#secretsanta2019

You smile softly, though your eyes are dancing around the store. “Nobody blames you, Mister Kim. All serial killers like to have a calling card. At the end of the day, they want credit and attention for their crimes, they want to show off what they’ve done. Deep down, they want to get caught, and it’s my job to use these candles as my path to the killer. To make him face justice for what he’s done.”

Namjoon tips his head, dark locks shifting across his brow. “You’re referring to the serial killer as a he. Do you have a suspect?”

Your eyes dart back to him, ducking your head with a rueful smile. “Force of habit, I’m afraid. Statistically, it probably is a male due to the brutality of the murders, though we’re definitely not ruling out a female yet. We...still don’t have any leads, really.” We have jack shit, you think to yourself, no fucking clue. Coughing lightly to clear your throat, you scratch at your collarbone where the freshly cut lanyard of your ID rests. “If you have any in stock, I’d love to get a closer look at those candles, Mister Kim. The ones from the scenes have been taken into the forensics lab for re-inspection so I’m unable to get my hands on them.”

He seems mildly surprised, eyebrows lifting behind thick black frames. “Oh! Of course,” he sits up and sucks in his stomach to wiggle around the edge of the desk, only pausing once he reaches the doorway to the store floor. “Wait. I don’t actually know what scents they were. I think they might have told me, but I don’t recall…”

You nod shortly and lean back in your chair to free your front jeans pocket, reaching in for your small notepad, flicking a few pages back. Standing up, you join him. “Ah, let’s see… Spring Day, Blue Side, Autumn Outside the Post Office, and Winter Bear. Are they still in stock?”

He hums in consideration, ducking through the low doorway to peruse the aisles. It’s a narrow store, narrow but relatively deep, with two long aisles running down the centre, rows upon rows of candles on every available surface. Towards the front, there are small, tiered tables with layers of gift boxes, and he beelines towards them, sifting through. “Now,” he murmurs under his breath, “those are seasonal candles, so our best bet would be…. Here!” He draws out a squarish cream box with gold detailing. Behind a layer of clear plastic are four mini glass candles, and he lifts up a leg to balance the box on as he delicately pulls off the sticky round tab at one end, pulling out the sleeve inside. “The Four Seasons gift box. I don’t know if your killer used the full size or gift size candles, but these are all I have left. We have a full range every season, and on holidays too, but these are the big sellers so I put them together for our combo deals.” He passes them over to you, using the back of a finger to push his glasses back up his nose. “He has good taste; they’re great candles.”

You glance at him sharply. “He murdered four people. That we know of.”

He cringes at himself. “Sorry, I… I just meant I, uh, I recommend these a lot, sell them a lot. If he bought them off me, I wouldn’t be able to pick him apart in a crowd. It’s hard to keep crack of faces, especially before special holidays. That’s all.”

You drop your gaze to the cardboard sleeve, heavy with the four glass jars. “This is only three of them,” you reply. “Spring Day, Blue Side, the autumn one… this has Serendipity as the winter scent.”

He pouts in surprise. “Oh! Sorry about that. Serendipity is a nice one too. Smells like Christmas cookies.”

“I need Winter Bear,” you remind firmly, though not unkindly. You see the faraway look in his eyes, like he’s recalling the scent, smelling it in his mind, and you understand just how much this craft means to him.

“Of course,” he laughs sheepishly, “come with me. You’re in luck; we only just last week released our full winter range. It’s to the front.”

“That’s interesting,” you muse, mind whirring as you follow him. “So that means our guy must have been in here recently.”

Namjoon stops short, almost causing you to walk into his back. He continues after a shocked pause. “That’s a really good point, I didn’t think of that.” He sends you a dazzling smile, eyes soft. “You’re really good.”

You try to stay professional and neutral, but you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face with a breathy laugh. “Thank you. But maybe save the praise until after I got the guy. You got security cameras?”

“Oh, of course, can’t be too careful!” He deftly plucks a full-size, heavy hulk of a jar from the main display, holding it in his wide palms. His smile freezes, falters, falls. “Well, that is, uh… I have a camera in the office out back and a camera over the front door. So we could pull the records and see everyone that’s come of left, but we wouldn’t be able to see what they got inside the bag.”

You suppress the bubbling of irritation in your chest with a strained smile. “Can’t be too careful,” you repeat with a sour undertone of sarcasm lacing your voice.

He looks put out for a moment, staring silently down at the large glass jar, a milk chocolate-shade of wax poured inside with a thin layer of christmassy red on top. His thumb swipes slowly over the paper label pasted across the front, and shakes his head like he’s breaking a fog. Smiling again, his eyes crinkle warmly behind his glasses. “Winter Bear,” he announces, “here; smell it.”

You wait patiently for him to open the lid, tugging against the friction of the rubber seal, before he holds the wide opening up to your face. You raise an eyebrow, and delicately edge your nose closer to take a sniff. Immediately, your mouth drops open and your eyes widen.

The smell comes in stages, every sniff a brand new experience. First is a hit of cocoa, rich and lush, with a slight complexity that you can’t put your finger on. The smell warms, richens, and finally as you exhale the final hit of tartness lights your senses. You have the sudden urge to reach out and grab his hand as he begins to pull away, the want to hold it closer so you could inhale further, but he lowers his hand and presses the glass lid back into place. Your nostrils flare when they return to the vague honeyed scent of the store, which seems still comforting but so dull compared to that candle.

“That’s incredible,” you admit, “what is that, chocolate and raspberry?”

“Cranberry,” he corrects, a fingertip dragging along the outside of the thick glass, outlining the red layer on the surface. “It’s chocolate, brown sugar, a bit of spiced vanilla, and then that cranberry to round it out a bit, something to cut through the richer scents.”

“And you make these yourself?” you question, eyeing up the sleeve of four smaller jars you were still holding, wondering at what point would be a good time to open them.

He cracks a crooked smile, a dimple poking out of one cheek. “I certainly do! If you’d like to, sometime I could show you my little workshop where I make all these.”

You return the smile, although your eyebrows are knitted in confusion as you turn to look around the store. “I thought it was just the store floor and your office in this building.”

“It is,” he clarifies, delicately removing one of the candles from the box you’re holding, looking over the label as he speaks. “My workshop is at my house. I live about twenty minutes outside of town, a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Seemed a shame to use all that space just on me, so I repurposed some rooms so that I could store more ingredients and melt more wax at a time.”

“Ah,” you say lamely as he cracks open the Blue Side candle, lifting it to his own nose. Your eyes, slightly lidded, stare deeply at the bright ocean blue candle wax. You squint at the label, though it’s behind his tanned fingers and you can’t get a good read. You wait, almost in a trance, for him to stop sniffing and offer it to you.

When he sees you staring, he laughs quietly, a soft puff of air in the otherwise-silent room, and hands it over. Instead of taking it, you rest your hand on his lightly and pull it closer, leaning in. This one’s refreshing, like a summer day on some island, fruity, floral and bright. Your fingers tighten around his unconsciously as your eyes flutter shut for just a moment, inhaling deeply. He coughs, interrupting your refreshing sniff of the candle, and you remove your hand from his hastily, standing back upright with a light pink stain high on your cheeks.

“What scents are in there? It’s very, um, light,” you stutter, cursing the divine scents for scrambling your thoughts.

Namjoon corks it up again and takes the sleeve off of you to replace it. “Some aloe vera and lily of the valley, but mainly its lotus blossom and melon. You like it?”

That’s an understatement. “How do you even come up with these combinations?” Without giving him a chance to answer, you reach out and pop out the spring fragrance, pressing the open jar right up to your nose as he speaks.

His eyes dance at your enthusiasm, and his tongue slips out the corner of his mouth to swipe across and wet his lips. “Half of it is experimenting,” he shrugs, waiting patiently for you to finish huffing Spring Day.

You reluctantly pause your sniffing to look up at him. “And the other half?”

“Trawling through the entire Yankee Candle website.”

You snort, hand jerking in surprise and causing the lip of the glass to bang against your top teeth, pinching your lip painfully. You squeak and pull it away frantically, pushing the little glass lid back on like it’s personally offended you, handing it to Namjoon to put away.

The owner sends you a bemused smirk and returns it to its rightful place in front of the summer fragrance. “I know they smell good enough to eat, but you’re not actually supposed to,” he jibes. “Spring Day is especially delicious though, I must admit. Peach, white tea, freesia and some rosewood for that darker note baseline.”

You nurse your sore lip with your tongue, hoping it doesn’t look too flirty. Or perhaps secretly hoping it does. “I might as well complete the set, then,” you remark, dropping eye contact to take a try of the autumn scent.

“This one’s a heavier scent,” he explains, “Autumn Outside the Post Office is all about those fall fruits and trees. Pomegranate, maple leaf, some juniper berry and orange blossom. This was one of the first seasonal scents I attempted, a good four-ish years ago when I opened, and it’s still going strong.”

A weird, invisible curtain falls, or a coin drops, or a string is cut. Whatever it is, that heady entrancement in the scents vanishes the moment you put that last one back. You feel your face muscles drooping, eyes turning gloomy. “Did the DI tell you what actually happened to those people?”

Namjoon doesn’t need to ask what you mean by ‘those people’. His smile falls, and he sets the sleeve of four candles down on the winter display, pushing aside some white, candy-stripe, and festive red candles to the side as he does so. Morosely, he shakes his head. “All I know is that my candles were found near the scenes. Does the guy just, I don’t know, have a sensitive nose?”

Your eyes are distant, unseeing. You shake your head. “The-” Your voice fails you; unsteady. No matter how many years you have been in this line of work, the sheer grimness of it all never left you. “The murders were very clearly inspired by the scents. That last one, Autumn Outside the Post Office?” You take a deep breath, reaching into your satchel, pulling out a manila folder with several glossy photographs. Handing them over, you watch the disgust, shock, and misery play out on his face. “A postal worker. Clocked out forty minutes before he should’ve. Poor timing, I guess. He was knocked out via a blow to the head with some unclear blunt weapon, probably metal, and maple leaves were shoved down his throat. He suffocated to death just metres away from the staff exit out back.”

The candle shop owner’s voice is soft, almost inaudible. “Oh my god.”

You barrel forth. “That was the third one. The very first murder was originally written off as an accident. A banker who often spent his work breaks in the peach orchard down the street from his workplace was poisoned by the cyanide found in peach stones. One of his colleagues noted it was odd that he didn’t come back to his office after lunch even though he left a candle burning on his desk.”

“Spring Day,” he murmurs, flicking over to the following photo.

“Spring Day,” you confirm. “The next wasn’t for another three months. A lifeguard drowned in the community pool after hours-”

“The lifeguard drowned?”

“He had been let go from his job for arriving to multiple shifts under the influence of alcohol, and that night when he went to collect his belongings after closing, he fell in the pool and drowned. Reports showed a slow-acting tranquilizers in his system. That same drug was found in his apartment, injected into the cut up melons and pineapple slices in his fridge. He must’ve eaten before he left or something, cameras showed him stumbling around too close to the edge of the pool when he got to work, and… well. Authorities were alerted when a smoke alarm went off in the early hours of the morning. A candle from your store was found burning next to a small fire that had been lit inside a metal trash can.”

“Jesus. All three had my candles there?”

“All four,” you correct, “I noticed the connection after the fourth murder.” He’s reached the bottom of the pile of photographs now, his face washed out. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him, but he needed to know that there were real consequences at play here. You see a flash of red in the picture just below the one he’s currently looking at, and hastily take the stack back off him. There were some things he shouldn’t have to see. “The Winter Bear candle. We’ve managed to keep the gory details from the public, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the head of Gingco Corporate.”

“The business mogul? I thought she passed away at home?”

“She was found slashed up in the bear enclosure at the zoo just outside the main town centre.”

He narrows his brows, black frames slipping down his nose again. “Wasn’t Gingco buying that zoo? It was all over the news.”

“They wanted to demolish it and build a mall, yes. It seems our killer didn’t like that so much. She died from bleeding out. Multiple cuts, in rows to look like bear claws although forensics tell us it was actually a switchblade. Dropped in the bear enclosure post-mortem.”

Namjoon wavers on his feet slightly. “And the candle?”

“On one of the picnic tables facing the enclosure. Burnt down to the wick, so it had been there for a while. Longer than she had been dead, actually. That’s when I started to think it was premeditated. That’s when I began to connect the dots.”

He lets out a shuddering exhale, hand on his sternum, rubbing in a self-soothing pattern. “I don’t understand what my candles have to do with any of this. I just give them interesting names, I don’t…”

“This isn’t your fault, Mister Kim,” you assure, slipping the manila folder back in your bag. “It’s good news, actually. It means that all we need to do is keep an eye on your customers and see if any suspicion people frequent the store. Which is where I come in. My higher-ups suspect the killer might get spooked if you install security cameras inside the store, so we want to avoid chasing him or her away from our one lead. I’ve offered to pose as an employee to keep an eye on things myself.”

“Y- what? I usually work here alone…”

“And now you won’t be.” You reach out your right hand for a handshake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mister Kim. I’m confident that we’ll catch this son of a bitch in no time.”

His eyebrows lift at your curse word, but he finds himself nodding instinctively. “Okay, yeah, I can- we can do that. I just need to make you a name tag. Let’s go to my office.”

“This is gonna be easy,” you promise, bottom lip resting on the edge of a takeaway paper cup, inhaling the steam that rises through the thinning layer of foam. “You have so few customers that statistically the next one is probably the murderer.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be suffering the same boredom as you. “Oh, it’s not that bad! It’s always slow on a Thursday morning.”

“It’s been slow every morning.”

“Well.” Namjoon sips at his water, eyebrow twitching. “It’s not slow in the afternoons.”

You place your cup down with a thud. “You close in the afternoons.”

He stares at you blankly. “...yes, but that’s just because I’m so busy back home in the workshop making more candles. Anyway, we get more customers on the weekend, just wait and see.”

You can’t keep a stern face, softening at the way his eyes glimmer behind thick glasses. “You still haven’t shown me your workshop.”

“Seems a little forward to already be asking my beautiful coworker to come home with me.”

Blushing, you shake your head and pull up a hand to cover the cheek closest to him. “Very funny,” you deflect, “I bet you just don’t want any girl cooties in your mancave.”

He lets out a loud peal of laughter, one that’s harmonised with the jingle of the overhead doorbell as a customer enters, slipping in and cutting Namjoon short. You curse the timing, wishing you could hear that joyful sound again.

“Hi there, you need any help today, or just browsing?”

Instead of replying, the elder lady simply nods at him and shuffles slowly down the room, going to the ‘florals’ section on the left wall, birdlike posture hunched under several layered cardigans.

Namjoon lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s old Mrs. Chin, she wouldn’t hear a gun if it was shot beside her ear.” His face falls, furrowing his brows. “Poor choice of metaphor. She’s deaf as a bat; anyway, she always comes in to buy a new set of tealights each week.”

“Tealights?” you question in a considering tone, finger lazily running up and down the metal hoops of your spiral bound notepad.

He spots this, and gently rests his palm over your hand, halting your absentminded movement. “If anything tells you she’s not a suspect, it shouldn’t be the tealights, it should be the fact that she’s in her nineties.”

You scoff at yourself, staring at the way his hand dwarfs yours, your wrist peeking out past his thumb. “Case closed!” you announce, putting on a TV-news producer voice. “The Wickerman has been taken into custody, and you won’t believe who it is!”

He chuckles warmly, eyes crinkling, and squeezes your hand once before removing it. As Mrs. Chin comes up with a set of six frangipani and gardenia tealights (Jamais Vu, the eggshell-white packaging says), Namjoon rings it through, chatting away to her like they’re old friends, like she can hear him. Even as she fails to hear what he’s saying, she beams, thanking him profusely as she accepts a receipt and her purchase with slightly shaky, age spotted hands.

She turns, slowly making her way down towards the exit. You reluctantly take your hand off the table, the top of it cold after being let go. “You’re really good with people, you know?”

He shrugs. “She’s a very kind person. Treats me like a grandson even though she sees me once a week at most.” Once she leaves, the door jingling again behind her, Namjoon checks the time. “Just about 1pm; that’s us done for the day. Do you mind getting the door? I’ll go take the cash till out back.”

As you stand to go lock the door and switch the hanging sign to CLOSED like you’d done every day this week with Namjoon, you feel fingers wrap around your wrist.

He looks up at you, still sitting. His eyes search your face, hand tightening on you subconsciously. “Today,” he says softly, reverentially.

You furrow your brows. “Today...?”

He swallows. “Come over to my house. I can show you the workshop. I’m in the last stages of planning a new scent, and I want you to try it.”

You fight the urge to pull back your arm slightly, just enough to that his fingers slip between yours instead of on your wrist. You smile softly and nod. “Today.”

Instead of driving your car behind him, you end up taking him in your passenger seat, him pointing out directions at the last second as every last detail of his surroundings distracted him. As it turned out, he didn’t have a licence, and would simply bike back and forth most days, hiring a moving truck to transport candles to the store once weekly.

It worked out well, the two of you enjoying amiable silence for the most part, the drive only about twenty minutes up a slight incline, becoming gravel roads in the last couple of minutes, winding around sectioned farmland and wind turbine plants, before pulling up a long driveway, wheels crunching the loose stone and coming to a stop in front of a rustic but sturdy-looking farmhouse, complete with a swing seat on the porch, and sills of yellow and pink flowers underneath the windows.

“This way,” he guides the moment you turn the key to switch the car off. Following him as he hops out and scuffles energetically down the side of the house, you hastily lock your car and race to catch up.

Instead of the front door, he takes you to the back, unlocking it with an old-fashioned heavy iron key. It’s equally cosy inside as it looks from the driveway, though the carpet is worn thin and the light he switches on is a little wan. As he takes you down through a small laundry and into what you expect to be a garage, you marvel as he shows you inside.

Clearly all his money has gone into his business. While the rest of the house is homely and humble, his workshop looks like a romanticist version of a mad scientist’s lab. Custom-made shelves that reach the wall display mason jars of every type of ground spice, flower, essential oil and concentrate that you could imagine. From vibrant red freeze-dried raspberry to warm brown nutmeg to the deep purple of pressed violet petals, he had it all. Two full walls were taken up this way; a third was for boxes of finished product, as well as stacks of the empty glasses he poured them in, bundles and bundles of wicks in wooden cases, and rolls of black paper stickers, ready to be stamped with the newest creation.

Directly beside the doorway you came in was a desk teeming with papers and plans, above which a corkboard is hammered into the wall, countless scraps of paper and scrawled phone numbers and dates. It’s chaos, but beautiful chaos.

“Wow…” you breathe, unable to put into words just how magical it is. Even the smell is like nothing you’ve experienced before. Not overpowering, but certainly full-bodied, it’s based in the rich, slightly caramel scent of soy and beeswax, but every sniff, every inhale, is a different shade made up from all the components. Some moments it’s fruity, from a tiny leftover beaker on his desk that has dried wax caked onto a glass stirrer and a delicate wafting of sweet lemon and the tartness of raspberries. As he leads you towards a wide bench of scattered bowls, measuring cups and portable stovetops, you uncover lighter floral scents, heady wood tones, and sensual spices, a harmony that’s addictive the longer you smell it.

“I apologise for the mess,” you hear his soft voice cut in, his hands filling your vision as they group together tools and open mason jars in some semblance of tidiness. “I don’t usually have guests.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, still overcome with the entrancing nature of the room. “It’s amazing, honestly. Which one of these is the one you said you were almost finished with?”

His face lights up, pulling his glasses off and resting them on a spare spot on the bench, blinking as his eyes adjust. He reaches for a somewhat smaller bowl, about as tall as a coffee mug and a little wider, and wiggles it back and forth in his hand with a flick of his wrist, disturbing the viscous, deep purple syrup inside. “Here,” he offers up, “tell me what you think.”

Taking a hold of the glass bowl but preventing yourself from sniffing at it just yet, you gesture at his face. “Ditching the glasses?”

“Hm?” He pats his face dumbly for a moment before his eyes glimmer in recognition. You can see them a lot better without the frames’ obstruction, and you want to melt at the rich brown of them, slightly slanted but widened with enthusiasm as his cheeks pinken. “Oh! No, I just… I read on the internet that if you take away one of your senses the others get better. So I thought- I thought maybe if I couldn’t see so well, I’d be able to smell better. It’s stupid, really, but I think it’s helped so far. I’ve always been a little prone to placebo, maybe.”

You grin. “It’s cute.” He laughs shyly, ducking his head to rub at his heated cheeks. You take mercy on him (and give in to your own temptation), bringing the glass mixing bowl to your nose and breathing in deeply, stopping short when the relaxing, nostalgic scent of lavender fills your nose. Not just lavender, though. There’s plenty of comforting notes that you can’t quite put your finger on, ones that give complexity to this concoction. You hold it with both hands, sniffing audibly. “Namjoon, this is incredible!”

The conversation moving back to something he’s confident discussing, he looks back up at you with a broad smile. “Isn’t it? I’ve been trying to get a lavender scent ever since I opened, and I just couldn’t find the right balance. Everything was too sickly sweet, or smelt like soap or my grandparents’ house. But just in the last couple of days, I was struck with inspiration. Instead of going for more florals or light scents, I used ylang ylang oil and tonka absolute to darken and round out the smell. Makes it less like hospital disinfectant and more like comfort. You like it?”

You smile softly, voice bouncing weirdly as you keep your face directed towards the purple syrup. “Mm, comfort. That’s totally it. It reminds me of like, in the holidays when you have nothing to do so you have a bubble bath at 4 o’clock in the afternoon and it just feels like life is peaceful and perfect and you have all the time in the world.” You let out a deep breath. “What are you gonna call it?”

He has an unreadable look in his eyes. The tiniest quirk to his lips, the softest smile. “4 O’clock,” he answers.

The friendly, dimpled customer-service smile stays on Namjoon’s face long after the door jingles, the group of high school girls tittering away down the street. While he’s distracted tidying up the supplies for gift-wrapping, you let your eyes wander over him shamelessly.

Most of the time, when you spoke to him or thought about him, he was this soft, gentle man with a goofy smile and glimmering eyes. And while that was true, it was only in moments like these that you realised just how large he was. His tender demeanour often had you forgetting his tall frame, broad shoulders and strong hands. It was a juxtaposition that endeared you to know end; the corded body that rested under unassuming sweater vests and plain trousers. But at the same time, all that strength was channeled into his craft; the ease at which he’d lift crates of glass candles wasn’t lost on you, but he’d just sheepishly smile and say you get used to it.

Surely he didn’t have the thickest chest you’ve ever seen just by stocking a candle shop? There was so much you still didn’t know about him, and while your job was focussing on the serial killer, not your temporary coworker, you can’t help that weird bothered feeling in your chest.

Your eyes wander around the inside of the checkout desk. It’s organised chaos, with printed receipts mixed with fresh rolls mixed with notepaper on one end, haphazard piles of business cards and loyalty cards in the middle tucked behind the cash register, and three drawers filled with samples, returns, and stationery to the right.

Hearing him come back and place two fresh cups of tea on the countertop, you reach out to pluck a business card from the top pile. It’s classic off-white with warm bronze lettering embossed on it. You note with humour at the long list of roles between Namjoon’s name and contact details. Owner, creator, manufacturer, manager, storeperson. On the flip side is the friendly, manuscript letting, same as the sign above the door. Moni’s Candle Shop.

“What is Moni?” you question absentmindedly, only half-aware you’re speaking aloud.

“Moni,” Namjoon murmurs from behind you, correcting your pronunciation on the first vowel. “It’s nothing.”

You turn to him with a doubtful smile, eyes teasing. “Oh, come on, it’s your entire brand! It can’t be nothing.”

“Yes, it can,” he defends with a pout, blowing away the steam that emanates from his cup. “Just like FILA is a random word.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “FILA is an acronym. It’s like, the name of the company in French or something.”

He sets his tea down delicately, without having taken a single sip. “Yeah, well, maybe Moni is an acronym.”

“What does it stand for then?”

He turns up his nose petulantly. “I don’t want to tell you.”

You raise your eyebrows dubiously. “Because you don’t have one.”

“I do,” he counters, eyes darting upwards. “It stands for...Mmmmany Objects N-need...Interest.”

You can’t hold your unimpressed stare for more than a few seconds, breaking into a bout of laughter, reaching out to punch him lightly on the arm. “You’re such a dork,” you make out, though your grin certainly removes any bite from your words.

He lets you shove him, smiling down at you fondly. Your laughter slowly fades as he waits for you to finish, eyes crinkling and dimples showing.

“What?” you murmur, cursing how quiet your voice has become, a strange fluttering in your chest making your breath weak.

Namjoon rubs the base of his neck self-consciously. “Moni was my childhood dog. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so he really meant a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, Namjoon…” Now that you think about it, even though he’s charming and charismatic to his customers, you’d never seen or even heard him mention any friends or family. Plus he was the only worker in the whole business, if the impressive resume on his business card was anything to go by.

He laughs, eyes shining. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a charity case,” he teases warmly. “I’m happy. I’m happy now.”

You curse your overactive heart for reading too much into his words. This is a job. Stay professional. Forcing a stabilising breath into your lungs, you nod. “That’s good.”

His smile turns strained, but you only see it for a moment before his attention is caught by the jingling of a bell, a middle-aged gentleman in a business suit, rushing towards the counter even as he loudly chatters away on his phone.

“I’m happy now too,” you admit softly, letting your words be swallowed up. Namjoon’s eyes dart to you with an unreadable look, but he turns back. You don’t think he heard you.

After three days of working beside Kim Namjoon, he names a candle after you. After a week and a half, you begin to realise you have a crush on him.

After two weeks and one day, there’s a fifth murder.

It twists your heart, to see the red and blue flashing lights flooding the windows to Moni’s Candle Shop, illuminating Namjoon’s face and reflecting off his glasses as he squints and holds up a hand to protect his eyes.

You’re the first to get out of the car, rushing over. The sign is twisted to CLOSED as Namjoon exits; with a coat on and a shoulder bag, he looks like he was on his way out. Good timing, you suppose.

He’s too frazzled to greet you, hair already disheveled from running his hands through it nervously. “What’s going on, Y/n?”

“Silver Spoon,” you rush out, “who bought Silver Spoon?”

“Huh?”

You sigh and push past him, opening the front door and cringing at the ring of the overhead bell, once for you and a second time as he follows closely behind. “There’s been another one,” you explain bitterly, “I need you to write down a list of all the customers you can remember that bought Silver Spoon.”

Namjoon lets out a shuddering breath. “God, okay, um…” You watch impatiently as he searches behind the desk for a scrap of paper, settling on the back of a receipt as he scribbles, eyes lifting skywards every time he has to try and think.

“Is there anyone that you remember that’s bought the other candles too?”

“I- I don’t know, just let me write th-”

“Well, think, Namjoon, people are getting murdered!” You’re too heated to pay attention to the crack in your voice, though he pauses and looks up with furrowed brows.

He hands over the receipt with eyes, dark with hurt. “You think I don’t know that? You were the one that was here this whole time to try and find the guy. So tell me, Y/n; did you notice anyone strange buying Silver Spoon?”

Your eyes prickle. Maybe that’s why your blood is boiling now, as you stare at the shop owner across from you. No, you didn’t. You were too busy enjoying your time with him, too busy marveling at the warmth he exuded with his customers and his craft, too busy falling for him. You swallow the rising lump of self-hatred at the back of your throat. “Thank you for the names, Mister Kim. I’ll be in touch.”

His face changes, wounded puppy-like eyes replaced with concern in a fraction of a second. “Y/n, are you-?”

“Have a nice day.” You’re out of the door and back in your car before tears of frustration slip down your cheeks.

Namjoon fidgets in the corner of your vision. It would irritate you, only you’re determined to ignore him completely as much as possible for the sake of your job. You keep your head low, focussed on your work, trying to find links between the locations, the motives, the choice of candles, anything.

“So, you won’t even look at me now? All because I couldn’t write down all the names.”

You exhale, staying silent for a moment as you finish your scrawl, refusing to look up even as you reply. “I’m not looking at you because I’m trying to do my job.”

“You were doing your job earlier. You looked at me then.”

You feel your spine stiffen. “And then somebody got stabbed to death by a tree branch.”

He baulks, visibly flinching even out of the corner of your eye. “Cypress or birch?”

You sit up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s your fucking question? Silver birch. It was a snapped-off branch of silver birch. She was found in the forest about 20 k north of here.”

“She?”

You throw your pen down and sit back in your chair. “Im Jee-hwa,” you spit out. “I trust you to keep your mouth shout because the Im family certainly don’t want it getting out, but she was the fifth victim.”

Namjoon frowns. “The chaebol? Last I heard, she was in jail.”

You shrug. “Last night, she got bailed out by her father and spent the night at their family residence. According to various witnesses of relatives and staff, she left before ten in the morning and was discovered less than two hours later by a hiker. Stabbed to death with a broken off branch - no prints, of course - and a silver spoon lodged in her throat, deep enough to damage her vocal chords.”

Namjoon’s hand rises up to his neck, wincing in sympathetic ache. “God, and she was only in her early twenties.”

“Twenty-two,” you specify glumly. “God, the poor girl. Who knew being in jail for tax evasion wasn’t the worst part of her week?” You lean forward, rubbing your face tiredly. “Nobody apart from the residence staff, some of the Im Corporation partners and Im’s family knew about her release the night before. Silver lining is that we can narrow our suspect down to that pool of individuals. Bad news is that her mother estimates it at around eighty to one hundred people because of the likelihood of the news spreading amongst more of the Im Corporation’s workers overnight. Miss Jee-hwa was quite the hot topic, it seems.”

“Jesus.” Namjoon pauses for a bit, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Still, I don’t see why this means you need to ignore me completely. Wouldn’t it be better if we worked together?”

You turn your head again, breaking away from his hopeful eyes. Even just seeing his hand resting on the table beside yours, fingers flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, makes your heart tug in ways you just can’t afford to indulge in. “We’re going to have to create a promotion. Something irresistible that inspires all the customers coming through that door to sign up their name and contact details.”

His voice is lost. “Y/n?”

“While I try and find the connection, and the tech team start pulling background checks on everyone at the house and the Corporation headquarters that night, we’re going to keep track officially of every single person who purchases a candle. Hopefully we can track somebody down before another incident, but if not… There’s no way we won’t be able to find our guy if we compare your list, the people that knew about Jee-hwa, and the customers from now on. There’s no way,” you reiterate, unsure whether it’s you or him you’re trying to convince.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Namjoon agrees. “I usually run a Christmas competition anyway. I’ll whip up a sign-up sheet. Let’s hope they use their real na… Y/n?”

The use of your name brings you back, and you turn to him, eyes wide. “Tax evasion,” you profess in a hush.

“Sorry?”

“Tax evasion. Im Jee-hwa had all the money in the world, and she was still selfish. Our killer put a silver spoon her throat, just like that old insult about rich people born with a silver spoon on their tongues. Yes, it’s like the candle, but it’s some sort of… of sick irony that relates to the victim.”

His eyes are wide, brows poking over the top of his thick frames. “He’s playing god.”

“He’s playing the judge and jury,” you correct. “Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.”

Namjoon hunches over your shoulder as you begin to flip through the pages of your file, going through the details of the previous murders. “Do the others fit?”

You squint. “Some. The drunk lifeguard being drowned, for instance. But I bet if we went digging in their personal lives a little more, we’d find links. The candles aren’t just the method, they’re the motive. Give me a second, I need to call my superior and get the investigators on this."

"O-Okay, I'll sort out the Christmas stuff," Namjoon hurries out, standing as you do.

You're already dialling when his hand comes into your line of vision, gently wrapping around your forearm and squeezing reassuringly.

"We'll get him, Y/n," Namjoon promises, "you're an amazing detective."

You soften, flicking him an appreciative smile as you raise the phone to your ear, but your heart sinks. Maybe that's not enough.

Things return to the way they are, for a while. With every name you write down, every candle you sell (far more than the previous weeks as Christmas grows nearer day by day), and every suspect your investigation team crosses off the list, you loosen up, feeling more positive.

Nothing stops the dread you feel checking your phone every morning, and there's nothing better than the overwhelming relief you feel when there hasn't been news. It's illogical, you know; if there was another murder, your superiors wouldn't hesitate to wake you. Part of the gig. But still, it was nice to clear your notifications and breathe easy for a few moments.

Namjoon was doing good on his end of the deal, persuading all the customers to sign up for the Christmas prize pack, no matter how reluctant, and you siphoned photocopies off to the investigators, adding to the backlog more background checks to run and alibis to clear.

"God," you groan, stretching out your limbs with a guttural noise that morphs into a wide yawn. "So busy yesterday, and suddenly it's dead quiet. How can it be this slow on a Saturday?"

"It's a Sunday."

"Is it?" You consult your phone with another groan. "Fuck, I'm reaching the drop-off point."

"The what?"

You let out a tired smile at Namjoon's comical look of confusion. "The drop-off point," you repeat. "It's something my friends and I came up with in school. Apparently, most cases go cold right when the police or detectives or whoever get compliant and lazy, thinking they have a perfect net placed out. They're convinced that they'll catch the sucker, so they sit back and wait, only for a hole to form right under their noses and the suspect to get away. That's the drop-off point. Aren't you bored?"

"Hm?"

"Bored. We think, 'oh, we just need to keep writing down names and we'll get 'em.' But maybe we're so focussed on writing names that we're missing something really obvious that we'll regret for years to come. Don't you think?"

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, letting it sink in for a moment. "I think you're worrying yourself over nothing. This whole time our first major in was that the person is a customer. They can't have bought all the candles at once; not only would I probably remember someone coming in and ordering five or so specific candles, but some of the later candles weren't even released when the first murder happened. So we know for a fact they're coming back to get candles multiple times. And nobody has left here with a candle without writing their full name and contact details down, so we're fine. You're fine."

You stare at Namjoon for a few moments, eyes roaming over his face. The dimple that's emerged with his soft smile, the warmth of his eyes and the earnestness in his expression. Your heart aches at the sight, mouth filling with a million things you wish you could say to him. "Thank you," you settle on. "I needed that."

His smile widens, and his mouth opens to reply, but instead of his caramel voice, you're greeted with the metallic buzz of your phone vibrating on the desk.

"Fuck," you interrupt, snatching it off the counter and feeling your good mood sour with dread at the ID. You answer it with a worried frown, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Please don't tell me there's been another," you ask of your superior.

The line is silent for a moment. "We need you down here, Y/n. Bring any names you have so far. The gap between has shortened yet again; he's getting impatient. Or addicted. Desperate, perhaps, if he thinks we're onto him. Either way, you better have something. I'll see you at the station."

Your stomach turns when the line goes dead.

Namjoon's hand rests on your shoulder, but you have to shake it off to stand and reach for your coat. He takes it back, flexing it awkwardly. "There's been another," he says, more of a statement than a question.

"The drop-off point," you confirm bitterly, "he's slipped through the net yet again. I was careful this time; not a single person that seemed out of place, or with odd behavior. Nothing."

"Hey," Namjoon soothes, eyebrows knitting in worry as a customer enters, a young child in a school uniform and backpack, preventing him from saying any details. "It's okay. You have the names now, it's time to compare them and like you said last week, there's no way we won't be able to narrow it down. You've got this."

A headache forming between your temples, you grab the clipboard of Christmas prize signups, and leave out the back, glancing behind you at Namjoon's tensed form as he puts on a smile for the young customer.

"It's him, it's fucking him, I know it," you rush out as you hustle down the corridor, your boss pacing to keep up.

"Are you one hundred percent certain?" Kim Seokjin, the man you'd been reporting to on this case, halts you with an arm across your chest. "We haven't finished going through the other suspects. There could be others that match better. We don't even know that he knew all of the victims."

"It's him," you promise, eyes bright with conviction. "Cha Giho. In-house chef at the Im residence. So he knew Jee-hwa was out. And he frequented the shop, I sent Namjoon a text of his ID photo and Namjoon recognised him as a regular."

Seokjin's face twists in disapproval. "Jesus Christ, Y/n, you can't do that, it's private information. Besides; you said you remember speaking with him. You didn't get any serial killer vibes?"

"I didn't speak with him; Namjoon did. I was just with him at the desk. He wanted Namjoon to recommend a candle for a forest getaway, Jin, it's fucking him!"

Seokjin sighs out slowly, eyes closing for a moment to maintain composure. "Okay. I'll go with your gut on this one, Y/n, but only because I trust you. We'll go to his place tonight and take him in for questioning on suspicion of multiple murders. If you're wrong on this, Y/n-"

"I'm not wrong," you promise, "I'm not." Your face softens, staring up at the man that you had developed a close working relationship with over the past few years. The man you had begun to see as a personal hero, or an older brother. "Jin. Thank you for trusting me on this. Keep me posted."

"Of course." He pulls you into a brief but tight hug, pressing a kiss to your hairline, and pulling you back by your shoulders to hold you at arm's length, staring intensely. "Now listen to me. You go home and you stay home. Lock the doors, bolt them, everything. On the odd chance that he's not at home or that he finds out we've singled him out, I don't want him to freak out and go against his own sick brand of justice and seek out revenge instead. The last thing we want is a dangerous man like him becoming spontaneous. Understood?"

You nod. "Understood."

He doesn't let go. "And don't be stupid and go track down Mister Candlestick Maker either. We've given him a call to lock up and go home, he's safe. Please; be selfish for me and stay home and stay safe."

You pout playfully for a moment, but sober up when his expression doesn't changes. "You too, Jin. Send the SWAT team. I need you alive to bother me."

He scoffs, but his eyes twinkle with fondness, and maybe a little teary sentiment. "Okay, kid, off you go, I have a suspect to detain."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"What are you doing here?" "Being stupid," you answer through the crack in the door, "now let me in."

Namjoon sighs, shutting the door to remove the chain and opens it back up again, ushering you inside with a cautious look outside after you. Closing it securely behind him, he turns to you. "Why are you here?"

You push past him, grabbing his woolly sweater by the sleeve to pull him after you. "I saw you burn yourself with your own candle wax last week because you wanted to read the label on the base right after you poured it. There's a serial killer on the loose, I don't trust you to keep yourself safe." "Thanks," he says flatly as you sit him down on his plushy couch, standing beside, knees almost touching his. "To be fair, there's been a serial killer on the loose this whole time."

"All going well, he gets detained and know we found him out. All going poorly, he manages to evade the authorities and goes on the run, knowing we found him out. I don't like those odds."

"Don't you have faith in your own colleagues?"

You whirl around with a glare, arms crossed tightly. "Aren't I allowed to be scared for you?" you ask in a small yet biting voice, hating the way it trembles. "Can't you just let me take care of you? Keep you safe?"

He nods slowly. "Sit down," he instructs gently. He waits until you do as he says. "Now," he begins, "what's really bothering you? There's something else going on here and both you and I know it."

You purse your lips, tucking your legs up, resting your chin on your knees and wrapping your arm around them. "Crystal Snow."

"Sorry?"

"I never told you," you answer, though deep inside you know full well this isn't what he meant, "I never told you what candle the last murder was based off. It was Crystal Snow."

He clears his throat lightly, eyes dull as you dodge his true question. "That's Christmas release candle just like Silver Spoon. Another woody one, too. Pine needles, fir, white musk, rosemary and cedar. Hard to get it totally white with those ingredients, but... That's beside the point. Was it in a forest again? I know we have pine trees in the area."

You shake your head numbly, only just noticing the warm fireplace to the left of the couch when it crackles. Somehow, you hadn't felt any of its warmth since arriving. "Father of two young children. Found by the older one that morning when he went outside to play in the snow. His father was buried in it, frozen. His head and shoulders were stuffed into a kennel."

"A kennel?"

"It's from their dog. Wife says it wasn't used anymore. The victim used to always make the dog sleep outside in the kennel, but it wasn't properly insulated. Just got back from the vets after getting pneumonia last week."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "At least we've got him now, Y/n. It's over." He stands up suddenly, and you look up at him. "Do you want a cup of tea or something?" he offers. "Now that you're here, I'd rather you not go back outside, so we might as well get comfortable."

You try to push your worries from your mind, simply giving him a soft smile. "Tea sounds nice, thank you."

As you listen to him tinker away in the kitchen, you shuffle further across the couch in the direction of the fireplace, occupying the space he left warm. There's a window to the left, and you rub your forearms through the fabric of your long-sleeved top, looking outside as flakes of snow pile against the sill, partially blocking your view of the white abyss beyond, vaguely hilly like the terrain of Namjoon's backyard. If nothing else, it's much more peaceful here than at your place. More quiet.

You straighten up suddenly, a shiver running up your spine. Too quiet.

You jump up, rushing into the kitchen and feeling dread shock your system like a splash of cold water when it's empty. Surely he didn't leave a door unlocked... "Namjoon?"

"Yeah?"

You jump at the voice behind you. "Fuck, Namjoon, where were you?"

He stands in a now-open doorway, one hand behind his back as the other grips the doorknob. "In the workshop," he answers, jerking his chin back to gesture the room itself behind him, adjoining to the kitchen.

You sag in relief, but frown a little. "I don't remember coming through the kitchen last time."

"Two entrances," he explains. "This actually used to be a walk-in pantry but I knocked down the doors so there was some extra space." He shakes his head as if he's clearing it, then coughs lightly, eyes focussing in on yours intensely. "Y/n, I have something I want to give you-"

"A heart attack," you interrupt, smacking his chest. "Seriously, Namjoon, you disappeared and I thought something had happened!"

He smiles widely, and you fight to stop from instinctively returning it. "You really do, huh?"

Your face crumples in confusion. "I do what?"

"Care for me," he finishes in a touched voice, brown eyes soft like butter. "I...I thought so for a while, but I never..." He clears his throat again, and whips his hand out from behind his back so quickly you jump, brandishing a glass jar. "Here," he declares, "I made this for you."

You look down in wonder, seeing a familiar shade of purple fill the glass. "Namjoon..."

"4 O'Clock. The lavender candle. Years, and I couldn't perfect it. And then you came along and I found myself thinking about you every minute of every day and it just... it just came to me thanks to you. Everything just makes sense now. I finally mixed the scent with the wax, and I want you to have the first one."

You let him place it in your hands, and you look down at it, stunned. Your thumb runs over the paper sticker, pressed with a stamp. Just three lines, in varyingly sized font.

"So?" Namjoon takes a deep breath, eyes brimming with emotion, with affection and hope. "I kept telling myself I was being delusional, or just convincing myself and seeing what wasn't really there, but after today... You really care for me. And I care for you too, so much, Y/n. I've totally fallen for you."

You swallow thickly, delicately setting the unlit candle down on the kitchen counter beside you.

Namjoon's face falls, his whole body deflates, brows knitted in confusion. "Y/n?"

You can't bear to hear the hurt in his voice. "Namjoon..." you breathe, chanting it like a prayer. Perhaps in some ways, it is. A plea for salvation. Namjoon. "I came to you for my work. And... now that we know who it is, I'm going to have to leave tomorrow now that my work is done. For the integrity of the case, I have to remain professional. Whatever my feelings are-" you break off, heart breaking at the way he looks up in renewed hope. "Whatever my feelings may be, I can't act on them."

Namjoon nods slowly, trying to keep his face neutral as he looks down at the candle sitting abandoned on the kitchen bench, but also at the way your hand hovers, fingers resting on the edge like they can't bear to leave it completely. Finally, he lifts his eyes to your face, searching for an emotional vulnerability that you can't help but imagine is clear to see.

Silently, with only the blanketed hush of the snow outside to surround you in this moment, Namjoon takes one step forward, so that you would have to crane your neck to keep his gaze. So that your bodies almost touch. So that he can rest his palms on your cheeks, cupping them gently and tipping your face up to meet his. "Then please," he begs, voice barely more than a low whisper, "let me act on mine."

The lightest gasp leaves your lips before he bends down and kisses the sound away, warm and sweet and desperate, cradling you like he's scared you'll turn to dust beneath his fingers if he's not perfectly gentle. A murmur comes from his throat, something you think may be your name, and a wall inside you breaks, a cord snaps.

Reaching up, you wrap one hand around his wrist and the other in the fabric of his collar, pulling at it to deepen the kiss, and he melts, taking short steps forward as you shuffle back, until the small of your back presses against the kitchen counter and you arch over it a little with the deepness of his kisses, growing more fevered after receiving a positive response.

You shouldn't be doing this. But god, it feels too good to stop, your heart beating so fast that you feel it where your chests press together, senses going haywire until you feel drunk on him, like the only oxygen in the world is inside Kim Namjoon's mouth, the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip like a burst of euphoria, a gasp of fresh air that saves you from drowning.

One of his hands slips back further, winding into your hair and cupping the back of your head, and you tremble as he presses you so fully against him, even his leg slipping between your thighs so that not a single millimeter of space keeps you apart.

His skin is so hot where it touches yours that you feel on fire, and you have the sudden urge to rip off your top so that you can bare yourself to him, even simple layers of fabric too much separation to handle.

He pulls away reluctantly to pant, lips pink and swollen, pupils blown wide, and you follow suit to catch your breath.

"Y/n," he finally makes out through gasps, thumb rubbing mindlessly at your cheekbone, "if you're going to regret this in the morning, please stop. I can't- you can't give me everything only to take it away again. I'm willing to wait. Until they arrest Cha Giho, until they convict him, until you hand in your final report, I don't care, I'll wait for you. When we do this it can't be a mistake." He stares at you earnestly, openly, hopelessly.

Your eyes widen, taking in his words. "Namjoon, I... Are you sure? I promise I want you, but... if they call you up as a witness and we've been sleeping together, it could totally invali-"

"I know, I know, it's okay," he reassures. "I understand." He gives you a fond smile. "Just knowing you feel the same is enough for me."

You nod, a strange blend of relief and regret mingling inside you. "Thank you, Namjoon. I'm sorry."

He lets you stay entangled like this for a few more bittersweet moments, before gently slipping his hand out of your hair and letting his other fall from your face, stepping away. "Don't apologise, there's no need. Now; I think we've both had enough excitement for one night. I might skip the tea and get straight to bed."

You stand up straight again on slightly shaky legs. "I can take the couch."

"You could," he jibes with a grin, "or you could just sleep in the spare bedroom."

You laugh, poking his rumpled sweater. "What a gentleman."

He shrugs with a warm smile, turning to lead the way. "And just because we aren't sharing the same bed," he calls out over his shoulder, "doesn't mean you can leave without saying goodbye."

"I would never," you promise.

The call comes in the early hours of the morning. Enough for you to be unceremoniously ripped from unconsciousness, the deepest sleep you ever remember having. You’ve purposely set your boss’ ringtone to be the most annoying, whiny preset tune you could find so that it would wake you when needed, and you regret that decision now as the sharp blue light causes you to wince.

“What is it?” you croak, forgoing pleasantries.

“Can you contact Kim Namjoon? He’s not answering his phone.”

You frown, mind feeling two steps behind as you struggle to process his words. “Answering his pho- What’s going on, Jin?”

“He left a note,” your boss explains. “At his house, Cha Giho left a note. I need to speak with Mister Kim.”

You sit up like a bolt. “He what? It’s him, then, it’s definitely him? What did it say?”

Jin lets out a little breath of forced patience. “Can you pass on a message to Mister Kim?”

The Mister Kim that was currently sleeping just down the hall. “I could probably work something out,” you answer. “What did the note say, Jin? Is Namjoon in danger?”

“Namjoon,” Jin repeats blankly. He goes silent for a moment. “...You didn’t go straight home when I asked, did you?”

You huff, jaw tensing. “Now’s not the time, okay? If Cha Giho is still out there, then I need to know what he said in that note, Jin. We don’t need another body.”

Even through the phone connection, you hear the reluctant clicking of his tongue. Jin clears his throat and begins to read. “‘All these months I had hoped you would recognise me. You were always happy to recommend me a candle every time but yet you never asked me my name or how I was doing. I’m sick of taking justice out on them, treating your word like God. I want this to end tonight. I’m going to take my justice out on you.’ That’s it, that’s all he wrote. So wake up Mister Kim or don’t, but whatever you do, make sure the house is safe and that you two stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, but your mind is already whirring, getting up and tugging on your shoes with one hand. “Listen, Jin, I’ve gotta go, I want to wake up Namjoon so he knows what’s going on. Better to stay alert and aware. Thanks for the call.” You hang up before he can respond, and break into a hasty jog the moment the call ends.

You didn’t know if Cha knew where Namjoon lived. You didn’t know how or when or where he was planning to strike. But you knew the one thing that could tell you.

You write a note for Namjoon in rushed but legible handwriting, instructing him to stay inside and stay safe, that you just needed to visit the store quickly to check up on something. After making sure all the curtains in the house were drawn, the windows were firmly shut and the doors locked, you leave, the front door clicking and locking with a finality that steels you.

You drive in tense silence, eyes flitting all over the road in front of you, at the milky pools of yellow your headlights cast onto the gravel. Part of you is expecting the middle-aged man to be crouched behind a bush with an old-timey revolver, or screaming down the road with a bloody butcher knife. Years you’ve been working this job, and still these fantasies have a tendency to overtake you. The entire drive, only a few cars go past you, none looking particularly unusual.

You realise your mistake the moment you pull up across the road from the silent row of stores that house Moni’s Candle Shop. You also know it’s too late to go back.

Each one of those stores are dead quiet, totally black. In a town this small, there weren’t even any neon lights that would illuminate the streets all night. You can barely see by the wan glow of the streetlamps, few and far between, but even if they weren’t there, your eyes would be drawn to Moni’s anyway.

Easily visible through the glass of the door, sitting on the front display, is a single candle with a warm flickering flame.

You flick your engine off, and slump backwards in your seat, kicking out with a cry of frustration. He wasn’t going to Namjoon. He was going to let Namjoon come to him.

And now that you’re here - and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s watching out - even if you turn around and leave, there’s nothing to say he won’t follow you back.

Not for the first time in your career, directly disobeying and lying to your boss hadn’t worked out as well as you had intended. You had thought that checking out the list of customers’ names and their purchases would aid you, that perhaps if you looked up the latest candle Cha Giho had bought that somehow you could predict what move he’d make, but it seems it’s too late for that.

You stay like that, in your car in the dark, for about twenty minutes, trying to figure out a game plan. You didn’t fancy calling your boss and having him chew you out and suspend you, but at the same time it wasn’t like you could wake Namjoon and get him to bike all the way down at four in the morning. If Cha saw police sirens, he’d definitely split and then you’d be no better off. And the longer you waited, doing nothing, the more vulnerable you were, just a sitting duck in your car.

With a steeling breath, you throw open the car door, stumbling out into the frosty air, cursing as a cutting breeze saps the heat from your body. As you cross the road, you keep an ear out, ducking your head to send a text to Jin anyway, just a GPS location marker, immediately putting your phone on Do Not Disturb afterwards. As much as he knew how to bite your head off when you fucked up, you’d rather be on his grumpy side than six feet under. You were reckless, not stupid.

The front door is unlocked. It shouldn’t be, but you suppose Cha was courteous enough to make the way easy enough. The bell jingling is noisy enough to make you jump, and you warily hold up your arm in a protective stance, eyeing the shadows.

Luckily, you aren’t immediately assaulted by an attacker, and the door closes behind you, still unlocked. The moment you take a breath, a rich scent fills your nose; caramelised with a warm spice to it. Even as you need to stay alert, it begins to relax your tense muscles. As you breathe it in, you take a moment to let your eyes adjust to the dim inside of the store. Orange plays across your eyes from the warm flame of the candle, but it doesn’t reach far, and you can’t see very deep in the store. There’s no one immediately in your vicinity, but that doesn’t mean Cha isn’t somewhere in the store.

“Come out,” you call, relying on your experience in the field to keep your voice stable. “I know you’re there. Let’s do this the easy way; we already have your written confession, so you might as well cooperate with me now.”

You wait for a moment, but you can’t hear anything, not even a rustle of fabric or a breath. He was going to do this the hard way.

Sighing, you move forward with cautious steps, approaching the display table that houses the candle on one of its upper tiers, right at easy arm’s reach. Taking care not to disturb the melted wax inside, you lift it, trying to make out the paper label. With light coming from within, its shadowed in black, and you huff, reaching in your pocket to pull out your phone, using the light to see.

You suck in a breath. So he had planned on killing Namjoon here, then.

“Very funny,” you announce flatly, “Magic Shop, huh? Did you pick this one yourself?”

Still, the room stays silent, and you frown. Normally by now the killer would have either grown defensive, smug, or aggressive. You weren’t prepared for the total lack of response. A niggling thread of doubt begins to knot itself inside your chest. You glance down at the candle one more time. The wax itself is a glossy tan, but almost the entire top third, if not half, is molten, tipping around the sides. This candle has been burning for hours.

With the cold splash of realization running down your spine, you slam the candle back on the display table, cursing when the wax spills out, pouring over your hand. You recoil like you’ve been stung, rubbing at the burning over your knuckles, an angry red welt already rising on the skin.

Doing your best to ignore it, you turn your phone flashlight to the rest of the store, forcing yourself to investigate the whole interior just to confirm Cha isn’t still there, or hasn’t left anything behind. Even though your heart is screaming at you to leave, you dutifully look in every human-sized nook and cranny, taking just enough time to confirm what you already know.

Cha isn’t here.

Magic Shop was never Moni’s, it was Namjoon’s workshop.

And you’d left Namjoon alone there.

It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night and there aren’t many cars around. You floored it like never before, very nearly careening off the road on several turns on the windy road back to Namjoon’s house, and you just about crashed into his house with the speed at which you approached it, not even bothering to fully turn off your car as you rush to the front door, banging on it wildly.

As you whack your fists against the solid door, numb to the sharp pain of your burned skin impacting on it, you scream Namjoon’s name, loud enough for your throat to go raw. After a minute with no reply, you push back tears and begin to run around the perimeter, swearing in terrified frustration as all the windows and doors are as securely shut as when you’d left them.

Cha was long gone when you arrived at Moni’s Candle Shop; there was no way you had beat him here, no way he wasn’t already inside. Barely aware of the tears blurring your vision, you reach into your pocket for your phone, shakily dialing the one person you knew would pick up without delay.

“Jin,” you sob out the second the other line picks up, cringing at the loud noises of police sirens that floods his end, “I was wrong, he’s not at the store, he’s here, he’s-”

“Y/n, where the fuck are you?”

You freeze your frantic pacing around the back of Namjoon’s house at the harrowed tone in your boss’ voice. Even as you threw around the f-word like crazy at work, Jin had never once sworn, not at you, not at anyone. “I’m- I’m at Namjoon’s house, Jin, I just got back here after-”

“You went to the store right after I told you to stay put, you reckless fucking girl, do you have any idea how terrified I was when I got here and couldn’t find you anywhere?”

“Got here? You went to the shop?”

The piercing noise of sirens fades away slowly, like Seokjin’s walking further away, and you can hear him puffing into the phone, shallow breaths. “Of course I went to the shop, Y/n, because I knew how stupid you can be and I was fucking right! You’re just lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

Your eyes widen. “No! Jin, no, Cha hasn’t disappeared completely, he’s here, at Namjoon’s house, I know it! I’m stuck outside, Namjoon isn’t responding, I’m-” you break off, voice cracking violently as a sob bubbles to the surface. You let fresh tears run hot tracks down your face. “God, what if he’s dead already, Jin? I can’t-”

“We’re going to come down there, Y/n, I’ve already sent out the rest of the squad cars that stayed at the station, they should get there first. Just stay safe, okay? This isn’t what you want to hear but if Cha and Namjoon are both in there, then he’s probably already dead, Y/n. You know that, it’s what your training tells you, so it would be foolish of you to break in without backup…” He trails off with a sigh. “But you’re not going to listen to any of this. I don’t know why I bother.”

You hiccup, using the light of the moon to try and spot some rocks that would be of use in breaking a window. “I can’t wait outside, Jin. I can’t.”

Jin goes silent for a moment, the only sound a muted thud of a car door opening and then closing again. “...The profiling team have kept researching Cha. The pulled medical history shows he had surgery on his right knee in March of this year.”

You use your other arm to chuck a heavy rock at one of the back bedroom windows, ducking and turning away to protect your face from any stray shards. You hear Jin sigh at the noise. “Thank you, Jin. I’ll keep it in mind. I have to go.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, kid,” Jin jokes, but his voice falls flat, unconvincing. “Please don’t,” he adds weakly, the line going dead right after.

You straighten back up, shaking off the few pieces of glass that had landed on your back and in your hair, and take off your coat, hissing at the cold air as you lay it over the jagged edges of the smashed window.

Climbing in is easy enough, and you emerge in an unfamiliar room, one that, even just by the pale glow of the moon, is visibly lived in. Namjoon’s bedroom.

Giving an apologetic wince as you crunch over the broken glass littered all over his carpet, you quickly pick up the nearest thing you could possibly use as a weapon, which happens to be a massive hardback book on his nightstand, an intricate and heavy edition of The Odyssey. Even as your heart races enough to bang against your ribs, you spare a fond smile at the man’s reading choices, holding the hulking thing in front of you like a barricade.

It feels strange, slinking down the carpeted hallway towards the kitchen. Every second of silence you’re expecting to be filled by a guttural scream or a thud of impact or a gunshot. Every shadow seems to shift and move, more dark in the house than light to see by. It feels like wading through shark infested waters with nothing but a pair of floaties as protection.

You pause, just for a moment, when you enter the kitchen, squinting at the light pooling out of a crack in the door to the workshop. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids in vibrant yellows and neon pinks, split seconds of colour with every blink. Once you think you can see without wincing, you take a quiet breath, tiptoeing closer and closer, cringing at the barely audible tap-squeak of your boots on the linoleum floor.

When you gingerly peek around the corner, into the room, you have to clap a hand over your mouth to prevent your gasp from being heard.

The first thing you see is Namjoon.

Arms and torso bound to a chair with the thick industrial packing tape he used for his online orders, Namjoon has his eyes squeezed shut, not in pain but in fear, and his glasses are askew, one lens cracked. He’s rendered mute with more tape, but the edges are lifting from where his tears have slipped between.

That’s not what causes a dark bolt of fear to run through you, though.

Namjoon’s drenched. Absolutely soaked through his clothes, his dark blonde hair sopping. His nose flares at the stench, and you can smell it from here.

Lighter fluid.

For his final masterpiece, Cha had drawn inspiration not from the ingredients, but from the candle itself. You jerk as a wave of bile rises in your throat, managing to swallow it down.

You crane your head more, looking through the tiny gap to make sure Cha isn’t already lighting a match. You spy his silhouette browsing the shelves of ingredients, a few steps away from Namjoon. His hands are empty, and that’s enough for you.

You kick in the door, receiving a gratifying jump from Cha as he whirls around with widened eyes, before they lower again into a lazy grin. You glare at him, eyes darting over to Namjoon, calculating if you’d have enough time to run to him without Cha intercepting. With a tense jaw, you remain in the doorway.

The serial killer laughs, an off-kilter, grating noise. He’s quite handsome, dark hair and sculpted face, but there’s an unsettling gleam in his eyes that revolts you. “I’ve been expecting you,” he announces in a sing-song voice. “Though you took so long. Namjoon and I have been growing bored, quite frankly.”

You let your eyes return to Namjoon, who shakes like a leaf, chest rising and falling in little pants, unable to get enough air through his nose. Rage wells inside you at the sight, but deeper than that, true fear. You almost feel like falling to your knees in tears, begging to exchange your life for his. Anything to get him out of the hot seat, quite literally.

“It’s over, Cha,” you say instead, “the cops are on their way, it’s only a matter of time before they storm the place. Even if you somehow slip away, every police station in the country has a picture of your face on their Wanted board. Every airport, train station and bus terminal won’t let you through. And in the morning, the Wickerman’s true identity will be blasted all over the news. No matter what you do, it’s over. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

His face curls up angrily at this, marring his fine features. “Rash decisions? Tell me, Detective, has there been anything I’ve done so far that has struck you as a rash decision? You wound me.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, the irritation at his blase behavior welling inside you with no outlet. Keep him talking, you think to yourself. If he won’t give up, just distract him long enough for backup to arrive. “Well, I can only imagine this whole crackpot scheme of yours was borne from a rash decision. Scented candles? It’s a joke.”

He recoils visibly, eye twitching. “It’s inspired,” he spits back venomously, “something nobody appreciates these days. It’s not your average pointless slasher, it’s hard work and it’s art and it’s for the greater good. Those people I killed, all of them, were monsters.”

“They were only human,” you disagree firmly, “just like you.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes wavering. “I’m not human. I’m a god.”

“I thought Namjoon was the god,” you retort drily, forcing yourself to ignore Namjoon’s brows furrowing in confusion. “Or was that note of yours bullshit too?”

“You read it?” Cha blinks suddenly, nose flaring as he collects himself. “I was wrong. I thought I was acting on his behalf, fulfilling the prophecy of each candle. Carrying out justice. Killing bad people.” Cha turns to where Namjoon’s sitting with a glare. “He recommended every single one of those candles to me personally. They meant something.”

A strange, wounded gurgle sounds from behind the tape over Namjoon’s lips. It sounds like a denial. Or maybe an apology.

“He recommended them because they smelt good, Giho,” you explain through gritted teeth. “But those murders? The children without a father now? The zoo that has to close down because of its shot reputation? That is all on you.”

The skinny man buries his face in his hands for a moment, roughly rubbing at his eyes with a confused moan. “No, I- I was doing it for the betterment of society, these people were leeches, they were abusers, they were lazy, they were selfish.”

“And you’re a murderer,” you reply simply. “Who’s worse off?”

That seems to shut him up. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, he takes a shuddering breath and turns to the shelf of ingredients, keeping you in his peripheral, but focusing on the rows and rows of jarred powders and liquids and other items.

You slowly edge closer to Namjoon, aware that Cha is much closer than you, and you can’t imagine you’d be able to get to him in time without Cha freaking out and pulling out a lighter or a match. There’s a bulge in his pants pocket that gives you pause.

“It’s over,” Cha mumbles slowly, picking up a half-empty jar of ground nutmeg, watching the layers shift as he turned it. “Only, it’s not. Not yet. Not quite over.”

He holds the jar in one large palm, but you spy his other hand sinking lower, slowly like he doesn’t want you to notice. With a rising heart rate, you turn your head to Namjoon, widening your eyes at him to catch his attention. Knee, you mouth, as widely as you dare. Cha doesn’t catch it, too busy trying to be subtle himself.

Namjoon’s eyes frown at you behind cracked glasses, before he straightens up slightly in realization. His eyes flick over to Cha’s legs, and back at you, raising his brows in question. Your head lifts in the tiniest nod. Then, you tap your right leg twice. Namjoon breathes in deeply through his nostrils, hands flexing on the arms of the chair.

Not wasting another moment, as Cha’s fingers begin to dip below the edge of his pocket, you rush forward, quickly enough to get his attention but slowly enough that he easily overtakes you, lifting out his hand again to hold them both up in front of you defensively.

Your eyes dart behind him, to Namjoon. He’s still too far away for Namjoon to be able to kick out and reach him, so you take a bold step forward, internally cheering when Cha frowns and reflexively backs up in response.

“There’s no need for this nonsense,” you declare, barely aware of what you’re saying, your mouth on autopilot as you take a step closer. “I don’t want to take you down with force, but I will if it comes to that. Resisting will get you nowhere.” You step forward again.

Cha keeps shuffling backwards, eyeing you with a warning in his eyes. “I’m going to prison anyway, then,” he reasons, “it’s only right that my work is completed before I do.” His hand lowers again, and your heart races, body bringing you two steps forward in quick succession without thought.

The man stumbles back in shock, recoiling like you had jumped him, but frowns when his clear footsteps change sound, a tiny wet slap echoing in the workshop instead. He looks down dumbly, to where the excessive puddle of lighter fluid has splashed up his pant legs and soaked his shoes.

His eyes widen, and he looks up again at you in something akin to betrayal.

You wish you could signal to Namjoon that now was the time, but for some reason Namjoon’s foot ekes forward gingerly, like he’s testing out if he could reach. Instead, you keep your focus on the murderer. “Now you see, Giho? If you set the fire, you burn too.”

A second after it comes out of your mouth, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

His face curls up in a snarl, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out not a lighter or a box of matches, but a switchblade. You gasp and jump back reflexively at the glint of the blade, but he raises it with a growl, bringing it down faster than you can move out of his range for.

A line of fire runs across your forearm as you throw it up to defend you, and you let out a cry through gritted teeth at the deep cut. Cha lifts the dripping blade to charge at you again, but suddenly his hand goes lax and his mouth opens with a pained howl, sinking suddenly to the floor as his knee gives out from underneath him.

Once he hits the puddle of lighter fluid, sending drops all over your clothes, you look past his writhing body to Namjoon, whose leg is still held out in front of him, panting with worried eyes.

Frantically, you pick up the dropped knife, slippery in your grasp from your own blood, and you rush to Namjoon’s chair, slicing through the thick layers of tape, keeping one eye behind you at the man sobbing on the floor in agony, yelling intelligible insults and guttural curses.

The moment his hands are free, Namjoon rips away the tape over his mouth with a pained hiss, massaging the stinging skin. “Y/n, you-”

“Not now,” you interrupt brusquely, finally freeing him from the chair and grabbing his hand, tugging him away as fast as you can go.

Once the two of you leave into the kitchen, you shut the door to the workshop, dashing into the dining room to find a chair to slot under the doorknob, jamming it closed. In less than a minute, you’re out of the house and collapsing onto the frozen grass, cradling your injured arm and doing your best to maintain pressure on it, Namjoon ripping off his shirt and tearing it at the seams to form rough strips, which he binds and ties around the wound, apologising breathlessly when you scrunch up your face at the pain.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry, I have to, you’re bleeding so much, oh Jesus…”

Perhaps it’s the blood loss or the adrenaline that’s making you a little loopy, but you giggle hopelessly at the frightened look on his face.

Namjoon, with lips looking raw from the ripped tape, huffs down at you. “This is serious, Y/n, you could die, don’t laugh at me when I’m helping you!”

This strikes you as even funnier in your hazy mindset, and you keep giggling, hiccuping on dried tears, shivering violently under his gentle touch as the cold air wraps around you more tightly than the bandages on your arm.

“God, I… That was fucking wild in there, I can’t even...process it right now. But I- Are you with me? Y/n?”

You smile dopily at Namjoon, nodding. The rest of the scenery around him is swirling and your stomach lurches with a sickening voracity, but it’s okay when you look deep into his kind eyes and his open face. It’s okay when you have Namjoon beside you, because no matter how cold you are, your heart is burning like a furnace when you look at him and feel him.

He lets out a slow exhale, sitting down beside you with a strong palm on your back to stabilise your wobbling. “I’ve never been that scared in my life, I really thought I was going to die. And when I did, all I could think of was how much I hoped you’d still be okay. Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to have you stay safe, to keep you safe. That guy pulled a knife on you, Y/n, he stabbed you, and all I could think of was how I wished it was me instead who got hurt. I don’t ever want to see you get hurt, I don’t think my heart can take it again. I- When I was in there, and he was waiting for you, and all I could smell was gasoline… I thought I was going to die, and it gave me a certain type of clarity, I guess. I could think clearly for the first time in a long time. And all I could think about was you. I’m in love with you, Y/n, hopelessly in love with you, and I know I said I’d wait until the case was fully closed and done with, and I will, of course I will, but I just couldn’t wait that long to tell you how deep my feelings go, I- God, am I even making sense right now? It must be the adrenaline, I feel- Y/n?”

You lean forward unsteadily, balancing yourself with a hand on his knee. He stares at you with wide eyes, caught off-guard by your sudden movement. Your grin has disappeared, replaced by a look of wonder. “Case closed,” you announce warmly.

He cocks his head. “What?”

“Case closed,” you repeat insistently, “just for now, case closed. So quick; kiss me before I pass out again.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and with no further persuasion needed, he dips his head forward, joining your lips in a tender kiss, foul-tasting from the lighter fluid but still so sweet. You feel yourself melt into him, pressing your upper body against him, and your eyes slip closed so that all of your other senses come to life with Namjoon, only Namjoon, everything Namjoon.

His hand rises to cup your face softly, and you grip his forearm like it’s an anchor, his lips moving against yours like the tides; constant fluidity with a calm power just beneath the surface, and you’re lost to it, caught in his riptide with no hope or desire to ever get out.

Colours swim behind your eyes, and your arm begins to go numb, fingers falling slack and dropping off his forearm. As an enveloping nothingness creeps into the corners of your mind, slowly pulling you from Namjoon, the last thing you’re aware of is the worried call of your name, before you fall into that black ocean.

TWO MONTHS LATER

Jin glances up at you with a start as you drop the heavy manila folder on his desk. His widened eyes drop to it, the fresh red ink stamped across the top, a thick rubber band holding countless slips of paper, photographs, typewritten transcripts and photocopies, all the written evidence and reporting of the case.

Your boss straightens up, like in the presence of someone important. “This it?” he questions simply, though his tone belies the significance of the item on his desk. You give a short nod, tamping down the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “And the online report?”

“Submitted,” you answer, unable to control the smug warmth in your voice.

Jin pats the top of the thick file fondly, eyes darting back up to you. “The families?”

“Notified,” you respond dutifully, though something keeps you slightly fidgety, absentmindedly massaging your forearm, feeling the raised line of the scar you were left with.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by the man swaying side to side on his office chair. His face softens, a tender smile emerging. “And young Mister Kim?”

Your hand goes still as you break his knowing gaze. “I- Well, I figured it would be best if I did a courtesy visit, just to, you know, talk it through properl-”

“It’s okay,” Jin cuts in, “I’m not going to lecture you. I really appreciate that you put this case first and kept...that on standby, but your obligation is over. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s a good one.”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Is that your way of giving me permission, Kim Seokjin?”

A light blush tints the tips of his ears red as he splutters defensively. “God, no,” he scoffs, “if it were up to me, you’d stay pure and innocent forever.”

He breaks off to send you a salacious wink to let you know he’s joking around, and you laugh, turning to leave. Your hand rests on the doorknob of his office door before he speaks up again. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you reply without looking, opening the door and letting yourself hover half-inside, half-out.

Jin’s voice is warm, full of tender fondness that could only be cultivated by years of working side by side. “You’re my best girl, you know that?”

You flick him one last grin. “Right back atcha.”

He beams happily, and you’re already out of the office before you hear the offended cry of him processing your words.

Namjoon’s front door is open when you pull up, gravel crunching below your feet. Your first instinct is alarm, especially considering what went down the last time you were here, but it doesn't seem like anything ominous.

In fact, as you approach, you realise it's quite the opposite. A rich smell wafts out the open door, somewhat familiar yet unique scent that you can't quite put your finger on. You take a step inside, calling out his name, but recoil when, instead of the glossy wood of the entryway, your shoe lands on something soft and springy. You look down, eyes widening in bewilderment at the sight that greets you.

Piled at the front door and winding down and around the hallway are countless fresh rose petals, the same dusky pink shade that you recognise from his flower garden outside. Did he have someone over?

You call his name out again, but instead of a response, you strain your ear to hear a faint melodic hum, a honeyed tune that invites you in.

Leaving your coat and shoes at the door, you follow the trail of petals, careful not to step on any more. You find yourself smiling as you notice some of them with rips and tears at the base, others squished or bent, like he was in a hurry when deflowering the rose bushes.

Both the enticing smell and the dreamy humming crescendo the further along you follow the path of rose petals. They're leading you towards the workshop, through the living room and kitchen, but part of you knew that the moment you walked in the door. It was the heart and soul of the house, and it didn't surprise you that he was in there.

In fact, as your socked feet slip slightly on the smooth tiles of the kitchen, you pinpoint one of the delicate fragrances that fill the air. It's the scent of roses.

"Namjoon?" This time, as you call his name a third time, you open the door to the workshop further, and step inside, eyes searching. Although it's a strange mirror of the last time you were here, your heart is beating out of your chest for a different reason.

When you see him, it's like you're falling in love for the first time, though you've long since accepted over that long two months apart that you had been totally head over heels with him for a lot longer. But still, your heart swells, and you can't help but beam warmly at the sight that greets you.

Namjoon's so entirely engrossed in what he's doing that you don't think he even heard you, still lost in his own melody, something you begin to recall is from a romance movie or a ballet, classical and moving.

His tall figure is bent over the central island bench, using a massive tub with a spout to pour a dusky pink wax into several glass jars, the long, uncut wicks held upright with little metal rods that lie across the top of the jar. His biceps strain under his messy green t-shirt, and the hulking tub is almost the size of his torso, yet his hands don't shake the slightest, and he manages to fill each jar to the same height, about a couple centimetres below the rim, without pouring any over those metal rods. He works quickly, but even if it took him an hour you're convinced you would've happily stood there in awed silence the whole time, unwilling to disturb him.

His hummed tune stops, and he pours a single sample candle in focussed silence, before picking up a new train of notes, a composition you recognise as a Chopin tune, Nocturne-something, but a much lower version, coming from the resonance of his throat. As you watch him closely, his eyebrows move with the music, knitting together and lifting on the higher notes, a subconscious smile tugging at his closed mouth.

As he reaches the end of the rows of empty glasses, the molten wax in the tub running low, he loses track of the rhythm, diverting into his own stream of haphazard runs and melodies, something that's even more endearing to you. Fuck, you're smitten.

Finally, as he puts down the heavy tub on the concrete floor with a sigh, rolling his shoulders back and wiggling his fingers to relax the muscles, you clear your throat loudly, making him jump in his spot and whirl around, eyes widening at your presence.

"Y/n? You got here fast!"

Your smile falters, replaced by a look of confusion. "I... what?"

Namjoon seems to realise belatedly what he said, wincing at himself with a sheepish laugh. "Uh, maybe I got a call from a certain someone...saying to expect you..."

Jin. You nod. "Figures." But then, a thought strikes you, and you glance back the way you came, at the path of rose petals that leads away behind you like the tail of a comet. "So this is all for me?"

Namjoon's eyes are bright, no glasses to obstruct them. You tamp down a grin at the fond memory of his theory about not wearing his glasses while in the workshop, that his sense of smell was better with poor vision. It is so clear to you that every atom in him, every moment and every thought, was filled with nothing but love for his craft.

You want that love yourself, even just a fraction of it. To see if his hands would take as much care with you as with the production of those candles. To know if the sounds that left his throat then would be as melodic as his absent-minded humming.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to return your mind to the present moment, where Namjoon's tender gaze is on you, eyes searching your face with an open vulnerability.

"Of course it's all for you," he says simply, and the casual intimacy of his comment runs shivers down your spine. "It's done, isn't it?" he questions. "It's over."

Your eyes crinkle with the warmth of your smile. You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Come here," he instructs gently, tilting his head down at the slowly cooling candles. As you approach the bench, he darts away, returning with a paper sticker stuck to his pointer finger. Picking a candle at random, he holds it level so as not to disrupt the wax, and wraps the sticker around the side of the glass, ensuring the corners are flat and snug against the curve. "Here, smell this. It's what I've been working on while the store was closed for the trial."

You're sure to handle the glass jar with as much care as he does when he gives it to you. You couldn't deny the hours you had spent at your desk, or in court, wondering what Namjoon was doing. Your higher-ups, the men Jin reported to, had deemed it necessary to temporarily shut down Moni's Candle Shop over the period of the trial, knowing the unsavoury publicity it might receive, and while increased footfall and news coverage proved them right, you knew it must have bothered Namjoon immensely to be separated from it for so long. It seemed at least he had been productive.

Without reading the label, you lift the opening to your nose, recoiling slightly when the overpowering scent hits your nostrils.

Namjoon laughs, placing a warm hand over your much smaller one, pressing down so that your face was at a safe enough distance from the candle. "Wax smells a lot stronger when heated," he explains with a laugh in his tone, "so maybe don't dip your nose in it."

You flick him a dry look, though you can't keep serious for longer than a moment, too focussed on the heavy weight in your hands. Sniffing, more delicately this time, your eyes slip shut in bliss as you breathe in the enveloping scent. Just one inhale eases your muscles, relaxes your brow, and brings a soft smile to your face.

The first thing you recognise is that perfumed sweetness of the rose, but it's deepened with hints of something incredibly familiar, something you just can't put your finger on, even as it makes your heart swell in your chest.

"What is that?" you question with a confused lilt to your voice, tentatively raising it higher inch by inch in the hopes that you'll finally get it.

Namjoon's eyes glitter; like he's forgotten until now, his hand suddenly shifts from resting on top of yours to cupped below, as he pulls your hand further away from your face, stretching your arm out and up. "Read the label," he replies instead, turning the glass jar around within your grasp, until the paper faces you. You feel his eyes on you as your expression changes with the carefully handwritten words.

"Namjoon..." you breathe, feeling yourself tear up a little, overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded your senses.

His fingers cover the corners, but you can still easily make out what it says.

He’s pulling the candle out of your hand gently, placing it back on the counter top, but you don’t look away from his face for a second. He’s avoiding your gaze like he’s shy, fiddling with a patch of dried wax on the hem of his shirt, but he looks up in surprise when you take a large step forward, enough for his hands to be trapped between you. He wiggles them out, where they awkwardly hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He looks so unsure of himself, yet his eyes are so earnest, that it melts you.

“Namjoon,” you repeat softly, “can I ask you a question too?”

He blinks once, taken off-guard. He nods silently, a tense, jerky movement.

A warm smile breaks across your face as you look up at him, at the man you’ve irrevocably fallen in love with. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t matter when you stand so close. “Will you kiss me?”

There’s a single moment that separates the two of you. A single moment where all the tension floods from his body. Where his mouth drops slightly open and his eyebrows lift in surprise. Where an involuntary sigh of relief leaves his parted lips.

And then those lips are on yours, and you’re apart no longer.

Namjoon kisses you like you’re more delicate than the glass of those jars, like you’re more precious than all the ingredients that line his shelves, like you mean the world to him, and it takes your breath away.

He kisses slow, every sliver of contact cherished and savoured, your face cupped between his palms, thumbs rubbing soothingly at your cheekbones as he tips your face up higher towards him, so he can breathe you in. With languid yet fevered movements, Namjoon deepens the kiss until your nerves are on fire, his body heat against you only adding to the blaze, the occasional slip of tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine. You feel alive, more now than you have for years, and his scent and his taste and the murmur in his throat are the anchors that tie you to him, to this feeling.

Desperate to be closer, you reach up and fist handfuls of his shirt in your hands, the fabric warmed by his body, and tug him more securely against you. He reflexively drops a hand from your face to wrap his arm around your back, and tilts his head to the side slightly to intensify the kiss even further, raw need quickening the pace even as his lips stay soft and sensual against yours.

When he eventually pulls away to take a breath, the two of you are panting, and you can see his eyes are blown wide with desire, nothing but a narrow ring of rich brown around his dilated pupils.

You heart leaps at the way he keeps you pressed to him, cupping your face with a tender smile playing at his lips. “Yes,” you announce warmly.

His head tilts to the side. “Yes…? Yes what?”

Your grin stretches. “It’s the answer to your question.” You gesture with a tip of your chin to the slowly-solidifying candles. “Yes, I’ll be yours. So; will you be mine too?”

You think you could stay in this moment forever; snug in his warm embrace, lips still tingling from where he’s kissed you, cheek hot where his large palm rests. From the way he looks down at you, you imagine he feels quite the same.

“Oh, my love,” he assures softly, “I’ve been yours all along.”

“Nope. Got all the help I need right here.”

“Oh?”

The little girl is gone. Fuck.

“Fine,” you groan. “Help me up.”

Namjoon laughs again, extending an arm to help you stand. “Isn’t your ass cold?”

“You left me here!”

“You said you wanted to stay!”

“Fuck, I hate you.”

“Okay, well, one, I love you” ―he pauses to steal a kiss― “and, two, there are kids here! Don’t curse!”

“Oh, they can’t hear me over the Christmas music anyway.”

“Maybe not, but I bet their parents can,” he says, gesturing to two older looking women who stand at the side of the rink, their faces turned down in disapproving stares.

“Whoops.”

“C’mon,” he says. “One more try.”

“No,” you whine. “I’m terrible at this. Let’s just go home!”

Namjoon smiles and holds your hand tightly, nothing but faith and encouragement in his eyes. “You can do it.”

Children whizz past you in peels of laughter, and you shake your head in another refusal. “No, they can do it. I definitely cannot.”

“Please? One more try! You almost had it last time!”

“I fell on my ass last time.”

“Please?” he pouts, and, oh, that’s low. Puppy eyes?

“Okay, okay, fine!” You push yourself out further into the middle of the rink. “But you’ve used your puppy-eyes-card, okay? No more.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Namjoon wraps his arm around your shoulder, his free hand helping to keep you balanced. You stare at your feet in concentration, willing them to not give out because you swear you cannot take another bruise on your hip.

“That’s it, baby,” Namjoon says, his breath hot on your ear. “Just take your time.”

“I don’t know how you do this so easily,” you mutter.

“I practiced specifically so I could take the love of my life out on cute dates like this when I got older.”

You huff a laugh. “Oh, yeah? How’s that going?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” he says with a shrug. “I have yet to meet her, you know?”

“You know, if I weren’t completely relying on you to keep me up right now, I would totally kick your ass.”

“Sure, babe,” he laughs, but he still stops to give you a deep kiss. “Forgive me?”

“Nope.”

“Do I have to kiss you again?”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He does, of course, while still managing to lead you along the ice (because he’s just that talented), and suddenly you look up and realize: you’re skating. Okay, it might not be all the graceful or elegant or cohesive, but, hey, you’re moving, and you’re not falling! Namjoon giggles beside you and says, “I told you so!”

“Okay, okay, but I’m not good!”

“You don’t have to be good! You’re doing it!”

“I’m doing it!” you repeat. “Okay! Now let’s go before I fall again!”

“Okay, okay,” Namjoon laughs. “But! Before we go…”

He pauses, families skating around the two of you as you stop in the middle of the rink. “Look at that,” he says, gesturing upwards. “It’s snowing.” You look up, white flakes falling out of the sky. The kids raise their voices in excitement, and the lights of the rink glow brighter as the sun begins to dip beyond the horizon.

“I have something important to tell you,” he says, bringing your attention back to him. Everything seems to be going in slow motion, and, here and now, it’s only the two of you. He leans in close and kisses you softly and sweetly before pulling away and whispering, “I told you so.”

And then he’s leading you off the rink, unable to contain his laughter.

“Oh my god!” you shout. “You’re the worst!”

“What? What’d I do?”

“You know what you did!”

He’s loud as he pulls you along, making sure that you’re apologizing for him as you walk by crowds of people. “I’m sorry for him,” you say when another couple looks your way, but you can’t deny the warm feeling that spreads through you with every laugh that leaves his lips.

When you’ve finally reached the car, he pushes you up against it so he can litter your face with small (and unnecessary) kisses.

“Namjoon!” you exclaim. “We’re in public.”

“Are we?” he says, looking around dramatically. “I forgot.” He pulls the passenger door open for you and beckons you inside. “M’lady.”

“What a gentleman.”

“Anything for my princess.”

“C’mon,” you laugh. “Let’s get going before we get stuck in the snow.”

When you arrive home, the snow is just starting to cover the roads, causing Namjoon to say, “Ah, right as always, aren’t you?” when an advisory warning sounds over the TV.

“Oh, I know. So, how would you like to spend our snow-in?”

“As long as I’m with you, I don’t really care how we spend it,” he says, coming to wrap his arms around you as you start dinner.

“Mm, cheesy.”

“Wanna make cookies?”

“You will definitely burn this apartment down.”

“I can decorate, can’t I?”

You contemplate for a moment before relenting. “Fine! But don’t you dare touch the oven!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs.

“Okay, I’ll finish dinner and you can get started on the cookies.”

“Sounds like a plan, babe.”

Namjoon works in tandem beside you (well, as “in tandem” as a clutz like him can), preparing the dough while you prepare the pasta. Soft music plays in the kitchen from speakers installed at Namjoon’s behest. You’re glad he convinced you on it because it’s cute to watch him dance along to his own playlist as he rolls the dough out as best he can.

“Does this look good?” he asks, directing your attention away from your own task.

“Babe,” you giggle as you roll up your sleeves. “Does that look flat to you?”

The dough is lumpy and definitely not rolled out, and it’s way too thick to make proper sized cookies. Namjoon only shrugs, a big smile on his face. “Looks perfect to me.”

“I can never trust your judgement ever again.”

Namjoon laughs as you roll the dough out, completely using this as an opportunity to wrap you snugly in his arms.

“This isn’t helping,” you say.

“It’s helping me,” he replies, giving you an obnoxiously wet kiss on the cheek.

“Stop it! Here.” You pull a box towards him. “Cut out your favorite shapes so I can finish this.”

“Can I get a kiss?”

“Cut your cookies.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You plate the pasta as Namjoon slides the cookies into the oven, and he closes the door with an accomplished look on his face.

“I did it,” he says, and, fuck, he’s cute.

“C’mere. Let’s eat.”

“Can we watch a movie?”

“Can I pick?”

Namjoon pouts. “You’re gonna pick Up again, and I’m gonna cry.”

“We can cry together!”

“You don’t love me.”

“I do…” ―you pause and smile sweetly― “But I love Up more.”

“Fine,” he agrees. “But you owe me.”

“Oh, how will I ever make it up to you?” you ask as you set up the movie.

Namjoon puts the plates on the coffee table and makes himself comfortable on the couch. “I have a few ideas.”

“Like?”

He turns around to look at the timer on the oven. “You have eight minutes.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Namjoon leans back, relaxing into the couch, arms and legs spread in a “game-on” type of way. You roll your eyes but, hey, you’re never one to back down. It’s all in the Christmas spirit, right?

“So what do I get if I win?” you ask as you get on your knees in front of him, helping him out of his pants.

The belt jingles as it clatters to the floor, and Namjoon’s lips twist up in a knowing smirk. “I guess I could be inclined to do whatever you ask me to later…”

You laugh and reach up to kiss him. Your lips lock, and his hands reach out to deepen the kiss, tugging slightly on your hair.

“As if you wouldn’t anyway,” you say once you break away.

“Hey, it was your turn last time.”

You hum and lick the tip of his already hard cock instead. “How much time is left?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Six and a half.”

“Bet.”

You tease him a little, lapping at the base slowly, the way you know he likes. Namjoon moans above you, and it gives you the little push you need to start putting him in your mouth. You take your time, ironic given the game, but you know that the best way to unravel Namjoon is to rile him up.

You take him as much as you can, stroking what’s left. Namjoon groans and grabs your head, encouraging you to move. You bob your head, slowly picking up the pace until Namjoon is trying is best not to simply fuck your mouth.

It doesn’t matter, of course, because you pop off him to say, “Fuck my mouth,” and Namjoon is uttering a string of curses before he grabs your head on both sides.

“Hit my thighs if you need out.”

“I know,” you say, sounding as debauched as him. “Hurry up.”

“Fuck. Gonna kill me.”

Namjoon slides into your mouth, setting a pace that’s a little uncomfortable for you, but hey, blowjobs aren’t all that comfortable in the first place. Tears prick at your eyes, glassy as you look up at him, and he’s definitely getting off on it. “Fuck…” he whispers. “That’s so good.”

You tap his leg, pushing him back a bit to catch your breath.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Yeah. Let me just…”

“Yeah, whatever you need.”

He gives you a second, pets your hair while you recover, and when you’re ready, you put him back in your mouth again. You bob your head faster this time, knowing he’s close. You stroke him at the same time before detaching and licking long strips up and down. Your thumb swipes across his slit fast, and suddenly he’s knotting your hair in pure pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Babe. Shit. I’m gonna―”

“In my mouth.”

He obliges, spilling into your mouth as he comes undone. You suck him dry, and when he collapses back onto the couch, the oven timer rings. Namjoon laughs, throwing his head back.

“You win,” he says somewhat breathlessly.

“Don’t I always?”

You pull the cookies out of the oven, setting them on the countertop to cool before decorating.

“You know,” Namjoon says from the living room. “I think the pasta’s gone cold.”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Hey” ―he puts his hands up in defense― “it’s your fault for being so competitive.”

“It’s your fault for challenging me.”

He shrugs. “No complaints here.”

“I’m gonna go rinse my mouth out,” you tell him. “Then we can eat and decorate cookies.”

“I’ll make hot chocolate for you.”

“With mint?”

“Of course with mint. Who do you think I am?”

You laugh as you walk away, and Namjoon sets up the movie. He’s eagerly waiting for you when you return, arms open because Up is his cuddling movie (even if he won’t admit it).

You try to reach for the food, but to no avail. “You know, I can’t eat like this.”

“I’ll feed you.”

“But what about my hot chocolate?”

“I will... still feed you,” he laughs. 

“Wow, you’re spoiling me.”

“Only the best for my lady.”

“You know you’re going to have to get up to make it, right?”

He groans. “But it’s so comfy here.”

“Please? Please?” 

“Fine.” 

He gives you a kiss, slow and deep this time. He laughs into your mouth, a sound full of love and affection.

“Love you, baby.”

             People remember Jung Hoseok as the golden dance major of the prestigious South Tigers University. He got into the Performing Arts program, Major in Dance by acing the laborious dance audition despite his unimpressive results in the written exam. Hoseok’s colorful background from his long-term dance crew, Hope World, and his countless wins in different hip hop dance competitions were more than enough proof to know he is indeed one of the top dancers of the university. With a body capable of executing each move ever known to humankind with such grace and precision, Jung Hoseok also has a stage presence that warrants everyone’s unbridled attention. Thus, it is without question he is the prided Most Valuable Dancer of his university’s varsity dance crew, Synergy. The long line-up of trophies Synergy has placed in STU’s hall of glory, all thanks to the competitions Hoseok led, are enough to say Hoseok is literally the modern-day Apollo.

             However, it is not just his talent or insanely god-like face and physique that makes Hoseok so “golden.” Because as if Apollo wasn’t enough, Hoseok also impersonated Helios. Jung, Hoseok is warm and kind and funny. He easily makes everyone want to be his bestfriend the moment they met him. Most people often speak of him first thing in the morning with another wonderful feat he pulled off. Hoseok is great in the things he does — playing as the great wingman for people who need the extra push in their romances or becoming the occasional teacher’s pet who goes to the professor and (easily) successfully convinces them to give the class a deadline extension for a requirement. Hoseok turns up every campus party into the happiest event anyone could ever be in and he is such an amazing, sincere friend who remembers everyone’s birthday and gives out the nicest of hugs. Hell, Hoseok even volunteers in long-inactive “dead” college organizations like the Campus Drunk Patrol, Environment Protection Squad, and Animal Welfare Group in his free time. Hoseok is the literal sun and anyone who knows him — which is literally, everyone — will never be unable to deny otherwise.

             So when Hoseok expressed romantic interest in Y/N in sophomore year, everyone around him was beyond bewildered. Most especially, his friends.

             “Y/N?” Jimin sputters, “as in…The Y/N, L/N from our batch?”

             “Well, yeah-”

             “Like the Analytical Physics major Y/N L/N?” Taehyung gapes.

             “Yeah, I mean,” Hoseok sends them a questioning look, “is there any other Y/N L/N?”

             Taehyung scratches his head. “Well, no…I just thought there’s a Y/N in another batch?”

             Hoseok gives him a pointed look, unamused.

             But Taehyung’s true sentiment is voiced out when Jimin half-screams at their table, “Why her?!”

             “Well, why not her?” Hoseok half-smiles, picking on the fries that were dropped scattered onto the table after Jimin unceremoniously pounded his fist on the surface in an act of over-exaggeration.

             Taehyung sends Hoseok a disgusted look but continues his friend’s argument, “Dude, she’s like, the entire opposite of you.”

             “And that is an understatement.” Jimin points a fry toward his direction, glaring at Hoseok.

             Hoseok huffs, “Oh c'mon, you’re all just going overboard. What happened to the golden rule ‘don’t judge a book by its cover?’”

             “First of all, Y/N’s not a book,” Jimin scoffs. “She’s like, the whole fucking library of science textbooks. Last sem, we’re busy doing a group project when Y/N suddenly spewed some SOHCAHTOA shit about the Bermuda Triangle. As if the things she said are already a whole level of weird, she even said them in a manner like Liam Neeson’s ‘I don’t know who you are but I’m going to kill you’ monologue from Taken. And second of all, the golden rule is ‘do not do unto others what you do not want others to do unto you,’ dumbass.”

             “Okay I got the golden rule wrong,” Hoseok groans, “but nevertheless, you’re still violating it by judging Y/N.”

             “In our defense tho,” Taehyung mumbles over the straw of his milkshake, “Y/N judged us first. I was watching Orange one time in the library and she came over and took a seat with me. And then she said some alien gibberish about how Naho Takamiya always fall stupidly on the stairs because she said, by verbatim, ‘according to basic logic and common sense, that’s not how projectiles work,’” Taehyung clicks his tongue and Jimin cringes. Taehyung continues, “Y/N said Naho wouldn’t fly to the hallway when she tripped on the actual steps. She even actually drew a diagram with computations of Naho’s fall and gave it to me before she abruptly got up and go. God, I’ve never felt so stupid and insulted both at the same time.”

             “And,” Jimin adds, “last December, I shared a meme on Facebook about turning on your brain instead of your heart this coming 2017 and guess what she did? She commented below “guess, you’ll just die of heart failure before 2017 even comes.” Jimin rolls his eyes, “She made me feel dumb as if I don’t know how heart failure works. So us judging her back is just fair and square.”

             “But you don’t actually know how heart failure works,” Hoseok retorts. He glares at Taehyung, “And dude, to be honest, Orange is overrated and Naho really flies whenever she trips, or gets tripped, on the stairs.” Hoseok throws up his hands in annoyance. “Seriously, are you two judging her for just…I don’t know, being smart?!”

             Taehyung sighs. “Okay, that’s a bit true, but the thing is, Hobi, our IQ levels are already a bit higher than yours—”

             “What’s that got to do with this?!”

             “—And if Y/N’s already treating us like the biggest idiots of the world,” Jimin continues Taehyung’s words, “then what chance do you have in having a decent conversation with her? Much less a more fruitful one that could end up in a romantic relationship? There’s like a 99.9 percent sure-ness she will make you more of an idiot than us!”

             “Yeah,” Taehyung nods. “Her thoughts are composed of quadratic formulas and science shit like ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.’ While I’m not even sure you know what DNA stands for.”

             Hoseok gawks, “Of course I know what DNA stands for!”

             “Then say it,” Jimin cocks a brow.

             “Dual Nucleus Association—fuck, why am I even doing this—” Hoseok glares at his friends, “What do you take me for? An imbecile?”

             “Well, yeah,” Taehyung says honestly.

             “That’s why right now, we’re telling you to drop anything you’re feeling in that,” Jimin points to Hoseok’s chest, “for Y/N. Hell, how will you even click together? Y/N’s allergic to nonsense and emojis and your daily vocabulary is entirely nonsense and eggplant emojis.”

             Hoseok opens his mouth to argue he also knows about the clown emoji but before he can utter a word, Taehyung beats him to it.

             “Dude, we’re not telling you this to insult you.” Jimin snorts and Taehyung closes his eyes before he looks again at Hoseok’s eyes, “Okay, maybe we’re enjoying teasing you a little too much. But we can say this is just payback for you not letting us go home earlier yesterday because you said we ‘need improvement’ which I damn well think not, bitch.” Hoseok squirms and Taehyung claps his shoulder hard, making him wince. “Anyway, what we’re trying to say, Hoseok, is we just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

             “How will I get hurt?! Nothing’s happened yet. I’m just saying I like Y/N—”

             “That’s what we’re worried about, Hoseok,” Jimin cuts him. “Nothing’s happened yet but we know something already did.”

            “Like what?”

            “You like Y/N. That’s the problem,” Jimin deadpans. “Hoseok we know you like to take relationships seriously. We even know that when you set your heart on a girl, your imagination is already two steps ahead, playing your wedding in your head.”

            Hoseok gulps, a guilty sweat forming on his temple.

            “But you see, Y/N belongs to that type of people who have their what-will-you-be-in-10-years solidly planted in their heads. And it’s highly probable a relationship, much less a wedding, is written in those 10-year plans. Much more, art majors like us are stigmatized to bound for failure because society is still close-minded and deems art won’t feed us. And by the meaning of society, it’s the ‘almighty and noble’ science folks Y/N belongs to. For God’s sake, there’s a lot of movies that have already forecasted science and art don’t mix!” 

            “Well, I don’t remember any movies—”

            Taehyung looks at Hoseok, incredulous. “Dude, there’s like The Theory of Everything—”

             “That’s science and faith!”

            “Stephen Hawking’s ex-wife sang in a choir. And she also started writing after their divorce! So that’s still art!”

            Hoseok was about to retaliate when he feels Jimin clasp a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks at him. Jimin sighs, “Hoseok, we just want you to not regret your decisions in the end. Y/N belongs to those snobbish high-hat people who treat everyone below them like dirt. There’s plenty of other girls out there who are much nicer than Y/N. Nice just like you. For one, why don’t you try giving a chance to the girls who’ve been crushing on you since freshman year? I know a few and they’re actually sweet. Just anyone who’s not Y/N. Seriously, just trust us on this, Hobi.”

             Except Hoseok does not. If there is one characteristic to describe Hoseok other than nice and talented, that would be his hard-headedness. He didn’t listen to his parents when they tried to discourage him from taking dance as his major. Hoseok disregarded numerous peers’ suggestions to join a frat so he can “shine more.” He even disregarded the toxic masculinity fraternities promoted by rocking pink overalls with his sparkly ugly sneakers and multicolored acorn pouch (which Jimin told him was the bane of the entire fashion industry) at least once a week. He even changes it up with other colorful ensembles the fashion students make. Hoseok did not even listen to Taehyung when the former told him not to drink before taking their finals in World History because, "no Hoseok, the alcohol does NOT bring back memories.”

             And look where his stubbornness got him. Hoseok became one of the greatest dancers his university has ever handled. His sole talent is enough for him to get invited to teach classes in several prestigious art colleges in the country. Hoseok gained more fulfilling and growth-inspiring friendships than surface-level ones offered by frats. He enjoyed more substantial conversations than booze temptation and toxic, trivial fights over games and girls. Hoseok even accidentally created a modeling career with local brands after his viral modeling of a peach acorn-inspired outfit for the project of his fashion major friends. Although him disregarding Taehyung’s reminders was a big mistake as he totally flunked World History, that night actually made Hoseok learn his lesson not to drink before the finals (and also because he learned the alcohol does not bring back memories he actually needed for the exam. But memories of his most embarrassing moments — like the one where he ended up performing in a children’s party as a fairy godmother—complete with the rainbow gown, fairy wings, plastic crown, and wand—because he mixed up the location of the college’s Halloween party with his friend’s family get-together).

             So, why would Hoseok listen to Jimin and Taehyung when setting his eyes and heart for Y/N feels like the most right decision he has ever made in his life? Especially when Y/N’s nowhere the high-hat snobbiety concept Jimin put her in. Hoseok is sure about this because he started to see and know her more than anyone else could after the fateful night of the Science Majors’ last year’s Christmas party.

             “Is that Y/N?” Hoseok squints his eyes. The person walking towards him is clad in a black coat and indigo satin slip-dress that falls short on her mid-thigh. Her hair is a mess and her small glittery satchel is slipping off her shoulders even if she adjusted it again and again. Not to say she’s also limping on her two-inch silver heels. When the girl raises her head and sees him, her face falls into an annoyed scowl. Hoseok right then confirms it is aberrantly, and shockingly, Y/N. At the sight of recognition in his face, Y/N immediately runs away in the opposite direction. Hoseok finds himself already chasing after her before his mind could acknowledge that he is actually running after the campus’ excruciating goody-two-shoes in the ass'o clock of the night.

             Hoseok easily catches up to Y/N. He blocks her way, causing her to halt. Hoseok hunches as he breathlessly puffs, “Hey Y/N, why you so fast?”

             “No-none of your business Jung Hoseok,” Y/N turns away from him and crosses her arms. Hoseok almost smiles. It is amusing how she effortlessly pulls her usual “intimidator stance” even in such a weird scenario.

             “Well, it is my business if you’re wandering on campus grounds in the night and obviously not sober.”

             Y/N whips her head towards him, “I am sober. What are you even here for?”

             “According to my eyes, you’re clearly drunk. Look,” Hoseok points to her face, “you look red all over and you can’t even look at me straight.” 

            Y/N slaps his hand away. 

            Hoseok puts his hands back in his pockets, “You’re clearly doing some beautiful eyes challenge right now.” 

            Y/N cringes at him but Hoseok continues, “And for your second question, I’m patrolling for the Campus Drunk Patrol.” He smiles and points to the logo on his jacket.

             Y/N leans forward and squints at the logo. Seeing her raised brow, Hoseok explains, “We aim to help drunk students sober up before commuting home. We can also escort them to their dorm facades and notify their RAs to come and get them.”

             Y/N still has her brow raised, skeptical. Hoseok sighs, “Well, it’s a dead org so I understand why you don’t believe me. If I also learn some org that’s been inactive for five years has suddenly gone active, I will be skeptical, too. But trust me on this, okay? I’ll just walk you around until you’re sober enough to know how to go home. I heard you’re dorming here. I can help you get to your dorm if you want.”

             Y/N still looks unconvinced and Hoseok releases a sigh again. He juts his thumb and points to his back, “We have our Patrol Marshal stationed there by the campus gates. He can totes see us here and tell you’re one of the stubborn drunk students who refuse to cooperate with our protocol.” 

            Hoseok smugly puts his weight on his left foot.“You can refuse and go ahead. But because the marshal doesn’t let drunk people he already caught go home, he will notify the head RA and trust me when I tell you I’ve seen a lot of students end up in bigger trouble for not complying with our joint protocol with the RA Council. Or,” Hoseok smiles, “you could just make our lives easier by letting me help you sober up.”

             Y/N looks away, gnawing on her lip. When Hoseok hears a faint “fine” come from her, he has to keep his jaw from hanging open.

             Because, why wouldn’t he be flabbergasted?

             Y/N L/N, the fearsome Analytical Physics major, is not the sweetest star out there. With a resting bitch face, innateness to give cold replies, gift of the perpetual judging stare, and insensitivity to joke cues, Y/N is one of the hardest people to cooperate with. It is not entirely because she does not put in any effort. No one just found it easy, or tolerable even, to interact with her. Sure, Y/N’s smart, a genius in Hoseok’s eyes. However, what stuck to everyone’s memory is how she unconsciously belittles everyone around her. Y/N gives out unnecessary run-throughs of chemistry concepts about any movie or animation brought up in a conversation. She instantly goes grammar-nazzi on anyone who slips on the rules of English grammar, especially when people make errors concerning the Oxford comma in their papers. She even goes out of her way to explain to her fellow students the physics of how and why they drove or parked badly with their bike or scooter.

             But the pinnacle of Y/N’s negative reputation has to be her merciless removal of her senior’s name, Oh Sehun, from the case study required in Communication Media Theories. In her very first year in university, at that. Although her action is justified as Sehun did not contribute anything at all in the group project, this name removal caused outrage among every college student. Sehun, who is actually the college’s renowned quarterback, graduated late and was now behind of his original team who already got into the professionals. All because of Y/N. Hence, the people in the university have started to associate her name with the title “stuck-up-iest bitch to ever walk on Earth.” Some don’t even seem to remember her name. All everyone knew is that Y/N’s one hell of a condescending bitch.

             So having Y/N walk silently by his side, cooperating for the first time without reciting her rights based on the constitution with such accuracy in verbatim while passively and implicitly insulting him, Hoseok cannot help to be so shocked.

             Noticing the complete silence that has surrounded them two, Hoseok breaks from his trance and leads Y/N to the college’s cafe. It’s already closed, given the lateness of the night, but it has their outdoor metal chairs set-up outside. He lets Y/N plop down on one of the metal seats as he produces a coffee-in-can for her.

             “Do you just casually carry around canned coffees with you?”

             “No, just when I am on duty for the patrols. Caffeine is the best way to help people sober up fast.” Hoseok inserts an edible straw for her and she grabs the drink.

             “I don’t think so,” Y/N mutters, “Human body processes consumed alcohol on its own, thus, it’s processing speed is neither affected nor aided by any exterior substances. With this, there’s no such actual thing as 'sobering up fast.’ It just feels like that because caffeine is a stimulant and hence, counters the sedative effect of alcohol, making you feel alert and appear to be sober.” Y/N takes another sip, “Nevertheless, thanks for the free coffee.”

              Hoseok almost gapes. The people were not kidding about how Y/N casually spouts science shit wherever she goes. Although he’s supposed to get tipped off, Hoseok just finds this set-up oddly amusing. He leans forward in his seat and props up his arm on the table to cup his face. “Anyway, why are you out in the late of the night?”

                 Y/N gives him an unamused look, “Because I was obviously partying. Is there any other party in the campus right now than the Science Majors’ Christmas party?”

              “You’re right,” Hoseok chuckles, “but what I mean is, why are you already outside? The party doesn’t end 'til 2 A.M.”

              “I just decided I want to go home.”

              “Why?”

              Y/N drops her drink on the table, “Are you just gonna ask me 'why’ everytime?!”

              Hoseok tilts his head and smiles, “Talking with drunk people is part of our protocol in sobering up. So, yeah, I’m gonna ask why every time until the redness on your nose and cheeks subsides a little.”

              “Fine,” Y/N hisses. She gives Hoseok a steely glare, “This night is the first time I’ve done something so stupid such as going to a party in an attempt to expand my connections. It turns out everyone still irrationally hates me about Oh Sehun’s name removal and they refused to interact with me. They kept sending me glares  while I just pathetically stood in the corner of the room for the duration of the party, dumbly holding a cup of some alcoholic drink I just realized 30 minutes ago was what you call ‘spiked.’ These pretty heels I wore hurt my ankles and toes all for nothing.” Y/N covers her face with her palms, “God, I don’t even know why I’m opening up about these things with you when it’s just the first time I talked with you. Maybe it’s just because I’m just drunk, god, it’s so stupid–”

              “It’s not stupid,” Hoseok interjects and Y/N raises her head from her hands. Hoseok smiles, “When there’s too much alcohol in our system, we get to do stuff we never knew we can. And sometimes, they are things we really desire to do but dare not let out in the open, afraid of what others may think. And it may come off as stupid as you’re letting your heart do the talking instead of your brain. But you know what? You have to be stupid sometimes to acknowledge what your brain may be missing out on. Plus,” Hoseok stretches open his arms wide, “there’s just the two of us here so no one can really judge you because hey, I’m just all ears here. After all, I’m just an officer of the Campus Drunk Patrol helping you sober up.” At the sight of Y/N’s pursed lips and eyes set on the coffee beside her, looking as if she’s convinced (and it looks like it’s not like her to admit it), Hoseok smiles wider and leans forward. “Now, back to your story. Why did you decide to go to a party?”

              “Because,” Y/N sighs, “I don’t know, @keanu_reeves_is_the_real_daddy from Hoboken said in Reddit that going to parties is a great opportunity to make friends.” Y/N looks down at her hands and interlocks them, “I’m just–I’m just desperate to get some friends. I’m already in second year, and still, no one wants to be with me. I often talk about how I don’t care whether people like me or not. Most of the time, I really do not care at all. But sometimes...it also gets lonely when you feel everyone seems to hate you.”

              “Well, I’m not everyone.”

              Y/N looks up at him, frowning, “That’s a great joke, Hoseok. I saw you hanging with Jimin just yesterday and I heard my name as the subject and "stick-in-the-ass bitch” as the predicate in a couple of sentences.“

              "Hate to break it to you, sweetie, but it was just Jimin who talked bad about you. Did you hear me say your name and 'stick-in-the-ass’ in one sentence?”

              Y/N glares at him. She then rips her gaze away from him to set them back on her interlocked fingers. “What are you trying to imply, Hoseok?”

               "I’m trying to imply, if you want to have a friend, I’m willing to be one.”

               "But you already got lots of friends.”

               Hoseok smiles, “That doesn’t mean I have no room left for one more.”

              Y/N gives him that skeptic look again and Hoseok snorts. “Hey, I’m being serious here. I really want to be your friend if you’d like. And no, it’s not because I pity you.” 

              Y/N raises a brow at him in disbelief and Hoseok purses his lips. He raises his hands in surrender, “Ooohkay, maybe like 0.001 percent I do, but 99.999 percent I just don’t like how everyone hates you for something that is not actually your fault. I really want to get to know you if you’d let me.”

                 Y/N just stares at him and Hoseok, for the first time in his life save for the days he’s answering written exams, has literally no idea what to do. Is Y/N angry at him for blurting out those things? Or is she aggravated he seemed plastic? But Hoseok knows he meant every single thing he said because first and foremost, he cannot lie even if he wanted to. He’s a goddamn horrible liar that anyone will know he’s lying before he can even start to lie. Second, he always says the first thing that comes to his mind because, in the majority of his life, he is incapable of thinking first before doing something. And third, Hoseok really meant what he said. He’s always been curious about Y/N. Jimin and Taehyung always talk ill about her and from the numerous negative shits he hears from them, he can’t help but think that maybe, her reputation is just one big hell of a rumor. It’s just impossible that so many rumors and negative comments about someone who he rarely sees outside the university, to be true. 

              Hoseok knows because he also has his fair share of rumors he has struggled to disprove. Like how he “cheated” in dance contests because no one can’t believe someone is just so exceptionally talented that they can win every single competition they join. Or how he “slept around” with almost half of the female population in the university just because he has lots of female friends and he loves to joke around with eggplant and saliva emojis in his texts. It’s hard to be contained in such one definitive title, much more a heavily negative one. Hoseok knew what it felt and it feels it’s just wrong to stay as a standbyer while the entire university jeers on Y/N for such a trivial reason.

              “Do-do you really mean that?”

              Hoseok looks at Y/N and nods. “Yes, I do.”

              Something wet drops on his jacket and Hoseok looks up at the sky. The sky is pitch black, save for the white inklets dotting the atmosphere, lightening up the dark horizon along with the glow of sparkling snowflakes. He turns to Y/N and smiles, “Oh look, it’s the first snow.”

              Y/N returns his smile this time. She tells him she wants to stay for ten more minutes to appreciate the snow before going home. Hoseok grins at her and says he’s got enough time to spare before his duty ends.

              The next day, Y/N’s frowning at Hoseok as the latter awkwardly holds his lunch tray next to her table.

              “Uhhh, aren’t you standing by the wrong table? Your friends sit over there.”

              “No,” Hoseok quips. “Jimin and Taehyung are not seated anywhere here because their lunches are scheduled way later today. And, this, in my opinion,” Hoseok scoots to Y/N’s side and sits down beside her, “is the perfect table.” Hoseok digs in his lunch and grins at her, “You should probably start eating now, too, y'know? Your food’s gonna get cold.”

              “I–” Y/N bites her lip and look away before she refocuses a glare at his face, “Are you really taking seriously your joke last night?”

              “It’s not a joke,” Hoseok retorts, dropping his utensils. “I’m serious about everything I said." 

              "But I didn’t mean mine. I’m drunk, remember?”

              “If you really didn’t mean them,” Hoseok looks at her, “then you can just tell me to leave. I’ll do whatever you say.”

              Y/N stares at him, brows scrunched together as if conflicted. She looks down on her hands on her lap and sighs, “I…don’t really want you to…leave. I’m sorry, I just…thought you’re just playing with me. You know all of this is still new to me. I’m sorry.”

              “Hey, it’s fine,” Hoseok chuckles, “no need to be so serious. We can take things slowly as long as you’d like.” Y/N pulls up a small smile and Hoseok grins. “Let’s finish our lunches and then we can look at memes. Memes are essential building blocks in friendships.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah. Taehyung and I became friends after we accidentally sent each other hilarious anti-government blinking man memes.”

              It is needless to say the entire university goes berserk later when they find Y/N, the campus bitch, and Hoseok, the university’s sunshine boy, guffawing over chemistry memes during lunch. Hoseok does not understand a thing, but he enjoys laughing with Y/N as she passionately explains to him each concept and why they are funny.

              It is true that Y/N wasn’t the dearest person in the world. Hoseok learned this after weeks of dealing with her unintentional snarkiness and unnecessary science lessons that may seem insulting and offensive to others. But through the time he got to befriend her, Hoseok learns Y/N is just too smart for her own good. Y/N always goes around like an encyclopedia because she doesn’t know what else to say when she wants to find common grounds with other people. It is just unfortunate that Y/N cannot speak of anything that does not involve quantum mechanics and chemical structures.  Meanwhile, her unintended snarkiness is always directed to people’s redundancy and anomalies in their speech. Hoseok found out about this as soon as February rolled in, that it has to do with the restrictive childhood Y/N had. This, he discovered when Professor Minyoung Park called for him after his Science 11 GE class.

              “Hoseok, I see you getting close with Y/N, these days.”

              “Yes ma'am,” Hoseok replies. He sits on the chair in front of her desk.

              “Oh, then you must have been familiar with how she can get,” Ms. Park leans forward, “not so…friendly around people. I know she and her mind of hers can be a little too much for others.”

              Hoseok’s forehead furrows. How did Professor Park know? Although Y/N’s bad reputation has easily spread like wildfire among college students, not many professors or any of the university staff have shown any interest in her life other than her impressive academic standing. Hoseok asks, “How did you know, Ms. Park?”

              The 40-year old professor leans back and smiles. “Would you believe I used to tutor Y/N L/N back in middle school?”

              “No way,” Hoseok’s jaw drops open.

              Ms. Park chuckles, “Yes, it’s true. I know, what a coincidence right?  I remember how that pretty girl used to be so insecure about her braces.”

              “Yeah, she must be so…adorable back then,” Hoseok looks away bashful. He’s not used associating Y/N with such adjectives. Saying them aloud feels too weird on his tongue.

              Ms. Park’s voice makes him turn back to her. “Until now she is. It’s just a shame how she did not outgrow her…usual speech style. But in her defense, it’s not entirely her fault.”

              Hoseok’s eyes widen. His curiosity is instantly piqued. “What do you mean, Ms. Park?”

              “Well, Y/N L/N is brought up in a home…quite not friendly for children growing up. The L/Ns is a prestigious family. Not for their wealth, but for their remarkable lineage of geniuses. Y/N’s great grandparents are renowned mathematician whizzes. Her grandparents own Fields medals for their remarkable contributions in mathematics. Moreover, Y/N’s parents are well-respected chemists in almost every pharmaceutical congregation. Even their relatives are families of renowned doctors and engineers. From over ten years of tutoring her, I noticed how expectations pile up upon the short shoulders of young Y/N. Every single school day, Y/N has to attend cram schools and private tutoring after her classes to ensure she stays on top of the overall batch standing. She also has to be exposed to upper-class parties at such a young age which I think does not help anyone at all. Especially a child. All the people ever do there is brag about their achievements, scour for new families to ally with or manipulate, and eye each other’s mistakes so they can prove publicly how better they are than everyone else.” Ms. Park looks at Hoseok in the eyes, “Believe me, I used to dream about attending such parties until I finally learned how they go when I’ve been invited by the L/Ns. And with Y/N being a single child, all eyes were on her. So any room for mistakes is non-existent. Her parents assured her to grow like the perfect daughter they wanted her to be by making sure her movements are always constantly monitored and kept in check. You think Y/N studied here because this is just a prestigious school? No. The L/Ns wanted to send her abroad. To Harvard. Y/N refused and convinced them instead she’ll study here because I work here. And her parents trust me that I can be their eyes to see Y/N’s progress.”

              Hoseok nods but he cannot help but let his mouth hang open at everything he’s discovering right now. No one really knew anything about Y/N. And suddenly out of nowhere, on some random Thursday afternoon, he is introduced into a pandora box of history where everything about her suddenly seems to make sense.

              Ms. Park must have noticed his troubled face so she reaches out and holds Hoseok’s hand. “Hoseok, I’m not telling you these to pressure you. In fact, I am happy Y/N finally found someone who can listen to her and understand her, instead of watching her like a glass-cased perfect doll. I’m just telling you all these not to excuse the mistakes she has done but for you to understand where she’s coming from, especially when interacting with her can be difficult sometimes. So I hope you won’t give up on her, Hoseok. I know you’re a good kid. I just want Y/N to finally enjoy herself like every other college student out there.”

              And Hoseok, with his ever characteristic stubbornness did not give up on you.

“What do you mean I cannot state the faulty quantum mechanics in Antman to Taehyung?!” Y/N scowls at Hoseok, fingers frozen on the book she has mid-taken away from the shelf.

“Because you will break Taehyung’s heart,” Hoseok purses his lips and steps nearer to her, almost cornering her to the back of the bookshelf. “And can you lower your voice? We’re in a library.”

“For the same reason you should also back up a bit as I do not fancy you borderline sexually harrassing me.”

“Sexual harassment?!” Hoseok whisper-yells, “I’m stepping closer to you because I feel the need to whisper louder for you to get my point that you should not explain whatever Antman’s faulty quantum shit to Taehyung because that will make him angry. And sad!”

“Why will he be angry?” Y/N sticks her nose up and crosses her arms. “Shouldn’t he feel grateful I am adding heuristic value to his existing knowledge?”

Hoseok drags a hand down his face, “Well, I didn’t say you cannot explain some facts to Taehyung. I’m just saying you don’t tell him those things in a matter-of-factly way you always do because he’ll think you’re insulting him for watching such movies.”

“How should I say them then?” Y/N quips back.

Y/N learns the answer to her question before she knew she already did it. She realizes it when she gets out of her film class and Hoseok, who has been waiting for her last period to finish, asks her how did it go.

“Well, I told him 'The film Antman is quite weird.’”

“And what did he say?”

“Taehyung grinned at me and high-fived me.”

“Well then, it was successful. Much better than how you initially decided to do it,” Hoseok grins.

“But still…I called Ant Man weird, I’m still perplexed why Taehyung is pleased.”

“Calling something weird is a common expression to us,” Hoseok starts and Y/N tilts her head. Hoseok explains further, “’Weird’ can mean as a good endearing weird or an insulting ‘weird.’ If you added statistics of probability and some laws with calling something ‘weird,’ it will sound like 'Hypothesis one is proven: the movie is confirmed to be bullshit because of unquestionable proof.’ And that will appear insulting because you are not giving room for others’ opinions to be valid. It will make you look you’re belittling them if you said it that way. But today, you did not. See?” Hoseok smiles, “you do not have to state 100 percent what you really meant. Just a bit of truth you find essential for others to know is already enough for a small talk.”

Y/N nods, her lips morphed into an amused “oh.”

Hoseok grins as he puts his hands on his waist, “Trust me on this. I became Mr. Congeniality last year for a reason.”

“What does it have to do with making small talk?”

“It means, I am the expert in making small talk.”

***

“C'mon, Y/N, let’s go to the spring festival. Please, please, please, pleaseeee.”

“No, Hoseok,” Y/N pulls her hand from his grip, “I have to study for our finals.”

“But, Y/N, it’s too early for that. The finals is yet to come 'til next month! Look at me, I do not feel any pressure to study yet.”

“But that’s because you do not have any academic standing to maintain.”

Hoseok’s face falls and Y/N immediately rectifies her mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Hoseok. Of course, I know you also value your class standing, given your program and all. I’m sorry I’m being insensitive again.”

Hoseok breaks into a laugh. “Oh my god, I’m just fucking around with you! You’re partially right though, I don’t have an academic standing to maintain but a performative one. Although I still have to keep my grades up so I can continue studying here. Anyway,” Hoseok grins at Y/N, offering his hand out, “I only accept apologies in the form of accompanying me to the spring festival.”

“Fine, Hoseok,” Y/N  begrudgingly accepts his hand. But Hoseok cannot miss the small smile forming on her lips.

“Don’t fret tho,” He boops her nose and she cringes at him, “we can  insert some Q&A sessions later so you can do a bit of studying if you’d still like.”

“How will we do that?”

Y/N learns the answer to that when she finds themselves screaming from the opposite ends of the giant boat ride.

“HOSEOK, DAMN YOU!”

The boat tips and her stomach drops but all she can hear is Hoseok screaming.

“WRONG, Y/N. The answer to the drilling ship which can dig 'til the mantle of the earth IS CHIKYU! NOW, off to the next question. What are CYANOBACTERIA?!!!”

              But Hoseok does more than just sticking by Y/N’s side and not giving up on her. He falls in love with her.

              Through the months he has become Y/N’s friend, Hoseok cannot help but be endeared by her. The things about her he never thought will come as close to what he calls cute suddenly grows on him. It grows too much that he lives off every single one of them. Even if it usually ends with him getting roasted. He used to get frustrated by Y/N’s never-ending witty comebacks. Now, his heart started singing during their bicker-banters that Hoseok even started to look forward to their bickering. Y/N’s smile that Hoseok used to think was a standard horror level of creepy is now all he could dream about when he’s asleep, and even when he’s awake. The way Y/N laughs at him, or smiles when she sees him were heart-warming. Until they upped 100 million levels and now they have become cataclysmic for his heart. The way Y/N patiently teaches him his lessons, or how her science-y jokes and memes become funny was something Hoseok used to overlook as trivial. Now, he couldn’t wait for the days he’ll bring his notebooks to the library and stare at Y/N’s face while she teaches him quantum mechanics and chemical structures. 

              Y/N’s small “tokens of appreciation,” as what she called it, like her handmade ‘thank you’ cards she gives Hoseok every month, or her invitations for Hoseok to accompany her to some street event or nearby dance event, or as uneventful as a new food stall that has opened in the university were something Hoseok never put much thought on. Now, they’re Hoseok’s source of both happiness and headaches as they make his heart fly and his brain ache for thinking too much into her actions. The way Y/N looks at him like never someone else has before—so attentive and focused in everything he says as if everything that comes from his mouth has so much worth listening to. Even if it’s a disgusting tale of how he almost shitted his pants before their science exam because he didn’t listen to Jimin when he told him to stop binge-eating spicy wings as a coping mechanism to stress, Y/N listens. This used to be something Hoseok treats as his special privilege as her friend. But now, it has become a national treasure he does not want to share with others. Especially with Namjoon, his roommate, whom Y/N managed to befriend because the former is a Biology major who’s on the same level as Y/N’s intellectual prowess. God, Hoseok cannot even count on his hands the number of times he’s been conflicted if it was jealousy on Namjoon’s effortless way to make Y/N laugh, or petty anger because he cannot even understand their jokes. 

              Hoseok doesn’t know how or why he suddenly felt all of these things for Y/N. It just happened. And so is how he accidentally blurted it out to her during one of their conversations, despite Jimin and Taehyung’s adamant warnings not to ask her out.

              "And whenever I use the microscope in my room, I’m always scared turning the coarse knob so much. It will be horrifying to see the objective lens break the slide and the coverslip.”

              “Y/N, I like you.”

              YN’s jaw goes slack and she stares at him, eyes wide. Hoseok almost feels perspiration dot his entire hairline for what feels like ten whole minutes in purgatory. Will Y/N leave? Will she scream at him, laugh at him even for his audacity? Will she reject him? Of course she will, what is he thinking? Taehyung and Jimin are right. Y/N is smart and he is too dumb for her to even fulfill at least an ounce of her standards. Y/N is respectable and he is a shameless clown–

              “I…am allowing you to be sexually attracted to me, Hoseok.”

              “W-what?”

              “I said,” Y/N looks straight into his eyes, “I am giving you permission to like me, Hoseok.”

              Hoseok balks. “P-permission? W-why do I need permission?”

              “Because, if you’re going to like me, I need you to know I am acknowledging your sexual attraction to me seriously,” Y/N stands up, putting her hands in the pockets of your coat. “It will be a waste if you do not want a long-term commitment. I do not have time to dwell on anything less than that.”

              Lucky for Y/N, so does Hoseok and he wastes no time proving it to her. For the course of six months, Hoseok courts her in the most possible best Hoseok-way. Y/N lived the majority of her life within suffocating walls surrounded by academics, titles, honors, and people waiting for her to fall. Hoseok wanted to take her with him on a break (and a possible future lifestyle) away from them all. So he takes Y/N to carnivals, dance events, and festivals–ranging from streets decorated in cheap glowing lanterns to grander events that have remarkable fireworks displays.

              Hoseok shows Y/N himself at his most vulnerable and strongest. He lets her watch him perform alone in practice rooms as he expresses the things muddled in his head, things he never dares to say to anyone else. Y/N’s been with him when he broke down due to his anxiety concerning his not-so-impressive acads. She was also with him in his embarrassing drunk adventures. Hell, Y/N even participated in his crew’s weird end-of-the-sem party. She let Hoseok dress them two like the two robbers from Home Alone–complete with the rageddy cut gloves and dirty face makeup. But, Y/N has also seen Hoseok’s crew’s successful university tours, the exclusive events he got invited to, and his dance recitals that got many theater and entertainment scouts crowding the room he’s dancing in.

              Hoseok shows all of himself to Y/N. Willingly and so transparently, that in turn, she started to show him her self, too. Y/N let him see her in her utter glory. She let him see her receiving awards from various electronics competitions and exhibitions, her creating the first demo of her portable printer and scanner machine that earned many positive reviews from numerous investors, and her getting featured in not just the university’s newspaper or any other school’s newspapers, but the city’s news for a composting machine she invented. And, Y/N also let Hoseok see her at her worst. She let him see her get told off by one of the people she had unconsciously insulted in the hallways, her failing her Communication GE classes, and her having a panic attack when her parents announced yet again another party of scholars who wish to see what she’s been up to lately.

              These things made Y/N realize Hoseok was serious about her and she, in return, has started to cherish the golden boy who would never leave her alone for the day until she’s crying from sheer laughter and happiness.

              However, it is the small things Hoseok does that really really gets to her.

              Hoseok remembers the small details Y/N slips in during their conversations.

“Hey, you are not supposed to eat that,” a fork clashes with Y/N’s own, preventing her from reaching the delectable dish.

“This pasta?” Y/N looks up at Hoseok.

“It has chopped shrimps. I asked Seokjin about it and he said it has prawns.” Hoseok grabs Y/N’s hand and leads her to the other side of the buffet. There, he gets her pasta with white sauce, this time, garnished in bacon. “Here, eat this, instead. It may not taste like the one with the shrimp but at least you won’t get allergies and you can enjoy the rest of the night instead of chilling out at the hospital watching sad re-runs of The Big Bang Theory.”

***

“Hoseok, you won’t believe how fascinating my yield turned out to be, like–Hoseok, what are you doing?

Hoseok pauses in his fumbling and blinks at Y/N. He looks down back at his bag and sighs. “I was hoping to keep this a surprise but oh well.”

He pulls up something from his bag and Y/N’s left gaping when he hands her a box of baked cookies. He rubs his neck, the tip of his ears reddening under her  gaze. “I remember you telling me it’s been a while since you ate cookies. My mom baked a lot for us so here, have some. I know you’re on some ridiculous diet your parents told you to take. But I hope you could give yourself a cheat day and just eat and enjoy the day. Your parents aren’t here.”

              Hoseok never fails to check up on her.

“Hey, how long have you been hunched over your desk now?” Hoseok’s voice blares from Y/N’s phone’s speakers and she sighs.

“About five hours now, I think?”

“Okay. Why don’t you take a break for ten minutes before going back to the grind? You told me your back is being an ass to you for two weeks now. Give it some rest. Also, drink some water.”

“Okay mom, will do,” Y/N chuckles over the line.

“Okay my daughter,” Hoseok sing-songs and she snorts. “I’ll call later and check up on you. Don’t dare to not take a break. I know where your dorm is and I’ll break into your window if I have to.”

“Okay, okay, will do, my personal health support system.”

“Glad to be of your service, ma'am.”

***

Y/N sighs as she throws her bag onto her bed. Today is a beat day. Mr. David was sour and he poured all his frustration on their class by giving out unnecessary lectures instead of teaching the new lesson. Y/N guesses she’ll have to self-study again for a quiz the prof has irrationally scheduled for tomorrow. And oh, Ms. Peterson also gave out a heavy paper late. It will force Y/N to cram for it in two days as submission date is just the day after tomorrow. Why is every deadline piling up today? It’s not yet even finals week yet!

Y/N plops onto her desk with a heavy sigh. She’ll end up having to do an all-nighter again — wait, what’s that doing there? There’s a pack of sandwiches in a clear food container sitting on top of her desk, beside her notebooks. Y/N doesn’t remember buying one or requesting her rommate, Jae In, to buy her one. Curious, she picked it up and turned it around. That’s when Y/N sees a yellow post-it attached on the plastic container.

“Hey Y/N. I thought of you today and decided to make you a sandwich. This is edible, I assure you. I asked my cooking mama friend Seokjin to come over and help me. Eat this snack before you do your work. I know you always start work right after coming home from your classes. I hope you eat on time and not skip on meals.

With super duper mega love,

Hoseok 😘”

              And Hoseok helps Y/N to the best he can, whenever he can, especially about things she’s passionate about but no one takes time to really understand.

"Hey Y/N,” Hoseok greets as he plops down next to her seat in the library.

“Hoseok?” Y/N glances up at him, eyes wide, “What are you doing here? You told me you have practice today.”

“Eh, the members cancelled on me today.  And also, I’ve missed you, so I figured why not visit you.” Hoseok grins at her and she momentarily forgets how to breathe. Y/N doesn’t know when Hoseok started to have that effect on her, it just happened. And although it is starting to be an inconvenience regarding how she becomes a nervous wreck under his gaze, she weirdly cannot find herself complaining against it. 

Hoseok leans forward, breaking her trance. “Now, what should we study today?”

“Uh-uhm, cellular mechanisms. I wanted to learn more about cancer cells.”

“Cellular mechanisms it is, then. Want me to help you make diagrams?”

Y/N nods and Hoseok grins, “I see the skills of artist Hoseok is not about to die anytime soon, eh?”

***

“How does that work, Y/N?”

“Well, it converts the mechanical energy from every step you take into electrical energy. It’s not yet finished so I’m still figuring out how many more parts I need for this to work. My previous demos have a lot of mistakes.” Right at the same time, a bolt pops off. Y/N runs a hand over her face, “And a lot of malfunctioning parts.”

Hoseok scratches his head. “I don’t know about any energy conversions but I know how to screw well?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A-a statement. I can fix what we have for now while you revise your design. Whaddya think?”

“That sounds good.” Y/N turns around and heads for her blue prints. But before she can pick up her measuring materials, she turns back to Hoseok, meeting his gaze as he’s mid-picking up a screw driver.

“Thank you, Hoseok for assisting me on this. I know it’s just a personal project and I may be taking too much of your time when you should probably be resting at your dorm.”

“Pssh, you’re not taking too much of my time. I am enjoying my time with you. Also, it’s not just a personal project. It is a personal project so of course, it deserves to have gigantic importance to you. And it will turn out great because I know it will. Now go let’s get these revisions done so we can do another test run.”

              Hoseok has been a wonderful friend, an amazing supporter, and a sincere person who never feels ashamed of showing Y/N what he felt. That is all she needed for her not to doubt anymore and accept his confession.

              “Hey, Y/N,” Hoseok huffs, hands tucked deep in his red parka. “Why did you  tell me to meet up in the park? It’s cold out. Can’t it wait 'til tomorrow?”

              “No, it cannot,” Y/N faces the man, brows scrunched, her lips red from the number of times she has bitten it. “Hoseok, there’s something I need to tell you.”

              “W-what is it?”

              “I…am reciprocating yo-your profession of your sexual attraction to me.”

              “What?”

              “I said, I am reciprocating–” Y/N’ bites her lip and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she gives Hoseok the most focused stare she can ever give. “Hoseok, I am accepting your love confession. I like you, too.”

              Hoseok stares at Y/N, eyes wide, mouth agape. And for too long that Y/N thought the cold must have frozen him all over.

              “Hoseok, why are you staring like that? I am telling you, I like you too–hmppf!”

              Hoseok is kissing her, his lips pressed softly against hers in a gentle peck. Before Y/N could process things in her head about what to do when the boy she likes started kissing her, Hoseok is already coaxing her lips to dance with his. And before long, Y/N is returning him a kiss with the same ardor as his. It’s not like her to suddenly make out with someone so publicly. Hell, it’s not even like her to kiss someone with such passion that the warmth she feels on her chest comes close as to the heat of the sun. But as Y/N stays in Hoseok’s embrace in the middle of the frosted park which contrasts their warm chests, everything just feels so right.

              So right, as if fate just planned this very night for the two of them. Because, as their kiss comes into an end, Y/N and Hoseok both jolt at the drop of wetness that land on their heads. Y/N looks up and sees the familiar soft white snow falling from the dark night sky. The first snow. Right then deja vu sets in of how it was just one year ago she met this giggling boy in front of her at the very same time of the year.

              “I guess the universe wants us to be together, too.” Hoseok smiles.

              Y/N grins at him and sinks deeper into his embrace. “As preposterous that sounds given that the universe is, literally speaking, a no-higher living being, it is more preposterous that I am finding myself agreeing to and blushing because of this.”

              “I can’t understand what you said but I think it means you like it too so I’m deciding this is one of the best blush-worthy moments I ever had,” Hoseok kisses the top of Y/N’s head, “and whatever you say won’t stop me from taking back what I said.” Y/N nuzzles her nose against his chest, smiling at the way she cannot tell her heartbeat apart from his–the beats beneath their chests in sync despite the incongruity in her words.

***

              Loving Hoseok is easy. He is charming, generous, understanding, and everything Y/N ever wanted. Even more, nothing really changed from their friendship, just the addition of cheesy pick-up lines, sweet kisses here and there, hot make-out sessions which more often than not escalate into passionate (and very amazing) love-making. And Y/N loves her relationship with him as well for this. Because even if Hoseok succeeds in making her a soft mush for him, she cannot live her life without having him be the best-est friend she could ever have in her life.

              But from all the things Y/N loves about Hoseok, her most favorite has to be his utter transparency. What she sees in him, is what she gets. Hoseok is unabashed in proclaiming his feelings for her. He does not get embarrassed in showing Y/N his love for her. And, Hoseok does not keep secrets from her. He just willingly tells everything about him to her, no euphemisms, no lies. Y/N guesses this is probably the reason why their fights never last too long. Moreover, this quality of his makes up for Y/N’s inability to effectively express her thoughts and feelings. He taught Y/N pure utter honesty that so many people have stigmatized for naivety, but actually felt so amazing. He also taught Y/N to trust and let down her walls for people so they can be able to love her. Hoseok inspires and motivates Y/N to become a better version of herself, not only for the sake of others, but also for herself, and she cannot be grateful enough for that. 

              Titles didn’t matter with Hoseok, with Y/N, and their relationship. What only matters is their labels for each other–boyfriend and girlfriend, lovers loved and in love. Hoseok does not encrypt his messages in a way that would match Y/N’s mental capacity – He just talks with her like the way he is, nonsense and eggplant emojis and all. Hoseok does not burden Y/N with heavy, unreasonable expectations. He just loves her and lets her be whatever she wants. He just stays by Y/N’s side as she freely learns from and works on her mistakes like every flawed human being. With Hoseok, Y/N knew what she deserves and she started to live her life the way she has always dreamed of–so flawed but so perfectly Y/N L/N who is unafraid of what the future may bring to her.

              However, not everyone cannot fully comprehend Y/N’s relationship with Hoseok. Loving Hoseok may be easy but the environment surrounding their relationship is an entirely opposite scenario. For Hoseok’s and Y/N’s disregard of titles, does not guarantee everyone else around their relationship will do the same.

              Y/N’s relationship with Hoseok spread throughout the campus like a Jeffree Star fight-controversy with another YouTuber in 2x speed. The entire university has gone berserk yet again, unable to fathom how someone who shines so bright like Hoseok can be together with someone like Y/N who dims other’s lights. And for other people, they cannot understand how such a happy-go-lucky academically-challenged student like Hoseok can even amuse such no-shit, genius brain of Y/N.

              Almost everyone has something to say about their relationship. And, most often than not, they are negative. It didn’t help anything in their relationship as Y/N is already insecure as to why Hoseok even chose her when he can have any woman he wished. Y/N knows she’s difficult to be with. She struggles with expressing her feelings and thoughts. She even feels like she’s making things too hard for Hoseok. You see, Y/N’s a safe player. In whatever grounds she’s in — academics, social life, family ties — she  always plays safe. Y/N finds it hard to not be so, especially when all her life, she has been groomed to be a person well-liked by everybody else — a person safe from any negative impression that may tarnish her reputation. So, when things get a little bit too hard with Hoseok, Y/N finds herself automatically heading for the exit.

              Just like in one Wednesday night in August. Y/N had her fair share of fights with Hoseok. From the difficulties that tie with his popularity, her inability to show her feelings to him that sometimes makes him question her love, his procrastination and occasional lack of care for his academics, her nature to obsess over her studies that she tends to forget herself and everyone around her, to his numerous female friends who have the audacity to still flirt with him even if they all know he’s dating her — Y/N and Hoseok have fought about them all within their seven months of dating. And sure, they were already pretty bad fights given that they were immensely serious with Y/N and Hoseok ending up screaming at each other, giving each other cold shoulders, and ignoring each other for at most (usually) five days. But this Wednesday night was not like any of ther previous fights. Because this time, Y/N told Hoseok she wanted to break up with him.

              “Will you stop for a second, Y/N?!”

              Y/N swiftly turns around, tears brimming her swollen red eyes, “What do you want, Hoseok? I already said what I need to say. I am tired of constantly being the bad guy whenever we fight. I am tired of this, of you. I want to break up.”

              “No, you don’t mean that,” Hoseok almost cries. He looks equally devastated as her — swollen eyes, pale face, trembling fingers. “N-no, you don’t mean that,” he repeats, this time, his voice breaking.

              “Of course I mean them, Hoseok,” Y/N spits, “I never say things I do not mean. You know me.”

              “I know you,” Hoseok retorts, “that’s why I am telling you right now you don’t mean telling me you’re tired of our relationship, of me. That you want to b-break up. B-because you’re Y/N,” he breathes out. “You seem cold but you actually care. You do not speak your thoughts or feelings aloud but act on them. Okay, maybe you speak them out, but you say it in a way most people do not understand so that still does not count. But, Y/N,” Hoseok reaches for her hand before she can even think of shaking off his hold, “I know you love me. Deep inside the deepest of your hypothalamus, like you said, I believe you love me. Or else, you wouldn’t stay when I told you to watch me dance alone, frustrated with the world. You wouldn’t put in effort befriending Taehyung and Jimin despite knowing what they all said about you in the past. You wouldn’t have told me you wanted to come with me to my hometown and meet my family for my dad’s birthday. And,” Hoseok looks down at his feet, “you wouldn’t have stayed with me this long knowing how annoying I can be and what everyone else has to say about us. So please, Y/N. Just please…stay. Let’s talk it out together. Don’t just break up with me. Please don’t just l-leave me alone.”

              When Hoseok looks up at Y/N, it is with his brows scrunched together, eyes glazed over, and form almost kneeling in front of her. He holds her hands so tight, but yet so gentle, as if afraid if he clasped her fingers tighter, it will be too suffocating that she’ll slip away from him. He just looks at her and she cannot help but return his gaze. Y/N realizes right then, it may have been a bad decision to do so. For all she could see in his eyes is her reflection. Her and only her. It even seems as if he’s trying to keep the entirety of her as vivid as a memory can be. And maybe it’s because it’s the way he unabashedly tells her everything he loves about her. Or the way he remembers every single detail about her. Or how he knows her so well despite their relationship blooming at such a young age. But, they are all enough for Y/N to hold his hands tighter and let him engulf HER in his arms.

              “H-Hobi–”

              “S-see? You even still call me like that,” Hoseok mutters above her head and Y/N bites her lip as she clutches onto his jacket tighter.

              “Hobi, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean them. I’m not tired of you. I’m not tired of u-us. I do not want to break up with you. Not at all. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Y/N lets out a sob and Hoseok hugs her tighter, running a hand over her hair, knowing it calms her down. “It’s just that everything’s been too much lately. The-the way your friends–”

              “What did they do?” Hoseok’s voice deepens close into a low growl. Y/N gulps. “Please tell me, Y/N,” Hoseok says softly as he cups her face in his warm hands. Y/N bites her lip and looks away. She does not want to be that type of girlfriend who instigates a fight between their significant other and their friends. She does not want Hoseok to have a bad blood with people he cares about. But then, Y/N remembers their fight two months ago. That night when she confronted Hoseok about the consecutive late nights he has spent in the practice room, neglecting his studies and even his own health for the past two weeks. The moment Y/N cornered him about it, Hoseok broke down and told her everything — how he lacked the motivation to perform well in his recitals and how his course adviser told him to pull his shit together before he fucks up the nearing international dance competition.

“She told me that I’m dating you right now but why can’t I even pull my shit together like you do. That she doesn’t understand why you’re even dating me when you can date far more competent guys. That sooner or later, you’re going to break up with me. Because,” Hoseok sighs and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his cheeks, a tear slipping down them instead, “look at me. I’m so sloppy. I’m such a loser—”

“No, you’re not!” Y/N interrupts him and Hoseok jolts. “You…you’re not a loser. Sloppy, yes, sometimes,” Hoseok winces and Y/N grabs his arms and pulls him toward her so she can hug him tight. “Hoseok, listen to me. I’m your lover. No one else’s but yours. I love you and I will not leave you. I do not care about other guys, if they are more competent or whatever. After all, competency is just a social construct designed to promote the societal standards that aim for conformity.” Y/N disentangles herself from him to cup his face in her hands. “Hoseok, you are not a loser. And, you’ll never be.  How can you be at least an inch of one? You were the one who led countless competitions which won our university so many awards. Almost ALL the trophies in our campus’ Hall of Honor were all thanks to you. You were the one who helped our fashion design majors  grab an opportunity with various labels after your runway a year ago became viral. You were also the one responsible for resurrecting countless dead orgs with actually good goals. They even received rewards from the local government because of the projects you arranged! You’re not a loser, Hobi. In fact, you are the opposite of loser. It’s just your prof is an ungrateful bitch, demeaning you like that when you’ve brought glory to her name as your program adviser. What a fucking asshole, I could have punched her in the face and—”

Hoseok detaches his lips from hers and smiles. “I can’t believe I’m starting to rub off of you. You just said your first curse word. Two even!”

“Damn you, Hoseok. I’m being serious.”

“And so am I. Thank you for cheering me up, Y/N. This is why I love you so much!”

              Hoseok has always been honest to Y/N and she decides it’s only right for her to do the same.

              Y/N looks up at him. “Nayeon, Sungyoon, and…Sara cornered me yesterday and I thought it will be about what you are recently up to. Why you were absent at yesterday’s practice. It turned out they did this high school toxic open-forum-like session where they told me all my shits and why I shouldn’t hang out you. They said you were no longer the Hoseok you used to be because I kept dragging you down. That I…do not deserve you and you should be with girls like you. And you know what, I thought so, too. Because, you have far better things ahead from you than tying you down here with me.”

              “No one can tell what you deserve or not, Y/N,” Hoseok retorts. “Only you can. And, I know what you are thinking right now maybe the opposite of what you really think about yourself. But if I could help, I think you totally deserve me. Even more than that, honestly. Because, Y/N, you are not tying me down anywhere.  In fact you are tying me up. Not literally but figuratively. Okay” Hoseok closes his eyes, “I know it doesn’t make sense—whatever I say doesn’t make sense on the regular basis, so what’s the difference—but, what I mean to say is, Y/N, you are keeping me afloat. You are keeping my head up from the expectations and shitstorms that is plaguing me. You are helping me stay alive and keep pushing through all the difficulties I face. And for that, I am eternally grateful for you. So,” Hoseok smiles, “do not let anything anyone else says about us get to you. Because, they don’t really know anything about me and they very much don’t know anything about you. They don’t get to judge. Not when they do not know how it feels to have the most amazing angel by your side.”

              Y/N scrunches her face at him but she hugs him tight nevertheless. “Must you always be this cheesy and cringey?”

              “Only for you, baby,” Y/N could feel Hoseok grin from the top of her head. “Also, I’m gonna have a talk with those girls so expect apologies coming your way. And if things go the other way,” Hoseok clicks his tongue, “expect a decrease in my friends.”

              However, everything Hoseok spouted is easier said than done. Because truth be told, Hoseok thinks it is him who actually doesn’t deserve Y/N. She is intelligent but so is she kind. She’s mature and it is usually her who does most of the helping and progressing in their relationship. Most of all, it is more realistic to say, Y/N is the one who has far greater things ahead than him. And it became clearer to him the night she took him with her to her family’s home for one of her parents’ parties.

              Y/N countlessly told Hoseok she didn’t need to attend it. She even highly advised him not to come with her. But Hoseok has forever been stubborn so of course when he told Y/N he wanted to meet her family, he did every bit of convincing that get him to where he is now — shaken and lost in the middle of a fucking science exhibit of a party. The night actually started out well.  He introduced himself to every member of the L/N family, even distant ones who stayed in the farthest, most unnoticeable corners of Y/N’s house. Y/N’s family members welcomed him with smiles and actively talked with him. Her parents even handed him his plate of food themselves and invited him to spend Christmas with them.

              It only started going downhill when it was time for the main event of the party—the what-have-you-been-up-to lately segment or what Y/N would like to call the “let the best bragger win.” Everyone started spewing their achievements for the year in a fashion that challenges the other party to disclose their far greater successes. Which, ultimately, insult the others for their lack of any. The party felt as if it was a battlefield with every member of Y/N’s family pitting their achievements against each other, no matter what context they are in—even if they are not of the same category to even compare. Next thing Hoseok knew, he was being dragged into the center of the conversation, with Y/N’s father asking him to tell his “revolutionary thoughts.”

              Hoseok tried his best. He really did. He had recalled every lesson he learned in his Science-related GEs and even tried to apply them in the academic journals he saw Y/N reading. That’s why he doesn’t understand why every single time he opens his mouth, Y/N’s entire family is laughing at him. Is the Dual Nucleus Association found in fingerprints that funny? Hoseok didn’t take too long to ponder on it, for the next second, a hand is pulling him to the front doors of the L/N house. It takes another second for Hoseok to register Y/N was the one who’s dragging him onto the street in angry stomps.

              “Y/N! Why did we go out?” Hoseok pulls on her arm, “We have to come back! It will be rude to your parents! I don’t want to leave a bad impression y’know–”

              “It doesn’t matter, Hoseok!” Y/N whirls around, distraught, and Hoseok only notices just now her glazed eyes. Y/N chokes out, “Leaving an impression on them doesn’t matter because we have to get out NOW.”

              “What? No, Y/N! That’s not appropriate! I–”

              “Then is it appropriate for my parents and relatives’ to blatantly insult you right in your face?”

                 Hoseok takes a step back, “What? But they were laughing at me there. I guess my jokes are–”

                 “Hoseok, they were mocking you in there. We both hell know the fingerprint DNA trivia you were telling them is not a joke.”

                “But your father said the Dual Nucleus Association I muttered was revolutionary and funny.”

                Y/N closes her eyes as she releases a staggered sigh, “Hoseok, ‘revolutionary’ in my father’s dictionary meant ‘stupid.’” Hoseok scrunches his brows and Y/N breathes out, wishing she could let out as well the aggravation and loathing for her parents she has kept inside for so long. “He was making fun of you, Hobi. DNA does not stand for Dual Nucleus Association. It’s Deoxyribonucleic Acid. My father fucking knew what this means because he took a PhD in Microbiology and he didn’t even have the heart to correct you. He even put you up in front of everybody else and humiliate you without you even noticing it.”

                “W-what?”

                Y/N sighs for the nth time as she reaches for his hands. “Hoseok, I’m sorry I left you alone. This whole time, I didn’t know you were in my father’s care. It’s just that my cousin came to me and asked desperately for help about the verbal abuse he experiences at home. The way he asked for my help, I knew he’s about to-to blow up sooner or later. So I immediately went to his aid. And I guess I got so preoccupied trying to make him calm without triggering his panic attacks that I…did not see where you stayed in the party. Worse, I didn't fucking even know you were with my parents. I know this is not enough of an excuse and I have been a shitty girlfriend tonight. So I’m sorry, Hoseok. I’m deeply so so sorry. And right now, I’m trying to make up for my mistakes by telling you we should leave. Now. I cannot let any of them insult you more,” Y/N’s voice breaks and she raises her hand to wipe a tear that has cascaded down her cheeks, “I cannot, Hoseok, for so help me God, I will march over there and declare I want to denounce myself as a L/N.”

                Hoseok doesn’t reply. He just nods at her and looks down at his feet. Y/N gulps down the anxiety building up in her larynx as she leads the two of them to the car he rented. She opts for the driver’s seat and hits the gas. Within minutes, the two of them are enveloped by the silent nightscape, a stark contrast to the cacophony of pride in her house.

                “Hoseok,” the man turns to the sound of Y/N’s voice. “W-what else did my father say to you?”

                Hoseok starts to fumble with the loose thread of his navy suit jacket. “Do you…really want to hear it?”

                “Is it that bad?”

                “Well, I-your dad questioned my ability to provide for you in the future. Because of my major and aspirations and all.”

                Y/N turns to him, aghast, “What?! Why would he even say that? What, he started to forget women’s abilities to revert back to the traditional patriarchal views?! Fuck him!”

                “I knew you would say that,” Hoseok says, chuckling softly. Y/N faces him again, this time perplexed as to why he is laughing. Hoseok reads her look and he clears his throat.

                “When you told me I was being insulted in the party, I will admit I am offended. But, before that, during an earlier talk with your father, I was not the least bit upset.” Hoseok meets your eyes. “That time, I was scared. Immensely shit-scared.”

                “I should have come to you first, not my cousin–”

                “No, let me finish first.” Hoseok purses his lips. He then looks out of the car window, at the scarce stars on the sky. “I knew we are far apart from each other. It was obvious even before we got together. Hell, I do not even get the memes you send to me when we first started out as friends. Sometimes, I even get insecure that even if you are not really bestfriends with Namjoon, he seems to get everything you tell me you found at the lab. Just by listening to our conversations, he understands them all. So effortlessly at that. I even have to plead him to tutor me and dumb-translate the science-y things you tell me, while I dry my brains out trying to understand them. But when I talked with your father, tonight, how he reiterated your status and skills and their difference from mine…I have never been this scared in my life.   Scared that what he said will come true—that you will realize how someone like me can never truly understand you ‘til the long run. That you will get tired of slowing your pace down for me…That you will eventually find someone more compatible with you–who also has a much more stable future ahead of just an aspiring dancer.” Hoseok turns toY/N and he reaches out for her left hand, her free hand. He clasps them in his hands and looks up at her, “But, I swear Y/N, I promise I will do my best. Your father may not be convinced but I want you to know. That I will do my best for you, Y/N. I will learn more for you. I will understand you more. I will improve my reputation into a much more respectable one. Hell, I can quit dance if I have to.”

              Y/N gives Hoseok a pained look. “No, Hoseok, you will not quit dance. I do not want you to quit dance. It will be too unfair for you and I know you will regret it.”

              Hoseok sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah…that sounds easier said than done.”

              “You don’t have to do those things for me,” Y/N squeezes his hand, making him look back to her. “I actually enjoy helping you learn. I love that you goof off the way you want because when you do that, I am reminded people like you still exist today — people who are not afraid of being themselves. Because of that, you inspire me to live more. I also love that you put in the time learning the things I’m saying because it means you genuinely are interested about my thoughts and you are not afraid of women being smarter than you — something most guys fail at. But that’s because most of them are misogynistic, prideful men on their high horses. And, I know you’re not like that. Most of all, I love it when you dance. Because through it you freely express every bit of your emotion. Because, you’re transparent, Hoseok. You’re an open book and I like it the best because you don’t leave me hanging, confused, troubled, and worried about what you’re feeling, especially when you know I am already bad at reading emotions. You are my stable ground, Hoseok. You make me feel safe. And despite the bad fights we’ve been through, I know you’re always doing your best. How can we stay this long if not for you being the brighter one between us when it comes to communicating, knowing that splitting because of things that can be solved will only result in one hell of a horrible mistake?” Y/N turns to Hoseok and he looks at her with his mouth agape, eyes blown wide. She smiles at this. “You have to know you’re more than enough, Hoseok. Like you said,” her smile grows wider, “no one can tell us what we deserve or not but ourselves. And with this, I know and feel that I deserve you, Hoseok. And you, me. What do you say?”

              Hoseok’s response to that was not of a verbal one but a physical one—one that involved a feverish kiss on Y/N’s lips, and her jawline that led Y/N to park the car by the empty gasoline station. Feather-light kisses, desperate hands to grab each other as close as they can be to each other, Y/N indulges in Hoseok and him in her in a passionate love that burned so bright it rivals the sun. The only words that transpire during that fateful night was “I love you’s” and for Y/N and Hoseok, they are more than enough of an anchor of him to her and her to him as waves of obstacles come in your way.

              All of these moments with Y/N have accumulated into Hoseok’s most wonderful memories in his life. And he still replays them in his head as another year of being her lover passes. Of course, problems never failed to arise as they manage their relationship. But, the ones caused by the comments of everyone in the university have lessened as Y/N and Hoseok have now graduated. Hoseok has left the university after he graduated, while Y/N stayed in the university as she applied for a Master’s degree in civil engineering. 

             Y/N still lives in her dorm for the convenience of teaching in the campus and studying after work. Meanwhile, Hoseok lived in an apartment in the city, close to the prestigious dance studio he works at. Their schedules are most often than not, amiss, and the distance between them can be sometimes frustrating. However, what remains the biggest obstacle is everyone’s opinions about the two of them. Sure, they were not as restrictive as what the two of them have experienced in the university. But it didn’t mean it hurt less when people say how they never thought someone as fun as Hoseok will choose someone so boring like Y/N, or how Hoseok’s intellect was a down-grader for her respectable reputation, saying she has a tasteless choice in choosing partners. Although these problems may get a little overwhelming, the two of them never let them get in between their relationship. 

              Hence, Y/N and Hoseok are still madly in love like the first year they have started dating. So in love that Hoseok felt it is now the time to propose to Y/N. For anymore day without her officially bounded with him, when you already own every piece of his heart, is something Hoseok cannot take any longer. He wants Y/N to be his partner for the years to come, his significant other for forever, and the only person he wakes up to and sees last in his day and nights for the rest of his entire life. Hoseok knows this and he has never been surer in his life.

              This is the reason why Hoseok is where he is today: clad in an ugly Christmas sweater and mismatched socks, with a troubled look on his face. Hoseok may have only realized he wanted to marry Y/N in late November, but he was able to make an intricate proposal plan to execute before this year can end. Today is Y/N’s free day and he has classes that have ended early. Lucky for him, Jimin is free to take her out for some last-minute gift-shopping in the afternoon so Hoseok can have ample time to decorate Y/N’s dorm with hearts and diagrams of the hypothalamus (because “No, Hoseok, we do not say I love you from the deepest corner of my heart, but from the hypothalamus. We do not feel from the heart. It just pumps us blood”).  Hoseok will have the gifts he bought for Y/N delivered that very same day to complete his decorations (and to also spoil her even more). He will cook Y/N her favorite dishes and make her hot cocoa even though he very much likes eggnog more, just because she likes the sweet chocolate beverage. He even requested his orchestra friends Yoongi, Jinyoung, Seokjin, and Sandeul, to play Jingle Bell Rock (“in cursive”) on the far side of the hallway so when Jimin drops Y/N off, she can have her favorite Christmas song as her background music when she steps inside her room and gets surprised.

              That is why when his heart and hypothalamus decorations actually looked shit, the arrival of the gifts was delayed ‘til tomorrow, and the meals he cooked looked inedible—not to say the hot choco looked like a mess too and totally un-aesthetic—Hoseok finds himself frozen in his place next to Y/N’s Christmas tree, looking as if he was constipated for ten days. Worse, his girlfriend is already standing by her door frame, kicking the door close like it was just any other day. 

              Y/N hangs her coat on the hanger and puts her shopping bags on top of her wide cabinet. She nonchalantly glances at him, “Hoseok, what are you doing there?”

              Hoseok feels sweat run down his face in waterfalls. If Y/N is surprised he was standing stupidly next to her tree, she did not show it. But right now, Hoseok’s concern is her seeing the decorations he made chucked in a large paper bag he hid behind the tree at the last minute. Of course, it is poorly hidden. He plays with the collar of his sweater “I…um, I–”

              “Nevermind. I guess this is one of our spontaneous date nights you ironically always plan. You should inform me next time, you know, so I can prepare for you as well,” Y/N smiles at him. “Come sit with me.” She walks to the sofa by the Christmas tree and pats the seat next to her. Hoseok scrambles to sit beside her and tries not to look like the dumbest fool in the world. Y/N did not get surprised, the orchestra’s music is barely heard inside as the cold wind of early winter overrides it, and he looks totally shit. How can he propose to her now, huh? All of his plans are ruined!

              “Di-did you eat already?” Hoseok asks, hands sweaty on his sweatpants. “I made you your favorite.”

              “Umm…yeah,” Y/N bites her lip, guilty. “I was already hungry before Jimin and I can finish our shopping and I really felt a great need to devour some pizza today.” She reaches for her small satchel and produces a folded paper bag. “I saved some for you. We can eat it later while we watch Netflix.”

              “O-okay,” Hoseok nervously laughs. His eyes land on the pink mug on the dining table. He looks back at Y/N, “D-do you want to drink something? I made you hot cocoa.”

              “Ooh, I’ll drink it later. I just had a sweet choco milkshake before I got here,” Y/N bites her lips again in guilt. “I’m sorry, Hoseok, I didn’t know you prepared these stuff for me. If I had known sooner I would have never even stepped out of my dorm today.”

              “It’s okay,” Hoseok pulls a smile and he tries not to look a tad bit upset about the failure of his plans, because he knows Y/N will immediately recognize that look.

              And, he wasn’t wrong. “Why, Hobi?” Y/N cups his face to make him turn to her, “did I do something wrong?

              “No,” Hoseok looks away. “It’s just, my plans…didn’t work out today.”

              “What plans?”

              Hoseok immediately feels his ass on fire. Did he just almost give himself away? He cannot just blurt out he wants to marry her! He wanted it to be special and he cannot have that happen in just her dorm with his shitty-looking outfit and almost-burned food. He wants Y/N to remember this day and he ain’t taking the risk of letting any bad memories mess up his proposal. And so, Hoseok sighs and decides he has to abort the plan and schedule it some other day. He’s just gonna make an excuse for now. “Well, I just thought we can make this random Thursday special y’know? Keep up with the aim of my spontaneous dates–good surprises making life much better without needing a reason to be. So I just made some food and stuff for the fun of it. It’s just a normal day surprise.”

              “Oh, then I’m glad today is really spontaneous dates today. I may have…foiled your plans, but look, I happened to have a surprise for you!”

              Hoseok tilts his head, “What is it?”

              Y/N grins at him before turning around and fumbles for something in her bag. Then the next second, Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe is suddenly blaring loud from her phone.

              “Y/N, did you seriously just play Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe in speaker mode?”

              “Oh, don’t be an in-denial bitch. I know this is your favorite Christmas song. A good song has to create the aesthetic and mood for tonight,” Y/N chuckles, “Here, Hoseok, my present for you.” She hands him a box wrapped in a fancy green sparkling wrapper with a red bow tied around it. It was medium-sized, enough for one of his favorite KAWS models to fit inside.

              “Present?” Hoseok asks, feeling both joy and guilt respectively swell in his heart and pit in his stomach. Joy, because Y/N is to add another model to his growing collection. And guilt, because he didn’t bring her anything worth the same as her gift. But as he tears open the box, another fancy green box just stares back at him. He looks up at Y/N with squinted eyes. “I see what you did there, sneaky missy.”  She just chuckles at him and Hoseok continues to unbox her gift, only to have another box inside. Hoseok wonders what made Y/N think of doing this infamous wrapping technique for her gift when she wasn’t even that much into wrapping gifts. She always just give him gifts in standard wrapping paper, messily taped all over around. Moreover, what even is her gift and how small does it have to be? Because now, Hoseok’s hands are getting tired of unboxing box after box and the gift is now currently the size of a stress ball!

              “Y/N, can you just tell me your gift? I’m getting tired. I can open it tomorrow instead and we can just get straight to Netflix tonight.”

              “No, Hoseok,” Y/N laughs, patting his shoulders. “Keep unboxing.”

              Hoseok continues forth with the unboxing and his heart starts to sink to his stomach as the box got smaller and smaller. This is probably a prank. One to get back at him for telling Y/N last year he bought her her favorite gift for their monito event with Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon. Only for him to arrive with nothing but a bow on his head and shamelessly declare to everyone that he is her gift. Nothing must be inside this box to contain a gift so small. The box in his hand is now just the size of a small toy car!

              Hoseok sighs as he opens the box. Another green box will appear and then he’ll see the paper saying “Pranked you, Hobi!”

              But it does not.

              For the box on Hoseok’s hand right now, is gaping open to him right now. And all he sees is a sparkling, silver ring embellished with emeralds that seem to form waves around the base of the band. A fucking ring is sitting right on top of his hand.

              Hoseok gapes and just stares. Far too long that Y/N decides to break the silence. “Surprise! I bought you an engagement ring! With green emeralds just like your favorite color.” She grins at him as she holds Hoseok’s hands in hers, making him turn to her while he stays jaw ajar. 

              Y/N suddenly feels self-conscious and unconfident. This is not the reaction she is expecting. She starts to fear if she’ll spend the coming Holidays boyfriend-less. Just by looking at Hoseok’s stupified face, it looks everything is happening too fast and too sudden tonight for her boyfriend. Nevertheless, she says, “I-I know this may come off as a really big of a surprise. After all, this is an engagement ring and right now I am trying to propose to you. Barely, even. So, of course, this is definitely a shocker. Especially when we only just spent two years dating. Still too early for a proposal to come, as what others will usually expect,” Y/N’s voice breaks. 

              She wrings her hands together, her feet trembling beneath her, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “But, Hoseok, in these two years I have spent with you…I learned what it felt like to be loved and be in love with you. We fight, yes. Healthily usual even. But, at the end of the day, everything still feels worth it. And I guess,” Y/N  smiles, “I cannot get enough of it. I cannot get enough of you. Being your girlfriend no longer satisfied me. I now want to be your wife. I want to be the only person you’ll stress over science just to impress. I want to be the person who’ll be your home. The one you will come home to, wake up to, and sleep next to every night, every single day. I want to be your partner-in-crime, especially when we have kids and we’ll play some game I never heard of but will still enjoy in the end just because you like it. But only if you want kids, hehe.” Y/N laughs awkwardly and scratches her nape. “Hoseok, I know I am clumsy in saying my feelings for you. Today is my first time saying everything so honest and raw like this so I know this may shock you. God, you don’t know how many times I practiced this speech in my office. Other professors must already be thinking I’m going crazy—anyway, what I only want to say is,” Y/N reaches for Hoseok’s hand and kisses it. “Hoseok, I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life.” When she looks up at him, she says, “And it will only happen if you’d also love to be by my side forever as well. So what do you say?”

              “W-what, I will say?” Hoseok repeats, still shaken. However, he’s so happy he cannot help the wide grin splitting on his face. “Yes, Y/N, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Forever and ever and ever and ever.”

              “R-really?” Y/N’s releases a relieved sigh, fingers wiping the tears that have formed on her eyes. “T-Then, why did you look like as if you’re about to walk out on me when you opened the box?”

              Hoseok cups her face in his hands, wiping away the tears. “Because you remind me a lot of the Grinch. The only difference is in the end, his heart grows three sizes, but you stay an asshole.” Y/N scowls at this and hits his chest, hard. Hoseok coos at her as he hugs her tight and chuckles, “You’re an asshole because you headed out straight for my heart—hook, line, and sinker — and now I am completely blown away when I was supposed to be the first one to do so. Seriously, Y/N, I did not expect this to happen this way. Not when I also prepared a surprise for you tonight.” 

              Y/N’s brows raise in curiosity. Hoseok unzips his gym bag on the sofa and turns back to her, now with a red velvet box on his hands. 

              Hoseok pops open the box, a ring of the same design as the one she bought him stares back at her. But this one, instead of green emeralds, is embellished with blue emeralds, her favorite color.  Right then and there, Y/N wanted to cry.

              Hoseok rubs his nape. “I’m supposed to propose to you tonight as well. But you beat me right to it and now I forgot my speech.”

              Y/N chuckles at that as she wipes away the tears that have formed yet again on her eyes. Hoseok smiles as he squeezes her hand. “But, that doesn’t mean I’ll skip on this once-in-a-lifetime’s opportunity to propose to you,” Hoseok looks at her, “Y/N, I love you. And I know forever can be a heavy word and sometimes love cannot solve every problem that may come our way. But Y/N, what I said two years ago hasn’t changed. I will try my best. For you, I will. And we may be young but I know you and I are capable to make us work for as long as time can let us. Because you are Y/N, and I’m Hoseok. People may be against us but we know with each other, we are the best we can ever be. We deserve each other. We need each other. But most of all, we love each other. That’s all we need. Me and you. You and me.” After he breathes out, Hoseok cups Y/N’s cheeks and she leans forward and interlocks their lips in a soft kiss. 

              Y/N grabs onto Hoseok’s ugly green sweater and deepens the kiss, letting her mouth do the talking for her and him. For no words can be enough to express everything that is settling in their hearts tonight — euphoric bliss, the sweet feeling of triumph. Although Y/N can feel a tinge of the uncertainty of what may come to the two of them in the future grappling on her nerves, there resides in her heart the greater courage that despite the unpredictability of life, Y/N knows she can manage it with the constant she now has by her side — Hoseok. And for him, her. Because, Y/N is certain this is the most right decision she has ever made in her life: loving him. And, Hoseok proves it is the same for him as when the kiss comes into a close, he whispers on her lips, “Guess the déjà vu tonight is really working at its best. Fate really wanted us to be together.”

              Y/N grins at him, her forehead bumping into his, “And where’s your proof, future Mr. Y/N L/N?”

              Hoseok presses a kiss on Y/N’s forehead, on her cheeks, on her nose, then at the corner of her ear. He whispers, “Look outside.”

              And there outside, white droplets fall from the sky, lighting up the near-black horizon while frosting up the window panes. It is the first snow. Y/N smiles. What Hoseok said to her when she reciprocated his love confession doesn’t seem so preposterous now. It seems like fate really tied the two of them up together as she first met and started dating Hoseok when the first snow fell. There’s a saying that whoever you’re with during the first snow, you will be with that person for a long time. Y/N and Hoseok have already been living proof of that for being together in three years—friendship plus dating days combined — amidst whatever people say against them two. 

              And Y/N hopes, that as she and Hoseok promise forever to each other tonight, the saying will come true. Because she wants the two of them to be together for a very, very, very long time.  After all, Hoseok is right. She is  Y/N and he is Hoseok and together, they are the best they can ever be, titles and achievements be damned. The weather may be cold during these pinnacle moments of her and his relationship but their hearts are warm and cozy, and there is nothing more Y/N could ask for.

Epilogue:

“You know, Y/N, my original proposal was beautiful, I’m sure I’ll have you bawling tonight.”

Y/N gives him a look and Hoseok laughs, “Good thing they’re gone now. D’you know I actually wrote my entire proposal in my hands? They just got erased because my hands have become so sweaty when I chucked away the decorations I made for you.”

“What decorations?”

Hoseok pulls on the collar of his sweater, “Cut-outs of hearts and hypothalamus?”

“R-really? You remembered what I said to you three years ago?”

“Of course, babe,”Hoseok smiles, “It’s you. How can I forget that? But they’re not available anymore as I already threw them away. They looked like shit.”

“Where did you throw them?”

“In a paper bag….by your Christmas tree–hey, why are you picking it up?”

Y/N turns towards him, smiling, her hands gently holding the crushed hearts and hypothalamus cut-outs. “Because you made it for me, Hoseok. Of course they hold value to me. It’s you.”

“You’re really a Grinch, you know? You’re making me cry with your sweetness and beauty when I should be jumping up and down with joy right now.”

“….Do you always have to be cheesy like this?”

“Only for you, babe. And get used to it. You have a forever to experience this one-in-a-million love from the one and only Jung Hoseok.”

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Sorry my Christmas gift for you all was late! My requirement deadlines in uni ended up until Dec. 16 and so for the majority of December, I was solely focused on uni stuff. I tried limiting myself from using page breakers in this fic, a challenge I put on myself to train my skills again in doing transitions in my writing. This story is inspired by the rivalry of science and art majors in our uni in my first year! Also! I hoped you guys appreciate my take on @kwritersworld’s prompt. I want to incorporate it in a very unexpected way, while at the same time, reflects my character in a way I‘ve never done before. OC here is a bit grumpy and lacks social skills to be friendly so I interpreted her as an everyday-Grinch hehe). Lastly, @bts-poetry, I really enjoyed doing mini Q&As with you! I hope you like this gift and I also hope we can talk more in the future!

You crossed your legs, the fabric of your sinfully tight dress stretching across the knees at the movement.

The dress was armor, worn to seamlessly blend through the type of ambience the bar you’d visited had going on. It was fiery red, not a color you wore a lot, but it matched well with the vermillion of the décor. The dress hid you amongst the frequenters of this particular establishment, chatting and very much unaware that you were not here to drink yourself dizzy and go home to sleep.

You were working.

And so, you needed to be left alone so you could do it. Dressed in your working attire of practical jackets and shoes, you doubted you’d get what you wanted. So, you’d shirked off your normal blouses, pulled off trousers and loafers and donned on that dress and the heels.

The heels…

You swore to god, the heels were a work of the Devil’s hands. Sinewy yet sleek, they latched onto the palm of your feet, held up by shimmering ribbons that had taken you the better part of the evening to figure out.

They added a stature that made you taller than you were, straighter in your slouch and you felt like a goddess, sitting at a corner of the bar top, idling over a simple gimlet.

You let out an exhale, taking a sip when a tiny, imperceptible change zipped through the business side of the counter. The man who’d been wiping the glasses exchanged a look with the one who checked the bottles and headed to the other far side.

You watched, interested, the process of the Shift; when one batch of workers went home and the second batch took over. It was like clockwork, each piece working near flawlessly – once routine had been perfected, of course.

You glanced down; eyeing the lime garnish and chewing into it, lifting your eyes back up to watch the bartenders. Now, there were additions. Two other men had joined the ones who had been present when you’d walked in.

One of them was laughing, a bubbly laughter barely echoing through to you but the other, slighter man stood some space away, his back to you as he listened intently to what was being discussed.

You felt rather see the solidification of a decision. It seemed to come from the man whose face you couldn’t see. Nodding and gesticulating with his hand, he sent the first two men off on their way. The man who’d been laughing had sobered by now, nodding as the man set out what seemed liked instructions, nodding while the man pointed to different directions. When he was done, the taller man went to the main area when the man you’d been eyeing finally turned, entering the bar.

You kept chewing on the lime wedge, absent mindedly keeping your eyes on the man. He rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt and turned to check the bottles before picking a few up, taking whiffs from them. Placing the bottles back, he checked under the counters, too thoroughly to miss anything and nodded to himself.

Raising his head, his elfin features settled into a professional mask; blank and a little off from approachable. Shrugging off your interest, your eyes soon drifted back to the subject you needed to study for your piece: What People were like when Inhibitions weren’t a problem.

Idol Magazine was on its way to becoming a people’s choice magazine and part of that problem came from the fact that people were actually reading what was in it. It wasn’t just a magazine that shopaholics picked up on the way to the checkout counter or people brushed by for the quick gossip. Each month, a reader survey the office itself conducted showed just what the people loved and or wanted from your magazine.

No, it was a people’s magazine and writers in your magazine worked hard to cater to a variety of tastes.

Your particular area was an in-depth representation of the people who surrounded your readers. Armed with a Psychology and English degree, you’d stepped through the building of your workplace, eager to start and you’d worked diligently.

You loved your job, absolutely.

The thing with writing was that you couldn’t just give your readers whatever general idea a layman would have. No, you had to watch, examine, understand and give examples. If you did not, some moron quoting Aristotle was bound to come over, barging for you to be taken down.

No, you wrote a column worthy of a college thesis and you gave it your all.

Hence, why it was necessary for you to put down your intrigue for the new bartender and turn to your material subjects. You owed your loyal readers that, after all.

You spent the next few minutes deep in your study, taking notes down in your phone on the pretext of texting.

You’d just focused on a particular couple. The man was red faced, probably trying hard to control his liquor while the woman he was with looked torn between amusement and annoyance. You’d have wondered if you should maybe get someone to interrupt but it didn’t look like a first date; the girl kept patting his hand, speaking in a familiar soft voice to soothe the nearly gagging man.

You put down a few more notes.

“Lady; what’ll it be?”

Starting at the sudden question along with the shadow that fell over you, your fingers fumbled and sent the phone clattering on to the melamine counter. You looked up like a frightened rabbit.

It was the bartender, bearing down on you with raised eyebrows at your reaction to him.

“What?” You asked, gaining some composure back.

“I was going to take your order.” The man said. His lips twitched, eyes flickering between your own before flitting down to your phone. “Also, I’m going to have to ask if you’re doing anything illegal, just in case your reaction had something to do with it.”

You snorted at the passable joke. Never mind the fact that it was actually wrong of you to be observing his clientele like this but well…you needed something to write about.

You weren’t breaking any laws, of course. Ok, maybe some code ethics but you never took any oaths.

“I’ll take another gimlet, and no, I’m not; I just got way too much into my phone. It’s bad habit.” You sidetracked him easily and he was probably more interested in working anyway.

He nodded at you, going to the center to mix the drink while you finished the note, shutting down the app. You had enough for a five hundred to thousand word column.

With nothing better to do anymore, you indulged in your earlier fascination with the bartender, who had currently moved on to making three drinks at once.

You were right about him not seeming like the usual bartender. The level of precision with which he poured, stirred, garnished the three different glasses in front of him with no pause, no hesitation spoke volumes as to his experience.

What was it about bartenders anyway? They worked with alcohol all day, almost every day, were more than likely to be privy to the shadiness of any town but there was just something so…alluring about them. The knowledge, the street smarts and unexpected wisdom was almost never shown. Of course, the outside was just as charming to the species.

Tattoos, piercings, too tight shirts showcasing forearms and chest…you couldn’t go wrong with that packaging.

Your bartender didn’t have any of that.

His pale skin was unmarked, smooth like porcelain and his white shirt didn’t emphasize his physique. You also couldn’t see any piercings on him. The unbidden thought of seeing all of him just so you could see if he had any ink or metal hidden away from public view made you blush, looking away.

No, you couldn’t harbor feelings like that for a complete stranger. He was working and so were you, albeit that you were done. He still had a whole shift ahead of him. You doubted he would be very much interested in being distracted by you when he was trying to pay his bills.

You certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

He was good looking though…

With groomed black hair, a button nose and pouty, perfect small lips, he would’ve passed off for a life size doll. Yet the expression of focus, eyes sharp and lips pursed as he worked fast and efficient…

You couldn’t help imagining that look as he worked just as efficiently on you. You wondered if he would wear the same expression when he pounded into you…

You slapped a hand to your forehead, trying to force out the image of the young bartender sliding himself in you. You were getting drunk, it had to be it. Even if you had been nursing the gimlet as slowly as you could, it had to be the alcohol.

And you had just ordered another one…

You glanced at the bartender again, watching him serve up the drink and grabbing yours.

Oh no…here he comes…

You managed to school your features in a mask of polite disinterest just as the man stopped in front of you, glass in hand.

“A gimlet, ma’am; would you like something else?” He asked, equally polite.

You quickly shook your head, taking the drink from him and taking a huge gulp. He immediately raised his hand.

“Whoa, you don’t have to take it down in one go.” He said.

He was right, the liquid throttled on its way down and you nearly spat it back out again. “I’m sorry, I know,” You coughed out.

He placed his hands down flat on the counter top, leaning his weight on them before he did a quick scan of the room, returning to you.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You blinked up at him. Your name…? Why did he want your name? Your name wasn’t anything important…

“What’s yours?” You countered.

Something shifted in his gaze. “Well, that tells me you’re not a regular.” He snickered.

You took another gulp from your drink, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing, nothing; just saying that if you were a regular we’d probably be very familiar by now.” He said.

The edges of his mouth hitched up into a smirk, as if he was amused by a private joke, his eyes – pitch black, reflecting the star like lights of the bar.  

“That’s very cryptic of you. Are you trying to hint that you’re a star employee and I should tip you more?” The tart in your voice could’ve put the lime garnish to shame but it only made your attractive bartender grin broadly.

“Nice, let me guess; you’re a speaker? No, most of those people use that prompter shit, reading out other people’s words. So, definitely not political,” He mused, tilting his head.

You laughed. “That’s very…liberal of you.” You teased.

“I am a leftist at heart. So, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” He continued probing.

You sighed, resigned to giving in. “Yes, I’m a magazine columnist for Idol. My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled. “Columnist Y/N…it’s got a ring to it. I’m Min Yoongi, I’m,” he paused, “just a lowly bar worker.”

You gave him a knowing smile, sipping at your drink. “You don’t seem like one.” You murmured.

Yoongi’s eyes popped open, “Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, swirling the little toothpick in your drink. “I don’t know, you don’t seem too…lowly, if you know what I mean.”

He leaned forward, elbows angled towards you. “I don’t indeed. Do explain,”

You continued to stare down, trying to get your thoughts into order, as per what you’d seen of him for the evening.

“You just…you’re dominating, you feel powerful and you have this aura. When you were taking your shift, I saw how you gave out instructions and they got followed. You mixed three drink and I didn’t see one mistake – you didn’t even slow down, and there were no complaints. This gimlet is much better than the one the other bartender made – don’t tell him I said that. You’re just…more. Which either makes me think you’re way more experienced behind a bar; or you know, that you’re a wine god or something,”

Yoongi listened to your barely audible rant with an intrigued look on his face. He placed his face on his palm eyeing you.

“So, you think I’m too qualified to be a bartender, is that it?”

“Not really no; you could run this place for all I know…but then again, appearances are deceptive.”

“Yes they are,” He said suddenly and you eyed him, surprised at his proclamation.

“Uh, listen…this is going to sound really unprofessional but the place is winding down and I’m going to close in half an hour or so. If you want, you can sit at the back and we can…chat for a bit. I’ll let you out the back.” He offered.

You froze, considering what he was saying. There was no way he was actually offering just a ‘chat’. He had plans and you didn’t know if you were equipped to handle whatever he was going to dish out.

But then again, you did want to see if he had any tattoos or piercings…

A slow Cheshire grin spread across your lips. Yoongi’s eyes dropped down to your lips and sure enough, his own split, revealing a swipe of his tongue as he lapped at his drying bottom lip.

“Deal,” You whispered, only for him to hear.

Yoongi had been right. As the minutes passed, even the most inebriated of the patrons started to take their leave. They respectfully parted ways with their tables, the glasses and some even cheerfully greeted the second bartender, who’d already begun to clear the tables. You watched, now seated comfortably within the plush leather booth at the far back, as they stumbled on out. The booth was meant for the VIPs, you were told but since it was closing time, Yoongi didn’t think anyone would mind.

Now empty, the bar had a different atmosphere.

It was silent for now, aside from the small clinking of glass as the man who had been walking around the bar checked the bottles and cleaned and put away the glasses.

A light song rung out in the background, Yoongi walked back down from wherever it was that he had vanished to. At his appearance, the other man quietly slipped towards the back, letting Yoongi man the bar enough to make himself a drink. You watched him carry it to where you were sitting.

For now you were feeling sober enough to know what was going to happen sooner or later, and you were not one bit jittery about it. In any case, you could feel the tell tale pin pricks of excitement coat your arms and the back of your neck.

Yoongi sat down right next to you, setting a respectable distance between you while you watched him with hooded eyes.

You watched as Yoongi took a swig – the whiskey slipping past his pouty lips, coating them in a shiny glisten as he rushed his tongue out just after. His Adams apple bobbed, drawing your gaze to the slender, smooth column of his throat.

“So,” he spoke, your eyes flitting back to meet him as he turned, angling his body towards yours. “What does a job for a magazine columnist entail? I suppose it’s something to do with what you were doing with your phone before?” He asked.

You chortled at his inquisitiveness. “Yes, I was people watching. I can’t just give my readers some general idea about life. I’d be fired for treating our magazine for anything less than the first rate art that it is.”

Yoongi smirked. “You don’t think it is?” He asked.

You stopped, looking down at your glass, nearly empty now. “I think it’s wonderful. We’re open. We’re diverse. There’s a severe lack of good civic opinion out there and we offer that. I love my job. I love what I have to do to write my pieces.”

Yoongi was staring at you, deep thoughts lurking behind his too black eyes. “You’re making me want to get a subscription.” He teased and you laughed, finishing the drink and placing your now empty glass on the black table top. “What about you, what is your life like?” You returned his question.

Yoongi hummed, pensive as he continued to gaze at you. However, he didn’t look at you, as if he was far away in thought even while keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t know what to say, I think. I get up in the morning; do what stuff that needs to be done, some leftover paperwork then come to work. I stay here till closing time then go back home. That’s pretty much it.”

“You make it sound so mundane.”

“It is but…it’s what I like. I love my job, like you. It’s a good routine.”

You nodded, looking around the bar again. “How long have you worked here?”

That took him a pause to answer, thinking his answer. “I’ve been here since it was opened.” He said.

Your eyes widened. “How long has that been?”

His lips twitched, hiding the growing smile behind the rim of his glass. “A good while, maybe five to six years; I’ve watched it grow.” He admitted.

“Wow,” you said awed. “That’s always a good thing to see, watching things grow.”

“It is; I had to start work pretty early in life. I didn’t get much of a college education or anything but well, you can still make something of yourself and this establishment is the peak of my existence.” He cast a small, fond smile around.

You smiled too, only at him. It was obvious, watching him and he adored this bar. The gleam of true appreciation made your belly flop.

“I admire you, Yoongi. There are always people who think that you can’t be anything without a degree and then there are people who achieve things in their life without it. It’s horrible how they are looked down upon. Between you and me, I think it’s the people who make something of their own lives without anyone’s help who are the best.”

You stopped, noticing Yoongi shift, leaning forward to put his glass down as well. He let his arm rest on the back of the booth, essentially caging you in.

“You’re probably the most intriguing person to walk through this bar, Y/N.” He placed a delectable point upon your name. It made you want to curl up.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered over you, taking in the sin of a dress that you had on, trailing down to your legs to rest on the heels.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay.” He murmured.

You took a quick breath. Heat was already settling in your stomach, roiling when you managed to say, “Go ahead.”

Yoongi didn’t waste much time. Leaning all the way in, he left barely a breath’s distance away, letting his hot mouth hover just over yours, enticing you with the possibilities of everything he could do with it.

You let him complete the action, barely breathing yourself as he engulfed your mouth in his. The acrid taste of the alcohol rested on both of you, intermingling on your taste buds as you slipped him your tongue. It was a bold move but you thrilled when he reacted eagerly to it. Cupping one cheek in his hand, he moved over completely, all traces of space gone between you two.

He sucked in your tongue in his mouth, delicately embracing it with his own, engaging in a daring dance. You let your hands wind around his neck, inching towards the soft mass of hair at the base of his head. Yoongi parted from you for air, hair falling into his face, shading his eyes. His cheeks burned red and you could feel him radiating heat.

You shifted, maneuvering in the small space. Hiking a leg over his waist, you towered over him momentarily. Yoongi’s eyes were still half covered with his hair and you had no intention of brushing them out. He looked so sexy; you could already feel the seep of arousal from your core.

And the way he bit his lips while staring up at you, swollen lips open, you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow…

Yoongi placed his palms flat on your legs, letting them slide up. The fabric of your skirt hitched with his touch while your skin seared everywhere that he exposed. Reaching up till he was barely brushing the hem of your panties, he paused, letting you sit down exactly on to where he had been hardening.

You let out a soft whimper, Yoongi’s grip making sure you grinded on him, relieving pressure for him. He remained stoic – content to watch you fragment from his ministrations.

“I don’t know what you were expecting out of wearing this dress tonight, Y/N, but I can hope I can do it justice.” He growled finally.

You shook your head, rising back on to your knees again. “I didn’t expect anything. A girl just likes to look good once in a while,” You pointed out.

“And the shoes…?”

“Makes me feel like a goddess,” You muttered, distracted with the way he was blowing cool air onto your scorched skin.

“You do feel like one.” Yoongi agreed and you close your eyes, feeling him press a smirk to your skin. Laving a tongue across your collarbone, he reached the strap of your dress.

Yoongi allowed you to sit down once again, giving him further access as he dipped into the cleavage the dress generously offered you. Soft nibbles accompanied his fingers fiddling with the strap, tugging it off and down from your skin. He removed his mouth, watching you as you slid the other one off as well.

The dress was zipped at the back and you felt his hands trail over the fabric, squeezing the back of your neck lazily, grinning when you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nodding to himself when you gave an appreciative hum.

He squeezed again, harder, letting you feel his nails rake the soft skin there barely before the other joined in the back, tugging at the zip tab.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering that you were doing this in public – at a bar, no less. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

As hot as Yoongi was and as much as you were enjoying the feel of him against you, you didn’t want to be an unwitting subject to being caught having sex in his workplace. It would mean Yoongi being fired from his job that he loved so much.

Yoongi had already stopped, looking up at you in question. Your concern made him smile, genuinely, pressing softer, tender kisses to your jaw line.

“Yes, baby,” The endearment made you shiver in his hold. He angled your neck for his teeth next, grazing at the pulse point. “We’re alone. I sent Hoseok off to home.”

“You’re sure no bouncers or anything is going to come by?” You asked.

“The guard might come, but trust me; we’re not getting in any trouble.” He assured you, pulling away from you to look at you seriously.

You looked at him curiously. “Unless, you want to be…we can do something about that.” He suggested.

You laughed, his hands gripping onto your hips to buck you against him, trying to get the mood back. He returned to the zipper, pulling it all the way down to the small of your back, where his hand stayed – warm and calming.

You let your arms rest loosely, the front of the dress pooling around your chest, held up by nothing as it fell, baring you to Yoongi’s ravenous eyes.

“Fuck, they’re perfect.” He said, on the very edge of a growl as his hands shot out to grab onto the soft flesh. The sudden press made you keen, arching your back into his hands.

Yoongi’s touch was relentless, kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, tracing the sensitive underside before he was taking them in his mouth. His teeth – you noticed, he liked using them – were the first to meet the tender skin. His palms groped at your wildly while he suckled.

Your head fell back, hips rolling against his. Your underwear had become uncomfortable. The fabric was skimpy at best, and the flow of your juices had absolutely destroyed them. You were almost sure Yoongi could feel your wetness soaking through by now.

Yoongi released your nipple from his mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, mouth open as he pulled you into a messy kiss, wet and teeth clashing. You allowed him to delve fully into your mouth, reaching wildly for his hand. He gave it to you, still engrossed in kissing you, not pushing away until he felt you place it along the exposed skin of your thighs. He looked down, then back up at you; understanding the silent plea reflected in your blown out eyes.

“Ah, you want me to touch you, baby?”

You nodded haplessly, whimpering when Yoongi trailed his hand up, resting it right against your soaked panties, cupping you gently.

“You’ve ruined your panties.” He murmured, pushing the dress away to look at the tiny thing. “And such pretty ones too, I almost feel bad.” He gave you a wicked grin before he was dipping his hand in them, the material stretching around his wrist.

A long, finger entered you so abruptly, a long whine escaped you with no barriers. You had to grip on to Yoongi’s shoulders for support, unable to keep from buckling when he curled the digit.

“Such a wet, dirty girl; you lose it on only one finger?” Yoongi teased your entrance with another finger, his thumb barely grazing against the pulsating bud of nerves that cried for attention.

“Yoongi, please…I’m going to explode.” You were about near to screaming for him to help you but he shook his head.

“Not just yet,” He pulled away, leaving you gasping from the emptiness before lifting you onto the table. He let you sit, moving the glasses from before onto the next table before returning to sit in front of you again, eyes fixed to your core.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, panting as he raised the dress up as far as it would go, bunching around your waist and then pulled you to his mouth.

The loud moan that followed when Yoongi’s lip encircled and sucked onto your clit was so obscene, it would’ve caused a nun to curl her toes. Your previous fascination as to what Yoongi’s mouth could do was well rewarded while he lapped and laved around your pussy as if he was drinking directly from a fountain.

Two fingers stroked into your walls, in tandem to the slurping cause by his tongue, lapping away the traces of your arousal as fast as it came. Your hands moved, cupping your own breasts, playing with yourself when you saw his eyes fixed on your face. You smirked at him, unable to help yourself when you let your hand trail down to his head, fingers twining with his hair.

Your nails raked along his scalp, scratching lightly. That caused Yoongi’s eyes to close; tongue pressing into your entrance as he let out the filthiest moan you’d head, muffled by your wetness. You dropped to the table, both hands clutching Yoongi’s hair, keeping his mouth against you, riding out your high. It came in waves, rising and then crashing against you, drowning you in ecstasy. You ended in pants, eyes blinking away spots.

Hands ran up your legs, rubbing away tightened muscles and sore spots.

Yoongi got to his feet, leaning over you. Hands splayed on the either side of your waist he eyed you ferociously. His hair was stragglier; no doubt the result of your tugging and stuck up. But you could see his face now, especially his eyes, which were almost fully blown out.

“You,” he said lowly, color flaming high in his cheeks and voice barely controlled, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever come across.” He placed a hand on your sensitive flesh, a finger parting the lips as he studied you, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You’ve made a mess, baby. Gushed out your sweet juices all across my table,” He commented, swiping the finger straight into his mouth. He groaned, eyes narrowing but staying steady on your face. You watched, entranced, each shift in his face before he was popping the finger out.

“You taste so good, Y/N. I’m going to have your taste on my tongue all night.” He told you.

You didn’t know if it was the high of the orgasm or just the basic Yoongi effect but you reached for him, sliding forward till he was standing between your parted legs.

Yoongi let you fumble with his pants, pulling his belt free from the loops, letting it fall free as you unzipped him. While sitting on him you had fairly anticipated his size but by god you were so curious, you had to see him naked.

And you told him as such…

“Take my clothes off?” He asked, snickering at you.

“Yes, come on, I want to see you naked.” You ordered firmly, already shoving his pants down to his ankles.

Yoongi obliged.

Taking a single step back, he gave you a final heated look before he was hooking his fingers under the hem line of his shirt, lifting it. He was teasing you, you knew, by the slowness and the distinct air of stripping in the air. He let the fabric caress each inch of his torso. His stomach, tightening from the flex, the chest, much broader than you had guessed.

His shoulders and arms weren’t muscled, showing the lack of strenuous exercise but while there were no muscles, there wasn’t flab either. Yoongi was a fit fucking god and you drooled.

Of course, there were no tattoos or piercings, anywhere…you even looked at his back as he turned to discard away his shirt and the rest of his clothes – underwear included.

Yoongi stood before you, gloriously naked and godly. He turned to look at you with full knowledge of your ogling and he reveled in it. Lips pulled into a smirk, eyes on the narrow side to make his pretty face look like it could cut steel.

Under the pretty packaging, Min Yoongi was a lethal man.

And you had never wanted a man so damn much in your whole life…

You grasped onto his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that made him stumble from its force. His hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

A chill from the night air had seeped into the empty bar, making the heat radiating off your bodies and from your exertions all the more tantalizing. He panted against you, hot puffs of air landing on your own lips when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let me suck you off.” You said.

Yoongi grinned, nodding his acceptance before gently helping you off the table to stand in front of you. He wrapped a hand in your hair, a murmured ‘my turn’ making you tremble in his hold as you kissed down his body. You suckled near his navel, letting your mark bloom lavender against his pale skin.

He held your hand to help you kneel, the hardwood flooring under your knees sharpening your focus on the magnificent manhood in front of you.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now in your hair, wrapping and pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Go on then, baby,” he encouraged.

You sighed, gripping onto his hips to nuzzle along his length. He smelled like citrus, maybe from the drinks he’d handled and garnished or his body wash but it was mouth watering. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking gently, getting used to the feel of his thick weight on your tongue.

Gradually, you moved further, widening your mouth and taking in more of his velvet hardness. You rubbed his skin, one hand stroking along the rest of his length. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before going all the way, holding yourself as you felt him breach your gag reflex.

Above you Yoongi cursed, a string of incoherent words following when you repeated the motion, finding joy when Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you where you had stopped.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that? I might not let you go.” He warned, drawing your attention to look up at him.

Yoongi in this angle was heavenly. His hair was back to falling in his eyes but he was consciously blinking or shaking the strands away now, trying to look at you sucking him off. Color had drained from his face, probably aiding his erection but his lips were raw from being bitten and chewed upon. His chest heaved stomach tense and you had never felt more powerful kneeling in front of a man.

You could very possibly end him at this very moment and he would more than likely be happy about it.

So you stayed there, kneeling in front of him, watching him crumble with the suction you created around his hot length. You sent him a wink when you caught his eye and just as you had anticipated – he broke.

“Up, up, get on the table,” Yoongi had finally reached the point of growling. The hair he held, he used as reins to tug you up roughly and yet you relished in it, feeling him turn you around and push you to bend over the black table.

“You little minx, you enjoyed watching me nearly blow my brains down your throat.” He accused in a grunt and you could only laugh.

Your giggles continued in his search for a condom, rifling through his pockets till he found one; the sound of the packet ripping making your anticipation rise.

Interrupted with moans when he grabbed and squeezed with abandon; all the parts of you that he could reach – your tits, your hips, and the curve of your ass. He took full advantage, shoving the dress down till it was only circling your waistline.

“We’re keeping the shoes on.” He grunted in your ear.

He leaned back down, hand travelling down the outside of your thigh, pressing kisses down your spine, one at the edge of your rear, the inside of your thighs and one at the curve of your ankle. You groaned when you felt him part your folds again, his tongue running over the cooling flesh, igniting flames again.

He gripped onto your leg, admiring the trails of ribbons that held it up before pulling it up along with him as he stood.

He kept a tight hold on you, watching you teetering on the single shoe. He pushed your knee to brace on the table, still keeping his hands on you, balancing you before pressing up right against you.

His body stabilized yours, your hands using the table to anchor yourself against it. It was hard to stand on the single heel but Yoongi was soon pulling you back on to him, holding up most of your weight.

“So fucking hot,” He mumbled against the back of your neck just as you felt him push the head of his cock into your entrance.

The stretch of his cock burned so good, you didn’t even try to hide or curb the moan that fell from your lips. Back arching, your fingers clawed into the wood of the table and it was only just the first thrust.

Yoongi reared back, thrusting shallow, the angle making him rub tightly against your walls. His hands gripped on to the cheeks of your butt, holding you open so he could slide inside of you easily.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asked and even with your eyes closed, you could tell the edge he was tight lining on.

He sounded strained, almost at the brink of control.

“Yes, but you can go rougher.” You prodded, eager to feel him more.

“I can, indeed.”

In a split second, Yoongi was no longer considerate. An arm wrapped around your torso, palm at the base of your throat and fingers around your neck. His other hand snaked to the front, resting at your mound.

He still held up your weight but his pace went from shallow to deep, fast – brutal. Skin slapped against skin, his fingers strummed your clit mercilessly, playing a tune to match his rough rhythm.

You cried out, his name falling from you incessantly; as if a prayer, a call for retribution…you couldn’t tell. Very gently, you felt pressure increase near your windpipe.

You might have frozen, might have asked him what he was doing, but the uncontrollable coil in your core, his length battering into your cove and the harsh pressure on your nerves made you delirious with pleasure.

The lack of air made your eyes haze over and then, unbidden, floating in some sense of hypnotic plane. Only pleasure and the giver of it existed as you turned literal putty into his hands.

Then came, unbidden, Yoongi’s voice, a command: “Come for me, Y/N.”

You obeyed.

You couldn’t even scream. You couldn’t make any sound. You only came for Yoongi.

Body quivering and writhing in his hold, you arced against him, his head burying into your neck as he grunted, his own orgasm following as you clamped down on him. Impossibly tight and unable to stop himself further, Yoongi emptied himself into the rubber, sighing against your skin as if you were his only salvation.

You lay spread out on Yoongi’s table for how long, you had no idea. When you came down, Yoongi’s weight was still on you, warm and bracing. He was massaging your back, blowing warm air near your ear. You hummed, letting him know of your consciousness.

Yoongi craned his head, watching you blink twice to gain some semblance of composure. You could feel droplets collecting at the corners of your eyes and Yoongi quickly swiped them away with his thumb.

“Y/N, baby, how do you feel?” He asked voice calm and close to you.

You asked yourself the same question and smiled to yourself. “Fantastic, just fantastic…did I pass out?” You hedged.

Yoongi chuckled. “No, floated off a little…maybe a little like subspace but you were very much here. You were beautiful and brilliant.” He kissed your cheek.

You let him nuzzle into your skin, indulging in the aftercare.

Yoongi soon migrated to the seats, pulling you upright so he could pull the dress down your legs and up your chest properly. He leaned you against him, zipping you up before he got dressed himself.

You sat on the leather, watching him buckle his belt when the sound of approaching footsteps and keys made you both freeze.

The guard was here and you had just obviously had sex with Yoongi. There was no denying it. The scent of sex was palpable, the table was questionably messed up and both of you looked…well, fucked.

It took Yoongi only a second to recover and you prayed that his assurance for his job security was legitimate before the man walked in. Dressed in a grey uniform, he stopped, stuttering in his steps when he caught sight of Yoongi at one of the tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then –

“Boss,” the man said, surprised. “What are you still doing here?” He asked.

You flinched at the question before realizing something. Huh…boss…?

Yoongi carded a hand calmly through his hair, looking unconcerned. “I was just checking the stocks, Jungkook. It took me a long while so my…um, girlfriend came over to pick me up. I’ll be leaving now. Make sure to lock up behind us.”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, taking a look around before shrugging, apparently deciding it was none of his business. “I always do sir; have a nice night sir, ma’am.” He bowed politely and Yoongi grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the seat and quickly ushering you out of the back staff exit.

Yoongi and you emerged out into the parking lot, walking quietly till you had reached your car.

“You’re…the boss? You own this bar?” You broke the silence first, turning to Yoongi.

He nodded, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I was going to tell you though, but Jungkook interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? You were making all those cryptic remarks.” You said, wrapping your arms around you. Why did you have to forget brining a jacket?

Yoongi moved closer to you, his closeness providing you some extra warmth. “I, well, you see, people behave differently to what you appear to be. I was short a tender today. It’s a lady, and her sister gave birth. She needed the day off and I worked her shift. You just…you caught my eye and you said all those things you don’t expect people to say. I just wanted to see if you would feel the same attraction to a bartender that most people feel for the Bar owner.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No, not really, its fine, I understand. What about inside, about the girlfriend, why would you say that?”

Yoongi snorted. “Well, I’m hardly going to say you’re a customer, am I? He’s a good cop, Y/N; he knew we just had sex in there. I’ll bet you anything he spends the night out or inside the staff room tonight.”

“Right, I hope he won’t be expecting to see me around on the regular then.” You turned to unlock your car.

“I was hoping you’d become one.” Yoongi said.

You smiled slyly. “For you or your bar…?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’d be a double offer. Be mine and the bar’s going to be a regular anyway. Be a regular here and you’re bound to run into me.” He returned my smile.

You pretended to think about it. “Well, then, I’d say that first option sounds better.” You dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, with Yoongi leaning in through the window.

“It’s a date.” He winked.

This work is a gift for the precious @yoonmochiiii​ !! Happy Holidays, lovely. 

It was an amazing experience, being your (not so secret) Santa and getting to know you! I hope you enjoyed yourself and that you like your present! I hope we can be friends in the future as well and stay in touch!

Jung Hoseok smiles at you before handing you a gold pen. The man looks immaculate in his double breasted gray suit, not a crease in sight. Despite his smile, there’s a dangerous aura to him. One of complete and utter control.

“Sign here, here, and here. It’s very important that you respect these rules, for everyone’s safety. We also insist that first timers stick to observation during their first visit. Wear this.” He says, putting down a red bracelet on the desk before you. “Then other customers will know not to propose you. You can also choose to wear this bracelet whenever you feel like just watching from the sidelines.” You hand him back the membership contract after you’ve finished signing on all the proper lines, and he examines your signature before nodding in approval. “There’s a bar at everyone’s disposal, but we don’t allow heavy alcohol consumption, since we prioritize clear consent.”

The nameplate on the desk with 'Jung Hoseok - Headmaster' engraved in cursive makes you feel like you’re back in high school. Except this is not high school, and sitting on the other side of the desk is a successful attractive young man, not a bald idiot.

“There’s some private rooms to everyone’s disposition, which you can either reserve in advance or the same night depending on the availability. We have one room for people who like to have an audience, which we call the Window Room.” 

You nod along with him, a little overwhelmed by all the information. He smiles reassuringly at you, noticing your deer in the headlights look. It feels more predatory than anything else.

“There's single mixers every last Thursday of each month, open to the BDSM community, and sometimes there’s special events, themed nights or performances, which are posted on the website. Any questions?”

You shake your head, feeling so far out of your element, sitting in this chair, about to enter a whole new world you’ve been fantasizing about but never dared to seek out.

It took your best friend, Taehyung, digging a little too deep in your closet for one of your blouses and finding your box of accessories and outfit. You had flushed a deep red in embarrassment at having your secret exposed, but your friend had been quick to reassure you there was nothing to be embarrassed about. 

Then he’d shocked you into admitting he had a similar interest.

“You asked me once why I have a leash at home when I don’t own a dog.” He had said, shrugging one shoulder, and that had been an eye opening moment for you.

And then, after revealing you’d never shared with anyone your interest for all things leather, whip and power dynamic, he had talked to you about this club.

“It’s called Club Dionysus. It’s for people interested in BDSM. There are spaces reserved for scenes, but you can also just chill at the bar and observe. It could be good for you, to explore this side of you, you know? Without any pressure to participate in anything.”

A few days later, after a hellish week of dealing with your tyrannic boss, distracting yourself with a new experience seemed like an excellent idea.

The corset is hugging your body just right, your sheer stockings held in place by some garter and disappearing into your leather pencil skirt. The heels you have on would never be appropriate for a setting other than this one, making you feel like there’s power to each of your steps.

It’s definitely not the kinkiest outfit you own, but you chose to keep it tame for you first visit.

Taehyung is waiting just outside the door as Hoseok dismisses you from his office, wishing you an excellent time. He steers you toward the bar area, but that doesn’t stop you from mapping out the place. You had sneaked a peak at the club before being ushered into the Headmaster’s office, but it’s still a lot to take in once you’re finally free to let your eyes roam around.

The general theme colour seems to be dark palettes, dark wood details, and a little touch of red here and there, but definitely less than you were expecting. There’s the bar corner, which looks like any other club, save maybe for the bartender’s outfit. There’s some tables and then an open space, but it doesn’t seem to be for dancing, judging from the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling.

“For public punishment.” Taehyung specifies once he sees what you zeroed on.

You try to act unaffected, but it’s definitely going to stay in the back of your mind.

There’s a hallway that leads to a few closed doors, some with signs on them. It’s probably safe to assume these are “occupied” signs. Then there's a corner with a small stage, where those performances Hoseok mentioned probably take place. A Saint Andrew’s cross is placed on it, which you were kind of expecting, coming here.

Then, there’s a ceiling to floor window, giving into a darkened room.

You leave Taehyung at the bar waiting for you drinks, curious about what is standing on the other side. The room is dark, so you need to stick your face to the glass and shield your eyes from the light to see anything beyond the window.

You see some outlines, but you can’t make out exactly what’s in there, other than some dark furniture. You push your face even closer, tightening the shield around your eyes.

“You’re allowed to peak inside through the door, you know.” Someone says from behind you, startling you from how close they sound.

Your body seizes up in fight or flight response, survival instinct kicking in at the familiar voice. You know it so well; Too well. It follows you all day long, barking orders left and right, calling you at all hours to add to your workload. And then it wakes you up in the middle of the night, most of the time from stress nightmares.

Most of the time.

You deliberate about turning around and facing the most humiliating moment of your life, or just going straight for the exit without turning back. There isn't a lot of patrons in the bar right now, so the path to the door is probably clear. The only problem is that your feet are grounded to the floor, your heels feeling like they're suddenly made of concrete.

There's a little voice in the back of your mind whispering something that resemble 'Don't forget he's here too', but right now all you’re able to focus on is the presence you can feel, hovering over your shoulder. 

That's probably what describes best your relationship, him hovering over your shoulder.

Kim Namjoon has been breathing down your back since the first day you started working as his personal assistant, making your every waking moment a living hell. Go figure he would be doing it here too.

You brace yourself for his usual cold demeanour. You're persuaded this man hates you, always bossing you around and criticizing your every move.

You aren’t expecting the soft grin pulling at the corner of his lips. 

Neither are you expecting… everything else.

Gone is his everyday slicked back hairstyle, his silver hair coiffed into a more relaxed, swoop to the side look. He’s wearing this black satin blouse with see through sleeves and leather jeans, which is already a lot to compute, quite different from the suit you’re used to seeing him in. What makes your brain short circuit though, is the harness. 

A leather belt cinches his slim waist, two leather straps attached to it, running over his strong shoulders. There’s two leather cuff on each of his wrist, over the sleeves ends, and the harness look is completed by a simple black choker, looking stark against Namjoon’s neck.

You feel your mouth go dry, your breathing getting a little short and heart beating a little faster. 

All because of the stress of meeting your boss here, of course. No other reason at all.

“Hello sir.” You say, finally finding your voice. Your head is in a state of chaos, your brain on a loop of everything going on with Namjoon’s outfit. 

“Rule #6 if I remember correctly; Relationships and dynamic with people you might know outside of these walls do not apply inside Club Dionysus.” Namjoon recites, eyes on your red bracelet. He takes a very small step back that doesn’t do anything for the lack of space between you. 

You would feel caged in, except he has his hands in his back.

You’re not exactly sure why he’s telling you that, although you vaguely remember Jung Hoseok mentioning this earlier. The confusion must show on your face, because Namjoon carries on.

“You don’t need to address me as sir here.” He says, his smile turning sharper. “That is… unless we’ve previously agreed upon that.” 

Oh. Oh.

There’s something happening here. A shift in the air. A glint in his eyes. 

You swallow, and it sounds ten times louder than usual, despite the soft background music.

“I- hm. Interesting.” You’ve probably never sounded so dumb, but you can’t think over the sirens going off in your head.

This is a weird situation. Something you were not expecting, not in a million years. And how could you? 

Here stands Kim Namjoon, tyrannic CEO who has made the last few months of your life a blur of stressful weeks and nonexistent weekends. He's a workaholic on a good day, and a demon on the bad ones. Not a...whatever this is.

‘He’s flirting, right?’ The little voice from the back of your mind supplies. ‘Shut up’ is all you answer.

Unaware of your internal struggles, Namjoon snorts at your lack of response, looking...endeared? Is that the correct word? Is your obvious lack of brain cells endearing to him?

“I’m not your boss here, and you’re not my personal assistant.”

“Ehrm, I see. Should I call you Mr.Kim then?”

“If you wish to.” He says, looking particularly amused by your awkwardness.

Which, rude. This is a stressful place to meet your boss, how dare he.

“If I wish to, huh? So, I could choose to call you anything I’d like?” You can’t stop the slight flare of temper, not liking being made fun off. If he wants you to treat him as an equal, then treat him as an equal you will.

Namjoon nods once, his tongue quickly wetting his lips before adding, “Of course I will need to agree to it beforehand.”

You catch Taehyung from the corner of your eyes, waving at you from the bar with a question mark on his face. Namjoon follows your line of sight, focusing on your friend and frowning.

“Would you agree to being called ‘baby boy’, then?” you taunt, standing straighter than you have so far. 

He snaps his attention back to you, looking taken aback by the switch of demeanor.

You can’t stop your mind from conjuring the memory of those dreams, the one that wake you up in the middle of the night. Blurs of a long body tied to a bed, a diamond choker sparkling on his neck, a voice, usually hard, sounding soft and whimpery.

The wide eyed look Namjoon is giving you is pretty close to the one you usually see on his face during those short nighttime visits. 

“I-” He says, but stops, looking flustered. You feel a growing satisfaction at having reversed the roles.

The novelty of the situation, that left you feeling unsteady, is starting to subside, leaving you sure footed in your stilettos. 

You purse your lips, cocking a brow.

“Only if you agree, of course.”

You see his throat work, making his choker shift as he swallows once, then twice.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not allowed to take part in the events tonight,” You say, showing off your bracelet. “so I guess we should keep this discussion for next time.” You side step him, never breaking eye contact.

“After all, we need to talk about what you’re going to call me, too.” 

“In fact,” He finally says after a moment of silence, his earlier confidence replaced by something more tentative. “we should discuss it in great detail.” He finishes.