#seonghwa fluff

"oh baby, i didn't know you were home." hongjoong's head perked up as he caught sight of the door opening from the corner of his eye. you just offered him a sweet smile, saying it was okay, and holding up his plate of food. "thank you, my love."

"of course, baby, what are you working on?" you asked, moving to stand behind him and letting your hands drop to his tense shoulders after setting the plate down.

"finishing up this track and will sen—" the shrill sound of his ringtone filled the room, and hongjoong let out an annoyed sigh when he saw that it was the new intern who would not leave him alone. he had told you about her before, and she ground your gears to the point where you were tempted to go up there to talk to her.

noticing the annoyance that twisted on your face, hongjoong couldn't help but smile inwardly before grabbing the device and handing it to you. to say you were surprised would be an understatement, but you weren't about to pass up this opportunity to get this chick off your man's back. it was also the perfect time to play the little prank you had been planning.

"hello?" you answered the phone curtly, placing the device to your ear, and even the sound of her voice when she asked who you were made your nose scrunch up. taking a step away from hongjoong, so he could eat, you let out a small scoff, "this is his wife, now why do you keep calling my husband's phone?"

hongjoong nearly choked on his food when he heard those words fall from your lips, wide eyes snapping over to land on you. you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the shit-eating grin that was threatening to pull on your lips. you hadn't even heard whatever the girl on the other side of the phone was talking about, but you couldn't care less with the way hongjoong was staring at you, as if you had just hung the stars in the sky.

"listen you have no reason to be calling him personally, if it's work related keep it to work hours. if it's anything else, find someone else to bother and leave my husband alone," you told her plainly, annoyance dripping from your tone, and hongjoong nearly melted in his seat.

you then hung up the phone before she could even get another word in, silencing her contact. once all was said and done, you moved back to your dark-haired boyfriend, your smile finally breaking through when you took in his expression. without a word, he pulled you towards him so you were standing between his parted legs, his chin resting on your stomach as he looked up at you.

“you would want to marry me?” the genuine shock in his tone made your heart drop; had he really thought that you wouldn’t want to marry him?

a small pout formed on your lips as you brought your hand to his head, combing your fingers through his messy hair, stopping at the nape of his neck. his grip on the back of your thighs tightened as you pressed your fingers into the back of his neck comfortingly, a soft smile on your lips.

“of course, i’d wanna marry you; don’t be so silly,” you told him, and his face flushed as he pulled you closer, his arm now hugging your hips tightly as his head filled with thoughts, and the small velvet box that sat in his desk drawer felt lighter.

성화 ── SEONGHWA

it was friday, and that meant that you were going to be doing your weekly review of the makeup products that you had used throughout the week. however, this week was going to be a little different; you were going to be doing seonghwa’s make-up as a milestone reward for your followers. you had spent quite a bit of time on tiktok and just happened to see the videos where all of the girls were calling their boyfriend’s ‘husband’ and recording their reaction. they all made you giggle, and you just knew you had to try it on seonghwa, and this just seemed to be the perfect time for it.

you were in the middle of setting up the camera for the video when there was a knock at the door. before seonghwa peeked his head through the crack, “hey, love, i brought some fruit.” you couldn’t help but smile, seeing the small bowl of fruit that was in his hand.

“thank you, hwa,” you motioned for him to join you on the ground in front of the camera, “come sit. i’m almost done setting up.”

seonghwa happily made his way over to you and sat down, his legs crossed underneath him, and handed you the bowl. his hand then found your knee as you set the fruit down on the table in front of you before grabbing a blueberry and popping it into your mouth.

“are you ready?” you asked him, and he nodded with a bright smile on his face. you had to fight back the huge grin that was threatening to pull on your lips as you reached forward to turn the camera on.

sitting back down on your knees, you smiled at the camera, “hello everyone! as mentioned on my twitter, i am going to be doing my husband’s makeup.”

a look of shock morphed on seonghwa’s face as he looked away from the camera lens to look at you, “husband?” he exclaimed, causing you to jump slightly and look over at him, trying your best not to smile.

“what?” you asked, holding back a giggle when he looked from you to the camera lens before pointing to himself.

“are you talking about me?” he asked with a cheeky smile on his face, causing you to giggle.

“yes, who else would i be talking about?” your cheeks had started to hurt from smiling so hard as he looked at you in pure astonishment.

“you,” seonghwa pointed at you before pointing down to his hand, “marry me?”

“yes,” you laughed, glancing over to the camera once more before letting your eyes fall back on him, “that’s what makes you my husband.”

seonghwa looked at you for a second before holding his left hand out to you, “i do,” he looked around the room, “i just wish the scenery was a little bit better, but i do.” you couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes at the sassiness in his tone before reaching over to your vanity to grab a ring.

sitting back down, you held your hand out for him, and seonghwa happily placed his hand into yours, allowing you to slip the ring on his ring finger. you then placed a kiss on his knuckles before looking up to capture the bright, sassy smile that played on his lips.

you couldn’t help but laugh as he grabbed your hand to pull you closer, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. "don’t worry, my love. i’ll get you one as well,” he whispered sweetly, relishing in the blush that dusked your cheeks as you continued your recording.

윤호 ── YUNHO

it was the end of the week, which meant that yunho always went to the internet cafe to play his games with friends. normally, you would just wait for him to finish and come back to your apartment, but today you just wanted to be with him. so you found yourself sitting in an empty chair next to him while his gamed his little heart out. you scroll through tiktok and instagram reels, perfectly content to just be in yunho's company. yunho, of course, wasn't oblivious to you; he had one headphone slipped back just in case you talked to him.

your eyes glanced over at yunho when you came across a video of a girl sitting in her car with her boyfriend and calling him 'husband'. his reaction was cute, and you started to wonder what yunho's reaction would be, and a sly smile spread on your lips.

then one of the workers came up to you and your hyperfixated boyfriend, asking if there was anything you needed. it was then that you decided that now would be as good a chance as any, so you gave her your order before glancing over at yunho.

"babe, did you want your usual?" you asked, and he spared you a quick glance before humming. you turned back to the worker with a smile, "and my husband would like the spicy ramen bowl." a laugh threatened to break through as you felt yunho straighten his body next to you, his now wide eyes looking at you.

"what did you just call me?" yunho asked in astonishment as you thanked the worker before watching her walk away, then met your boyfriend's shocked eyes.

"my husband." you repeated yourself, and yunho was sure that he had died and gone to heaven with how easily the name fell from your lips, but he still couldn't fully wrap his head around it.

"me?" he pointed at himself before pointing at you, "your husband?" he asked, ignoring the screams from his teammates as the 'game over' screen flashed on the desktop.

"yes, you goof, who else?" you asked, giggling, but quickly let out a gasp when he turned and pulled your chair closer to his, hands on either side of it. you bit your lips as you tried to suppress the smile, stomach fluttering at the light blush that dusted his cheeks.

"say it again," he whispered, heart racing in his chest as he watched you giggle at his reaction.

"you're. my. husband." you reached up to grab his face in both your hands, the warmth of his cheek seeping into your skin, "my hubby wubby." you cooed in a baby voice as you shook his head softly, and a wide smile spread on his lips.

"you really wanna marry me one day?" he asked, a hint of hesitancy in his tone, causing you to pout, pinching his cheeks until he was pulling your hand away from his face, placing them in his lap.

"why wouldn't i want to marry you, yunho?" you asked, pout still very much on your face, causing him to chuckle, "you're the only man i'd ever want to have as my husband. point blank period." you told him, sas lacing every last syllable in the end.

"that has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" he asked, softly cupping your face, and you turned into putty in his palm, heat creeping up your neck, "can't wait to make it official."

여상 ── YEOSANG

you had seen the trend of the girls calling their boyfriends their husbands for shits and giggles all over your for you page, and you knew you wanted to try it. already imagining what yeosang’s reaction would be, and suddenly felt super giddy. so you ran and told your friends all about your idea, and they encouraged you, already knowing that your boyfriend would love it. you had everything planned, knowing that you would do it when you went out to lunch with him this weekend.

but then you saw the viral video of the guy who rudely cut his girlfriend off, telling her that he wasn’t her husband, and doubt started to cloud your mind. what if yeosang reacts the same way? or what if he just laughed at you because he thought it was stupid?

so when you told your friends that you weren’t going to do it anymore, they asked you why until you finally spilled the reason behind your hesitance. your best friend just shook her head with a small laugh.

“girl, that man is far too lovesick; there ain’t no way he’s gonna react like that,” she reassured you, and the other agreed with her rather quickly.

“yeah, and that guy in the video was just an asshole, you can tell,” another of your friends added in, causing you to laugh before saying that she was right.

nodding with a newfound confidence, you told them that you were going to do it, and they all cheered, causing you to laugh. your best friend then grabbed your attention once more with a reassuring smile.

“and if, for some very unlikely reason, he does act like that, my door is always open, and we can eat some ice cream.” she patted your hand, and you nodded again before telling her thank you.

when the day came around that you went to pick up yeosang, you kept telling yourself that everything was going to be okay. the two of you had already talked about just picking up food through the drive-thru and going to eat at the park, seeing as it was a nice day.

“hey angel.” yeosang greeted you as he opened the passenger door of your car, bending down to give you his cheeky smile, “are you sure you wanna drive? i’m more than happy to.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his offer, but you shook your head, “it’s okay, yeo, you’re always driving; i got it this time.”

yeosang just chuckled before taking his seat in the passenger seat, situating it so his long legs could fit in front of him before turning towards you. he leaned over the middle console, waiting for you to lean forward, which you did not long after, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. pulling away, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at the wide grin that took your place on his lips.

“you ready?” you asked him, and he just hummed before sitting back in the seat, his hand going to your thigh.

it didn’t take too long before you made it to the restaurant; pulling into the drive-thru, you made a quick decision of what you wanted before going to the speaker. the worker greeted you, and you told them what you wanted before looking over at yeosang, who was still looking at the menu.

“just get me whatever you got, baby,” he told you before sitting back and returning to the game he was playing on his phone. you shook your head, a smile tugging on your lips as you turned towards the speaker once more, ready to put your plan into action.

“then my husband wants the same thing,” you told the worker; however, yeosang had stopped playing his game to look over at you, a goofy grin adorning his face. after you made sure that your order was correct, you sat back in your seat to move forward, sparing him a quick glance, “what?” you tried your best to act clueless despite your heart racing under your ribcage.

yeosang just sat there, silent, letting your words fully sink in, the smile never leaving his lips. however, his silence was starting to worry you, even if he was wearing a humongous smile. you swallowed thickly as you paid for the food and took the drinks.

he waited until you finished handing him the food before taking your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours, and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, “husband, huh? i like the sound of that.”

산 ── SAN

whenever you had gotten a message from your best friend telling you about a trend that she had seen floating around, you knew that it would be the perfect prank to pull on san. you knew that it could end one of two ways, either he would get shy and just cling himself onto you for the rest of the night, or he would get smug and start teasing you relentlessly. though you would be fine with either of those outcomes, you hoped that he would opt for the first.

you and your friend hadn’t talked in a long time, so you decided to call each other over the weekend. you decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to pull the prank, seeing as she has yet to meet your boyfriend.

so when the weekend rolled around, you told her to call during the time that you knew san would be on his way home from the gym. you sat down at the dining table, talking to her, catching each other up on your current life events, before you heard the front door open.

“is that him?” your friend asked, muffling her giggles when you placed your finger over your lips, but you nodded nonetheless. san walked into the kitchen with a smile spreading on his face when he saw you sitting at the table, his dimples on display.

“hey, baby, how was the gym?” you asked him, a small smile adorning your lips as he set his water bottle down on the counter before walking over to you.

“it was good,” he leaned down, kissing the top of your head before glancing at your phone screen. "what are you up to?”

you moved your phone up enough for him to see your friend, who waved at him, “remember i was calling my friend this weekend?” he nodded, standing behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“who’s this?” your friend asked in mock curiosity as she bit the inside of her cheek, and you had to bite back a smirk of your own.

you looked up at san for a moment before going back to your phone, “this is san, my husband.”

san’s eyes widened in shock as he looked down at you, but you just continued your conversation as if it were a normal day. he had been fully prepared for you to say boyfriend, but he definitely was not prepared for the word ‘husband’ to leave your lips.

you couldn’t help the silly smile that pulled on your lips when san wrapped his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck. you could tell he was flustered by how warm his cheek was against your skin.

“i’m your husband?” his voice came out in a hushed tone against your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine, but you just hummed, leaning further into him before reaching up to run your fingers through his slightly damp hair as you continued your conversation with your friend while he clung to you.

민기 ── MINGI

it was saturday night, and you were spinning around in your gaming chair, waiting for mingi to send you a message letting you know that he was ready to hop on. you had made a plan to livestream a new game with mingi for all of your subscribers to watch because that had practically begged you to make another video with your boyfriend. you were almost sure that your subscribers liked him more than you.

just as you were getting ready to grab your phone to message him first, his name popped up on your screen, causing a wide smile to erupt on your face. quickly opening your phone, you went to your and mingi’s chat, seeing that he had said he was ready to go with a little sunglasses emoji. laughing softly, you moved closer to your desk and grabbed your headset before calling mingi.

it didn’t even finish ringing for the second time when mingi picked up, “hey baby.” his voice flowed through your headset, causing a smile to pull your lips even wider.

you greeted him before pulling up the game and making sure everything for the live stream was ready. “ready to go?” you asked him, and you could hear him hum from the other side. taking that as a green light, you started the stream.

after quickly doing your intro, you waited for more people to join the stream before starting the game. a laugh fell from your lips as you read the comments asking if mingi was still going live with you.

“don’t worry, guys. mingi is joining us today. he’s actually here right now.” you clicked a few buttons before letting mingi pop up on the screen next to you.

then came the influx of comments about how cute he was and how he played games so well, or there were the occasional few comments about how cute the two of you were. smiling, you answered a few questions. unbeknownst to you, mingi was watching you through the screen, missing the comment that popped up about someone claiming him as their ‘husband’. rolling your eyes playfully, you situated yourself in your seat before speaking.

“he’s my husband, actually.” your tone was playful, but your words had completely caught the male off guard.

mingi could feel his ears burning red as he tried his best to remain stoic as he watched you move to start the game. his eyes flickered over to the comments, seeing a few about how they would fight you for his attention, and he could tell that they were starting to annoy you, so he tried to push what you had said to the side

“let’s start the game, ya?” he cleared his throat before letting his eyes flicker over to you, and you nodded, getting ready to hit the start button as soon as mingi was in the lobby. however, mingi had completely missed the small smirk that was pulling on the corner of your lip, wanting nothing more than to tease him, knowing that you had made him slightly flustered.

우영 ── WOOYOUNG

it was the end of the month, which meant that you were going to be doing your monthly livestream for all of your fans; however, your boyfriend, wooyoung, decided he was going to join you. it wasn't very often that you were able to have him join your update lives, so you were going to take full advantage of it. you had been doomscrolling on tiktok for the last week and saw the trend of girls going and calling their boyfriends 'husbands' just to see what their reaction was. all of them made you giggle, and you instantly thought of how your dramatic boyfriend would react, so you made a small mental plan ready to capture his possible outburst.

you were in the middle of setting up the camera for the livestream when there was a knock at the door, and wooyoung was peeking into the room. he smiled widely upon seeing the camera that sat in your hand, "almost done, babe? i brought snacks." he told you as he pushed the door fully open to show the bag in his hand, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"you're making it seem like we'll be here all day, woo." you giggled, and he just shrugged with a smile, walking towards you after shutting the door.

wooyoung sets the bag down on your desk, careful not to mess up anything you had prepped, then takes a seat in your chair, legs spread out as he leans back, "for all i know we will be." he teased, and you rolled your eyes before turning to finish setting the camera up before starting the livestream.

you bumped wooyoung out of the way so you could bring the extra chair to sit in, but before you could sit down, your boyfriend stood and took the seat for himself with a smug smirk on his lips as you glared. playfully rolling your eyes, you sat in your chair and clicked a few buttons on your desktop before looking over at wooyoung, "you ready?"

he tugged your chair closer to him as he looked in the camera to fix his hair while you waited, a ghost of a smile on your lips. once he deemed himself presentable, he nodded and sat back, telling you he was good to go.

shaking your head softly, you started the livestream, a wide smile on your lips as your followers started to flood in almost instantly, "hello, everyone! it's so good to talk to you all again and give a life update on my husband and me."

wooyoung's head snapped towards you mid-bite, a look of utter astonishment plastered all over his face. you continued to talk, trying to hold in the laugh that was threatening to break through as you felt his gaze on you.

after a few more short moments, the shock wore off, and he pointed to himself, "did you just call me husband?" he asked loudly, the corner of his lips twitching as you turned to look at him.

"yeah, who else?" you asked, holding back a giggle when he looked from you to the camera lens back to you.

"what? now i'm the one that normally calls you wifey, you don't—haven't called me hubby. husband?" he started to ramble with a smile so wide you were sure it was hurting his cheeks.

"i called you husband just now." you told him like it was a matter-of-fact, lips curling inward to hold in a laugh. eyes flickering over to the comments that were flooding in, your fans were just as excited as wooyoung.

"okay, okay, continue." he nodded towards the camera as he turned to look, but just as you started talking, he interrupted you. "say it again."

"oh, okay." you laughed, fixing your hair before continuing, "me and my husband—"

"husband!" he exclaimed, and you burst out laughing as he continued to freak out over it, the smile on his lips making your heart melt. then he was looking at you expectantly again, "one more time."

you were laughing so hard that it was making your chest hurt, tears pooling in your eyes. wooyoung leaned closer to your desktop to read the comments, his smile never fading, not even an ounce, "husband." he stated, pointing to himself as he leaned back, looking over at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

종호 ── JONGHO

you weren’t entirely sure why you were here, to begin with. your friends had begged and begged you to come to the stupid class reunion, saying that it would be a lot of fun to catch up with one another and that they could finally meet jongho, the man that you had been dating for three years. reluctantly, you agreed and talked to jongho about going. thankfully, he didn’t mind going as long as you were with him.

however, now you are starting to regret your decision to bring your boyfriend along with you. every single time that you turned your back, even if it was for just a split second, you would turn to see yet another female flirting with him. jongho, of course, rejected their advances, pointing over to you, but they just couldn’t seem to catch a hint.

your friends were sure that you were bound to blow a fuse if you turned around to catch another girl trying to touch up on jongho. so they grabbed your arm, pulling you closer to them, causing you to look at them with a raised eyebrow.

“girl, you look like you’re about to behead the next person that so much as looks in his direction,” one of them teased, but you nodded softly before saying that you just might at this point.

laughing nervously, your other friend grabs your wrist before placing something in the palm of your hand. confused, you look down only to become even more confused when you see that she has given you a ring.

“put this on and go tell them to leave your husband alone,” she instructed you, motioning to the ring.

so you did just that. handing her your drink, you slipped the ring onto your ring finger before turning and making your way back to jongho, who was standing by the drink table, trying to ignore the four other women who had started to surround him.

“hey princess,” jongho greeted you as you walked up to him, wrapped your arms around his, and placed a kiss on his cheek. sensing that you were up to something, jongho just watched with an amused gleam in his eyes.

you looked over at the other women, who were either glaring at you or raising an eyebrow. offering them a fake sweet smile, you grabbed jongho’s hand, making a show of the ring on your finger before tilting your head slightly.

“thank you, ladies, for keeping my husband company while i was away, but i got it from here,” you told them, sas lacing your tone. none of them gave you any backtalk and walked away, not trying to draw attention. jongho bit back the smirk as he watched you tell the women off, loving when your jealousy seeped through.

once they were out of sight, jongho pulled his arm from your grasp, causing you to look over at him, getting ready to ask him what was wrong. but he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. he then took your left hand into his, looking at the ring that sat on your finger.

“hmm…” he hummed, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss your palm, “why don’t we replace this with a real one?”

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

you’re folding laundry while humming, not even singing, just humming some random melodies you either overheard in a song or just coming up with something on the spot. your baby girl, sitting in her highchair, is utterly hypnotized by your voice. eyes sparkling, little fists tapping the tray, a goofy and drooly smile, adoring her small and squishy face, even her teeth are starting to show, and she just looks so adorable.

hearing the sound of the front door opening and closing means that SEONGHWA came back from grocery shopping, as you hear his voice announcing his arrival. “daddy’s home!” and yes, daddy is home for you and your little princess. alas, the little miss doesn’t even glance at him; she just stares at you with pure love and adoration in her eyes.

thankfully he put the bags on the floor before seeing this, because otherwise he would let them go and the eggs would break… but too late, his heart was already broken. “did she just ignore me?”

you laugh, and the baby giggles because you laughed. going to pick her up from the chair and, kissing her soft cheeks and cooing, trying to hand her to him, but all she did was whine, reaching back toward you. your husband dramatically looks at the ceiling like he’s in a tragic drama, blinking at the white color, biting his lower lip.

then you started singing again, humming, and the baby was so happy to hear her mother’s gentle voice once again, not even sparing her father a glance or acknowledging his existence, or the fact that he was about to cry. “is my singing career over? is mommy the new main vocalist of the house… did you train with jongho for this?”

“she just likes my lullaby voice,” you said, kissing him on the cheek, the little one still in your arms, having the audacity to throw him a smile. seonghwa mutters under his breath, he can’t stay mad at his girl, but it still hurts picking the other parent. “i have a lullaby voice too…i literally debuted for this.”

your son adores his father. the little boy loves being swung around, loves sitting on his shoulders, loves being tickled… he just loves being loved in every way that involves the man you call your husband. YUNHO swears his son loves him, just as much as he does… until today.

when you blow raspberries on his tummy, though, your son loses it. it’s a full-body laughter, a whole circus in the nursery, with his head thrown back, legs kicking like he is playing with the national football team. he really loves it when it's time for that, especially after a bath... but someone didn't seem to like it.

the love of your life, the father of your child, just watches from the doorway, completely smitten but also betrayed, because…

“i do that too! i do the same thing!” he could be a big man, in both senses of the word, but sometimes he acted like a child, mainly this side of him took over when he wasn't the winner. “no,” you say, kissing the baby’s cheek again, hearing those loud giggles, “you attack him and pretend to be a dragon, and i’m just the super cool knight who comes to save the prince.”

your son squeals and wraps his arms around your neck. as for yunho, he needs to sit down in the armchair next to the bed where the two of you are. he looks like someone just defeated him with a fatal and unexpected headshot in one of his games. unbelievable, my own blood thinks his mom is funnier than me…”i’m literally the entertainer in this house.”

“don’t pout now, alright? he loves you too!” you took the baby, with new diapers, clean and bathed, and so cute, also for some reason he's such a big boy, a little taller than others his age... dad’s genes are so strong. he didn't stay in his arms for more than a second, before reaching for you again, and your husband gently scoots him away.

“go to mama then… i’ve accepted my fate.” of course, he's joking, but he's a little jealous; however, he hopes his son knows that daddy’s here too, even if he picks mommy first.

your daughter is…exactly YEOSANG. like someone photocopied his baby pictures, a carbon copy, his little twin with those chubby cheeks, dark eyes, and just purely angelic features. she also has a birthmark next to her eye, but it's on the right side. the little angel has you wrapped around her finger; actually, she has everyone wrapped around her tiny finger.

you gently boop her nose, shocked and oh-so in love, “yeosang, she’s literally you. oh my god– look at her! look at her lips, and her cheeks!” to say you’re obsessed would be an understatement. you’re leaning over her, kissing her nonstop while she squeals proudly, and tries to ramble some syllables, still learning to say mama or dada, it’s a tough but so adorable process.

yeosang stands behind you, arms crossed. not that he doesn't love his own child. nonsense, he would die for her, but the fact that you only paid attention to her didn't particularly appeal to him. as much as he was an angel, he could easily be one, well, a petty man, sometimes a savage too. “i think i am the original, though… she looks decent.”

too busy cooing to hear him, you just want to munch on her cheeks, because, why does she have to be so cute? you'll just cry, how could you give birth to such an angel, such a beautiful princess? “she’s so freaking cute i can’t stand the feeling…” kissing her soft and small fingers, “mommy’s sweet girl, yeah, mommy loves you sooo much,”

your husband literally lifts his one hand, like he is in school, trying to grab your attention once again. “do i not exist anymore? i was the other one who helped in the baby-making process, in case you forgot.”

no answer, just his daughter giggles, as you sqeual again, mumbling something about how good she will look with her new onesies. he just sighs, but not before glancing at the baby’s face. you claim that she's a complete copy of him, but that smile on her face is entirely yours. when you finally look up and kiss him too, he blushes, just like his little girl. “okay… fine. i’ll forgive you this time.” 

having a 10-month-old baby meant that she was starting to get more curious about how the world works. what mommy and daddy do, or how, when she uses gestures like pointing or raising arms to be picked up, you do it. and why she can't touch certain things. “sweetie, no touching daddy’s water bottle.”

she stops immediately after hearing your voice. this tone wasn't the sweet sound that usually came from your lips that were constantly kissing her. maybe she slowly started to understand simple words like no, and maybe the fact that she shouldn't make mommy angry, because things wouldn't be all sunshine and rainbows.

“princess, no touching daddy’s water bottle–” but the moment she heard her father's voice, she immediately grabbed it and held it hard, like it’s some toy she doesn’t want to let go. the pacifier in her mouth, looking at him, pardon, staring dead in his eyes, and SAN is shocked. is this what he gets for when your word is the law, and his doesn't exist? shouldn't it be the other way around, where the dad is scarier and stricter?

“why does she only listen to you?” you shrug at his question, too busy warming her milk. not that your husband wasn't sometimes scary, in the sense of making a remark to her about something, teaching her, but he was more gentle because he felt sorry, and she let out those sweet little pleading eyes that don't work on you. the same eyes her father used, and still uses, to get away with something. “she knows my tone.”

san kneels on the floor in front of his daughter, trying to get the bottle in the meantime, but the baby won't let go. did you give birth to hercules or something? his face close to hers, baby voice activated, lips slightly pouting, just the perfect lure. “is mommy scarier…” but she just blinked, “no? then is mommy prettier? tell daddy the truth.”

the little princess just babbles and pats his face with her free hand, and he melts on the spot. but then you pick her up and she nuzzles into your neck. san lies down, defeated but in love. “i'm jealous that my own daughter listens to her mother more than me.…but she’s an angel so it’s fine. i’ll just… cry a little.”

your son was a bit clumsy and overly energetic, and you wonder where he got it from. still learning to get a good hold of objects, to use his hands, and not to put them in his mouth. even when he accidentally spills a glass of water, or knocks down the tower his father built with the constructor, all you do is coo at him. “oh, baby, it’s okay. come here~”

you scoop him up with the softest voice, baby-talk him, cuddle, forgive him instantly, and he giggles, because mommy is so sweet and pretty. no problems, he's still learning, this small and charming baby, unfortunately, as clumsy as his father, no dna test needed.

however, later, when you were so close to putting him to sleep for his afternoon nap, MINGI decided to drop something heavy on the ground, and you went completely crazy. “song mingi!” oh no, this is the end, because the moment your husband reached out to take the metal spoon, he saw you with a very angry expression. the little cutie on your hip, slightly opening his eyes, yawning, looking so tired, even if he was born nine months ago.

“why…” mingi starts, voice trembling, when your son stares at him, as if he’s watching a nature documentary, between the predator who just happened to be mommy, and the prey, which you guessed right, is daddy himself. “why does he get the gentle mode, and i get the beast mode?”

“because he’s a baby.” you kiss your son’s head, rocking him, and if he decides not to sleep at night, it will be a problem for his father to deal. it won't be the first time this has happened, but you don't want your son's sleep schedule to be disrupted from the start.

“i was your baby first!” you raise an eyebrow at him, because yes, he is right, you are taking care of a child, and a man-child all at once. the man-child you chose to marry and have a future with just sulks, holding the spoon and the half-opened pudding, as the kid decided to babble some comfort nonsense. your husband smiles instantly, considering that in such difficult times, even if his wife nags him, the little boy will always forgive him, which means going to bed at 3 in the morning. thanks again, dad.

your daughter sits in your lap, happy as a baby can be. you just fed her, because your girl has a very big appetite, just like her father, and she is only eight months old. of course, you burped her, and now it was time for the daily dose of cuddles. no issues at all, just mommy and baby having a peaceful time together.

until WOOYOUNG decided to take her for two seconds so you could go to the bathroom. they say miracles happen quickly and instantly, you can just blink and miss a shooting star. but for two whole seconds, the little troublemaker decided she was going to shoot those shooting stars all over her dad's t-shirt… at least it wasn’t the face.

“fuc–…baby why?” and the expression on his face was more than golden. you felt sad, but at the same time, it was so funny. why don't you film with your phone in moments like this? this is priceless, a memory you will forever keep in your mind, maybe even in a few years when she decides to rebel, you will mention: sweetheart, you can’t remember but…you used to throw up on your dad so much like a baby… so please listen to him, alright?

“she’s still adjusting to living.”

“adjusting to what exactly? be a baby sniper, because congratulations, princess, your aim is flawless.” but when he hands her back to you, you laugh, wiping her mouth with the tissues you quickly got from the kitchen. she snuggles immediately into your chest, can’t win against boobs, that’s like cheating, your husband can’t compete with that.

“she’s a daddy’s girl!” you told him and he then took off his shirt, actually ripped it with all the strength he had; thankfully, it was old and worn out. “then why does she treat me like i’m some kind of puree she doesn't like?” he's usually so good with kids, with babies, with you... but it's like she's his sworn enemy. little missy is so naughty, and small and cute, he can't even be mad because it's like looking in a mirror.

“she throws up on me sometimes too.”

“not in front of me, she does not.” he sulks, voice getting raspy from raising his tone a little bit, but then she reaches toward him with grabby hands, and her dad hopes it's not because she wants to vomit again.

this is the most critical moment in your life, clearly more important than the birth of your son, judging by how impatient JONGHO is. he's worried, but at the same time, so sure that everything will go according to plan. two football jerseys are on the carpet, ready to be crawled upon, and see which fate will be chosen. your husband’s favorite team, PSG, or your favorite team.

“alright, little man… this is important, choose wisely, okay?” his father kneels beside him, like a coach analyzing strategy, to pick the formation most suitable for the second half to secure that win against mommy, because, for obvious reasons or not, your son seems to like you more, but not this time. now daddy will thrive and succeed. not that jongho had anything against your team... but he would mind if your son became a die-hard fan of theirs.

you roll your eyes, “honey, it’s not that serious.” because come on, he's only a few months old, maybe when he grows up, he won't even be into football, but another sport, or some kind of art. it's funny that you really think that way, but not in this house.

“it is very serious.” your son crawls toward the psg jersey first, making jongho’s eyes light up like he’d just scored a goal. but before he can swoop in to celebrate, your little trickster spins, giggling, and lands right on your team’s jersey. you freeze, and jongho’s mouth falls open. “wait… what!? no way…” he whispers, voice cracking in disbelief. his hands are frozen mid-air, celebrating, because how… how did this happen? 

you kneel, scooping the little boy into your arms, laughing against his big and soft cheeks. his father leans closer, still stunned, and you press a quick kiss to his lips as well. he melts slightly, but his eyes are still wide, trying to process the betrayal. your son leans, smacking a tiny kiss onto jongho’s cheek, little pop-pop sounds escaping him.

“you… you cheated,” he blurts, already ready to accuse you because your man can't stand being defeated. “what did you bribe him with? more boobs before bed? that’s not fair!” you didn’t bribe him, you didn’t whisper secret promises about more boobies before bed, nothing. maybe your son just has elite ball knowledge and knows who the best is. condolence to the father, though, he lost another soldier.

based on this suggestion !

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The campus was quiet when she stepped through the front gates that morning. A soft wind moved through the trees that lined the main walkway, scattering early autumn leaves across the pavement.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

Her outfit was bright again today.

A yellow sweater. Light blue skirt. White sneakers with tiny embroidered flowers on the sides.

Her roommate had once described her wardrobe as looking like a box of highlighters.

Y/N did not mind that description. Bright colors made her feel a little braver when the rest of the world felt too loud.

Still, she knew what people thought.

Weird.

Childish.

Too much.

She walked toward the main building while quietly humming to herself. It was a habit she did not always notice. Her mind liked to fill silence with little melodies, especially when she was nervous.

The university slowly came to life around her.

Students began appearing in small groups. The low murmur of conversations filled the air. Someone laughed loudly somewhere behind her.

Y/N kept her eyes down.

Her first lecture of the day was in the large economics hall.

She slipped inside and chose a seat in the second row near the wall. Not too far in the back where professors sometimes thought you were not paying attention. Not too close to the center where everyone could see you.

The sweet spot.

Her notebook came out. Pens lined up carefully beside it.

Y/N liked order. It helped her feel less like everything inside her head was bouncing around uncontrollably.

The lecture started.

Numbers. Charts. Supply curves.

She focused as best as she could, writing small neat notes while the professor explained concepts in a steady voice.

Halfway through the lecture the doors opened quietly.

A group of students entered.

Y/N did not need to look to know who they were.

The entire room felt it.

That strange shift in the atmosphere.

Like when a storm cloud rolled over the sun.

She lifted her eyes slightly.

There they were.

The group everyone talked about.

Park Seonghwa and his friends.

Eight of them in total.

They rarely sat apart.

They moved through campus like a quiet storm that parted crowds without needing to say anything.

Rumors surrounded them constantly.

Y/N had heard plenty of them.

Some people said they were the sons of powerful business families. Others claimed they had connections with dangerous people outside the university. There were stories about fights at exclusive clubs and expensive cars that appeared outside campus gates late at night.

No one knew which rumors were true.

But everyone agreed on one thing.

It was better not to get involved with them.

The group spread out across the back rows.

Y/N recognized them easily by now.

San with his sharp eyes and quiet confidence.

Wooyoung who always looked like he knew something no one else did.

Yunho who seemed tall enough to block the sun when he walked past.

Jongho with a calm expression that somehow looked stronger than most people twice his size.

Mingi leaned back in his chair lazily.

Yeosang sat beside him, silent and composed.

Hongjoong spoke quietly to someone while scrolling through his phone.

And Seonghwa.

Y/N's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than she intended.

He looked exactly like people described him.

Cold.

Perfect posture. Dark clothes. Expression unreadable.

If statues could walk, they might look like Park Seonghwa.

She quickly looked back down at her notes.

It was not smart to stare.

Not at people like that.

Even the professor seemed slightly distracted by their presence before continuing the lecture.

The class passed slowly after that.

Y/N packed her things carefully once it ended.

Students gathered their bags and filtered out of the room.

She kept her head down as she moved into the hallway.

The corridors quickly filled with chatter and footsteps.

Seonghwa's group walked ahead of her.

People moved aside for them instinctively.

No one asked them to.

They just did.

Y/N watched for a moment before looking away again.

Intimidating.

That was the word that always came to mind when she saw them.

They looked like people who lived in a completely different world than the rest of the university.

Not people someone like her should ever talk to.

She headed toward the cafeteria where she was supposed to meet her project group.

Group projects were Y/N's least favorite thing in existence.

Not because she did not like the work.

But because they required something she struggled with constantly.

Talking to people she did not know.

The table was already occupied when she arrived.

Three of her classmates sat there.

Minji waved slightly.

"Hey, Y/N."

Y/N smiled politely and sat down.

Her hands folded neatly on the table.

The others were already discussing their project presentation.

Marketing analysis.

Deadlines.

Slides.

Y/N contributed when she could, offering ideas in a quiet voice.

Sometimes people listened.

Sometimes they talked over her.

She was used to that by now.

At one point she laughed softly at something one of them said, though she was not sure if the joke had been meant as funny.

Conversations were like puzzles where she never quite understood all the rules.

After about thirty minutes she excused herself.

"I'll be right back."

The bathroom was thankfully empty.

Y/N washed her hands slowly, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Her hair had escaped its ponytail slightly.

She fixed it.

"You are doing fine," she murmured quietly to herself.

A small pep talk.

She did those sometimes.

Just to steady her nerves.

After a moment she returned to the cafeteria.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the table.

They had not noticed her yet.

Which meant she heard them.

"She's nice but..."

Y/N froze.

Another voice continued.

"I don't know. She's just weird."

Someone snorted.

"Did you see her outfit today? It looks like a kindergarten art project."

Laughter followed.

Y/N felt her stomach tighten painfully.

The third person spoke.

"And she talks to herself sometimes. I swear I heard her humming during lecture."

More laughter.

"Maybe she's actually crazy."

The words hit harder than they probably intended.

Y/N stood there quietly for a few seconds.

Her chest felt tight.

She knew she was awkward around new people.

She knew she sometimes said strange things without realizing.

But hearing it like that still hurt.

A lot.

She took a slow breath.

Then stepped forward like nothing had happened.

Her smile returned carefully to her face.

"Sorry," she said softly as she sat down again. "There was a line."

The conversation stopped for a moment.

Then someone quickly changed the topic.

They finished discussing the project.

Y/N nodded when necessary.

Agreed when needed.

Smiled when expected.

By the time the meeting ended her cheeks hurt slightly from holding that expression.

Outside the cafeteria the sky had turned pale gray.

Late afternoon light stretched across campus.

Y/N walked slowly toward the bus stop.

Her thoughts felt heavy.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe she was weird.

She liked bright colors too much.

She talked to herself.

Sometimes she did not understand jokes until hours later.

Maybe people like that just did not belong in places like this.

Her bus was still twenty minutes away.

Instead of waiting at the crowded stop she continued walking.

The streets grew quieter the farther she moved from campus.

Eventually she noticed a small building she had passed many times before but never entered.

A sign hung above the door.

Animal Shelter.

Another smaller sign was taped to the window.

Volunteers Welcome.

Y/N slowed down.

Animals had always been easier for her to understand than people.

Animals did not judge you for humming.

They did not laugh at your clothes.

They simply existed.

She hesitated for only a moment before opening the door.

A bell chimed softly above her head.

The smell inside was a mixture of hay, cleaning supplies, and something warm that reminded her of old blankets.

A woman behind the front desk looked up.

"Hello."

Y/N gave a small nervous wave.

"Hi. Um. I saw the sign outside. I was wondering if you needed volunteers."

The woman's face brightened.

"We always need volunteers."

Relief spread through Y/N's chest.

The woman explained a few simple tasks before handing her a pair of gloves.

"If you go down that hallway and take the second door on the right, someone is already working with the small animals. They can show you what to do."

Y/N nodded.

"Okay. Thank you."

She followed the hallway.

Soft barking echoed faintly from another room.

Somewhere a cat meowed loudly.

Her steps slowed as she reached the second door.

She pushed it open gently.

The room was warm.

Soft yellow lights illuminated rows of enclosures filled with rabbits, guinea pigs, and other small animals.

For a moment she simply took in the peaceful scene.

Then she noticed someone sitting on the floor near one of the rabbit pens.

A tall figure wearing a simple hoodie.

Several bunnies hopped around him.

One of them sat calmly in his lap.

He held a carrot carefully in his fingers while the rabbit nibbled on it.

And he was smiling.

Soft.

Gentle.

Warm in a way Y/N had never seen before.

It took her a full second to recognize him.

Park Seonghwa.

For a moment, Y/N genuinely thought she had imagined him.

Not Park Seonghwa exactly. He was too distinct to mistake for someone else, even hunched on the floor in a faded hoodie with his dark hair falling softly across his forehead. But the expression on his face. That was what felt unreal.

Warmth did not belong to him.

Not in the world she knew.

Not in lecture halls where he sat at the back like he did not need to try to make everyone nervous. Not in crowded corridors where conversations dimmed the second his friend group appeared. Not in the whispers that spread around campus with the ease of smoke.

He was supposed to be cold. Untouchable. Beautiful in the sharp, dangerous sort of way that told a person to keep their distance.

He was not supposed to be sitting on the floor with a rabbit in his lap, feeding it a carrot like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N stood in the doorway, one hand still resting on the frame, her breath caught somewhere high in her throat. The room felt soft and strange around her. Hay. Warm light. The faint rustling of tiny feet against bedding. The quiet, contented movements of animals too small to understand rumors.

Seonghwa looked different here.

Not only because of the hoodie or because he was kneeling on the floor instead of standing at the center of some whispered myth. It was something deeper than that. Something in the way he held the rabbit with careful hands. Something in the way his mouth had curved into a smile so gentle that it almost made him look younger.

Human.

The thought came to her so suddenly it startled her.

As if, until now, he had not fully been one in her mind.

Y/N stared.

She knew she was staring. She knew she should probably say something. Introduce herself. Explain why she was there. Move. Blink. Do anything other than stand frozen in the doorway like an intruder who had just wandered into a secret she had never been meant to see.

But she could not seem to make her body cooperate.

The rabbit in his lap twitched ist nose.

Seonghwa lifted his eyes.

And everything changed.

It happened so quickly that Y/N almost wondered if she had imagined the softness too.

One second there had been warmth. Quiet. Gentleness.

The next, his entire face shut down.

The smile disappeared.

His shoulders straightened.

His expression turned smooth and unreadable, sharp in a way that made him look even more intimidating after what she had just witnessed. It was like watching a window slam shut in the middle of sunlight.

He stared at her for one long moment.

Then he said, very flatly, „What do you want?“

The question hit her like a splash of cold water.

Y/N opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her brain, already fragile from the day she had had, seemed to dissolve completely under his gaze.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Her lips moved uselessly, soundless and clumsy, and for one horrible second she was acutely aware of how ridiculous she must have looked. Like a fish, she thought wildly. A shocked little fish standing in a doorway, opening and closing her mouth while Park Seonghwa stared at her as if he regretted her existence already.

Heat rushed to her cheeks.

She swallowed and tried to force her voice to work.

„I…“

Nothing.

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He placed the rest of the carrot down beside him, moved the rabbit gently into a bed of blankets in the pen, and rose to his feet in one smooth motion.

Y/N had known he was tall. Everyone knew that.

But something about him standing and walking directly toward her inside that small shelter room made the fact feel much more immediate.

Much worse.

He crossed the space between them with calm, measured steps until he stood right in front of her. Not touching. Not crowding her exactly. But close enough that she had to tilt her head up to look at him, close enough that his presence seemed to fill the doorway and press the air thinner around her.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

His face was unreadable.

„What do you want?“ he repeated.

This time she managed to drag a voice out of herself, though it came out painfully quiet.

„I wanted to volunteer.“

His expression did not change.

For half a second she thought maybe he would simply step aside. Maybe he would point her toward a clipboard or some cages to clean. Maybe this awful moment would loosen and become survivable.

Then he laughed.

It was not loud. Not cruel in the dramatic way people laughed in movies. If anything, it was a very controlled sound. Soft. Brief. Almost amused.

That somehow made it worse.

„Really?“ he asked.

Y/N blinked at him.

He crossed his arms. „That is the reason?“

„Yes,“ she whispered.

His gaze flicked over her face as if he were weighing that answer and finding it absurd.

„Or did you see me come in here and follow me because you thought it would give you another good story to spread around campus?“

For a second she did not even understand what he meant.

The words took a moment to settle.

Then her head moved quickly. „No.“

„No?“ he repeated.

She shook her head harder. „No, I didn’t. I just… I saw the sign outside and I wanted to ask if they needed help.“

Her voice wavered on the last word, but she pushed forward anyway, trying for once not to disappear into herself. „I didn’t know you were here.“

But Seonghwa kept looking at her like he had already decided what kind of person she was.

„I know who you are,“ he said.

Y/N went still.

The sentence should not have meant anything. They were in the same class. Of course he knew who she was. University campuses were not that large. Faces repeated. People recognized each other.

Still, hearing it from him sent a strange nervous jolt through her chest.

He continued before she could make sense of it.

„You’re in my lecture.“

Y/N nodded faintly.

„No one with eyes would fail to notice those ridiculous bright outfits you wear.“

The words landed with a dull, brutal force.

For a second, she thought she had misheard him.

Ridiculous.

Her mind repeated it in a small stunned voice.

Ridiculous bright outfits.

The yellow sweater. The blue skirt. The embroidered flowers on her shoes.

The same colors she wore because they made hard days feel a little softer. The same colors her roommate smiled at and called sunshine. The same colors she had already heard strangers judge in quieter ways, with looks and whispers and muffled laughter they thought she did not notice.

She looked up at him, genuinely shocked.

And because she was slow in moments like these, because pain always reached her one beat later than everyone else, it was not until then that she understood.

He thought she had followed him.

He thought she wanted gossip. A secret. Something ugly to feed the rumors already circling him.

He thought she was the sort of person who would do that.

Something in her chest gave a small, helpless ache.

So even he had looked at her and seen something easy to mock.

Even after the day she had already had.

Even now.

She tried to speak.

„I wasn’t lying,“ she said, but the words were thin and shaky.

Seonghwa exhaled quietly, as if he was running out of patience.

„You should just tell the truth.“

Y/N stared at him.

He had no idea.

He had no idea what kind of day she had had. No idea how carefully she had held herself together after hearing her group partners laugh about her. No idea how hard she had tried to keep smiling so no one would see the crack. No idea how raw and scraped thin she already felt.

Or maybe he did not care.

Maybe that was worse.

She could feel it before it happened, the awful stinging pressure behind her eyes.

No, she thought instantly.

No. Not here.

Not in front of him.

Not after this.

She blinked hard and looked down, willing the tears away.

But humiliation had a way of making ist own choices.

A hot drop slid down her cheek.

Y/N froze.

Her breath caught.

Then another followed.

Oh no.

Her entire body seemed to lock up in horror.

She brought a hand to her face too late, as if she could hide it after it had already started. Tears blurred her vision with humiliating speed, thick and sudden and impossible to stop. Her chest pulled tight with shallow, uneven breaths.

She was crying.

She was actually crying in front of Park Seonghwa.

Out of all the terrible things that could have happened in that moment, this somehow felt like the worst one.

She had not cried when her group members laughed about her. She had not cried in the cafeteria. She had not cried on the walk here.

And now, in front of the one person she least wanted to look weak in front of, the tears came anyway.

She heard his breath catch very slightly.

When she looked up through the blur, his expression had changed.

Not softened exactly. But the certainty was gone.

For the first time since he had walked toward her, he looked startled.

As if this reaction had not belonged anywhere in his imagined version of the conversation.

Y/N hated that too.

Hated being the one who broke apart. Hated that he was seeing it. Hated that she could not stop.

She stepped back quickly, bowing so fast that her hair fell forward.

„I am sorry,“ she said, her voice cracking badly on the words. „I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry.“

He said her name.

It startled her enough that she almost looked up.

But she did not.

She could not bear to see his face.

She turned and hurried out of the room.

The hallway blurred around her. Her bag knocked awkwardly against her hip as she half walked, half ran toward the front entrance. Somewhere behind her, she thought she heard movement. Thought maybe he had stepped after her. But she did not stop long enough to know if that was true.

The woman at the front desk called something after her, confusion in her voice, but Y/N pushed through the door and into the cool late afternoon air before she could be made to explain.

Outside, the world felt too bright.

People passed on the sidewalk without noticing the girl trying to wipe tears from her face while walking too quickly. Cars moved through the street. Somewhere nearby a bicycle bell rang. Life went on around her with that cruel normality the world always seemed to have when something inside her was falling apart.

Her face burned.

She kept her head down and walked faster.

By the time she reached the next street corner her breathing was unsteady enough that she had to stop for a second. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and tried to gather herself, but that only made new tears slip free.

Ridiculous.

The word echoed again.

Ridiculous bright outfits.

She heard, layered over it, the voices from the cafeteria.

She is just weird.

Maybe she’s actually crazy.

Y/N let out a soft, miserable sound and forced herself to move again.

The walk to the apartment felt much longer than usual.

Every step seemed to drag the scene back through her mind in painful detail. The softness on Seonghwa’s face when he had not known she was watching. The coldness after. The suspicion. The laughter. That terrible look of surprise when she had started crying.

He probably thought she was dramatic now on top of everything else.

Maybe he would tell his friends. Maybe they would laugh.

No, she thought weakly. Maybe not. He did not seem like the type to gossip.

But then, she had not thought he was the type to look at someone’s clothes and call them ridiculous either.

Apparently she knew less than she had believed.

By the time she reached the apartment building, her eyes felt sore and her nose was pink from crying.

She fumbled with her keys twice before managing to unlock the front door.

The apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent and instant noodles. Familiar. Safe. Usually enough to settle her.

Today, the second she stepped inside, she heard quick footsteps from the kitchen.

Her roommate appeared around the corner with a mug in one hand and concern already written all over her face.

„Y/N?“

That was all it took.

The fragile composure Y/N had been trying to rebuild the entire walk home cracked immediately.

Her roommate set the mug down so fast some tea sloshed over the side.

„Oh my god,“ she said, hurrying toward her. „What happened?“

Y/N tried to answer, but her throat closed up again. All that came out was a shaky breath.

That was enough for her roommate.

She took one look at Y/N’s face and gently pulled the bag from her shoulder before guiding her toward the couch.

„Sit down. No, actually, wait.“ She crouched in front of her instead, eyes wide with alarm. „Did someone say something to you? Are you hurt?“

Y/N shook her head quickly.

That only seemed to alarm her more.

„Then what happened?“

Y/N sat on the edge of the couch and stared at her hands. They trembled in her lap. She felt stupid all over again now that she was home and safe enough for the humiliation to settle properly.

How was she supposed to explain that she had cried in front of a boy over two sentences and a laugh?

How was she supposed to explain the entire weight of the day without sounding childish?

Her roommate reached out and squeezed her knee gently. „Take your time.“

That kindness, simple as it was, made her eyes sting again.

„It was just…“ Y/N wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. „Today was bad.“

Her roommate’s expression softened. „Start at the beginning.“

So she did.

Slowly at first.

She told her about the lecture and how she had kept noticing Seonghwa and his friends at the back of the hall, quiet and intimidating as always. How people still moved around them like there was an invisible line nobody wanted to cross.

Her roommate snorted softly at that part. „People on your campus are ridiculous.“

Y/N gave a watery shrug. „Maybe. But they really do look scary together.“

„Scary and pretty are not the same thing.“

Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped Y/N before she could stop it.

„There,“ her roommate said gently. „Keep going.“

So Y/N did.

She told her about the project meeting in the cafeteria. About the way she had gone to the bathroom for a minute just to breathe, just to calm herself down and practice smiling again because speaking in groups always made her feel like every word had to be dragged over broken glass.

Then she told her what she had heard when she came back.

Her roommate went very still.

Y/N could still hear it as she repeated it out loud.

She’s nice but weird.

It looks like a kindergarten art project.

Maybe she’s actually crazy.

Saying it to someone else made it sound even uglier than it had in her head.

Her roommate’s face darkened with every sentence.

„They said that?“ she asked very quietly.

Y/N nodded.

„And they knew you were right there?“

„I don’t think they noticed at first.“

Her roommate sat back on her heels with a look so offended on Y/N’s behalf that it was almost impressive.

„I hope all of them step on wet floors in socks for the rest of their lives.“

The image was so specific that Y/N let out another shaky little laugh.

Her roommate immediately pointed at her. „No. I am serious. That is horrible. You did not deserve that.“

Y/N looked down again. „I know I can be awkward.“

„So what?“

Y/N picked at the hem of her skirt. „People don’t really like awkward.“

Her roommate’s voice sharpened. „Then people are boring.“

For a moment, the apartment fell quiet except for the humming refrigerator in the kitchen.

Her roommate reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear in the way she often did when Y/N looked a little frayed around the edges.

„And what happened after that?“ she asked more softly.

Y/N hesitated.

This was the part she dreaded explaining most.

„I didn’t want to go straight home yet,“ she said. „So I kept walking, and I passed that animal shelter near campus.“

„The little one with the cat painted on the window?“

Y/N nodded. „They had a sign outside. Volunteers welcome.“

Her roommate’s face lit with immediate approval. „Of course you went in.“

„I just thought…“ Y/N swallowed. „I thought maybe if I could help a little, maybe the day would feel less awful.“

That idea alone made her roommate visibly melt. „You sweet angel.“

Y/N gave her a small look. „I am not an angel.“

„You tried to recover from being bullied by offering free labor to shelter animals. That is the most angelic thing I have heard all week.“

That should have made her smile more than it did.

Instead, her stomach twisted again as the memory rushed back.

Her roommate noticed at once.

„What?“ she asked. „What happened there?“

Y/N took a breath.

Then, carefully, she told her.

She described the room full of small animals. The warm lights. The rabbit pens. The shock of seeing Seonghwa there with a bunny in his lap, feeding it a carrot like he had never frightened a single person in his life.

Her roommate’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher. „Park Seonghwa volunteers at an animal shelter?“

Y/N nodded weakly.

„With bunnies?“

„Yes.“

There was a brief pause.

Then her roommate muttered, „That is annoyingly attractive.“

Y/N stared at her through damp lashes.

„What? I can be outraged and observant at the same time.“ She waved a hand. „Continue.“

Y/N looked down at her hands again.

She told her how Seonghwa had looked up and changed instantly. How the softness had vanished. How he had walked over to her and asked what she wanted. How nervous she had been, how her voice had barely worked.

Her roommate had gone still again.

Then Y/N repeated his words.

That he had laughed.

That he had asked if she had followed him there to get another good story for campus.

That he had said he knew who she was because no one with eyes could miss her ridiculous bright outfits.

She did not even get through the entire sentence before her roommate made a horrified sound.

„He said that?“

Y/N nodded.

„He actually said that to your face?“

„Yes.“

Her roommate stared at her for two full seconds in complete disbelief.

Then, with feeling, she said, „He is an idiot.“

Y/N’s mouth trembled.

Her roommate immediately corrected herself. „No. Sorry. He is a stunning, unbelievable, spectacular idiot.“

That actually pulled a small broken laugh out of Y/N.

But the tears came with it too.

„I don’t even know why I cried,“ she said miserably. „I just did. I couldn’t stop it. I looked so stupid.“

Her roommate’s whole expression softened at once.

„Oh, honey.“

Y/N looked away. „I hate crying in front of people.“

„I know.“

„He probably thinks I’m pathetic.“

Her roommate moved from her crouch on the floor to the couch beside her in one smooth shift. „No. He should think he was cruel.“

Y/N let out a shaky breath.

„I just…“ Her voice cracked again. „It felt like everyone I talked to today decided I was strange and annoying and too much. And then he said it too, and I know it was only about my clothes but it just…“ She pressed her hand to her chest. „It hurt.“

The words were barely out before her roommate pulled her into her arms.

Y/N went without resisting, folding into the hug with the exhausted relief of someone who had been holding herself upright all day by sheer will.

Her roommate was warm and familiar. Her sweater smelled like vanilla detergent. One hand moved up to cradle the back of Y/N’s head while the other wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

„Listen to me,“ she said quietly.

Y/N shut her eyes.

„You are not weird.“

The sentence hit something tender inside her.

Her roommate kept going, voice steady and certain in the way Y/N always wished her own could be.

„You are shy. You are anxious sometimes. You overthink. You wear colors because they make you happy and because the world is already gray enough without helping it. You talk to yourself when you are nervous and animals like you because you are gentle and people who actually know you adore you.“

Y/N felt fresh tears slip free, but these were softer somehow. Less sharp.

Her roommate rested her cheek lightly against Y/N’s hair.

„You are not weird,“ she repeated. „You are lovely. Other people being too dull or too shallow to see that is their problem, not yours.“

Y/N’s hands curled in the fabric of her roommate’s shirt.

„What if I am too much?“ she whispered.

Her roommate leaned back just enough to look at her, both hands moving to hold Y/N’s face now.

„You are not too much. You have just spent too much time around people who do not deserve you.“

That made Y/N cry harder for a minute, because some truths hurt even while they healed.

Her roommate wiped under her eyes carefully with both thumbs once the tears slowed again.

„There she is,“ she murmured. „My favorite girl in the entire apartment.“

Y/N gave a weak, wet laugh. „There are only two girls in the apartment.“

„And you still won.“

That finally earned a real small smile.

Her roommate smiled back immediately, triumphant at the sight of it. „Good. That is better.“

Y/N breathed out slowly.

The ache in her chest had not vanished, but it had shifted into something more manageable.

Her roommate got up briefly to fetch tissues and the mug of tea she had abandoned, then returned and tucked Y/N’s legs onto the couch as if arranging an injured bird in a nest.

„Drink,“ she ordered gently.

Y/N obeyed.

The tea was warm and sweet, and the ordinary comfort of it almost made her emotional all over again.

Her roommate watched her with narrowed eyes, still visibly fuming beneath the tenderness.

„I cannot believe your project partners said that to you.“

Y/N stared into her tea. „I should probably still work with them. We have a deadline.“

„Work with them, yes. Become friends with them, absolutely not.“

Y/N nodded.

„And as for Park Seonghwa,“ her roommate continued, folding her arms, „if he has even one functioning brain cell, he will feel horrible by tomorrow.“

Y/N was not so sure.

He had looked shocked when she cried, yes. But shock did not necessarily mean regret.

Maybe he was only surprised that the weird girl in bright clothes had feelings after all.

She hated that her mind would even frame it like that.

Her roommate must have seen something in her face, because her expression softened again.

„Hey,“ she said. „Look at me.“

Y/N did.

„One bad day does not get to decide who you are.“

The words settled between them.

„And one mean sentence from a pretty boy with emotional issues definitely does not get to decide it either.“

A tiny laugh escaped Y/N.

„There you are,“ her roommate said again. „I want at least three more of those before bedtime.“

„That sounds like a difficult assignment.“

„I believe in you.“

For a while they stayed like that on the couch, Y/N tucked into the corner with a blanket around her legs and tea warming her hands, her roommate beside her like a guard dog disguised as a college student.

Eventually the apartment settled into evening.

The windows darkened. Someone in the building next door turned on music low enough to blur into background noise. Her phone buzzed once with a group project notification, which she ignored on sight.

Her roommate put on a ridiculous baking show to distract her.

It worked a little.

But even as Y/N laughed weakly at overdecorated cakes and listened to her roommate provide increasingly dramatic commentary, her mind kept drifting back to the shelter.

To the hay on the floor.

To the rabbit in Seonghwa’s lap.

To the way his face had softened when he thought no one could see him.

And then to the way it had hardened the moment he looked up.

That was what confused her most.

Not that he had been rude. Not even that he had misjudged her.

It was the contrast.

Two versions of the same person that felt impossible to fit together.

The boy gently feeding a bunny with careful fingers.

The boy looking at her with suspicion and calling her clothes ridiculous.

Both of them were real. She had seen them within the same minute.

She did not know what to do with that.

Her roommate nudged her knee lightly. „You went quiet again.“

Y/N blinked and looked back at the television. „Sorry.“

„What are you thinking?“

She hesitated.

Then, because honesty was easier here than anywhere else, she said, „I think it might have hurt more because for a second he looked… nice.“

Her roommate frowned.

„I saw him before he noticed me,“ Y/N said quietly. „He looked so gentle with the rabbit. And then it was like the second he saw me, everything changed.“

That earned a thoughtful silence.

„Maybe,“ her roommate said slowly, „he is used to expecting the worst from people.“

Y/N looked at her.

Her roommate shrugged one shoulder. „It does not excuse what he said. He was still an idiot. But sometimes people decide to strike first because they assume everyone else came to hurt them.“

Y/N thought about that.

It fit, in a way she did not like because it made things more complicated.

Rumors. Fear. His silence. The sharpness with which he had looked at her as though he had been caught doing something forbidden and had chosen anger as cover.

Still, the memory of his words burned too freshly for sympathy to fully settle.

„Maybe,“ she said at last.

Her roommate leaned back into the couch. „Either way, you are not the villain in this story.“

Y/N smiled faintly. „That sounds dramatic.“

„I am dramatic. It is one of my better qualities.“

They watched another episode of the baking show.

Then another.

And little by little, the apartment worked ist quiet magic on her. The world narrowed back down to couch cushions, warm tea, soft lamplight, and the person beside her who never made her feel like she had to edit herself into something easier to understand.

By the time she finally changed into pajamas and stood in the bathroom washing away the last traces of dried tears, she looked tired but less wrecked.

Her reflection still had pink eyes and slightly puffy cheeks.

But it also had the bright yellow of her sweater folded neatly over the laundry basket, waiting to be worn again another day.

She looked at it for a moment.

Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

Maybe not tomorrow, she thought.

Tomorrow might require softer colors.

But someday soon, yes.

Because her roommate was right.

The people who laughed at her in cafeterias did not get to decide who she was.

And neither did a beautiful boy in a shelter full of rabbits who had looked at her and decided to be cruel before he knew anything at all.

When she came back into the living room, her roommate glanced up from her phone.

„Better?“

„A little.“

Her roommate held her arms open again at once.

Y/N smiled despite herself and crossed the room to fall into the hug.

„Good,“ her roommate murmured into her hair. „And just so we are clear, if I ever meet those project partners, I will hex them.“

„You don’t know how to hex people.“

„I can learn.“

„And Seonghwa?“

Her roommate drew back enough to look her in the eye, scandalized. „Especially Seonghwa.“

Y/N laughed, small but real.

Her roommate grinned and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.

„There she is.“

Outside, the night settled quietly over the city.

Inside, held close and warm in the little apartment that had become her safest place, Y/N let herself believe for just a moment that maybe being seen by the right person mattered more than being misunderstood by everyone else.

Seonghwa did not usually make mistakes like that.

He was careful with people.

Careful with words, with distance, with the measured expression he wore like armor whenever he stepped outside the apartment he shared with the others. He knew what people thought of him. He knew what they thought of all of them. Rich, cold, arrogant, probably cruel. The type of boys people liked to whisper about because the truth was always less entertaining than the version they built out of rumors.

Most days, Seonghwa let them talk.

It was easier that way.

If people already believed he was difficult to approach, then they stayed away. And if they stayed away, then they could not pry into things that did not concern them. They could not take soft things and turn them ugly. They could not ask why he spent afternoons at the shelter instead of at the expensive bars people assumed he liked. They could not laugh if they saw him on the floor of the rabbit enclosure with one in his lap and hay clinging to his sleeve.

Distance was useful.

Distance was safe.

So why, out of all the ways that conversation could have gone, had it ended with a girl crying in front of him?

Seonghwa lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting across his stomach. His room was dark except for the warm light from the small lamp on his desk. Across from him, clothes were draped neatly over the chair. A book lay open on the bedside table where he had abandoned it nearly an hour ago without reading a single page.

He kept replaying the scene anyway.

The doorway of the shelter room.

The bright colors of her clothes against the soft yellow light.

The startled look on her face when she saw him sitting there with the rabbit.

Then his own voice, flat and suspicious.

What do you want?

He shut his eyes.

It sounded worse now than it had in the moment.

At the time, it had felt automatic. Defensive. A reflex sharpened by too many years of being looked at and misread before anyone had even tried to know him. He had seen someone from his lecture in the doorway, frozen and wide-eyed, and instinct had done the rest.

She had looked nervous from the beginning.

Not guilty. Not curious in the ugly way people got when they thought they had uncovered something scandalous. Not excited. Not smug.

Just nervous.

And yet he had kept going.

He remembered the way her mouth had moved soundlessly at first, lips parted as if her words had simply stopped functioning under pressure. He had thought, stupidly, that it was an act. That she was trying to appear harmless because she had been caught.

But then she had said, in that tiny voice, that she wanted to volunteer.

And he had laughed.

Seonghwa pressed the heel of his hand briefly over his eyes.

He could still see the tears when they had suddenly spilled over.

That was the part that would not leave him alone.

He had seen people cry before. It was not as if tears were some incomprehensible mystery to him. But this had been different because the whole thing had changed so fast. One second she had been standing there trying to explain herself, and the next she had looked at him like he had hit something raw and bruised without even knowing where it was.

He had not expected that.

He had definitely not expected the apology.

I am sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m sorry.

As if he had been the one inconvenienced.

He turned his head toward the window, jaw tightening.

There had been something awful in the way she bowed and fled. Not dramatic. Not manipulative. Just humiliated in the most genuine way. Her face had crumpled like she had tried very hard for it not to, which somehow made it worse.

And she had been anxious.

That was the other thing he could not stop thinking about.

Not the casual nervousness most people had around him and the others. Not the careful politeness that came from hearing too many campus rumors. She had seemed genuinely anxious from the first second he spoke to her. Like every word cost her effort. Like his presence had pressed her into herself until she barely took up space in the room.

He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling.

Great, he thought bitterly.

He had made a shy girl cry in a rabbit shelter.

That was such a specific type of awful that even he had to acknowledge it.

From somewhere beyond his bedroom door came the sound of shouting.

Not angry shouting. Normal shouting.

Which meant the others were all in the living room.

A second later came Wooyoung’s voice, loud and offended. „That was my drink.“

„It became my drink the second you put it down and walked away,“ Mingi replied.

„You cannot just claim property like that.“

„I absolutely can.“

Then Yunho, sounding far too entertained. „I saw nothing. Continue.“

Seonghwa exhaled through his nose.

The apartment was chaos when all eight of them were home at once. Controlled chaos, mostly. Familiar chaos. The kind built out of overlapping personalities and years of knowing one another too well.

Usually, he found it grounding.

Tonight he had been hiding from it.

But lying here was doing nothing except giving his thoughts more room to circle themselves to death.

With a sigh, he pushed himself upright and ran a hand through his hair before standing. He grabbed the oversized gray sweatshirt hanging over the back of his desk chair and pulled it on, then opened his bedroom door.

The noise hit him immediately.

The shared apartment was large, modern, and expensive in the quiet understated way their families all preferred. Clean lines, wide windows, neutral colors. The kind of place that should have looked serene if not for the fact that it currently contained eight men in their twenties.

The living room looked as if a small, well-dressed storm had passed through it.

Mingi was stretched half across one end of the couch, all long limbs and lazy confidence, holding the bottle that apparently used to belong to Wooyoung. Wooyoung stood in front of him with his hands on his hips, deeply offended and dramatic enough to act as though this were a betrayal of historic proportions.

San sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, focused on some game controller in his hands, though the curve of his mouth made it clear he was listening to every second of the argument.

Jongho was in the armchair by the window reading something on his tablet with the expression of a man who had long ago accepted that chaos was the natural state of the apartment.

Yunho was leaning against the kitchen counter eating cereal out of a mug for reasons known only to him, laughing every few seconds like he was watching a live comedy show.

Hongjoong sat at the dining table with his laptop open, somehow still managing to work in the middle of all this, though Seonghwa knew from the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that he was not nearly as unaffected as he pretended.

Yeosang was on the other end of the couch, legs tucked under him, flipping through channels with the remote but not actually settling on anything. Calm as ever. Quiet. Observant.

For a second, the sheer ordinary ridiculousness of them all almost pulled Seonghwa fully out of his own head.

Almost.

Hongjoong looked up first.

He always noticed more than he let on.

His eyes moved over Seonghwa’s face once, quick and sharp. „You look like you’re thinking too hard.“

Wooyoung whipped around immediately. „That sounds serious. Is he thinking about murder or feelings?“

„Why are those the only two categories?“ Jongho asked without looking up.

„Because they are the most interesting.“

Seonghwa ignored that and moved toward the kitchen. „Can I not exist quietly for one evening.“

„You can,“ Hongjoong said. „But you’re not doing it quietly. You’re doing it like someone just told you your favorites snack got discontinued.“

That got a laugh out of Yunho.

Even Seonghwa felt his mouth twitch.

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, leaning one hip against the counter when he was done. He told himself he did not have to bring it up. He told himself he could simply stand there for a few minutes, let the others talk nonsense around him until the tightness in his chest loosened, and then go back to his room.

Instead, he heard himself say, „Do any of you know a girl named Y/N from our lecture?“

That got everyone’s attention far more efficiently than he would have liked.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened immediately. „You mean the cute girl with the bright outfits?“

Seonghwa looked at him.

Wooyoung pointed. „What. She is cute.“

„That was fast,“ San said.

„I notice people. It is a gift.“

„It is nosiness,“ Yeosang corrected mildly.

Wooyoung ignored him. „Yes, I know who you mean. She wears a lot of yellow and blue, right? And she always looks like she’s trying very hard not to be perceived.“

Seonghwa went still for half a second.

That was annoyingly accurate.

He nodded once. „Yes.“

Mingi lowered the bottle a little. „Why are you asking?“

Now everyone was looking at him.

Wonderful.

He considered brushing it off. Saying it was nothing. That he had simply recognized someone from class and wondered if anyone else had.

But Hongjoong was still watching him with that too perceptive expression, and Seonghwa suddenly had the very strong feeling that if he lied, he would immediately be called out for it.

So he sighed and said, „Something happened at the shelter.“

The room quieted.

Even Wooyoung stopped trying to steal his drink back.

Seonghwa stared down into his glass for a moment, then set it on the counter and told them.

He told them about seeing Y/N in the doorway of the small animal room. About how she had looked shocked to find him there. About how he had assumed the worst too quickly and asked what she wanted.

He kept his tone even, but the details sounded progressively worse the more he spoke them aloud.

When he reached the part where he had accused her of following him to get another story to spread around campus, Wooyoung winced openly.

„Oh,“ Yunho said, the single syllable full of sympathy and secondhand embarrassment.

Mingi leaned back farther against the couch cushions and rubbed a hand over his face. „Hyung.“

Seonghwa kept going anyway.

He repeated the line about recognizing her from class because of her bright outfits. He did not soften the wording. They all deserved to hear exactly what he had said if he was going to confess any of it at all.

By the time he got to the tears, the room had gone properly still.

„I didn’t know she would…“ He stopped, annoyed by how insufficient the sentence sounded. „She started crying.“

For a brief moment, nobody spoke.

Then Wooyoung said very quietly, „You made the cute girl cry in a bunny room.“

Seonghwa gave him a flat look.

Wooyoung raised both hands. „I am sorry. That was not helpful. But wow.“

Jongho finally looked up from his tablet. „Did she say anything before she left?“

„She apologized,“ Seonghwa said.

Something in Hongjoong’s expression shifted.

That, apparently, was the detail that bothered him most.

„She apologized?“ he repeated.

Seonghwa nodded once.

San set his controller down on the coffee table. „That doesn’t sound like someone who came there to stir up gossip.“

„No,“ Seonghwa said, the word low and immediate.

That much he knew now, if nothing else.

Before anyone else could add to it, Yeosang spoke.

His voice was quiet as always, but it cut cleanly through the room. „My sister lives with her.“

Seonghwa blinked and looked over. „What?“

Yeosang looked back at him, calm and unreadable in that infuriating way he had when everyone else was reacting and he had already sorted through the matter in his head.

„Soomin. My sister. She shares an apartment with Y/N.“

That landed heavily.

Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open first. „Why do you know everything in the most dramatic order possible.“

Yeosang ignored him. „I’ve heard about her before.“

Seonghwa straightened away from the counter a little. „From your sister?“

„Sometimes.“ Yeosang rested one arm along the back of the couch. „Mostly in passing. Y/N is her friend. She is quiet. Shy. Apparently very bad at believing compliments. Good with animals. Brings home strange fruit-flavored snacks that look suspicious but are usually decent.“

That last part was so oddly specific that it made Yunho snort.

Seonghwa was not laughing.

Yeosang continued, „I also overheard students talking about her today on campus.“

Something cold settled in Seonghwa’s stomach.

Yeosang’s gaze flicked to him briefly, as if he already knew exactly where this was going and did not enjoy it any more than Seonghwa did.

„They were calling her weird,“ he said. „Making fun of her outfits. Saying they were ridiculous.“

The room went even quieter.

„And I know she heard them,“ Yeosang added. „She was right behind them.“

Seonghwa felt as though someone had dropped a weight straight through the center of his chest.

For a second, he said nothing.

It snapped into place all at once.

The way her face had changed when he mentioned her clothes.

The shock first, then hurt.

The tears that had seemed too sudden to make sense.

Except they had made perfect sense.

She had already heard it that day.

Maybe only hours earlier.

And then he had repeated the same cruelty without knowing it.

No.

That was not true, was it?

He had not known she had heard it before. But he had still chosen to say it in the first place.

He could not even hide behind ignorance properly.

Wooyoung cursed under his breath.

San leaned back on his hands and exhaled slowly. „That explains a lot.“

„It does,“ Hongjoong said.

Yeosang’s expression did not change, but his voice softened by a fraction. „She doesn’t seem like someone who spreads rumors. If she cried that quickly, then maybe she was already overwhelmed. And hearing it from you too…“ He let the rest hang.

From you too.

The words lodged deep.

Seonghwa looked down at the floorboards for a moment, jaw tight.

He felt bad.

That was too simple a phrase for it, but it was the nearest honest one.

He had been unfair. Worse than unfair. He had seen a nervous girl in a doorway, assumed the ugliest motive available to her, and then hit the exact insecurity that had already been bleeding.

And she had apologized to him before she ran.

He let out a long breath. „I know.“

Mingi tilted his head. „You know what.“

Seonghwa’s mouth tightened. He was not good at this part. The saying it plainly part.

Still, he made himself do it.

„I know I was unfair,“ he said. „And I know I hurt her.“

No one interrupted.

So he added, more quietly, „I feel bad.“

The room remained still for one more beat.

Then Wooyoung pointed at him. „Good.“

Seonghwa stared.

„What? You should feel bad. You were awful.“

„Thank you, Wooyoung,“ Jongho said dryly. „That was nuanced.“

„It was accurate.“

Hongjoong closed his laptop at last and leaned back in his chair. „What exactly did you think she was going to do? Stand in the middle of campus tomorrow and announce that Park Seonghwa holds carrots for rabbits?“

Seonghwa rubbed at the back of his neck. „I don’t know.“

„That is not reassuring.“

„I saw someone from class looking at me like I’d been caught doing something strange,“ Seonghwa said, more defensive than he intended. „I reacted.“

San gave him a long look. „You reacted badly.“

„Yes,“ Seonghwa said.

Another silence followed, less sharp this time.

Yunho set his mug down on the counter and crossed his arms. „So what are you going to do about it?“

The question sat in the center of the room.

Seonghwa had been trying not to ask himself that yet because the answer required action, and action was harder than guilt.

Before he could say anything, the front door opened.

Every head turned.

A woman stepped inside carrying a tote bag over one shoulder and a box of pastries in both hands. She kicked the door shut behind her with practiced familiarity and walked two steps into the apartment before stopping dead.

Soomin.

Yeosang’s sister looked very much like him around the eyes, though where Yeosang’s calm was cool and composed, hers tended toward vivid and expressive. At the moment, her expression was thunderous.

She looked from one face to another, then locked immediately onto Seonghwa.

The pastries hit the kitchen island with a soft thud.

„You,“ she said.

Seonghwa blinked once.

This did not bode well.

Yeosang, to his credit, looked only mildly resigned. „Hello to you too.“

Soomin pointed at Seonghwa without sparing her brother a glance. „No. Not now.“

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up instantly with the delighted horror of someone realizing a disaster had become live entertainment.

Hongjoong, meanwhile, had the face of a man who knew exactly what this was about and had already accepted that none of them were escaping it.

Soomin took another step forward.

„Are you actually stupid,“ she demanded, looking directly at Seonghwa now, „or did you just decide to behave like the biggest idiot on earth for fun today?“

Seonghwa said nothing.

Not because he did not have a response, but because judging by the look on her face, offering one seemed unwise.

Soomin laughed once in pure disbelief. „Unbelievable. My brother spends years insisting you are secretly nice and then you go and make Y/N cry?“

Well.

That answered the last tiny hope he had that maybe she was angry about something unrelated.

Wooyoung made a soft sound that might have been sympathy or fascination.

Yeosang pinched the bridge of his nose.

Soomin was just getting started.

„Do you have any idea what kind of day she had before that?“ she asked.

Seonghwa held her gaze. „I didn’t. I know now.“

„Oh, good. Wonderful. So after hearing her group project partners call her weird and say her clothes look ridiculous, she got to hear the same thing from you too.“

Every word landed exactly where it deserved.

Seonghwa stood very still under them.

Soomin folded her arms. „She came home crying. Crying. Y/N barely lets herself do that in front of me unless she is really hurt.“

Something hot and unpleasant twisted in his chest.

He knew that, technically. Or rather, he had guessed as much from the way Y/N had looked as though the crying itself embarrassed her almost as much as what he had said.

Hearing it confirmed from someone who knew her made it feel worse.

„I was wrong,“ he said.

Soomin stared at him like she was deciding whether that answer was enough to keep him alive.

„Yes,“ she said. „You were.“

Yunho quietly moved the pastries farther from the edge of the counter, perhaps in case righteous anger made Soomin gesticulate violently enough to endanger them.

She pointed again, as if she had not yet finished properly stabbing Seonghwa with the truth. „She thought the shelter looked nice. She wanted to help. Because that is the kind of person she is. She does not stalk boys for gossip. She barely even likes talking to strangers at all.“

Wooyoung muttered, „That checks out.“

Soomin shot him a look. „You do not get commentary privileges right now.“

Wooyoung put both hands in the air.

Yeosang leaned back against the couch, arms crossed now, watching the scene unfold with the composure of someone who knew his sister’s storms had to spend themselves.

Seonghwa took the full force of it.

He did not really have a right to defend himself.

Not when every additional detail made the picture clearer.

Y/N had gone to the shelter because she needed somewhere soft after being hurt.

And he had become part of the hurt instead.

Soomin’s expression shifted slightly then, still furious but less explosive, more deeply offended on behalf of someone she loved.

„She already feels like people think she’s strange,“ she said. „Do you understand that? She hears it all the time even when no one says it out loud. And then one person actually sees her cry and she feels ashamed for existing near them at all.“

The room had gone silent around them.

Even Wooyoung was keeping quiet now.

Seonghwa looked down for a moment, then back at her. „I understand.“

It sounded hollow to his own ears. Understanding after the damage was done was a weak thing.

Soomin seemed to agree.

„No,“ she said. „You understand now. That is different.“

He accepted that.

Because she was right.

A beat passed.

Then, more tired than angry now, Soomin shook her head and dragged a hand through her hair. „Honestly. An idiot. My poor girl saw a man cuddle a bunny and thought maybe the universe was being kind for once, and instead she got personally attacked by the bunny man.“

At that, to Seonghwa’s immense dismay, Mingi choked on a laugh.

Wooyoung folded in on himself, shoulders shaking soundlessly.

Even San lowered his head to hide a smile.

Seonghwa closed his eyes for a second.

Bunny man.

Excellent. He would never recover.

Soomin looked over at the others. „Do not laugh. He is terrible.“

„We’re laughing because bunny man is unfortunately very good,“ Yunho said.

Yeosang, traitorously, looked almost amused now too.

Soomin huffed and turned back to Seonghwa. „The point is, if you are going to walk around looking like some tragic prince and secretly volunteer with rabbits, the least you can do is not be mean to sweet girls in bright sweaters.“

Seonghwa actually had no defense for that.

Hongjoong rested his elbows on the table. „I think the court has made ist ruling.“

„The court is correct,“ Jongho said.

Soomin gave a sharp nod, satisfied that every single person in the apartment had acknowledged Seonghwa’s guilt. Then she reached for the pastry box, opened it, and glared at him one last time before pulling out a cream-filled one for herself.

„For the record,“ she said around a bite, „Y/N is too nice. I am not. So if you make her cry again, I will ruin your life.“

„I believe you,“ Seonghwa said honestly.

„Good.“

She took another bite and wandered over to sit beside Yeosang as though she had not just entered the apartment like a force of divine judgment.

Wooyoung lowered his hands from his face at last. „Can I talk now.“

„No,“ Soomin and Yeosang said together.

Wooyoung looked delighted by that for some reason.

Seonghwa stayed where he was for a moment longer, one hand resting on the kitchen counter, mind louder now than it had been alone in his bedroom.

He felt bad.

That had been true before.

Now it felt insufficient to an almost embarrassing degree.

Because bad was too vague.

Bad did not fully cover seeing the shape of what he had done through the eyes of people who knew her better than he did. Through the eyes of a roommate furious on her behalf. Through the casual certainty with which everyone in the room had agreed that Y/N was not the sort of person he had accused her of being.

He had judged her in seconds.

He had been wrong in every possible direction.

And the worst part was that the image of her in the shelter would not leave him.

Not just the tears.

The other details too.

The way she had stood in the doorway looking startled, as if she had walked into a secret that had softened him by accident. The tiny hopeful part of her explanation before he crushed it. The bright colors of her outfit against the warm light. The fact that she had come there to help on what must already have been a horrible day.

Bunny man, he thought grimly, because apparently the universe was going to mock him through Soomin now too.

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

Across the room, Hongjoong watched him for one long second and then asked, very calmly, „So. What are you going to do about it now?“

This time, Seonghwa did not pretend not to understand the question.

He lifted his head slowly.

He did not have an answer yet. Not a full one.

But he knew one thing with perfect certainty.

Whatever happened next, he was going to have to face Y/N again.

And somehow, impossibly, he was going to have to find a way to make her believe he was sorry.

Main Masterlist | Seonghwas Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

⊹₊⟡⋆Seonghwa

⊹₊⟡⋆Yunho

⊹₊⟡⋆Yeosang

Taglist:

a/n written in < 3 days out of pure horniness and desperation oopsi I WAS LOCKED TF INNN no beta we die like men (when have I ever beta read my fics lmao). Also my first ever formal hwa fic! it should have been reverse Isekai months ago but I abandoned it lmao i should stop writing about hwa only and write for other members but it's hard because I like him so much. Anyway can you believe in order to avoid writing one fic I wrote three drabbles and TWO full fics? Insane. I can't wait for lemon drop. Morse code scene inspired from Taylor Swift but make it Morse code instead of signs and sorry if it's incorrect I used Google and whatever their first reccomended website it. I don't even know where the plot was going lmfao. I should really write for other members, wdyt of an ai san or ai yunho? Like they're human but not quite. Yeah I'll stfu now (might write a spin off with foodplay if anyone's interested...)

Idk what the plot is even but fuck it we ball

i.

Pop quiz time: what do you do when your cute next door neighbour comes to help his adorable little sister sell lemonades during summer break?

a.) offer some help

b.) become a loyal customer (support local businesses)

c.) fuck said cute neighbour (the brother, not the sister Jesus fucking Christ)

Correct answer: all of the above.

It all started when Sora, the next door little angel that sometimes come to visit because her parents left your parents to babysit her when they're busy (terrible idea, heh) decided that for summer, she's going to be making a lemonade stand.

Now you're familiar with Sora— She's an adorable nine year old with rose tinted glasses and probably the human personification of a damn coil the way she bounces every second. Sometimes she comes to visit when you're on break from school, and spending time with her is always fun.

The person you're not familiar with however, is her older brother— Seonghwa. From what you know, he's around your age but went to a university overseas so he isn't home much. You've exchanged a few polite nods with him, nothing much. One thing for sure though, he's damn fine. High cheekbones, high nose bridge, sultry eyes and plump lips. Ever since the Park family moved next door three years ago, you've been interested in him. Alas, your efforts to get to know said fine shit is cut short for obvious reasons (cough him moving overseas cough).

So being the damn angel you are, when walking your dog Sparkles (the damn poodle won't stop barking at nonexistent squirrels and you swear to God she's probably possessed) and spotting a small booth with a cardboard sign, the words “LEMONADE” scribbled with a black marker you decided to saunter over. Sora perks up upon seeing you and she immediately sits up straighter.

“seven dollars for one cup, Sora?” You comment upon seeing the price taped to a jug full of lemonade on the stand. “Recession” she hums “mummy said I won't make much if I sell it for five, but I'll sell it to you for five. Just don't tell anyone” she beams. “Do you want one?”

Before you could even respond, a voice came from behind Sora. You didn't even notice Seonghwa was hauling another jug of lemonade until he grunts. “Oh. Hi.” You greet him and he flashes you a smile “You're the next door girl right? Mom told me all about you and how kind you are to Sora. Thanks for taking care of her” he smiles, plump lips stretching to the side to reveal pearly white teeth. “No problem, Sora is an angel” you smile at Seonghwa as Sora pours you a cup and you lean in to sip it.

You flinched immediately— the damn thing tasted like battery acid. But nevertheless, you held it in and smiled at them both. You'll never say to Sora’s face how her lemonade is less preferable than toilet cleaner.

“Mm! Got a unique taste to it” you gave a commercially fake smile towards Sora who, bless her, believed it. She beamed. You don't exactly believe in lying to kids, but you don't want to be the one to break to her that her lemonade tasted like shit. Seonghwa however, gave you a pitiful smile as you handed Sora a crisp five dollar bill and left (because Sparkles was barking at nothing again and tugging on the leash). You pray that no one suffers food poisoning from this.

It rained that night— More than a rain, actually. It was a storm. Wind was howling like an abandoned lover, as rain poured mercilessly from the sky. You were unbothered, snuggling with Sparkles in bed as you binge watched another season of The Resident.

The aftermath of said thunderstorm however, was no joke. Apparently Sora forgot to put her lemonade stand in yesterday after poisoning five aunties who were talking their dogs on a walk and approximately four other kids with her battery acid, er— lemonade. It was early in the morning, cold dew kissing the air as you tugged gently on the leash to ensure Sparkles isn't doing weird any weird shit when you see what mark the storm left on Sora’s little cardboard box sign.

Glitter was running, soggy cardboard, and smudged letters. You stood there, mouth agape when the front door clicks open and Sora appears. A small gasp left her mouth as she saw what happened last night, her bottom lip quivered as she stormed back inside. Not long after, Seonghwa showed up. A plastic bag in his hand as he shook his head.

“I told her I'd help her haul the entire thing in yesterday. But she refuses, said she'd like to start selling first thing today.” He sighs while picking up the soggy cardboard and placing it inside the plastic bag, “she's really sensitive about the things she works hard on” he grunts as he hauls the bag on his back. “Been talking bout this all week long, refused any help, said that she will raise so much money for the animal shelter down the road.”

You didn't know what to say, so the both of you just stood there for a while. Not saying anything. You don't even remember what happened afterwards until you find yourself taking the leash off of Sparkles inside your house. The old dog just shakes off the feeling of the leash before scurrying towards his water bowl.

ii.

Hours later, you're on your bed. Absentmindedly thinking about Sora and her lemonade project. Your eyes trail to the window— Seonghwa’s room is right in front of yours. Most of the time it's empty, safe for the rare occasions there are guests staying over or he comes home. That's when you got an idea.

You grab a rolled-up sock from your bed and lob it toward the window across from yours.

It thuds against glass with a soft, pathetic thump. Seonghwa’s curtain twitches, then opens. He appears seconds later, shirtless (god bless), confused, blinking into the orange of the sunset like you summoned him from a nap. “Did you just throw something at my window?” You point. “Help me remake the lemonade stand.”

He stares. “You threw a sock at me for this?”

You shrug. “All my rocks are outside.”

There’s a pause. He tilts his head, amused. “Sora doesn’t want help. That’s kinda the problem. If she had let us help earlier, it wouldn’t have fallen apart like it did.”

“I know.” You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them. “But maybe she needs to learn that asking for help isn’t a failure. That it's okay.” Seonghwa leans on the windowsill. “You really care about her, huh?”

“She’s nine. Of course I do.”

Another pause. He disappears. You think he left. But two minutes later, your doorbell rings. He’s holding a notebook, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure. “Okay,” he says, stepping in like it’s his house. “Cart or booth? Wood or cardboard? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” You blink. “You’re just gonna barge in?” as he walks past. “You threw a sock at my head,” he deadpans, settling beside you on the floor. “We’re way past boundaries.”

You end up clearing your floor, dragging a rug aside so you can both sit cross-legged with a pencil and pad between you. Seonghwa sketches while you ramble. “Something with wheels, right? So Sora can push it. Not too heavy. Maybe with a little shelf for cookies.” He hums, focused, nodding slowly. “You think we can repurpose the bike wheels in our garage?” You blink. “You just have bike wheels lying around?” “We’re hoarders,” he says plainly, then glances at you. “But the good kind. Useful hoarders.”

By midnight, you’ve got a design. A narrow wooden cart with two big wheels in the back and a single rotating caster in the front. He says he’ll handle the frame if you take care of painting and decoration. “You’re the aesthetics department.” You point a finger at him. “And you’re the structural engineering team.” He grins. “Damn right.”

The next morning, you’re in his garage, hair tied up, covered in sawdust while he cuts planks of wood with a circular saw. You’re in charge of measuring and marking. Occasionally he looks up and murmurs things like, “Be careful,” or “You’re holding that wrong,” before gently adjusting your grip. Every time his fingers brush yours, your brain shorts out just a little. He doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and he’s pretending not to. You can’t tell.

He makes a dumb pun about plywood (??? Why) and you groan so hard your soul leaves your body. “Why am I helping you again?” you mutter, sanding down a wheel bracket. “Because you love Sora,” he says smoothly, reaching for the drill. “And maybe me, a little.” You freeze. He smirks. “Kidding.” You laugh too loud, awkward, trying to play it off while your face burns.

When the frame is finally done, you bring over paints and glitter from your room. You spread a tarp out on the grass and start painting together—light yellow with white trim, sun shapes and lemon doodles on the sides. You go overboard with the glitter. Seonghwa says nothing but quietly paints a lemon with sunglasses on the back panel and names it “CEO Sora.” You nearly die laughing.

At some point, music’s playing from your speaker, a playlist you forgot was queued. It’s soft indie stuff, background noise. Seonghwa’s arm is resting casually near yours. You’re both crouched low, drawing a tiny “Thank you for supporting” sign together. Your knees touch. You think you’re imagining it when he glances at you and says, “You’d make a great older sister.” You snort. “That sounds like a diss.” He shakes his head. “Nah. Just meant… you’re good with kids. Good with her.” You glance at him. He’s watching you again. His gaze is warm. Steady. You look away before your heart does something stupid.

Later, when you’re packing up the supplies, he brushes dust from your cheek. “You’ve got sawdust everywhere,” he says softly. You look up at him, your breath catching. But he pulls back like it’s nothing, like your heart didn’t just lurch. You shove a rag into his chest. “Clean yourself first, CEO Lemonade.” He laughs, low and unbothered, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow.

By evening, the cart is finished. Tomorrow, you’ll surprise Sora. Tonight, you sit on the grass with Seonghwa beside you, lemonade in one hand, cookie in the other, and try not to wonder what it’d be like if he stayed a little longer this time.

(And a selfish part of you wanted him to do so)

iii.

The next morning, you're up early, heart racing like you're about to deliver a TED talk to a room of toddlers. You and Seonghwa had rolled the finished cart into his backyard late last night, parking it beneath the cherry tree where the sunlight makes everything look a little magical. The yellow paint gleams. The glitter sparkles. “CEO Sora” beams from the back panel with his cool lemon shades. It’s stupidly cute (he's also stupidly cute today but you digress).

The hard part, though, isn't the cart. It's getting Sora out of her room. She's been quiet all morning. No bouncing, no knocking on your door, no asking for cookies or drawing requests. Just silence. Seonghwa glances up at her window and sighs. “She hasn't even touched her cereal.”

You nod slowly. “Let me try.”

You knock on her door and gently push it open. She's curled up on her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed raccoon. Her eyes flick toward you, then away again. “Hi, bunny,” you say softly, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We want to show you something.”

She shakes her head, face half-hidden behind the raccoon. “I don’t want to do lemonade anymore.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But… it’s not about lemonade anymore.”

A pause. Then a tiny, reluctant, “...what is it about then?”

“It’s about not giving up.”

That gets her attention—just a little. Enough for you to hold out your hand and wait. A long moment passes. Then, finally, Sora slides off the bed and takes your hand without a word.

You lead her outside.

The second the cart comes into view, she freezes. Eyes wide. Her hand tightens around yours. She gasps audibly, like you just unveiled a unicorn. “Wh—” she breathes. “Is that…”

Seonghwa steps out from beside the tree, wiping his hands on a rag. “Made it just for you,” he says. “Well, we did. She designed it. I just… didn’t cut off my fingers in the process.”

Sora walks forward slowly, like she’s afraid it’ll disappear. She runs her hand along the edge, traces the lemon doodles, the cookie shelf, the sign that reads “Sora’s Summer Sips 2.0.”

Then she turns to both of you, eyes shining but hesitant. “Why?”

Seonghwa kneels in front of her, soft smile on his face. “Because you worked hard, kiddo. And it sucks when things fall apart. But it’s okay to ask for help when they do. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, alright?”

She bites her lip. Looks at the cart. Then at you. Then back at Seonghwa. “But I messed up. I didn’t want anyone to help. That’s why it got ruined.”

“And now?” you ask gently.

She’s quiet for a second. Then nods.

“I want help,” she says. “Please help me.”

You smile.

Seonghwa messes up her hair with a grin. “Attagirl. CEO mode: reactivated.

And just like that, she beams. Like she’d never cried in the rain at all.

Time for second phase of the plan: Assuring that she distributes lemonade this time and NOT battery acid.

iv.

The next day, Phase Two begins: Operation Make Sure Sora Isn't Accidentally Selling Citrus Poison.

You're in Seonghwa’s kitchen, armed with lemons, mint, strawberries, a bottle of honey, and absolutely zero confidence in your chemistry skills. Sora is seated at the counter, feet swinging, ready to reclaim her throne. She insists on squeezing the lemons herself, proudly declaring, “I have strong arms now.”

Seonghwa’s on cookie duty, tying an apron around his waist like he was born to be somebody’s hot husband. You pretend not to notice. You absolutely fail.

You whip out a notepad. “So. Our baseline is—”

“Battery acid,” Seonghwa cuts in, tossing chocolate chips into a bowl. “We’re working our way up from battery acid.”

You roll your eyes. “We could’ve just let her keep poisoning the community.”

“But then we wouldn’t have this quality time,” he says easily, grinning. You freeze, but he’s already back to mixing dough like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach flip.

You test your first batch with strawberries and honey. Seonghwa sips it and raises a brow. “It’s giving... healthy cafeteria water.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “I am trying.”

“No, no. I taste the effort. It's delicious... adjacent.”

You throw a dish towel at his face.

Sora giggles.

Two more attempts later, you land on something decent: lemon, mint, honey, and a splash of soda water. Seonghwa takes one sip and goes suspiciously quiet. You blink. “What now?”

He lowers the cup and looks at you. “That’s actually good.”

You frown. “Like, actually actually?”

He nods. “Like… I’d buy this. If you smiled at me while handing it to me, I’d buy two.”

You stare.

Then laugh.

Then go right back to scribbling ratios like he didn’t say something wildly flirtatious.

He watches you for a beat. “You’re cute when you ignore compliments, you know.” You glance up, confused. “Was that a compliment?”His smile falters for half a second—just a beat. “Yeah. But never mind.”

You look back down, cheeks warm. You’re terrified of reading into it. Because what if you’re wrong? What if this is just him being nice and you’re projecting because he’s hot and you’ve had a dumb attraction for years? Heck it's not even a crush— you're not close enough with him go call it a crush. You’ve had enough of letting your heart run wild.

So you pretend not to hear him. You hand him the next cup instead. “Tell me if this one tastes like hospital lemonade,” you say.

He takes it silently.

But later, as you’re baking brownies and he helps you clean the mixing bowl with two fingers and a grin, you hear him murmur, “God, you're dangerous.”

You pretend not to hear that, too.

Sora insists on helping with the cookies the second she smells the dough. One moment, Seonghwa’s carefully brushing flour off your cheek with the world’s softest touch—fingertips slow, deliberate, thumb lingering near your jaw like he’s about to say something he’s been holding in since forever—and the next, there’s a loud thud, a stool dragged across the tiles, and a very determined nine-year-old climbing up between you both like Moses parting the Red Sea (hello, junior cockblock).

“I’m head chef,” Sora declares, tying her tiny apron with the solemnity of a master baker. “You two are my assistants.”

You and Seonghwa exchange a look. His mouth twitches, amused. You can tell he was just about to do something—say something, maybe. The kind of thing that makes your breath catch and your brain glitch. But now he’s reaching for the chocolate chips obediently, shoulders slouched in mock submission.

“Yes, chef,” he says.

You stifle a grin and mimic him. “At your service, chef.”

Sora immediately starts throwing ingredients in like she’s summoning a storm. Flour, sugar, half a stick of butter—you lose track. She’s chaos incarnate, narrating her every move like a baking YouTuber while Seonghwa keeps trying (and failing) to get a word in. Every time he turns toward you—eyes soft, voice lower—Sora loudly interrupts.

“do we need baking powder?”

“Seonghwa, can I taste the dough?!”

“Wait! I wanna crack the egg—NOOO you DID IT WITHOUT ME—”

You’re both choking on laughter within minutes. Seonghwa gives up flirting entirely and just bumps your shoulder lightly every now and then when Sora isn’t looking. Once, you catch him just... staring. Not in a weird way. Just this quiet, fond expression while you wipe frosting off Sora’s nose. You glance at him and whisper, “What?” but he only shrugs, smirking.

“I’m thinking about filing for demotion,” he says. “Being a junior assistant. Less chaos.”

“Denied,” you reply. “You’re too tall to escape this mess.”

Later, Sora declares the cookies “scientifically perfect” and insists on making heart shapes with the leftover dough. You’re pressing one flat with your thumbs when Seonghwa leans down beside you, his arm brushing yours. “If I ever ask you out,” he murmurs under his breath, “are you going to pretend you didn’t hear that too?”

You freeze. For a moment, the world quiets. But Sora immediately launches into a rant about how heart-shaped cookies bake faster because “love is lighter,” and Seonghwa just sighs and goes back to rolling dough.

You never answer him.

And he doesn’t push.

But when you hand him a cookie later, heart-shaped, slightly burnt, made with chaos and too much sugar—he takes a bite, smiles softly, and says, “Tastes like a maybe.”

The clock ticks past 11:30 when you tape the last cookie bag shut. The kitchen smells like vanilla, butter, and sweet exhaustion. The table is a warzone of ribbon scraps and sticker sheets, but somehow, between the two of you—it’s organized chaos. Seonghwa leans over the counter, sleeves pushed up, a rogue smear of flour on his cheek that he still hasn’t noticed. Sora’s finally asleep upstairs, curled into a sugar-coma burrito with her raccoon plush. You’d both tried to send her to bed two hours ago. She’d only gone after confirming you’d save her a heart-shaped cookie with extra sprinkles.

You exhale and stretch your back, groaning quietly as the muscles protest. “I haven’t done this much arts and crafts since year eight science fair.” Seonghwa chuckles, dropping another finished bag into the box. “Let me guess. You made a volcano.”

“Please. I was an overachiever. I made a solar system diorama. With rotating planets.”

He raises an impressed brow. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcasm.”

“It wasn’t,” he says, quieter. “I think it’s cute you were like that.”

You glance at him, a little off-balance from how sincere that came out. He’s looking at you again. head tilted, eyes darker in the low kitchen light. The soft hum of the fridge fills the silence between you. You suddenly feel too aware of how quiet the house is. How late it is. How close he’s standing now.

He clears his throat, pulling back a bit. “It’s been nice… being home,” he murmurs, picking up the tape again but not really using it. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I never saw you much before.”

You raise a brow, fiddling with a twist tie. “You moved here three years ago and then immediately disappeared overseas. You’re like a part-time ghost.”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess I didn’t time it well.”

“You didn’t. I thought you were imaginary for the first six months.”

There’s a pause. You don’t look up, but you feel it. The shift in his body language. The way he’s facing you more directly now. His voice drops, softer, lower.

“Well, I see you now.”

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

His eyes hold yours. “I said, I see you now.”

The air stills.

You blink again, heart thudding. He’s still holding a cookie bag, but his hands aren’t moving. And then, slowly, casually—he steps closer. Just one step. But it’s enough. You’re between him and the counter now, your back to the table. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just leans in a little, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“You keep pretending you don’t notice,” he murmurs, voice brushing against your neck. “But you do.”

“Notice what?” you ask, too fast, too breathless.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his hand brushes your waist lightly, barely there. And then you feel it: his lips, warm and feather-light, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s been wanting to do it for weeks and only just let himself now.

Your whole body goes still.

Your brain promptly blue-screens.

He pulls back only a little, breath still warm on your skin. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

You are the color red, you are emergency alarms, you are all-caps-texting-your-best-friend-at-2am energy.

And then,a shuffle upstairs.

Tiny feet.

A sleepy voice down the hallway:

“Hwa… I want milk…”

Seonghwa blinks. You both freeze.

He steps back like someone hit a reset button. You whip around, yanking open the fridge like it personally betrayed you, pretending to grab the milk like your heart isn’t punching through your ribs.

From behind you, he chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re back to reality.”

You don’t look at him.

You’re too busy trying not to pass out.

v.

Moral dilemma time;

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. The fan clicks overhead. The house is quiet again, and Sora’s probably curled up in her tangle of blankets dreaming about lemonade domination. And all you can think about is the way Seonghwa said, “You see me now.”

You did. You do.

You’ve always seen him—even if it was only in flashes. Hauling suitcases out of a car, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Helping Sora carry an inflatable pool across the lawn with that easy, capable energy that made your stomach flip even then. Sometimes he’d wave. Sometimes he didn’t notice you at all. And that was fine. You were just the girl next door. Babysitter. Friendly face (god. How annoying, his existence that is. Not in a bad way...)

Not… this.

And now you’re spiraling. Because sure, he kissed your neck, but what does that mean? And even if he meant something by it, can you let it mean something? You care about Sora. She's not just some neighbor's sibling, she's your kid on some days. You cut her crusts and helped her rehearse a talent show dance. What happens if this goes somewhere and then doesn’t? Would it be weird? Would she feel weird?

You groan, grabbing your pillow and smashing it over your face. Great. Fantastic. You’re a grown adult, and yet somehow this feels like the most confusing sleepover-level crush you’ve ever had.

You wanted him. You want him still. But now you’re wondering if you’re being selfish for it.

Because what if loving him ruins the thing that matters most?

Not the flirting.

Not the neck kiss.

But Sora’s little world.

And you're not sure you're willing to risk that.

vii.

The lemonade stand opens at 11.

By 11:17, you're almost sold out of brownies.

You hadn't expected the response to be this wild, sure, your little Instagram promo got a few shares, but apparently “CEO Sora’s Summer Sips” hit the local mom group circuit like wildfire. You’ve got toddlers in crocs, dads in visors, middle-aged ladies with lap dogs—everyone is here.

Sora's glowing. Literally glowing. She's got sunglasses on and a little apron with “Boss” embroidered across the front. Every time someone compliments the cart, she says, “My staff made it,” like you and Seonghwa are her unpaid interns. She's thriving.

You're... slightly dying. Not because of the heat. Not because of the stress. But because Seonghwa's been next to you all morning, helping hand out cups and pass cookies, acting like he didn’t kiss your neck twelve hours ago in the same house you’re both now selling snacks from.

He’s calm. Charming. Helping Sora count change, holding a paper cup in that way that makes his fingers look stupidly nice. You, on the other hand, have dropped the same bag of cookies three times and nearly called a customer “mom.”

And then, like a cursed prophecy, a woman in her mid-forties with a giant sunhat and an attitude rolls up. She glances at the menu and scoffs.

“This lemonade’s five dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s just lemons and water.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Seonghwa gets there first. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t roll his eyes. He just smiles politely, steps forward slightly, and says, “You're welcome to make your own at home. But this one’s made with care. And mint from our neighbor’s garden. And emotional labor. Lots of emotional labor.”

The Karen glares at him.

He smiles wider.

She mutters something under her breath and walks off with a dramatic huff. You watch her go, stunned, and then look at him.

“Did you just... politely obliterate her?”

He shrugs, handing the next kid a cookie. “She underestimated Sora’s empire. That’s on her.”

You stare at him. He glances at you. You immediately look away, pretending to care deeply about the placement of a napkin.

He’s too smooth. Too tall. Too... aware of what he’s doing.

And you’re spiraling again.

Because the kiss happened. And he hasn’t mentioned it. And neither have you.

And now he’s out here defending overpriced lemonade like a knight with a really nice jawline and a soft voice and the ability to kill a Karen with grace.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. You're not melting into a puddle of conflicted thirst and emotional repression.

“this was fun!” Sora chirps, tugging on your sleeve. “Can we do this again next weekend?”

You force a smile, ignoring the way Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” you say, smiling at her. “Anything for the little CEO.”

vii.

The last day of the stand ended with confetti cake cookies and a lemonade toast.

Sora had counted the earnings herself, nose scrunched in concentration, and walked proudly into the animal shelter with a stuffed envelope of cash in both hands. She’d handed it over like a diplomat making peace with a foreign nation. The workers cried. She beamed. And on the way home, she tugged on your hand and whispered, “Thanks. You helped me make people smile.” Then she gave you a tiny plastic cup of lemonade and hugged you so tightly her glitter stuck to your shirt.

You cried a little in the bathroom during break. You’ll never admit that out loud.

Now that you’re home. Your room’s dark, your legs are star-fished across the sheets, and Sparkles is snoring somewhere under the blanket at your feet like a gremlin. You’re lying there, staring at the ceiling, heart full in the weird way that only happens when something good ends. The kind of full that leaves a little ache.

The flour fight. The cookie assembly line. The stupid amount of glitter you’re still finding under your nails. Seonghwa laughing with cookie dough on his nose. You felt like a kid again. Like someone cracked open time and gave you a soft place to exist for a while.

You roll over with a sigh.

And then you see it.

A flicker.

From across the small patch of grass and fence seperating your house from the Parks.

Your curtains are drawn half open, and from Seonghwa’s window—faint, but consistent—you spot a light. On. Off. Off. On. Flash. Pause. Flash.

You blink. Sit up a little. It’s definitely his phone flashlight. But he’s not waving. You thought he was doing something, raving? At this hour? Alone?

He’s...doing it in patterns.

Your brain jolts. No way. You recognise this (thanks, girl scouts!)

You grab your laptop, fingers flying as you pull up a Morse code translator.

.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-

You type. Translate.

I miss you.

Your breath hitches.

You glance back. He’s standing there in the dimness, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand, like this is normal.

You type back a message and flash your own phone flashlight from the edge of your curtain.

.-.. --- .-.. / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -. . . -.. -.--

Lol you’re needy.

Pause.

Flash.

Flash flash. Long flash.

You translate.

- .... . -. / .. / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... .- ...- . / ... .- .. -.. / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / -- .

Then I should have said something. Fuck me.

You choke on your spit.

Your flashlight wavers in your hand.

You stare at your screen, rechecking the translation three times. He doesn’t move. Just tilts his head slightly—waiting.

You swallow, before responding slowly.

.... --- .-- / -.. --- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . -. .----. - / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-. -. -.--

How do I know you aren’t just horny?

Long pause.

Then the longest message yet.

-... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .... .- ...- . / .-.. .. - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .-.. --- ... - / -- -.-- / -- .. -. -.. / . ...- . .-. -.-- / - .. -- . / -.-- --- ..- / ... -- .. .-.. . -.. / --- .-. / .-.. .- ..- --. .... . -.. / --- .-. / ...- --- .. -.-. . -.. / -- -.-- / .--- --- -.- . ... / .- -.-. .-. --- ... ... / - .... . / ..-. . -. -.-. . .-.-.-

Because I have literally lost my mind every time you smiled or laughed or voiced my jokes across the fence.

Your hands are trembling slightly. The phone feels hot in your grip.

You bite your lip and flash one word back.

.... --- .-.. -..

Hold.

You slip out of bed barefoot, heart thundering, nerves on fire.

And across the fence, Seonghwa’s light finally goes dark. And yet you refuse to let this fire die like the other times. You crouch by your window again, the phone cold in your hand this time.

You could leave it. Let it die in the quiet. Pretend the moment passed.

But the ache’s too real. The way he looked at you in the kitchen. The neck kiss. His stupid calm voice when he shut that Karen down. His hands, his laugh, the way he always made room for Sora in every conversation—even when his eyes never quite left you.

So you tap out a message. Slow. Hesitant.

.. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / -... . / ... . .-.. ..-. .. ... .... .-.-.- / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. / - .... .. -. --. ... / - .... .- - / .-- . .-. . -. .-..-. - / -- .. -. . / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. .-.-.- / -... ..- - / ... --- .-. .- .-.-.- / .. / .-- --- .-. .-. .. . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . .-. .-.-.-

I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to ask for things that weren’t mine to ask for. But Sora. I worried about her.

It takes a few minutes. You almost think he fell asleep. And then his light flashes again.

Long pause.

Then:

- .... .-. . . / -.-- . .- .-. ... / .- --. --- / ... .... . / - .- .-.. -.- . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / - .... . / --. .. .-. .-.. / .-- .... --- / .-- .- ... / ... --- / -.- .. -. -.. / .. - / .... ..- .-. - / - --- / .- ... -.- / .... . .-.. .-.. --- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / -.-- . ... / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / ... --- .-. .- --..-- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. --- ...- . -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Three years ago she talked about you. The girl who was so kind it hurt to ask hello. And yes I love Sora, but I loved you first.

You cover your mouth with your hand, heart tripping all over itself.

He continues before you can respond:

- .... . .-. . / .-- . .-. . / ... --- / -- .- -. -.-- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / - .. -- . ... / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / --. . - / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / ... . .-. .. --- ..- ... .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .-..-. ... / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .. - .-..-. ... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / -... . . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / -.- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- / ... . -. ... . .-.. . ... ... --..-- / .-.. .. -.- . / .-.. --- ... . / .- .-.. .-.. / .-. .. --. .... - .-.-.-

There were so many fucking times I wanted to get fucking serious. But it’s you. It’s always been you. And I want to kiss you senseless, like lose all right.

You stare. The words blur. You’re clutching the phone too tight.

Another pause. Then a last line:

- . .-.. .-.. / -- . / -.-- --- ..- / -.. --- -. .-..-. - / .-. ..- -. / .- .-- .- -.-- / ..-. .-. --- -- / -- . --..-- / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / .... . .-. / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Tell me you don’t run away from me, because I love her first.

You stare at your phone for a long moment after sending your last message.

Fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the darkened window across from yours. The Morse code's gone quiet. No more flickers. No more signals. Just that open-ended silence, like he dropped a truth and disappeared into it.

You swallow, heart pounding in your ears.

Then you type one more line. Phone flashlight filling the dark like lightning during storm. Just a message. Just a whisper across the quiet street.

“Come over.”

No reply.

Seconds stretch long, sticky with anticipation. You shift on your bed, Sparkles still softly snoring at the foot, totally unaware of your mental breakdown. You start to think you’ve misread everything. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe you just—

click.

You hear it.

Across the street, his balcony door slides open.

You scramble up, already pushing your window up with both hands. The night air rushes in, warm and thick. You lean on the ledge, eyes wide as he steps into view—barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been pacing. No phone. Just him.

He looks up.

You nod once.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t say a word as he scales the ledges between the two houses. You've always thought it was stupid how wide your bedroom window was, but right now? Right now it's made for this. For him. For the second he plants his foot on the inside and climbs in, gaze locked to yours, face unreadable but burning.

The second he’s inside, your heart stutters.

You open your mouth to say something—but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are already cupping your face. His mouth crashes into yours with months of restraint finally snapping, kissing you like he’s starved for it—like he waited too long and he’s done waiting. You gasp, and his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling, angling, devouring. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your jaw, the sound you make when he bites just a little.

It’s fast. Then it’s slow. Then it’s desperate.

You stumble back onto the bed, dragging him with you, and he follows like it’s instinct. His hoodie’s already on the floor, your hands already slipping under his shirt. He mouths at your throat again—same spot he kissed last night—only this time there's no interruption. No Sora. No milk.

Just his breath against your skin.

His voice, low and wrecked.

“I wanted this so fucking bad.”

You arch against him. “Then take it.”

And he does. His hand slides down your waist like it’s been there a hundred times before—possessive, certain—until it curves around your ass and grips. Firm. Deep. He groans against your neck when you jolt in surprise, letting out the softest little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked moan.

Then

Smack.

The contact stings just enough to make you arch into him with a breathy, startled, “Hwa—!”

He grins against your skin, wicked and low, as his teeth nip your neck, not gentle, but not cruel either. Just enough to make your skin bloom with heat. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger, lips dragging slow against the curve of your throat. “Every time you walked away from me. Every time you bent over to grab something and didn’t even notice.”

Your breath catches. “That’s because I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, biting again. “That’s what made it worse.”

His hand squeezes again, fingers digging into the flesh like he’s laying claim. You squirm—eyes fluttering, lips parted, and he just hums against you like your reaction feeds him. Like the sound you made is something he’s going to tease you about later, when your body isn’t pressed so tightly against his, begging for more.

“You always make that face when I touch you here?” he whispers, another sharp smack punctuating the question.

You can’t even answer.

Not when his mouth is back on you like he plans to ruin your name from the inside out.

viii.

You’re already breathless when his hand finds the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers toying with the waistband like he’s asking permission—but also like he already knows the answer. He’s still in that stupidly hot basketball tee, sweat sticking to the neckline, his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. Everything about him is unfair. Everything about this is reckless.

“Wait,” you whisper as he starts to tug down, only because—

“Rrrrgh.”

Both of you freeze.

You whip your head toward the foot of the bed where Sparkles, your tiny mop of a poodle, is slowly rising from his blanket nest with a low, suspicious growl—hackles raised like Seonghwa is an intruder and not, you know, the man actively making out with his owner.

Seonghwa blinks. “...I forgot he was there.”

Sparkles bares tiny teeth.

You groan, slipping off the bed to scoop him up. “Not now, Sparkles. Go patrol the hallway or harass my siblings or something. Please.”

You pad barefoot to the door, open it quietly, and place Sparkles in the hallway like he’s being exiled from the kingdom. “Go. Go be judgemental somewhere else.”

He snorts—but trots away, dignity intact.

You close the door, click the lock.

And immediately yelp when hands grab your hips from behind and yank you back against him.

“Where were we?” Seonghwa murmurs against your ear, already dragging your shorts, and your underwear—with them down your thighs in one smooth pull. He kisses the back of your neck again, teeth grazing that same spot that made you melt before, and his voice drops into something that makes your knees wobble. “Oh, right. Here.”

You can barely think.

His hands slide over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it—thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before he spreads you open from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the view. He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s seeing something he’s dreamed about and it’s somehow better in real life.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so sweet. Like—messy jam. Sticky. Dripping. I want to ruin my hands on you.”

You whimper.

And then you feel his fingers brush between your legs.

Firm. Teasing.

Sliding through like he’s checking how ready you are, and humming when he finds his answer.

You press your forehead to the bed, trembling.

And Seonghwa?

He just chuckles darkly behind you, settling between your thighs like he’s planning to stay awhile.

Gone was the sweet older brother to Sora.

Gone were the terrible jokes and the crooked, dimpled smile that used to make you laugh from across the lemonade stand.

This man—this version of Seonghwa—was unrecognizable.

He was on his knees behind you now, his breath ghosting hot across the back of your thighs, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His eyes were fixed between your legs with a look that sent shivers up your spine. Not playful. Not teasing. Just hungry. Reverent. Like he’d found something sacred and filthy and his.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick and low, thumb spreading you open just a little more. “You really let me in here like this, huh?”

You could barely respond. Your cheek was pressed to the bed, knees parted, hands gripping the sheets like they’d keep you grounded.

He didn’t wait long.

Two fingers slipped inside—smooth, slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched, hips jerking at the sudden stretch.

He groaned behind you.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathed, moving his hand just enough to hear the sound your body made around him, slick and obscene. “You feel like—fuck, like you were made for me.”

You moaned, biting your lip hard enough to hurt, the burn and stretch already drowning you in heat.

He curled his fingers again, this time deliberately, dragging them along a spot that made your spine arch and your legs tremble.

“Ohhh, there she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your lower back. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

His other hand slid up your back, grounding, calming—almost tender—as he leaned over you, voice in your ear.

“Can I keep going?” he asked softly, like a man already past the point of return. “Can I make you forget your name a little?”

And God help you—

You nodded.

His pace shifts without warning—gentle fingers turning rougher, deeper, faster.

You gasp, the sound ripped from your throat as his long, slender fingers drive into you with intent. Every movement is precise but merciless, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like all that skill—the way he mixed dough, tightened bolts on Sora’s cart, handled everything with quiet perfection—was meant for this. For you.

His free hand presses into your lower back, keeping you arched as he thrusts his fingers harder, knuckles slick as they drag against that spot that makes your legs shake and your voice crack.

“Fuck, Hwa—!” you whimper, barely able to hold yourself up.

He groans behind you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades for a moment as he watches how you fall apart around him.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Of course you do. Look at how fucking wet you are—dripping down my hand like you’ve been waiting for this all summer.”

You sob his name, back arching helplessly when he curls his fingers hard, sharp, relentless. The slick sound of him working you over fills the room—so messy, so obscene, and so impossibly hot.

He leans close again, mouth brushing your ear.

“These fingers built Sora’s damn cart,” he growls, dragging them deeper, faster. “And now they’re gonna make you fall apart.”

And you do.

You writhe, body trembling, thighs shaking as he fucks you on his hand like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. You’re dizzy, ruined, whimpering with every thrust—and still he doesn’t slow down.

Only when your walls flutter tight around him—pulsing, soaking his fingers—does he finally ease up.

Just enough to whisper, “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

And he still hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

You’re still trembling, breath shallow, body limp across the bed like he wrung every thought out of you with his hand alone. You barely notice when he pulls his fingers out—until you hear it.

A soft, wet sound. Followed by a low hum.

You turn your head just enough to look over your shoulder.

He’s sucking his fingers.

Slowly.

Like he’s savoring every drop of you on his tongue.

He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, eyes fluttering shut like it’s that good. “Mmm,” he murmurs, licking the last of you off with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “Sweeter than the lemonade. Sweeter than the cookies. Think I’m addicted.”

Your stomach flips. Heat floods right back between your legs even though you haven’t recovered from round one.

And then he does it.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and drags them down slowly, letting them fall past his thighs. No boxers. Just thick, flushed length springing free—hard, leaking, aching for you.

You sit up on shaky elbows, staring.

You barely think—your body moves first. You slide off the bed and sink to your knees in front of him, wide-eyed and reverent.

He freezes.

“What are you—”

You glance up, and his breath catches.

You look like sin. Knees on the floor, lips parted, face still flushed and glowing from what he just did to you.

“oh?” he chokes out, completely unraveling. “You’re seriously gonna—? Like that?”

You nod once. Innocent.

And wrap your hand around him.

He nearly buckles.

Never in a million years did you think this would happen.

Not in this room. Not like this.

Not with the boy next door—sweet, polite Seonghwa—climbing in through your window at midnight and now standing in front of you, flushed and panting while you’re on your knees, mouth full of him.

But here you are.

And he tastes like heat and salt and something heady, your tongue swirling as you take him deeper, inch by inch, letting him feel just how much you want this. Your eyes flick up to meet his—and the look on his face nearly undoes you. His hand clutches your bedsheet behind him, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to make a sound.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and pulsing, twitching when you suck around him with slw, filthy intent.

“Shit—” he hisses through his teeth, voice low and tight. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just—”

You hollow your cheeks and he groans, head tipping back as his other hand finds your hair, threading through it but not pushing—just holding. Grounding himself.

His thighs twitch.

He’s trying so hard to be quiet. To be good. But every time your lips slide back down, every time you take him a little deeper and hum around him like you’re savoring a lollipop, he chokes on a curse and sways forward slightly.

“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips bucking the tiniest bit.

And you?

You’re already smiling around him.

Because if he thinks this is the end, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

Your hand strokes the base of him slowly, lazily, while your other cups him beneath—gentle, teasing, deliberate. You feel the way his thighs tense, how his breath hitches above you. Every pass of your tongue, every swirl around the head has him trembling, his abs flexing under his tee, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

You’re relentless.

He looks down at you, jaw slack, eyes dark and dazed, eyebrows drawing together like he’s trying to hold something in—like it’s too much. Every time your lips slide over the tip again, he lets out this soft, strangled moan that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Baby, I—I’m close—”

You hum around him, slow and smug, and that alone nearly makes his knees give out. You feel him throb against your tongue, feel his hips twitch forward—and that’s when his hand suddenly cups your cheek.

Gentle. Steady. Warm.

“Wait,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Stop—wait, wait.”

You pull off him slowly, lips glossy, confused for a second until you look up. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but soft, full of restraint.

“I wanna be inside you,” he says, almost like an apology. “Not just your mouth. You.”

He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead with trembling restraint.

“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, barely holding back. “I need to.”

ix.

Seonghwa fucks good.

Seonghwa fucks hard.

Note to self: never, ever assume that the soft-spoken, painfully pretty boy next door is a bottom just because he smiles politely and wears pastels. Because right now?

You are getting plowed.

Your face is buried into your sheets, knuckles white as they clutch your pillow, and Seonghwa is behind you—hips snapping forward with a force that knocks the breath out of you every time. His grip on your waist is bruising, holding you steady as he pounds into you like he’s trying to reshape the memory of him in your mind—like the sweet older brother to Sora was just a decoy and this is who he really is.

The sound of skin slapping echoes soft but filthy through the room, the creak of the bed barely covered by the ragged breath between you.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked, leaning over to press a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his pace snaps. “This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking about?”

You can’t even answer. Your mouth opens but all that comes out is a moan strangled into your pillow.

His hand slides down your spine, slow, deliberate, only to wrap around your throat gently from behind—not choking, just grounding. Claiming. His hips never falter, driving into you again and again, the stretch still dizzying, the pressure building fast.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants into your ear. “So tight for me—like this pussy knew I’d be here.”

You whine—helpless, ruined—and he just groans deeper, lips brushing your shoulder, his sweat dripping to your skin. You feel him twitch inside you, feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in your core.

Both of you are trying not to moan too loud.

Both of you are failing.

And neither of you care.

His thrusts grow desperate—sloppier, rougher—his pace no longer steady but driven by instinct, the kind of need that makes him groan low in his throat with every grind of his hips.

“Baby,” he pants, voice breaking as his grip tightens on your waist. “You close? Tell me.”

Your moan is half-buried in the sheets, your head nodding furiously as your body trembles beneath him. “Y-Yes—yes, Hwa, I’m close—”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his rhythm snaps again—faster, deeper, each thrust hitting that spot that has you seeing white. “That’s it. Come with me, baby. Wanna feel you—wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out when the coil inside you snaps, body clenching around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably. And that’s all it takes.

He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—as he pushes in to the hilt and stays there, trembling hard. You feel him throb inside you before it hits—hot and thick, his release pulsing deep as he fills you, warmth spreading with every twitch of his hips.

His hands don’t stop holding you. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging across your shoulder as his voice drops into a shaking whisper.

“Fuuuck—fuck, baby, you feel so good. So warm, so full—shit—made for me.”

You both go still, panting into the silence, your legs trembling as you feel him soften inside you, the mess between your thighs sticky and slick and his.

His breath is still ragged when he presses a kiss to your spine and mumbles, “I’m never letting you babysit for free again.”

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the soft shift of his weight, the warmth of his body pressing close, and his arms wrapping around you from behind.

No teasing. No filth. Just his breath against the back of your neck, his fingers gently stroking your hip as he pulled you into him like you were something fragile he needed to keep safe.

His whisper was the last thing you remember before sleep claimed you.

"Get some rest, baby. I’ve got you."

And now—

You wake up to sunlight pooling across the floor.

No arms. No Seonghwa.

Just your sheets a mess and your body sore in all the best and worst ways. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow as you stretch—and immediately regret it.

Every muscle aches. Every one.

Your thighs, your back, your voice, your soul.

You roll over, half hoping he’s still there.

But the other side of the bed is empty.

Your heart sinks a little. Was it a dream?

You sit up slowly, dragging the covers over your chest as your mind spirals in a sleepy haze.

And then—

Scratch. Scratch.

You blink toward the door.

More scratching. More intentional judgment in every claw scrape.

You sigh, shuffle out of bed, and open the door.

Sparkles stands there. Tail curled. Eyes narrowed. Like he knows.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

You sigh again. “Don’t look at me like that. You left the room. This is your fault.”

He snorts and trots in like you’re the disappointment.

You watch him hop onto the foot of your bed, spin in a circle, and settle with the dramatic weight of a dog who knows everything and will be discussing it at length with his therapist.

You collapse beside him.

And try very hard not to smile at the ache between your legs.

It wasn’t a dream.

You flop back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, Sparkles curled beside you like a silent witness to your crimes. The ache in your thighs is real, and your dignity? Somewhere on the floor next to last night’s sleep shorts. You close your eyes, still half-lost in the memory of Seonghwa’s mouth, his hands, his everything—

Ding dong.

You groan. Now what?

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.

[Mom]: Sweetie, there’s a guest for you at the door.

[Mom]: He’s very polite. Cute. Smells like laundry detergent.

You sit up slowly, confused, hobble to the window and peek outside.

And there he is.

Seonghwa.

On your front porch.

Wearing a clean button-up and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, hands tucked into his pockets like a boy about to ask someone to prom. He glances up and sees you at the window—smiles, shy and soft like nothing unholy happened last night.

You open the door, blinking at him in the morning sun.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought I’d, uh, come by and see if you wanted to walk Sparkles with me. You know. Since we’ve been... busy.”

You stare.

Then deadpan, “Ironic, you asking me to walk when you ruined my legs.”

He turns crimson.

But he beams.

“I’ll carry you,” he says without missing a beat.

You snort. Sparkles trots between you both, judging still, but cooperative.

And as the three of you set off down the street, shoulder to shoulder, you realize it’s oddly perfect. Like the universe handed you a paper cup and said: here, try something sweet for once.

Because love?

Sometimes it is lemonade.

And sometimes it’s Lemon-aide.

Sticky, messy, made from sour things and sugar and effort.

You’re his aide. He’s yours.

And somehow, through lemons, you both made something stupidly good.