turn on your side, tucking your arm under your pillow and bringing it lower against your chest. Your cheek smushes against the pillow, but you open your eyes to look at him, “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”  

“You work too hard.”   “It’s all I have, don’t take it from me.”  

Your voice is soft, almost pitiful as you look at him through your lashes.  

“It’s not all you have. You’re someone outside of the circus, too.” Junhui tries, but you shake your head, letting your eyes fall closed. He takes the opportunity to take you in – soft lips, pouted from the way your cheek is squished by the pillow. Full lashes lining your eyes, your hair in disarray and your earrings twinkling in the low light of your bedroom. He sighs, clicking his tongue before reaching over your head and turning the lights off. You tense slightly at the proximity, your skin prickling as he rolls his eyes, opening his mouth but you mumble before he can say anything.  

“Lie down.”   “Don’t rush me.”   

He pulls the duvet over you, before letting his head hit the pillow as he turns onto his back. He stares at the ceiling – seeing an array of rock music posters, several Polaroids of you holding trophies and posing provocatively in Halloween costumes before shows, and glow-in-the-dark stars scattered about.   

“You’ve lived a whole life with Skyline, haven’t you?” He murmurs, but you don’t reply – your lashes kissing your cheeks as you breathe softly, sound asleep. His chest warms oddly, but he allows it to seep into him as he rakes his eyes over your sleeping face. “Goodnight, princess.”  

You’ve been awake for exactly seven minutes, just staring at the alarm clock on your windowsill. The red numbers mock you; the hard shell covered in faded stickers from years past. You don’t dare move, feeling Junhui’s steady breathing against the back of your neck – his arm wrapped warmly around your waist, pulling you into his chest and keeping you there against your better judgment.  

You can feel your skin prickling at the proximity, but your cheeks are hot at the feeling of his hips pressing into yours unknowingly. Nothing is happening, he’s not sporting a boner or anything – you just feel...warm. Too warm, and worry sinks into your bones as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.  

Your voice is caught in your throat as you open and close your mouth, but the hitch in your breath is enough that you feel his arm tighten around you. He stirs behind you, and you quickly squeeze your eyes shut before feeling him lean over to look at you.  

“Stop pretending you’re asleep.”   “I’m not pretending. I’m asleep. Shut up.”  

Your scowl is useless as he half-laughs, pressing you into the mattress as he reaches over and tilts the clock to look at it – three-fifty-six in the morning glares back at him. He grunts, shoving the clock away before falling back into place behind you. He doesn’t put his arm back around you, instead laying on his back with a groan.   

“I should go back to my trailer.” He mumbles, “why is your bed so soft? That’s so unfair...”  

He trails off with a puff of air from his lips, wiggling around behind you as you lamely clear your throat.  

“If you want.”   “Do you?”   “Doesn’t matter what I want.”  

He scoffs, propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over you. His chest is warm against your back, and you make the mistake of turning your head to look at him, the quirk in your brow faltering as you realize how close he is. His eyes purposely scan your face, stopping at your lips for what feels like forever before they flicker back up to your eyes.  

“May I speak freely?” He cocks his head slightly, and you find the courage to roll your eyes as you move back to your original position, snuggling your face into your pillow, “no, Junhui. Go back to sleep.”  

“Would it kill you to be nice to me?”   “I’d certainly kill you; I don’t know about being nice.”   “...Oh, I get it.”  

You still, your hand gripping the hem of the duvet to pull it over your shoulder, “get what, Junhui? You’re gonna get your ass handed to you if you don’t shut your ass up.”  

“You don’t want to get close to me or treat me decently because you’re worried that you’ll fall for my charm.”  

You choke on your spit, your fist hitting your chest quickly as you sit up – only to see Junhui sporting a shit-eating grin as he looks up at you. You inhale deeply, coughing lightly before lying back down with a huff. He peers down at you smugly, “I’m right, aren’t I?”  

“You’re annoying, is what you are.” You mutter, turning back on your side to face away from him. “It’d do you well to shut the fuck up sometimes.”  

“You’re kind of catty, you know that?”   “It’s part of my charm, and unless you want me to get really catty...shut up.”  

He doesn’t dignify you with a response – instead giving a soft snort before laying back down. He keeps a safe distance between you and him. The loss of warmth is palpable, but you only pull the duvet higher on your body as you close your eyes.  

It feels like an hour passes by – your eyes burning with fatigue as you peel them back open to see only ten minutes have passed. You groan internally, moving to turn around when you’re met with the expanse of Junhui’s back in your face as he’s turned away from you. He's relaxed; the fit of his shirt stretched against the broad expanse of his shoulders but looser at his slim waist. You allow yourself to ogle him, a sigh falling from your lips as you close your eyes again.  

“Can’t fall asleep?” His voice is low, but there’s a hint of teasing in it. You roll your eyes even though he can’t see them, making a noise of affirmation soft enough to be confused with another sigh – your pride not able to handle confirming your troubles to him. “How can I help?”  

“Just...lay there.” You mutter back, and he lets out a defeated sound before turning around again to face you. You don’t bother opening your eyes, but you can feel his arms brush yours as he crosses them in front of him and adjusts into the mattress. A moment passes, the words slipping from your lips like an admission of sin – full of guilt and you regret them almost immediately.  

“Minghao usually holds me.”   “Does he kiss your forehead goodnight, too, princess?”  

You scoff, burying your chin into your chest, “you fucking asked.”   

He says nothing, only extending his arm under your head and shuffling closer. You stiffen at the contact, before feeling him pull your leg over his hip. His hand is cool against your thigh, barely breaching your pajama shorts before he quickly pulls it away. He rests it around your waist, his fingertips tracing patterns into your back as his other hand brings the extra pillow behind you  

“Just relax.”   “I’m relaxed.”   “You’re stiff as a board.”  

You feel your cheeks hot as you attempt to loosen up, every hair on your body standing up at the proximity. You peel an eye open to look at him, his own closed as he speaks again, “you won’t fall asleep looking at me.”  

“Do you really think I’m uptight?” You whisper, and he raises a brow before opening his eyes.  

“You’re worried about that at...four-twelve in the morning?”   “I’m always worried about how I'm perceived.”  

You nibble on your lip, earning a soft sigh from him as he pats your back gently. Almost awkwardly, before he gives you a pointed look.  

“My first impression of you still stands, if that’s of any comfort.” He says carefully, and you must look confused because he shrugs as much as he can before clicking his tongue. “After everything happened in Boston, I came to Manhattan because I was hoping Jihyo would take a chance on me. Everywhere I walked in this neighborhood, I saw posters of you and followed them here. I thought, if a trapezist is the face of this circus, the routines must be out of this world. And I was right, because I watched everyone perform for an entire weekend two weeks before Minghao got hurt and I saw just how much chemistry the two of you had in the ring...but you were absolutely captivating. The leotards, the expressions, the movements. You really, truly are a star out there. You’re a great performer, and you’re beautiful...in and out of your element.”  

You can’t look at him as he sighs, clicking his tongue.  

“But you prove time and time again that you have no idea who you are if you’re not performing. You have no idea who you are without Minghao, or Jihyo, or the circus. That’s why you think this is all you have, that’s why you have certain types of chemistry with different people on the team that you don’t have with others. Just like you don’t shy away from anyone the way you do with me, and it’s not because you’re not used to new people, either.”  

“I know who I am,” you whisper, staring at his chest. Your voice is small, but his hand squeezes your hip gently before he shakes his head, “no, you don’t. Your whole life is this place...you said it yourself.”  

“What kind of chemistry do I have with the others?” You ask, wanting to change the subject quickly. You can tell he catches on as he drums his fingers against your hip, humming slightly.  

“You and Minghao have an undeniable connection, but it’s definitely waned over the years and went from one type of connection to another. You and Soonyoung are like a constant lover’s quarrel, and you and Mingyu are like a divorced couple that mutually agreed it was time to end things.” He shrugs, “which is why I'm not surprised that all of you have history in some way or another. It’s not hard to realize when two people have slept together, you know. It just takes a little observation.”  

“You’re presumptuous.”  “And I’m right.” 

“What makes you think that I’ve slept with them?” You mutter, your tone almost bitter as he pats your hip.  

“The fact that you’re not refuting it, but also that Minghao is so comfortable touching you and you allow it. I had to hold you for practice yesterday and you almost bit my head off.” He says plainly, “do you just not trust me?”  

“I do.” You pick at your nails, holding your hands between your bodies as he lets out a weak laugh, “I do, Junhui. I swear. I just...I’m not used to you.”  

“I’ve known you for fifteen days and I’m already in your bed. I’d say you’re pretty used to me.”   “Did you just call me easy?”   “You’re a lot of things, but easy isn’t one of them. Trust me, I know easy.”  

“That makes you sound like you’re easy.” Your voice is annoyed, only for him to chuckle as he shrugs.  

“Why would I play hard to get when I want it just as much? Seems like a waste.”  

You suck your teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, “what else have you observed about me?”  

He shifts, “not much.”  

“Bullshit.”   “Yeah.”  

He smiles cheekily as you roll your eyes, limply hitting your fist against his shoulder, “Junhui, come on.”  

“Mmh, I don’t know. You get goosebumps when we’re too close to each other. You bumped into me the other day during the team meeting and didn’t apologize, but you didn’t look like you could speak, either.” He purses his lips, letting out a low whistle, “you don’t hold eye contact with me, so I avoid making it because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  

“Do you really sleep with a new girl every time you go out?” You blurt, earning a lopsided smirk as he shakes his head.  

“No. Sometimes I just want a drink, or I go out to clear my head.”   “Then why are you out until four in the morning?”   “Clearing my head of you takes time, princess.”  

He closes his eyes, seemingly closing the floor for conversation – but you ask anyway.  

“Me?”   “Yes. You. Go to sleep.”   “But I–”  

He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before resting his chin lightly on your head, “go to sleep, pretty girl. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”  

The room falls silent as he pulls you closer, and you hate how the heat of his body against yours makes you feel fuzzy. You hate how you can feel his lips against your skin and how you don’t mind it, how you wouldn’t mind him kissing you again – but with intent, and preferably, lower.  

“Goodnight, princess.”   “...Goodnight, Junhui.”  

There is a shift between you and Junhui the next morning, and he can tell. 

You’re quiet – you hand him things off the breakfast table without asking, things he likes. The peach yoghurt, the string cheese, you move quickly and with purpose as you make your plate and Mingyu’s, who is actively trying to fight you for it. Your hands hover over Minghao’s favorites, only to pull them away and grab utensils before moving away. Mingyu manages to take both plates from you at the end of the breakfast table, and you follow him without a word. 

You keep the wall up throughout the morning. Mingyu asks you on several occasions if you’re alright, even Soonyoung presses his hand to your forehead before you swat him away and insist that you’re fine. Chan’s eyes are focused as he watches the two of you run a routine he’d choreographed to Feel Something by Jaymes Young a few months back – admittedly, with you and Minghao in mind. 

Junhui wonders if he’ll ever measure up. 

He stops wondering just as fast – holding you close to him while you’re both suspended in the air, your fingernails digging into his shoulders in a way that feels sinful. Your breathing is ragged against him as you move through the routine, ending with your knees wrapped around the upper part of the hoop and him curved on the inside of the hoop – your faces millimeters away from each other, so close he can feel your breath on his lips. 

Soonyoung taunts you both for a kiss – only for Junhui to feel an odd twist in his stomach when you seem to consider it as the song ends. Your eyes trail his face, but you roll them just as quickly; opting to stare at the ring below you. 

You don’t look at him as you both reach the ground, only muttering a soft thank you when he pulls you off the hoop carefully. You rub at your knees vigorously, the tape peeling back from your hand as you do so. 

“That’s lunch.” Mingyu calls over his shoulder, but Junhui watches as you ignore him and plop down on the bleachers. Your chest heaves with deep breaths as you peel the ripped tape off your hands, eyes watching everyone file out. Junhui lingers at the end of the line, letting the door close in front of him and leaning against the frame as you reach for the tape left behind by Seungkwan on the bleachers. You rip the end up, wrapping your wrists quickly and tearing the end off with your teeth – stretching your arms over your head with a pained grunt and rolling your shoulders back twice.  

He’s not sure you can see him – the edges of the arena dim and he’s dressed in all black. He uses the shadows to his advantage as he leans into them, the frustration radiating off your body practically tangible as you grab one of the ropes and tug on it harshly. You let it pull you into the air, your hand grabbing a hoop and flipping through it – curling your knees around the metal and letting it glide you around the arena, your eyes closed as you swung upside down. The creak of the hoop hinges at the top of the arena are the only sound aside from the thwip of your movements – and Junhui finds himself biting back a smile as you flip back into the hoop, wrapping your arms and gripping the metal tightly as you spun like a top on your descend. 

You let out a loud sigh as you slowed to a stop, almost a sound of relief to Junhui’s ears. You lolled your head back, crossing your ankles before carefully unwrapping yourself from the hoop and hopping down. You run a hand through your hair, dropping it to settle both on your hips as you walk back to the bleachers, a sway in your hips reeking of subtle satisfaction. 

“Sidney Kim, right?” 

You jump, your eyes wide as a hand flies to your chest – looking around when Junhui decides to step back into the light. Huffing, your hand drops and you sit on the bleachers with furrowed brows. You bring your hand to your mouth, tearing the tape with your teeth and peeling it off. 

“Or is it Nina Jeanine? 1992 Cirque du Lune, right?”  “What are you doing here?”  “Wondering why you’re not eating lunch.” 

“Stop worrying about me, it’d do you well.” You reply, tossing the scraps of tape into the garbage back at the end of the bleachers. You roll your wrists, and Junhui only steps closer, leaning against the opposite railing of the bleachers when you look up at him, “why aren’t you eating lunch?” 

“Practice what you preach.”  “It’s my job to worry about you.” 

He smiles, “no it isn’t.” 

Silence settles in the arena as you stare at each other – almost like two cats sizing each other up. You falter first, opting to look away as you grab for the tape again, “Nina Jeanine.” 

“Figured.”  “What are you really doing here?” 

“What I said I was, princess. Wondering why you’re beating yourself up in here instead of eating lunch, of which we now have only forty minutes left of.” He points at the clock on the wall. Your shoulders stiffen, “I’m just blowing off some steam. Go ahead, I’ll catch up.” 

“Blowing off steam...for what? We’re on track with everything. Ticket sales are at an all-time high. We could practically do the routine in our sleep...what is there to blow off steam for?” Junhui raises a brow as you seemingly bristle, your fingernail picking at the roll of tape before you set it down and stand up. You cross your arms on your chest as you plaster on a smile, “let’s go. Lunch awaits us.” 

Junhui sucks his teeth as you walk past him, his hand darting out and grabbing your elbow gently. You don’t stiffen, limply allowing him to pull you back and sit you down on the bleachers. He moves to kneel in front of you, his hands settling on either side of you as he looks at your face. Stress is weaved between your brows, the pad of his thumb coming to rub between them. 

“I’m fine.”  “You’re a shit liar. Add that to my list of impressions about you.” 

You tongue your cheek, swatting his hand away from your face. Your hands are clasped in your lap, but you pick at your fingernails as Junhui drums his fingers against your knees. He takes his time to look at you, gingerly placing his hands over yours to stop your fidgeting – and you meet his eyes, your own full of stress. 

“Is it because Soonyo—”  “He’s so fucking annoying. I don’t have to kiss everyone I do a routine with. Then I’m just the Lucky Star with an emphasis on lucky.” 

Junhui bites back his smile, the pout on your lips full of frustration as you huff, “he wants to act like he knows something, when he doesn’t. I don’t need the entire city of Manhattan to see me kiss someone, just for ratings and applause. It feels fake, and I’m no phony.” 

“We could kiss now.” 

You roll your eyes, “shut the fuck up.” 

“We could, though.” Junhui shrugs, gesturing to the room around you both. “It’s just you and me. No lights, no audience...no pressure. And no one has to know, just us.” 

Your lips are pressed into a thin line, raking your eyes over his face, “that’s not fair to Minghao.” 

“You’re not dating Minghao.”  “You don’t know that.” 

“I know a lot of things, princess. You and Minghao broke up years ago.” Junhui speaks pointedly, his hands cupping your knees with a soft pat, “think about it, because it doesn’t sound like you’re all that against actually kissing me.” 

He leans forward a bit, watching the way you furrow your brows deeper as his nose brushes yours, “I’d kiss you, if you wanted. Just like this.” 

The air is thick around the two of you, his eyes scanning your face and the way you’re considering it. The way you’re thinking about it – before you shake your head. 

“I can’t do that to Minghao.”  “Of course, princess. Just putting it out there.” 

He smiles, patting your knees again, “lunch. Now.” 

He stands up, dusting his knees as you do the same, folding your hands behind your back. You walk in front of him, your pace slow and deliberate as you glance over your shoulder – looking directly at the hoop hanging in the middle of the ring. 

“It’s too intimate.” You say suddenly, facing him with a quick turn of your heel. “It’s too intimate, to kiss someone I work with and know that I have a hard time separating business and pleasure.” 

“It doesn’t have to be more.” 

“That’s the problem,” you click your tongue, shaking your head before turning back on your heel. “You’re right about a lot of things, Wen Junhui. I’ve never thought I’d admit to that.” 

“Like?” 

“I don’t know who I am when I’m not performing.” You reach the door, shaking your head as he stands behind you. Almost too close, it seems – and you confirm it when you turn around as you cross your arms on your chest. He can barely see your face in the dimness, but there’s a sparkle in your eye that wasn’t there earlier, and something about it makes him giddy. 

“I can fix that.” He leans slightly closer, before feeling your hands ghost over his chest. He tilts his head at you, the warmth of your breath hitting his throat as he looks down. “What else?” 

“I’m not here to feed your ego.”  “Mmh, but you wanna.”  “Shut up.”  

He thinks you roll your eyes, turning around and moving to push the door when he snakes his arm around your waist. You easily give, letting him pull your back into his chest – the smell of your perfume, warm and citrusy, filling his nose as he pins you against the door. You lean your head back, the gloss of your eyes visible in the dim lighting. 

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for me, princess.” His voice is low in your ear, his fingers lightly digging into your hip as you huff out a humorless laugh. You splay your hand over his, “no, I don’t swoon easily. Took Minghao a year to even get in my good graces, and another to be my boyfriend.” 

“So, you did date him.”  “Don’t give up hope, hotshot.” 

“Just say you want me. It won’t kill you.” Junhui whispers as you twist out of his hold, your hands pushing against the door but not enough to open it as you peer up at him. 

“I do.” You seemingly shrug, a stream of light bleeding in from the way you crack the door open, “but I love my job more than I’ll ever want you...so let’s stay out of each other’s way. Cool?” 

You don’t give him a chance to respond – but it’s a challenge. You mean it as one; he can tell as you smile brightly at everyone, leaving Junhui in the shadows as the door closes in front of him. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, peering over his shoulder at the barely swinging hoop. “Cool.” 

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust. 

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed. 

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing. 

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly. 

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press or where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further. 

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go. 

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though. 

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along. 

Fuck. 

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true. 

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

you look behind your kitchen, flour has been spread to your kitchen as its box was left empty, and chocolate chips and milk has been spilled. there is a tray of cookies that were burnt. your cat jumps on the counter, sniffing at the mess that you have made as it looks at you disappointingly.

“i think i’ll be fine mingyu!” you said, looking over the oven, as you hear the beeping noise of the cookies that are done baking, you smell something burning. oh shit, “actually, nevermind! please call someone mingyu, please!” you immediately hang up on mingyu as you open the oven door, burnt cookies, again, your cat hisses at the smell as it jumps off the counter.

“ugh, another failed attempt…” you sigh putting all the burnt cookies in a plastic seal, at least you’ve got something to eat. picking up your phone, and you stare at your wallpaper; it was you and junhui taking a goofy picture at a photobooth together. you smile at the sight of jun making a weird face, he’s so adorable.

you thought about that moment on your phone, it was another day of hanging out with jun, though you felt something different with jun, you found him a little more prettier these days, and every little kind gesture and weird trinkets he give because he thinks you would like them, gosh, it was annoying your head, but you couldn’t help it, you had a crush on jun.

you shake the moment off your head and look at the mess that you have made. “you can do this, you can make the best cookies junnie has ever-“ you hear a knock on the door. “j-jun? what are you doing here!?” you open the door to find your pretty best friend holding a box of brownie mix, he lets himself in, your cat immediately goes to junhui, making him smile as he pets your cat.

getting up and setting the brownie mix near a table, he hugs you, letting you go, he gives you a sweet smile “hey, mingyu asked me to help you, he said it was about baking and i thought about your favorites, brownies!”. he smiles as he walks to the kitchen. your heart can’t take another one of his sweet gestures.

“well, let’s get started now!” jun said as he takes the box of brownie mix and holds your hand, your eyes widen as he looks at you with the cutest smile that you have ever seen as both of you go to the kitchen. “we’re making chocolate chip cookie brownies!”

🍪﹕──﹕⏲️﹕──﹕🍪

“i honestly don’t know how we were able to clean up this easily..” you look at your now clean kitchen, surprised at how it used to be garbage for wasted ingredients a moment ago. thanks to jun and a little bit of elbow grease, you guys were able to begin making brownie cookies.

“let’s start with the ingredients, eggs, oil, and water” you help him take out some fresh carton of eggs, vegetable oil, and a cup of water. “great, now we just need some bowl and a whisk” he looks around the cupboard and brings out some extra ingredients plus two bowls, and an electric whisk.

“okay, where do we start first?” tapping on table, jun takes out the brownie mix and gives it to you, “i think you could start out something simple, this has some instructions…” jun turns the box and points the instructions, leaning close so that you’ll be able to know what he’s talking about. you shift awkwardly, moving away. “yep i think i get what you mean!” you smile, turning away as you look at the ingredients, you were screaming inside. he was so close!! holy shit, junnie is just so ahh!!! stay calm yn, you thought to yourself, cracking open an egg, just distract yourself and we will be able to finish these brownies!! wait no! don’t look at jun!

you slowly look at jun, who was already mixing the ingredients with the electric whisk, gosh! he’s pretty!! why did you look yn!? he’s so ughh! he turns to you and turns off the electric whisk, “need help? seems you’ve already got most of the ingredients right.” he takes the bowl and pours it on the greased pan.

“okay, now we just need to put the cookie dough in.” jun takes the cookie dough and places pieces of it on the brownie batter. you look at junhui as he was placing the pan in the oven. you thought about your burnt cookies, maybe jun would like it…? you decide that it wouldn’t hurt to try, maybe jun might like whatever you make.

“hey uh jun?” you tap on jun’s shoulder as he looks at you “yeah? what’s up?” jun asks “about the mess i made in the kitchen…?” you begin, “those burnt cookies,” jun tilts his head curiously, as you open your fridge to show the sealed burnt cookies to him, he looks at the cookies, then at you and smiles. “you made cookies for me?” he takes the bag and opens the seal, “i know it’s not good looking…but i wanted to make these for you because..” jun takes a bite of the cookie and the way he smiles at the taste, it didn’t matter if they were burnt, you made them for him and…

“i like you junhui!” the sounds of the oven indicated that the cookie brownies were done, but there was also another sound that jun had heard, his heartbeat. “yn..” he smiles before hugging you.

…it made him love you even more.

TAGLIST (open) send an ask or fill out the form to be part of the taglist!

As per tradition, Joshua and Jeonghan would be hosting another one of their infamous parties for the holidays this year. You received an invite from Joshua himself, perks of being his classmate or whatever it was he said; you hadn't been paying much attention when you were thinking of the perfect excuse to not go. From the stories you'd heard about past events, this isn't something you particularly wanted to partake in.

But before you could spit out an excuse about your cousin's friend's sister's pet needing your full attention that weekend, Joshua was already telling you about the one plus one sale for couples that occurred during this time of year. Because Junhui loves them, of course. And just imagine all the free stuff the two of you could get if you pretended to be a couple when you took him shopping to find an outfit for the party.

Simple enough, right?

When you first brought it up to Junhui, you didn't think he would take too seriously. Because, well, in your head, it should've been enough to show up together and look like a couple to participate in all those BOGO sales. The two of you standing side by side, the same awkward smilespasted on your faces. That's why it never occurred to you that he would want to go further than the bare minimum and actually put on an act as if this was a role back in a high school drama class.

Now you'd have to live with knowing how soft his hands are and how well they seem to fit with yours as he intertwines your fingers together, but that this is only for the sake of getting a free hot chocolate. You'd know that the way his eyes soften and fill with fondness every time he looks at you is actually a look that's meant to be directed at that skincare package instead.

Once again, you curse at Josh in your mind as you quickly catch up to Junhui and slip your hand in his.

"Hey, let's go see what's over there?" he asks with a smile.

You nod, smiling back at him and ignoring the hard kick your heart does. Looks like your ulterior motive came back to bite you.

And so, the rest of the day is spent wandering from store to store, taking in all the eye-catching signs and colourful objects displayed in shop windows. You know how to play the part well and try to do an even better job than he does, almost one-upping him in a way. Junhui might pull you towards him and gaze at you lovingly, but you go even further to lean in to brush away that eyelash that'd fallen beneath his eye. He might take your hand in his or chain his arm with yours, but you move his arm to your waist instead so that you're nestled against his side.

It should be easy for the sake of free items, right? At least that's what you remind yourself. The truth is that this is easy because it's a role you've played all too many times in your head, having imaged this exact sequence of events. In a different context, of course.

"This looks pretty cool." Junhui points over in the distance and when you follow his gaze, you can see another big event going on right by the giant Christmas tree at the center of the mall.

The thought of doing any more pretending sends your stomach into a frenzy, but seeing the excitement in his eyes, you can't bring yourself to say anything. "Sure," you say, putting on a smile and squeezing his hand, "let's go check it out."

The event isn't a buy one get one free sale, but rather a raffle. A bunch of prizes are lined up on the counter, with everything from cool kitchen appliances to gift cards to makeup sets and everything in between. Though raffles were never your forte, you actually consider entering this one when you see how Junhui takes in the scene in front of him, eyes twinkling. You'd do it for him.

Or at least you thought you would until you get to the front of the crowd and hear the instructions for entering this raffle.

"Just take a picture of your kiss under the mistletoe," the lady says cheerfully, pointing you in the direction of the set. You follow her gaze and see it: there's a small Christmas tree, fake snow, even some reindeer figures set up.

Yes, it'd be a cute set up. It's just that you would think it's for kids' mall pictures with Santa, and not whatever the heck this is! This freaking kiss!

Before you get a chance to turn to Junhui and voice your concerns, the two of you somehow get tangled up in the sea of people walking over, slowly pushing the two of you along with them until you're right in front of the photo spot.

"You know... we, um, don't have to do this." You force on an air of nonchalance to hide your panic. At least no one else is paying you any attention; all these couples are too busy in their own world. "We probably won't win anything anyway."

So it really wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to pretend you never encountered this event and just walk away.

"Would you be okay with it?" Junhui asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"With what? Not entering the raffle?" Of course I'd be okay with it, Junhui, you think. Not an ounce of your hesitation is about the raffle or the prizes, and heck, there is no chance you'd win anything anyway.

"No," he says, shaking his head. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, but his voice is quiet, perhaps hesitant like yours. "With kissing me."

You're almost sure you heard wrong.

"W-what?" you sputter, mind reeling over everything. Of all things you expected for today, kissing Junhui was not one of them. It's not in the realm of imaginable things at all, and you have to force yourself to calm down when you answer. "Yeah," you croak, "um, yes. I'm fine with that."

And for whatever reason, in the seconds upon hearing your answer, Junhui's smile lights up his whole face and his eyes soften instantly. "Yeah?" He takes a step closer to you. "Okay. Good."

Everything in your mind seems to blur together as he closes the distance. You're afraid, nervous, terrified that your lips are chapped, or your breath isn't pleasant. Or that your teeth might clack against his, assuming that your nose doesn't get in the way first. And no matter how well your best friend already knows you, you're not sure if he'll want to know you in this kind of way.

"Are you sure?" he whispers at the last second, breath grazing your lips. There are just millimeters between you now and he could've easily closed the distance, but he waits, searches for an answer in your eyes.

So you answer.

The second his lips meet yours, it's like all your thoughts disappear. This isn't like a first kiss, one that you always imagined might happen between the two of you, but rather a kiss of two lovers, already familiar with each other and unafraid to express their want. The unspoken 'I love you' is written through his gentle touch on your cheeks and at your jaw, and through your fingers between the strands of his soft hair.

And in this moment, it doesn't even matter if this thing is for a raffle and if it's not real at all. Because none of it matters when you're kissing the one person you've been in love with for so long, when it might be enough to simply close your eyes, lean into the warmth of his every touch, and pretend.

Junhui pulls back slightly and breaks the kiss first, but the way the two of you linger so closely together makes you feel like it was going to happen again.

Like it was somehow too real to be just acting.

"Oh, right," you say, quickly stepping back and ending the moment. "Um, I think we got it. Yeah?" You nod at the phone he's still holding out in front of the two of you in the selfie position. That's what quickly pulls you back to reality; you have to tell yourself it was for the selfie after all since it was all too easy to forget.

He quickly takes the phone and swipes across the screen a couple of times, away from your field of view. "Yeah, we got it."

So much for being a mediocre actor, you think bitterly. You don't know how he did it, but he has to be some sort of expert if he was able to fake something like this. Maybe he's thinking of someone else when he's doing all of this, someone who's not you.

And perhaps this is the worst part of today. Knowing how gentle the caress of his hands against your face could be, knowing the warmth of his mouth and how he tastes on your tongue.

Knowing that none of it is for you.

Junhui calls you again, beckoning you over to where he's finished filling out the info for the raffle ticket, and then the two of you are off to the next spot as if nothing even happened.

In the end you don't win the raffle, but it never mattered anyway. It especially doesn't when it feels like you've won the lottery and then lost your ticket.

As the two of you continue exploring the mall, Junhui gradually gets quieter and quieter. At first you don't notice it since he's not much of a talker anyway, usually opting to walk silently next to you. But when you walk past one of those giant "1 plus 1" signs at the entrance of a store and he gives no reaction whatsoever, and he doesn't even seem to see the cats in the window of the cat cafe, that's when you realize something isn't right.

Sure, you could be overthinking it and he could merely be tired after a long day of walking around, but this is Junhui. You knowyour best friend wouldn't be one to pass up any sales like this, especially since they're what you came here for today after all.

The drive home is mostly silent too, relying on the holiday tunes on the radio to fill the gaps. It's silent until he walks to you to the entrance of your house, and then he finally speaks.

"I—I have something to tell you," Junhui says softly, only briefly meeting your eyes before looking at the ground.

This is it, you think. This is why he fully retreated into his head for the latter half of your outing—it must've been from the kiss. You weren't able to hide your feelings while doing all this today, and he had to have realized what a mistake everything was. Now, it might just be the downfall of this entire friendship.

"Y/N, I'm sorry."

"Why are you saying that?" You let a note of casualness slip into your voice and hope it'll conceal your concern a bit. All you want to do is play dumb, to pretend like there's nothing wrong at all. "For what?

Junhui sighs, slumping against your front door. He looks thoroughly torn and this is probably the most stressed you've ever seen him. It has to be something big if this is a reaction even the entrance exams couldn't get out of him, and it makes you all the more nervous too.

Because it can't mean anything good.

"Well, we didn't even end up finding you an outfit today."

"Oh. Right." You're not sure how to react to that, suddenly unsure if this should be considered good news or bad news. What you know is that it's certainly not something worth being upset over. "That's fine, don't worry about it. Honestly, I don't think I'll go to the party anymore."

A look of confusion creeps onto Junhui's face. "What, why? I thought you wanted to go."

"Me, it's not that important and like, Josh is kind of weird." You shrug. "But that's not what you wanted to tell me, is it?"

"N-no." He briefly looks startled, and you wonder if he was about to chicken out of saying anything at all if you hadn't prompted him. You wonder if you should've just let him. "It's about... today.

"Today."

"Yeah," he says and doesn't make a move to continue.

You can see the gears turning in his mind but it's clear that neither of you want to breach the topic of how your friendship will never be the same again after everything that happened today.

"Today when we were pretending—um, how do I say this?" Junhui pauses and runs a hand through his hair, then takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'll just go ahead and say it."

You have to mentally brace yourself as you await the final blow. He'll say that the two of you shouldn't have done it, that he was so focused on the sales that he never realized it'd be a mistake. Then you'd have to put on your best poker face and agree and pretend like each time you see him—if you ever see him again—you're not reminded of the fond smiles he's shown you, or how his every breath sounds when his lips are against yours.

"What we did today," he drags out slowly. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but if you were, or you just hated all of it... Sorry, I didn't mean to get so carried away." His eyes flicker to yours before looking away as the words tumble out of his mouth all at once. "I would never risk our friendship over something so trivial, Y/N. The ice cream wasn't great and hell, I wasn't even interested in that raffle."

"No, it's fine," you mutter automatically and let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. At least he doesn't want to stop being friends with you entirely. But then your mind processes his words, and you realize exactly what you heard. "Wait, did you just say you weren't interested in the raffle?"

"Yeah, I mean, the prizes weren't very good—" Junhui stops abruptly. His eyes widen when they meet yours, turning impossibly big as his mouth opens slightly. "I—well, I mean..."

He continues to struggle with coming up with what to say, going as far as turning away from you completely. You might've chosen to fill the silence before, but this time your heart is beating so loudly that you can hardly speak either.

Having no excuse left, Junhui finally turns back to face you and sighs. "I know what we did today was supposed to be fake, but that's not how I saw it. It was real to me, Y/N. I wanted to believe that it was more than just acting. That maybe... you might feel the same way."

You can't believe what you're hearing. The kiss may have been the least expected part of your day before, but this is something straight out of a dream. It's so surreal that it has you searching Junhui's face for any hint that this is some kind of joke or a prank, but the way he avoids your gaze and focuses on the ground in front of him proves otherwise.  

"You... you—what?" is the only thing you can get out in this moment. You stare at him, and he stares back.

"Well, um." He blinks, licks his lips. Looks everywhere except at you. "Actually, you know what, just forget I ever said anything. If you don't want to see me ever again, I can understand."

"No, Junhui." You shake your head, trying to snap out of your thoughts. "I'm just a bit in disbelief right now because I was supposed to be the one telling you that, not the other way around."

It's his turn to be frozen in shock. "What?"

"It was all real to me too." Something tells you to reach for his hand just as you'd done many times throughout the day, but this time you're tentative. This time you're hesitating at the last second like you can't believe this is really happening, that it's really okay to do when no longer under the guise of those sales, and it isn't until Junhui reaches out for you that you realize it's okay. It's all real. "I've felt this way for a while and I don't know if I was ever going to tell you, but then this came up. Actually—Josh was the one who gave me the idea of using the outfit shopping excuse to go and check out those one-plus-one sales because you like them."

Junhui furrows his brows. "Joshua gave you the idea?"

"Yeah. I didn't really want to go to the party but he kind of blackmailed me with this."

"No way." His jaw drops a little. "Because Jeonghan was the one who gave me the idea. I just thought it was a coincidence when you brought it up first that day."

You've heard stuff about Jeonghan and Joshua's parties before but never realized that maybe this is what people meant. And now, you're not even sure if you should be mad about it. A minute ago, you were picturing the worst that could happen after today's events, but it seems like you actually got the best possible outcome, one that you hadn't even dared to hope for.

Jisoo had forced Jun to promise to come wake him up every time he got them; he didn’t want Jun suffering alone. Lately though, they had been becoming more and more frequent. It worries Jisoo a lot, not having any idea what could be causing them. 

Jisoo knows better than to pry though.

Jun had always been, at least with his more personal thoughts, very reserved. Anyone else would think Jun is a very loud person, which he is, but beneath that… it is very hard to get close to him. That loudness is a bit like a shield, to keep people away from asking questions.

Jisoo was the glaring exception to this rule.

For some reason not entirely known even to Jisoo himself, Jun had let him in. Jun had confided much with Jisoo, maybe because Jun knew that Jisoo would never push him for more than he was willing to share. That included not wanting to speak about the nightmares that would have Jun running down the hall and right to Jisoo’s bunk, crawling in next to him before the elder is even fully awake yet.

Jisoo has seen the affect the nightmares are having on Jun over an extended period of time, making the bags under Jun’s eyes darker and stealing what little sleep he might have been able to manage after long schedules.

Eventually Jisoo just told Jun to start sleeping in the same bed with him, half the time they ended up in the same bed half way through the night anyways.

Jisoo always holds tight to Jun, cuddling him in close and running gentle hands through his hair to calm him. Because there was nothing Jisoo could really do to stop the nightmares, all he could manage is making Jun feel safe enough to try to sleep again.

Wen Junhui doesn’t blush.

He doesn’t.

But Jisoo seems to already be breaking down every rule Junhui has made for himself, so what’s one more?

Minghao teases him all the time about it.

Because Minghao is an asshole.

Junhui noticed everything about Jisoo, except the way Jisoo was staring back.

“Honestly Jun, staring holes in the back of his head isn’t going to make Jisoo suck your dick any sooner.” Minghao comments offhandedly, passing right next to Junhui to reach his water bottle. Minghao had said this in Mandarin, but Junhui still blushed and peeked back at Jisoo, worried he might somehow have understood.

Junhui scowls at Minghao. “Why do you say things like that?”

Minghao smirks. “What, it’s not like it isn’t true. I’m surprised no one else has noticed you undressing him with your eyes every half second.”

Junhui’s mouth pops open in shock. “I do not!”

Minghao raises his hands in surrender. “You know what? You’re right, you’re right. You spend half the time undressing him with your eyes and the other half of the time just staring at his ass.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t try to pull that shit with me, you literally admitted it to me the last time we both got drunk. ‘Oh my god, Jisoo just has the most perfect ass.’” Minghao says dramatically, poorly attempting to imitate Junhui’s voice.

Junhui reaches over to smack Minghao on the shoulder. “I never said that.”

Except he probably had. Drunk Junhui was known to have no filter whatsoever.

“No? Hmm so you wouldn’t mind if I go ask him out?” Minghao tilts his head innocently.

“Minghao I swear to god, why are we friends. And you don’t even know if Jisoo is gay, Jesus.”

“He’s pan, actually. Hyung and I talked a lot when I was trying to figure my own shit out.” Minghao shrugs nonchalantly.

“Wait, you guys are close? Since when?” Junhui isn’t jealous. He isn’t.

“Yeah, dummy. Which you would notice if you didn’t spend so much time staring and actually went and talked to Jisoo outside of rehearsals? Duh?”

“You’re so mean to me all the time, just let me suffer in peace.” Junhui whines, a pout on his lips.

“I’m honest, babe. And you’re just in denial. You know you love me.”

Junhui huffs.

“And you also love Jisooooo.” Minghao sings, cut off suddenly when Junhui claps a hand over his mouth.

“That’s quite enough, thank you.”

“Hey Minghao, Junhui.” Jisoo appears out of nowhere, and Junhui almost shrieks out loud.

Minghao twists out of Junhui’s grip. “Oh hey Jisoo! Junhui actually wanted to talk to you about something, awesome timing.” Then Minghao practically flounces away, a smug smile on his lips.

Junhui is cursing him out in his head.

Jisoo turns to look at Junhui curiously. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh! Um, nothing. Minghao was just, uh, making fun of me, yeah that’s, yeah.”

Jisoo smiles gently. “Oh, what were you two talking about?”

“Nothing really, we were just joking around?” Junhui says, but it trails off at the end and ends up sounding more like a question.

“Oh, so you two weren’t talking about how often you’re staring at my ass then?” Jisoo asks so casually that for a second it literally flies right over Junhui’s head that Jisoo had said that Entirely In Mandarin.

“Oh. My fucking God. Please just kill me now. Did you actually hear all of that?” Junhui whispers.

“Minghao has been teaching me more Mandarin, I’m pretty good right?” Jisoo asks innocently, but he’s also taken a step forward, crowding into Junhui’s space.

Junhui looks around the rest of the studio, but everyone else must have cleared out at some point earlier because now he and Jisoo are the only two left. And with the way Jisoo is looking at him.. Yeah that was probably a good thing.

“Minghao told you-”

“Minghao didn’t have to tell me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Jun.”

“Then why did you never.. I didn’t realize..”

Jisoo is directly in front of him now, pressing Junhui back against the mirrors.

“I was waiting for you to admit it. You’re so shy around me though, it’s adorable.” The look in Jisoo’s eyes is hungry, and Junhui has to keep himself from moaning at that alone.

Jisoo backs up just a touch, to look Junhui in the eyes clearly. “Do you want this?” There’s a hand snaked just barely under the hem of Junhui’s shirt, the other resting lightly over Junhui’s belt.

Junhui nods quickly.

“With your words, Jun.” Jisoo says again, and Junhui can’t help the small moan that escapes his lips then.

“Yes, please, please.” Junhui whines. He can feel a blush high on his cheeks but he is past the point of caring about it.

The hand at Junhui’s belt tightens. “Good.”

“Yeah but we must have walked at least ten miles by now.”

“Probably more like twelve.” Minghao interjects.

Jun whines again. “Why did I agree to this?” His feet hurt, and he is honestly considering lying down on the sidewalk at this point. It seems comfy enough to him.

Minghao turns enough to look at Jun with a pout, “Because you love me.” His eyes are wide, and Jun feels himself caving as always wherever Minghao is concerned.

Jun rolls his eyes, not even attempting to deny it. “Of course I do.”

Minghao smiles brightly. “I love you too.” He grabs Jun’s hand and swings it back and forth as they both walk.

Jun wants to be able to keep that smile on Minghao’s face forever, to always be the cause of it. It’s not a new feeling; it’s been around since they both became Pledis trainees all those years ago.

“What are you thinking about so intensely? Your nose scrunched up like it does when you’re thinking hard.” Minghao asks, giving Jun’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Just about you.” Jun leans in for a kiss, just a soft press of lips before they part again. “And how much I love you.”