#kimyooyeon

BZZZT! BZZZT!

The boy turned his head to the sound of his phone vibrating beside him. That could only mean a few things. One, it could just be one of his messages from a friend. Two, a random notification from the many apps he had installed or three, he just got a new client. As he opened his phone, he soon found out what it was.

It was option three.

(YN)'s thumb hovered over the notification for a second longer than necessary, his eyes skimming over the name that appeared on the screen. His brow furrowed. He blinked once, sat up a little straighter, and blinked again just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating from the heat.

Kim Yooyeon.

His heart did a weird flip. The kind of flip that usually only happened when he accidentally made eye contact with her during bio lab, or when she brushed past him in the hallway with the scent of clean laundry and something vaguely floral trailing behind her.

He couldn't not know her. It was the girl in his 10 a.m. biology lecture, the one who always came early, always sat by the window, and always looked like she lived in a world slightly quieter than the rest of them.

They'd never really spoken, beyond a few exchanged glances and an awkward moment when they both reached for the same worksheet. But he noticed her. Of course he did. Everyone did, in their own way.

She was the kind of quiet that made people lean in rather than turn away. Soft-spoken, serious, always scribbling something in the margins of her notebook that didn't seem like class notes. She wore oversized sweaters and tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking

"What could she possibly be doing here?" His mouth hung slightly, in slight shock and a ton of confusion.

(YN) tapped on their profile to get a closer look and sure enough it was her. The same girl who had everyone turn their way when she passed, even if she didn't mean to.

He scrolled down to the details of the booking, half expecting it to be some kind of prank. Maybe someone had used her name. Maybe it was a mix-up. Maybe it wasn't Kim Yooyeon from bio and just someone who happened to have the same name and looked exactly like her.

But no. It was her.

Eight hour booking. Monday afternoon. Café in Hongdae. No custom message. Just the standard.

"Please dress nicely and be on time."

(YN) sat frozen on his bed, phone still in hand, the rubber ball forgotten somewhere under his desk now.

Was this a mistake?

He thought about cancelling. His thumb hovered over the reject button for a full thirty seconds. This was dangerous territory. She knew him. Not knew him-knew him, but she'd definitely recognize him. She wasn't the kind of person who forgot faces easily. And if she connected the dots, if she realized who he was and what he'd been doing...

He would have to drop out. Change his whole Identity. Maybe even move to another province.

But then again... why would she book someone like him? Of all people?

Maybe it was because of the reviews left on his profile detailing how reliable his service was, not to be too much of a brag.

He let the phone fall back beside him and lay back down, arm thrown dramatically across his face. This was either the beginning of a deeply awkward disaster, or the most interesting weekend he'd had all semester.

He quickly picked his phone back up to the booking, trying to piece any clue there was to find a reason why she of all people was on the app but besides from the default message that was sent to him he found no reason.

Maybe scrolling down would help.

As his thumb swiped to the bottom of the page, his eyes widened. She wasn't paying him the regular fee someone would do any other booking but instead she was ready to pay him for bookings throughout the week in one go.

His mouth went dry.

Not one date.

A week's worth.

And it starts tomorrow.

Seven sessions. Paid upfront. Each one scheduled for different times—afternoons, evenings.

Who did that?

He sat up, brows furrowed in disbelief, staring at the total amount like it might vanish if he blinked too fast. This wasn't just some quiet girl looking for harmless weekend company. This was a plan. A purpose. A mission, even.

And it only raised more questions.

Why him?

Why now?

Why for a whole week?

(YN) felt the sting of curiosity beginning to mix with nerves. He knew he should be cautious. He'd never had a client book this much time in one go, especially someone he technically shared a class with. It blurred a line he wasn't sure he was ready to cross.

But it was Yooyeon. The girl who once dropped her pen in lab and apologized twice. The girl who always helped the professor hand out worksheets. The girl who had a softness to her silence that made him want to lean closer and figure it out.

He couldn't help himself.

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was dangerous. But mostly maybe it was intriguing.

With one steady breath, one that made sure he knew what he was getting into, he hit "Accept."

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Monday, 2:57 PM.

Baek (YN) stood outside the café in Hongdae again, tapping his phone nervously against his palm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the spring breeze tugging lightly at his hoodie. He checked his reflection in the window of the flower shop next door, smoothing down a stubborn piece of hair, then glanced down at his phone screen again.

It was a cozy place, tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, the smell of coffee and blooming flowers blending into something oddly calming. The afternoon light streamed in golden through the windows, casting warm pools of sunlight across the pavement and turning everything around him into something soft and cinematic.

When he looked up, he saw her.

Yooyeon, standing just across the street, in a blue dress with a floral pattern that swayed with the breeze like something out of a painting. Her hair was down today, curling slightly at the ends, and for a moment, (YN) forgot how to blink. She didn't wave. She just crossed the road with the kind of quiet confidence that seemed effortless, like she didn't notice how many heads turned as she walked.

"Hi," She said, looking up at him with that usual softness that seemed to live permanently in her voice.

"Hey," He replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt. He managed a half-smile. "Hope you weren't waiting long."

"No," She shook her head. "I got here early. I like watching people."

"...Okay, that's only a little creepy," He teased lightly, and to his surprise, a soft laugh escaped her lips, like wind chimes swaying in the breeze.

They stepped inside the café, where the air was filled with the rich scent of roasted beans and the low murmur of quiet conversations. They ordered their drinks—an iced americano for him, something floral and citrusy for her and an iced tea did the trick—and found a small round table by the window, framed by hanging plants and fairy lights.

The café was peaceful, like its own little world. Outside, someone walked by with a golden retriever in a bowtie. Inside, Yooyeon kept her hands folded neatly around her cup, like she wasn't entirely sure what to do with them. She kept glancing out the window, but not like she was bored—more like she was thinking of something far away.

"So," (YN) began, once they'd settled, "I have to ask. . .is this some kind of social experiment?"

Yooyeon looked at him over the rim of her iced tea. "No."

"A dare?"

"No."

"Revenge plot?"

That made her smile, faint but real. "Not quite, so still no."

(YN) leaned forward. "Then what is it?"

Yooyeon stirred her drink with her straw. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, without looking up, she said, "There's a wedding. This weekend. My cousin's. And I need a date."

He blinked. That wasn't the answer he expected. Not completely.

"A wedding?" He repeated.

She nodded slowly. "My whole extended family's going to be there. They're the kind that asks a lot of questions. The kind that loves to compare lives like it's a sport."

(YN) tilted his head. "And you figured. . .fake boyfriend for hire was better than going alone?"

"You seemed like someone who wouldn't ask too many questions," she said. "But also someone who would stay."

That shut him up. Because maybe she was right.

He would stay. For whatever this was. For the week. For her.

Even if he didn't understand any of it yet.

There was something else about her, something he noticed now that they were sitting face to face. A flicker in her eyes when the sunlight hit just right. A slight twitch of her fingers every time the door opened, like she was waiting for someone else to walk in. Maybe even hoping they wouldn't.

He wanted to ask her more, but instead, he took a sip of his drink and said, "So... what's on the agenda for our very official, definitely normal week together?"

Yooyeon smiled again, just a little. "We'll take it day by day."

"So how about what's on the menu today?" (YN) asked, adjusting himself in his seat.

Yooyeon tapped her fingers ascendingly on the side of her cup.

"We take pictures." She looked straight at his eyes, her brows slid down slightly as if she had planned this beforehand.

"E-eh? Pictures. . .?" He replied dumbfounded.

"That's right, we'll go to different places and we'll take pictures together. They might ask that when they're at the party so it's best for us to prepare." Her tone was strict and sure.

(YN) blinked again, slower this time, as if trying to reboot his brain. "You want to make, like... a photo album of our fake relationship?"

"Exactly," Yooyeon said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He let out a short breath that was somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "You really thought this through, huh?"

She shrugged, lifting her drink to her lips. "If we're going to sell the story, we need evidence. Pictures help. People believe what they see."

(YN) rubbed the back of his neck. "Right. Visual storytelling. Got it."

"Don't worry," she added, almost as an afterthought. "You won't have to smile too much."

He scoffed. "Gee, thanks."

Outside, the sun had shifted slightly, casting long golden streaks across the pavement. A few students passed by the window laughing, arms linked. (YN) watched them for a second before returning his attention to Yooyeon.

"So where do we start?" he asked, finally giving in, fully committing to whatever strange detour his life had just taken.

Yooyeon pulled out her phone and started scrolling. "There's a park about ten minutes from here with cherry blossoms still in bloom. I thought that'd be a good place for a 'first date' vibe."

"Let me guess," He said, standing up and grabbing his drink, "you've already got a list of locations, don't you?"

She stood too, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Three cafés, two parks, a bookstore, a movie theatre, and maybe the zoo—if you're not scared of penguins."

He laughed, the sound surprising even himself. "You're intense."

"And you're stalling," she replied, already heading for the door.

He followed after her, half-laughing, half-nervous, but strangely excited. Because somehow, in the middle of his otherwise uneventful semester, he had been drafted into the most absurd mission of all: pretend to be Kim Yooyeon's boyfriend, fool an entire wedding party, and take enough fake couple photos to convince her extended family that love was real, even if it wasn't.

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As they stepped out into the sunlight, (YN) shoved his hands into his pockets and fell into step beside her.

The breeze tugged lightly at her skirt, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms down the street. She walked with purpose, like someone with a timeline to meet and a plan in mind. He, on the other hand, was still processing the fact that he had somehow agreed to be someone's fake boyfriend for a week. Not just anyone—Yooyeon, the quiet girl from biology who seemed to have fallen right out of a book he hadn't realized he'd been reading until now.

"So this park," he said, trying to keep his tone casual. "Is it, like, scenic-romantic or awkward-playground romantic?"

She side-eyed him. "It's picturesque. It's near the river, and there's a little footbridge people love taking photos on. Very couple-core."

(YN) let out a low whistle. "You really aren't messing around with this."

"I told you," She said, glancing ahead. "you'd think it was a job interview, not a wedding."

He grinned. "Well, good thing you hired a professional, then."

Yooyeon rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was trying not to smile.

By the time they reached the park, the late afternoon light had turned everything golden. Blossoms fluttered down like snowflakes, littering the stone path with petals. There were families out walking, couples sitting on benches, and a few photographers setting up by the bridge, probably for real engagement shoots.

"Okay," she said, stopping near a wooden fence that overlooked the river. "This is good. Natural light, background. . .now act like you like me."

(YN) gave her a mock-scandalized look. "Excuse me, I am very good at pretending."

She handed him her phone. "Set it to portrait mode. And try not to blink like a deer in headlights."

"You wound me," He muttered, but he did as she asked. They took a few shots standing side-by-side, then one where she leaned slightly toward him while looking at the water. At one point, she laughed at something he mumbled under his breath, and that one, he noticed, she immediately marked as a favorite.

After a while, she looked at him and said, "Okay. Now something more. . .natural. Like we're actually dating."

He hesitated, but then stepped behind her and rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, his arms loose around her waist. She stiffened for a brief second before relaxing into it, and he felt the tiniest beat of her breath quicken.

He didn't say anything. Neither did she.

The camera clicked.

"Good," she said softly, after a moment. "That'll convince them."

(YN) pulled back slowly, unsure of what was happening in the space between them now. "Right. Mission accomplished."

But even as they scrolled through the photos together, laughing over a few awkward ones, (YN) couldn't help but notice how warm her shoulder had felt against his cheek—or how, in one of the pictures, he was caught looking at her way too softly.

He was glad that she didn't seem to notice.

Now as they sat on a bench, the breeze that went through the park and the silence that settled between them. The boy tapped his hand over his knee as they bounced every second or two that passed. He glanced over to Yooyeon. She was focused on the park in front of them, eyeing whatever the other couples were doing as if she was going to add it on their to-do list.

"Ah right, I forgot to ask you earlier." He scooted over, closing the gap they had on the bench.

"Do you have a love language?"

Yooyeon turned to him and her shoulders tensed up, not realizing how close he had gotten. "L-love language. . ?" She softly stuttered out, confused to a term she was unfamiliar with.

"Yeah, it's the way you express love to someone and how you would want to receive it." (YN) explained but the tilt of her head says that she was still lost.

"I was just curious because. . .it's important for when we get to the party. Gotta act the part, y'know?" He chuckled awkwardly.

Yooyeon looked down at her hands, fingers threading and unthreading. "I... don't know. I've never really thought about that."

(YN) tilted his head. "Never? Not even once?"

She shook her head. "I've never been in anything serious enough to think about how I love someone. Or how I want to be loved."

That answer sat between them, heavier than he expected. He tried to find something light to say, but the quiet in her tone tugged at a different part of him—the part that was beginning to recognize how much of her wasn't shown on the surface.

"Well," he said, nudging her knee gently with his. "There's five main ones. Words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch. You don't have to pick one now, but I figured we could experiment a little this week."

She gave him a wary look. "Experiment?"

"Strictly for research purposes," he added quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Like, today's pictures count as quality time. Maybe tomorrow I bring you coffee—that'd be acts of service. Who knows, maybe by the end of the week we'll be fluent in fake couple love languages."

To his relief, she laughed. "You're really going all in on this."

"You started it," he shot back playfully. "I'm just trying to be a convincing date. For the nosy aunties and marriage-obsessed cousins."

She hummed, a soft sound that got carried away by the wind. Then, more quietly: "You're not what I expected."

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?"

Yooyeon didn't answer right away. Instead, she leaned back on the bench and tilted her head toward the sky. "You're... easier to be around than I thought. Comfortable."

(YN) swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. "Well, I am professionally charming."

She scoffed. "You're not that charming."

"Ouch." he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically.

This time, when she laughed, it didn't sound forced or polite. It rang out lightly, like the first real crack in her carefully built exterior.

They sat like that for a while, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. Birds chirped overhead, a cyclist passed by with a small dog in their basket, and the sunlight slid slowly down the buildings across the river.

Then she stood.

"Okay," she said, brushing her skirt down. "Let's go to the bookstore next. We'll take pictures in the aisles, maybe pretend to read the same book. It'll look cute."

(YN) followed her up, a smile tugging at his lips. "You sure this isn't just an elaborate excuse to go on the dates you've always wanted?"

She didn't answer, but the way she glanced at him—brief, amused, and just a little shy—made him wonder if maybe that was exactly what this was.

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Ah, the library.

Baek (YN) had been here many times before, of course to study but there was an occasional booking or two that led him to the city's public library.

Of all those many times, he had to pose as someone's study date, someone's boyfriend who was also a bit of a bookworm and weirdly enough, there was one time where he was booked to keep someone company as they studied.

And he meant no offense to his other bookings when he thought that this was more special than any of his prior ones.

"You look like you're enjoying this more than I am." (YN) leaned his head down slightly, looking at the grin the girl had right in front of him.

She was browsing through the photos they took, one where they looked to share a page and ones where they took pictures of the other walking down the aisle between the shelves through the cracks they had between their books.

Yooyeon didn't look up from the phone, her finger swiping slowly through the gallery. "That's because I am enjoying this more than you," she said, voice light but earnest. "I mean, look at this one—" she held the phone up to him, "—this looks like we're about to start a book club and fall in love by chapter three."

(YN) squinted at the photo. They were both seated on the floor, backs against the same shelf, a thick hardcover open between them. She was pointing at something on the page with a slight smile, while he was gazing—not at the book—but at her.

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. That's just good acting."

She lowered the phone. "Is it?"

There was something teasing in her tone, but also something quieter beneath it—something that tugged at his chest before he could stop it.

"I guess we're both pretty good at pretending," he said, shrugging as he stood up and dusted off his pants. "You know, for the sake of fooling everyone at the wedding."

"Mmh," she hummed as she rose too, slipping the phone into her bag. "That's the goal, right?"

They wandered into another aisle, quieter than the rest, lined with old novels that smelled like dust and time. Yooyeon ran a hand along the spines of the books, not really reading the titles, just trailing her fingers over them as if they could tell her something.

"I should've asked earlier but," She turned to him. "Do we share a class? I knew there was a reason you were so familiar when I saw your profile."

(YN) blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Oh. Uh... yeah, I think we do. Biology, right? On Tuesdays? You sit by the window, two rows ahead of me."

Her eyebrows rose in faint surprise. "You noticed that?"

He gave her a half-smile, feigning nonchalance. "Kinda hard not to. You always look like you're trying to set the professor on fire with your mind."

She laughed, genuine and light, and it echoed off the high ceilings of the aisle. "Well, I was trying to make the lecture more interesting. No offense to our teacher's boring lectures."

"None should be taken. if they were more entertaining, maybe I'd pay attention more often." He chuckled.

Yooyeon leaned against the shelf, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. "So you have seen me before. I thought I was imagining that weird sense of familiarity."

"You weren't. I just never said anything," (YN) admitted. "Didn't think you'd notice a guy who showed up half-awake and fueled solely by vending machine coffee."

She gave him a mock-sympathetic nod. "That... actually makes sense."

There was a pause, a good one. A comfortable kind, where neither of them felt rushed to fill the silence.

"So," Yooyeon said slowly, looking up at him, "if we're pretending to have known each other for a while, I guess it's not entirely fake."

"No," he said, softer now. "Not entirely."

A hush settled between them again, only the faint whisper of a page turning somewhere nearby reminding them they were still in a public place.

Then, Yooyeon tilted her head. "Hey, (YN)?"

"Yeah?"

"If this was any of your other dates... what would we do next?"

He blinked at the suddenness of the question, caught between surprise and curiosity. "Honestly? I'd probably ask if you were hungry. Then we'd go grab cheap ramen or street food. Maybe eat there before I help you get home."

She smiled thoughtfully, her gaze dropping to the floor for a second. "I think I'm up for that." Yooyeon glanced up, with a new sense of determination flowing through her tone.

"Well..." He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. "We still have a few hours left in our totally official fake first day."

Yooyeon looked up, and there was something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. "Alright. Lead the way, fake boyfriend."

(YN) grinned. "You're gonna regret giving me that power."

She laughed as they walked toward the exit, and he couldn't help but think—not for the first time—that maybe this week was going to be harder to walk away from than he thought.

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The smoke from all of the food stands slowly rose into the sky that had grown dim as the sun continued to set. The smell from all of the food mixed into the street, the sweet and spicy scents enticing anybody who walked through.

Baek (YN) and Kim Yooyeon found themselves standing in front of a tteokbokki stand.

Yooyeon tapped her phone screen with one hand while holding the warm cup in the other. "We need a few more candid shots. Something romantic. But subtle."

(YN) raised a brow. "Romantic. But subtle. Got it. Like...feeding each other spicy rice cakes on the side of a busy street?"

"That's actually not a bad idea," she replied seriously, holding out her cup to him. "Say 'ah.'"

He blinked. "Wait—you're feeding me first?"

"Obviously. You're the boyfriend. You're supposed to look smitten."

(YN) leaned in, lips parting slightly as she carefully lifted a piece of tteokbokki to his mouth with the wooden pick. Her fingers brushed his chin accidentally, and her eyes tracked the motion like a director watching a shot unfold.

The rice cake touched his lips, and he bit down, a surprised sound escaping when the heat hit his tongue. "Oh, that's—hot."

Yooyeon chuckled softly, her expression unreadable but satisfied. "Perfect. Do that again for the next photo. Maybe with a bit more sparkle in your eyes."

"You're really committed to this mission, huh?"

She looked at him then, a flicker of something heavier behind her focus. "I have to be."

(YN) took a breath, the heat of the food lingering on his tongue. "You know... most people just say no to their families and move on."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked down at the photos they'd taken so far—the bridge, the library, now the market. Each one a little more believable than the last.

"They never listen when I say no," she said finally, voice quiet. "So it's easier to play along. If I show up with someone, they'll ask fewer questions. They'll stop asking what's wrong with me."

There was a pause between them. The sounds of the street filled in the silence—sizzling oil, laughter from a nearby stall, a ballad playing faintly from a radio.

"But don't you think they'll ask you more questions?" He turned, his shoulder brushing against hers softly. "I mean if they see me, they'll probably look for me at any other family event you have."

Yooyeon looked up at him, brows furrowed in unwavering determination. "Then I'll just make sure I book you again and again."

Baek (YN) stared at her for a moment longer, the dim orange glow of the streetlights catching the edge of her face. There was a beat of silence, his brain trying to process if she was joking or serious—but the way she held his gaze, calm and unflinching, gave him the answer.

She wasn't joking.

"You're really planning this like a whole series," he said, trying to chuckle, but it came out more like a breath. "Sequel weddings. Extended family reunions. Holidays. Am I part of your long-term casting now?"

"If that's what it takes," she said simply, as if she were stating the weather.

He wasn't sure what startled him more—her honesty or the strange twist of something fluttering in his chest. The fake relationship was her idea. The role he was playing was clear. So why did it feel more real with every new stop they made?

A burst of laughter from a nearby game booth jolted him back. Yooyeon had turned away, snapping another candid of the food stalls behind them.

"I think we should do one more," she said. "Maybe with you holding my hand. Something casual. Like we're just walking and you suddenly reached for it."

(YN) raised a brow. "That's not subtle at all."

"It's bold," she corrected. "People fall for bold."

So he reached out, slow, letting his fingers brush against hers first before lacing them through. She didn't pull away. She just looked down at their hands, nodded once, then glanced up at him.

"Now smile. Like you're with someone you actually like."

(YN) gave a small grin. "You're really demanding for someone who's paying by the hour."

She tilted her head. "I didn't think you'd mind."

And he didn't. Not even a little.

They started walking again, her phone tucked under her arm now, their hands still linked like it was the most natural thing in the world. The line between pretending and reality blurred with every step they took—past the skewers and dumplings, past the rows of neon-lit signs.

"I still don't get why it matters so much," he said after a while, quieter now. "You could just show up alone. You don't need anyone."

She didn't answer immediately. Then:

"I know I don't," she said, "but I'd rather not be the story people whisper about this time. Just for once, I want to walk in with someone and have them say, 'Ah, so that's him,' and then shut up."

"And I'm that someone."

She looked up at him. "For now."

Something about the way she said it made his chest ache.

They stopped at the edge of the street, a small crosswalk blinking red. He looked down at their hands again. She hadn't let go.

"Then let's make it count," he murmured.

She didn't smile. But her grip tightened.

And somewhere in the middle of a bustling market, fake feelings tangled quietly with something neither of them could name just yet.

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The bustling energy of the night market had faded into a hushed lull, the city slipping into its slower rhythm. (YN) sat beside her on the bus, his shoulder just barely brushing hers every time they turned around a corner. Yooyeon was nodding off slightly, her head lolling gently toward him before jerking upright, eyes fluttering open like she wasn't quite ready to let herself fall asleep.

"You can lean on me, you know," He said, voice soft enough not to startle her.

She blinked up at him. "Huh?"

"You're tired. Don't worry, I won't charge extra."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "You're so generous."

Still, she didn't hesitate long. Slowly, Yooyeon let her head rest against his shoulder, her body leaning just enough to settle into his space. He felt her exhale, slow and even, and for the first time that evening, she looked at peace.

They got off two stops later.

He didn't ask, but he followed her all the way to the front of her apartment building, just like he had the first time they met, except now... now it felt different. Not a transaction. Not an act.

"You didn't have to walk me," She said, turning to face him under the flickering light above her door.

"I know," He said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "But I wanted to."

Yooyeon looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable again, like she was weighing something unspoken. Then she nodded once.

"Thanks for today," She said. "I think we actually make a good team."

He shrugged lightly, trying to hide how much that meant. "We should win an award or something. Best Fictional Couple in a K-Drama."

She laughed, quiet and real, and he decided he liked that sound more than he expected.

There was a pause, lingering longer than it should have as she slid her bag down her shoulder and reached for something inside. Once she pulled her arm out, it came with a generous amount of cash.

She really wasn't kidding when she said she was going to pay for the whole week.

(YN) stared at the wad of bills like it had personally offended him. "Are you. . .tipping me?"

Yooyeon raised an eyebrow. "It's payment."

He scoffed, dramatically stepping back like the cash was cursed. "I walked you home! That's boyfriend-level dedication. I should be getting a loyalty card at this point."

"You're getting paid," She deadpanned, waving the money again. "That's your loyalty card."

"I was hoping for maybe. . .a coupon. 'Buy five hugs, get one free' kind of deal."

Yooyeon rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again, bright and a little tired, the kind of smile people only wear when they feel safe. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, here I am. Walking you home. Eating fire-level tteokbokki. Posing in pastel sweaters like a spring catalog model."

"You didn't have to enjoy it so much."

He gasped, clutching his chest. "You wound me again."

She giggled, biting her bottom lip to hold it back. Then, without warning, she stuffed the money into the front pocket of his jacket. "Just take it before I start feeling bad about all the photos I made you take."

(YN) looked down at the crumpled cash now sitting against his heart. "You know this is dangerously close to the trope where the fake couple starts catching feelings, right?"

Yooyeon looked up at him, expression unreadable for just a second again, until she smiled and said, "Good thing it's just a trope, then."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already turning the key in her door.

"Yooyeon," he called just before she disappeared inside.

She turned, just barely, one hand on the doorframe.

"I like your laugh," he said, not entirely sure why that was the thing that came out.

Yooyeon blinked, eyes softer now. "Then I guess you better keep earning it."

The door closed with a soft click, and Baek (YN) stood there for a moment longer, hands in his pockets, the crumpled money still warm from where she'd shoved it.

He smiled to himself.

It was only Monday.

And already, he was in trouble.

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Tuesday 10:56

The lecture hall was in a comfortable silence apart from the voice of the instructor coming from the front of the class. It was the kind of silence that was dangerous, the kind that might make you risk falling asleep if you closed your eyes even just for a second.

Baek (YN) sat on the upper side of the amphitheater styled room. His hand held up his head, preventing him from laying it down on the desk yet it wasn't enough to prevent his eyes from drifting away from the lesson to point themselves at a girl sitting below that had her hair up in a bun, swaying any strays from her vision as she scribbled down on her notebook.

There was something unintentionally hypnotic about the way she moved—head tilted, pen gliding smoothly across the page, her brows occasionally furrowing as if the very concepts being taught were personal insults she had to defeat one by one.

Yooyeon.

Even from this angle, even in a sea of students, she stood out to him. Not because of anything dramatic, there were no neon highlighters, no wild gestures, but because she looked like she actually cared. Or at least, she was pretending really well.

(YN) sighed, his own notes consisting of a single doodle of what he guessed was meant to be a mitochondrion but somehow now looked more like a tired slug. His gaze flicked back to her.

A beat later, she turned, just slightly, and her eyes caught his. The contact lasted barely a second, but she blinked, tilted her head, and then smiled in this annoyingly perfect kind of way.

Busted.

He straightened up immediately, suddenly very interested in whatever was happening on slide 23. Was it statistics? Photosynthesis? He couldn't tell. His ears were warm.

A minute passed.

Then his phone buzzed.

[Yooyeon]: If you're going to stare, try to be subtle about it, (YN).

He stifled a groan. Then another buzz.

[Yooyeon]: Meet me after class and let's grab lunch nearby. Let's grab a couple more photos.

(YN) bit back a grin, thumbs already moving over his screen in response.

[YN]: Should I bring roses or is this more of a casual paparazzi moment?

[Yooyeon]: Just your face. That's all we really need.

[Yooyeon]: ...and maybe coffee. I'm running on fumes.

He chuckled, glancing down at her again. She hadn't looked back this time, too busy pretending to listen while typing something into her notes app. Probably logging his crimes against academic focus.

When class finally ended, a wave of chairs scraping and backpacks zipping filled the room. (YN) slung his bag over one shoulder and made his way down the steps, dodging students like he was moving through a crowd on autopilot.

She was waiting just outside the door, already slipping her phone into the pocket of her jacket. Her bun was slightly messier than it was when he saw her earlier. A few strands had escaped, framing her face.

"Oh hey, there you are." she greeted. "You ready for another round of totally real date photos?"

He smirked. "Ready as I'll ever be. Where to?" He glanced up quickly and found that some boys from their class were glaring at him but he didn't put too much thought into it.

"There's this place with a brick wall and those tiny string lights. Instant aesthetic."

"Aesthetic, huh?" he echoed, walking beside her. "Is that why you keep booking me? I match your idea for a date?"

Yooyeon glanced at him, amused. "You're average enough to look real, but decent enough that people would believe I said yes to dating you."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "You really are blunt, Kim Yooyeon."

She rolled her eyes before nodding her head forward, telling him to follow after her and he did. They walked together through the school halls, side by side and feeling the center of attention gravitated towards them.

They continued until they strolled down the school's exit and entered the sidewalk with him walking along the side closer to the street.

They dodged scooters and sleepy students. The mid-morning sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a soft glow on the buildings as they passed.

Yooyeon had grown awfully silent throughout so he decided to take a glance at her. She was holding her phone out, yet the screen was turned off. Once she seemed like she thought of something to do, she tapped the phone on and he was surprised that she had set one of their pictures together as her wallpaper.

He stopped for just a second, blinked, and then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Wait—is that... me?"

Yooyeon's thumb hovered over the screen for a beat too long. Then she pressed the power button and shoved the phone into her coat pocket like it owed her money. "Don't make it weird."

Baek (YN) looked thoroughly entertained. "Oh, I'm the one making it weird? You set my face as your lock screen. That's level three fake-dating commitment."

"It's a strategic choice," she said, speeding up a step. "If anyone sees my phone, it sells the whole story. It's smart."

He jogged to match her pace. "You chose the one where I'm mid-laugh, didn't you? That angle was criminal."

"You looked happy," she said without looking at him.

That made him go quiet for a second—long enough to hear the hum of the city again, the quiet murmur of passing students, the distant honk of traffic.

He looked over at her, curious. "Do you even remember what we were laughing about in that photo?"

Yooyeon tilted her head, thinking. "You were trying to explain the plot of that one K-drama where the girl turns into a dog."

"Oh God. Right. I was passionately defending it and you kept making dog puns."

She cracked a smile. "Hey, they weren't that ruff."

He groaned. "I'm canceling our fake relationship immediately."

"You can't. There's a no-refund policy."

"And here I thought this job came with boundaries."

They arrived at the cafe ten minutes later—a cozy little corner spot with ivy creeping up the brick wall and mismatched furniture that looked stolen from a Pinterest board. The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon drifted out when they opened the door, and Yooyeon gave a pleased little hum.

"I told you," she said, gesturing to the warm-toned lights and rustic chairs. "Perfect setting for date number... what is this, three?"

"Three and a half, if you count the bus ride shoulder pillow moment," he quipped.

She gave him a look but didn't disagree.

They ordered—one iced vanilla latte for her, an americano for him—and took the window seat. The string lights blinked above them, delicate and soft. She pulled out her phone, tilting it between them.

"Smile like you're hopelessly into me," she said, holding up the camera.

(YN) leaned in, letting their heads almost touch. "Like this?"

"Less creepy, more charming."

"Ah. So my default."

She snorted, but snapped the photo anyway. Then another. Then one where she was pretending to be mid-laugh and he was just looking at her like she hung the stars. He wasn't even trying to fake that one anymore.

After a few minutes of "work," Yooyeon set her phone down and sighed, blowing gently into her drink.

"I think we sold it," she muttered. "My family won't suspect a thing."

He leaned back in his seat, eyeing her for a moment. "And what about you? You buying any of it?"

She looked up, her gaze meeting his, and for the briefest second, the teasing was gone.

Then she smiled.

"I'm the one who hired you, remember?" She said lightly. "I know it's not real."

"Right," He nodded. "Totally."

They didn't talk much after that, but the silence felt less like an ending and more like the kind you sink into with someone you're getting used to having around. Just two people in a coffee shop, pretending for photos but maybe not pretending quite as hard as before.

And when they left—his hand hovering near the small of her back as she led the way back out—he realized something odd.

He didn't want this gig to end.

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(YN) and Yooyeon made the trip back to school on foot. She was mentioning other things she had planned throughout the week. Apparently she wanted to shop for clothes to wear at the party on Thursday and maybe add a couple of finishing touches to their fake relationship scrapbook by Friday.

On Wednesday, she had him booked at night specifically. According to her words, her friends were dragging her out for a short trip to the province. It was one that was already planned months before so there was no way she was going to say no to that.

"So you're telling me, your friends are bringing you to a strawberry farm to pick some then head back here?" He repeated her words, trying to find cohesion.

Yooyeon nodded confidently, sipping the last of her coffee through the straw. "Yes. Strawberries, then back before midnight. Like Cinderella, but with way more strawberries."

(YN) gave her a look. "That sounds suspiciously like a scam."

"It's not a scam. It's a bonding activity. Also, I've already paid."

He raised a brow. "So definitely a scam."

She was about to retort when her eyes suddenly widened, just a flicker, and her whole posture stiffened like someone had pressed pause. She ducked her head slightly, pulling the hood of her jacket up in one quick, practiced motion.

(YN) blinked. "What are you—"

"Three o'clock. My friends," she hissed, eyes darting to a small group of girls walking up the opposite side of the path toward them.

"What?" He turned instinctively to look but she slapped a hand to his arm. "Don't make eye contact. They're like velociraptors. Movement attracts them."

"Oh my god," he muttered, turning his back to the sidewalk and pretending to admire a lamp post. "What do we do? Should I jump into a bush?"

"No!" She hissed. "That's even weirder. Just—pretend you're not you."

"How exactly does one do that, Yooyeon?"

"Act! Be someone else! Be. . .my cousin."

He snorted. "Your cousin? Really? This is the best you could come up with?"

"I panicked, okay?"

(YN) cleared his throat, adjusting his posture like he was about to audition for a drama. "Alright, I guess I'm your cousin now."

She peeked over her shoulder. The group was getting closer.

"Don't talk unless I say your name. And don't even laugh. And if they ask, you're from Busan and you're visiting for the week."

"I don't have a Busan accent."

"Then fake one or pretend you're shy."

Just as the girls got close, one of them called out, "Yooyeon!"

Yooyeon slapped a big, strained smile onto her face and turned. "Hey! You're early!"

"We finished lab early so we figured we'd grab snacks. Oh?" The girl's eyes flicked to (YN). "Who's this?"

Yooyeon didn't miss a beat. "Oh, this is—" she paused, the briefest hesitation flickering across her features "—my cousin! From Busan! Visiting."

(YN) gave an awkward little wave, deepening his voice just slightly. "Uh... hi."

Yooyeon elbowed him quickly, a little too hard.

"He's shy," she said with a tight smile. "Very socially. . .conservative."

"Ahhh," one of the girls said, nodding like that explained everything.

The conversation lasted barely two minutes, a blur of polite exchanges and badly improvised small talk. The pair thought they were on safe ground until one of the girls linked their arm around Yooyeon's.

"We're going to the cafeteria, you should come with us! We GOTTA talk about our outfits for tomorrow. So I was thinking. . ." The girls slowly pulled her away from (YN) who found the whole ordeal amusing, especially when she tried to excuse herself from them.

Just as she was unsuccessful, she turned her head over her shoulder and her hand slightly, gesturing with her phone.

(YN) squinted at her vague hand signal, trying to decipher what she meant. Was that a wave? A cry for help? Morse code? Then he saw her mouth something exaggeratedly: "I'll text you."

He stifled a laugh, giving her a tiny salute in return like a soldier being left behind enemy lines. "Good Luck," he whispered under his breath.

Yooyeon shot him a final pleading look before turning back to her friends, plastering on a smile so wide it looked like it physically pained her. She was already nodding along to a rapid-fire conversation about skirts and nail polish, her arm still firmly looped with the girl beside her. Her steps dragged like she was walking to a very well-lit execution.

(YN) stood there for a second, watching her disappear into the crowd of pastel jackets and tote bags. Once she was out of sight, he pulled out his phone.

[YN]: Cousin from Busan reporting for duty. Just barely survived the velociraptors.

A beat passed.

[Yooyeon]: I HATE YOU

[Yooyeon]: They're making me look at shoes. Help.

He chuckled, tucking his phone back into his pocket as he turned and began the walk back toward the dorms, a grin tugging at his lips the whole way.

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Wednesday - 11:34PM

(YN)'s whole day had been oddly quiet. Too quiet. A quick class in the morning, a nap that turned into a full-on hibernation session, and a boring afternoon later, and now here he was, lying on his bed, phone in hand, wondering how Yooyeon's strawberry-picking adventure went. She hadn't texted him all day. Not even a sarcastic comment. Not even a meme. Radio silence.

He debated texting her first, then decided against it, then debated again.

That's when his phone buzzed. Not a message. A call.

[+8275830174]: Incoming call

He blinked. An unknown number at this time?

He answered. "Hello?"

"(YN)-ssi?" A girl's voice was muffled, loud music and chatter in the background. "You're Yooyeon unnies fake boyfriend and not her cousin, right?"

". . .I mean. Yes?"

"Okay, cool. We're at Choong's BBQ. Yooyeon unnie is kinda. . . you know. . ." she lowered her voice dramatically, "horizontal."

"What?"

"She's drunk. Really drunk. And she keeps saying 'Call my boyfriend! He'll understand the emotional weight of strawberries!'"

"...What does that even mean?"

"We don't know," the girl said. "But she won't leave unless it's with you. And honestly, we don't trust her to walk straight, let alone make it back alone."

(YN) was already grabbing his jacket. "I'm on my way."

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Fifteen minutes later, he pushed open the smoky glass doors of Choong's BBQ and was immediately hit by a wave of sizzling meat, soju fumes, and mid-week chaos.

It didn't take long to spot her.

Yooyeon was slumped over in a booth, cheeks flushed and hair a little undone from the neat bun she had earlier. One arm was flung across the table like she'd been dramatically defeated by grilled pork belly. The other was holding a shot glass like a trophy.

Dahyun spotted him and waved him over. He'd recognized her as one of the girls who pulled her away from him the day prior.

"Thank god. She's been talking about the strawberry farm for the last ten minutes."

Yooyeon lifted her head just barely, squinting at him like he was a mirage.

"You came," she mumbled, blinking slowly. "My knight in denim."

He glanced down at his jeans. "You mean shining armor?"

"No," she said, pointing a very serious finger. "Denim. It's more realistic."

He sighed, trying not to smile. "Alright, come on. Let's get you out of here."

She stood, or tried to. She swayed like a shopping cart with a busted wheel.

"Whoa, easy." He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "You're lucky I don't charge for midnight rescues."

"You should," she muttered, leaning heavily on him as they made their way toward the door. "Because this is prime boyfriend-tier labor."

"And yet I'm still not getting paid overtime."

Yooyeon let out a tiny, tipsy laugh. "Don't tell anyone, but I think you might be my favorite fake purchase."

(YN) looked down at her, half amused, half—something else.

He didn't say anything. Just tightened his grip around her shoulders and kept walking.

Outside, the city air was crisp and quiet.

And beside him, Yooyeon hiccupped.

"I think the strawberries betrayed me," she whispered.

"Yeah?" he said. "Always been more of an apple guy anyways."

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The walk back to her apartment could have been a little better if Yooyeon decided to be her normal and quiet self, if he had to say something about it. Carrying her by her side wasn't doing much when she would sway another way after every second so he decided to put her on his back.

Her arms were hung loosely around his neck, and she didn't stop there. She continued on with telling him any thought that hit her and weirdly, they were all about strawberries.

Like how they were the best fruits in the world, how cute they looked when she was picking them and how they were the reason she was in this state.

He laughed when she did, fell silent when she did and replied with something when she prompted him to.

"Ooh a bus stop!" Yooyeon shouted as she lazily pointed her arm out to an empty bus stop and bench not too far from them.

"You wanna give me a little break? Bless the heavens." (YN) sighed out, feeling her nod her head.

He shuffled toward the bench and carefully let her down, guiding her onto the seat like she was made of glass and giggles. She slumped against the backrest, arms still loosely flopped at her sides, hair slightly windblown and eyes half-lidded with sleep and soju.

"You okay?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and catching his breath.

Yooyeon turned to him slowly. "Did you know," she said with deep gravity, "that strawberries... are not actually berries?"

He shook his head at her drunken ramblings.

"Did you also know, that I hic! decided to drink a lot hic! on purpose?" Yooyeon giggled again, as if she knew what was going on all this time.

(she didn't)

"And why did you decide to do that? Miss Kim Yooyeon?" (YN) turned his head towards her, deciding to entertain whatever drunken syllable came out of her as words.

"So that I could do this!"

Yooyeon suddenly had her hands on both of the sides of his face, cupping them in her gentle, drunken touch. Her eyes squinted and then closed before she pulled him in.

(YN) had braced for impact, the force he had to pull away overpowered by her alone. Yet when he opened his eyes after a beat had passed, her face was inches away from what could've been.

She sighed, her breath a mix of alcohol and the faintest smell of strawberries. Her head leaned forward, limp against his chest.

"Oh I can't do it." She whispered, in defeat.

(YN) blinked, still frozen, still holding his breath.

She hadn't kissed him. But she almost had.

And now she was slumped against his chest like nothing had happened—like she hadn't just short-circuited his entire nervous system.

He looked down at her, at her delicate profile framed by the amber glow of the streetlamp above. Her breathing had evened out slightly. She was definitely more asleep than awake now. Maybe even fully gone.

But he was wide awake.

He exhaled slowly, head falling back against the bench as he let the night air cool his thoughts.

"You're dangerous, Kim Yooyeon," he muttered, barely audible. "You're gonna be the death of me one day."

She didn't answer—just mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled closer.

He let her.

They stayed there for a moment longer. Just the two of them, in a quiet corner of the city, at a bus stop that had seen far too many goodbyes but maybe—just maybe—this one was the start of something else.

After a beat, he gently adjusted his arms and whispered, "Alright, my strawberry menace. Let's get you home."

And with that, he carried her the rest of the way—heart pounding, mind spinning, and wondering what in the world tomorrow would look like.

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Thursday - 9:03 AM

Sunlight streamed through the gaps in Yooyeon's curtains, landing directly on her face like the universe had decided it was her turn to suffer. She stirred with a groan, the throbbing in her head a reminder that strawberries, in fact, were not her friends.

Her mouth tasted like regret and pork belly she had last night.

Still wrapped in a blanket she didn't remember putting on, she cracked one eye open. The first thing she saw was a glass of water and two aspirin waiting on her nightstand. The second thing was a sticky note stuck to her forehead.

She blinked, then peeled it off and squinted at the messy handwriting:

Take these. Try not to die. You're welcome.

– (YN)

Underneath that was a tiny, poorly drawn strawberry with an "X" over its face.

Yooyeon groaned again, louder this time, and flopped back onto her pillow. Her brain was doing the world's worst tap dance and her memory was a half-scrambled egg, but fragments started coming back.

Strawberries.

Soju.

(YN).

Her calling him a knight in denim.

Almost kissing him.

Oh. No.

"Oh noooooo," she groaned into her blanket, kicking her legs like a child throwing a tantrum. "Tell me I imagined that. Tell me I didn't—kya!"

She buried herself deeper under the blanket, hoping the ground would just swallow her whole. The embarrassment was already building like a tidal wave.

Then her phone buzzed from somewhere near her pillow. She fished it out with numb fingers.

[YN]:Morning. Still alive, I see.

She stared at the screen. Then:

[Yooyeon]: Barely. Please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing.

The typing bubble appeared. Paused. Appeared again.

[YN]: Define "embarrassing."

Yooyeon shrieked into her pillow.

[Yooyeon]: I hate you.

[YN]:You tried to kiss me. Failed.Then fell asleep on my chest while whispering "betrayed by strawberries."

She stared at her phone in mute horror.

[Yooyeon]: I want to disappear.

[YN]:Don't worry. I only laughed for like fifteen minutes.You're still my favorite fake girlfriend. Even if you tried to assault me with your stories about the strawberry farm.

[Yooyeon]: I hate you.

[YN]: You said that already.

Now get up. You've got a party to plan for.

Yooyeon bit her lip, staring at the screen, a reluctant smile tugging at her mouth despite the embarrassment still burning in her cheeks.

[Yooyeon]:Thanks for taking care of me. Even when I'm a mess.

[YN]:You're always a mess. But you're my mess.

Yooyeon stared at those three little words for a long moment.

Fake.

Right?

Right but did his service always come with sweet messages?

She threw her blanket off with dramatic flair and sat up—head pounding but heart feeling lighter than it had in a while. She still had a wedding party to plan for and she wasn't going to let a hangover get in her way.

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Kim Yooyeon looked at every dress on the rack through the tint of her sunglasses like she was scouting potential suspects in a crime lineup. Her hangover was manageable now—thanks to (YN)'s aspirin, two bottles of Pocari Sweat, and a very greasy egg sandwich—but her ego was still curled in a corner, nursing its wounds.

She pushed a sequin dress aside with visible distaste. "Too sparkly. I'm not trying to blind people."

The shop attendant raised a polite brow. "It's for a wedding party, right?"

"Fake wedding," Yooyeon corrected automatically. "As in, not real. As in, I need to look like someone who might be deeply in love but also could bolt at any moment."

The woman blinked. "So... not sparkly, got it."

"It's her cousin's wedding." (YN) told the attendant softly. "She's just. . .very colorful with her descriptions."

The attendant gave them a hesitant smile, clearly unsure if she should laugh or slowly back away.

Yooyeon, meanwhile, was already elbow-deep in another rack. "We need something classy," she muttered, flicking through hangers. "Something that says yes, I have my life together, and I'm having a far better time with my fake boyfriend. That's why I think we should match."

(YN) blinked. "Match?"

Yooyeon turned, a dark green satin dress draped over her arm, and pointed at him with a hanger. "Yes. Coordinated outfits. It's a power move. Couples who match subtly say, 'We didn't try that hard but still ended up matching.'"

He crossed his arms, eyeing the dress. "And what exactly is the male equivalent of 'satin and emotional stability'?"

She tilted her head, thinking. "Maybe a dark green shirt? No, no—black suit, whire polo and green tie. Or wait—forest green vest. Something that makes it look like we did this on purpose but not like we're prom dates from twenty years ago."

"Once again, you've put a scary amount of thought into this."

"I take my fake relationships seriously," she said with mock solemnity, then spun on her heel toward the changing rooms. "Don't go far. I'll need your opinion once I try this on."

(YN) slumped onto the plush bench near the fitting area with the expression of someone who had just been roped into something he definitely hadn't signed up for—but was also maybe, sort of enjoying.

Ten minutes passed. Then—

"Ready?"

He looked up—and promptly forgot how to speak.

Yooyeon stepped out wearing the green satin dress, one hand smoothing down the skirt, the other holding back her hair. It wasn't too flashy, not too formal. But it was clean, elegant, and it worked. The way the light hit the fabric made it look expensive, and the cut of it made her look...

Well.

Like she could ruin him and walk away unbothered.

"So?" she asked, twirling a little. "What's the verdict?"

(YN) cleared his throat. "It's fine."

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine?"

He looked away. "I mean—it's good. You look nice. Great. Very. . .suitable for a wedding."

A smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. "You're flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

"You are. You didn't blink for ten seconds."

"That's because I was—thinking."

She stepped closer, still in the dress, still with her sunglasses, and lowered her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Just imagine how jealous all my cousins are going to be when I show up with you in matching outfits and pretend to be happily fake-dating you."

(YN) met her eyes, just for a second too long.

"Yeah," he said softly. "They're gonna hate me."

Yooyeon smiled—smug, satisfied, maybe a little hopeful—and turned back toward the changing room. "Good. Let's traumatize them tastefully."

As she disappeared behind the curtain, (YN) exhaled and ran a hand through his hair.

He wasn't sure what he was walking into with this wedding.

The curtains were pushed aside as Yooyeon stood out, back in her regular, baggy clothing. "Alright, your turn, fake boyfriend. Get something that matches with the dress."

(YN) stood slowly, like a man being sent to trial. "You do realize most guys don't care this much about matching outfits, right?"

Yooyeon waved him off. "That's because most guys don't understand the art of petty revenge. Now move. I saw a vest section near the front."

He followed her reluctantly, muttering under his breath about being emotionally blackmailed by fashion. Still, he couldn't help the faint smile tugging at his lips when she held up a forest green tie against his chest with an approving hum.

"You know, you never really told me about why you wanted to do this to your family." (YN) glanced down at Yooyeon.

Her eyes met his as she took a small step back, creating distance between them.

"I totally have told you before but since it feels like you forgot, my family is the type to ask me about everything in my life, relationships included. Once I told them that I wasn't really interested in all of that, they started to say that I was incapable of love, like I could love my books more than another person, which could be true."

(YN) raised an eyebrow. "That's kind of harsh."

Yooyeon shrugged, trying to play it off, but her fingers were fidgeting with the edge of a tie on the rack. "It's whatever. They think they're being helpful, like they're nudging me toward something better. But really, they just want me to fit into this little box they all already climbed into. Marriage, kids, white-picket-fence happiness. Anything that doesn't fit that narrative? It's a phase. Or a flaw."

He watched her carefully. "So you decided to give them a fake boyfriend."

She grinned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yup. Petty. Effective. Plus, it buys me a few months of silence. And maybe, just maybe, they'll realize I'm perfectly fine the way I am."

There was a pause, quiet enough to hear the gentle hum of the store speakers and the occasional rustle of fabric as other customers browsed.

"You know," (YN) said slowly, "you don't have to prove anything to them."

"I know," she said. "But it's not really about them. It's about me finally showing up to one of these things and not feeling like I'm the weird one just because I'm not dating some finance guy named Minjun who buys overpriced candles and calls it a personality."

(YN) snorted. "Don't wanna be that guy."

"I take my fake revenge boyfriends very seriously," she said, tugging a dark green vest off the rack and holding it up to him. "This one. Try it."

He took it with a mock bow. "Yes, ma'am."

A few minutes later, he emerged from the changing room—black dress shirt, green vest, matching tie. He wasn't sure how he felt about it until he caught Yooyeon's expression. She was staring, unblinking, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.

"Okay," she said finally. "We're going to break hearts."

He adjusted his cuffs. "Or at least bruise some egos."

Yooyeon stepped forward, reaching up to fix his slightly crooked tie. Her fingers brushed against his collarbone, light and fast, but the effect was immediate.

Too close.

Too real to call it fake.

She didn't say anything. Just smoothed it down and stepped back again, the teasing tone in her voice now softer. "Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For playing along. For last night. For carrying me when I was a drunken mess on your back. You didn't have to."

He tilted his head. "I didn't have to? Your friend called me since I was the only person you'd leave with."

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the world around them faded—just two people standing in a dressing room, wrapped in green and maybe something a little deeper.

Yooyeon blinked first, breaking the moment with a clap of her hands. "Alright! Time to go pay before I start questioning my whole revenge plan."

(YN) laughed, following her toward the counter. "Too late. You're already in too deep with your favorite fake purchase."

She shot him a look over her shoulder, grinning. "Don't flatter yourself."

But she didn't deny it.

And neither of them said it out loud, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn't feeling so fake anymore.

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Friday 9:36 PM

"So tell me, where and how did we meet?"

"The cafeteria was filled with people and I had nowhere else to sit until I found you sitting alone at a table that could totally fit more than two people."

"Good enough."

Yooyeon checked a box in her notebook. They were rehearsing every detail of their fake relationship, from how it started to where their first date was. Her handwriting was neat but fast, the kind of organized chaos that only made sense to her.

She tapped her pen thoughtfully. "Okay. First date?"

(YN) leaned back on her couch, arms crossed behind his head. "Easy. You dragged me to that weird indie bookstore with the cat that hates me."

She grinned. "Mister Whiskers could tell you were good."

He made a face. "He clawed my jeans."

"Character building."

She moved to the next question. "When did you realize you liked me?"

There was a beat of silence, a moment where he didn't know whether truthfully or not.

Yooyeon looked up. "Too long of a pause. That'll look suspicious."

(YN) blinked. "Right, sorry. Uh—after you yelled at a waiter for getting my order wrong and then tipped him twenty percent anyway."

Her lips twitched. "Nice save."

"Thanks. I'm getting good at this."

She gave him a look. "Don't sound so proud. This is a fake relationship. We are doing this to maintain emotional distance from intrusive relatives. Not to become good at lying."

"Right. Of course. Emotional distance," he said, and for some reason, didn't sound entirely convinced.

Yooyeon cleared her throat and turned the page. "Okay, trick question, what's my favorite flower?"

(YN) didn't hesitate. "You don't like flowers. You say they're overpriced and die too fast."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well done."

"Not done," he added, sitting up. "You said if someone had to get you flowers, it better be lavender because at least it smells like something."

She stared at him.

"What?"

"You remembered that?"

He blinked. "Yeah? I remember a lot of things you say."

Her heart did an annoying little flip she pretended not to notice.

She looked down, quickly checking another box. "Okay, fine. I guess you can stay my fake boyfriend."

"How generous."

Yooyeon glanced at the clock. "Alright. One last thing. Pet names. We need one."

(YN) looked genuinely horrified. "Do we?"

"Yes. My cousin Soojin is a menace. She'll ask why we don't have one and then pretend it's because we're in a 'rough patch.' We need to be bulletproof."

He sighed. "Okay, fine. What about jagi?"

She gagged. "Too generic."

"Aegi?"

"Too cheesy. We're not one of those couples."

"Snugglebug?"

She threw a pillow at him.

He caught it, laughing. "Alright, alright. What do you suggest?"

Yooyeon chewed her pen cap, thinking. "Something natural. Casual. Like..." She brightened. "How about 'partner'? It's gender-neutral, casual, and gives off competent power couple energy."

(YN) nodded slowly. "I could live with that."

She scribbled it down. "Perfect. Operation 'Convince My Family I'm Emotionally Functional' is officially go."

He raised his water bottle. "To your emotional functionality."

She clinked her bottle against his.

"To the best fake couple they'll never suspect."

They both smiled—too wide, too easy.

"So is there anything else you want me to read over?" (YN) asked.

Yooyeon shrugged, "Nothing else. I assume you're good with improv anyway so I'll just go along with whatever you say."

"Even when I say that you're controlling, demanding and bossy?" He joked.

"Worst part about that is that they'll buy it." Yooyeon chuckled, leaning away to rest by the side of the couch.

"You ready for tomorrow?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. We've got fake stories, fake photos, and everything to make em think that our fake relationship is real."

(YN) leaned his head back, gazing at the ceiling like it might offer some form of escape. "You ever think maybe we're putting too much effort into something that's supposed to be fake?"

Yooyeon gave him a sideways glance. "Welcome to being a woman in her twenties who has to survive a family gathering."

He chuckled under his breath. "Fair enough."

There was a stretch of quiet after that. Not awkward, not uncomfortable—just calm. Familiar. The kind of silence that only came after you'd spent enough time with someone to not feel the need to fill it.

Yooyeon broke it with a quiet, almost unsure voice. "Hey. Just so we're clear... I know this is all pretend. But I really do appreciate you doing this."

(YN) turned to look at her. Her expression was serious, for once not laced with sarcasm or humor. Just sincere.

"I know," he said, voice softer than before. "And for what it's worth... I don't mind pretending. Not with you."

Yooyeon blinked once. Twice.

Then she smiled, small and a little shy, like the truth had slipped out of both of them without permission.

"Okay," she said, barely above a whisper. "Good."

She stood then, gathering her notebook and empty bottles, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll pack my stuff tonight so we can leave early in the morning."

(YN) watched her go, something warm tugging in his chest.

Tomorrow they'd be at the wedding putting in a show of a lifetime. Pretending to be something they weren't.

He wondered how much long he could still keep this feeling in his chest.

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Saturday - 7:12 AM

The subway was only half-awake, much like them.

Yooyeon had her earbuds in, one hand wrapped around the pole, the other nursing a lukewarm coffee she insisted was keeping her alive. She wore sunglasses despite being indoors, which felt more like a personality trait than a fashion choice at this point. Her suitcase stood between her feet like a sleepy dog.

(YN) sat beside her, backpack in his lap, hair still damp from a rushed shower. He looked too put-together for someone riding public transportation to a fake boyfriend mission.

He nudged her knee gently. "You good?"

She pulled out one earbud. "I'm running on caffeine and spite. I'm amazing."

"You forgot anxiety."

She gave a half-hearted glare. "That's always implied."

A notification pinged on her phone. She checked it and groaned.

"What?"

"My aunt just texted me. 'So excited to meet the boyfriend who changed your mind about romance.'" She dropped her head back with a dramatic sigh. "This was a mistake."

(YN) grinned. "You say that now, but wait until I start doing finger hearts at your grandma."

She gave him a horrified look. "You wouldn't."

He raised his pinkies threateningly. "I would."

She burst into a laugh that startled a nearby ajumma. "God, you're lucky you're kind of charming."

"Kind of?"

"Don't push it."

They changed lines at Hapjeong, dragging their luggage up the stairs like exhausted soldiers in a very specific war. The morning was gray but clear, and despite everything, there was something oddly peaceful about the early commute.

By the time they reached the final station, Yooyeon was half-asleep on his shoulder, and (YN) didn't have the heart to wake her until the train doors chimed open.

"Yooyeon," he said gently.

She stirred, blinking up at him.

"We're here."

She yawned, then straightened her jacket like she hadn't just drooled a little on his sleeve. "Showtime."

(YN) slung his backpack over one shoulder and offered his hand to help her with her suitcase. "You sure you're ready for this circus?"

She took his hand, squeezing it once. "With you? I think I am."

He blinked, caught off guard for just a second too long.

Then he smiled. "Then let's go be the most convincing fake couple your extended family has ever seen."

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The wedding venue was a picturesque hanok-style guesthouse nestled in the countryside—charming, warm, and crawling with nosy relatives.

Yooyeon paused just outside the main gate, adjusting her sunglasses like armor. "Okay. Last chance to run away and change your name."

(YN) offered his arm. "Too late. I'm already emotionally invested in this performance."

She looped her hand through his, muttering, "Don't forget: partner. We're gross but tasteful."

He leaned in as they stepped through the gate. "Would now be a bad time to call you my love?"

She elbowed him hard enough that he laughed.

And then, chaos.

The second they were spotted, it was like a flare had gone up. Aunts descended. Cousins emerged from bushes. Someone's kid screamed, "Is that your boyfriend?" loud enough to be heard in the next province.

Yooyeon plastered on the sweetest, fakest smile known to mankind. "Everyone, this is my partner."

There were gasps. Whispers. Even a slow clap from one uncle who'd clearly lost a bet.

(YN) bowed politely and offered a casual, "Nice to meet you all. I've heard so much, especially from the cousin betting pool."

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

One of the older aunts grabbed Yooyeon's hand. "He's so handsome! And tall! You've been hiding him?"

Yooyeon shrugged, cool and composed. "Not hiding. Just. . .enjoying the peace before the interrogation."

They were ushered toward the buffet table like celebrities on a press tour. People stared. Some whispered. One aunt took seventeen photos. (YN) kept his hand casually on her lower back the entire time, a quiet anchor in the storm.

"Your mom's headed this way," he murmured.

Yooyeon winced. "Brace yourself."

Her mother arrived in a swirl of perfume and passive-aggression. "So. This is the one?"

Yooyeon smiled with teeth. "Yes, Mother. Isn't he painfully charming?"

(YN) bowed slightly. "It's an honor, ma'am."

Her mother eyed him up and down like she was scanning for lies. "Hmph. We'll see." Then turned to Yooyeon. "Your dress isn't bad. You should wear color more often."

"Thanks. I'll try to work on that in therapy."

They made it through ten more conversations, three emotional ambushes, and one round of "When are you getting married?" before Yooyeon tugged him aside to a quiet corner behind the hydrangeas.

"I hate this," she whispered.

He brushed a stray leaf from her hair. "You're doing just fine."

She looked up at him, eyes soft for the first time all day. "You really didn't have to do all this, you know."

He held her gaze. "I wanted to."

And for a second, it felt less like a game and more like something that could be real.

Yooyeon blinked, stepped back, and adjusted her sunglasses. "Okay. Let's go destroy my cousin Soojin in the 'Who's Doing Better at Life' competition. I'll show her our date pictures first."

"Lead the way, partner."

And hand in hand, they stepped back into the crowd—two liars playing their parts a little too well.

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The wedding ceremony had ended with the usual amount of polite clapping, teary aunts, and one baby loudly sneezing during the vows. By the time the reception rolled around, Yooyeon was two glasses of juice in, her heels slightly regretted, and (YN) had already been cornered by three different uncles asking about his fake job, fake income, and what fake hobbies he did during the weekends.

And then came the bouquet toss.

Yooyeon didn't even realize what was happening until a host with a mic yelled, "All the single ladies to the front!"

She blinked, frozen mid-bite of a shrimp skewer. "Oh no."

(YN) smirked. "What's wrong, partner? Afraid of flowers now?"

"They're cursed!" she hissed. "Do you know what happens when you catch the bouquet at a Korean wedding? The pressure. The expectation. The texts from your aunt at 2 AM asking when you're next."

"You'll be fine," he said casually, sipping his drink. "No one ever actually catches it unless they want to."

That was when the bride—her cousin—locked eyes with her across the crowd and grinned.

Yooyeon's stomach dropped. "Oh, she's aiming for me. That traitor."

Too late. The bouquet went up like a slow-motion firework.

People reached. Someone shoved. A rogue elbow came flying. And then—

THUD!

Yooyeon caught the bouquet. Square in the chest.

The crowd erupted. Someone whistled. An aunt screamed.

(YN) clapped politely, trying not to laugh as she stood there, bouquet in hand, face frozen in horror.

She walked back to him like someone walking the trail of defeat.

"Say nothing," she warned.

"I didn't say a word. . .yet."

She pointed the bouquet at him like a weapon. "This? This is a threat to my entire lifestyle."

He chuckled, gently plucking one of the flowers from the bouquet. "At least it's lavender."

She blinked.

"You remembered?" she asked, more surprised than she wanted to sound.

He shrugged, pocketing the flower with a casualness that didn't quite match the softness in his voice. "Told you. I remember a lot of things you say."

She looked at him—really looked at him—and for one brief, disorienting moment, forgot they were pretending.

"Yooyeon!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Your boyfriend better propose next!"

They both froze.

Then Yooyeon turned to (YN) with a deadpan expression. "Please don't say anything stupid."

He held up his hands. "Wouldn't dream of it."

But later, as they slow-danced under a canopy of fairy lights with all eyes on them, (YN) leaned in close enough that only she could hear and whispered,

"You know, if this were real. . . I'd actually do what catching the bouquet meant."

Her heart stuttered.

She pulled back just enough to look at him—and for once, couldn't think of anything witty to say.

So she just held on tighter.

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They missed the second-to-last bus by three minutes.

Now they were sitting on a cold bench under a flickering streetlight, the bouquet resting awkwardly between them like a small, flowery time bomb.

Yooyeon had changed into sneakers and tossed her heels into a paper bag. (YN) had taken off his green tie somewhere around the second round of forced family photos, and now it hung from his pocket, slightly wrinkled but valiantly surviving.

Neither of them spoke for a while.

The night was still, just the hum of passing cars and the occasional buzz of a mosquito brave enough to flirt with Yooyeon's face.

Eventually, she leaned back, arms stretched out along the bench. "Well," she said, "I caught the bouquet, lied to several relatives about our fake European vacation, and danced with an uncle who tried to sell me insurance mid-song. What a night."

(YN) smiled tiredly. "You killed it."

"Please. I killed me. I think I smiled so much my cheekbones are bruised."

He nudged the bouquet with his knee. "Still... you looked happy."

She glanced at him, a soft scoff leaving her lips. "That's because I was pretending to be."

He didn't say anything at first. Just nodded, then looked up at the sky.

"You know," he said, "pretending with you never really feels like pretending."

That startled her into silence.

He looked down, a bit sheepish now. "Sorry. That sounded—"

"No," she cut in, voice quiet. "It didn't."

They sat with that. No teasing. No witty remarks. Just a fragile kind of honesty that felt almost out of place between them.

A soft wind picked up, making the bouquet rustle between them like it was trying to say something.

"Do you think we went too far?" Yooyeon asked suddenly.

(YN) turned to her. "With what?"

"This whole fake dating thing. The matching outfits. The first-kiss story. The whole 'look at us, we're so happy' show."

He thought about it. "Maybe. But... I don't regret it."

She looked down at the flowers in her lap.

"Yeah," she murmured. "Me neither."

The headlights of the last bus finally appeared down the road, slow and steady like it knew exactly how dramatic this moment was supposed to be.

Yooyeon stood and handed him the bouquet.

"For you," she said. "Since you technically said you wouldn't mind catching it."

He stared at it, then up at her, expression unreadable.

"You sure?"

"I'm not walking into my apartment holding a metaphor."

He laughed, clutching it carefully. "Fair enough."

As they stepped onto the bus, she nudged his shoulder lightly. "Thanks for tonight. For all of it."

He smiled, brushing her knuckles with his. "Anytime, partner."

And maybe it was just the quiet of the bus or the leftover buzz of fairy lights in their heads, but as the city rolled by in soft glows and shadows, neither of them moved their hands away.

As the night turned to a close, he was way more anxious about what would happen next between them. Anxious that maybe this all was only just her scheme, nothing more and he meant nothing to her than a pawn to move around the board to call a draw.

But he turned to her.

He saw the glimmer in her eyes, the one that the stars in the sky would envy and the one that struck him with the fact that he was, surely and without a shadow of a doubt, in love with her.

Being in a bubble of thinking everything was fake was only a feeble attempt to push away everything that he felt in each moment they were together, in each moment they fell silent after sharing a laugh.

In the moments that lingered the longest.

This was a hole he never wanted to dig himself out of. In actuality, he'd want to dig more, hoping that she was digging herself in the same one he was in but that could wait.

For now, he was her fake boyfriend and that's what mattered.

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It would seem that Baek (YN)'s worst fears had become true.

After the wedding, Yooyeon disappeared, not all at once, but in careful, quiet increments. The kind of absence that crept in slowly, like fog seeping through the cracks of a warm house.

She still sent polite replies when he texted. Still tagged him in memes, sometimes. Still reacted to his stories with the occasional laughing emoji. But her calls stopped. The impromptu café runs to discuss whatever she wanted to plan dried up. And that easy, unspoken rhythm they used to dance to? It was gone.

At first, he made excuses for her.

Maybe she was tired. Busy. Processing everything. They'd put on a whole play for her extended family, maybe she just needed a breather.

But then it was her birthday and he messaged her at midnight like he always did. She responded at 4 PM the next day with a "Thanks, lol" and nothing else. No photos. No invitations. No inside jokes.

That night, he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. If she had felt it too—the weight of his gaze at the bus stop, the electric pause when their hands brushed, the confession that slipped from his mouth like a secret he didn't mean to say out loud.

"You know, pretending with you never really feels like pretending."

Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

Maybe she hadn't meant to let it all go that far.

Maybe, to her, it really had just been a plan—a clever, curated lie they both told to survive a wedding.

But for him, it had been something else. Something terrifying. Something real.

And it hurt like hell to think she'd walked away from it without a scratch.

So he let her go.

What else was there to do?

He stopped reaching out. Stopped waiting for a text that never came. Let the quiet settle in like dust on a bookshelf no one wanted to clean.

Until Saturday arrived.

(YN) was leaning against the railing of an overpass, feeling the wind fly by as cars drove under him.

BUZZ!

His phone vibrated awake in his palm. He looked at what it could be and it was another notification from the rental boyfriend app.

(YN) swiped open the phone without a second thought, thinking that it was some other girl trying to book him for a day that he'll just have to decline since they weren't her.

but then it hit him like a punch straight to the gut.

Client: Kim Yooyeon.

Time: Saturday, 6 PM.

Location: Whispering Pages Bookstore.

Note: "You'll need your tie. The green one."

He stared at it for too long before glancing up to the time.

5:01PM

He had time.

He didn't know if it was misery playing with him or just fate yet he still accepted and bolted back to his dorm.

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The bookstore was as dim and chaotic as he remembered. The handwritten "Staff Picks" and "Best Seller" signs were crooked. The air smelled like worn leather and strawberry-scented hand sanitizer. Mister Whiskers, the perpetually angry cat, glared at him from atop a shelf like he still hadn't forgiven him for existing.

She was already there, standing in the corner by the poetry section, bundled in a cardigan that looked too big for her and yet still entirely hers.

Yooyeon turned as he approached.

"You're wearing the tie," she said, like it was a miracle.

"You told me to," he replied, quiet, wary.

A beat passed. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her courage seemingly fumbling between words.

"I freaked out," she confessed.

"Yeah," he said. "I could tell."

"I didn't mean to just... disappear." Her voice was raw. "But everything felt too real all of a sudden. Like the moment I stopped pretending, it would all fall apart."

"So you vanished instead," he said, not accusing, just tired.

"I thought I could go back to normal," she said. "I thought if I gave it time, if I distanced myself, it would fade. That it was just the setting. Just wedding nerves or... some performance high. But then I started thinking about you when nothing was happening. Not just at night or when I was lonely. I started thinking about you during meetings. While brushing my teeth. I started missing you in the middle of a perfectly fine day."

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a bundle of roses, tied loosely with ribbon. Some of it was dry and slightly wilted.

"You actually remembered my favorite," he said.

"You remembered mine," she answered, with a small, almost-pained smile. "Roses. Because they stood out from the rest."

He didn't know what to say. His hands trembled as she pressed the flowers into them.

"I didn't come here to book another fake date," she said, voice steadier now. "I came to undo the damage. I came because I need to know if that night meant anything to you. Because it meant everything to me."

Silence.

Heavy, still, and sacred.

"I caught the bouquet," she whispered, "and the whole time I was holding it, all I could think about was you. Not just that night. Not just the fake stories. But every stupid moment you made me laugh when I didn't want to. Every time you showed up, even when I didn't ask."

"I couldn't keep pretending," she added. "Because falling for you stopped feeling like some scheme I was thinking of a long time ago."

He stepped closer. Carefully. Like she might run again if he couldn't catch her.

"I thought I meant nothing to you," he said. "I thought I was just a good story to tell your family. A means to an end."

"I know," she said. "I made you believe that. And I'm sorry."

He looked down at the lavender in his hands. "So what now?"

Yooyeon swallowed. "Now... I'm asking if we can come up with something just to prove it to my family. Without fake beginnings. Without exit strategies."

She took a step closer, searching his face. "Do you want that too?"

He didn't answer with words.

Instead, he reached up, gently cupping her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth like a question and a promise all at once.

Then placed his lips over hers.

And this time, it wasn't for show. Not for relatives or cousins or Facebook photo albums. It wasn't planned. It didn't need rehearsing.

It was soft. Real. A little clumsy. The kind of kiss that rewired all the clichés and made them feel new.

Mister Whiskers, from his perch, let out an irritated meow.

Yooyeon pulled back with a laugh, breathless. "We've got a grumpy audience."

He smiled, still close. "He'll live."

They stood there, quiet again—but it was a different kind of silence. The kind that didn't ache. The kind that felt like possibility.

She laced her fingers through his.

"No more pretending?" she asked.

"No more pretending," he said.

And just like that, all that pretending turned to something real.

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Three Months Later

The roses from that night was still on his bookshelf.

It had dried into a soft, muted red, tied neatly with the same ribbon Yooyeon had handed it to him with. Sometimes he caught her looking at it when she came over, and she'd always smile—not in the way she used to when she was pretending, but in that quiet, certain way she had when she was really happy.

They didn't talk much about the wedding anymore. Not because they were avoiding it, but because they didn't have to.

What they had now was built on everything that came after.

Like how Yooyeon always stole his hoodies now and claimed it was a rental system.

Or how (YN) always stocked her favorite brand of cereal even though he thought it tasted like cardboard.

Or how every Sunday, they still went back to the indie bookstore, and Mister Whiskers had mostly stopped trying to kill him.

Sometimes their friends would ask how it started, and they'd exchange a look, then burst into laughter.

"Long story," he'd say.

"Very well-acted," she'd add.

One evening, they were walking home from the bookstore, her hand in his, when she tugged him to a stop under the same flickering streetlight from the night of the wedding.

"Do you ever think," she murmured, "about how close we came to never doing this for real?"

"All the time," he said. "And I thank that damn bouquet every day."

Yooyeon grinned. "You still have it, don't you?"

"I still have everything," he said, wrapping an arm around her. "Every memory. Every look. Every minute that felt a little too real."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Good. Because I plan on giving you a lot more."

He kissed her forehead, and they stood there for a while, under that same flickering light, in a love that started as fiction and ended as everything true.