#minghao fluff

"That’s the problem, isn't it?" Minghao’s voice was like ice, slicing through the heavy atmosphere. He was still standing to the left of the chair Y/N had just vacated, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "We don't think. We climb the charts, we sell out stadiums, we celebrate our 'perfect machine,' and we completely forget that the fourteenth gear is being stripped raw just to keep the rest of us turning."

"Hao, that’s enough," Jeonghan said quietly from the kitchen counter. But his voice lacked its usual authority. His hands were gripping the marble edge so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked toward the hallway where Y/N’s door had closed, his heart aching with the memory of her limp arms in his embrace just hours earlier. "We all failed. Every single one of us."

Jihoon stood up abruptly. He didn't look at anyone. His face was a mask of absolute, pale shock. He walked toward the front door, his hand trembling as he reached for his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Hoshi asked from the floor, his voice raw.

"The studio," Jihoon whispered, his throat tight. "I need to... I have to look at the track files. I have to look at Shadow."

"It’s four in the morning, Jihoon," Joshua said softly, reaching out to catch his sleeve.

"I don't care if it's the middle of the night!" Jihoon shouted, slamming his hand against the wall. The sudden outburst made Seokmin flinch. Tears finally spilled over Jihoon's lashes, hot and furious. "I told her her lyrics were too dark. I told her they didn't fit our image. She was telling me she was dying in the dark, and I gave her a lecture on commercial branding! I have to open the files. I have to see what I threw away."

He ripped his arm away from Joshua's grip and let himself out of the apartment, the heavy front door slamming closed with a dull, echoing boom.

Inside the bedroom, the world had shrunk to the space between two heartbeats.

Wonwoo’s chest was warm against Y/N’s back, his long arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into him until there was no air left between them. He hadn't stopped shaking. The quiet, unbothered rapper who usually watched the world through a detached lens was holding onto her like she was the only solid thing left in a collapsing universe.

"Oppa," Y/N whispered into the dark, her voice small and rough from hours of crying. "You should go out there. They need you."

"No," Wonwoo murmured, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register that only came when he was completely drained. He buried his face deeper into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin. "I’ve spent six years standing out there with them while you stood back here alone. Tonight, I'm staying in the corner."

"They didn't mean to do it," she said softly, staring at the faint gray light beginning to trace the edges of the window blinds. It was a strange twist of the heart even now, with her contract resignation sitting on the table, her first instinct was to protect the boys from their own guilt. "Coups-hyung... he’s just trying to keep the group alive. The company puts so much pressure on him."

"Don't defend him, Y/N-ah," Wonwoo whispered, his grip tightening around her waist just a fraction, as if he were physically fighting the legal team she had tried to call. "He’s the leader, but he’s also your brother. If he’s too busy looking at the stadiums to see that his sister is disappearing in the wings, then he’s failing at both."

He shifted slightly, turning her around in his arms until she was facing him. In the weak dawn light, his sharp eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a rare, desperate vulnerability.

"Minghao was right," Wonwoo said, his thumb coming up to trace the fragile line of her jaw. "If you do this... if Team 2 processes the paperwork, the company will make it ugly. They’ll structure the articles to protect the 'Seventeen' brand. They’ll say you left because of health reasons, or personality differences, or lack of dedication. The fans... some of them will be furious. Are you ready for that?"

Y/N looked into his eyes, her heart aching with the sheer weight of his worry. "I’ve spent six years being torn apart by solo stans for just existing in the line-up, Wonwoo. I’ve read the threads saying I’m the 'ugly variable' that ruins the dance formations. Do you really think an official exit article can hurt me more than sitting in that waiting room tonight while everyone looked right through me?"

Wonwoo closed his eyes, a sharp, ragged breath escaping his throat. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, his fingers curling into the fabric of her black hoodie.

"Then let me come with you," he whispered.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat. "What?"

"If you leave... let me terminate mine too," Wonwoo said, the words falling out of him with a terrifying, absolute certainty. "I don't want to stand on that stage if half my heart is sitting in a legal office in Samseong-dong. I don't want to sing the bridge if I’m looking at the space where you used to stand."

"Are you crazy?" Y/N’s voice finally rose, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to see his face. "Wonwoo, no! You love the stage. You love the Carats. You went through the green basement you bled for this group!"

"I bled with you," he corrected fiercely, his eyes flashing with an intensity she had never seen in him before. "We built this together. If the system is so broken that it requires your erasure to function, then I don't want to be a part of the machine either."

A quiet knock on the door broke the heavy tension of the room.

Y/N and Wonwoo both turned their heads as the door pushed open a few inches. Minghao stood in the threshold. The morning light from the hallway hit his face, revealing the dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look angry anymore; he just looked incredibly old.

"Coups wants to talk to you," Minghao said quietly, his eyes lingering on Wonwoo’s defensive posture before moving to Y/N. "Not as the leader. He left his phone and his tablet on the kitchen counter. He just wants to speak to his sister."

Y/N looked at Wonwoo. He was staring at her with an unspoken plea, his hand still tight on her waist, silent text saying you don't have to go if you aren't ready.

But Y/N took a deep breath, the hollow clarity from the corridor returning to steady her nerves. "It's okay, oppa. I’ll go."

Slowly, she slid out of the bed, her joints popping in the quiet room. Wonwoo followed her closely, stepping into the hallway right behind her like a shadow that refused to leave her side.

The living room had changed. The remaining members were still there, but they had moved. Seungcheol was sitting alone on the floor in the center of the room, his back against the sofa, staring at the empty wooden chair Y/N had used earlier.

As Y/N walked in, the boys went entirely still. Seungkwan quickly wiped his face, trying to stop his sniffing, while Dino looked up from the corner with an expression of pure, childlike heartbreak.

Y/N didn't sit in the wooden chair. She walked over and sat directly on the floor, a few feet away from Seungcheol, crossing her legs. Wonwoo sat right behind her, his knees bracketing her hips, his chest an unyielding support against her spine.

Seungcheol slowly lifted his head. His eyes were completely red, the skin around them swollen from crying. He looked at her really looked at her for what felt like the first time in six months.

"I called the Vice President," Seungcheol said, his voice completely hoarse, barely carrying across the small space.

Y/N’s heart did a small, cold flip. Already?

"I told him that if Legal Team 2 answers a single call from your number," Seungcheol continued, his lower lip trembling as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his own personal ID card the official leader pass that gave him access to every executive floor in the Pledis building, "I am stepping down as the general leader of Seventeen effective immediately. And I told him that if they try to release a single negative article about your departure, the thirteen of us will sit in the lobby and refuse to record the repackage album."

The room went entirely silent. Even Wonwoo’s grip on her shoulder went rigid.

"Cheol..." Y/N whispered, her eyes widening.

"I’m not trying to force you to stay, Y/N-ah," Seungcheol said, a fresh tear tracking down his pale cheek. He placed his leader card on the glass table, sliding it right next to her phone. "If staying here is killing you, I will personally drive you to the corporate office and help you sign the termination papers. I will protect you from the company, and I will protect you from the media. But I need you to know... I didn't see you because I was stupid. I thought because you didn't cry, you were okay. I thought because you always smiled, you were strong."

He leaned forward, his forehead coming down to touch the cool glass of the table between them, his voice breaking into a ragged, pathetic sob.

"Please don't leave thinking you didn't matter," the leader wept into the quiet room. "If you go... we will let you go because we love you. But we will never be whole again. The fourteenth seat is yours, Y/N. Even if it stays empty for the rest of our careers, nobody else is ever going to sit in it."

Y/N stared at the back of his head, her own tears finally spilling over, hot and heavy, dripping onto the fabric of her sweatpants. She looked around the circle at Minghao’s tight jaw, at Jeonghan’s closed eyes, at Wonwoo’s steady warmth behind her.

The legal papers were still waiting in the corporate office. The three-second bridge blocking was still locked for the music shows. The system hadn't magically changed in the middle of the night.

But as the morning sun finally broke through the living room windows, flooding the cramped apartment with a bright, golden warmth, Y/N realized one thing: The ghosthood was gone. They were looking at her, they were bleeding for her, and for the first time in six months... she was visible.

The golden morning light crept further across the living room floor, illuminating the raw, exhausted faces of the fourteen people who had spent their entire youth building a dream together.

Seungcheol remained with his forehead pressed against the glass table, his shoulders shaking with the quiet, devastating grief of a leader who had finally realized his own blindness. Next to his bowed head, his leader ID pass and Y/N’s locked phone sat side-by-side.

Y/N looked at the plastic card, then up at the brothers surrounding her. The initial, bitter anger that had fueled her walk down the corridor yesterday had faded, replaced by a profound, heavy sorrow. They weren't a perfect machine anymore. They were just thirteen broken boys realization-struck by the cost of their own success.

Slowly, Y/N slid forward, moving out of the protective bracket of Wonwoo’s knees. Wonwoo let his hands drop, but his eyes never left her as she closed the distance between herself and the leader.

She reached out, her small, trembling hand gently coming to rest on top of Seungcheol’s thick hair.

"Cheol," she whispered, reverting to the softer, more intimate honorific she used when they were trainees, long before he became Seungcheol or the General Leader. "Pick your head up. Please."

Seungcheol slowly lifted his face, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. He looked at her hand on his hair, then into her eyes, looking entirely lost.

"I don't want you to throw your career away for me," Y/N said softly, her voice thick with her own tears. "I don't want the thirteen of you to strike, or to sit in the lobby, or to break the circle because of me. If I leave... I want to leave because it's time for me to heal, not because I want to burn down everything you’ve all bled for."

"But we bled for it with you, Y/N-ah," Seungkwan choked out from the sofa, his voice muffled by a throw pillow. "If you leave like this, every trophy we win from now on is just going to feel like a reminder that we pushed you out to get it."

"You didn't push me out," Y/N murmured, looking back at Seungkwan, giving him a fragile, reassuring smile. "You just... you forgot to look back. And I forgot how to scream when I was drowning."

Minghao stepped forward from the edge of the kitchen, his posture finally relaxing from his rigid stance. He walked over and sat on the floor next to Y/N, pulling his legs up to his chest. His sharp eyes searched her face.

"The legal call," Minghao said quietly, his voice a calm anchor in the emotional room. "What do you want to do, Y/N-ah? Truly. No corporate pressure, no leader ultimatums. If you want to walk out that door, I will carry your bags. But if you are only leaving because you think you aren't wanted... look around this room."

Y/N looked.

She saw Hoshi, whose fierce, tiger-like intensity on stage was completely replaced by a crumpled, heartbroken expression. She saw Dokyeom gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white, silently praying. She felt Wonwoo’s steady, unyielding gaze from behind her, a silent promise that whatever she chose, he was still ready to walk out the door with her.

"I'm scared," Y/N confessed, the truth slipping out before she could stop it. Her fingers curled into her sweatpants. "I’m scared that if I stay, the next comeback will be exactly the same. I'm scared that I’ll be hidden behind Mingyu’s shoulders again, and I’ll have to sit on the edge of the bench, and I’ll have to listen to the directors say my voice doesn't fit the 'color' of the group."

"It won't be," a new voice spoke from the entryway.

Everyone turned. Jihoon was standing in the doorway, his jacket damp from the morning dew, his baseball cap gripped tightly in his hand. He looked completely drained, but his eyes were wide and burning with an absolute, fierce intensity. He had walked all the way back from the universe of his studio.

He walked into the center of the living room, ignoring the space between the members, and dropped a thick, printed stack of paper directly onto the coffee table.

Y/N looked down. It was the audio tracking sheets and lyric blocks for Shadow. But the margins were covered in fresh, chaotic black ink Jihoon’s unmistakable, frantic handwriting.

"I opened the files," Jihoon said, his voice trembling as he stared directly at Y/N. "I took out the verses we locked last week. I put yours back in. The whole song the intro, the first chorus, the outro it’s yours now, Y/N. It’s not 'too dark.' It’s the truth of what we’ve been putting you through, and it’s going to be the main promotional B-side for the repackage."

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the ink-stained papers. "Jihoon-oppa..."

"And I called the performance directors on my way back," Hoshi spoke up eagerly, crawling forward on his knees until he was right next to Seungcheol. "I told them we are scrapping the second-verse blocking for the title track. I don't care about the thirteen-member symmetry anymore. We’re moving Mingyu to the left wing during the bridge, and you’re standing dead center, Y/N. The camera isn't going to miss a single syllable."

Y/N sat in the center of their sudden, overwhelming desperation to fix what they had broken. It was everything she had wanted for the past six months every boundary she had begged them to cross, every tiny scrap of validation she had starved for.

But as she looked at Jihoon’s exhausted face and Hoshi’s frantic adjustments, she realized the most important change wasn't on the paper or in the choreography.

It was the fact that they were finally looking at her. The phantom thread hadn't snapped; they had grabbed onto it with both hands, terrifyingly aware of how close they had come to letting it slip away forever.

Slowly, Y/N reached across the glass table. She passed over the leader ID card, leaving it for Seungcheol. Instead, her fingers wrapped around her own phone. She unlocked the screen, pulled up the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2, and with a single, deliberate swipe of her thumb, she hit the delete button.

The room let out a collective, ragged breath, the tension snapping like a rubber band. Seungkwan buried his face back into the pillow, his sobs turning from grief to sheer, overwhelming relief.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Wonwoo’s in the quiet dawn light. The deep, heavy sorrow in his eyes slowly melted into something soft, a quiet, profound gratitude that made his entire face relax for the first time in twenty-four hours. He reached forward, his long fingers gently catching the hem of her black sleeve, pulling her back just an inch toward him.

"I'm not signing the papers today," Y/N said softly, looking back at Seungcheol, whose eyes were wide with a sudden, cautious hope. "But I’m not practicing today either, hyung. I’m tired. I need to sleep. And I need to write."

"Anything you want," Seungcheol whispered, his voice cracking as he reached out and covered her hand with his own large, warm palm. "Sleep for a week. We’ll push the pre-recordings back. We’ll handle the company. Just... stay in the room, Y/N-ah."

"I'm here," she whispered back, the tears finally slowing down.

As the members slowly began to move, the rigid courtroom atmosphere dissolving back into the chaotic, protective warmth of their shared home, Y/N let herself lean completely back against Wonwoo’s chest. His arms wrapped around her waist immediately, holding her securely, no longer like a shield against a cruel world, but like a solid, permanent anchor.

The machine was still complicated, the industry was still harsh, and the road to healing the last six years of silent erosion was going to be long and painful. But as Wonwoo buried his face in her hair, his breathing finally steady and calm against her neck, Y/N closed her eyes.

She wasn't a ghost anymore. She was the fourteenth member of Seventeen, and for the first time since debut, the silence didn't hurt.

The collective exhale that had filled the room suddenly caught in thirteen throats.

Y/N’s hand remained resting on her phone, the screen showing that Pledis Legal Team 2 had indeed been deleted from her recent contacts. But her thumb wasn’t shaking anymore. The hollow, terrifying clarity that had carried her through the broadcasting station hadn’t vanished just because Jihoon had rewritten a lyric sheet or because Seungcheol had threatened a strike.

She looked at Seungcheol, whose hand was still covering hers, his eyes wide with a fragile, desperate relief that she was about to systematically dismantle.

"I deleted the contact," Y/N said, her voice dropping into a quiet, unyielding register that made the room go completely still again. "But I didn’t say I’m staying."

Seungcheol’s palm went rigid over hers. Behind her, Wonwoo’s arms tightened around her waist instinctively, his chest heaving with a sharp, sudden intake of breath.

"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper, the hope draining from his face so fast it left him looking gray under the morning sun.

"I’m not going to call the lawyers today, and I’m not going to slip out the back door while you’re all asleep," she continued, looking around the circle of her brothers. "I owe you, and I owe Wonwoo, more than a sudden disappearance. But you can’t undo six months of drowning in twenty minutes, hyung. You can't rewrite the last six years of my life with one b-side track."

Jihoon stood frozen by the coffee table, his hand still resting on the ink-stained sheets of Shadow. The fierce, frantic energy that had driven him back from the studio evaporated, leaving him looking devastatingly small. "Y/N... I can change more than just Shadow. Whatever you want to write, whatever concept you feel fits you-"

"It's not a negotiation, Jihoon-oppa," she said softly, shifting her gaze to him. Her eyes were entirely sympathetic, but they were firm. "That’s exactly what I mean. Right now, you’re all reacting out of terror. You’re reacting because you looked down and realized the floor was cracking. But what happens in three months? What happens during the next world tour, when the schedules are packed, and the company is screaming about profit margins, and the formations have to be perfect again? Are you still going to see me then, or are you going to go back to the machine because it’s easier?"

No one answered. The brutal honesty of her words hung in the air, a mirror reflecting the relentless, corporate reality of their careers. They all knew how the industry worked. When the pressure cooker of a comeback cycle hit its peak, survival mode took over and in survival mode, routines became absolute.

"I need time," Y/N said, looking back at Seungcheol. "I’m going to finish this promotion cycle. I’ll stand in the center for the bridge, and I’ll sing the verses Jihoon wrote. I’ll give Carats the fourteen-member comeback they paid to see. But every single day of these promotions, I am still going to be thinking about leaving."

A quiet, choked sob broke from Seokmin's corner. He covered his face with his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently. Beside him, Seungkwan looked up, his eyes rimmed with raw red, his lower lip trembling.

"So... it’s a countdown?" Seungkwan asked, his voice barely a squeak. "We’re just waiting for the day you decide to drop the pen?"

"It’s an evaluation," Minghao corrected from her side, his voice a calm, grounded shield against the rising panic in the room. He didn't look surprised by her words; if anything, a faint, proud look crossed his sharp features. He looked at the rest of the group. "She’s giving us a chance to prove that we’re actually a family, not just business partners who share a kitchen. If we can’t change our habits when the lights are bright, we don't deserve to keep her."

Seungcheol slowly slid his hand off hers, pulling his fingers back tightly against his chest. He looked at his leader ID card resting on the table. The authority it carried felt completely useless now. He couldn't command her to stay. He couldn't manage her out of her pain.

"Okay," Seungcheol whispered, a single, heavy tear dropping onto his sweatpants. He lifted his head, his expression shifting from a broken boy back into the protector, but this time, the protection was entirely for her. "Okay, Y/N-ah. That’s fair. It’s more than fair. We will earn it. Every single day, we will earn the right to have you stand next to us."

He stood up, his joints popping loudly in the quiet room. He looked at the rest of the members, his eyes hard and commanding. "No one pressures her. No one makes her feel guilty for checking out mentally when she needs to. If she wants to sit in the waiting room with her headphones on, you let her breathe. If she wants to go back to the dorm early, the managers will make it happen. We don't adjust her to fit Seventeen anymore. We adjust Seventeen to protect Y/N."

The boys nodded in unison, a solemn, quiet vow rippling through the semi-circle. Hoshi wiped his eyes fiercely with the back of his hand, leaning back against the wall, his jaw set.

Slowly, the heavy weight in the room began to fracture into movement. Joshua gently guided a still-crying Seungkwan toward the kitchen to get some water, while Dino and Chan quietly picked up the discarded jackets from the floor.

Wonwoo didn't move. He remained sitting right behind her, his chin resting gently on the top of her shoulder, his long arms still locked around her waist.

"You did good," he murmured against her ear, his deep voice vibrating right into her spine. "You held your ground."

Y/N let her head fall back against his shoulder, letting out a long, shuddering breath that felt like the first real pocket of oxygen she had claimed in months. "Are you disappointed, oppa? That I didn't just say I'd stay for you?"

Wonwoo let out a soft, dry chuckle that held no humor, only an immense, profound relief. He tightened his grip on her, burying his face in the fabric of her black hoodie.

"I told you in that storage room, Y/N-ah... I don't want a statistic, and I don't want a ghost," Wonwoo whispered into the dark of her hair. "If you stayed just because I begged you, you’d still be fading away inside. I want you whole. Even if being whole means you eventually walk out that door, I’d rather watch you leave on your own two feet than watch you disappear while standing right next to me. I’m here for the evaluation. I’m not letting go."

Y/N closed her eyes, her fingers interlocking with his over her stomach. The morning sun was fully up now, casting long, bright geometric shapes across the living room floor, burning away the shadows of the night. The countdown had officially begun, and the bridge beneath her was still fragile but for the first time in six months, she wasn't walking across it alone in the dark.

The next three weeks of promotions were unlike any schedule Seventeen had ever run.

To the public, the transition was flawless. When the repackage album dropped, Shadow debuted at number two on the charts, chased closely by the title track. The fans went wild over Y/N’s verses. For the first time, casual listeners and long-time Carats alike were flooded with vocal layers that weren’t just harmonies buried under Seokmin or Seungkwan they were raw, distinct, and hauntingly front-and-center.

But backstage, the atmospheric shift was staggering.

At the next music show pre-recording, the waiting room was a completely rewritten script. Y/N sat in her usual corner by the garment racks, her noise-canceling headphones pulled over her ears. Six weeks ago, this would have been an invisible boundary that kept her isolated. Tonight, it was a protected zone.

Mingyu had walked over twenty minutes ago, carrying a plate of sliced fruit. He hadn’t said a word to disrupt her space; he had simply set the plate on the small table next to her, tapped her shoulder to point at it with a warm, quiet smile, and walked back to join the others.

"Is she eating?" a voice murmured near the door.

Y/N pulled one side of her headphones down, her eyes tracking the whisper. Seungcheol was standing by the entrance, speaking to one of the main managers. His tablet was open, but his attention was entirely split.

"She took a few pieces," the manager replied quietly. "The performance coordinators want to know if she needs to skip the secondary blocking run-through. The stage floors are a bit slick today."

"Tell them she’s sitting out the dry rehearsal," Seungcheol said without a second of hesitation. His voice was firm, carrying that new, unyielding barrier he had built between Y/N and the corporate demands. "If they have an issue with the camera lines, tell them to adjust the tracking manually. We aren't running her ragged on a wet floor."

Y/N stared at the back of Seungcheol’s head. He didn't turn around to check if she was watching. He wasn't doing it to perform or to earn a quick smile from her; he was executing the vow he had made in the living room. He was managing the world so she didn't have to shrink herself to fit it.

"Line up! Entering the stage in three minutes!" the floor director bellowed through the corridor.

The members stood up, the rustle of heavy stage velvet filling the room. As they moved into the hallway, Hoshi stepped to the front, but he didn't immediately call for the chant. Instead, his sharp eyes scanned the line until they landed on Y/N.

"Spacing check," Hoshi said, his voice loud enough to clear the hallway chatter. "Verse two. Mingyu, remember your mark."

"I'm shifting three feet left the moment the lights hit the platform," Mingyu nodded instantly, his broad shoulders dropping back into a defensive lane that left the center lane completely unobstructed. "I've got the wing angle covered."

"Jihoon?" Hoshi tracked.

"Audio balance is locked," Jihoon said, stepping into line behind Y/N. He didn't push past her or give her a corporate lecture. He reached out, his small hand briefly catching the hem of her sleeve, giving it a light, grounding tug. "Sing it exactly like you did in the studio, Y/N-ah. The mic split is dead. Nobody is cutting your track."

The stage lights flooded the studio a minute later.

When the intro for Equilibrium hit, Y/N’s body moved with the same sharp, automated precision she had trained years for. But when the bridge arrived, the shift was physical.

As she stepped into the center, Mingyu cleared the lane with a sweeping, dramatic transition that felt almost protective. The main broadcast camera dipped low, locking onto her face as she delivered the vocal climax. For three seconds, she wasn't an extra or a transition pivot. She was the focal point of a thirteen-man engine that was deliberately turning around her.

From the front row of the audience, the fan chant rose like a wave—and for the first time in six years, her name didn't feel like an afterthought tucked into the end of the rhythm.

The evaluation continues

By 11:45 PM, the first van was quiet on the ride back to the dorms.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the cool window glass, watching the neon signs of the Han River blur past. Her phone lay flat on her lap. The notes app was open, but the digital graveyard of resignation letters had been replaced by a completely empty page. She hadn't written a single pro-or-con list in three weeks.

She felt a large, warm palm slide over her freezing fingers.

Wonwoo was sitting next to her, his thighs pressed tightly against hers in the cramped space, his reading glasses caught in the collar of his hoodie. He didn't look down at her phone screen. He didn't ask if she had made up her mind, or if the countdown was shrinking.

"Your voice sounded clear on the monitoring playback," Wonwoo said softly, his deep baritone a grounding weight against the hum of the van's engine. "The mixing team didn't drop your lower register this time."

"Jihoon-oppa stayed in the engineering room until four in the morning to make sure they didn't," Y/N whispered, her fingers curling slightly around Wonwoo’s thumb. "He didn't tell me, but Minghao saw his car in the lot."

Wonwoo let out a soft, low breath, his chest expanding against her shoulder. "They're trying, Y/N-ah. The whole house is trying."

"I know," she said.

She looked down at the empty note on her screen. The terrifying, heavy truth was still there the system was still massive, the industry was still clinical, and the scars of the past six years weren't going to vanish because of one good promotion cycle. She could still feel the phantom pull of that legal extension, the quiet allure of a life where she didn't have to fight for three seconds of air.

But as the van pulled into the dark basement garage of their dorm, she saw the door to the second van slide open. Seungkwan stepped out, immediately looking around the concrete space until his eyes locked onto her window, his face breaking into a small, tentative smile when he saw her wave back.

"Are you still thinking about it?" Wonwoo asked quietly, his grip on her hand tightening just a fraction as the engine cut out, leaving them in the dim, quiet luxury of the car.

Y/N turned her head, looking into his steady, intense eyes. There was no desperation in his face anymore just the unyielding, patient loyalty of a brother who was willing to wait at the edge of the line for as long as it took.

"Yes," Y/N whispered, her voice entirely honest. "I'm still thinking about it every day, oppa."

Wonwoo gave a single, slow nod, his thumb tracing the fragile skin of her wrist. He slid his fingers down, interlocking them with hers securely before reaching for the car door handle.

"Then we'll keep showing you the light tomorrow," Wonwoo murmured, pulling her gently out into the concrete garage where the other twelve were already waiting by the elevator, holding the door open for the fourteenth member to step in first. "Every single day until you decide to stay."

The final broadcast of the repackage promotions ended on a rainy Sunday night. The rest of the group had gone back to the main dorm in the first two vans, but Wonwoo had quietly spoken to their primary manager before the final stage. He didn't want the dorm tonight. He didn't want the kitchen table, the lingering, anxious glances of the other twelve, or the heavy, unspoken countdown that hung over the living room.

He had taken her keys, borrowed the manager's personal car, and driven her completely out of Seoul.

By 1:30 AM, they were parked at an abandoned, gravelly overlook near the old reservoir in Gapyeong a place they used to sneak away to during their brutal trainee days when the green basement felt like it was swallowing them alive. The rain pattered against the windshield in a steady, hypnotic rhythm, the dashboard clock throwing a faint, amber glow over Wonwoo’s face. He had taken off his stage makeup, stripped out of his performance velvet, and wore an oversized gray sweater that made him look like the boy she had met when she was thirteen years old.

He cut the engine, but he didn't pull his hands off the steering wheel. For a long time, he just stared out at the dark, rain-slicked water of the reservoir.

"You haven’t opened your notes app in three days," Wonwoo said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet hum of the rain. It wasn't an accusation. His voice was thick, heavier than usual, carrying the exhaustion of a man who had been holding his breath for a month.

Y/N leaned her head back against the passenger seat, staring at his profile. "I didn't know you were tracking my screen time, oppa."

"I track everything about you, Y/N-ah," he murmured, his fingers finally dropping from the wheel. He shifted in his seat, turning his entire body to face her, drawing one leg up onto the cushion. He reached into the backseat, pulled out a thick, fleece blanket, and gently draped it over her lap, tucking the edges around her waist with a familiar, practiced care.

"I’ve been tracking you since 2015. And I think... I think I’ve been too quiet for too long. Everyone else has yelled. Coups threatened to strike, Jihoon spent eighty hours in the studio, Hao practically tore the storage room apart. But I haven’t really talked to you. Not about everything."

He let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders dropping. His sharp eyes, usually so guarded behind his glasses, were wide, watery, and intensely vulnerable under the dim dashboard light.

"I remember the day you entered Pledis," Wonwoo started, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, melancholic cadence. He was doing more than talking; he was opening a valve that had been sealed shut for six years. "You were thirteen. You had these giant, terrified eyes, and your knees were bruised from practicing the debut evaluations until two in the morning. Do you remember what the trainers told us the first week you arrived? They sat the thirteen of us down and said, 'She’s the wildcard. If she doesn't fit the image by next evaluation, we drop her and revert to the original line-up.' From day one, they treated your existence in our lives like a temporary trial."

Y/N swallowed hard, the memory hitting her like a cold wave. "I forgot they said that."

"I didn't," Wonwoo whispered, a heavy, emotional crack breaking through his tone. "I didn't forget because I spent that entire week watching you hide behind the water purifier so you wouldn't get in anyone's way. And do you remember what happened during the Adore U promotions? When the first hate threads came out? The fans were furious that a girl had been added to a boy group. They cropped you out of the fansite photos. They blurred your face in the music video edits."

He reached out, his long, cool fingers gently capturing her right hand from beneath the fleece blanket. He didn't hold it tightly; he just cradled her palm in his, his thumb tracing the small scar near her index finger a reminder of a broken stage prop from their first year on tour.

"Back then, I promised myself I would be your safe spot," Wonwoo said, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he looked down at their hands. "I told myself, "As long as Wonwoo is standing next to her, she won't feel the cold." When we did the vocal team switches, I always made sure our mics shared the same frequency block so I could hear you breathing during the live stages. When we had those awful, crowded corporate dinners where the executives would ignore you and talk over your head to Coups, I would deliberately drop my chopsticks or complain about the food just to pull the attention away from you. I thought I was protecting you, Y/N-ah. I thought my silence was a shield."

He paused, his chest heaving as a quiet, choked sound escaped his throat. He lifted his other hand, taking off his glasses and rubbing his face fiercely, trying to stem the pressure behind his eyes. When he looked back at her, a single tear had escaped, tracking down his cheekbone into the dark fabric of his collar.

"But I was wrong," he confessed, his voice trembling violently now, fully exposed to the raw weight of his own guilt. "My silence wasn't a shield. It was just another layer of the dark. I was so comfortable having you in my corner, so selfishly happy that I had a sister who understood the quiet parts of my soul, that I didn't see the erosion. I watched Jihoon take your melodies because the company wanted a more 'aggressive masculine bass line,' and I didn't fight him. I watched Soonyoung move you to the back wing during Don't Wanna Cry because the visual symmetry looked better with Mingyu in the center, and I just stood on my mark and let it happen. I let them turn my sister into a ghost because I was too cowardly to disrupt the peace of the group."

"Woo, stop," Y/N whispered, her own tears blurring her vision, her chest aching at the sheer amount of agony in his voice. "You didn't do those things. The company did. The directors did."

"No, I let them do it!" Wonwoo’s voice finally rose, a rare, heartbreaking burst of raw volume that echoed inside the small car. He grabbed her hand with both of his now, holding it against his chest, right over the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart.

"I am a senior member of this group. I am part of the foundation. If I had opened my mouth three years ago, if I had stood up during the production meetings and said, 'If Y/N isn't singing the second verse, I’m not singing the first,' we wouldn't be sitting in a dark car in Gapyeong while you decide whether or not to destroy your own contract."

He leaned forward, his forehead dropping onto their joined hands, his shoulders shaking as the dam finally burst completely. Jeon Wonwoo, who never cried in public, who had buried his own deepest personal griefs away from the cameras, was falling apart in her lap.

"When I saw Team 2 on your phone that night," he wept, his voice muffled against her skin, "it felt like my entire life was being rewritten as a failure. I spent six years thinking I was your anchor, but I was just the weight holding you underwater. The thought of walking into that rehearsal room... of looking at the tape on the floor where your feet are supposed to be it makes me feel like I’m suffocating, Y/N-ah. I don't care about the perfect all-kills. I don't care about the stadiums. If you leave this group because we starved you of light, then everything we’ve built is just a monument to our own selfishness."

He lifted his head slowly, his face soaked with tears, his expression completely broken open. He reached up, his long, trembling fingers gently cupping both sides of her face, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks with a desperate, frantic tenderness.

"I know you’re still thinking about it," Wonwoo whispered, his breath hot and ragged against her face. "I know every time you look at the schedule, you’re calculating how much strength you have left before you drop the pen. And I won't stop you if you need to go. If your soul cannot survive this machine, I will personally sign your exit papers as a witness. But please... please don't think you were an extra. Don't think you were a variable. You were the only reason the green basement didn't drive me crazy. You were the only person who saw me, not Seventeen's Wonwoo. If you leave, leave because you want a bigger world, Y/N-ah. Don't leave because you think we don't know the color of your eyes."

He fell silent then, his hands remaining on her cheeks, his forehead leaning forward until it rested gently against hers. The rain continued to smash against the glass, a chaotic wall of sound that shut out the rest of the universe, leaving the two of them entirely alone in the wreckage of six years of unspoken devotion.

Lately, the two of them have been conversing more as she seeks his expertise in the classes he took the year before. He finds that she’s been texting him constantly, asking for his opinions on a fabric she’s choosing for her latest projects. 

Minghao isn’t a moron and he’s certainly not blind. He knows Insong is into him, but since she hasn’t explicitly made any moves on him, he’s not doing anything about it. He keeps his answers short, refraining from answering her when he’s in bed right next to you.

His girlfriend of three years. 

There is no one on planet Earth whom Minghao loves more than you. You’re his shining star, and he’s merely a planet, orbiting around you. His perfect match, his missing piece. The day he met you, he knew you were the one. There was something about the way you held yourself, bold and beautiful, that he knew he needed to be with you. 

Turns out the universe agreed. You both had so much in common- your desire to experiment in fashion, adding chains, mixed metals, furs, diamonds to what was once a simple piece. Your confidence entranced him; how you walked to class in unique outfits, with different hair colors, styles, and cuts. 

It took just one date for you to feel the same way. 

Now he has endless access to you. Your lips, your body, your mind, but most importantly, your heart. 

Insong places a hand on his shoulder, shooting Minghao a dimpled smile. Eyes peering down at her, he notes the half-empty glass in her other hand. 

“Hao, I don’t know how to say this, so I figured I should just tell you. I’m,” she pauses to look into his eyes. “I’m interested in you. Like, interested interested. You’re so hard to read, but I can’t wait any longer. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date?” She bats her eyelashes, moving closer so that their chests are an inch apart. One more step and they’d be chest to chest. 

Minghao places his hand on top of Insong’s and softly lifts it away. “Insong, I’m very flattered. But, I’m not single.”

Insong’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she opens and closes her mouth, clearly in shock.

“Oh, oh my gosh. Oh, I’m so sorry, Minghao. I just- I thought you were single. I, I just assumed you were single because you never show any girlfriend on Instagram. I should’ve never assumed, I should’ve asked the others,” Insong is blabbering now, and Minghao interrupts her with a soft hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about this. I promise this won’t change anything about our friendship,” he softly smiles, looking directly into her eyes. 

Insong flushes, still clearly embarrassed about her incorrect assumption. “Really?” she asks meekly. “Yeah, you’re fine. Here I’ll grab you another drink.” Minghao reaches behind him to hand her a cold can of beer. 

Insong meekly runs away after thanking him for the drink, not without throwing out a few more apologies.

Now alone, Minghao frowns. Did he really never post you on his Instagram? Minghao wasn’t one to share so much of his personal life on there, but if he could share selfies or mirror pics of himself, surely he had to have shared a pic of you. Right? 

His Instagram profile boasts one photo, a picture of himself at an art museum in graffiti-covered jeans that you gave him on his 24th birthday. He goes through the archive of his stories and finds it full of pictures of himself that you took, or pictures of his friends, or concerts, or parties. Not one clear, direct photo of you. His heart is pounding in his chest. There is no proof you exist in his life. The three years of love you’ve given him aren’t displayed on the platform that represents who he is to the people from all around his life. 

Desperate, Minghao approaches Joshua. “You know I have a girlfriend, right?” Confusion flashes across Joshua’s face. 

“What? No, you don’t.” Minghao’s face must be full of horror because Joshua pauses to think back to Minghao’s romantic history. 

“Oh, wait. Are you still with Y/N? I never knew if you guys were actually together?”

“We’ve been together for three years now,” Minghao says flatly. Joshua’s eyes widen. He drags Mingyu into the conversation. All Minghao hears is white noise as Mingyu also confesses he had no idea Minghao had been with you all this time. 

He’s spiraling. 

There was the time you went to one of these stupid parties with him, yet you spent the whole night apart with different friend groups. He never kisses you in public, always hating public displays of affection. He prefers to show you just how much he loves you in private, sensually pressing his lips against yours, making love to you over and over. 

There is no doubt that he shows you just how much he loves you. But he doesn’t show the world. 

Setting his drink down on the closest table, Minghao quickly waves his friends off, itching to get back home to be with you.

“You’re back early,” you say with a big stretch, clearly surprised that your boyfriend is back from a party before midnight. 

“Hey,” he greets you softly, immediately making a beeline towards your curled-up figure on the couch. You’re in a tiny black tank top, making it easier for him to touch every surface of your warm skin. After three years together, there is nothing your boyfriend can hide from you.

“What’s wrong, babe?” you ask, playing with the two silver hoops on his left ear.

“You remember Insong?”

“Yeah, the new grad student, right?”

“Well, she asked me out, but I told her I wasn’t single. And she said she didn’t know because I’ve never posted you on my Instagram,” he says, finally looking into your eyes to gauge your thoughts. 

“So you think I’m upset that you don’t post me on your Instagram?” Minghao nods, tightening his hold on your arms.

You break into a beautiful smile.

“My love, I don’t care about that. I love you, and you love me. Who cares?”

“But I do!” Minghao suddenly exclaims. “I care that no one knows I’ve been with you for three years, and there’s no proof. We go on so many dates and we take so many pictures, yet I never post any of them. I don’t share how much I love you. It feels like I’m hiding you or embarrassed by you, which I’m not. I feel like I’ve fucked up,” he says slumping back into the couch. 

Minghao grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest. 

“I love you, infinitely. I’m sorry I don’t say it louder,” he whispers in your ear. To seal the deal, he holds your chin between his thumb and index finger, staring deep into your eyes, lips ghosting yours. “I love you,” he says, sinking his tongue into your mouth. “I’m sorry.” Lips brush against your jaw, a big, strong hand wraps around the base of your throat. 

Arms encircle your waist, a cheek is pressed against your shoulder, a face buried in your neck. 

“You’re it for me,” he says softly, voice muffled.

You run your fingers through his long hair. Minghao loves experimenting with different hair colors. You’ve been with him when his hair was bleached blond in the fall, silver in the winter, caramel brown in the spring, red in the summer. Five more hair colors since then, and it’s now in its natural state. You’ve loved Minghao throughout all his hair phases, but you’ll always remember the Minghao you fell in love with three winters ago, when it was pitch black, just like how it is now.

“Babe, you’re it for me too,” you reply back with a big, beautiful smile. 

Minghao is looking at you with lidded eyes, and when he shrugs your tank top sleeve down your shoulder, he’s determined to show you just how much he loves you.

*xuminghao_o just posted a story

Eyebrow raised, you click on the story. 

It’s the mirror picture you took earlier today. Minghao’s chest was pressed against your back with his arms wrapped around your stomach. A kiss pressed to your cheek and a huge smile on your face. Much like the smile you were sporting right now. 

You’ve never been one to care what your boyfriend does or doesn’t post on his Instagram. But this picture on his story is evidence of your relationship. Evidence that he loves you enough to share you with everyone who follows him. 

[flashback]

The only sound that could be heard in your apartment was the furious typing coming from your keyboard. The code you had meticulously been working on for the last month all of a sudden wasn't running properly.

"C'mon you rat bastard, where are you hiding," you mutter out. You chewed on your bottom lip, dedicated to find the one piece of syntax ruining what was bound to be a big payout for you.

A month ago, you'd been tagged to do another hit on some confidential FBI files. The network you worked for was made aware by an informant that there were case files being built against the network. Being the resident hacker within the network meant that this task was immediately handed to you. This wasn't your first go at hacking the Federal Bureau of Investigations and you certainly didn't think it was going to be your last. You loved playing tag with the CyberSec department in the Quantico office. Imagining the look of shock when the analysts in their cushy lil offices realize that files were corrupted or missing. For a bunch of highly paid, well-resourced government officials, jobs that involved the FBI felt like taking candy from a baby.

Your search continued, scouring through what felt like endless lines of code, until your phone rang. Taking a look at the Caller ID, a chill ran through your body.

It's an unlisted number. To the ordinary person, it would look like an unknown caller. But not to you. No, you knew this number by heart. You gingerly pressed the answer button.

"YN, a pleasure."

You found it weird that he was using your actual name given everyone in the network typically used an alias. You figured he was in a secure enough location, so you didn't pursue this line of thought any further.

"Jackson. What can I do for you? I'm working right now." Every ounce of you fought to keep your words unwavered. A small chuckle came from the other end of the line.

"Just wanted to check in. Make sure you're holding up your end of the bargain." This caught you off guard.

Jackson was a higher up in your network, always the one doling out your assignments, but never one to double check your work. You'd proven yourself to be irreplaceable in the last three years of working for the Caissa. Why was he asking about this now?

"In the three years I've been doing your work, when have you ever known me to not hold up my end of the deal?" You questioned, a slight edge in your voice.

Even with your "boss" on the line, there was a deadline to meet and your code was still not running properly. Your hand moved to press a button on your phone and you placed Jackson on speakerphone. As the search for the bug resumed, you explained to Jackson that what he wanted should be finished within the next two hours.

"Remind me again, what is it I'm paying you for?" In hindsight, this question should have been ringing the loudest bells in your head. Jackson had the tendency to be aloof and a bit forgetful given he worked with multiple people, but not ever to this degree. But the damn bug making your code not work took up all of your attention.

"What are you talking about Jackson, did you seriously forget that you tasked me to wipe the case files being built against the Caissa? What, did you forget to take your pills today old man?" Another laugh came. It's uneasy but of course you were too wrapped up in fixing the code to notice the difference.

"Jeez Rook, I'm just testing you."

"I think I've outgrown that nickname, don't you Jackson? Was this really all you called me for?" You were getting annoyed now. There was a crunch for this code to be finished and here was your boss actively wasting your time. Again in hindsight this should have tipped you off. There's a bit of noise from the other end of the line before Jackson responds.

"YN?"

"What is it, Jackson?"

"The Grandmaster sends his regards." The mention of the kingpin of your network made your back straighten. Before you could ask what the hell Jackson meant, the line died. Your monitor went next. There wasn't enough time for you to make sense of anything before you heard the sirens surrounding your apartment and your front door being busted open. Everything after this point happened in slow motion, you moved like molasses. Only a few things in your vision were in focus: the reds and blues of cop car lights shining on the poster covered walls of your apartment, the condensation ring from the iced coffee you'd been nursing, a trinket of your favorite animal shattered from the impact of your front door.

You didn't resist any of the officers taking you into their custody. Your mind was otherwise preoccupied. The second your door was cracked down, the puzzle pieces connected: Jackson and the network had cut you loose and turned you in. Racking your brain for any possible reason why, you come up with the conclusion that the feds were getting too close and they cut the newest recruit on the team.

Last one in, first one out.

The interrogation room was bone-chilling and reeked of the worst kind of drip coffee. Agent after agent came in, but your mind couldn't focus. Every time they talked to you it sounded like Charlie Brown's parents were speaking to you. Your entire world had come crashing down. The network that had protected you for so long, had all of a sudden delivered you right to the FBI's front door, the team that had spent the better part of a year trying to track you down.

The door to the interrogation room opened again and you were about to tell the next agent that they were going to waste their time because you weren't going to spill a word. But when you lifted your head, you see him and the air shifts. You feel the static neurons become charged with something you can't quite place.

[end of flashback]

Speak of the devil.

The ding of the elevator doors snaps you out of your recollection and there stands Xu Minghao. The guy, who for a lack of a better explanation, is your knight in shining armor. Minghao was the one that broke through your walls that day in the interrogation room. The one that turned you from hunted to hunter. Every other agent they'd sent in to question you weren't able to hammer away at the walls you'd built, but he did. He walked in, the definition of nonchalance and arrogance. Taking your walls apart brick by brick like it was nothing with cologne that enveloped the whole room and would linger. The same one currently wafting in your nose as he's waving you into the elevator.

"Good morning babygirl," he says, pearly-white teeth shining right into your heart. It has been five years since the day Minghao cut you a deal and your partnership with him and the FBI had started. Five years since he gave you a chance to turn your life around and not rot in prison. Five years since he started calling you that nickname. The nickname that never failed to dust a deep shade of pink across your cheeks.

"Morning, White Rabbit," you chirp out, adding the delicious milk candy to the list of nicknames you have for the profiler. This was your banter, everyone in the office knew it. Everyone in the office was also sick of it. A prime example comes in the form of Dr. Jeon Wonwoo, resident know-it-all. He constantly commented on your relationship; labeling it grossly inappropriate for the office and requesting that it be taken outside of work. Both of your responses to him matching as you stick your tongue out, blowing raspberries at him.

"What's on your mind pretty?" Minghao questions. You wave him off, telling him that you'd been thinking about the day that you first met.

"Was it love at first sight?" He teases. You give him a slight push and tell him to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. The ride up to the office is silent, but it's comfortable. The kind of comfortable you can only get when you've built a relationship with someone. The elevator doors whoosh open signaling that your moment of peace is over and it was time to get to work. You start the short trek to your "cave of darkness", as the rest of the team calls it, but Minghao catches your wrist before you even make it another step.

"Here," he places a coffee cup in your hand, "Honey vanilla latte for the sweetest honey in my life."

There it is again. The blood rushes to your cheeks, covering it with a rosy haze. Minghao is still holding onto your wrist and you're painfully aware of everything happening right now. But you let yourself get lost in the feeling for a bit. Fantasizing that this is more than the usual nice banter between the two of you. That he got you a latte because he was thinking about you at the cafe you both frequent. That he knows your order because he learned it the first time the both of you had been to said cafe and not because you'd made him order it for you a billion times.

Wonwoo, who had been behind the both of you in the elevator, clears his throat to get through and the facade breaks. Minghao gives you a wink, then moves back to let him step between the two of you. Raising the warm coffee cup towards him, you bid Wonwoo goodbye and the two of you make your way down to your office. As you come down the hallway one of the other analysts, Maeve, falls in step with you. Her strong gourmand scent hits you before her greeting does. The three of you talk about recent case loads and what you had been up to the past weekend. She casually jokes that the intense amount of snow should be keeping the streets crime free, but the files coming across the desks say otherwise. Synced laughs of agreement come from you and him. Minghao replies that there isn't enough coffee in the world. Without any real thought, you say,

"Thank God for Minghao. I don't know what I'd do if he didn't get me this coffee." She coos at you, agreeing that it was really nice of him do so, but then she makes a comment that stutters your thoughts.

"God I wish I had a boyfriend that worked with me so I could get personally delivered coffee. You two are so cute together."

"Oh, no-" You begin to stop her.

"It's not like that." You pretend the emphasis Minghao places on the last word doesn't sting.

"We're not-"

The two of you stumble over each other to tell your coworker that you aren't dating. When she hears this, there's a look of surprise on her face, but she doesn't say anything else. She's too busy watching the two of you staring at each other, trying to find the hidden conversation in raised brows. You'd never been more thankful in your life to be right in front of your office door. Minghao quietly excuses himself and walks towards the bullpen. While your coworker chats you up, you're still staring at the back of Minghao, noticing how he rubbed the back of his neck as he walked away from the two of you.

"Helloooo? Earth to YN!" Your focus shifts to her hand waving in front of your face. Apologizing to her, you ask her to repeat herself. She talks about needing help on figuring out how to run a code to aggregate the encrypted files your team has been getting with the caseload. You relax, this is an easy task, you could write code in your sleep, this was something that won't distract you. Asking her for more metrics, your eyes light up at the chance to talk about coding — the only thing that has kept you alive all these years. As you're going over proper formatting syntax, she makes a silly joke that for some reason really just hit you, so you find yourself doubled over in laughter.

What you don't notice is that your coworker makes sudden eye contact with Minghao, who perks up and whips his head towards your direction at the sound of your laughter. You couldn't see it, but his gaze brims with adoration. The mere sound of your laugh, infectious, getting the corners of his lips to tug up. Maeve gives Minghao a questioning smirk, he then stutters and forces himself back into the conversation with Wonwoo. She continues your conversation by asking how to run newly written code without ruining encrypted files.

You lift yourself back up and continue your explanation of performing test runs on old files to Maeve. As you do so, you feel the air change and something in you tells your brain to look beyond Maeve. Cocking your head to the side, you see that Minghao has Wonwoo in a headlock. You try to hide your smile, but fail as Maeve traces your sight line. She shakes her head and jokes that it's really hard to believe that the two of you aren't together, with the way you steal glances like lovesick puppies. Suddenly, Minghao looks up and you immediately move your head back to its original position, not wanting him to catch you staring. Maeve watches this exchange with the biggest smirk on her face. Thanking you for the advice on writing code, she walks away to her office muttering something that you couldn't make out.

As you settle into your office, a sigh pushes through your entire body. Minghao's comment and gesture sticks with you for the rest of the day, the drink actually making it all the way home with you. Spending what others would diagnose as an "unhealthy" amount of time staring at the coffee cup, trying to will the fantasy in your head to life. So many things are swimming around in your mind right now. As you get lost in writing code, Minghao's question of love at first sight is ringing in your ears. You were telling the truth, you found him incredibly annoying at first. Your first month he did nothing but gloat that he was the one to bring you in; that if it wasn't for him there wouldn't be progress on the Caissa file. But something changed in the years of you working together and you're left remembering when exactly it was that he completely broke your heart open for him.

[flashback]

It's your first winter in Virginia. Adjusting to the non-criminal life has been easier than you expected. Who knew you could breathe easier when not working for the digital underworld and not having to look over your shoulder all the time. Regular civilian life wasn't something you steadily had access to in your formative years and you're finding yourself mourning that younger version of you.

Idyllic. Not hard. A version of you that didn't have to put up walls yet.

A particularly nasty case made its way to the top of your team's list, leaving you all to work past normal hours. You'd moved out of your office into the bullpen to make sharing information easier. The office is fairly silent, the only symphony playing is the shuffle of papers and the scuffle of your team walking around. You'd been knee deep in assembling a list of victim profiles to help look for the unsub's MO. You fired off a couple lines of code that you think will help you narrow something down, only to be hit with a big red flashing "ERROR". You slam your laptop down and exhale in frustration, the sound of it drawing everyone's eyes on you. You feel his eyes before you could see them. Flashing everyone a quick smile of apology, you excuse yourself to take a lap around and get a breather.

You stop by your office to grab your water bottle and on your way out you see Minghao. He smirks when he makes eye contact and you immediately brace yourself for whatever smart ass comment he had waiting for you.

"Taking a break already? Wouldn't have pegged you as the quitting type," he jokes. You mockingly laugh back and roll your eyes. The two of you were a duo that no one ever expected. You'd find this out much later, but there were bets going around the office for how long Minghao would last before you ripped his head off. You and Minghao got the last laugh as the two of you gelled together after you dished his smugness back to him. Fairly soon after, you became the insufferable duo that everyone was familiar with.

The two of you finish a lap around the office in complete sync, quietly returning to the makeshift workstation that was set up in the bullpen. You stretch your neck out before sitting back down to read over the case files in the hopes that you could pinpoint parameters that would get your team closer to solving this case. Line after line swims through your brain and nothing seems to stick. It's like suddenly all the ridges in your brain have disappeared and the receptors have melted.

Behind you, you hear someone yell that they're going on a coffee run, then you feel a tap on your elbow. Turning your head, you see Minghao with a questioning look in his eye. Without a word, you knew exactly what he was asking.

Want a coffee?

You immediately shake your head no, not wanting to deal with the effects of caffeine later. He gives you a curt nod and calls out to the person leaving the office to wait for him. He brushes behind you and you catch a whiff of him — sandalwood and something smoky — he smells like comfort. The scent of him lingers around you like an unspoken message from him:

Be back soon.

For the hundredth time, you turn your eyes back to the files hoping that this time you wouldn't come up empty. Taking a breath, you repeat a silent prayer in your head, one that wishes you are able to find anything that could help. Three folders of files later, you feel Minghao sliding into the seat next to you. You don't have to look up from the mountain of paper to know it's him. You just do.

As you're flipping over to the next page, you sense something warm near your left hand. You move your hand to find the source of heat and see that Minghao has placed a cup next to you. The logo of the coffee shop from down the street adorns the cupsleeve. Acknowledging him with a nod, you wrap both your hands around the cup and bring it in front of you.

I didn't ask for this. You say with a raise of your brow.

I know. He shrugs in response.

Drawing the cup to your mouth, the sweet scent of honey and vanilla fills the space around you as you blow on it. You were expecting the strong bitter aroma of coffee to invade your nose so when you smell the indicators of your regular order, your head whips back to him. You're staring at him with delighted surprise in your eyes. He squeezes your shoulder and shoots the warmest smile when he meets your gaze. You thank him by taking a drink, contently sighing at the sweet taste on your tongue.

When you open your eyes, you find a different pair of eyes staring at you.

"Can I help you, Dr. Jeon?"

"Just observing," he says, his eyes flitting between you and the man beside you.

"Find anything worth sharing?" You muse, tucking your chin on top of your hands.

While flipping through a case file, Wonwoo shakes his head no. You don't believe him for a second, which you make known by giving him a scrutinizing look. But you don't press him any further, opting to return to your work instead.

Minghao suddenly gets up and walks over to the board, presumably to pin something he found.

"He's never brought anyone coffee," Wonwoo says, breaking your concentration. You look at the doctorate in front of you with a deadpan look. One that prompts him to elaborate his point.

He leans forward and in a quiet tone explains that in the time that the two of them have worked together, he's never seen Minghao willingly get anyone coffee. Usually opting to joke that whoever asks has legs and can get the drink themselves. He also guessed by the look of your first sip that Minghao didn't just grab you any coffee, he purposefully got your specific coffee order.

There's a feeling in your stomach you can't place when you hear this. As Wonwoo drones on, you find your gaze naturally moving to where Minghao is. You can only see his back, but you can tell he's concentrating on something from the way his head is slightly tilted.

"And then there's the twin telepathy thing," Wonwoo quips. This breaks your stare.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh c'mon! The two of you just had a full blown conversation without uttering a single word."

You scoff and wave him off, telling him that it doesn't mean anything. Defending your friendship, you deflect and mock the young doctor. He returns your scoff with his own and leans back in his chair.

To anyone that asked, you would always deny it. You and Minghao, were friends, nothing else. But after Wonwoo's line of questioning, you wonder if he's maybe just named the intense feelings that you've been unable to.

Returning your gaze to Minghao, your head is swimming with the thoughts Wonwoo's seemingly planted. He turns to call out for Wonwoo to join him. Your eyes meet Minghao's and he gives you a smile that makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. It's a smile laced with a check in. Like somehow he knows you might not be all there.

And suddenly you realize it.

Fuck.

You like Xu Minghao.

[end of flashback]

A soft knock breaks your mindless (but correct) code writing and you smile as you see Minghao waving through the window. You push the memory from three years ago to the deep recesses of your mind. He pushes the door slightly open and pokes his head in, weary smile following. You know what this look means; it's wheels up for the team, time for them to fly somewhere to solve a case, time for him to leave.

"Hey, I'm heading out. I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Safe flight, call me for any expert information pulling," you joke as he pulls off from your door.

"There isn't anyone else I would want to call babygirl," he calls out as he jogs to catch up with the rest of the team flying out. You smile watching him bounce away.

Unfortunately for you, that moment was the last time you would physically see Minghao for the next week. This was the norm for the two of you. You hardly ever joined in the field, and to be completely honest you preferred it that way. With your history, you decided (along with some urging from your boss) that it was probably better that you stayed behind for cases.

You do get to talk to him mid-week when an important piece of information comes across your desk.

"Tell me something I wanna hear," he exhales. You can hear the exhaustion and frustration in his voice.

"Anyone ever tell you, you have a great ass? Cause you do," you tease, trying to lighten the mood. Hearing him smile from the other side of the line makes you feel better.

"Tell me something I don't know pretty girl," he jokes back. You boo him, whining that he always spoils your fun.

"Don't make me spank you."

"Mmm, don't tempt me with a good time Agent," you say in a lower tone, feigning seduction. With a click of his tongue, he tells you to quit playing around. You sigh and acquiesce him, sharing that the unsub and his victims had a shared history. Grimacing as you shakily recount horrifying details, you wrap up your information dump with a sigh and a promise that this information would be sent over asap.

"Look up the words hot and magnificent in that magic box of yours and tell me what comes up," you hear the smirk and pride on Minghao's face loud and clear. Luck was on your side today as no one could see the rouge tint splayed across your face and on the tips of your ears.

"Would ya look at that? A picture of me popped up." You replied, emphasizing the p in the last word with a popping sound. Inside you are fighting every nerve in your body.

"You are the love of my life, gorgeous! Good job, see ya when we're back." The click of the line rescues you from having to repsond. Your hand is still wrapped around the receiver as you let out a breath. An involuntary groan comes from you. It's the kind of groan you let out when you know you're absolutely smitten and can't do jack all about it. The silence in your office cloaks you in your own feelings, the next words that come out of your mouth barely break the sound barrier.

"I wish you meant that, Hao."

It wasn't till Friday afternoon that the rest of the team was flying in after wrapping up another horrifying but solved case.

The clock ticks a quarter till five and you shoot a text to your cat-eyed partner in crime, asking him if he needed a round (or more) once he landed. An immediate ping returns with a resounding yes and that he'd head straight to Rummo's. Wrapping up a report, you lock up and head to the elevator to meet with Minghao. The ride down takes longer than you want it to, but the doors finally ding open and you're basically skipping out the exit.

"Have a good weekend YN," Chan smiles at you as he holds the door open for you.

"Thanks Channie! I'll see ya Monday!"

"Rummo's tonight? I didn't see the team come in this morning." You nod back.

"Is tonight the night?" He asks with expectant eyes. While everyone in the office basically knew about the budding relationship between you and Minghao, Chan was the only one who ever said anything to you about it. He was also the only one who knew about how much you truly longed for Minghao. It wasn't like you paraded around declaring your love for the profiler, but anyone who looked hard enough could see it. You cared about Minghao in the way that you didn't about anyone else. Sometimes more than yourself. You shoot Chan a look with a hopeful gleam and he responds back with a thumbs up. The week spent in the office alone (along with a phone call from your mother regarding your love life) had forced you to evaluate your relationship with Minghao. Years of noticing the small things that make him tick. Simply put, after years of yearning for the man who broke you down with a whiff of his cologne, you came to the conclusion that you couldn't bear to wait any longer. You needed him to know how you felt and more importantly how he made you feel.

You send a quick text to him that you'd be at your favorite bar in less than ten minutes. As you're walking past storefronts you check your reflection in the glass. No biggie, you're just confessing your feelings to the most important person in your life and your hair is a tangled mess and the mascara on your eyelashes smudged from the strain of staring at a computer all day. You do your best to smooth down the frizz of your hair and you pray to whatever god above that you can fix yourself up before Minghao spots you.

It's half past five by the time you get to Rummo's and it seems like every other office worker in the vicinity had the same idea because your favorite local bar is packed with people in suits. You thank your lucky stars and make a beeline for the bathroom to fix yourself up. You assess the damage as you take a look at the mirror and you wish you hadn't.

Your top fits a little funny because of how blessed you are in the chest department. Your trousers suddenly feel a bit tight and you tune into how the button seems to dig into your stomach. You try to move your clothes around a bit to make it look more flattering against your shape and notice that the seams of your pants have left imprints on your hips. The movement (and your awful anxiety) have made the tiny bathroom even tinier and you feel like the temperature inside has gotten warmer.

Taking a shallow breath you move on to take a look at your hair but before you can do anything about it, a knock on the door alerts you to someone who had been waiting on you. You push the door open to the bathroom and apologize to the person on the other side and look for Minghao. Your confidence is lower than when you walked in, but you were still determined to tell him how you felt tonight.

The smell of his cologne, hidden behind copious amounts of whiskey, hits you before you even lay your eyes on him. You square your shoulders back, plaster on a smile and clap him on the back when you approach. He turns to you, a tinge of pink dotted across his cheeks and eyes in the shape of crescent moons. A quick glance at the three empty glasses next to him tells you all you need to know — this case was horrific and he needed a break from reality. You don't think you'll get to tell him anything tonight.

"There's my babygirl," he swoons excitedly reaching out to you. Your heart leaps out of your chest and it aches. It kills you to not focus on the inflection behind the "my".

"Hey Hao— Whoa," you lean forward as he almost falls out of the bar stool. A giggle comes spilling out of him when he wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into your shoulder. You help him sit back upright and he scrambles to remove his jacket from the seat next to him, ushering you to sit next to him. Doyoung, the usual barback who tends to your crew, places a drink in front of you. Thanking him with a nod, you down the drink to match Hao's level of drunkenness. The night is filled with him drunkenly egging you on to drink more and you making sure that he's also drinking water so he doesn't absolutely perish the next day.

Suddenly Minghao, who had previously been slumped over the bar, sits straight up and grabs your face. He brings it close to his and you genuinely are unable to tell if you're currently hallucinating. He pores over your face with a scrutinizing look in his eyes. His gaze lands on your lips and stays for a while. Longer than what is appropriate between two best friends. Two coworkers. Your lips are inches away and the alcohol you've consumed silences the alarm bells going off in your head. You hadn't expected this at all, the second you had seen him downing drinks you quickly pivoted away from the original intention you had tonight. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the warmth of his hands, you also pick up on the scent of whiskey and mint on his breath. There's a ringing in your ears and it isn't the alarm bells of your barely functioning brain. No, it's the ringing that happens when the one person who turns your world upside down is about to kiss you. But the moment never comes.

You open your eyes and find him studying your face. Irises wide (probably from the whiskey) and mapping spots on your face.

"Hao?" You ask as you place one of your hands on his, you're hyper aware of the small jolt of electricity that happens on your cheek when your hands touch.

"Mmm?" He hums, absolute glee hidden behind the smile on his face. You tap the hand on your left cheek, asking him if there was something he needed to tell you.

"You remind me of her." The shape of his eyes still crescent moons, his cheeks even pinker. From the alcohol or the confession you weren't able to tell.

"Hmm?" You say giggly.

"The girl I'm in love with— you remind me of her." He says like he isn't absolutely shattering your entire world right now.

"Oh." You could only respond in a monosyllabic manner, the entire situation quickly sobering you from your fantasy. You grab his hands and gingerly fold them into his lap.

He giggles to himself at your short response. Your mind is spinning and the three heavy-handed drinks Doyoung poured you certainly weren't helping. It isn't till Minghao waves his hand in your face that you realize he'd asked you a question. You apologize and he asks you again what you think. It felt like an impossible question to answer; your heart was absolutely shattered but as his best friend you needed to at least seem supportive.

"Whoever she is, she's a lucky girl," you respond, the fake smile on your face hurting your jaw.

"You think so?" He asks, blissfully drunk and unaware.

You nod, trying to will the tears in your eyes to not spill. Your barback slides the two of you tall glasses of water and your tab. The time had passed by and the time on the receipt told you that the bar was nearing closing time. Downing your water like a camel, you gear up to play another heartbreaking game of pretend. Quickly you get Minghao to drink his water, slide some cash to Doyoung, and move the drunk cat that is your coworker outside the bar to wait for a cab. Puffs of your breath can be seen against the night sky and the two of you stand close to each other to get some warmth. It doesn't prove to be very effective as shivers run through your body. Perceptive as he is, Minghao wordlessly shrugs his black coat off and threads your arms through the sleeves.

"Hao, what are you doing? Take your coat back. It's below freezing," you say through chattering teeth.

You roll your eyes and start to remove the very warm coat off you. The unmistakable shake of his earrings rings through the air as he hushes you and forces the coat around you again, this time closing the buttons to make sure you stay put. A frustrated sigh comes from you, made evident by the puff of steam flowing in front of you. You silently thank him with a swift nod of your head. Some minutes tick by and suddenly you feel a cold hand slip into the pocket and close over your balled up fist.

A hollow ache is forming in your chest. Your hand instinctively unfurls and the second it does, Minghao threads his fingers through yours. Wetness pools around the rim of your eyes when you feel the shape of figure eights rubbing against the back of your hand. Silently, you thank the cold weather as you sniffle the tears back. If he noticed what was wrong, you could immediately blame it on the chill. You stare up at the sky, hoping to find something that could distract you from your wailing thoughts. But you're met with nothing, not a single star in sight. Not a constellation in the sky to use as small talk. So you stand and let your heart ache, because this might be the last time you have a moment like this with him.

You're also trying to make sure Minghao doesn't crumple to the floor. He whines telling you that he's tired of standing and he clings onto you like a koala, telling you that you felt like a plush radiator. You blow off his comment and wave down the bright yellow cab who had just dropped off someone down the street. With as much strength you can muster you push Minghao into the cab and give directions to the driver to his place.

"Wait, you're not coming with me?" He pouts, hanging his head out the window.

You hated yourself for how much you wanted to still kiss him. Shaking your head no, you tell him you'll see him later. He pouts some more and even whines a little, making your heart swell and ache simultaneously. You tilt his head up a little and drill into him that he needs to drink water when he gets home. He gives you a little salute and slumps his back in his seat. The cab begins to drive away and you wave even though you know Minghao can't see you. Suddenly he sticks his head out the window again and yells at you.

"Don't tell the girl at work that I'm in love with her!" And just like that Xu Minghao shatters your heart for the second time.

Saturdays are reserved for shitty movies and wasting away at your place. In the last year, Minghao has been a welcome addition to your long standing tradition, but you wake up today (still slightly hungover) remembering every single thing that happened last night and can't bear the thought of seeing him. You send him a text that you aren't feeling well and need to just sleep the nausea and hangover away. It wasn't completely a lie, you genuinely did have a hangover and you felt sick to your stomach at his confession. The confession that broke your heart and had you questioning your own self worth. Who were you kidding, no guy like Minghao could have ever been into you. He could have his pick of girls, so of course he was pining for someone else. You mostly felt so dumb that you even held the fantasy for so long. Minghao doesn't reply back right away, you assume he's probably still asleep and decide that a small nap might help you feel better.

You wake up to the sound of knocking at your front door and grumble, throwing the blanket over your head, hoping that whoever is at your door will just go away. You're not expecting any guests so you definitely were not getting up for anyone right now. Unfortunately, your attempt to ignore them does not work as the knocking gets louder and more aggressive. Throwing your blanket around you, you groan and stomp to your front door. The knocking keeps going and you finally swing your door open, ready to yell at whoever is fucking disturbing your peace right now.

"Jesus Christ! What do you wa— Minghao? What the fuck?!"

"Me what the fuck? I think I should be saying that to you. It's Saturday, our day remember?" You wince at the decibel he's at. Shooting him a glare with the force of a thousand daggers, you whip out your phone and show him the text of you canceling.

He sticks his tongue out and pushes into your apartment, blabbering about how you couldn't let a couple drinks interrupt the tradition. A trail of his things follow behind him as he makes himself completely at home on your couch. He spots his coat from the night before and jokes that he wondered where it ended up. Your nose scrunches up in annoyance and you can't find it within yourself to pretend to be fine with him being here. One by one you pick up his things and launch them at him, each landing getting a complaint. You coldly tell him to take his things and leave.

"Haha very funny babygirl. C'mon," he pats the spot next to him, "It's movie time. I'm thinking comedy because you're being so gru-"

"Minghao. I'm not kidding. I don't feel good, I'm going back to bed, please take your shit and go home."

You don't even wait for a response, you quickly spin on your heel and head back to your room. You don't even have it in you to close the door on him, you just slip back into your bed. Burying yourself under the covers, the tears in your eyes are hot and you try to blink them back. It isn't until you hear the muffled click of your front door that you let the tears stream down your face, effectively dehydrating you even more.

This year's winter was giving unsubs harsh brutality a run for their money. In the five years since you've lived in Virginia, you'd never felt such an arctic winter. Roads constantly slick with ice, the chill in the air absolutely biting. The only thing rivaling the intensity of this winter was how hard your head had been thinking about your relationship with Minghao. After what you thought would have been the moment, you decided that you couldn't wait forever anymore. You couldn't waste time on the cat-eyed profiler anymore. Knowing he'd had ample time in the years of you working together to say something. The years filled of stolen glances during team debriefs, of flirty comments that would gave HR a heart attack, of him using a nickname reserved only for you. Even on that night, he had the entire night to say something, anything. Instead you were met with a confession that crushed any hope you had as well as your self esteem.

This was the third week of you silently mending the heart he'd unknowingly broken. You could absolutely feel the difference in the interactions, but the profiler for all his ability to read humans, was none the wiser. The list of your names for him continued, but never with the same vibrancy you'd always envelope them in. You were facing a silent fight, the only person who only noticed your off kilter demeanor, was Chan. The first week of your moping he initially let you be, only ever giving a skeptic raise of his brow when you'd brush off his comments regarding your well-being. By the second week, he knew you'd been lying and figuratively backed you into a corner.

You had been drowning in case files and your eyes were starting to dry out. You make your way out of your office and to the bathroom on your floor, but you sharply make a right towards the elevator when you see Minghao heading in the same direction. The door is about to close and you call out to the group to hold the doors open for you. In your absolute panic, you don't realize how loud your voice was. What you also miss when you push yourself into the elevator is Minghao frantically searching for you across the office when he heard you.

You make your way to the back of the elevator and pinch the bridge of your nose as you lean your head back against the wall. Your eyes are closed for the entire ride and it's only when the automated voice of the elevator bell announces the floor, that you realized you took the elevator all the way down to the main lobby. Remembering what your actual purpose of leaving the office was, you make a beeline for the bathroom. You weren't explicitly avoiding Chan, but you knew you couldn't hold out much longer until you cracked under his constant questions.

On your way out from the restroom, you hear a sharp whistle come from behind. Whipping your head around, you see Chan waving you over. Timidly you walk over. You know that he's going to ask what's up with you, so you mentally prepare your responses on your way to him. Sure enough his first question after greeting each other is why you aren't your normal bubbly self. You lie and say that you haven't been feeling well, which he immediately clocks, urging you to not lie to him.

"Come on sweetheart. I haven't seen the two of you walk in together in weeks, almost a month. And if I'm noticing it, it's only a matter of time before everyone else in the office notices it too."

You say nothing and just look at him with pleading eyes, trying to communicate that you don't really feel like talking about this. But of course he doesn't see it or he adamantly ignores it because he presses you even further. Arguing that he definitely knows something is wrong because he hasn't heard a complaint from Dr. Jeon about the out of line comments that are always coming from the two of you.

"Seriously seeing his face scrunch up at the two of you is the only real bit of entertainment I get around here. So spill it sweetheart, what the heck happened at Rummo's?"

You don't know if it's his persistence, the threat that your multi-doctorate coworker would eventually put the pieces together, or the idea that you were tired of holding everything in, but you give in and run down the details of that heartbreaking Friday night. You don't even notice that you're speaking in hushed tones until Chan leans in closer and asks you to repeat certain parts of the story. As you move along the details, you notice his shoulders visibly lower, like he's physically taking the weight of your pain. When you finish, you're full on silently crying and the first thing he does is fish a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. The whimsical dinosaur print makes you giggle and he tells you that it belongs to his kid. You look at him incredulously, you were not prepared for this lore drop about your favored security guard.

"You have a kid?!"

"You're not the only one with secrets around here," he says with a wink.

You hit him in the arm and beg him to show you pictures. Further prodding him about the fact that he has a kid, leading into the fact that he has a whole family that you didn't know about. He pulls out his wallet and shows you several polaroids of the sweetest little girl. She is the spitting image of him, even in her young age she smiles just as big as her dad. While you're leafing through the pictures, Chan starts to talk about your situation. He comforts you, assuring that your reaction to the whole confession was normal. That the ache you feel is what everyone would feel and comes with the territory. He starts the next sentence, but pauses, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I can tell you're trying to fit a sentence together, what is it Chan?"

"I'm just not 100% convinced…" Your brows knit together in confusion. You stay quiet to signal him to continue his thought. He then asks if you're sure of what he said to you the night at the bar.

"I mean I don't think I'll ever forget him breaking my heart like that," you say solemnly.

"Look sweetheart, I'm not saying I know anything about how he really feels…"

"But?"

"But I've seen the way you two look at each other. More importantly I've seen the way he looks at you. The way he looks at you isn't the way you look at someone who's just a friend."

"How does he look at me then? If you don't think he looks at me like a friend, then how?" You arms are crossed as you scrutinize him with your eyes.

Chan sighs and takes the pile of polaroids from your hands. You whine in protest. He goes through them one by one, seemingly looking for something specific. He finally lands on the polaroid he's looking for and takes a big pause. You feel him take your hand and he places it face down on your palm. Flipping it over, your heart aches. It's a candid family picture; Chan's wife is cooing at their daughter, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and Chan is off to the side smiling wide. At first glance you'd think he's smiling at his daughter, but at a closer look you can see that the smile isn't for his kid, it's for his wife. He is looking at her with so much love, if he was a cartoon there would pink and red hearts in his eyes.

"That's how he looks at you. The way I look at my wife. You told me what he said that night, I don't know. I just don't believe it."

You let out a huff of disapproval and he throws his hands up in defense, offering that these were only his thoughts. Your shoulders slump back down and you squeeze the bridge of your nose. Chan offers a comforting rub of your shoulder and suggests that maybe it would be good for you to get out of the office for a bit, or at the very least finding a quiet place to let your thoughts run wild so you can come back and focus on your work.

Deciding that the thing you needed to help you clear your head was a warm cup of coffee, you brave the flurry of snow and take a quick walk to your usual cafe, a ten minute walk from the office. As you're wrapping a scarf around yourself, a gust of wind knocks the fabric out of your hand and straight into the face of a person who was heading into same cafe.

"I am so sorry!" You call out, rushing over to the being whose face was currently trapped in your bright yellow scarf.

A muffled laugh comes from behind your scarf, a leather gloved hand bunches it up to pull it away, and what's revealed is the face of an absolutely breathtaking man. His skin glowing like he'd been kissed by the sun, even in this dreary winter. You notice the moles that decorate his golden skin, like stars had placed themselves there. Eyes the color of coal but the coal that still feels warm even after the fire stopped burning. He flashes a smile at you, the kind that that radiates heat in your stomach, one that you're sure could melt all the snow fluttering around you.

"It's alright, honestly it's my fault I walked into your scarf," he chuckles, folding up your scarf, handing it back to you.

He then opens the door to the cafe, gesturing inside. You basically float inside, the flutters in your tummy carrying you in. You walk up to the counter and order your usual — honey vanilla latte. There's something about this drink that just feels like the warmest and most comforting hug. As you pull out your card to pay, you hear someone behind you request a red eye added to that order. The speed at which you whip your head is probably faster than lightning. Ready to lay into the person who thought they could sneak in on your coffee order, you take a breath, but nothing comes out when you realize it's the guy who got a face full of your scarf earlier.

"Oh, it's just you," you say meekly.

"Just me? Ouch, I haven't even given you my name yet," he teases. You feel warmth grace the tips of your ears and cheeks. Chuckling at you, he reaches into his pocket and hands the barista behind you a ten dollar bill. Your eyes go wide, indicating a protest at his action. He shrugs and walks to an empty table, he looks up at you then shifts his gaze to the seat in front of him. After an internal conflict, you figure that a conversation with the cute stranger who just paid for your coffee wouldn't hurt. Thanking him for the coffee, he shrugs and leans back in his seat. He replies that its not a big deal and the two of you begin to talk as you wait for your coffee to be ready.

You learn his name is Donghyuck but most of his friends call him Hyuck. He moved to Virginia from California a couple months ago after picking a random spot on the map. He's a piano teacher to the children in his neighborhood. You jokingly ask if he would extend lessons to adults and he jokes back that you would be the only person he'd consider doing it for. Before you can reply, the barista calls out that your drinks are ready. Beating him to the punch, you pick up both of your drinks and take it back to the table.

Sliding his drink toward him, you circle back to him teaching piano lessons. Your hands touch when he wraps his hand around the cup and it lingers for just a moment. At a simple glance, no one would have noticed it. You do and you fight the smile that begs to come out. Luckily for you, the warm cup of coffee in your hands was a great way to cover it up. You take a small sip and feel yourself melt into the drink.

"Is your drink as sweet as you are?" He says as you put the cup down. It takes everything in you to not choke on the hot liquid. Cheesy lines like this don't typically work on you, but there's something about Donghyuck that just feels true and intentional. After years of pining over someone else, why not allow yourself to be chosen first? Chosen boldly?

As you're about to return the flirty comment, your phone pings. Shooting him an apologetic look, you flip your phone open to see that you've gotten a text from an analyst on your team asking where you were. You looked at the time and realized that you'd been gone for three quarters of an hour.

"Shoot, I'm sorry I have to go back to work," you say, shoving your arms through your coat. Scooting out of your chair you stand up and hurriedly rush towards the door.

"Hold on," he calls out after you. Turning around you notice that he has your scarf in his hand. You reach out your hand to accept it, but instead of handing it to you, he unravels the golden fabric. He wraps the scarf around you and once it's fixed to his liking, he steps back with a smile.

"Perfect."

Your eyes fall to the floor and you feel the prick of heat warming the tips of your ears. He slips something into your hand and you barely catch what he says, too distracted by the gesture. You know it was a question so you nod your head and promptly head out the door. It's not until you're halfway back to the building that you realize he gave you a coffee sleeve with his number written on it. Shaking your head, you laugh to yourself and slide the sleeve into your purse.

You return to the office in an absolute daze. Your steps feel lighter and so does your chest. The ache of Minghao's wreckage still sings, but the volume is currently softened. There's a smile hiding in your cheeks, you zip past security so you can calm yourself down in your office.

"Good morning!" The profiler chirps, coffee in hand.

"Morning." You push past, head down trying to avoid eye contact.

"Hold it," he stops you before you can get too far, "Ease off the gas there Zug."

You freeze.

You hadn't heard that name in years. Five to be exact. And he was the last one to call you that.

The nickname was a reference to your alias when you worked with the Caissa network. The network itself was named after the Greek dryad of chess and every network player had some kind of chess term as an alias. Yours was "Zugzwang" — a term to describe when a player is put at a disadvantage by having to make a move. Appropriate because when you trapped someone into your game any move they made was a losing one. When you were at odds with the government, they fell for the trap every time. But now, because of Minghao, you'd been using your evil genius for good.

"Every day."

"Every day what?"

"Every day I say good morning . Every day you say, 'it is now that I've seen you' or another quirky comment that would make Dr. Jeon turn the color of your sparkle pen. Where have you been?"

Your eyes form into lines as you scrutinize him. Pretending to straightening the ID badge affixed to his shirt pocket, you kiss your teeth with a click. He continues on talking about how he's noticed that you've been passing off delivering case reports and sitting out of team meetings.

"You profilers and your behavioral analysis. You ever take a break?" Inside you're screaming. Now he has the sense to finally notice the difference?!

"If I took a break, who'd catch all the bad guys? 'Fess up pretty."

You roll your eyes and land a soft smack on his shoulder.

"Fine. I met a guy," you admit, a dreamy smile breaking out of the corners of your lips.

For a second there is a look of shock displayed on Minghao's face. He quickly fixes his face, but you definitely notice. You always noticed the small changes, even when you tried not to. You try not to think too much of it as he digs you for more details. You recap the interaction from this morning. Spilling small details about Donghyuck in a dreamy daze. Not forgetting to comment on how handsome and hot you think he is. Twice. There's a beat of silence, a look of pondering etched across his face, before he nods to himself.

"Alright, yeah that happens." He gives you a pat on the shoulder and starts to walk to his office, but you don't miss the purse of his lips.

"Not to me it doesn't." He stops and turns around.

"Come again?"

"Look Hao, let's not kid ourselves. I'm not the kind of girl who turns heads when she walks into a room—"

"Babygirl—"

"No. It's okay. I do well enough on my own. I'm a big girl, literally. I can pull, it just isn't always instantly, y'know? I gotta get them to look past the space I take up first." He hesitates to nod. Another small moment of quiet, the effort of piecing together his next sentence apparent in the crease of his brows. Before he can say anything you beat him to breaking the silence.

"I mean, what do you think Hao?"

"I'd say trust your gut princess. If the guy feels too good to be true, he probably is. Best to move on yeah?"

"Well—

Before you can answer, Hyeri the case liaison walks in, arms chock full of files.

"Team brief now. It's bad."

"Clearly."

The two of you follow her into the conference room, something indescribable weighs heavy on your shoulders.

The team debrief makes you feel nauseous. And it's not because of the bloody gruesome details of the latest unsub that Hyeri had briefed the team on. Minghao's words keep ringing in your ear. The rest of the team made their way out to the Florida site and here you were in your office replaying the peculiar conversation the two of you had. You're trying to make sense of his reactions but you're unable to get very far. To ease your mind, you turn to work and get to compiling and cross-referencing the victim list that the team had drawn up with the information the local police department had just sent over.

Knee deep in a list of mugshots, your office phone trills to break your concentration.

"You know who you've reached. Speak," your tone monotonous as you try to continue your focus on your job. Minghao is on the other end asking for an update. You frown at his voice, something that in the past rarely happened. But his comment, along with everything else that transpired between the two of you, were creeping under your skin. The reaction he had to Donghyuck was off and it was beginning to irritate you. Why did he care so much about you meeting a guy, much less a dreamy one like Hyuck? Shouldn't he be whisking away the girl he's supposedly in love with? As he continues to feed you more information, you cut him off telling him you've identified the victims and a locale parameter that the unsub is using as their hunting ground.

"Damn woman, you blow my mind." He whistles, the tone of his voice reading impressed at how fast you were able to narrow things down.

"Yeah, I'm efficient. Gotta go" You quip, not wanting to keep this conversation any longer than it needs to be.

"Whoa, whoa, that's the second time today. No fiery comment? No 'I'll show you what else I can blow'.

"Not today, Minghao." You sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Full government? What's going on?" He never called you by your full name either.

"I'm gonna tell the hot coffee shop guy no. I'm taking your advice, you were right he's probably too good to be true."

"Oh.. Um.. Well that was definitely a smart move." Adds insult to injury by saying there was probably, definitely something wrong with him. Fire starts to run through your veins.

"Huh. Guess that's why they pay you the big bucks." You snort under you breath.

"Come again?" The defensiveness in his voice ignites the fire inside you to roar.

"What was it Minghao? What tipped you off about him? I gave you an ounce of info about him and suddenly you can tell everything about him?!" You're sure that at the decibel you were screamng at, those standing out in the bullpen could hear you.

"Babygirl I-"

"No, humor me for a sec Mr. Profiler, was it how dashingly handsome he was or how interested he was in me that screamed wrong to you?"

"Wait—"

"Just because YOU wouldn't cross a crowded room to hit on me, doesn't mean that someone else— someone less frivolous and not so damn full of themselves wouldn't. You want fiery Xu? How's this: You're a fucking coward."

You slam the receiver down and the dam bursts. You call for one of the other analysts to take over your casework for the day and rush home. As you're heading out, your boss catches you and you quickly tell him to expect a call once you get home explaining why you're leaving midday in the middle of the week. The elevator ride feels like agonizing hours, your anxiety spreading itself like wildfire across your body. You thank every star above that Chan was on his break because you didn't want to face him, mostly because you didn't want to break down at the entrance of your building where you could be perceived. It's only while you're driving home, in the quiet of midday traffic, do you let yourself actually cry. The tears making stoplights and street signs blurs of reds and greens. The rest of the afternoon is spent rotting on your couch, sniffling over the man who caused your heart to splinter.

When you're sure you've cried all the water out of you, you get up to get some water. A chill has landed in your apartment and you resort to wrapping your softest blanket around you. Grabbing your blanket ends up knocking over your purse and its contents spill out onto your carpet. The whine that comes out of you mirrors a petulant child and you kneel down to gather the mess up. When you think that you've returned everything into your purse, you notice a crumpled cupsleeve from the cafe you frequent. You pick it up and head to the kitchen to throw it in the trash, but before you drop into the plastic, you notice the handwriting on the back of it. You get a closer look and see that the mess of scribble is actually Donghyuck's number.

You don't know if it's rage, revenge, or purely just needing a distraction but suddenly you're grabbing your phone and dialing the number. After three rings, the call connects and you hear his smile before his voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi Donghyuck?"

"Ah the girl whose drink matches her voice!" You smile at his words and even giggle a little. You share that work had you pre-occupied (not a lie, but not the truth). The laughter on the other end of the line gives you butterflies.

"Are you free this weekend?" you blurt out. Immediately realizing how sudden it might seem you stutter out, "To pay you b-back for coffee, of course!" Your voice squeaks at the end and you roll your eyes at how pathetic you probably look right now.

"Saturday for dinner work for you gorgeous?"

You bite your lip at the nickname, feeling like you were back in elementary school waiting for your crush to read your note. Telling him that Saturday was perfect, he affirms by telling you he'll pick you up around eight o'clock.

Saturday rolls around and you're getting ready for your date with Donghyuck, but there's a twinge of something wrong in the air. Something in your gut isn't settling well.

Everything reminded you of him.

The outfit you were wearing? The first time you'd worn the ensemble, Minghao had said that the color made your eyes shine like galaxies.

The bangle hanging off your right hand? A present from him after your first year at the BAU. "A celebration — to turning a new leaf", he said as he closed the clasp around your wrist. You unconsciously rub your fingers around the metal band surrounding your forearm. The indentation of your favorite flowers etched in intricate detail, providing a sense of familiarity and emptiness.

The color on your lips, painted the same color the night you two almost kissed. The color he said was downright sinful but made you look like you had been plucked straight from heaven.

The moisture in your eyes isn't apparent until you're staring back at your blurry reflection. The soft ambient lighting in your apartment becomes unclear in the mirror. A groan erupts from the back of your throat as you blink the tears back, not wanting to ruin the makeup you'd spent way too much time on.

You felt him everywhere and it was suffocating. It became loud and clear that your heart still beats for one person and one person only. Your heart takes over your body and you reach for your phone to cancel your plans with Donghyuck. Before you can even press the call icon, a knock on your door startles you.

He's here? Already? You could've sworn that you had agreed on 8 pm and your clock only read quarter past 7. A quick swipe of your phone confirms that there were no new messages from Hyuck. You shrug, assuming that maybe he had just decided to come early. You let out a huff, realizing that the hot guy from the cafe is probably standing outside of your apartment, minutes after you'd come to the earth shattering realization that you were still hung up on the profiler you'd been avoiding for weeks. This was going to be really awkward.

Men and their awful fucking timing.

You grab a sweater to shield yourself from the inevitable chill that opening your front door would allow in. But what awaits you on the other side of your cherry red door isn't something that your sweater could've prepared you for.

"Minghao?"

The tips of his ears and his entire nose as bright as your door. Puffs of his breath coming out in short bursts. His chest was heaving. Did he run over here?

"What are you doing here?" You're staring at him in bewilderment.

It had been a while since you had last been face to face. The last time you'd seen him was the day you told him about Donghyuck. The last time you'd actually spoken to him was during the Florida case. Where he'd unknowingly planted a hurtful comment inside of you. You'd ignored his invite to the bar the day that he returned. The tradition of movie night on Saturdays had been skipped the last couple of weekends, with whatever excuse you could come up with. It took a lot of convincing on your end, but your boss allowed you to sit out on team briefs just so you didn't have to be in the same room as Minghao. One of the things that stayed with you from your past life was the ability to determine who was walking by based only on their tread. This came in especially handy on the days that you couldn't work from home. That skill escaped you in this very moment.

Because here he is. Right outside your apartment.

You say nothing and cross your arms with an air of ignorance.

"You said I wouldn't cross a crowded room to hit on you and you're right." You roll your eyes and start to close the door but he stops it. He pushes the door back open and lets himself into your apartment. Your eyes are wide, staring at his audacity.

"I'd do more." Kicking off his boots, he stalks further into your apartment. The nerve he has to make himself familiar in your sanctuary. What infuriates you further is how devastatingly handsome he looks. Hair the color of onyx, perfectly windswept, the tips of them covered in half melted snowflakes. You can see under his black trench coat, a black ribbed tank, showing off his stupidly perfect collarbones and the small layer of sheen from what you assume is the result of him running to your place.

"What?" The look on your face is a combination of bewilderment and annoyance. Minghao across your living room, huffs out and crosses to you.

He cradles your face then presses his forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry I was a coward."

Seconds that feel like hours pass and he finally kisses you. And of course it's perfect, the kind of kiss that you dream of when kissing the person that holds your entire heart. The perfect clash of passion. The kind of kiss that leaves you wanting more. The kind that leaves the both of you panting as you pull away for air.

"God for a profiler, you were really unable to read me for the longest time."

"I don't use my skills for personal gain, babygirl."

"Maybe you should…" The lilt in your voice is teasing.

"You think so?" You flash him a grin, one that's inviting in nature.

"So… When you said you'd do more, what did that exactly entail?" You tease, fisting your hands in his tank as you pull him in for another kiss. His hands hadn't left your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as he returns your advance.

There is fire behind both of your lips, you can feel the rawness as the two of you clumsily fight for dominance. Minghao fists a hand in your hair and gently tugs, exposing your neck to him. He trails kisses down to your collarbone, each touch igniting the flame inside your stomach. He's got you pushed up against the wall, placing marks across your chest. Desire is pooling at the apex of your thighs and like moth to a flame, Minghao senses it. His free hands makes its way down your body, down to where you wanted to feel him the most. Pushing up your dress, he dreamily sighs at the sight that beholds him: red mesh underwear that leaves little to the imagination. The minx that he is skirts around your pulsing clit, the tips of his fingers flirting around your bundle of nerves through the thin layer of fabric. You whine against his lips, hips involuntarily pushing into his hand. The sound of his smile against your lips is intoxicating and the smokiness of his rasp is sinful.

"C'mon babygirl, use your words and tell me what you want."

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he weaponizes his nickname for you. You can't help but whimper when he slides your underwear to the side and makes brief contact with your clit, an unrecognizable pitch coming from you. His lips have returned to your neck and your hands find purchase in his locks.

"Fuck Minghao. Please" You beg. The lack of touch driving you to the brink of insanity. He moves his hands, but in the opposite direction of what you want. A pout forms on your lips and another whine spills past. He pulls you away from the wall and kisses you again, hands roaming, like he was mapping every part of you he wanted to devour. They stop at your ass where he grabs a handful, the groan that follows sending heat straight to your belly. In between lip locks, he lightly taps the backs of your thighs and in a low register laced with sin, commanded

"Jump."

Your body moved faster than your mind, wrapping your legs around his waist. The simple ask sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He carries you with ease to your bedroom, whose door he kicks open. You tell him this later but this very simple act of carrying you like you were weightless made you want to praise him like a god. Laying you at the edge of your bed, he stands back to drink the sight of you in. What he sees is feminine divine: your hair flowing like you were Aphrodite herself, remnants of your lipstick looking decadent on your lips, the way you're chewing on your bottom lip the very definition of sin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, completely in your head. You, the girl who was often passed over, almost always the second choice, felt the voices of doubt nipping at your skin. Even now as he towers over you, in your bedroom, you're avoiding his gaze and you can feel yourself shrinking.

"Hey, no. None of that pretty," he takes your chin in your hand and focuses your gaze on him. He kisses you, softly, waxing poetic of your beauty in between breaths. You mentally thank your past self for choosing a dress with buttons in the front as he begins to fumble with them. He doesn't get very far and out of frustration rips the front of your dress open, buttons flying in every direction. A sound of protest comes from you, but Minghao is immediately shutting you up by telling you he'll buy you another one. The other thing that shuts you up is his arms as he removes his trench coat. You'd always known his arms were thick, the lines of them defined in the button ups he'd wear to work, but seeing them bare confirmed your beliefs. The stretch of his biceps as he took his tank off making you dizzy.

There was no doubt about the hunger in his eyes as they raked down your body, the smirk forming when he realized that your bra matched your underwear. For a swift second, there's a tinge of darkness in them that chills your spine. The sound that comes from him can be described as nothing but feral when he leans over you and pushes your bra down. A mix of cold air and his warm wet mouth around your nipple makes you hiss. Your hands lock him to your chest and your hips are bucking up into him. His free hand reaches up and two fingers graze your lips and push into your open mouth. You feel Minghao smile against your chest when you swirl your tongue against his fingers. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he dances a line down to your core, sliding them through your wet folds. The sensation elicits a sound that vibrates through your chest and you buck your hips against his palm, signaling your desire. He picks up on your cue and slides two fingers into you, the sensation stinging in the best way possible.Bucking your hips up into the air with wanton need, you lay a message for him to find in your moans — keep going.

The telepathic connection you two have proves to still be fully functional as he continues his pace. Curling his long, slender fingers into a spot that makes you feel like he's bringing down the stars just for you. Warmth is spreading all over your body, the band in your core beginning to tighten up. Your breath is getting shallower, your moans are barely sounds.

"Let go for me babygirl."

"Let me feel it," He urges and you can't do anything but oblige.

The coil snaps and the pleasure is white-hot. You cry his name out as you squeeze around his fingers. The bliss you feel pushes you to drag his face up to you and capture his lips. You snake a free hand down to his pants and palm his length, a moan coming out when you feel how hard he is. Switching positions, you get yourself on top of him and grind on him to try and cure the ache in your core. He makes space between the two of you and undresses his lower half for you.

You're slightly ashamed for how you drool when his length flops up and smacks against his toned stomach, but that feeling quickly disappears. There's a split second where you pout when you take in how well endowed Minghao is. Mentally whining that he was blessed in every department, you wrap your hand around his length and you hear him grit his teeth. There's a glint in your eye as you shimmy down and take his leaking head in your mouth. It's almost automatic how his hand flies and threads into your scalp. A groan escapes him and that encourages you to take his length even deeper. This action gets him to throw his head back and in turn pulling your hair. The sting from that sends waves of heat to your core.

"Fuck pretty girl, I knew your mouth was filthy but holy fu-" He doesn't finish his sentence because you take him in fully and he hits the back of your throat. You look up at him and the way his face twists in pleasure has you sucking harder. This proves to be enjoyable for him because you feel him trying not to buck his hips up into your mouth.

"Fuck. Fuck baby, hold on. I don't-" You pull off him, a look of worry in your eyes, eyelashes wet from your actions. He instantly assures you that nothing is wrong, he just embarrassingly doesn't want to cum too early. His ears twinge pink and you giggle at him, coming back up and placing a kiss on his nose.

"You have no idea, how long…" he stops himself, but you give his hand a squeeze, telling him you understand. He kisses you lightly and before you two get lost in the heat, he pulls away then pats on your bed. Getting the hint, you climb onto your bed and wait for him. Turning over sits in front of you, drinking in the sight of you once again. There's lust in his eyes, yours too, but there's warmth behind the gaze.

Taking your left leg in his hand, he places a kiss on your ankle. The fire inside you burns brighter. Switching to your right leg, he does the same. There's hunger that radiates off him as he gets to your thigh and lands a big bite. He sucks at a spot close to where you ache for him the most. Pulling his hair in response, but he toys with you further and continues to bite and leave marks all over your thighs. He continues peppering kisses up along your body, maneuvering himself left and right, until he gets to your face where he places a soft kiss on your lips.

He reaches down to palm himself and the very real fact that the two of you are about to have sex, hits you.

"Wait, Hao," you say softly. He hums in response and you're trying to figure out how to ask for what you want without ruining the mood. In true fashion, Minghao senses your brain running wild and tilts your chin to look up at him.

"Where's your head at pretty?" He brushes your cheek with this thumb. Blushing is the name of the game and you have Olympic gold without even trying. Shyly you express that you haven't been with anyone in a while, which meant that you hadn't been on birth control. Your face is beet red as you're about to ask him for a condom, but he stops you in your tracks.

"Baby, you never have to feel weird about asking me to put on a condom," he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your forehead. He pulls back and looks straight into your eyes,

"Your comfort isn't optional. Ever."

He leans over to where he dropped his pants and fishes out a condom. He slips it on and returns to hover over you. Spreading your legs open with his knee, a sharp inhale comes from him when his eyes drop to your pussy, still glistening and pulsing from earlier. Reaching his hand down, he wraps his hand around himself and plays with your folds. Still sensitive from his fingers, you jump a bit at the contact. After a beat, he slides himself in with ease. Once he's bottomed out, you pull his face to yours to kiss him.

The two of you are a mix of groans as Minghao picks up the pace. One of his hands rolls a nipple in between his finger and thumb. The room feels hot, you feel sweat prickle at the base of your neck and the backs of your knees. Both of your hands are fisted into the sheets, toes curling at the height of pleasure he's bringing you to. You're begging him for more with your moans, you can feel your throat beginning to get sore.

When he suddenly slides out of you, you whimper at how empty you feel. The feeling only lasts for a second as he takes your left leg and throws it over his shoulder and sliding right back in. The new angle that he's fucking you with makes you dizzy with pleasure. Broken cries come out of your throat. His right hand grips your hip harshly as he pummels into you. Taking your left leg, he pulls it straight up by the calf and starts kissing your ankle again. The sensation sending fire straight to your core, prompting you to squeeze tightly around him. In reaction he lets out a low growl and nips at your ankle.

"Fuck Mingh-hao. Feels so good!" The room is filled with the noises of him slamming against your pussy and the chorus of your voices ringing out in pleasure. You know your neighbors are gonna hate you, but you quickly stop caring as Minghao continues rutting into you.

He moans against your calf in response, you feel the vibrations in your belly. The pace of his thrusts are starting to slow and you can feel that he's close. Arching your back off the bed, the angle is deeper and kisses the tip of your cervix. You know that you're gonna feel it tomorrow, but this was another thing that future you could worry about. This is Minghao's downfall as the new angle has you squeezing him tighter. Your second orgasm crashes over you and he catches the swell with the ease of a veteran surfer.

"Fu-fu-fuck, baby I'm cumming," he groans as he lets your leg go. You wrap both of your legs around his waist and cradle him as he collapses on top of you and spills into the condom. The two of you stay like this for a few moments, until Minghao slowly pulls out of you. Immediately feeling the sensitivity, you let out a small hiss as he slides out. He peppers your face with kisses to help as he slips the condom off.

After the two of you get cleaned up, you both lay under your sheets — legs tangled, your breaths matching each others, his hand drawing random shapes on your upper arm. The silence that falls over you two is comfortable, but there's something waiting to break the quiet.

"We did this totally backwards," Minghao giggles. You look up at him with wide eyes, a bit in shock with his choice of his words. Realizing that, he immediately presses a kiss to your nose to calm you.

"What I meant was that I would've at least liked to take you on a date first." It was Minghao's turn to blush. You giggle and place a soft kiss on his lips.

"We've never been the kind to go about things the typical way Hao," you quip. The smile he gives you makes your heart sing and swell. It's the type of smile that you'd spend the rest of your life preserving. The kind people fought wars for.

"That's true… In that case, wanna be my girlfriend?"

You hit his chest softly and he places his hand over yours. You kiss his hand and you know that he knows the answer to his question.

Yes.

It's a new week of work and you and Minghao walk into the building, hand in hand. Your favorite security guard makes no verbal mention of it when you walk past him, but you do not miss the giant grin plastered on his face as he hands the two of you your badges.

"You get up to anything fun this weekend?" The smugness incredibly evident on his face. You shrug, pretending to be absolutely aloof. In your periphery, you see the tips of Minghao's ears turn pink. Collecting your badges from Chan's hands, you nudge Minghao in the direction of the elevator. Once inside, you let out the laugh you'd been holding in, clutching your your sides. He looks at you like you've grown two heads. You wipe your tears and explain to him that Chan knew about the feelings you'd been harboring for the last five years.

"Chan was probably thinking 'Finally'." You shake your head, chuckling. As soon the two of you step off the elevator, you hear a shriek and suddenly you're pulled away from Minghao. You get wrapped into a tight hug by Hyeri, who sounds absolutely hysterical.

"Hi! What's this for? Don't get me wrong I quite love everything that is happening, but Ri you never hug me." She hits your arm, sniffling, warning you to not joke around.

The rest of the team surrounds you, thanking the heavens that you were alright. You and Minghao share the same questioning look. Your resident boy-genius fills you in by directing your eyes to the TV behind him. Your boss, Agent Choi Seungcheol is leading a press conference. Your eyebrows scrunch in even more confusion and then you read the byline at the bottom of the screen: "Caissa Networks sends clear message to the FBI". Hyeri finally lets you go, her eyes rimmed with red and damp. She continues scolding you for not answering any of her calls over the weekend. She rambles on about the fact that there was a threatening letter left on the doorstep of your boss' door with your name on it.

The bullpen is quiet until Dr. Jeon breaks the silence.

"What did happen to you this weekend?" You shake your head, shifting your eyes to Minghao. Neither of you talked about whether or not you were gonna tell everyone the second you came back to the office. You were both otherwise preoccupied. Before either of you can fumble through some awkward explanation, Seungcheol walks in, the poster boy for stoicism.

"Team meeting. 10 minutes," is all he says as he walks by. Like ducklings following their mother, the rest of the team tails behind him. Wonwoo narrows his eyes at the two of you before following suit. Silence falls between you and Minghao. You can hear the corners of his mouth turning up, ready to interrupt the quiet.

"So… You gonna tell the truth and say it was love at first sight?" The smugness is radiating off of him. You roll your eyes and mockingly tell him that he's not funny.

The smile on his face is annoyingly wide, but also dazzling. Not wanting to dignify him with a response, you turn on your heel and walk towards the conference room.

"C'moooon. It's a little bit funny!" He whispers into your ear.

"Pissing me off this early in the morning and in our relationship is not a smart move, Xu." You grumble quietly as you enter the conference room. Minghao's right behind you, sheepish grin as Seungcheol raises his brow at the two of you.

The rest of the meeting is spent trying to keep your focus as Minghao draws circles on your thigh underneath the table. You know it's his special way of apologizing and buttering you up. You make eye contact with Hyeri at some point and from across the table she mouths, "Girlfriend?!" referring to your comment from earlier. A look that says "I'll explain everything later" dances in your eyes and she returns a quick nod. There's a smile hidden behind your eyes, giddy at the memory of Minghao asking you to be his girlfriend.

taglist: @chogiwaw @cherrymayz @lunaxgyu @choco-scoups

“Fine. One pitch.”  “We’ll have to work on your technique! Don’t wanna embarrass yourself out there, you know. They’re a co-ed team.” 

“They have those?” Minghao yawns, stretching his arms over his head as Seokmin types on his phone, nodding. “I don’t keep up with baseball like that, sorry.” 

“No worries, I’m actually good friends with the captain of their team. Choi Seungcheol, I’ve introduced you, right? We’ve had dinner at his a couple times.” 

“I know who Seungcheol is. Great brows on that guy, I’ll say.” Minghao rolls his shoulders back, adjusting in his seat. 

“Great butt, too.” Seokmin nods again, and Minghao gives him an amused look as he reaches for his phone across the couch, “sure, Seok. Whatever you say.” 

“It is! Have you seen it? Phenomenal, I see why the Diamonds are so big on social media.”  “Or...they could just be good.”  “They are, but he’s also a cutie.” 

“You’re so funny,” Minghao chuckles, unlocking his phone to see two new messages from his manager, Boo Seungkwan, following up on the e-mail about throwing the first pitch at the last game of the season for the Daegu Diamonds. Tonguing his cheek, Minghao just shoots back a short response in the affirmative, before feeling Seokmin pat his knee.  

“Alright, I’ve confirmed. We’re going to be down there tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll book the flights and send your ticket over before noon today. Pack light, we’ll only be there three days before we’re in Japan for Tokyo Collection. You’re walking for the Cherry Jubilee spring launch, and we’re having dinner with Seungkwan and Jeonghan. Yoon Jeonghan, the designer.” Seokmin looks at Minghao pointedly, who only glances up at him with boredom. 

“Yes, I know who Jeonghan is. We’re friends.” He lolls his head back, and Seokmin shrugs, “you know so many people, Hao. I can only take the initiative and ensure that you remember them.” 

Seokmin shoves his phone in his pocket, grabbing his jacket off the chair with a click of his tongue, “I’m gonna go on a quick coffee run, but they want you in the red set first. If you need help, Seungkwan is down the hall talking to the creative director. Do you want anything? Tea? Something to nibble on? Lunch is in an hour.” 

“I’m good. You go ahead, I’ll be out of here in a bit.” 

Seokmin nods, slipping out of the room whistling something that sounds a lot like Death of a Strawberry by Dance Gavin Dance. Minghao waits until the door shuts behind him to melt into the grooves of the couch, letting the soreness of the already-long day seep into his muscles as he drums his fingertips against his phone. He stares at a water spot in the ceiling tiles, his chest heavy as he opens his phone and scrolls down through his messages. Lots of old friends from back home, a few of his fellow modeling peers, a couple designers... 

An unsaved number, with messages dating back two years.  

He can’t bring himself to delete it. 

He doesn’t remember your full name, either, and it bothers him – only remembering your face, and that you liked the Daegu Diamonds. If he scrolls up high enough, he’ll see the exchange of nude photos and videos, and his face will grow hot before he clicks off the message thread and chooses to ignore it for exactly ten minutes... 

Before going back in and staring at the thumbnail of the singular video of you together, taken on his phone on the second and last night you ever saw each other. A week after meeting at a hole-in-the-wall bar, you’d gotten a non-disclosure agreement sent to him and he’d filled it out within ten minutes – sending it back with a ticket to meet him in Osaka the next weekend. He was him, and you were you – he'd said something about not having enough time, you admitted to commitment issues...and you both settled on two nights in Japan – away from the cameras, away from any friends or family. 

Just you. 

It had been fun. Of course, it was fun – as fun as risky, messy sex with a girl he didn’t know and didn’t have to know could be. You didn’t care to know him, either – only heading straight to business the moment you both crossed the threshold of the hotel room he’d gotten for the weekend. He had a pair of white panties in his apartment from that night, pulled off you with his teeth and shoved into the pocket of his True Religion jeans – never to meet the inside of your duffel bag again – but it wasn’t enough. 

Unfortunately, you lingered in his mind at the most inopportune moments. He could be half naked in someone else’s bed and about to get down to business; when your body will flash by his eyes, enough to knock him off his game, even if just for a moment. He’ll be in meetings, and he’ll feel his skin prickle as if he can still feel the ghost of your blood red fingernails dragging down his back. He’ll be sitting at dinner, his eyes trained on the food in front of him as he sips his drink but all he can taste is you. 

It feels cynical. Like a slow form of torture, to look at those messages and know that he’s drawn a line he cannot cross. To know that if he just presses play, even just once – he'll hear every single sound he drew from you in just those fifteen minutes. He’ll see the way your body was flush against him, the way you sighed at the feeling of his lips against your burning skin. 

He’ll remember the taste of your sweat as he dragged his tongue up the slope of your neck before sinking his teeth into you – marking you for the weekend. Never to be in his arms again. 

He hasn’t watched it since the night he sent it. The temptation is there. It’s always there, just like the photos of you that he can’t bring himself to look at. 

Message From: +82 010-2015-0526  Best of luck, Minghao! See you around. (Delivered) 

Message To: +82 010-2015-0526  You too, sweetheart. (Read: 4:32 AM) 

Minghao barely unlocks the door of his condo when the warmth of the heater hits his face. He shivers, locking the door behind him and resting his forehead against the cold steel. He lets out a deep breath, shrugging his coat off as his phone buzzes in his pocket, arguably another message from Seokmin or Seungkwan, or even the most hidden person on his team — Soonyoung. A cheery, bright-eyed publicist with a knack for persuasion, carefully navigating Minghao into the oddest of situations that have skyrocketed his career. It's because of Soonyoung that Minghao is the face of so many brands, plastered all over in countries he's never even been to. At least, not yet. 

Minghao hangs his coat with no urgency, smoothing the lapels before closing the front closet door and easing his way into his home. He toes his shoes off, sliding them onto the shelf in the foyer before stretching his arms over his head and walking into his empty living room. 

Empty living room with a single lamp on, waiting for him to come home. Empty kitchen, with food packed neatly in the fridge waiting to be eaten. An empty bathroom, empty bedroom. 

Empty bed. 

He can never get too comfortable. His condo in Shanghai is the closest he gets to feeling at home – even if his apartment in Seoul has seen him the most, and his studio in Osaka is bare bones aside from a few art pieces on the walls and a singular photo of him and his parents on a desk in the corner. 

Maybe that’s loneliness. Having so much and wanting so little, but to be rich in love...he yearns for that. 

He reaches into his pocket as he sits on the edge of his recliner, tonguing his cheek as he reads the message across his screen. 

Group Message From: Unnamed Group (4 Members)  Choi Seungcheol (DD): Hey, guys! Heard from our head of SNS that you’d be coming down for a game. Are you throwing the first pitch, Minghao? We’d love to get a team photo with you! Let us know.  Lee Seokmin (Work): You’re so cute. Yeah, we’re gonna be down there this weekend, we’re flying in from Shanghai in the morning. Should we expect to drop by the Choi residence for dinner? (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )  +82 010-2015-0526: Shit, hey Seok. I asked Cheol to make the group because I broke my phone a few months ago and lost your number. I have gossip, call me when you can. Good luck this weekend! 

Minghao stills, his brows furrowing as he looks at the number again. He exits the group, quickly scrolling down his message threads before seeing the number right there. Seungcheol replies in the groupchat as he stares at the conversation between you and him – his skin prickling as he enters and exits the thread almost anxiously. 

“Shit,” he runs a hand over his face, tossing his phone onto the recliner as he gets up. He beelines for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of his refrigerator when he hears his phone continue to ping with messages. He brings the bottle to his lips, taking a poor excuse for a sip before setting it down on his countertop. 

The cold of it hurts his stomach.

He moves back to the recliner, quickly unlocking his phone and reading through new messages. Seungcheol, Seokmin, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Seokmin again... 

You. 

NEW! 2 Messages from: +82 010-2015-0526  [9:32 PM] Minghao, right?  [9:32 PM] Oh, wow...I forgot we'd made these.

He groans. 

It’s not like Minghao to particularly care about the past, but he doesn’t remember your name. Surely, if you’re affiliated with Seungcheol, you could be very well affiliated with the Daegu Diamonds. 

He nibbles on his lip for a moment as the chat bubble on your end pops up and disappears repeatedly before it dawns on him – Seokmin said that the Diamonds were a co-ed team. 

He doesn’t reply to your texts, opting to go onto the official site for the Daegu Diamonds and scour through the roster. Many faces are familiar – Lee ‘Woozi’ Jihoon, Park Jihyo, Lee ‘Dino’ Chan... 

Y/N Kim. A pitcher for the Daegu Diamonds, repping #08 on the mound. Your height, your weight, your birthday, your social media – it's all there, in color on his screen. 

He, against his better judgment, presses the Instagram icon beneath your debut date – November 9th, 2015. 

His phone redirects him to your profile. You’ve amassed millions of followers, your profile plain of any introduction aside from a cheeky photo booth strip as your profile photo and ‘#08 DD’ in your biography. You have Fire by 2NE1 linked to your profile, and there is a neat array of posts filling the screen. 

Your profile is purely...you.

Not just pictures of you, but…the embodiment of you as an art. Your style. Everything he would've assumed a curated profile surrounding you would look like.

Candid photos, photos of you and friends at dinner or simply hanging out together. He spots several shots of his own colleagues and friends – Hansol 'Vernon' Chwe, a music producer he’d met in passing at a Cherry Jubilee show six years ago; Chou Tzuyu, a designer for Lazy Baby and Kim Mingyu, a fellow model and the face of Calvin Klein (and abs, and arms, that man is beautiful.) 

Also Tzuyu’s fiancé. 

Not that anyone knew that. 

He scrolls further and further – before seeing an Osaka carousel from two years ago. The song over the post is Heart Burn by Sunmi, and he scrolls past several pictures only to stop on the second to last. 

Him. 

Well, not him.  

His jacket, the corner of one of your photos. The Osaka skyline from the hotel room is the focus, but he can see the letters on the back of his monogrammed jacket – XU MIN visible before the photo crops the rest of it out. His watch is on the windowsill, and a sliver of his back is visible on the bed.  The window was behind the bed frame, and you had to have been standing by the vanity to get that angle. 

He chews on his lip anxiously, scrolling to the next photo before seeing your fingers holding a ring up to the light at the airport. A signet ring, his signet ring with an orchid stamped in the center – one he’d lost after that trip. He clears his throat, glancing at the caption before his eyes widen. 

diamonddazed: i hope we find time for more than osaka someday. 

His tongue runs behind his teeth as he closes the app, his head hanging low between his shoulders as he lets out a sigh. His phone continues to buzz and ping in his hand, but he ignores everyone else to move to your thread with him. 

NEW! 2 Messages from: Y/N [9:34 PM] I hope this...history doesn’t hinder your ability to come see the guys this weekend. They talk about you and Seokmin all the time.  [9:34 PM] But, it would be nice to see you. Maybe we can get drinks. LMK (: 

Minghao taps his foot as he opens and closes his keyboard. He tries typing a few letters, erasing them. Tries again, deletes them.  

He opens his email instead, typing your name into the search box before seeing a copy of the non-disclosure agreement he signed. He opens it, reading along the lines of when the contract ends. Maybe he can get out of this, state personal differences. Maybe say it wasn’t good for his brand to be tied to so many things plus baseball. 

Two weeks from today. 

“That’s not soon enough,” he murmurs, closing out of the application and moving back to messages. Seokmin has texted him six times, but he doesn’t care to reply as he opens your thread again. 

Message to: Y/N [9:39 PM] Are you in Seoul right now? 

He presses his thumb to his lips, and he can almost imagine the smile spreading on your lips as his phone shows that you’ve read the message. His knee bounces as you type, only to stop when your message comes through. 

NEW! 2 Message from: Y/N [9:42 PM] [1 Attachment]  [9:42 PM] Shanghai. Fly out for the game tomorrow afternoon. 

His stomach drops as he sees the Shanghai skyline fill his screen, and he can barely see the subtle reflection of you in the window – wrapped in a white towel, the glisten of your red nails bouncing off the fabric. He glances around the photo, trying to see anything else in the reflection before another message bounces in. 

NEW! 1 Message from: Y/N [9:43 PM] I’m alone if you want to swing by. Room 1107 @ the Conrad Shanghai.  

Minghao feels stupid as he nearly falls out of his recliner, shoving his phone in his pocket as he moves back to his foyer. He shoves his shoes on, cheeks hot as he grabs his coat and pulls it on haphazardly. He barrels out his front door, not bothering to check that it has shut behind him as he beelines for the stairs. 

He feels a rush course through him as he pulls his phone back out of his pocket, stopping at the top of the stairs to type a quick message. 

Message To: Y/N [9:47 PM] Lose the towel. 

Getting past the lobby proves to be far too easy. He flashes a few quick smiles, signs a few slips of paper before he calmly steps into an elevator, knowing the Conrad like the back of his hand as he presses your floor button. He fiddles with his coat's buttons, flapping it open, before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He trills his lips, leaning against the wall of the elevator as he watches the floor counter go up. The elevator seems to sense his urgency, and it jolts to a stop on your floor.  

He slides out between the barely open doors, his eyes scanning the doors for your room number – finding it at the very end of the hall. He knocks twice, softly – adrenaline making his hands shake as he shoves them back into his pocket. 

The door opens slightly, but you’re behind the door as your hand beckons him inside. He tongues his cheek, slinking in through the gap to see you wrapped in a robe. He raises a brow at it, his fingers pinching the tie and tugging lightly. 

“Room service,” your voice is soft, “can’t be indecent, you know.” 

“Doesn’t look like room service is here, though.” He responds, nerves making his tongue feel larger than it is as you glance at his fingers still holding the tie. He rolls his eyes, wrapping it around his hand and using it to pull you closer, “you sleep with anyone else here?” 

“No.” You shake your head, your hair still slightly damp as your hands splay on his chest. His jaw is tense as he runs his eyes down the slope of your neck, across your clavicle to the small chain snug at the base of your throat. He glances up at your face, your lips smooth with lip balm and your cheeks still soft, still as supple as he remembers them.  

“Are you lying?”  “No, Minghao. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I had.”  “So, I’m just a quick fuck before you fly home?” 

You don’t reply, rolling your eyes as you press your lips to his. Your hands on your chest slide around his slender waist, pulling him closer as his hand loosens around the tie of your robe. He kisses you back carefully, pulling at the knot of the tie as your tongue slips into his mouth. The same taste that’s sat at the back of his throat for the last two years coats your tongue as he sucks on it gently, your robe falling open as he pulls away. The back of his head hits the wall lightly, making him wince as your hand immediately cards through his hair and rubs at the spot. 

“Can I touch?” He murmurs, his hands ghosting over the warmth of your skin as you nod. You move further into his space, your fingers pulling at the buckle of his belt and undoing it quickly. His hands are cautious as they shove your robe off your shoulders, the same small tattoo he'd bitten two years ago peering back at him as you pull his belt off and toss it to the side before kissing him again. Your lips are so soft against his, your hands proving desperate as you unbutton his jeans and shove his shirt out of the way to reveal the waistband of his boxers.  

“Why are you so fucking dressed up?” You mutter against his lips as your fingertips slither under his shirt, and he smiles as one of his own find the lace of your panties snug to your hips, “you don’t need all these clothes to fuck me.” 

“Believe it or not, I work, too.” He speaks between kisses, nipping at your lip with a soft growl in the back of his throat, “why do you taste like that? Did you touch yourself before I got here?” 

“I always touch myself when I think of you,”  you’re breathless as your fingers curl around his waistband, tugging uselessly. You pout as he laughs, “it’s true! I'm already halfway to getting in your pants, no need to lie. We’re all friends here.” 

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends at all, actually.” He refutes, sliding his fingers under the fabric of your panties to cup a handful of your ass. His lips press open mouthed kisses to your neck, earning him those soft, soft groans he’s had daydreams about for the last two years as he scrapes his teeth against your skin. “I don’t typically fuck my friends, much less make them sign NDAs about it. And if we were friends...” 

“You’d fuck me in your bed?” You interject, your fingertips pulling at his zipper and cupping his half-hard cock. He tries not to keen as you run a finger against him over the thin fabric, "you’d fuck me in your bed, right? Mark me up? Make me yours?” 

“Wouldn’t be my friend if you were mine.” He tugs at the ends of your hair, a quipped gasp falling from your lips as he gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “You hear me?” 

“Uh huh,” your fingertips are teasing at the waistband of his boxers, but he pulls your hand away, sliding his own back out from under your panties. He kisses the shell of your ear, your lips pouted as he squeezes your hips, “Minghao.” 

“Show me how you touched yourself,” he whispers, your lips parting slightly as he physically turns you around. “Then maybe I’ll give you what you want.” 

“Maybe?”  “Maybe.” 

“Cynical,” you huff, squealing as his fingertips land a soft smack against your ass. Your hands cover it as you scurry away, and he picks up his belt and follows, with a grin threatening to breach his lips. He doesn’t remember talking to you this much the first time (or even at the bar you met him at) but...the sound of your voice has something in it. Something...addictive. Erotic, even. 

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care to figure it out right now. 

He pulls his coat off his shoulders as you pull your robe off fully, a tattoo across the dip of your spine new to his eyes and stark against the lace of your underwear. He stops what he’s doing, his eyes running over it as you glance over your shoulder at him. 

Lucky.

“It’s new.”  “I know.” 

He doesn’t say anything else as he pulls his shirt over his head, toeing his shoes off as you move to sit on the bed. He watches the way your demeanor shifts slightly, a bit shy as your thumbs hook on the waistband of your underwear. He shakes his head, motioning for you to get on the bed, “all fours.” 

“But I—”  “Just wanna see that new tattoo, sweetheart. All fours, please.” 

You oblige, carefully sprawling yourself on the bed as he asks. He moves closer, his fingers wrapping around your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. You move easily, your back smooth in the low lighting of your hotel room as he slides his hand up it, curling his fingers around the back of your neck. Your skin litters in goosebumps as you push your hips back, meeting his lightly as he bends slightly, pressing his lips to your hip. You shiver as his teeth scrape the skin of your hip, pulling gently at the fabric of your panties and sliding them down your thighs.  

“I’m keeping these,” he says as he pulls them off entirely, shoving them in the back pocket of his jeans as you scoff. 

“Pervert.”  “You smell good. Show me.” 

He peers down between your thighs, the swell of your ass covered by his hands as he spreads the cheeks carefully. Your hand covers you immediately, the sheen of arousal spread between your inner thighs as he smirks inwardly, “I haven’t even touched you.” 

“You know I’m sensitive, shut up.” Your breathing is shaky as you drag your fingertips through your folds, spreading them lightly and circling your puffy clit. He sucks in a breath, his cock twitching beneath his boxers as your thighs slightly weaken at the stimulation. You bury your face in a pillow as you rub your clit in tight circles for him, shuddered whimpers wracking your body before you tease your hole with a finger. He leans forward slightly, enough that you can feel his breath as he drops a wad of spit on your pussy. You jolt as he presses a kiss to the curve of your ass, “come on, pretty. Make yourself cum for me.” 

Your whine rings in his ears, making him bite down on his lip as he runs his hands up and down the back of your thighs, “so pretty when you’re touching yourself, huh? Like putting on a show for me?” 

“Minghao...” your voice trails off as he watches you slip a finger in and then another, a breathy chuckle falling from his lips as he kneels behind you. He kisses the side of your foot, trailing his lips up your ankle as he watches your juices coat your fingers. He kisses up your calf, dragging his lips up your thigh as they shake. 

“So close already? Tsk,” he mocks you as he presses a kiss to the curve of your ass, then another. He switches to the other side, watching your hand still as if to stave it off before he presses a kiss to your knuckles, “can’t do it yourself?” 

“Hao,” you’re whining, your fingers slipping out to spread your pussy for him to see. He smiles inwardly as your hole clenches around nothing, begging for something in it as he sinks his teeth into the meat of your ass. You only groan, pushing your hips back as he laps his tongue over the marks of his teeth before your fingers find your clit again, tracing slow circles into it as he kisses them. He takes them into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as the taste of you coats his tongue. He presses a kiss to your fingertips before pushing your hand away, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling your cunt to his face. 

“Please, please...” your hips are pushing back, and he can’t deny you anything as he presses a tentative kiss to your clit, covering his lips in your arousal. He flattens his tongue against it, licking long, languid strokes through your folds to taste you entirely. His lips wrap around your clit carefully, sucking it into his mouth as your hand reaches back and finds his hair. Your thighs are a shaking mess as he holds onto you tighter, his cock painfully hard against his boxers and aching for release – threatening to come undone at the mere taste of you paired with your soft thank you, thank you, thank you. 

He pulls away abruptly, using his strength to flip you onto your back before diving back in. Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his head, but he doesn’t care as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers as he brings you closer to the edge. Your voice is barely audible with the flesh of your thighs pressed against his ears, your fingers tangled in his hair once more as you come undone on his tongue. 

He keeps his fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out gently as your thighs fall apart, trembling as he works you over with his tongue again.  

“H-Hao—”  “You can give me another. Just one more, then I’ll fuck you. Yeah?” 

Your legs must feel like jelly the way you spread them limply for him, your cunt covered in his spit and your cum as he slips his fingers out to smear your juices around. A soft gasp falls as he slides them back in with a coo, his lips pressing a kiss to your clit. 

“Messy,” he murmurs, biting his lip at the wet squelching sound you make around his lithe fingers. He can’t tell if you’re embarrassed or not, your hips grinding against his hand lazily as he peppers kisses across your hips. He nips at the skin, sucking soft marks as your whimpers fill the air, “greedy, too. Just taking everything I give you, huh? Such a good girl for me.” 

Your reply is too quiet for him to hear, and he pushes off his knees, trailing kisses up your soft belly as your fingers rake through his hair. He plants his free hand next to your head as he feels himself press against your inner thigh, before his tongue slides in the valley of your breasts. He kisses the flesh carefully, open-mouthed as he makes his way up your throat. Your breathing is all soft pants and bitten moans as your swollen lips are shiny with spit. Your face is flushed as he kisses up your jaw, biting your earlobe lightly and making your eyes open slightly. They’re hazy, watery as your lashes are coated with tears of pleasure as he kisses the side of your face, your pussy clamping around his fingers as his lips ghost over yours. 

“Tell me you missed me.” His mouth brushes yours as you nod silently, “nah, not like that. Tell me. Tell me you missed my cock inside you.” 

He knows it’s not the same thing, but it’s all he’s got in the moment as your eyes widen, his thumb pressing against your clit as a choked sound falls from your lips. You cant your hips up, but he stills his fingers as he sinks his teeth into your lower lip, “say it.”  

“Missed your cock inside me,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours chastely as you wrap one leg around his hip, “missed feeling you. Haven’t stopped thinking about you.” 

The admission, fake or not, makes his fingers start moving again, your eyes rolling slightly before you shut them. You kiss him again, your hand gripping the ends of his hair between your fingers as if to keep yourself grounded. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, a groan from your lips as you taste yourself all over him, your pussy clamping around his fingers at it. He smirks into your kiss, gently rutting his cock against your thigh as you coat his fingers again with a shuddered whine. 

Your hand shoves his fingers away as they circle your clit, shaking your head as you snap the waistband of his underwear against his hip, “take them off. Wanna feel you.” 

You pull his fingers into your mouth, slipping your tongue between them and collecting your juices off his skin. His eyes are glued to your lips, swollen and bitten from his teeth as his other hand cups your breast, running his thumb over your nipple and smiling inwardly at the way your back arches off the mattress lightly. Your ankle kicks his hip lightly as you pull off his fingers with a pop, and he pushes off the mattress to reach into his pocket for his wallet.  

Not a single condom in sight. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and you sit up, pointing at something on the nightstand. He glances at it – a pink pill case. Slots reading Monday through Sunday... 

“You’re clean, yeah?” You lean back on your elbows, your chest heaving slightly and your skin shiny with a layer of sweat. He nods, and you gesture at his jeans with your foot, the French tip pedicure glossy in the low light, “so take it off.” 

He wastes no time shucking off his pants and underwear in one go, hissing softly as his underwear brushes over his leaking cock. You sink your teeth into your lower lip as he wraps his hand around himself, a soft laugh slipping out as he slots himself between your legs.  

“What’s so funny?” He asks as he spreads beads of his precum through your folds, a soft breath falling from your lips as you feel his tip bump your clit. You shake your head, “nothing.” 

“Tell me.”  “...Just nice to see you so worked up over going down on me.” 

“That’s the way it should be,” he scoffs, forcing himself to focus as he grinds his cock against you, slick and messy with you all over his shaft. “God, missed this pussy.” 

“Just her?” Your voice is airy as he pulls you to the edge of the mattress, your leg resting against his body and your foot against his cheek. He presses a kiss to the side of it, his other hand spreading your thighs apart to peer at your bare cunt against him.  

“Gotta miss you to miss this, you know. One plus one.” He grinds down against you harder, brushing his lips against your ankle as he feels your hole clench around nothing, empty and wanting for him.  

“Not always the case.”  “You’ve plagued me for the last two years, shut up.” 

His voice is lacking confidence as he feels himself grow close just from the feeling of you against him, feeling his limbs slightly fuzzy as he takes his cock in his hand, his tip circling your hole carefully. 

“I won’t last very long,” he admits softly, and you tilt your hips up, his tip barely dipping inside you. He sinks in fully, his hips flush to yours as you clamp around him like a vice. A whine gets caught in his throat, annoyed at himself for being so close at the feeling of you – so wet and warm and delicious. “Shit.” 

“Fuck me,” you mewl, his hands moving to wrap around your thighs and pin you in place. He gives a roll of his hips, muffling his groan by sinking his teeth into your calf. You’re trying to move against him, but he gives a harsh thrust, hitting that spongy spot inside you and making your back arch up off the bed. Your hands trail up your body, cupping the bottom of your breasts before running your fingers over your hardened nipples. He watches you through hooded eyes, fucking his cock into you at a menacing pace that makes you whimper his name sinfully. He rests his head against your leg, kissing the skin of it as you continue to touch yourself, rolling your nipple through your fingers as his lips ache to be wrapped around them. 

He splays his hands on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart as he bends at the waist, dragging his tongue up from your navel and between your breasts before your hand finds home in his hair as he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it, shivering at how hard you clench around him, your walls fluttering as your moans fill his head. He feels like it’s swimming, intoxicated with the smell and taste of you all over him as he switches sides, scraping the neglected bud lightly with his teeth and earning a tug of your fingers in his hair, his groan covering your skin as he laps at the peak gently. 

“Want you to cum inside me,” you breathe out, “fill me up. Please.”  

He doesn’t respond, trying to stave himself off as his hips threaten to stutter. Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down slightly and he has to force himself to rip them away and pin them next to your head. He finds your lips, “can’t use your pretty nails. Have a show next week, baby.” 

You pout against his lips, kissing him slowly as he sinks lower against you, your chest flush to his. His hand slips out of yours, running between your bodies and curling around your hip as he sinks into your kiss. It’s slow and sensual, your legs wrapping around his hips and locking your ankles at the dip of his spine as his cock twitches inside you. 

“Feel so good,” his face is buried in your neck, his hand on your hip slipping between your thighs to circle your clit and make you finish before him. You’re a whining mess under him, his eyes squeezing shut as he buries himself to the hilt inside you, feeling the rush of your orgasm dripping down his thighs and soaking the mattress as he spills inside you. Your chest is heaving in tandem with his as he rocks his hips into you, working you into overstimulation as your moans grow weak. 

“S’too much,” you’re barely speaking above a whisper, and he covers your mouth with his as he stops, his hips flush to yours as he kisses you softly. You try to keep up, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close as his hands circle your knees, pushing them to your chest before carefully pulling out. He pulls away from your lips with a chaste kiss, his eyes glancing at the mess of you and him between your thighs. 

He feels his cheeks hot as he looks back up at you, an embarrassed look glazing your eyes as you clear your throat. 

“...I didn’t even say hello when I walked in.” He says suddenly, and you cover your mouth with your hand as you bite back a sound akin to a snort. He presses your knees together, “hi.” 

“Hey,” you laugh, running your hand through your hair. “It’s...nice to see you.” 

“Cut the shit,” he scoffs, and you only laugh harder as your arms cover your chest. He smiles inwardly, pressing his forehead to your knees, “I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Me either, but I’m not mad about it.” You wipe at your eyes, before scrunching your nose, “I’m gonna have to ask to get the sheets changed and they’re gonna know I got laid.” 

You cover your face with a pillow, letting out a groan of embarrassment as he laughs, “you’re an adult and you had a visitor. I’m sure they didn’t think we were just going to talk.” 

“Speaking of, you got here fast. Desperate to see me?” You lift the pillow just enough to show him the wiggle of your brows, only for him to tongue his lip and land a soft smack on your ass. You squeal, swatting his hand away as he turns his nose up, “I was taught never to keep a lady waiting.” 

“And you sure didn’t,” you tease, making him stick his tongue out at you as his hands slide down your thighs. He gives them a soft squeeze as you toss the pillow aside, stretching your arms over your head. You’re still covered with his spit and blooming nips of his teeth, “kind of a funny reunion, huh?” 

“The NDA is up in two weeks, otherwise I would’ve used it to get out of throwing that damn first pitch.” He admits, looking around before spotting a towel on the vanity. You snicker as he grabs it, carefully wiping you down. You wince here and there, before sitting up on your elbows, “there’s more towels in the bathroom, if you want to...shower before you go.” 

“I can’t promise it won’t get frisky if we’re both in there,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee. 

“Who said I was joining you?”  “The fact that you probably can’t even stand up on your own.” 

“Damn, got me there.” You sigh, his fingers massaging into the flesh of your thighs instinctively. A silence settles over you both, your eyes meeting as he smooths his palms against your skin. He squeezes carefully, "should we skip the small talk?"

You don't respond, merely spreading your knees with a quirk of your brow. He rolls his eyes, pinching your thigh gently and making you suck in a breath, "use words."

"I don't know what we are or what we're doing, if that's what you want to know," you say pointedly as he kneels back on the bed, his hands holding your knees apart as he scans your face. "I don't even know why I came to Shanghai. I don't plan ahead, I don't think twice. I just do it. I just go."

"So, you're reckless." "I'm spontaneous."

"You're full of shit," he snorts, making you smirk as you shrug, opting to lay back against the bed with your arms crossed behind your head. His hands slid up your thighs, squeezing the soft dip of your hips carefully. You shrug again, hooking a finger around the dangling silver chain and giving it a soft tug.

"I'd say I'm a spontaneous young woman with a promising career and good taste in sexual deviants," you nod slowly, and he has to bite back the smile threatening to spread on his lips as he hovers over you. He presses his lips to yours chastely, feeling the warmth flushing on your cheeks as he cups your face gently.

"Sexual deviant, huh?" "Sorry, do you prefer fuck buddy?"

"Shut up," he mutters against your lips, slotting them with his and swallowing the limp attempt at a chuckle from your throat. You card your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as you kiss him eagerly. You're just as smooth with your tongue as you were then, carefully licking into his mouth as his hand wandered down between your bodies, wrapping around his cock. You spread your thighs further for him without breaking the kiss, and he smiles against your parted lips as he slides the tip of his cock through your slick folds. "Give me one for the road."

"Let me get on top." "Whatever you want, baby."

MINGHAO DIDN'T END UP LEAVING YOUR HOTEL ROOM UNTIL AN HOUR BEFORE YOU DID.

He'd spent the entire night and most of the next day between your thighs, if not holding you flush to him in the shower and washing your hair for you. Conversations were fulfilling though limited, often interrupted by a pair of lips kissing some expanse of skin — he ignores the coil in his stomach when he thinks about the sweet taste of your lip balm fading as the night went on.

Another Monday night of parting felt…laughable, honestly. He snorted at himself as he shoved himself into the black taxi he ordered, letting you kiss him goodbye one too many times for it to just be casual. Your scent lingered on his lips, his skin, and he felt exactly the same way he did when he left Osaka before you did — six hours earlier, pressing a lingering kiss to your soft mouth and wishing you a safe flight.

He'd done the same then, but he let you get carried away. He let you pull him in again, he almost let you take his pants off again but managed to get himself together before you could. You were almost too tempting, and it made his skin prickle as you watched from your door as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He stepped into it, thankful that there wasn't an awkward wait before waving again. He heard your laugh ring out before the doors closed, and he closed his eyes, gripping the railing and taking a deep breath.

This doesn't mean anything.

Just two people blowing off steam with someone that knows what the other likes.

He knows you prefer receiving oral, you know he prefers giving it. He knows that you're not into edging, rather overstimulation, he knows that you like to be held closely afterwards. He knows you like to be kissed breathless, that you like to be bitten, nipped at, suckled on…

That you would rather be on top and control the narrative — but you know he craves that same control, grappling at the ends of his sanity the same way you do.

The spotlight is something you both share, and though in different lights…you understand each other. Flashing cameras, winded magazine articles, online criticism forums — neither of you discuss your professional lives in depth. He knows you like to dabble in drinking with friends or long nights out to distract from the giant baseball career weighing on your back, you know he disappears completely into EDM parties and recording sessions to duck out of the blinding runway lights.

There is an unspoken comfort, an unvoiced observance that gives you both the answers you seek about one another.

And yet, he still rolls his eyes when he finds himself wanting to hear your voice.

He hasn't seen you since that Monday in Shanghai. It's been a total of four days, and he made a pit-stop in Seoul before Seokmin, Seungkwan and Soonyoung hauled him to Daegu in the back of an unmarked SUV that felt suspiciously like a kidnapping — he eyed them with more suspicion as they whispered on and on within themselves before flashing him falsely reassuring smiles.

Your schedule was packed; you'd done a handful of interviews, a few features in magazines and updated your Instagram profile since. In which he saw himself, once more, riddled in the crevices of your photos. The same Shanghai skyline photo you'd taken, a few snapshots of beautifully plated dishes, you in fitting rooms and hanging out with blurred friends…

And a singular photo of you in the steamy bathroom mirror right after he'd washed your hair — clad in a loose pair of blueberry-print pajamas and a blur of his (accidentally) scratched back. You apologized for the nail marks, he just shook his head and pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your apologies and pressing you into the tile. He winced when the hot water hit his skin, your fingers squeezing his hip gently before you lathered gentle soap over the expanse of the lean muscle.

You had taken it after he kissed you for an hour until the water ran cool, wandering hands spreading soapy suds all over each other. After he'd grimaced at the bruising of his teeth littered on your skin, a mark sucked deep on your inner thigh. After he'd brushed his teeth next to you — the second toothbrush and his collection of jewelry glistening in the corner of the photo. The carousel has a soft song over top — Heart Burn by Sunmi, again.

diamonddazed: i hope i'll be home to you someday, even if shanghai is the closest i'll ever get to it.

You posted it just after he landed in Seoul at two-something in the morning, and was clambered into the SUV by his team. He stared at the photo for fifteen minutes, sat in the back of the van before closing his eyes and shamelessly double tapping the screen. He turned his phone off right after, sliding it into the cup holder and settling his neck into the travel pillow Seungkwan had slid over his shoulders.

They'd been far too awake for two in the morning.

The team kept the curtains drawn, but he couldn't sleep — opting to stare out the sunroof as dawn crept in, his eyes burning with fatigue. Seokmin typed away on his laptop next to Minghao, eyes low as they peered at the screen's low brightness. He clicked around, rubbing his face once or twice before Minghao reached over and blindly closed the laptop. Seokmin sighed, settling his rigid shoulders into the stiff leather seats.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he says softly, and Minghao peels an eye open as far as he can with a shrug, "I have a pit in my stomach."

"Tomorrow is a short day, don't worry. We'll have all day to rest up today." "When does the game happen?" "Six, but we'll be there by four to get you situated with everyone. Take some pictures, get some refreshments, maybe have one of the players help on your form. You might not care about baseball, but it's important you leave a good impression."

"I assume this was all said in that groupchat with Seungcheol?" He murmurs back, lolling his head against the seat as Seokmin nods, "and Y/N."

"I'm sorry?" "Y/N Kim. The pitcher? She's in the group."

Minghao feigns confusion, shrugging before closing his eyes. He feels his cheeks warm at the memory of your lips on his, your fingers carding through his hair with a rough tug that made him sink his teeth into the column of your throat.

"Right. Is she nice?" "Yes, very. She'll be at dinner with Seungcheol with us, but she won't be staying there like we will." "Cool, cool…anyone else I should know about?"

"Sure," he shrugs, crossing his arms on his chest. He eyes Minghao hard enough that the younger man can feel it, prompting him to look over, "mhm?"

"Jeonghan flew in." Seokmin raises a brow, and Minghao snorts, "Jeonghan? What for? We have a show."

"Because Seungcheol asked him to." "You'd think those two would have tied the knot by now." "Someone's dragging their feet and it's not Jeonghan."

"Ooh, messy," Minghao chuckles, shaking his head, "I forget they're dating at times."

"Don't we all," Seokmin stretches his legs as best as he can, wincing as soreness creeps up his thighs from the cramped seat. "I'm just hoping they'll do it sooner rather than later. Jeonghan's impatient and Seungcheol keeps pushing it back with things happening in their careers. I wouldn't be surprised if Seungcheol flew to Tokyo with us at this point."

"The more the merrier."

The rest of the ride is splattered with small talk — the weather, what does Minghao want to wear, is he comfortable staying at Seungcheol's house instead of a hotel…but none of it really registers. Minghao gives half-assed answers, bunching his blanket high on his lap when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Seokmin has dozed off, his cheek mushed against his own travel pillow as Minghao digs his phone out of his pocket.

NEW! 3 Messages from: Y/N [5:29 AM] Hiii [5:29 AM] Cheollie told me you're staying with him? Is that true? [5:29 AM] I miss you.

He bites back his smile, tonguing his lip as he quickly types a few responses out. He sends them off, pressing his thumb to his lips as he watches the read receipt pop up almost immediately.

Message To: Y/N [5:30 AM] Five in the morning, shouldn't you be in bed? [5:30 AM] Yes, we're staying with Seungcheol. I don't know why but I'm not complaining, either. [5:30 AM] And to say you miss me…feels like a lie, hm?

NEW! 3 Messages from: Y/N [5:30 AM] I am in bed, Mr. Xu. Just checking in 👀 [5:30 AM] Seungcheol invited me to dinner tomorrow after the game but I haven't given him an answer in case you don't want me there. [5:30 AM] Maybe I'm a little tipsy but I still mean it. Come see me if you want…I'd love to see you.

He can picture you sprawled on your bedsheets in those soft pajamas you like. Freshly washed hair, with the taste of soju on the tip of your tongue — he'd seen you in Mingyu's Instagram story earlier that night with Jihyo and Tzuyu, huddled over a steaming hot pot and clinking shot glasses together.

You'd looked pretty. The strap of your dress had fallen down your shoulder, and you were squished against Jihyo's smiling face with all your teeth gleaming in the flash of the camera, plump lips slick with gloss and those very same nails that dragged down his back.

Message To: Y/N [5:32 AM] And I'd love to come see you but I'm on zero sleep. I'd be of no use to your needs. [5:33 AM] But…come to dinner. Wear something pretty.

Your message comes in almost instantly.

NEW! 2 Messages From: Y/N [5:33 AM] Come see me anyway. I only live down the block from Seungcheol, you can lie and say you're getting breakfast at the convenience store across from me. [5:33 AM] Please.

Minghao chews on his lip — glancing up to the dashboard and seeing that he'll be in Seungcheol's neighborhood in less than three minutes. He doesn't think about it too much; silently transferring a shirt and pair of sleep pants into his backpack as Seokmin snores softly.

He'll make up an excuse later.

Getting out of Seungcheol's house is a lot easier than anticipated. His team was far too tired to question why he was so awake, and he helped them all settle in Seungcheol's spare rooms. Seungcheol and Jeonghan were getting tipsy on the back deck, and Minghao let them know he'd be slipping out for a second. Seungcheol glanced at him, eyes glassy as he gave him a soft smile.

"Y/N's gate code is 1-1-0-9." He sang quietly, and Minghao only feigned amusement, ruffling the older man's hair before ducking out the enormous front doors. He shoved his hands in his pockets, thankful for the chilly air that kept him alert as he made his way down to your house. You'd been telling him you'd fall asleep if he didn't get there soon — and he wonders if you've fallen asleep when he stands in front of the heavy steel gates of your home. He glances around, nibbling on his lip before flipping the gate pad open and typing in the numbers Seungcheol had teased him with.

The gates unlock with a clunk, and he slips in and shuts it with his foot. He makes sure the lock has moved back in place before glancing up, seeing you standing at the open glass doors. Your pajamas are rumpled and you're squinting in the morning sun, your hand covering your eyebrows as he makes his way up the mosaic path made of colorful stones.

"You're unbelievable," he greets, fighting back a smile as you grin brightly. You're still clearly tipsy, the sway in your stance amusing as he steadies you carefully when you reach your arms out to him. He reaches one hand back to close and lock your front door; the other carding through your hair as you hum in satisfaction, resting your chin on his chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. "Still tipsy?"

"Oh, I got hammered. I can't tell you how I'm standing right now." "On your legs." "You're really annoying."

"Yet, you begged me to come over." Minghao chides, his fingers settling on the back of your neck as you give him a deadpan look, "begged is hyperbole, Mr. Xu. Take your shoes off."

"Hyperbole, understatement…it's whatever you say, sweetheart." He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, and you do the same, puckering your lips cutely. He rolls his eyes, craning his neck to press a chaste kiss to them; the minty scent of toothpaste wafting off. You twist out of his hold, sliding your fingers in his and tugging him towards the back of the house.

The common areas say more about you than he could've ever figured — dozens, if not hundreds of photos and memories scatter the baby blue walls from crown molding to baseboards. Huge art pieces are tastefully hung around the living room, gorgeous Tiffany lamps on glossy side tables, a beautiful deep sapphire sofa set with soft throw blankets. A pair of cream pillows with golden stitching are strewn on the recliner in the corner, the coffee table exhibiting an open book with highlighter and annotations next to a journal with blue ink scrawled across the lined pages.

"This is my humble abode, you can get a tour later." You hoot, pulling him through a dimmer hallway. The walls are painted a deep cherry red behind the quilted sapele shelves of vinyls, a player atop a barely open matching credenza. If he peeked inside, he'd see even more vinyls — retired ones you no longer played until you remember that one good song, what was it? I think I have the record!

Your bedroom is nothing like what he'd expect from you. The walls are forest green, the curtains dark brown and the blinds drawn. Your bed is in the middle of the room, surrounded by stunning zebrano furniture. Your ceiling boasts a massive fan, the blades shaped like moth wings and spinning slowly. The walls are covered with baseball paraphernalia, rock music posters, a Catwoman poster next to your closet and another vinyl — Hold The Girl by Rina Sawayama, hung directly above another player.

"Do you like?" You ask, your hair still in disarray as you tilt your head. He nods slowly, "very cool. Earthy…a little dark."

"I'm gonna have a massive hangover. Gotta keep it dark for now." "Oh, no doubt babe." "Not your babe."

"True," he says pointedly, glancing down at you. You're pouting, and he coos; lithe fingers tucking your hair behind your ears. He toys with the earrings speckled about the shells, a gold hoop catching his attention as he fiddles with it, "what's with the face?"

"You didn't call." "Ahh…did you want me to?" "…Maybe. I don't know."

You shrug, toying with the strings of his sweatpants. He hums, smoothing his hand over your hair before pressing his lips to your forehead, "we can talk about this later, yeah? When you're not tipsy and I'm not about to pass out."

"We could, yeah." You agree quietly, dropping your hands from his clothes and gesturing towards the bathroom, "that way. You can change or shower, too, I set some stuff out in case you did."

"Can barely stand but is a good host. Very redeeming." "Careful, you'll fall in love with me and I don't quite feel like cleaning up that mess."

He chuckles, pinching your cheek as you swat at his hip. He makes his way to the bathroom, the door ajar as he slips in. He hears you shuffling around, likely making yourself comfortable as he flicks the light on — a soft yellow light illuminates a stone shower with a smooth bench and golden fixtures. There's a fluffy white towel on the sink, a new toothbrush laid out next to it with a small array of travel toiletries. He tongues his cheek, glancing at himself in the mirror — more pictures of you and your friends. Polaroids taken in that very bathroom tucked neatly into the corners of the mirror's frame. Mingyu, Tzuyu, Hansol, Jihyo. A bunch of other people he's met in passing — Yoo Jeongyeon (a singer-songwriter), Jeon Wonwoo (a photographer for Cherry Jubilee)…

Wen Junhui, his life-long best friend and an actor — also a model on his limited free time for Cherry Jubilee and the face of Tzuyu's Lazy Baby menswear. He raises a brow, filing the photo away in his mind as he strips to get in the shower.

He doesn't let himself think much as he goes through the motions of his routine, opting to get in quick and get out quicker. He brushes his teeth, opting to towel dry his hair so as to not wake you if you're already asleep. He glances at the pictures once more, his eyes lingering on Junhui's squished cheek with yours before flicking the light off and ducking back out.

You're curled into a ball, facing away from the bathroom but the duvet is pulled back where he assumes you want him to lay down. You stir slightly, your hand blindly reaching behind you as he slips onto the mattress. Your fingers brush his shirt, quickly bunching it in your hand as you pull him down. He bites back his smile, sinking into the bed behind you and pulling the duvet over his hips. Your hand grabs his, interlacing your fingers and holding them to your chest.

"Can I ask you something?" He murmurs, and you hum, nodding as he curls himself around you, holding himself up on his elbow. He peers down at you, biting back his smile at the way your lashes kiss your cheeks. "What's your walk-up song?"

You snort, letting out a tired laugh as you peel an eye open, raking it over his face as he leans over you. He presses his lips to your cheek, the warmth of your skin flushing against his, "it's When I Grow Up by The Pussycat Dolls."

"You've always known you'd be a big deal, huh?" "I was made for this. Now, sleep. Hold me."

He snickers, planting a kiss to your temple as you hum. Your hand is tight around his, high on your chest as he buries your face in the back of your neck, a thin necklace brushing his lips. Your skin smells of pears and lilies, an underlying powder scent filling his nose as he sighs, letting his body sag into the mattress.

He doesn't bother thinking about how he could fall in love with you.

And maybe, already has.

THE BALL PARK IS MASSIVE — MINGHAO CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE'D SEEN SOMETHING SO ARTIFICIALLY GREEN.

He's still peeking out through one of the hallways, basking in the chill of the air conditioning that will disappear the moment he steps onto the field. There's people sitting in the stands that aren't exactly customers. There's managers, photographers, even interviews happening right on the turf. Some players are dressed fully, caps set backwards and casualness drifting off their set-back shoulders — and then there's you, in black shorts and a Daegu Diamonds Training Camp t-shirt and standing at the mound.

A woman in standing in front of you but he knows its you — red nails, now trimmed short, digging into your arms as you cross them on your chest. She's got you looking up, passing a fluffy brush under your eyes before allowing you to step back from her. Your lips have that same gloss carefully glimmering under the lights, and your hair is slicked back with a sheen of gel — but he can't focus on just you as more people surround you. A taller man hands you a ball of many in his bag and a permanent marker, making you talk about one thing or another as you're scribbling your autograph on the composite leather.

"That's Y/N Kim." Seokmin's voice is suddenly in his ear, as is the slosh of the ice in a drink. Minghao glances down, seeing Seokmin holding a Daegu Diamonds Collectible cup filled to the brim with lemonade and covered with a clear lid — and a jersey draped over his arm with a matching one resting on his shoulders.

"Guess you're having the time of your life, huh?" Minghao chuckles, and Seokmin shrugs as he holds the jersey out to him. It's a crisp white with the signature powder blue and navy grey details of the Daegu Diamonds logo, and it's not sporting any of the autographs that Seokmin's is. "You earn those stripes?"

"You know it," Seokmin sips his drink, before gesturing around the park. "I spent my weekends growing up driving all around the country with my parents to see the Diamonds play. Got the shirt big so it'd fit forever. Look at me now, close with the players and with season tickets! Oh…and bringing you along!"

"Aww, you're sweet," Minghao chuckles as he rolls his eyes, carefully taking the jersey and pulling it over his shirt. He doesn't bother buttoning it, opting to look around the park from his spot in the hall, "we'll be in the audience during the game?"

"And we're having dinner with Seungcheol and Y/N before we fly out tomorrow at noon. The other teammates have plans, and a few are actually going out to Japan to see you strut your stuff," Seokmin bumps Minghao's hip with his, before the crunch of cleats and your voice traveling catches his attention.

"It was incredible! Shanghai never disappoints me," your laugh is soft as you're suddenly in front of him and Seokmin. Your eyes are wide as you feign surprise, extending your hand to him, "you must be…Minghao. I heard I was going to meet you today."

"Xu Minghao, yes. He's throwing your first pitch today!" Seokmin beams beside him, as Minghao carefully takes your hand as though he hadn't pinned it by your head only a week earlier. You gave his a soft squeeze, "you're even more ethereal in person."

"Haven't heard that one yet." Minghao smiles gently, making you roll your eyes. "Y/N Kim. I've heard a lot about…you."

"You don't know a thing about baseball." "Not nearly as much as I know about soccer." "Zero times zero is still zero, Mr. Xu."

"Sense of humor, I like her," Minghao looks over his shoulder at Seokmin. He's got that twinkle in his eye that Minghao has learned to recognize when he wants to say something he shouldn't. "Whatever you're thinking—"

"I'm not thinking anything! Y/N, beloved, teach this guy a thing or two." Seokmin pats Minghao's shoulder, before his eyes catch your hand still holding his. "You can't hold hands, rumors will fly."

"Not a baseball player and a model, what would the people say?" You pretend to be scandalized, but effectively drop Minghao's hand to hold your own to his chest. "Xu Minghao steps into the Diamond Life…pretty catchy headline."

"I'll leave you two to this…odd mating dance," Seokmin turns on his heel, and Minghao almost turns to face you before Seokmin turns once more, "oh, don't let me forget…I'll ask why you're both wrapped up in an NDA dated back two years after the game."

Your face reads like a book — and Seokmin only smiles before holding his phone up.

"Don't CC me next time!" He beams, walking backwards before turning around and calling Seungcheol's name, the captain whipping his head over to see him bounding over. Minghao gingerly reaches over and closes your mouth, his knuckle tapping your chin as a sheepish smile spreads on his lips.

"I may or may not have forgotten that my email is automatically set to do that." He says softly, and you cross your arms with what he can't discern is playful or serious disappointment. He matches your expression easily, "hey, it's no better than you soft-launching us on your Instagram! My back, my jewelry, my jacket—"

"You don't even follow me on there! How could you possibly—"

"You're involved in so many people's lives that are important to me. It's only common sense that you'd eventually make that team, too." He states firmly, and you make no move to hide the way a soft smile is spreading on your lips. "Stop."

"Aw, I'm important to you?" "Y/N." "Invite me to your show in Tokyo."

You're almost too close, your hands clasped behind your back as you bat your lashes at him. He scoffs out a laugh, cheeks warming at the proximity as he realizes people around you give absolutely zero fucks about either of you.

He could kiss you and no one would care.

He wants to. And he wants them to care and he wants to brag.

"Don't you have to go practice or something?" Minghao's voice is much less confident with you in his face, his eyes flickering down to your lips as you pout. His knees feel slightly weak, "don't do that."

"Invite me to your show, Minghao." "I already know that Jeonghan gave you a ticket on my behalf." "True…but I want to hear it from you."

He rolls his eyes, his hands finding home on your hips and pulling you slightly closer. You easily drape your arms over his shoulders, peering at him through your lashes with a shy smile, "I missed you."

"You saw me yesterday. In your bed, mind you." "Mmh…but you didn't kiss me before you left." "Didn't know our NDA required goodbye kisses."

You press your lips to his gently, his arms tightening around your waist as he nips at your lower lip, "come to my show."

"Say please and I might even let you—" "We're in public. Please come to my show and tell me I look pretty."

You only smile against his lips, "can I soft launch on Instagram again?"

"If that's what you need to do to ease me into the Diamond Life." "Come on, loser. I can't have my NDA partner embarrassing himself on the mound. Today, pitcher. Tomorrow…supermodel. What a life you live."

Minghao hadn't bothered to hide the way your thigh was thrown over his at dinner, and neither of you explained anything to Seokmin — it was easy to figure out. Seungcheol and Jeonghan had fun dissecting your vague Instagram posts, finding details of Minghao in almost any and every post — including the orchid-stamped signet ring that was in almost every single one of your posts. Minghao doesn't know how he missed it, but all he knows is that he'd really missed you.

It's been three days since the show.

You'd sat quietly, dressed in a beautiful red dress from Tzuyu's unreleased Lazy Baby Spring collection — and that same dress was featured hanging in the back of one of the photos in Minghao's latest Instagram post. Along with a snapshot (courtesy of Jeonghan) of your hand tucked into the back pocket of his jeans while the two of you roamed Tokyo, a cropped picture of your friends all crowded together in a too-small booth for a delicious dinner…

And a picture of your hands interlaced, with a new, matching orchid-stamped signet ring on his finger — all of it set to Heartburn by Sunmi.

xuminghao_o: home, no matter where we are. ↳ 💬 diamonddazed: welcome to the diamond life, lover ♡

“sweetheart,” minghao says, taking hold of your hand and helping you out of the car, “it’s really no big deal.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes. releasing minghao’s hand, you deposit your purse into his waiting palm and flounce away, across the car park and to the apartment building doors.

minghao struggles to hold back a laugh as he trails after you. “y/n. you’re not truly mad, are you?”

“of course i’m truly mad,” you huff. “you said i could pay for our date this time.” 

during the five years you’ve been dating minghao, he’s taken you on a whole variety of incredible dates. from the impromptu long weekend to paris to the days where you just go to the restaurant down the block for dinner, minghao has never failed to take care of you and always pays for your meal.

any other person would be flattered to have such a rich and devoted boyfriend. and really, you adore that about him, too.

but, well. you’re rich also. and sometimes, you want to be the one to dote on your boyfriend.

you punch in the building code unnecessarily hard and stomp through the automatic doors before minghao can catch up with you. from behind, you can hear him laughing, and it makes you whirl back around to look at him, pouting extravagantly.

“i don’t see why that’s so funny. you promised, hao,” you whine, and minghao just laughs again.

that night had been just a normal date night, nothing more than the two of you dressing up to go to that one upscale chinese place that you both love. and so, it seemed like the best day to finally start paying for your dates—if it was any big occasion, minghao would’ve definitely protested against the idea, insistent that he wanted to treat you on such a special day.

and at the time, it seemed like it would work.

minghao had smiled at you, adjusting the pearls around your neck, and agreed.

you’d felt ridiculously satisfied, excited at the fact that finally, you’d have a chance to pay for your boyfriend. but oh, how wrong you were.

“i’m sorry, angel,” minghao says now, brushing a finger over your cheek fondly before pressing the ‘up’ button for the elevator. “it just so happened that i’d already paid for our meal before we’d even got there. i didn’t want to burst your bubble by telling you so, but i guess that made it even worse, hm?”

you whine again in frustration. “hao, that’s not even a thing! you can’t pay for a meal in advance!”

“i can when i know exactly what we’re going to order,” minghao grins.

“what?! i swear, that must go against restaurant etiquette! that's actually crazy behaviour. i can't believe you did that."

the elevator arrives then, and minghao gestures for you to get in first. you do, still arguing with him over restaurant rules and whatnot. even as you do so, supposedly very upset over his behaviour, you still hold onto his arm and lean against him to take off your heels, and then pass them over to him once they’re off your aching feet.

minghao smiles amusedly, terribly smitten. 

“—going to get you back for that stunt one day, xu minghao,” you say, stabbing an accusing finger into his shoulder. “gonna book out the entire restaurant. no, wait, the entire street! we’re going to venice one day, and i’m going to close down a whole road for us only. just you wait.”

the elevator doors open with a ding, and he trails behind as you continue talking, dreaming up big plans on how to treat your boyfriend sometime in the future.

it’s devastatingly endearing. he knows it was maybe a tiny, tiny bit mean to advance-pay the bill tonight, but in his defence, he does that most nights anyway. plus, he likes seeing how pouty you get over it, knowing you're not actually upset, but still insisting you are because you can pay for your own meals, without minghao's card, thank you very much.

and you very much can—he hasn’t run the numbers in a while, but he’s pretty sure you’re richer than him right now—but he likes paying for you. likes taking care of you like this.

he inputs the keycode to the apartment, chuckling as you continue to rant.

“okay, alright,” he finally concedes, opening the door and letting you enter first, taking off your wool coat for you and hanging it up by the door. “in which case, how about a compromise? i pay for our ordinary dates like these, and you can pay for special occasions.”

your eyes light up at his words. “wait, really?”

minghao laughs. “yes, really.” he puts your purse on the dresser by the door, your shoes in the shoe cupboard and then takes off his own. “except for valentine’s day, white day, our anniversary, and your birthday. i’ll be paying for those.”

“what?” you complain. “hao, you’re leaving me with nothing!”

“you can pay for my birthday.”

“come on, that’s a given. i would do that anyway.”

you’re giving him those big, sad eyes again, and minghao can’t help but smile even wider. lord, you’re just so pretty and you love him so much and he’s never been more grateful for that because he loves you so much too.

“well,” he says, pretending to think, “we don’t have an engagement or wedding anniversary yet. so if those things ever happen… then maybe…”

your eyes widen, little sparkles appearing in your irises even as your entire face softens, gentle and hopeful. “you’re… you want to marry me?”

minghao can’t take this anymore. he walks over, takes your face in his hands and kisses you, once. and then again, deeper, softer, for good measure. just to get his point across.

“of course,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away. “i love you.”

you lean in and peck him on the lips once more. “i love you too,” you say, and then pull away so he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes. “hey. if i propose to you, then i’ll definitely get to pay for every engagement anniversary we have, right?”

minghao laughs, pulling you back into his embrace. “sure, sweetheart. that’s only if you propose to me first, however.”

“are you trying to start a proposal race, minghao?”

“maybe. will you join in, y/n?”

you laugh, looping your arms behind his neck and bringing his face close to yours again. “oh, it’s on.”

minghao isn’t usually the clingy one in your relationship, but he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off of you all day.

he’s never been the type to publicly show off his affection, always preferring whispered words and touches in private. those are the things that mean the most to him, you always thought. but as soon as you heard the words “you may now kiss the bride” at the altar he was suddenly pulling you in and kissing you harder than ever before, the warmth of his lips melting into yours. in that moment everything else melted away, too; the dying sunlight, the rustle of the wind in the palm trees, the clapping and cheering of your friends and family behind you.

even after you’d changed out of your long white gown into a shorter, more comfortable party dress for the reception, his hand had stayed on your thigh the entire time. food was served, guests came to greet you at your table, and all the while there was his warmth on your skin, only letting go so you could make your way to the dance floor. persistent, offering the reassurance you need that he'll always be by your side. although tonight, you're not sure if you're the one who needs it most, or if it's him.

and then your first dance. his hands were just a little too tight on your waist, his lips lingering just a little too long against your cheek as he held you close.

“baby, what’s gotten into you?” you giggle breathlessly as he pushes you against the wall of your honeymoon suite, not-so-quietly slamming the door shut with his foot.

“you,” he breathes, and you’re surprised at the way his voice comes out deep and raspy. “you… are so fucking beautiful. and now you’re my wife.” he gives you a glance up and down, a look you're used to by now, but this time it seems so much more special than usual. maybe it's the way his eyes pause on your hand, the glittering new ring that shines there. maybe it's the reverent way he watches you begin to undress for him, slipping the straps off your shoulders one by one, trying so hard to contain himself and not ruin this moment. it's been an exhausting few months, and it's a relief now that everything is finally over. “ … my wife.”

no. that's not right, it suddenly hits him. everything's not over. it's only just beginning.

with that realization he snaps into action. his hands are everywhere, holding your sides and sliding down to your ass, then sliding back up to your shoulder blades. he holds you tight then loosens his grip, as if his brain is short circuiting at the fact that you're finally completely alone for the rest of the night, a night that's been so eagerly-awaited for song that he's almost hesitant in fear of messing it up. but he can't hesitate, not now. not when he's finally got you.

in all the years you've known him you don't think he's ever kissed you this passionately, this intensely, this hungrily. you've barely walked through the goddamn door and he's acting like it's the last night he'll ever get to see you. but really, it's the first of many.

you wrap your arms around him and try to keep up, hugging him as tight as you can and chasing his lips. you're fighting your hardest to keep your knees from buckling, and even with your back pressed against the wall for support it's not enough to extinguish the fire that's alight inside your chest. minghao kisses you like he's trying to steal the air from your lungs while simultaneously breathing life into you, like he needs to remind every cell and molecule in your body of how much he loves you.

he pulls away only once he feels himself start to go lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, or maybe he's just lightheaded in general because you're finally, officially his. but even that short break doesn't last long, allowing himself only a few precious seconds to breathe before he reattaches his lips on your jaw and starts kissing down your neck.

your eyelashes flutter as he moves down, his breath tickling your throat as he presses his face into your skin while he lets out heavy breaths through his nose. there's that warmth again; the heat of his eagerness, every hot exhale filled with life that he breathes only for you.

he pushes his nose into the corner of your neck and shoulder, inhaling the memories of the day. the fading scent of your perfume fills his nose as he kisses against your collarbone, reminding him of everything that led him to this moment. 

he tries to imagine how you looked getting ready in the morning, a past that already seems lifetimes away. he pictures you slipping on your dress while friends and stylists crowd around you, talking and giggling as they fix your hair and your makeup to make you look as perfect as possible — though to him, you already are. he wishes he could’ve seen that moment, had it not been for stupid tradition. he's usually a fan of traditions, but not this one. every second he spends away from you is agony, but it's worth it a million times over for what he gets to experience right now, the excitement, the anticipation, and now, the payoff.

he vaguely remembers the cake, the dancing, the music, the applause, the toasts. all of it is still a blur, a rush of emotions he hasn't quite had time to sit with yet. maybe tomorrow, or in a few days, or even a few years, it'll sink in. maybe he's stuck in the honeymoon phase and this, too, will fade over time. but somehow he knows it won't. 

what he remembers as clear as day are the vows he said to you at the altar, and every single word is something he'll never forget as long as he lives. he remembers vividly the way you walked towards him, almost in slow motion, gliding down the aisle straight out of a dream. he didn't think he'd cry; he's never one to get emotional in front of people, and you've rehearsed this day together more than a few times. but then suddenly there you were standing in front of him, holding his hands and looking up into his eyes, and he had to fight to keep himself from getting choked up at the sight of you, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

he kisses your neck again and moans, out loud and unabashed, like he's been holding it in all day. in all honesty, he has. he isn't the type to be jealous, either, but he would be lying if he said letting you go to dance with other people after the ceremony wasn't one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. he never wants to leave your side, never again.

minghao knows he isn't normally a desperate man. but tonight it's like he's become a brand new man; a man who needs you so badly, more than he's ever needed anything before in his life. he needs to touch you, kiss you, hold you, please you, do everything that he possibly can with you, for you. 

“h-hao?” 

you let out a breathy gasp of his name and it finally gets his attention. his eyes find yours in an instant, silently pleading with you to tell him what you want. he needs to give you whatever you want.

“we can— do you… baby, there's a bed,” you finally settle on, trying to straighten out all the words that are jumbled in your head as you motion across the room. he's still got you caged against the wall, barely a step away from the door.

that finally seems to snap him out of his daze, and the familiar understanding you're used to seeing flashes across his eyes. so caught up in his eagerness he almost forgot the most important thing: that you're here too, with your own needs and wants, and you're probably feeling exactly the same things he's feeling. he's got to remind himself that this is as much of a new thing for you as it is for him, too.

so he nods, kissing you again and forcing himself to slow down. there's no rush, no need to do everything all at once immediately. he has all night with you, and several other nights with you after tonight, and then after that, the whole rest of your lives. for a few fleeting days he gets to be here with you: no interruptions, no commitments, and no responsibilities. just you and him. he wants every second of your time, and he wants to give you every second of his.

he sweeps you up into his arms and whisks you around before laying you gently on the bed behind him, his cheeks rosy and his smile soft. and for the second time today, the whole world melts away, leaving just you. just you, and him.

his hands hold your hips tightly as he drags his lips across your stomach, pressing kisses all over your body. he lifts his eyes to meet yours as he kneels between your legs, and his long fingers dig into your sides when you whimpers softly for him. he could truly spend hours here, coaxing moans from your beautiful lips and working you up into a perfect state of bliss.

and that's exactly what he does. he fills you with air and then leaves you breathless, cleansing waves washing over you again and again until you forget what it was ever like to be with him before this. it's different but not noticeably so; it's a familiar feeling lingering in the back of your mind, but the memories are so much brighter now, as if the colors have been restored and remastered like an old, well-loved movie. everything comes easier now, a routine you'll never get bored of, and the feeling of fitting together is more natural than anything you've ever felt in your entire life.

long after your bodies have become a sweaty mess and half the sheets are on the floor, he slips away from the bed to tug on a pair of boxers from his suitcase, bringing your swim cover-up back with him for you to wear like a robe. all you have the energy to do is shrug it onto your shoulders, the fabric twisted and folded and barely covering anything, but you can't find it in you to care.

the night is so warm and you're so comfortable, lying practically naked curled up against minghao's body. you let out a long, deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs in a calming rhythm. in, out, in, out. he moves to sit up a little, adjusting his position against the mountain of pillows on the bed, but you catch him with a hand on his thigh and he pauses, his attention returning to you in the blink of an eye.

“stay with me, will you?” you hum out softly, letting your thumb rub languidly along the hem of his shorts as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“wouldn't wanna be anywhere else, my love.”

you open your eyes a while later, and you're only a little surprised to see that minghao is still awake. as promised he didn't leave your side, still sitting up in bed with your head resting on his lap. his gaze is fixed on the open back door, quietly watching the waves crashing on the shore. you’re not sure how long you’ve been napping, but however long it's been he doesn’t seem to mind.

you pull yourself up onto your elbows and his head instantly swivels to look down at your motion. your muscles ache, but it's a satisfying sort of soreness, one that you don't mind if it lingers for a little while. you manage to sit up all the way, leaning your head against his bicep, and he adjusts ever so slightly to make it more comfortable for you.

“wanna go for a walk?” you finally break the silence, your thumb gently brushing against his arm. if it were any other day than today, he would've teased you and questioned if you even had the ability to walk anymore, but both of you can tell this isn't the moment for that. not after everything you did, everything you said, everything you shared.

he doesn't reply, only nods and carefully slips off the bed, holding out his hand to help you after him. it's impossible to miss the way he squeezes your hand so gently, lacing your fingers together and leading you out the back door.

the ocean comes right up to the backyard of the house, so you decide to forego shoes and walk straight out into the sand. the town is quiet at night, and for a view this beautiful and private you know it must've cost minghao a fortune. but he refused to tell you the price, insisting that since you planned the wedding he was in charge of the honeymoon, his gift to you. to him, you’re worth more than anything money could buy, but that doesn’t mean he won’t spend all of his on you.

there's a log a little ways from the shore, close enough to see the glint of the moonlight on the water but far enough to avoid the waves. it's an old piece of driftwood filed smooth by the wind and weather, soft enough to sit on without splintering, and it crosses your mind to wonder how many couples this log has seen throughout the years, in the same position as you. how many people have come to this beach, sat in this spot under the dim light of the moon, filled with so much love and joy and hope for the future.

you sit down and gently tug on his hand, still entwined with yours, to pull him down beside you. there's no way of telling what time it is, but it's clearly late. you didn't leave the reception until everyone was too tired to party any longer, and then the hour's drive up the coast, plus however long you slept for. it's probably some early hour of the morning, but time is nothing more than a fleeting thought in the back of your mind at this point. time doesn't feel real here; counting the hours would be a waste of precious seconds you could spend on him instead.

“i don't want this night to end,” minghao says softly, as if he's reading your thoughts. he's staring off at the water again, mesmerized by the foamy waves rushing up the sand and the reflection of the moon that makes the surface of it almost seem to glow.

it's odd, to see him so vulnerable like this. it's unlike him, but that's exactly how you know it means so much to him. if he didn't care so much, he wouldn't have held you the way he did, kissing you and worshipping you like you're the only thing he's ever known. he wouldn't be acting so unusual if you didn't turn his world completely upside down every time you kissed him back. if you meant less to him then maybe he'd be able to collect himself the way he always does, a calm demeanor and a knowing smile assuaging your own nerves. but he can't. not today.

you can tell that it's finally starting to sink in for him now. how different things are, and yet they're still exactly the same. the rings and the expensive clothes and the fancy venue are just for show. a distraction, almost, from the real reason why you're here with him right now. at the end of the day he would still be fine without all that, but you? you're the one thing he never wants to be without. and now, he's realizing, he never has to be.

if you didn't know him so well, you'd think he was melancholy or even insecure, but as the silence stretches on you can tell what he really means. you know his words aren't regretful of a night ended, they're in anticipation of the day that's about to begin. many, many more days and nights he'll get to share with you. perhaps not as intense or special as tonight, but still filled with just as much passion and love.

“it will end, eventually. soon.” you say. it's still night but by now the moon is just barely hovering over the horizon, waiting patiently to take its reprieve and let the dawn break forth into morning instead. he knows it's a fact, there's no use trying to pretend otherwise. but that doesn't make it a bad thing. it just makes it a fact. your voice is soft, clear as the night sky. “you and i aren't going to, though.”

he finally looks over to meet your gaze, and even in near-darkness you can read his expression.

he's quiet for a long moment, just sitting and watching. watching the wind blowing through your hair, watching the moonlight illuminating your face, watching the sand sticking to your legs as you pull your knees up to your chest.

“i love you,” he says, so quietly that it almost gets swallowed up by the crashing sounds of the waves.

but you hear him, and you can tell he means it so sincerely. maybe even more sincerely than when he whispered it earlier to you as he was putting the ring on your finger, because this moment is private. in the stillness of the night, in the seclusion of the beach, where it's for you and only you. not to say that all the times he said it in front of your friends and family and guests weren't sincere, but this time is personal; a moment that no one else gets to witness but you. and that's exactly how you want it.

you sigh. it's another soft sound, barely audible over the wind, but you know he hears you, too. he always hears you, and you always hear him.

“i love you, too.”

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you weren’t exactly expecting minghao to suggest the aquarium for a date. it wasn’t like him to pick something like that or at least that’s what you thought until he hit you with the classic “i want good lighting for the inevitable photos where you pretend you’re not staring at me.” you almost rolled your eyes, but okay, that was fair.

he met you outside the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair still damp from the rain. he was smiling before you even reached him. one of those lazy, sideways smiles that looked like he knew something you didn’t. he didn’t say anything at first. just looked you up and down and nodded like okay. cool. she showed up. you rolled your eyes. he laughed.

inside, the light turned everything blue. it reflected off the glass tanks and rippled across his face when he leaned in to read the little signs, pretending to be more interested in the fish than he actually was.

"you think they’re on a date too?" he said at one point, pointing to two jellyfish drifting suspiciously close to each other. "you think they’re in a situationship" you corrected. "true..." he nodded, dead serious. "classic avoidant behavior."

you didn’t know what was weirder: the fact that minghao had picked the most romantic possible location and still managed to make it sarcastic or the way he kept hovering close. his shoulder brushing yours. the warmth of his arm when he let you loop your hand through it without a word. he never did that before, not like this. not without an offhand "ugh, you’re clingy" to deflect the fact that he was always the one standing too close.

but today, he didn’t pull away. he didn’t even try to be funny about it.

you caught him looking at you once, near the tank with the sea otters. you were squatting down to get a better view, probably saying something dumb like “why do they hold hands, that’s so cute”, and when you turned to look at him, he didn’t even flinch. just kept looking, like this was something he’d been doing for a while and only now got caught.

he smiled. not the usual teasing one. a quieter one. a little softer.

“what?” you asked.

he shrugged. “nothing. you just look really into this otter romance.”

you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stood up and walked away, heart doing things it definitely should not be doing on a date that may or may not have been real.

you ended up in the gift shop because of course you did. and of course he bought you a stupid plush keychain of a stingray that he claimed “looks like your resting face.” you told him he was annoying and he just said “i know” and paid anyway.

the sun was going down when you left. the sky was pink and the pavement still wet and you didn’t even notice that you were still holding onto his arm until he stopped walking.

“you know this means we’re dating now, right?” he said casually.

you blinked at him. “what?”

“this. today. me choosing the most coupley location possible. buying you a gift. not roasting you the entire time, even though you wore socks with holes in them...”

you smacked his arm. “you weren’t supposed to notice that.”

he laughed. “i notice everything. i’ve been screening all your crushes for years, you just never asked.”

you stared at him. he stared back. no smile now, just something very real in his eyes.

“look” he said, voice dropping just enough. “i meant what i said. i’m the best option. and i like you. so unless you’re planning on fighting me about it…”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. your fingers found his, and he squeezed your hand like he’d been waiting for that confirmation all day.

“yeah” he said. “thought so.”

he walked you home after that. didn’t even let go.