#seungkwan

There’s plenty of fish in the sea, but you know what else is there? Trash. There is a lot of trash in the sea. You even switched out your plastic straws for one-hundred per cent plant-based, edible rice straws made from rice, tapioca, and cornstarch. They’re designed to be sustainable, turtle-friendly, and technically safe to eat. It was often described as having a neutral, pasta-like texture. They were a popular eco-friendly alternative to plastic, even though some people complained that they got soggy in drinks.

You like to think that you have saved the turtles. Maybe even the ocean.

Unfortunately, that still doesn’t stop people especially at family gatherings from bringing up marriage every chance they get. You were perfectly fine living like this. You run your own cafe. You’ve got a side hustle as a web novel writer and webcomic creator though of course they don’t know that.

Your single life has been nothing but peaceful. In this century, it’s a choice. But that doesn’t matter when your relatives keep asking when it’ll be your turn, especially at someone else’s wedding. God forbid a woman enjoys her life without a partner.

They love to hint, no—insist that you’ll end up lonely, growing old like some miserable hag.

Puh-lease. You’ll never be intimidated by people with no class. What are they going to do? Gossip about you with their equally insecure, trashy little circle?

You don’t care. You’d rather die than get married. At least you won’t end up as some miserable wife stuck with a douchebag husband and his broken ass.

The only thing that kept you alive and sane was none other than your beloved nephew, your very first one. Oh, the things you would do for him. You still remember the first time you held him, just a newborn, tiny in your arms. That was the moment you became an aunt at the age of seventeen.

Now, he’s all grown up, living like a proper young adult. Still, you can’t help but see him as a kid. Not that you mind, considering you once gaslit eight-year-old Sunoo into believing he was six just so he could get freebies at a diner when you first babysat him.

“You look like you’re about to cry,” you said, wiping a glass as you watched your twenty three-years-old nephew clutch his head, face buried against the counter.

“Give my regards to the devil,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in exhaustion.

“I will.”

Sunoo groaned again, downing another shot of espresso you had made earlier. That was probably his third cup. You gently took it away from him, earning a frown.

“Oh, come on. I didn’t raise you to be a quitter,” you said, sliding a glass of water toward him instead. “I raised a burnt-out perfectionist who occasionally gets bludgeoned into settling for mediocrity.”

Your nephew stared at you incredulously. Sometimes he wondered if he was even related to you. But in the end, he’d take you over his nosy, borderline-stranger aunties who wanted a full autobiography of his achievements. He still didn’t understand why his mom, your sister had trusted you to raise him all these years, well into adulthood.

“Okay, I’ve experienced academic validation, and I’ve experienced academic downfall, and I highly recommend being born into generational wealth—”

“It’s not about that,” he cut you off. “It’s my superior. He’s… I don’t know. Everything about him is just so cranky.”

“What?” You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed as you continued stacking cups. “Is he a bully or something?”

“Not exactly. He’s just… kind of mean. Well—he’s just that good at his job.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That is the problem,” he confirmed.

He continued, “He’s so good at what he does that it stresses everyone out on the planning team. If something goes wrong, he gets intensely serious about it—like, terrifyingly committed.”

There was a brief silence as you listened to your nephew ramble. This was probably just a moment of weakness. He likely just needed to vent.

“No one likes him,” he scoffed, taking a sip of water. “In fact, I don’t think he likes people at all. He probably hates himself too.”

He sighed again. “I made it through the day without throwing a chair at anyone, but this coffee tastes more bitter than usual.” He clicked his tongue. “Probably because I carried his bitterness all the way here.”

After a moment, you looked up at him. 

“Feeling better now?

“Yeah,” he finally exhaled. 

You’d think his toxic trait was believing another cup of coffee could solve literally anything. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if he was just being dramatic, but considering this was his second week complaining about his “toxic” workdays, you hoped it was only one insufferable person making him miserable, and not HR tearing him apart. Senior colleagues could be worse. You just hoped he wasn’t being bullied.

You, on the other hand, could drink three cups of coffee and go straight to sleep, one of many things fundamentally wrong with you as a person. In your defense, you buried those bad habits back in university. You’re a changed woman now. At your age, you just wish people would stop asking about your likes and dislikes. It gets old—those endless, generic questions on dates. 

You like money and food. You dislike not having money and being hungry.

Please. Don’t add more stress to your life.

Adulting is hard, but it’s okay. At least you don’t need to prove and explain why a triangle is a triangle anymore.

Nobody is busier than someone who isn’t interested in you. And when you say, “I’ll figure it out,” it usually just means you’ll adapt to whatever new level of hell is coming next. You either juggle five tasks at once or stare at a wall, wondering what scene to write for your next update, there is no in-between.

You know you’re hot, but you’re also aware you’re not a full-time hot person. You’re hot when you want to be, depending on the mood. You choose your own hours, make your own schedule. Honestly, it’s freelance hotness.

Just because you live like this doesn’t mean your life is boring. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of hookups—but they’re rare.

Today, however, is different. You went to your usual bar—Velvet Ruby. Mostly because the owner, Jihoon (as you’ve come to learn), is annoyingly attractive. You’re not even utterly shameless at that, the first time you met him (that time you haven’t yet to know he was the owner), throwing flirts here and there, you were tipsy, okay? Still, he finds it amusing despite himself. You usually prefer someone taller than you, but somehow, he still caught your attention.

Tonight, though, you were determined. You wanted a distraction. A release.

The only problem? You’d been sitting there for almost an hour. You were practically waiting for a main character’s entrance, but it seemed the owner had better things to do. Swirling your glass, you watched the wine move lazily inside it, your fingers brushing through your hair as you leaned your cheek against your palm, and then you noticed him.

Sitting right beside you.

You didn’t even try to hide the way your gaze lingered on his side profile. The sharp nose, the way his lips brushed against the rim of his glass as he took a sip of whiskey. His sweater was pushed just enough to reveal his forearms, the fabric stretching slightly. You could tell he was well-built underneath. His veiny hands, steady as he held the glass with ease, a watch sitting perfectly on his wrist.

God.

You really wanted him so bad.

As a matter of fact, you even dressed up for tonight—something chic, something that worked both at your cafe and for this. Chan, one of your employees, kept staring earlier. You didn’t say anything out loud, but you did threaten to cut his pay if he kept slacking off.

You feel sexy today, feel good and confident. There was no way you were wasting this night.

As if sensing your stare, the man suddenly turned toward you. His eyes narrowed slightly, not threatening, just… observant. His gaze lingered, taking you in without shame.

Jackpot.

Honestly, you don’t care. You were convinced you could hold your liquor pretty well, but you only lived once. You didn’t look away. Instead, you offered a soft smile, teasing as you leaned your chin on your palm, crossing your legs.

“Do you know what bees make?” you asked casually.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly making sure you were talking to him. There was a pause before he answered, humoring you.

“Honey?”

You smiled wider. “Yes, dear?”

A soft chuckle left your lips, you were definitely tipsy now. He looked amused, the corner of his mouth lifting as he took another sip, his gaze still on you appreciatively, unhidden.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.

Your lips curved in quiet victory.

Got him.

...

It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into easy conversation. The small talk here and there, laughter slipping in between. One thing led to another. You have learned that his name is Wonwoo. He mentioned something about work, some company but you barely processed it, too distracted by his deep voice and the way his cologne lingered in the air.

By the time you reached the hotel, neither of you had the patience to pretend otherwise. The door barely closed before he pulled you close again, lips finding yours in a kiss that was far from hesitant. His coat was gone in seconds, yours not long after as you were guided back with your breath catching and thoughts slipping.

His touch was warm, firm, leaving a trail that made it harder to think straight. Your head tilted instinctively, giving him more space, more access, your fingers gripping onto him as the moment blurred into something hazy and overwhelming.

A quiet sound escaped you, your mind already spinning, senses dulled except for him.

You stumbled toward the bed, everything felt so messy and impatient. Both of your clothes were scattered somewhere on the floor. It was clear that you’re both extremely attracted to each other, and you never felt so turned on right now. Maybe it’s been a while since you have felt this good.

Straddling him, you leaned down, kissing him again with intense neediness. Wonwoo grunts into the kiss, chuckling softly against your lips at how impatient you are, clumsily pressing on him. He kisses you back fiercely, his tongue delving into your mouth to stroke along yours, gripping your hips tightly. He grinds up against your core, large hands sliding up your bare back, fingers digging into your soft skin as he pulls you flush against his muscular chest. He didn’t forget to lavish your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing your pulse point as he bucks his hips up sharply.

You let out a soft sigh and moan at how intense it feels, catching your breath as your hands come up to grip his soft locks. Your hips instinctively grind on him, rolling your hips down as you feel the thick length of his cock rubbing against your slick folds through the thin fabric of your panties.

A low groan tore from his throat at the feeling, his grip on your hips tightening. He slides his hands down to grip your ass, squeezing the plush globes roughly as he grinds up against you—meeting your slow, sensual movements. “You’re so fucking hot like this, baby.” He murmurs, leaning up to capture your lips in a deep sensual kiss. Drowning in his own needs, he tore your panties away and didn’t hesitate to put the tip of his cock inside your bare cunt.

The sensation itself had left your mouth hanging open, trying to catch yourself at how amazing it feels like. Your grip on him tightened as you slowly sinked yourself down on his dick, mewling at the way he’s stretching you out. “F-fuck—Wonwoo…” you whimper out softly as you started to move your hips.

Wonwoo let out a low guttural moan as your tight walls clenched down around him like vice, gripping his throbbing shaft so deliciously. He literally needed to pause for a moment, savouring the incredible feeling of being fully sheathed inside you before he started to move. “Fuck, baby… so fucking tight.” He murmurs, looking up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. You start to roll your hips, working yourself on his thick length. “That’s it—just like that… nice and slow.” Hands slide up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds and kneading the flesh as he watches your face intently. Taking in every little flicker of emotion and pleasure that crosses your features. 

He growls, feeling your pussy clench and squeeze around his pistoning length. God, even his voice is so damn hot, your mind was too drowned by how sexy he was until you felt a sharp slap on your ass, making you squeal. “Ride me harder, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock until you can’t take it anymore.” Wonwoo leans up to bite at your neck, sucking a dark hickey into your skin as he feels your movements turning more desperate and needy.

You started to bounce on his cock with increasing fervour, your ass smacking against his balls with each downward grind. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the room, spurring him on to fuck into you even harder and deeper.

Your knees tremble on either side of him, digging the sheet for support. Nails digging further into his shoulders to keep yourself upright. You knew he wouldn’t last much longer, not with the way you’re writhing and mewling so sweetly above him. Your cunt milking his cock for all it’s worth.

And it’s so fucking hot.

Wonwoo slams up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses and throbs inside your spasming cunt, throwing his head back with a loud groan rumbling from his chest at his release. You moaned out loud too, mouth hanging as you held him tight. The feeling of his release seems to trigger your own, and you feel your body stiffening beneath him as your climax crashes over you.

With one last shuddering breath, he finally pulled back, taking in your blissed-out expression with a satisfied smirk. He peppered soft kisses across your face, his touch unexpectedly tender after everything that had just happened. You could feel your heartbeat racing, matching his.

“More?” you murmured against his lips, a playful smile tugging at yours.

“Thought so.”

Without warning, he flipped you onto your back against the mattress, earning a small yelp from you followed by breathy laughter as he settled himself between your legs. Your little escapade with him continued into the night. After all, the night was still young.

How to say “I hate you" in a nice way? It’s simple. “You are the Monday of my life.” Seungkwan always bristled whenever you said that, usually while you were asking him to clean the grease. It wasn’t even his turn, which would inevitably lead to him bickering with Chan about whose turn it actually was. At this point, you might as well be your own employee at your own cafe.

But hey, you like to think you’re a good boss.

The older you get, the more you understand why roosters just scream to start the day. Back in college, you used to wake up and sit there, contemplating whether to skip class. Maybe cry a little. Your greatest joy was waking up without the crushing sense of responsibility.

Now? You’ve never felt so good. You were actually… happy.

Even your nephew had asked Chan and Seungkwan why you were in such a good mood today. You were practically glowing.

There was no denying it, that one-night stand with that ridiculously attractive man had put you in an excellent mood. It was a shame you didn’t get his contact, though. When you woke up, tangled in the soft comforter, he was already getting ready to leave. He seemed in a rush. You were far too sore and far too comfortable to chase after him. Too much hassle, you thought.

Like some kind of Cinderella, he disappeared just like that. And honestly? You didn’t think you’d ever experience sex the same way again. Not that you were mad or anything. You hate being mad. It takes you almost two and a half years to calm down. 

So for now, it was just you and your coffee beans, trying to figure out whether today was even necessary. According to the weather, though—it was bright and sunny. You greeted your customers with a warm smile (which you rarely did), and for once, everything felt… light.

Sunoo stared at you with concern as he blended the coffee beans beside you. “Did she win the lottery or something?” he whispered, leaning toward Seungkwan.

“I don’t know, kid,” Seungkwan shrugged, not even looking up as he handled the pre-orders. “She’s having one of her episodes. I’m not getting involved.” He paused, then added dryly, “It’s either her inner peace is sponsored by caffeine… or sarcasm.”

Your nephew just shrugged it off, continuing to help with the brewing. “By the way, remember when I told you I’d be having a meeting at your cafe? It’s going to be tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, packing cookies as you glanced up slightly. “Yeah, I remember. The place is spacious enough—you can come by around noon.”

“Great. Then I’ll get going… with my daily intake of coffee, as usual.” He smiled, picking up the book he had tucked under his arm.

You paused briefly. Because that cover looked painfully familiar. That was your work, your webcomic. The one that went viral back when you were in college.

“Where did you get that?” you asked, eyeing the cover before looking up at him, suspicion clear in your expression.

You were pretty sure it was old. There shouldn’t even be active copies of it anymore. You had buried that part of your life a long time ago.

“Oh, this?” he gestured casually. “My team’s working on a big project right now. It’s for a campaign we’re handling.” He took a sip from his drink, completely oblivious to your reaction.

It wasn’t like you were sweating, or panicking. 

Or internally screaming.

It was just your own damn book—the one your nephew had no idea existed. You wrote it back in college. It was stupid, honestly, and you weren’t proud of it. You literally wrote about two dudes who were roommates and… well, got very close.

Unfortunately, it went viral back then. You had no idea how it resurfaced now, and frankly, you wanted nothing to do with it.

Sunoo glanced at his phone as he headed for the door. “I’ve gotta go now. Don’t forget about tomorrow! My team and that mean senior will be there too.”

And just like that, he left. Leaving you standing there, wondering what kind of disaster was about to unfold.

...

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Collaboration Inquiry with Carrot Publication. Hi Belububbles, I hope this message finds you well. On behalf of my team, our company has previously reached out to your agency regarding a potential collaboration. We were advised to contact you directly; however, we have yet to receive a response to our emails or direct messages. As this matter is time-sensitive, I would like to request a face-to-face meeting tomorrow at our office, should you be available. Please let us know your availability by today. If we do not hear back from you we will proceed with further steps to move this discussion forward. Looking forward to hearing from you. Best regards, Going Company PR team + 82 013-xxx-xxx

You bristled the moment you read the email in your inbox. Just when you were having a perfectly good day, which is ruined. That tone alone was enough to irritate you. Sure, you did ignore unknown callers and random emails. Most of them were spam or obvious scams, and you never bothered checking unless they came through your publication agency.

Still… the audacity.

Come to think of it, Sunoo did mention that his team was dealing with a particulary demanding client. Which probably meant his “superior” had grown a second set of horns by now. You could already imagine someone breathing down his neck, especially with how much he’d been fumbling lately. Not that you could blame him, the expectations sounded ridiculous and apparently, his superior had decided to take it on anyway.

Good thing none of that had anything to do with you.

Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if one day Sunoo quit his job and showed up at your cafe asking for a position. You were short-staffed anyway, it might actually work out.

And now here you are. Standing in front of the Going Company. You had replied to their email yesterday, and they wasted no time contacting you again today. Still, you didn’t appreciate the tone—less of a request, more of a thinly veiled demand. 

You rarely made any public appearances for your work. That’s what aliases were for. Working behind the scenes, under your publication agency was exactly how you liked it. You just hoped, really hoped that you wouldn’t run into Sunoo here.

It was a big building after all. Surely, you wouldn’t. Now seated in a waiting room, you crossed your legs

Now seated in a waiting room, you crossed your legs, fingers tapping lightly against your arm. One of the staff had already ushered you in, leaving you alone as you waited for the so-called “representative.” Something about this felt off. And you had a feeling that this meeting was about to get a lot more complicated.

Did you burn your toast today? Nah. That couldn’t be it. But you did burn the cookies. Which meant Seungkwan ended up cleaning the mess after you told him you had an appointment to get to. This is exactly why you have employees. Even if you treat them more like your nieces and nephews despite being around the same age.

The door then opened. Someone had arrived, but of all people you didn’t expect him. You lifted your head lazily, bored and later froze at the sight.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He also stopped mid-step too, one hand still on the chair he was about to pull out, eyes locked on you. Then, slowly he sat down with his hands clasped and composed. Professional. Like nothing had happened. For a second, neither of you moved. 

He was dressed in a black turtleneck, lanyard hanging neatly around his neck and glasses. You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He hadn’t worn them the night you met. The two of you just stared for a moment.

Silence filled the air. Awkward and heavy.

Later, you both looked away at the same time, and he cleared his throat. God, you hoped this was just someone who looked like him.

“Belububbles, right?” he began, voice painfully familiar. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As you’ve probably realized, I’m the one who emailed you.”

Your brows furrowed. So he was the one behind that email.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo, part of the PR team. I look forward to working with you. Let’s get started.”

Well. Fuck me.

Just your luck. Your one-night stand, your very recent one-night stand was now sitting across from you, acting like a corporate robot.

You offered him a polite smile. Too polite. It didn’t reach your eyes. “Of course. Now, what is it that you’d like to discuss?”

Wonwoo clasped his hands again, diving straight into the explanation, laying out the project, the campaign, the planning. Every detail, every step. Thirty minutes later, he finally finished. He slid a contract across the table toward you. You raised a brow at that. It was all the NDA, policies and terms whatever it was. You hadn’t even agreed yet and they already prepared all this? 

Persistent. Just like his email. What kind of passive-aggressive person was this?

“I’m not going to agree to this,” you said with a sigh, placing the document back on the table. “I don’t do public appearances. I thought you already knew that. My agency always consults me first.”

“I’m aware,” he replied smoothly. “That’s why we’re only proposing pre-recorded interviews. No face reveal—just voice, with filters if necessary.”

You were listening. It is intriguing but you need a lot more convincing to do.

“We just want you to participate in our campaign event,” he continued, confidence steady. “We’re gathering artists and writers involved in the project. You’d have your own merchandise, a chance to expand your audience—”

“I don’t really care about that,” you cut in lightly. “But I do like money.”

He blinked. Clearly not expecting that.

“…Right.” He adjusted his glasses. “Then would you reconsider? I’ve read your current work—the one you’re still updating. Wouldn’t you want more people to see it?”

You leaned back slightly, thinking. “I’ve considered it. But I don’t want the kind of exposure that comes with it. People dig. I value my privacy. And I have a real-life job too. A big one.”

He exhaled slooowly, clearly trying to stay patient. “What about physical sales?” he pressed. “Printed copies. You mentioned profit—this is an opportunity to maximize that.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “I’ve had enough of that. My agency handles most of it anyway.”

Honestly, you didn’t need them. You had your own ways, holding out your own event, your own marketing. You knew what you were doing.

Wonwoo momentarily paused. Finally, he tried again. “What do you want?”

You met his gaze. He was stubborn as hell. You hadn’t even planned to negotiate. You just came here to make one thing clear. You weren’t interested at all. With a quiet exhale, you stood up. “Mr. Jeon,” you said, already reaching for your bag, “I came all the way here to inform you that I’m not interested. Also, your email? That sounded more like a threat than a request.” You turned toward the door. “Have a great day.”

“I’m trying to be nice here,” his voice cut in, sharper now, “but you’re making my job difficult.” His voice made you pause as he stood up. “You don’t want fame, money—whatever it is. People like you are always so demanding, and yet here you are—”

You turned your back slowly. His gaze locked onto yours. 

“…Though I didn’t expect it to be you,” he added, voice dropping slightly. “Not only are you a brat in bed, but apparently in general too.”

Ah.

There it was.

You smiled sweetly, stepping dangerously closer. “Why?” you tilted your head. “Was audacity on sale this year?” He scoffed quietly at that.

“Listen,” you added, voice light, “acting like a dick doesn’t make yours bigger.” you paused. “…Though, unfortunately, in your case—”

Except that he is.

His eyes narrowed, a low, sardonic chuckle slipping out. “You already know what I’m like,” he said. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

You glared at him. He didn’t back down either. The silence stretched, until you broke it with a frustrated groan.

“Yeah. I’m leaving,” you muttered, turning back to the door. Then you stopped mid-step, glancing over your shoulder. “For the record?” you added flatly, “It was good dick.” A beat.  “But it was a one-time thing. I wouldn’t survive with a dickhead personality like yours.”

You pulled the door open. “It was terrible to meet you, by the way.” 

And then you left. Leaving him standing there, rendered speechless, and completely thrown off. You refused to let anyone ruin your day. So, you naturally decided that you did it yourself.

…

Your mood stayed soured the entire day after that meeting with your stupidly, insufferable, annoying, dickhead one-night stand. Chan and Seungkwan exchanged a look the moment you walked in. They were very aware of your mood swing, and very determined not to become your next victims. It was fine, though. They were used to it.

Chan tried first. “You look extra pretty today.”

“I’m not raising your pay. Go to work.” you said flatly, not even looking up as you handled the cashier. 

“Alright,” he nodded, but lingered for a second. “I mean it, though. You’re really pretty today.”

You hummed, then lifted your head slightly. “…You know what? Hell yeah. I am pretty. Being frowny doesn’t make me ugly—it makes me extra hot pretty.”

Seungkwan and Chan exchanged another look again. Seungkwan shook his head and went back to restocking the pastries.

Ah.

Very normal. 

A little while later, Sunoo walked in with his planning team. Just like he mentioned yesterday. You flashed them a bright smile as they approached the counter. 

“These are my colleagues,” Sunoo introduced casually. “And this is my aunt. No weird comments.”

“Hello, it’s lovely to meet you all.” you greeted warmly, slipping into your customer-service persona. “Thank you for taking care of my nephew.”

They greeted you back, placing their orders before heading off to their reserved table. Then, two guys lingered. Both are a couple inches taller than Sunoo, one with a sharp jawline, the other with pale skin and mischievous grin.

The pale one  smiled a little too confidently. “Hi. You’re really beautiful. Are you single?”

You blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. “Oh—I mean… depends on the day, and fortunately today is a yes.”

Sunghoon and Jongseong  snickered, nudging each other, while Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. He hated when people did this, especially his own friends.

“Yeaahhh, we’re done here,” Sunoo cut in quickly. “Three iced americanos.” He dragged them away before they could say anything else.

You just watched them go, already ringing up the order. Just as you were about to take the next customer, a deep voice spoke.

“I’d like to pay for their order, and one iced cafe latte.” You didn’t even look up at the person.

“Okay, that would be—” as your eyes finally met with the face, and about to take his card. You immediately screamed. Like you had just seen a cockroach. Hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide in pure horror.

The entire cafe went silent. Heads turned at the scene. Seungkwan and Chan snapped their attention toward you. Wonwoo, just stood there—card still in hand, eyes slightly widened in confusion.

Meanwhile, from across the cafe, Jongseong leaned toward Sunoo and whispered. “Man, I knew Mr. Jeon could be intimidating, but I didn’t think he was that scary. Your aunt looks traumatised.”

You still didn’t move. Didn’t even blink or breathe. Seungkwan slowly walked over, glanced between you and Wonwoo. He immediately took over, seeing that you remained unmoved. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, taking the card and finishing the transaction.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at you oddly, and suspiciously. He finally turned and walked straight towards Sunoo. Your eyes followed him. And landed right on your nephew’s table. On his team. He was sitting at the centre like he owned the place. 

Oh no.

What the hell.

That was the “mean” superior he’d been talking about?

Sunoo cannot know. He absolutely cannot know about your side hustle. And definitely not about that night. Your nephew had no idea that you and his senior had met not just this morning, but very, very personally before that. He had no idea you and his senior had jumped each other like a trampoline in a hotel room.

You only stood there, frozen. Completely mortified at how insanely small the world was. You could’ve slept with anyone, but certainly not this. Not only did you sleep with him, you also argued with him like cats and dogs this morning.

Great. How amazing.

You wanted nothing more than to dig yourself a grave and lie in it. You could scream or maybe cry a little. You know that feeling when you meet someone and your heart skips a beat? Yeah. That’s arrhythmia. You could literally die from that. From the very first moment you laid your eyes upon him, you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life AVOIDING him.

Seungkwan calmly stacked cups while you crouched behind the counter like a fugitive. “You know,” he started casually, “when I used to work at a corporation, I learned a very professional way to say things.” You didn’t even look up. “I’m assuming something bad happened between you and that mean-looking guy over there,” he added, jerking his chin toward Wonwoo’s table.

“I wasn’t.” you sneered.

“It is,” he corrected immediately, like he already knew, and annoyingly, he did. “This was identified early on as a likely outcome.”

“What does that even mean?” Chan popped his head out from the back.

Seungkwan didn’t miss a beat. “It means ‘I told you’ but professionally.”

You abruptly stood up, pretending to busy yourself while sneaking a glance at their table. Wonwoo was speaking behind his laptop, the rest of the team listening intently. Right on fucking cue, his eyes met yours and stayed there. Your gaze hardened,  sending him a very clear message, close to a warning or threat. What the fuck are you doing here? Wonwoo merely tilted his head slightly toward his team and mouthed a simple, “Work.”

Oh, he was hilarious. Strangely calm too. Like he was used to handling crises like this. Before your silent rentless fuck you exchanged could continue, you saw Sunoo heading toward you. Instantly, you plastered on a smile. A little too wide.

Your nephew grabbed your arm. “What was that?” he hissed, glancing between you and his table. “Did you really have to scream in his face? I already feel like my soul leaves my body every time he looks at me—if he asks why my aunt is acting like a lunatic, I’m done for.”

You frowned, whisper-yelling back like you were negotiating something illegal. “That was a reflex. He looked too much like my ex.” You blatantly lied, as if you never do that with your nephew through the years of babysitting him.

Sunoo scoffed, grabbing a couple of water bottles. “Yeah, right. You’ve been saying that since I was six. Please don’t embarrass me. For the love of God.” And just like that, he walked back to his meeting.

You exhaled sharply. So much for easy-peasy lemon squeezy. This was more like stressy, depressy, lemon fucking zesty. Life didn’t hand you lemons. It handed you a caffeine addiction, trust issues and zero patience for dickheads like Wonwoo.

So when you noticed him heading toward the restroom, you followed after him. A moment later, he was at the sink, rinsing his hands. He turned around until he was immediately met with you slamming your hand against the tiled wall beside him. He paused, slightly caught off guard. Despite being taller than you, it seems like your anger towards him was taller.

“Did it hurt,” you said sweetly, a sharp smile on your lips, “when you fell out of someone’s asshole and into toilet water, you piece of shit?”

Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. By now, he seemed immune to it. “Not really,” he replied calmly, crossing his arms, “but I know shit when I see one.”

You groaned under your breath, pacing slightly. God, he was insufferable. “Did it have to be my cafe?” you snapped. “Seeing you this morning was already bad enough, and now you just show up here too?”

“I didn’t choose the location,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, “Though now that I think about it… I didn’t know that ray of sunshine was your nephew.” He let out a dry chuckle, stepping a little closer. “It’s ironic, really.”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet the devil everyone’s been talking about,” you shot back. “Didn’t realise it was someone that I used to suck his dick—”

You stopped yourself. Barely.

Wonwoo stiffened slightly, adjusting his glasses. Yeah, that landed. You were not sure if he was taken aback by being a worse senior colleague, or that part when you mentioned of sucking his stupid dick.

He clicked his tongue, gaze steady. “Do I look like someone who goes around flaunting his sex life? Exactly. No way in hell.” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer again, voice lowering. “If you agree to the proposal from this morning, I’ll agree to keep things… civil between us.” Then he stepped back, giving you space.

Silence fell. You studied him for a moment. However, he didn’t look like he was hiding anything. Just a straightforward goal. He gives off that impression of a guy that has no time for relationships, probably terrible at it. A stubborn, workaholic guy with a nasty temper. Possibly hates himself a little.

Not that you were one to judge. You weren’t exactly easy either. Honestly, you didn’t care about him but your nephew? That was a different story. If Sunoo found out—if he ever found out there was no doubt he’d snitch to your sister. You’ll be dead for sure. 

You exhaled slowly, reluctantly even. “...Fine,” you muttered.

Life is like a helicopter sometimes. To begin with, you don’t even know how to operate one. One could argue that you're one step closer to death than to having a stable relationship. Some people belong to the streets, but you’d like to think that you belong to the ponds because you’re just a silly goose.

At this point, you don’t think coffee even wakes you up anymore. You just like the idea of having coffee. That is, until someone had abused your apartment doorbell. At this rate, they might as well have broken it and got arrested for it. This place isn’t cheap, you paid a ridiculous amount of money to live here.

Grudgingly, you swing the door open and there he is. Wonwoo, looking completely unimpressed as he casually steps inside like he owns the place. Meanwhile, you’re standing there in your tousled hair and beluga-pattern pajamas.

“I called you multiple times. You didn’t answer,” he said, crossing his arms, eyeing your outfit. “Did you get my text and throw your phone into the Pacific Ocean?”

You let out a scoff, already walking back to your bedroom, which of course he followed. “I was busy. Why are you even here?” you muttered, flopping back onto your bed.

“Busy doing what?” he shot back dryly. “Sleeping at noon?”

“I can be in bed and still be busy,” you mumbled into your blanket. “Busy gathering my strength.”

Wonwoo stared at you incredulously. For a second, it genuinely looked like he was trying not to slam his head into the nearest wall.

“How’s the progress?” he asked instead.

You didn’t answer immediately. Just hummed in against the comforter. 

He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply then pulled— no, he freaking suddenly yanked the blanket off you. The cold air hit instantly.

“Okay—what is wrong with you, you psycho?” you snapped, sitting up and glaring at him. “First of all, get out of my room. Second, get out of my house.”

Before he could lunge forward at you, ready to claw his paw at you. Your phone buzzed, signing as you answered without even checking the caller ID.

“I’m heading to your place now,” Sunoo’s voice came through. “I don’t feel like eating cafeteria food—”

Your eyes snapped wide open. “Right now?” you blurted, panic immediately setting in. Wonwoo watched you as you scrambled out of bed, suddenly moving like a hurricane.

Oh, hell no.

Sunoo cannot see him here. Not in your apartment, your room. Just anywhere to be honest. You tried to grab clothes, then froze because this jerk was still here. “Shit—okay, you can’t be here,” you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. “My nephew is on his way.”

“What—” Before he could finish, you shoved him out of your room, but the front door unlocked.

Without thinking, you pushed Wonwoo right back into your room and slammed the door shut. Perfect timing. You turned around just as Sunoo walked in and flawlessly smiled.

“Why are you still wearing that at your age?” he said immediately, eyeing your pyjamas.

You ignored that. He walked straight to the kitchen, already opening the fridge, while you trailed behind him. Your eyes dart back toward your bedroom door every two seconds.

“You could’ve asked Seungkwan or Chan to bring you food,” you said, leaning against the counter. “Didn’t your mom give you side dishes?”

“She did,” he replied, rummaging through your fridge. “But my roommate ate everything.”

You scoffed. “Just take what you need and go.”

“Why? Do you have a special somebody over?”

Rolling your eyes, you agreed anyway, “Yes, me. I’m amazing and I enjoy my own company.”

Sunoo stared at you for a second. “...Then explain why there are men’s leather shoes at the entrance.”

You momentarily froze at that. How did you fucking forget about it?

Before he could say anything else, you snatched the container from his hands, shoved food into a bag, and pushed it into his chest.

“Okay—out,” you said, dragging him to the door.

“What about—" The door shut in his face. You exhaled in relief, leaning your forehead against the door and turned to see Wonwoo was already out of your room.

“Is he gone?” he asked, peeking out.

“Yeah. Thank God he didn’t ask more questions,” you muttered, rubbing your face. “How did you even get my address?”

“Your agency.”

You groaned, pacing around again.

“Look, I don’t hate you,” he said after a pause, “I’m just not particularly excited about your existence in my life.”

Turning to shoot another nasty glare, you start. “Put yourself in my shoes, idiot. I wouldn’t care if you got hit with—”

“I wouldn’t wear those shoes if I were you.”

You were utterly speechless at the sheer amount of cockiness this guy had. Whenever he was around, you had the overwhelming urge to claw at him like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.

“I know, why not ask yourself,” you snapped. “Is my dick big enough to match your attitude?" His brows furrowed at that. “Exactly!” You clapped once.

Aaaand just like that, you were arguing again with him. Neither of you noticed the door opening. Sunoo stepped inside and froze. His gaze moved from you then to Wonwoo. 

Back to you, then to Wonwoo again.

Wonwoo was the first to notice. You followed his gaze and stopped. There was a thick, almost heavy silence that filled the atmosphere.

“…Hate that you had to find out like this,” you said slowly.

Sunoo blinked, stepping back slowly. “…Okay,” he said carefully, already putting his shoes back on. “I didn’t know you two were… dating.”

Dating.

Dating???

He gave a small, polite bow. Probably directed to Wonwoo. “Goodbye, Mr. Jeon. I’ll see you after lunch.”

The door closed later. And you just stood there, still processing everything that happened. Your nephew now thinks you’re dating the biggest man of shit in your life. You might actually need to fake your death this time.

...

“I think I’m forgetting something.”

“Morals, probably?” Wonwoo said without even looking up from his tablet.

“No, it’s something important,” you insisted, about to rise from your seat. “I think I need to go back to the cafe before Chan sets the place on fire.”

Wonwoo’s head snapped up. “Wait—no. Sit down. We just got here… oh my God.” He dragged a hand down his face beneath his glasses. “For the love of God, can you sit still for one moment? It took almost two hours to get you here, and I already helped drop your twins off at school.”

You sat back down reluctantly. “How long is this interview going to take?”

“Depends,” he replied dryly. “If you decide to be difficult, probably more than thirty minutes, and I’ll have to work overtime.”

“I can’t do that,” you shot back. “I have to attend the twin’s family day. Their dad bailed at the last minute.”

He sighed again, looking seconds away from tearing his hair out. Mostly because you had completely missed the sarcasm.

“Nevermind. Let’s just start.”

He set the voice recorder on his phone and straightened in his chair. “First of all, thank you very much for agreeing to work with us. We’re very delighted.”

“Thank you. It’s my pleasure too,” you answered flawlessly.

“How did you decide to create such interesting characters in most of your stories?”

You thought for a moment. “I honestly didn’t think too deeply about it. I started writing back in college. I met a lot of different people, so I borrowed certain traits here and there.”

“What made you shift from writing novels to illustrating them?”

“I had a lot of free time back then, and writing gave me plenty of ideas. I knew readers enjoyed the stories too. I didn’t want to stop writing, so instead I adapted them into manhwa so readers could visualize them.”

Wonwoo typed something down before continuing. “On a different note—do you wish to publish another novel one day?”

You crossed your arms, considering it. “I don’t think so. I already have too much on my plate, and illustrating takes time. Maybe after I finish my current project, I’ll think about writing again.”

“How did you feel when you learned your first work, And They Were Roommates, rose in sales again?”

You stiffened slightly. “Uh… well, I didn’t expect it to go viral again this year. I guess I was delighted? It was unexpected, but I received a lot of positive feedback too.”

Wonwoo nodded and flipped to the next page. “This is a special question from your readers. How did you come up with so many hilarious dialogues? They found the comedy really engaging.”

“Ah.” You visibly relaxed. “At first, I never meant for it to become a comedy. I just like writing characters who are witty, so I guess readers found that funny.”

“I can see that,” he said, then continued. “Another fan question: did you base your character’s personalities on real people?”

You made a face. “Well… they’re not wrong. I’ve met my fair share of terrible people and let too many assholes into my life. Real-life suffering became entertainment.”

His eyes narrowed. “Language.”

“What? I speak nothing but the truth.”

He only shook his head. “We’re getting nowhere if you keep doing this. I’ve done some self-reflection—if you cooperate, this can end faster.”

“Oh, so you did have a talk with your dick last night?”

Wonwoo immediately paused the recording and stared at you with a long, exhausted sigh. “Can we put that aside? And no, I did not talk to my dick.”

You crossed your arms. “Fine. Next question.”

He resumed recording. “Another fan question: how did you come up with such funny dialogue and plots?”

“Actually,” you said, “I’m not that funny. I think I’m just an asshole, and people assume I’m joking. That’s how I ended up making rude characters everyone somehow loves.”

He paused the recording again. “Would it kill you to give me one normal answer?”

“What? That is my honest answer.”

“It’s not appropriate for the media.”

“Then make it appropriate. That’s literally your job.”

Yeah. The two of you were getting absolutely nowhere. 

After the interview, Wonwoo somehow found himself babysitting your niece and nephew, the twins, who were now sprinting around his office. He needed a bucket of caffeine, a fever patch, and divine intervention. Not because of the kids, because you had very clearly dumped them on him like he was a free daycare service. 

“What’chu doin’?” Wonhee asked, propping her chin on his forearm while he typed.

“Work,” he answered flatly.

“Oooo. About what?”

“Work.”

“What kind of work?” Wonjun asked this time.

“Work,” he repeated.

“I want Auntie’s cheesecake after this!” Wonhee cheered, bouncing excitedly before both twins ran circles around his desk.

God, just kill me. He was screaming internally. 

A knock came at the door. It opened to reveal Sunoo, holding finalized planning documents. Wonwoo nearly saw heaven. 

“Sunoo!” the twins yelled in unison, rushing him immediately. 

“Sorry, guys, I’m at work right now, so I can’t play,” he said, patting their head before looking back at his superior. “Yeahhhh… I actually have plans with the team after this,” Sunoo added awkwardly, already stepping backward. 

Even Sunoo knew better than to get involved. He quickly shut the door. Wonwoo turned back to his computer and resumed typing aggressively.

“Uncle Won. Uncle Won. Uncle Won,” Wonjun repeated, tugging at his sleeve.

“What?” he replied flatly, eyes still on the screen.

“I need to go potty.”

Wonwoo finally looked down. 

“Now?” The boy nodded desperately.

“If you don’t take him now, he’ll tinkle in his pants,” Wonhee informed him with complete sincerity.

Wonwoo muttered something under his breath, then immediately scooped the boy up and marched out of the office.

The entire team watched in stunned silence. From across the room, Jongseong leaned toward Sunoo. “I think you’re getting another playmate soon, dude.” 

Sunoo scoffed, scowling as he scrolled through his laptop. “Stop that. It’s not funny. I don’t care. Even if they break up, I still lose.” He pointed dramatically in each direction. “They break up—I still have to see his face at work. They stay together—I still have to see his face at work.” He slumped in defeat, “My life has no winning route.”

...

“Baby.”

Wonwoo looked at you as the twins zoomed around your cafe, clearly bothering your two staff members.

“What?” you shrugged. “You want me to call you fellow associate instead?”

He was one step away from crashing out. First, you made his work life hell. Second, you had dropped the twins off at his office not once, not twice, but three times. Wonwoo was good at his job. Great, even. Then when you walked into his life. The tragedy followed.

“Aunty! Aunty!” Wonhee bounced on her feet, reaching up. You picked her up easily. “Tomorrow I have a soccer match! Teacher Yoon said we can bring our parents!”

“But Papa said he can’t come,” Wonjun huffed, stomping lightly. “Something about work.”

Your heart softened instantly. Your brother was busy running his law firm, and even though he and his ex-wife were divorced, they were still co-parenting well. With their busy lives, complicated timing—that was all.

“Oh, alright then. I’ll go,” you said, giving in easily.

“That’s unfair—I wanna see them play!” Seungkwan popped up from behind the counter.

“Wait—count me in!” Chan added.

You rolled your eyes, setting Wonhee down and placing your hands on your hips.

“No. I need both of you to take care of the café while I’m gone. And Chan, I know you’re just using that as an excuse to slack off.”

Chan dropped the cloth dramatically onto the counter. “Aw, man.”

“Will Uncle Won come too?” Wonjun asked, clinging to Wonwoo’s leg and staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Wonwoo stiffened, his gaze flicked to you. You smiled in return, a little crooked and suspiciously sweet.

“Umm… he’s kinda busy,” you said, brushing imaginary dust off your shoulder. “He has a big adult job. He might not make it.”

Both twins immediately started whining loudly. For a second, you remembered just how insufferable they could be. The last time you babysat them, they threw a full-blown tantrum over Haribo marshmallow chocolate.

“Okay, stop,” you deadpanned, staring at Wonjun, who had dramatically sprawled onto the floor. “You don’t demand things from someone you barely know. Show some respect to your elders. And get off the floor—it’s dirty.”

“I just mopped that,” Chan added.

You ignored him.

“You and Papa always say the same thing!” Wonjun protested, sitting up. “He says, ‘respect your elders,’ but he never comes to my singing or storytelling!”

…Ouch.

“Yeah!” Wonhee chimed in. “Papa says stuff like that because he’s old and forgetful. Aunty, you’re becoming like Grandpa too.”

“Hey now,” you crossed your arms. “If anything, I’m better.”

Wonwoo nearly rolled his eyes. Wonhee suddenly turned to him, already halfway climbing into his arms. “Uncle Won, please come! I want to show you my super cool kick!”

He froze completely. He looked at her, then at you and then back at her. He said nothing. Mostly because he knew what would happen if he refused. Flashback from his office with all the screaming, he was sure people from the outside could heard that loud and clear.

You caught his eye and subtly shook your head.

Don’t. Encourage. Them.

“Aunty,” Wonjun said suddenly, frowning, “why don’t you want Uncle Won around? It’s like Mama and Papa.”

Your expression faltered. “…Hey. I’m nothing like them,” you said, quieter this time.

That one hit a little too close. You sighed, then reached out and ruffled his hair.

“Fine. We’ll see tomorrow. If we can make it.”

That was enough to make the twins lit up instantly.

From across the cafe, three figures watched the entire scene unfold like a live drama. Seungkwan leaned on the counter. Chan mirrored him. Sunoo stood between them, looking deeply troubled.

“I don’t like where this is going,” Sunoo muttered.

Seungkwan shook his head. “No, no—let them keep going. This is good.”

Sunoo turned to him slowly. “…Good?”

“Would you rather they take their frustration out on us?” Seungkwan pointed out.

Chan nodded immediately. “Fair. Also, there’s a chance our boss might raise our pay if she’s in a good mood.”

He clasped his hands together dramatically. “I will pray for that. I refuse to suffer in a cafe with emotional damage and no bonus.”

Sunoo stared at both of them. “…Yeah. That checks out.”

The exhibition was going well so far. Wonwoo liked to think all his hard work had finally paid off. Unfortunately, he had forgotten one thing.

You.

Your mere presence alone was enough to test the last thread of his patience. He just needed to keep his shit together for one day. Just this once.

“You didn’t wear your glasses today,” you remarked, openly scanning him from head to toe, and annoyingly enough, he looked devastatingly handsome. If only he kept his mouth shut. “You’ve stared enough, perhaps?” 

His head snapped toward you, brows knitting together. “It’s nine in the morning,” he hissed. “Stop fucking testing me.”

“Ah, ah,” you interrupted, waving your VIP lanyard around obnoxiously. “I’m the important guest here.”

“I should’ve thrown fertilizer at you so you could grow the hell up,” he muttered, trying very hard to remain professional.

“Oh yeah?” You scoffed. “Sometimes I wish I were an octopus so I could slap you with all eight tentacles at once.”

He already looked tired. You continued anyway.

“Actually, maybe I’d use them to peg you down so you’d finally learn how to bow your head.”

Wonwoo blinked, once then twice. He genuinely didn’t know how to respond to that. So he just stared at you in silence, expression unreadable, wondering how you always managed to hit new levels of insanity before ten in the morning.

Right on cue, another familiar figure approached.

“Hey, Wonwoo—oh.”

The man halted when his eyes landed on you. “I didn’t know you were here,” he grinned brightly. “It’s been forever.”

It was Mingyu.

You froze.

Oh, for the love of God.

“O-oh… yeah. Haha.” Your laugh sounded faker than the fake Chanel bag you once bought online. “What an… unexpected reunion.”

Mingyu had been your junior back in college. And unfortunately, very unfortunately—your old BL series was heavily inspired by him. Mostly because he never shut up about his roommate constantly invading his personal space. At the time, you were just a broke college student trying to survive. You never expected And They Were Roommates to blow up the way it did. 

People would read shit anything.

Mingyu casually slung an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo, meanwhile, looked between the two of you suspiciously. He did not like where this was going.

“I work here,” Mingyu explained cheerfully. “Different department though. Remember that roommate I used to complain about all the time?”

He pointed directly at Wonwoo. “Yeah. It’s this guy.”

Your smile twitched violently.

Oh.

Oh, this was bad.

Out of all people, the world really was disgustingly small.

“Real question is,” Mingyu continued, narrowing his eyes playfully at you, “why are you here?”

You absolutely could not tell him you were the main guest of the entire event. So instead, you smoothly covered your VIP pass with your hand and flashed a dazzling smile.

“Oh, you know…”

Before your brain could stop you, you looped your arm through Wonwoo’s.

“Just supporting my boyfriend at work.”

Mingyu’s smile dropped instantly. Wonwoo stiffened beside you.

“You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed dramatically, “for someone who treats life like a joke, I’m being serious this time.”

Mingyu looked unconvinced, very unconvinced. He glanced between the two of you like he was trying to solve a math equation with missing numbers. To him, this pairing made absolutely no sense. You, whose personality is like a hurricane, and Wonwoo—who somehow managed to be equally unbearable in a completely different flavor.

Birds of a feather really did flock together.

“…Good for you guys?” Mingyu finally said slowly. “I mean… wow. Match made in heaven.”

The way he said it sounded less like support and more like disbelief.

Before he could ask more questions, you immediately cut in.

“I’d love to continue this questionnaire, Gyu, but Wonwoo and I have somewhere to be.”

You tugged Wonwoo’s arm tighter. “Right, baby?”

“No? What are you—”

“Oh yes, you do, baby,” you cut him off sweetly, already dragging him away. “I know you can’t wait to see the twins.”

With that, you escaped while Mingyu simply stood there, watching the two of you disappear into the crowd. Hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted slightly, he frowned to himself.

How the hell did that happen? Because as far as he knew, both of you were disasters individually.

...

Here you were, sitting beside Wonwoo while watching the twins’ soccer match. Honestly, he didn’t know how he ended up tangled in all of this. Not once or twice, but somehow—every single time he crossed paths with you, his life became increasingly complicated.

At first, he told himself it was only because of the contract, mainly because of work.That staying close to you made things easier professionally. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred.

Your routines somehow became his problems too, and the worst part? He could’ve said no at any point. So why the hell was he still here?

You nudged his arm excitedly while cheering for the twins. “Take pictures,” you whispered. “They’re gonna ask for them later.”

Wonwoo blinked before adjusting the camera lens in his hands and taking several shots without complaint.

At this point, he was more involved than the twins’ actual parents.

“You could at least smile or look excited,” you sighed, finally turning to face him.

The lively noise of families and cheering echoed around the field.

“You look like a robot. What if the twins notice?”

He lowered the camera slowly and looked at you instead. He stared at you with silence, and blank-faced as always.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you need smiling lessons?”

You turned toward him properly, using your fingers to demonstrate. “Okay, look. Make your eyes curve like little shrimp—then lift your cheeks up like this—and…”

Grinning brightly, you continued, “S.M.I.L.E.”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at you, quietly. The noise around him faded into the background. The wind brushed past gently, making strands of your hair sway under the sunlight in a way that almost looked unreal.

His chest flutters at the sight. It felt oddly similar to the tiny happiness of a stray cat approaching him first, or when his favorite buldak noodles were finally restocked after disappearing for weeks.

It was small and unexpected, but enough to steal his breath away. Wonwoo immediately buried the feeling before it could settle deeper. He cleared his throat, looking away quickly and lifting the camera back toward the field.

You, completely oblivious, muttered under your breath.

“Jerk.”

Then immediately went back to loudly cheering for the twins.

...

By the time all of you arrived back at your place, Wonwoo was carrying your niece while you carried your nephew, both twins completely passed out after dinner with your parents.

At this point, he was involved way too deeply in your family functions.

What made it worse was the fact that your parents didn’t even seem surprised by his presence anymore. It was almost like they had already accepted him and had simply been waiting for the day you finally brought a man home.

Honestly, they probably saw him more often than some actual relatives. He still remembered how your mother kept asking when you were going to get married. And knowing you, of course you only gave half-assed answers.

It reminded him of Mingyu’s grandfather, whose dementia was apparently so bad that he kept asking whether his cousins had jobs.

Ten times.

And ten times, they had to admit they were still unemployed. Honestly, Wonwoo didn’t even think it was dementia anymore. The old man was probably just in disbelief that they were still jobless.

The twins were quickly settled into their room, exhausted after burning through all their energy earlier. You let out a long sigh, stretching your limbs—only to find Wonwoo sprawled across your sofa like a man who had already given up on life.

“Go sleep at your own place, dude.”

“I’m too tired to drive anymore.”

“Not on my sofa.”

His eyes cracked open immediately. 

“Let a man rest, would you?” he groaned dramatically, sinking deeper into the cushions.

“Ooookay,” you dragged out teasingly, already walking toward your room. “I was just wondering if you wanted to join me.”

You paused by the doorway and peeked back at him.

“…In my bed.”

Wonwoo sat up instantly. His interest was fully restored.

“You’re messing with me.”

“Yeah,” you answered easily. “I’m fucking with you.”

You casually started unbuttoning your blouse, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it fall carelessly onto the floor.

Wonwoo’s gaze lingered on your bare shoulders. The loose strap of your camisole slipping against your skin. The atmosphere shifted almost immediately. You disappeared into your attached bathroom, beginning to remove your makeup.

“Don’t joke around like that,” he muttered from behind you.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in.

“I survived your family all day. I deserve proper compensation.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you tossed the makeup wipe into the bin.

“Sleep outside. I’m keeping the bed to myself.”

Wonwoo groaned against your skin, lips brushing along your neck before trailing to your shoulder.

“Seducing me like this isn’t going to work,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your hip while watching him through the mirror.

“Then I’ll make it work,” he murmured.

He nipped lightly at your ear while kicking the bathroom door shut behind him.

You found yourself kissing him again. The kiss was warm and messy, arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer as both of you melted into each other like you had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

The bathroom filled with nothing but mingled breaths and quiet laughter between kisses. His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your skirt, rough palms gliding over your thighs as he pulled you impossibly closer. Like he wanted to press himself into every part of your life. 

Then, a sudden knock came.

“Aunty…”

Both of you froze instantly.

Wonjun’s sleepy voice came muffled through the door.

“I need to potty.”

You blinked, slowly turning toward Wonwoo. He stared back with the exact same exhausted disbelief.

“Just…” you struggled, trying not to laugh as his hands remained stubbornly on your waist. “Just use the guest bathroom, baby.”

“But I don’t know how.”

You nearly rolled your eyes.

Of course this was happening.

“Wonjun,” you sighed, “you’re five. You absolutely know how.”

Then came soft sniffles. Apparently being woken up from sleep was enough to trigger a minor emotional crisis.

You groaned quietly, resting your forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Wonwoo,” you hissed under your breath, “remove your dick from the situation for one second.”

He actually laughed at that before finally stepping away.

The moment you opened the bathroom door, a sleepy-looking Wonjun stood there with watery eyes and messy hair.

You sighed immediately. There went the mood.

After helping him and reminding him to wash his hands properly, you finally walked back into your room—only to find Wonwoo was already under the duvet. He was shirtless, with his eyes closed. Looking entirely too comfortable in your bed.

“Aunty,” Wonjun asked innocently, “why was Uncle Won in the bathroom with you?”

You swore you heard Wonwoo choke back a laugh.

Keeping a perfectly straight face, you gently patted Wonjun’s head.

“Uncle Won has potty problems too,” you replied smoothly. “I was helping him. Just like you.”

A muffled snort came from the bed.

“Now go back to sleep,” you added. “Aunty needs beauty sleep before she turns into a beast.”

Wonjun nodded seriously and shuffled away.

The moment the door shut, Wonwoo opened one eye.

“Potty problems?”

“Shut up.”

You changed into your pajama pants before climbing onto the bed.

Wonwoo’s hands immediately found your waist as you settled onto his lap, his thumbs tracing slowly against your sides while he looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

He kissed you again, slower this time. Somehow even worse for your sanity. His palms are kneading your ass, almost tender with his touch. You melted into him instantly, fingers tangling into his hair while he pulled you closer—

right before the bedroom door burst open again.

“AUNTY!”

You yelped in shock, shoving Wonwoo away so hard he smacked against the headboard.

Wonhee stood at the door clutching her teddy bear dramatically.

“She won’t stop crying,” Wonjun complained from beside her. “And I can’t sleep.”

You and Wonwoo stared at the twins in complete silence. Then at each other. Just like that, the rest of the night ended with all four of you cramped together in one bed.

...

The next morning came far too quickly. The entire night had left both you and Wonwoo restless and unsatisfied, but at least everyone had slept peacefully. That was until Wonwoo’s snores woke everyone up, and your nephew loudly declared that he sounded like a car engine.

After throwing together something quick for breakfast before dropping the twins off at your brother’s place, you set the plates down on the table while Wonjun sat comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap, inhaling an entire cup of instant ramen. You genuinely wondered if he even chewed those.

“Thank you for the food!” the twins chorused in unison.

Wonhee sat beside Wonwoo, already picking up her food so she could eat in front of the TV in the living room. You shook your head at the sight.

Then your eyes landed on the little boy sitting comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap.

For once, you had never been jealous of children—except maybe that one time you realised you couldn’t order a Happy Meal in your mid-thirties anymore, which you now used as an excuse to buy them for the twins.

“Wonjun, can you go eat somewhere else? There are plenty of seats around here.”

Your nephew looked up curiously, pancake stuffed halfway into his mouth. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re five. You don’t need to be babied anymore. Yesterday was one thing.”

Wonwoo didn’t seem bothered at all, still securing the boy comfortably in his arms. “Let him be. Why are you so worked up?”

“Of course I’m worked up. That was my spot before they took it over.”

Both Wonwoo and your nephew stared at you. The silence only broke when Wonhee suddenly ran over holding a handmade card.

“Look! Look!” she squealed excitedly. “I made this yesterday at school. Happy Mother’s Day!”

Your heart melted instantly as you accepted the card with a soft smile, patting her head affectionately. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you, darling.”

Wonjun immediately scrambled off Wonwoo’s lap and ran toward their room to grab his own version.

You took the opportunity immediately, settling yourself onto Wonwoo’s lap instead. A small “oof” escaped him at the sudden weight.

“Thank you, sweetheart, but I think you should give this to your mom.”

Wonhee leaned against both you and Wonwoo, shaking her head. “I made two! One for mama and one for you because teacher Yoon said Mother’s Day isn’t strictly for biological mothers. You took care of me when I was little, so you have a motherhood role too. You’re basically my mom!”

Then Wonjun returned, proudly handing over his own handmade card filled with messy scribbles and barely readable words.

The twins kissed both your cheeks before running back to the living room.

“They sure love you a lot for someone like you,” Wonwoo muttered.

“It’s a shame I can’t officially be called a mother.”

His palm slid gently against your lower abdomen as he leaned closer, voice dropping lower.

“I can change that.”

You immediately slapped his hand away. “Wow, look at you. I’m surprised kids are drawn to an asshole like you,” you replied nonchalantly while taking a bite of your pancake.

“The genes never lied then,” he murmured while squeezing your waist. “There’s a reason you ended up with me in the first place.”

You nearly choked at that, refusing to acknowledge how true it sounded.

“Did you know belugas don’t chew their food? Yeah, it reminds me of you inhaling those noodles. Who the hell eats like that?”

Wonwoo shrugged as he continued inhaling the noodles. “It tastes better this way.”

“Only a psychopath would eat like that.”

“Then tell me who the hell gets jealous over a kid sitting on my lap?”

You stared at him, and he stared right back just the same.

“I’m not jealous,” you replied a little too quickly.

“Who said it was you?” A shit-eating grin spread across his face, and you immediately wanted to slap the hell out of him.

“Anyway,” you quickly changed the topic while sipping your tea, “did I know you from somewhere? How did you and Mingyu know each other aside from being roommates?”

He thought for a moment, adjusting himself while you still sat comfortably on his lap. “We went to the same school and university. He doesn’t like sharing spaces with strangers.”

You mused at the information. “You went to the same school as me? Why did I never see you around?”

“I was in the Faculty of Business and Management. Maybe that’s why. Mingyu took architecture before changing to finance and accounting.”

You paused mid-bite and turned toward him. “Oh, I was in the Faculty of Applied Science… something like that. I guess that’s probably why I never saw you.”

“What did you major in?”

“Food science,” you answered simply.

After a brief silence, you spoke again.

“I’m surprised you and Mingyu haven’t kissed each other’s asses yet.”

“I know I’m an asshole, not an assfucker.”

You burst out laughing at that while reaching for his wallet and flipping through his ID picture and cards.

“What do you call a baby whale? A little squirt!”

“You’re not funny,” he deadpanned. “Give me that. Don’t go checking what’s inside.”

Did you listen? Of course not. When have you ever listened to anyone anyway? You barely listened to your parents, so why would you start with him?

“Knock knock,” he suddenly said.

You raised a brow but played along anyway. “Who’s there?”

“Whale,” he answered simply.

“Whale who?”

“Whale…” He paused before immediately snatching the wallet away from your hands. “That’s enough of that.”

You rolled your eyes before shamelessly eating half of the ramen that clearly belonged to him.

“I hope your entire generation experiences bad luck in every possible streak.”

He narrowed his eyes on you. “I’ll just marry you then. We’re going down together whether you like it or not.”

“Give me your card.”

“No. Use your own, you have money.”

“You said you’d marry me. I want to be spoiled,” you whined dramatically while leaning against him like an oversized cat. “I’ve had enough of being the alpha woman all year long.”

“I don’t want you using my money to buy your own diamond ring. I want to buy it for you.”

You turned your head toward him properly this time.

He looked completely serious.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I’m not being sarcastic today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”

Before you could even process that, the twins suddenly came running over excitedly. Wonhee repeatedly called your name as if you weren’t literally sitting right there.

“When can I see you become a princess one day?” she asked excitedly, twirling around while showing you a picture of a bride on her tablet.

You hated admitting it, but every year you were reminded that maybe you would never become one—though you were certainly close to becoming a witch.

Still, you smiled softly.

“Oh, maybe soon.”

The little girl gasped excitedly, eyes sparkling. “Does that mean Uncle will be your prince? And I want to stay with you the whole time when you become a princess!”

“I think he’d be more like the villain who stole the princess away rather than Prince Charming.”

“Villains are way cooler,” Wonjun added confidently.

Wonwoo merely rolled his eyes at your comments.

“Besides…” you trailed off, leaning closer until your lips brushed against his. “The evil ones are always hotter…”

You chuckled softly before kissing him, earning a smirk from Wonwoo almost immediately.

The twins loudly made gagging noises before scurrying away to continue playing around the living room. You and Wonwoo watched them go before falling back into your own little world together, spending the rest of the morning tangled up in each other before the weekend truly began.

Unfortunately, your love life never unfolded like those Prince Charming fairytales. Instead, it felt more like a ridiculous romcom sitcom filled with stupidity, arguments, and way too many unfortunate coincidences.

Unfortunately, you never met him sooner back in school. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have spent so long giving up on love.

Fortunately, though, you loved the way invisible strings worked.

It was beautiful that way. And fortunately, this piece of shit was yours forever to keep.

FIN.

a/n: omg, i'm finally free!! now i can focus on cheol's fic. it wasn't supposed to be so long, i spent the entire time writing shit in here. i tried eating noodles without chewing btw, almost left me choking to death and never again. it's always the shitty fic that everyone enjoyed, goodday apples! comments, reblogged are appreciated :)

taglist: @coupsarchive @weirdcatlover1 @gyublues @charlieshelves @joongtime @jaja-salute @tstosir @scoupscious @delusionalforjunghoseok  @neotannies @drunk-on-lemonade @chisskaa @flvr4ane @unlikelysublimekryptonite @vwintershire @ashlinxloves @choppedballoondetective @junnhuisworld @mellow-wishes @authorscurse @gyuhao365 @peachywonus @iarayara @scoupcherry94 @enchantingbarbariansublime @wonwoosleftiddie @snowywinterbear @stillthesame-me @mintletters

Every album cycle was a slow erosion. She had trained until her toes bled, stayed up writing verses that Jihoon would glance at for three seconds before saying, "It's good, but it doesn't really fit the Seventeen vibe," and practiced facial expressions in the dark.

The fans noticed, of course. The "Y/N Mistreatment" compilations on YouTube had millions of views. But the fans didn't see the worst part. The worst part was the casual, unintentional neglect from the thirteen boys she loved like family and the painful friction with the few she held closest.

The turning point had happened earlier that evening, during the final monitoring session for their upcoming comeback title track. They were all crowded around the small monitor. Hoshi was vibrating with excitement, pointing out a complex formation change in the bridge.

"Look at that transition!" Soonyoung beamed, slapping Wonwoo’s shoulder. "The diamond shape is perfect there."

Y/N had squinted at the screen. In that specific frame, she was completely eclipsed by Mingyu’s broad shoulders. If you didn't know she was in the group, you would think Seventeen was a thirteen-member act.

"Oppa," Y/N had spoken up, her voice small but clear. "During the second verse... I’m completely hidden. If I step out just half a foot to the right, the angle balances out, and I can actually be seen singing my line."

The room went quiet. Jihoon sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, we already locked the formation with the performance directors. If you shift right, you disrupt Chan’s pathing right after. It’s just three seconds."

"It’s always three seconds," she wanted to scream.

She looked desperately toward Seungcheol. As the leader, and as someone she had always leaned on when the pressure became too much, she hoped he would see her frustration. Seungcheol offered a gentle, tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Y/N-ah, Jihoon's right about the spacing," Seungcheol said, his tone dripping with that patronizing warmth he used when he was trying to manage a problem rather than solve it. "Don't get too sensitive about a quick transition. We'll look at it for the concert version, okay? Good job today, guys. Let's wrap it up."

The words stung. Sensitive. He didn't mean to be harsh, but he wasn't taking her seriously. To him, she was just the younger member making a fuss over a minor detail, completely blind to the fact that those "minor details" were erasing her entirely.

When the room finally cleared, only one person remained by the door.

Wonwoo hadn't joined the loud conversations about what to eat for dinner. He stayed back, leaning against the doorframe, his sharp eyes tracking Y/N as she sat frozen on the floor. Once the hallway quieted down, he walked back inside, his footsteps soft against the linoleum.

He sat down on the floor next to her, pulling his knees up to match her posture. He didn't offer a cliché platitude or tell her Seungcheol didn't mean it. He just slipped one of his oversized gaming hoodies out of his bag and draped it over her trembling shoulders.

"You were right about the formation," Wonwoo said quietly, his deep voice a grounding anchor in the empty room. "I watched the playback. You were hidden."

A choked sob escaped Y/N’s throat, the first crack in her armor. "Then why doesn't anyone care, Woo? Why am I always the one who has to compromise?"

Wonwoo looked at his hands, a heavy, helpless expression crossing his face. Out of everyone, Wonwoo understood the suffocating weight of wanting to disappear, but he also knew the delicate balance of the group. He hated seeing her like this, trapped in a limbo where she was technically part of a team but entirely alone.

"They care," Wonwoo murmured, stretching out a hand to gently ruffle her hair, pulling her closer so she could lean against his shoulder. "They're just blind to what they haven't experienced. Coups-hyung is stressed about the comeback, he isn't looking at the small picture. But I see you, Y/N. I always see you."

Y/N leaned heavily into his side, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. His presence was the only thing keeping her grounded, the only thread holding her to Seventeen.

But as she stared at their blurred reflection in the mirror, the terrifying truth remained. Wonwoo’s kindness was a bandage, but the wound beneath it was deep, infected by six months of silent alienation. She loved him, and she loved the small moments of comfort he gave her but she didn't know if love was enough to keep a ghost alive.

The ride back to the dorms was exactly what Y/N expected: a masterclass in unintentional exclusion.

She sat in the middle row of the second van, sandwiched between Seokmin and Seungkwan, who were aggressively debating a trendy restaurant they wanted to visit on their next day off. Their voices bounced over her head, a chaotic ping-pong match of laughter and exaggerated hand gestures.

Y/N kept her face pressed against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the passing Seoul streetlights. She had shrunk herself as much as possible, her shoulders curled inward to give the boys more room. Neither of them noticed. To them, she was just a quiet fixture of the car, a silent companion they assumed was simply tired.

When they finally arrived at the dorm, the apartment was a flurry of discarded jackets, the rustle of takeout bags, and the loud hum of the shower running.

Y/N slipped her shoes off at the entryway, carefully placing them in the corner. She began walking toward her shared bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under her covers and pretend the world didn't exist, when a voice stopped her from the living room.

"Y/N-ah, wait a second."

She turned. Seungcheol was sitting on the couch, a tablet in his lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes prominent under the harsh living room light. He gestered for her to come over.

For a split second, a flutter of hope sparked in her chest. Maybe he realized. Maybe he wanted to apologize for brushing her off in the practice room.

She walked over and sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Yes?"

"Management just sent over the finalized tracklist and the credit sheet for the digital booklet," Seungcheol said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "I noticed you submitted a few lyric drafts for the b-side track, 'Shadow.' I wanted to talk to you before the final print goes out."

Y/N’s heart did a nervous flip. She had spent three consecutive nights staying up until dawn writing those lyrics. They were raw, deeply personal lines about feeling caught between the light and the dark a desperate attempt to channel her loneliness into art.

"Did Jihoon look at them?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Seungcheol finally looked up, his expression gentle but holding that familiar, heavy layer of professional detachment. "He did. And I read them too. Look, Y/N... your writing has gotten really mature, and the metaphors are beautiful. But the theme is a bit too heavy for this album. Seventeen’s image has always been about hope and overcoming things together. These lyrics... they feel a bit too isolated. Too dark."

The spark in her chest died instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar numbness.

"Isolated," she repeated, the word tasting like ash.

"Yeah," Seungcheol said, completely missing the cracked tone in her voice as he tapped on the screen. "We decided to go with Vernon and Mingyu's verses instead. They keep the energy moving forward. I just didn't want you to be blindsided when the tracklist drops tomorrow. Don't take it personally, okay? You're still young, you have plenty of time to get your tracks on the albums later."

Don't take it personally.

You have plenty of time.

He said it so easily, like she hadn't already been in the group for years. He treated her like a trainee who was still learning the ropes, rather than a member who had poured her soul into a company that continually threw her efforts into the trash bin. He wasn't trying to hurt her he truly believed he was being a good, encouraging leader and that was what made it unbearable. He didn't see her as a peer. He saw her as a liability that needed gentle handling.

"Right," Y/N whispered, standing up from the couch before her face could betray her. "I understand. Thank you for telling me, oppa."

"Get some sleep, Y/N-ah. Big day tomorrow," Seungcheol called out, already looking back down at his tablet, effectively closing the curtain on her.

She didn't go to her room. She knew if she went inside, she would wake up her roommates with her crying. Instead, she slipped out onto the small, cramped balcony at the end of the hallway, closing the glass door behind her to shut out the noise of the apartment.

The night air was biting, cutting right through her thin clothes, but she welcomed the chill. It was better than the suffocating warmth of a home she didn't belong in.

She leaned her forearms against the railing, staring down at the empty courtyard below. Six months, she thought again. Six months of convincing herself that things would change, that the next comeback would be different, that she would finally feel like the fourteenth member instead of an asterisk at the end of a sentence.

The glass door behind her slid open with a soft click.

Y/N didn't turn around. She knew the footsteps. They were slow, deliberate, and entirely devoid of the frantic energy that characterized the rest of the house.

Wonwoo stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. He didn't say anything at first. He just stepped up to the railing next to her, handing her a warm, steaming mug of barley tea. He had changed into comfortable sweatpants, and his glasses were pushed up into his hair.

"I heard Coups talking to you," Wonwoo said softly, the steam from his mug rising between them.

Y/N took the mug, using it to warm her freezing hands, but she didn't drink. "He thinks I'm too dark for the group."

Wonwoo closed his eyes for a brief moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He had read her lyrics. He had been there in the studio when she was writing them, sitting quietly in the corner playing a game on his phone just so she wouldn't have to be alone in the dark. He knew those lyrics weren't just a creative exercise; they were a cry for help.

"He's looking at it from a producer's standpoint, Y/N. He's wrong, but... that's how his brain works right now. He's hyper-focused on the group's commercial identity."

"And what about my identity?" Y/N’s voice finally broke, a hot tear spilling over her cheek and freezing in the wind. "When do I get to be a person, Woo? When do I get to be a member of Seventeen? I’ve been here since the beginning, but if I disappeared tomorrow, the only thing the company would have to do is re-print the posters. The choreography wouldn't even change. The lines would just go to Seunkgwan or Dokyeom. Nobody would actually miss me."

Wonwoo turned completely, his back against the railing as he looked down at her. The usual calm, unbothered facade he wore for the world was completely gone, replaced by a profound, aching sorrow. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching her wrist.

"Don't say that," he said, his voice dropping an octave, thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Do you think I wouldn't notice if half my heart left this dorm? I don't care about the formations, Y/N. I don't care about the line distributions. I care about you. If you go... if you disappear into the background completely, I'm lose the only person in this house who truly understands what it feels like to want to hide."

Y/N looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. Wonwoo was holding onto her wrist tightly, as if he could physically anchor her to the group, as if he could feel the phantom thread of her presence slipping away.

She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. She wanted to tell him that she had been drafting a letter to management. She wanted to tell him that every time she looked at the Pledis building, she felt a profound sense of dread.

But looking into Wonwoo's worried eyes, she couldn't do it. He was already carrying so much. If she told him she wanted to leave, it would break the only safe haven he had in the group, too.

"I'm just tired" she lied, her voice trembling as she leaned her head against his chest.

Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, holding her so tightly it almost hurt. "I know," he whispered into the dark. "I know you are. Just hold on a little longer. Please."

Y/N closed her eyes, burying her face in his sweater. She held onto him like a drowning person, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. She loved him. She loved him enough to stay for one more day. But as the cold wind swept across the balcony, she knew that a single thread couldn't hold up a collapsing bridge forever.

The next morning arrived with the brutal, unyielding momentum of a typical comeback schedule.

By 7:00 AM, the dorm was a battleground of slamming doors and rushing feet. The managers were already waiting downstairs, their walkie-talkies buzzing with schedule updates for the day’s pre-recording. Y/N had barely slept. She had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at the ceiling, Wonwoo’s plea of "just hold on a little longer" looping in her head like a broken record.

When she walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, she ran straight into Seungcheol.

He was in full leader-mode, nursing a massive iced americano while scrolling through a tightly packed itinerary on his phone. When he saw her, his expression instantly shifted from stressed to that practiced, older-brother warmth. He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder.

"Hey. You look exhausted," Seungcheol said, his voice lowering so the passing members wouldn't overhear. "Look, about last night... I hope you aren't still down about the lyrics. I talked to Jihoon again this morning before he left for the salon. We both agree your writing is getting sharper. We definitely want to utilize you for the Japanese release later this year, okay? The market there appreciates that deeper, more melancholic vibe."

Y/N stared at his hand on her shoulder. To anyone else, this was Seungcheol being an incredible leader reassuring a younger member, offering a compromise, planning for the future. But to Y/N, it felt like a tactical pacification. He was throwing her a bone to keep her quiet, pushing her contributions months down the line and onto a foreign release where her voice could be easily compartmentalized.

"Thanks," she said, forcing a small, compliant smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I’ll look into it."

Seungcheol patted her shoulder, seemingly satisfied that the issue was resolved. "Good girl. Go get ready, the first van leaves in ten minutes."

He turned away to bark an order at Mingyu about shoes, completely missing the way Y/N’s hand shook as she twisted the cap off her water bottle. Good girl. It felt so deeply patronizing. She wasn't a pet to be patted on the head for staying in her corner. She was an adult, a professional, but in his eyes, she would always be the fourteen-member variable that needed to be managed so the real machine could run smoothly.

The broadcasting station was a chaotic maze of idols, staff, and flashing cameras. Seventeen occupied the largest waiting room, a space crammed with clothes racks, makeup stations, and a massive catering table.

As the hours dragged on between the dry rehearsal and the actual pre-recording, the group naturally fractured into their usual comfortable pockets.

The BooSeokSoon trio was in the center of the room, loudly filming a challenge video with a junior group, their laughter booming off the walls.

The Performance Unit was crowded around a single phone, analyzing a minor timing error from the morning rehearsal.

The Vocal Unit was humming lines in harmony near the back, Jihoon directing them with sharp, precise nods.

And then there was Y/N.

She sat in the far corner of the sofa, squeezed into the tight space between a rack of stage outfits and a stack of plastic storage bins. She had her noise-canceling headphones pressed tightly over her ears, though no music was playing. It was her only defense mechanism a universal sign language that meant please leave me alone, though, in reality, nobody was trying to approach her anyway.

Except for Wonwoo.

He had taken the seat right next to her. He didn't try to force her into a conversation, nor did he make a scene of comforting her. He just sat there, his thigh pressed firmly against hers in the cramped space, a silent, unyielding boundary between her and the rest of the room. He was playing a game on his phone, but every few minutes, his thumb would absentmindedly brush against the side of her knee, a rhythmic reassurance that said, I’m still here. You’re still here.

Suddenly, one of the main managers clapped his hands, cutting through the noise of the room. "Alright, Seventeen! Wardrobe check in five minutes. Fans are already entering the studio, let's get moving!"

The room erupted into movement. Members began shedding their padded coats, revealing the intricate, heavy velvet stage outfits. Y/N stood up, smoothing down her skirt, trying to shake off the heavy lethargy pulling at her limbs.

As they lined up in the hallway to walk down to the stage, Seungcheol stepped to the front of the line, his hand raised.

"Listen up," he called out, his voice commanding the absolute attention of the hallway. "This is our first music show stage for this comeback. The fans have been waiting in the cold for hours. Let’s show them exactly why we're Seventeen. Energy high, smiles bright. On three. Say the name!"

"Seventeen!" the thirteen boys shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the concrete walls, full of a fierce, collective pride.

Y/N’s voice joined them, but it felt hollow, a ghost of a sound swallowed up by their collective strength. As the line began to move forward toward the bright, blinding lights of the studio stage, she felt a sudden, terrifying wave of vertigo.

She looked ahead at the backs of their heads. She saw the perfect symmetry of their steps, the effortless way they fell into formation even while just walking down a corridor. They were a masterpiece. A flawless, thirteen-piece puzzle.

And as she stepped out onto the stage, greeted by the deafening screams of thousands of fans chanting names that barely ever included hers, the realization hit her with the force of a physical blow:

She wasn't a part of the puzzle. She was just a piece from a completely different set, desperately trying to force herself into a picture where she didn't belong.

The stage lights were blinding. They were the kind of hot, unforgiving lights that baked the sweat into your skin before you even started moving.

As the familiar, booming intro of their new title track blasted through the studio speakers, Y/N’s body reacted on pure instinct. Years of grueling, repetitive training took over. She smiled where she was supposed to smile, her eyes locking onto the flashing red light of Camera 3, her arms striking the sharp angles of the choreography with mathematical precision.

To the untrained eye, she was flawless.

But internally, she was entirely detached from her own body. During the first chorus, she was executed as part of the back-line machinery, a shadow anchoring the explosive center moves of the Performance Unit. She moved into a deep lunge behind Jun, disappearing completely from the main broadcast view.

Then came the bridge the three seconds she had pleaded with Jihoon and Seungcheol to change.

As the formation shifted, Mingyu stepped directly into his mark. His towering frame completely blocked the center line. Y/N hit her position half a beat later, standing exactly where she was ordered to stand. She sang her line a single, fleeting vocal run that was supposed to bridge the gap between Seokmin’s high note and the final dance break.

She could feel the breath leaving her lungs, could hear her own voice echoing in her in-ear monitors. But when she looked straight ahead, all she saw was the dark fabric of Mingyu’s stage jacket. The camera tracking the center completely missed her face.

A heavy, suffocating wave of humiliation washed over her, right there on live television. She was singing her heart out to the back of a teammate’s head.

"Cut! Great job, Seventeen! That’s a wrap for the pre-recording!" The stage director’s voice boomed through the PA system.

The studio erupted into cheers. The fans in the seating area went wild, screaming the members' names, waving their lightsticks in a sea of rose quartz and serenity. The boys immediately bowed, waving back, sweating and breathless but radiant with adrenaline.

"Thank you guys for waiting in the cold!" Hoshi shouted into his mic, doing a little dance that made the crowd scream louder.

"Eat a good lunch, Caratdeul!" Seungkwan added, throwing finger hearts.

Y/N stood near the edge of the stage. She bowed politely to the staff and the audience, her lips curved into a stiff, generic celebrity smile. She felt like an imposter. They were cheering for Seventeen. They were cheering for the thirteen boys who embodied the spirit of the group. Her presence was just an asterisk a footnote the fandom had learned to tolerate over the years.

As they walked off the stage and into the dim, frantic chaos of the backstage corridors, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving behind a bone-deep, crushing exhaustion.

"Y/N-ah."

She felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. She turned to see Wonwoo walking beside her, wiping his forehead with a small towel. His eyes were scanning her face, filled with a quiet, intense scrutiny that made her want to hide. He had witnessed the bridge blocking from his own position on the left wing.

"You did well," Wonwoo murmured, his voice low enough to be buried under the loud chatter of the passing staff. "Your vocals were the cleanest they've been all week."

"Thanks," she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "It doesn't really matter if no one can see who's singing it, though."

Wonwoo opened his mouth to reply, a deep line forming between his brows, but he was cut off before the words could leave his throat.

"Hey, Y/N! Wonwoo! Hurry up, we’re doing a quick group photo for the official Twitter!" a manager yelled from the end of the hallway, waving them toward a designated Pledis backdrop.

The group was already assembling. The shorter members were in the front, kneeling or crouching, while the taller members formed a protective wall behind them. It was a well-practiced routine.

"Y/N, go over to the right side next to Dino," Seungcheol directed quickly, his eyes darting between the staff member holding the camera and the time on his watch. He was already thinking about their next interview schedule. "Hurry, we only have two minutes before the next group needs the hallway."

Y/N stepped into the spot. Because of the tight space and the hurried nature of the shoot, she was pushed to the absolute edge of the frame. She felt Chan’s arm press against hers as he struck a playful pose, entirely immersed in the energy of the moment.

"Three, two, one Say the name!" the photographer called out.

The camera flashed.

Y/N smiled. It was the same smile she had practiced thousands of times in the mirror. It was perfect. It was empty.

Twenty minutes later, the waiting room was a blur of packing. The members were changing back into their comfortable clothes, eager to get into the vans and head to the next broadcasting station for a radio interview.

Y/N stepped out of the makeshift dressing room, now wearing her own oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt. She needed a moment of absolute silence. Her head was pounding, the bass of their own song still vibrating in her ears.

She walked down the quiet, institutional hallway of the broadcasting station, heading toward the vending machines at the far end where she knew the staff rarely traveled.

As she rounded the corner, she saw Seungcheol standing by the window, speaking quietly into his phone. His voice carried in the empty corridor.

"Yeah, I saw the rough cut of the stage monitoring," Seungcheol was saying, his tone serious, his leader voice fully active. "I know. I know her blocking in the bridge is an issue. But look, we can't change it now. The choreography is locked for the entire promotion cycle. Shifting the camera angles manually during the live broadcast is too risky."

Y/N froze, her hand hovering over the brick wall. Her heart stopped.

"I tried talking to her about it," Seungcheol continued, sighing heavily as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. "She’s just... she's taking it too personally lately. She's getting sensitive about her screen time and her lyrics. I get it, she's young, but she needs to understand the bigger picture. Seventeen functions because the machine works as a whole. If we start changing entire formations just to make sure one person gets three seconds of face-time, the whole balance throws off. I just need her to hold out until the repackage album."

He paused, listening to the person on the other end of the line likely a performance director or a high-ranking manager.

"No, she won't cause trouble," Seungcheol said, his voice dropping into a confident, dismissive tone that shattered the final, lingering fragment of Y/N’s heart. "Y/N is a good kid. She complains a bit, but she always does what she's told in the end. I’ll handle her."

He hung up a moment later, pocketing his phone and walking back toward the waiting room, entirely unaware that the "good kid" was standing less than ten feet away, hidden in the shadow of the vending machines.

Y/N slid down the wall, her knees hitting the cold linoleum floor.

I'll handle her.

She always does what she's told in the end.

To Seungcheol, her pain wasn't a crisis. It wasn't a cry for help from a sister who was drowning. It was a scheduling conflict. It was a minor logistical inconvenience that could be managed with a few sweet words and a promise of future opportunities that would never actually come.

She didn't cry this time. The tears had finally run dry, replaced by a terrifying, hollow clarity. The six months of agonizing hesitation, the lists of pros and cons, the desperate midnight prayers for things to get better they all evaporated into nothingness.

She wasn't a member of Seventeen. She was a liability they kept in the corner because it was too expensive to break the contract early.

Slowly, Y/N stood up. Her legs were shaking, but her hands were entirely steady. She reached into her pocket, pulling out her personal phone. She didn't open the notes app this time. She opened her contacts, scrolling past the names of the thirteen boys she had spent her teenage years with, until she found the direct number for Pledis's legal department a number she had saved months ago but never had the courage to call.

She looked back down the hallway, toward the loud, vibrant waiting room where Seventeen was currently laughing, completely whole without her.

Y/N’s finger hovered over the dial button, her chest heaving as she stared at the stark, clinical contact name: Pledis Legal Team 2. Every instinct in her body was screaming at her to just press it, to spark the fire that would finally burn down this beautiful, suffocating cage.

"Y/N-ah?"

The voice was soft, slicing through the ringing in her ears like a quiet blade.

Y/N flinched, her thumb jerking away from the screen as she quickly locked her phone and shoved it behind her back. She turned around to see Jeonghan standing at the mouth of the corridor.

He had already changed out of his stage attire, wearing a loose knit sweater that swallowed his frame, his hair a little messy from the frantic wardrobe changes. He was holding a half-empty bottle of vitamin water. To anyone else, Jeonghan looked like his usual relaxed, slightly mischievous self but his eyes were entirely focused on her.

Jeonghan was the observer of Seventeen. While Seungcheol managed the logistics and the pressure from management, Jeonghan was the one who quietly mapped the emotional currents of the room. He noticed when someone’s smile didn't reach their eyes. He noticed when a voice was a fraction of a octave too quiet.

And right now, looking at Y/N huddled against the vending machines, he saw right through the wall she had spent months building.

"What are you doing all the way back here?" Jeonghan asked, stepping into the dim corridor. His footsteps were light, making no sound against the linoleum. "The managers are already counting heads for the second van. Mingyu’s looking for his lost wallet again, so we have about a three-minute grace period."

He joked, but his voice lacked its usual teasing edge. He stopped a few feet away from her, his sharp eyes dropping to her hands, which were still trembling behind her back, clutching her phone like a lifeline.

"I just needed some air," Y/N said, her voice sounding desperately small even to her own ears. She tried to offer him one of her standard, compliant smiles. "The waiting room was getting a little loud. My head hurts."

Jeonghan didn't buy it for a second. He tilted his head, his gaze softening into something deeply paternal, yet terrifyingly perceptive. He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he could reach out and gently touch her arm.

"Y/N-ah," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, comforting register he used when someone was genuinely breaking down. "Look at me."

She didn't want to. She knew that if she looked into Jeonghan’s eyes, the dam would break. Wonwoo’s quiet solidarity was comforting, but Jeonghan’s empathy was dangerous it had a way of pulling the truth out of you before you could stop it.

"I'm fine, oppa, really-"

"You're not fine," Jeonghan interrupted softly, his thumb gently rubbing a soothing circle against the fabric of her sleeve. "You've been hovering at the edge of the room all day. During the stage, during the monitoring, even when we were taking the group photo... you looked like you were already a million miles away. What's wrong? Is it your lines again? Did Jihoon say something?"

The mention of the music of the very thing that was systematically erasing her made something inside Y/N snap. The exhaustion of the past six months, topped by the crushing weight of Seungcheol's phone call just moments prior, suddenly felt too heavy to carry in silence.

"It's not just the lines, Jeonghan-oppa," she whispered, her lower lip trembling as she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed, angry tears. "It’s everything. It’s the fact that I’m standing right here, and none of you can see me."

Jeonghan blinked, a shadow of genuine confusion and hurt crossing his features. "What do you mean we don't see you? Y/N, we're always together. We're a family."

"Are we?" Y/N asked, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping her lips. She finally pulled her phone out from behind her back, holding it tightly against her chest. "Family members don't get hidden behind the tallest person in the group during their only three seconds of a song. Family members don't get told their feelings are just 'sensitivity' because they want to be seen. Coups doesn't think of a family member as a kid he just needs to 'handle' so the machine keeps running smoothly."

Jeonghan froze. The color drained slightly from his face as the pieces connected in his brilliant, calculating mind. He looked down the empty hallway, toward the direction Seungcheol had walked just minutes ago, and then back at Y/N’s tear-stained face.

"You heard him," Jeonghan realized, his voice dropping into a horrified whisper.

"I hear everything," Y/N whispered back, the first tear finally spilling over her lashes, hot and angry. "Because nobody thinks to lock the door or speak quietly when they're talking about the fourteenth member. To everyone else, I'm just a mistake Pledis made years ago that you all have to carry around like extra baggage. I’ve spent six months trying to convince myself that if I just worked harder, if I just wrote better lyrics, if I just kept my mouth shut, you would finally look at me like a real member. But I’m tired. I’m so, so tired of being a ghost."

Jeonghan stood completely paralyzed. For all his cleverness, for all his ability to smooth over conflicts within the group, he was entirely unequipped for the sheer depth of the despair staring back at him. He looked at Y/N the girl who had joined them when she was practically a child, who had quietly swallowed every piece of online hate, every unfair line cut, every back-row choreography assignment with a polite bow and a silent nod.

He had known she was unhappy. He had known she felt left out from time to time. But he had never realized that while they were busy celebrating their massive success, climbing higher and higher up the mountain, they had left her at the base, entirely alone in the dark.

"Y/N-ah..." Jeonghan reached out, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed both of her shoulders, pulling her forward until her forehead rested against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his hand in the back of her hair, desperately trying to shield her from the cold corridor. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Coups didn't mean it like that... he's just stressed, he's stupid when he's under pressure, you know how he gets. But that's no excuse. We failed you. I failed you."

Y/N didn't hug him back this time. Her arms stayed limp at her sides, her forehead resting heavily against his sweater. The comfort felt nice, but it felt too late. It felt like a band-aid on an amputation.

"Don't leave us," Jeonghan murmured into her hair, his voice cracking with a rare, raw vulnerability. He had felt the distance growing between her and the group for months, but he had assumed it was just a phase, a side effect of growing up. Now, feeling the absolute stillness of her body in his arms, a cold dread began to pool in his stomach. "Please, Y/N. Talk to us. Talk to me. We can fix this. I'll talk to Jihoon myself. I'll make them change the formations for the next music show, I swear. Just don't shut us out."

Y/N slowly pulled back, gently but firmly breaking his grip on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her eyes completely devoid of the fire that used to define her. There was only a vast, empty ocean of exhaustion.

"You can't fix a puzzle piece that doesn't belong in the box, oppa," she said softly, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

Before Jeonghan could reply, the loud, booming sound of Mingyu’s voice echoed from around the corner. "Hey! I found my wallet! It was in Coups-hyung's bag the whole time!"

"Everyone into the vans! Moving out now!" a manager's voice bellowed through the hallway.

Y/N took a step backward, away from Jeonghan, away from the warmth of his embrace. She gave him one final, tiny nod a gesture of profound respect for the brother who had actually bothered to look for her before turning around and walking toward the loud, chaotic energy of the lobby.

Jeonghan stayed rooted to the spot, the empty bottle of vitamin water slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull clatter. As he watched her small figure disappear around the corner, a terrifying truth settled deep in his bones:

Seventeen wasn't thirteen plus one. They were thirteen, and they were about to lose the only girl who had ever tried to love them through the silence.

The second van was loud, a stark contrast to the heavy silence left behind in the corridor. Y/N sat by the window again, staring at the blurred neon signs of Seoul. Jeonghan had tried to catch her eye before boarding, but she had purposely slipped into the back row behind the vocal team. She couldn't face his pity, and she certainly couldn't face his promises.

By the time they reached the next broadcasting station for a late-night radio appearance, the atmosphere had shifted into a dull, post-schedule haze. There was a three-hour gap before their live broadcast slot, leaving the members scattered around a secondary, dimly lit dressing room.

In the corner of the room, a ring light flickered to life.

"Is it connected?" Dino asked, squinting at an iPhone mounted on a tripod.

"Yeah, the notifications are going out now," Minghao replied, adjusting the collar of his denim jacket. He sat cross-legged on a low couch, looking effortlessly chic. "Look, the viewer count is already jumping."

Jun slid into the frame next to Minghao, waving enthusiastically at the lens with both hands. "Hi, Carats! We’re backstage waiting for the radio show!"

Wonwoo sat on the arm of the couch just behind Minghao. He had his glasses back on, his expression relaxed but quiet. His eyes wandered around the room for a split second, tracking the corner where Y/N had tucked herself away with her manager's padded coat over her legs. He caught her eye, giving her a small, questioning tilt of his head. Are you okay?

Y/N just offered a tiny, weak nod and looked down at her lap. She didn't want to ruin his mood.

"We decided to turn on a live because it’s been a while since the four of us did one together," Dino explained to the camera, reading the fast-scrolling comments. "Everyone is asking if we ate dinner. Yes, we had rice bowls in the dressing room earlier."

The Instagram Live was a massive hit. Within five minutes, over three hundred thousand fans were watching. The four boys fell into a comfortable, easy rhythm the kind of effortless chemistry that made fans fall in love with them.

Jun was reading funny comments and doing dramatic poses. Minghao was giving philosophical advice to a fan stressed about exams. Dino was passionately explaining a specific detail in the new choreography. Wonwoo chuckled softly at their antics, occasionally leaning in to deliver a dry, witty one-liner that made the comment section erupt in keysmashes.

They were a cohesive unit. A brotherhood.

Y/N watched them from the dark corner of the room. The glow from the phone screen illuminated their faces, making them look like a self-contained universe. She felt a familiar, hollow ache in her chest. She was in the exact same room, sitting less than ten feet away, but she might as well have been on Mars.

"Oh, someone asked what the other members are doing," Jun said, scanning the screen. "Coups-hyung and Jeonghan-hyung are talking to the managers in the hallway. The vocal unit is sleeping on the other couch."

He completely skipped over her.

It wasn't intentional. Jun’s eyes had just skimmed the room, seeing the sleeping vocal team and omitting the quiet girl sitting perfectly still in the shadows. But the omission hit Y/N like a physical blow. Even when they were actively listing the group, her name didn't naturally surface. She was a ghost in their peripheral vision.

Wonwoo’s smile faded slightly. He glanced over his shoulder toward Y/N’s corner, then looked directly at the camera. "Y/N is here too," he said, his deep voice cutting through Dino and Jun's overlapping chatter. "She's sitting right over there. She worked really hard during the pre-recording today."

The comment section immediately flooded with messages.

“Y/N-ah!!! Show your face!” “We miss our 14th member!” “Is Y/N okay? She looked hidden during the stage today.”

"Y/N-ah, come say hi!" Dino called out warmly, gesturing toward the empty space next to him on the floor.

Minghao turned his head, his sharp eyes searching the dim corner. Unlike the others, Minghao was incredibly sensitive to energy. He had noticed her heavy, suffocating aura all day. "Come here, Y/N. Sit with us for a bit," he encouraged gently.

Y/N felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Every fiber of her being wanted to refuse, to stay hidden in the dark where it was safe. But the phone was live. Thousands of eyes were watching. If she refused, the fans would instantly sense the tension, creating a massive wave of rumors and speculation that Seungcheol would have to "handle" later.

Slowly, she stood up, letting the padded coat slide off her lap. She walked over to the ring light, her feet feeling like lead.

She forced a bright, idol-grade smile onto her face and crouched down next to Dino, squeezing into the edge of the phone's vertical frame. "Hi, Carats," she said, waving small at the camera. "I'm here."

"Look, Y/N is matching with Wonwoo-hyung today, both wearing black hoodies," Jun pointed out, trying to create a fun talking point for the fans.

The comments were moving at lightning speed. Y/N’s eyes accidentally locked onto a string of rapidly appearing messages.

user7739: Why is she forcing herself into the frame? The four boys had such good chemistry before she walked over. svt_carat_17: Honestly, the formation looks so crowded now. She doesn't really fit the vibe of this unit live. solofun: Did you guys see the music show today? She was completely blocked lol. Even the directors know she's extra.

The words blurred together, burning into her retinas. It was nothing she hadn't read a thousand times before over the last six years, but tonight, her armor was completely gone. The comments felt like physical needles piercing through her skin.

"Y/N-ah," Wonwoo's voice sounded right above her ear. He had shifted closer, his hand coming down to rest firmly on her shoulder, a subtle shield against the invisible eyes of the internet. "Are you cold? Your hands are shaking."

"I'm fine, oppa," she whispered into the microphone, her voice tight.

Minghao was watching her face closely. He saw the subtle twitch in her jaw, the way her eyes darted away from the screen, and the absolute lack of life in her smile. He recognized that look. It was the look of someone who was completely drowning while standing in a room full of people.

Minghao quietly reached past Dino and gently tapped the screen, purposely shifting the focus of the live. "Ah, someone is asking about the choreography for the b-side. Dino, show them the hand movement you were working on."

Dino eagerly took the cue, leaning into the camera to demonstrate the intricate finger-tutting. Jun joined in, laughing as he tried to mimic the younger boy's speed.

Under the cover of their loud laughter, Minghao leaned forward, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for her. "Y/N-ah. If you're tired, go rest. You don't have to stay here."

Y/N looked at Minghao. His expression was fierce, protective, and deeply sad. He knew. He didn't know the specifics, he didn't know about her drafted resignation or Seungcheol's phone call, but he knew her soul was breaking.

"Thank you, Hao," she whispered.

Slowly, carefully, Y/N slipped out of the camera's view. She moved so quietly that the scrolling comments barely registered her departure, the fans quickly returning to their adoration of the four boys.

As she walked back to her dark corner, she felt Wonwoo’s eyes heavy on her back. She sat down, pulling the heavy manager’s coat back over her head, completely shutting out the light of the room.

The broadcast continued behind her. Laughter, jokes, and the bright, happy sounds of a successful idol group filled the air. They were radiant. They were perfect. And as Y/N pulled her phone out one last time in the dark, her thumb didn't hesitate.

She pressed the dial button on the contact for Pledis Legal Team 2.

The phone began to ring, a low, steady hum against her ear. She closed her eyes, listening to the laughter of her members in the background, knowing that this was the beginning of the end.

The phone against her ear let out a third heavy, mechanical ring. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Hello, this is the Pledis Legal Department Entertainment Team 2-"

Before the voice on the other end could finish the greeting, a slender, ring-adorned hand reached into the darkness of her corner and firmly pressed the red end-call button on her screen.

Y/N gasped, her head snapping up. Minghao was standing over her.

He had slipped away from the Instagram Live while Dino and Jun were distracted doing a comedic dance battle for the viewers. The bright ring light was still casting long, sharp shadows across the room, but here in the corner, Minghao’s face was obscured by the dim lighting. His breathing was shallow, his shoulders tense beneath his denim jacket.

Without a word, he grabbed her wrist gently, but with an unyielding grip and pulled her up from the chair. He guided her past the sleeping vocal unit, opened the heavy soundproof door of the empty back storage room, and ushered her inside, letting the door click shut behind them.

The storage room smelled of cardboard, unused stage props, and stale air.

"What were you doing?" Minghao demanded, his voice a sharp, whispered hiss. His usual calm, meditative demeanor was completely gone, replaced by a raw, burning frustration. "Y/N. Answer me. Who were you calling just now?"

Y/N pulled her wrist out of his grip, stepping back until her spine hit a stack of plastic equipment crates. The sheer exhaustion of the last six months suddenly curdled into a defensive, bitter anger.

"It’s none of your business," she said, her voice trembling but cold. "Go back to the live. Carats are probably wondering where their cool, philosophical performance member went."

"Don't do that. Don't use that tone with me," Minghao said, stepping closer. His eyes snapped with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I’ve been watching you for months, Y/N. You think you're being subtle? You think nobody notices the way you look at the company building? The way you look at us? You were calling legal. I saw the screen."

"So what if I was?" Y/N yelled back, though she kept her voice low enough not to pierce through the soundproof door. Tears of pure frustration finally blurred her vision. "What does it matter to you anyway?"

"What does it matter?" Minghao’s voice cracked, a rare slip in his pristine composure. He took a deep breath, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "We are a team. We are supposed to be fourteen. If you have an issue with the management, if you're upset about the stage blocking which was incredibly unfair, I know you come to us! You talk to Coups-hyung. You talk to the performance team. You don't secretly call the legal department in the dark like an outsider!"

"Because I am an outsider!"

The words ripped from her throat, raw and bleeding. The confession hung in the cramped space of the storage room, heavy and suffocating.

Minghao flinched as if he’d been physically struck.

"I am an outsider, Minghao," she repeated, the tears finally cascading down her cheeks, hot and uncontainable. "You tell me to talk to the team? I tried! I spoke up today during monitoring. I begged them to let me shift just half a foot so the camera could see me sing my three seconds. And what did Coups do? He brushed me off. He told me I was being too sensitive. And then I heard him on the phone in the hallway telling a manager that I’m a 'good kid' who will 'do what she's told in the end. "

Minghao opened his mouth to defend the leader, but the words died in his throat. A deep, troubled frown marred his forehead.

"He doesn't see me as a member," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking completely. "None of you do. When Jun listed the members on the live just now, he forgot I was even in the room. It’s not his fault it’s because I’m invisible. I’ve spent six months waking up every single morning feeling like a ghost in my own life. I write lyrics, and they’re 'too dark.' I practice until my knees swell, and I get put behind Mingyu’s back. If I stay here, there will be nothing left of me."

Minghao stared at her, the anger slowly draining out of him, leaving behind a profound, devastating sorrow. He had moved across an entire ocean from China to Korea to pursue his dream; he knew what isolation felt like. He knew the crushing weight of feeling misunderstood. But he had always had his brothers to lean on. He hadn't realized that for Y/N, the brothers were the source of the isolation.

"Y/N-ah..." he started, his voice dropping into a soft, aching murmur as he stepped closer. "We love you. Hoshi hyung loves you, Joshua Hyung loves you, Wonwoo Hyung loves you. I-"

"Love isn't enough to make me exist, oppa," Y/N interrupted, looking down at her hands. "I don't want to fight with you. I love you guys so much it hurts. That’s why I have to leave. Because if I stay, I’m going to end up hating you, and I don't want to hate my family."

Minghao stood in the center of the cramped storage room, the harsh fluorescent light casting a shadow over his face. He wanted to argue, to bar the door, to promise her that he would change the world for her tomorrow. But looking at the hollow, absolute defeat in her eyes, he realized the most terrifying thing of all:

He didn't have a single argument left to save her.

The heavy silence of the room pressed in on them, thick with the weight of things left unsaid. Outside the door, the faint, muffled sound of Dino’s laughter from the Instagram Live served as a cruel reminder of the world they were temporarily detached from.

Minghao closed his eyes, a single, sharp breath escaping his lips. When he opened them, the defensive anger was entirely gone, replaced by a hollow defeat that looked completely wrong on his usually sharp, composed face.

"Six months," he whispered, the number sounding foreign and heavy on his tongue. "You’ve been carrying this alone for six months."

"I wasn't trying to hurt anyone," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned her head back against the cold equipment crate. "I just... I kept waiting for a sign. A reason to believe that if I just held out a little longer, the gap would close. But every time we take a step forward as a group, I feel like I'm being pushed two steps back into the dark."

Minghao stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking until he was standing right in front of her. He didn't reach out to grab her wrist this time. Instead, he slowly raised his hands, hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently placing them on her shoulders. His touch was grounding, a stark contrast to the volatile argument they had just survived.

"If you press that button," Minghao said, his voice dropping into a register so serious it made her skin prickle, "if you let that legal team answer... there is no going back, Y/N. The company won't protect you anymore. The articles will come out. The solo stans, the antis... they will tear you apart online, and we won't be allowed to speak up for you. Do you understand what kind of hell you're walking into alone?"

"I'm already in hell, Hao," she replied, looking straight into his eyes, her gaze unflinching despite the tears still wet on her cheeks. "At least that hell has an exit sign."

A muscle in Minghao’s jaw twitched. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. He wanted to claim that the thirteen of them would form a wall around her and protect her from the company, from the cameras, from the erasure. But he knew how the industry worked. He knew that even Choi Seungcheol, with all his fierce protective instincts as a leader, was ultimately bound by contracts and boardrooms.

"Does Wonwoo-hyung know?" Minghao asked quietly.

Y/N’s eyes dipped, her composure cracking slightly at the mention of the one person who had consistently tried to pull her out of the shadows. "He knows I'm tired. He doesn't know about the phone call."

"You need to tell him," Minghao insisted, his grip on her shoulders tightening just a fraction. "You can't do this to him, Y/N. Out of all of us, he... he watches you. He stays up in the studios just to make sure you aren't leaving the building alone at night. If you just disappear into a legal battle without warning him, it will break him."

Y/N swallowed down the lump in her throat, the guilt finally creeping in, cold and sharp. "I know. I'm scared, oppa. If I tell him, he’ll try to stop me. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to him."

Before Minghao could answer, the door to the storage room clicked open.

The bright light from the hallway flooded into the cramped space, throwing their silhouettes against the back wall. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, holding his phone in one hand. His eyes darted between Minghao’s hands on her shoulders and the tear tracks on Y/N’s face. The live had clearly ended, and the calm, unbothered expression he usually wore was entirely missing.

"The manager is calling for us," Wonwoo said, his deep voice carrying a strange, tight undertone. He didn't ask what they were doing. He didn't ask why Y/N had been crying. He just stood there, his sharp eyes locking onto Y/N’s phone, which she was still clutching tightly in her hand. "The radio staff needs us in the studio for the mic check in two minutes."

Minghao slowly let his hands drop from Y/N’s shoulders. He didn't look at Wonwoo as he stepped past him, but as he reached the threshold of the door, he paused, keeping his back turned to both of them.

"Don't make your decision in the dark, Y/N-ah," Minghao said quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the concrete hallway before he walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

The storage room returned to a heavy, suffocating silence.

Wonwoo didn't enter the room. He just held the door open, his tall frame blocking the exit, his eyes fixed on her. He looked older under the harsh hallway lights, the shadows under his cheekbones prominent.

"You left the live," Wonwoo said softly. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of fact.

"The comments were... I just needed a second to breathe," Y/N lied, her voice lacking any real conviction. She tried to step past him, but Wonwoo didn't move. He remained an unyielding barrier in the doorway.

"Minghao doesn't yell unless something is seriously wrong," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes dropping to her phone again. "And you don't look at me like that unless you're keeping a secret."

Y/N froze, her heart stopping. "Like what?"

"Like you're already gone," Wonwoo whispered, a devastating crack breaking through his calm facade. He reached out, his long fingers gently capturing her hand the one holding the phoneand pulled it up between them. "Tell me the truth, Y/N. Please.

The raw vulnerability in Wonwoo’s voice was a physical weight, dropping between them in the cramped storage room. His hand was a warm, firm band around her wrist, but it was trembling just a tiny, microscopic fracture in his usual stoic armor that told her he was absolutely terrified of what she was about to say.

Y/N stared down at their joined hands. The screen of her phone was still dark, but beneath her palm, she could feel the faint warmth of the battery. It felt like a ticking time bomb.

"Woo..." Her voice was barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatened to shatter if she put any weight behind it.

"Don't lie to me," Wonwoo interrupted softly, his thumb shifting to press against the pulse point on her wrist. Her heart was racing, and they both knew it. "You promised me on the balcony that you were just tired. But Minghao looked like he’d seen a ghost, and you... you look like you’re trying to say something bad."

He gently pried her fingers away from the phone casing, turning the screen toward himself. Y/N didn't have the strength to hide it anymore. She let her hand go limp, allowing him to lift the device.

The screen woke up automatically, displaying the recent call log. At the very top, marked with a red arrow indicating an uncompleted, cut-off call, was the direct extension for Pledis Legal Team 2.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Wonwoo’s eyes locked onto the text. For a long, agonizing moment, he didn't move. He didn't blink. The breath seemed to leave his body completely, his broad shoulders dropping as the brutal reality of that single contact name crashed into him. He knew exactly what Team 2 handled. They weren't the team that managed copyright or social media compliance. They were the team that handled contract liquidations and member exits.

When he finally looked back up at her, the expression in his eyes broke what was left of Y/N’s heart. There was no anger, no confusion—just a profound, bleeding grief, as if he were watching something precious slip through his fingers into a bottomless canyon.

"Six months," he murmured, his voice dropping into a hollow, gravelly register. "When you said on the balcony that nobody would miss you... you weren't just venting. You were preparing."

"I can't survive here, Wonwoo," Y/N whispered, the tears finally breaking through again, tracking hot down her cold face. She didn't call him oppa this time; she spoke to him as a peer, as the only person who had ever truly tried to share her burden. "I’ve tried. You know I’ve tried. Every single day I wake up and I tell myself to just be grateful, to just push through it because I’m part of a top-tier group. But I’m not part of it. I’m just... I’m an extra on your stage."

Wonwoo let go of her wrist, but he didn't step back. Instead, he took the phone from her hand, turning it off completely, and slid it into his own pocket.

"Oppa, give it back," she pleaded, reaching out half-heartedly, but he gently caught her hands in his, holding them securely against his chest.

"No," Wonwoo said, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let anyone see. "Not like this. You don't get to slide out the back door in the middle of a radio schedule because Coups said something stupid and the internet is cruel. If you're going to leave, Y/N... if you're really going to break my heart and walk away from us, you don't do it in a dark storage room while the rest of the members are waiting down the hall."

"What do you want me to do?" she cried out, a small, choked sound escaping her lips. "Stay until the repackage? Let them erase me for another three months? Listen to Coups-hyung tell managers how easy I am to handle? I can't do it. Every time I hear our music now, I feel like I'm suffocating."

Wonwoo closed his eyes, leaning his forehead down until it gently rested against hers. The proximity was overwhelming, filled with the scent of his familiar, comforting fabric softener and the shared, desperate warmth of their breath.

"I don't want you to suffer," he whispered against her skin, his voice trembling violently now. "God, Y/N, if I could give you my lines, if I could give you my position on the stage just so you could feel the light, I would do it in a heartbeat. You know I would. But don't do this alone. Don't let them handle this through a clinical legal meeting where they turn you into a statistic."

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his hands sliding up to cup her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears.

"We have the radio show now," Wonwoo said, his gaze intense, grounding, and completely unyielding. "We have to go out there and we have to do our jobs. But the moment we get back to the dorm tonight... we are calling a meeting. All fourteen of us. You are going to look Coups in the eye, and you are going to tell him exactly what he did. You are going to make them see you, Y/N. Even if it’s the last thing you do as a member of this group, you are going to make them look at the hole they're leaving in Seventeen."

Y/N stared at him, her chest heaving as she swallowed the bitter flavor of his words. He wasn't asking her to stay anymore. He loved her enough to realize that staying was killing her. But he was refusing to let her vanish quietly into the night like she didn't matter. He wanted her to fight, to force the group to acknowledge the consequence of their casual negligence.

Before she could answer, the door behind Wonwoo knocked loudly, and the voice of a senior manager cut through the heavy air.

"Wonwoo! Y/N! What is taking so long? The PD is screaming for the mic check! Get out here now!"

Wonwoo didn't break eye contact. He kept his hands on her cheeks for one more second, a silent, binding contract between the two of them.

"Tonight," he whispered. "We do this together tonight. Okay?"

Y/N let out a long, trembling breath, her head nodding almost imperceptibly against his hands. "Okay."

He let her go, stepping back into the hallway and pulling his mask up over his face, instantly sliding back into the quiet, professional idol persona the world demanded of him. Y/N smoothed down her oversized sweater, wiped her eyes one last time in the dim light of the storage room, and followed him out into the corridor stepping toward the final, crushing climax of a six-month storm.

The two-hour live radio broadcast was a blur of plastic headphones, artificial cheer, and the distinct, bitter taste of adrenaline.

Y/N sat at the very edge of the long, curved table. The radio PD had assigned the seating quickly: the vocal unit took the center mics because they were doing a live acoustic performance of a ballad, and the leader line sat near the host to drive the conversation. Y/N was handed a microphone that shared a channel split with Dino.

Every time the host asked a sweeping question "How does it feel to achieve a perfect all-kill on the charts within twenty-four hours?"Y/N watched Seungcheol’s face light up as he spoke passionately about their shared vision, about the "thirteen brothers" who poured their souls into the tracks.

He didn't mean to say thirteen. It was a muscle-memory slip, a generic phrase he used in foreign interviews where explaining a fourteenth, non-traditional member took too much time. But tonight, with Wonwoo’s heavy, dark gaze fixed on the table and Minghao’s absolute silence from the back row, the word thirteen sounded like a gunshot in the small studio.

Y/N kept her hand on her lap, her fingers digging into the fabric of her sweatpants to keep from shaking. Beside her, Wonwoo’s foot was hooked firmly around the leg of her stool. A quiet, physical anchor.

The ride back to the dorms was different this time.

Usually, the ride after a late-night schedule was filled with the low hum of phones playing TikToks or the soft snoring of the performance unit. But tonight, a suffocating tension had leaked into the vehicle.

Wonwoo had explicitly demanded to ride in the first van with Y/N, swapping spots with a confused Seokmin. Minghao had quietly taken the front passenger seat, his eyes fixed firmly on the dark highway ahead, refusing to engage in any of the manager's casual small talk.

When the heavy doors of the two vans finally slid open in the basement parking lot of their apartment complex, nobody scrambled for the elevator.

"Coups-hyung," Wonwoo called out, his deep voice slicing through the quiet rumble of the parking garage.

Seungcheol paused, his hand on the elevator button. He looked back, his brow furrowed in exhaustion. "Yeah, Wonwoo? Let’s get upstairs quickly, the third van’s managers need to lock the garage."

"We need a full group meeting. Right now. In the main living room," Wonwoo said. It wasn't a request. The tone was completely flat, devoid of the respectful deference he usually gave the leader.

The remaining members stopped mid-stride. Jun, who had been laughing at something on his phone, slowly lowered his device. Jeonghan, standing just behind Seungcheol, met Wonwoo’s eyes and instantly went rigid. He looked at Y/N, who was standing a half-step behind Wonwoo, her eyes red-rimmed and staring at the concrete floor.

"Wonwoo-ah, it’s past 2:00 AM," Seungcheol said, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "We have a pre-recording at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Whatever it is, can it wait until the morning corporate briefing?"

"No," Minghao spoke up from the front, turning around to face the leader. His sharp eyes were cold. "It can't wait. Every single member needs to be in that room. Change out of your coats, but don't go to sleep."

Seungcheol looked between Wonwoo, Minghao, and the silent, shrinking figure of Y/N. The sheer weight of the atmosphere finally registered. His irritation morphed into a heavy, defensive caution.

"Fine," Seungcheol muttered, turning back to the elevator. "Upstairs. Main dorm."

Twenty minutes later, the main living room of Seventeen’s primary dorm felt like a courtroom.

The space was usually cluttered and lively, but tonight, the thirteen boys had distributed themselves along the sofas and the floor in a tense, fragmented semi-circle.

The Vocal Unit sat together on the long couch, their expressions a mix of confusion and building anxiety.

Hoshi and Chan were on the floor, their backs against the wall, sensing the absolute gravity of the performance team’s silence.

Jeonghan stood near the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed entirely on Seungcheol.

Y/N sat on a single wooden chair that Mingyu had quietly moved from the dining table for her. Wonwoo stood directly behind her, his hand resting firmly on the backrest of her chair, an invisible shield. Minghao stood to her left, his arms crossed, his face an unreadable mask of stone.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the coffee table, directly facing her. He had taken off his makeup, and without the stage styling, he looked incredibly tired, his shoulders slightly slumped.

"Alright," Seungcheol started, rubbing his palms together. "We're all here. Wonwoo, Hao... you brought everyone down here. What's going on that’s so urgent it couldn't wait six hours?"

Jihoon sighed softly, leaning back. "If this is about the line distribution or the stage blocking adjustments again, we really should have the performance directors present-"

"Jihoon," Wonwoo cut him off, his voice dropping into a dangerous, warning growl that instantly silenced the room. "Shut up and listen."

Jihoon blinked, stunned by the rare aggression from the normally passive rapper.

Wonwoo reached into his pocket and pulled out Y/N’s phone. He didn't unlock it. He just placed it gently on the glass coffee table between Seungcheol and Y/N, the black screen reflecting the harsh ceiling lights.

"Y/N was trying to make a phone call backstage at the radio show," Wonwoo said, his voice echoing in the dead quiet of the room. "She was calling Legal Team 2 to initiate the termination of her contract."

The words dropped like an explosive charge.

Seungkwan let out a sharp, audible gasp, his hand instantly flying to his mouth. Seokmin’s eyes widened in sheer horror, his head snapping toward Y/N as if expecting her to laugh and say it was a joke. Chan stood up slightly from his position on the floor, his face completely pale.

"What?" Seungcheol’s voice was a ragged whisper. He looked at the phone on the table, then up at Y/N, his leader instincts instantly clashing with a sudden, violent wave of panic. "Y/N-ah... what is he talking about? Contract termination? Why would you... we just started the comeback. Why would you do that behind our backs?"

"Because she didn't think she had a front to face you with," Minghao countered sharply, his voice dripping with an uncharacteristic venom. "Tell him, Y/N. Tell him what you heard in the hallway today."

Y/N looked up. Every single eye in the room was fixed on her some filled with horror, some with confusion, some with a deep, dawning guilt. For six months, she had lived in fear of this exact moment. She had thought that showing her wounds would make her look weak, that complaining would make her a burden.

But looking at Wonwoo's steady hand on her chair, she found the final, desperate scrap of her courage.

"I was standing by the vending machines after the pre-recording today, Coups-hyung," Y/N said, her voice trembling but clear. "You were on the phone with management. I heard you tell them that I was getting too 'sensitive' about my lines and my screen time. You told them I was a 'good kid' who would 'do what she's told in the end' and that you would 'handle' me."

Seungcheol froze. The color completely drained from his face, his mouth opening slightly as the memory of his casual, logistical phone call came roaring back to hit him in the chest.

"Y/N-ah..." Seungcheol stammered, his confident leader persona completely evaporating. "That... I was talking to the performance coordinators. I was trying to explain to them that we couldn't change the broadcast angles on short notice without risking Chan's center transition. I didn't mean-"

"I know what you meant," Y/N interrupted, a single, cold tear escaping her eye. "You meant that my three seconds aren't worth the trouble of re-arranging the machine. And you're right. Economically, logistically, you're entirely right. The thirteen of you are a masterpiece. But what you don't understand is that I’ve been hiding behind Mingyu’s shoulders for three comebacks in a row. I spent three nights writing lyrics for Shadow, and you told me I was 'too dark' for Seventeen's hopeful image. You told me I have 'plenty of time' because I'm young."

She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on each of them.

"I don't have time," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’ve been thinking about leaving for six months. Every morning I wake up in this dorm, I have to check the mirror to make sure I still exist. Jun oppa forgot I was even in the room during the live tonight. And it’s not his fault. It’s because I have become a ghost in this group. You don't see me when the music stops. You just handle me when I become a problem."

The room devolved into a devastating, heavy silence.

Seungkwan was openly crying now, his head buried in his knees. Hoshi looked like he had been physically beaten, his eyes staring at the floor in profound shock. Jihoon sat frozen, his hands clutched tightly together, the realization that his professional rejections had been slow-acting poison to his younger sister visibly shattering him.

Seungcheol looked completely broken. He reached out a hand toward her across the table, his fingers trembling. "Y/N... I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry. I didn't... I didn't see it. I thought I was protecting the group, I thought I was keeping things stable for everyone. I never wanted you to feel like baggage."

"But I do," Y/N said softly, standing up from the chair. Wonwoo's hand dropped from the backrest, but he stayed right beside her, his presence a silent wall of support. "I love you guys. I love Seventeen. But I can't stay in a family where I have to beg to be seen."

She looked down at her phone on the table. She didn't pick it up.

"I promised Wonwoo I would look you all in the eye and tell you the truth before I made my choice," she said, looking at the thirteen boys who had been her entire life. "I’ve told you. Now, please... let me breathe."

Turning on her heel, Y/N walked down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, leaving the thirteen members of Seventeen sitting in the wreckage of their own silence, finally forced to look at the massive, aching void they had built around her.

The heavy wooden door of her shared bedroom clicked shut, instantly dampening the collective, suffocating grief echoing from the living room.

Y/N didn't turn on the lights. She didn't want to see the posters on the wall, the stacked albums on the shelves, or the neat row of matching group merchandise that served as a constant reminder of the life she was tearing herself away from. She walked straight to her bed and collapsed onto the mattress, burying her face in a plush pillow to muffle the violent, heavy sobs that finally ripped from her chest.

The confrontation had drained the last bit of adrenaline from her system, leaving her entirely hollow. She had done it. She had forced them to see her wounds. But the relief she expected didn't come there was only a deep, aching soreness.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, throwing a narrow sliver of light across the linoleum floor.

The footsteps were soft, familiar, and entirely unhurried. The mattress dipped significantly under a familiar weight as Wonwoo sat down beside her. He didn't try to pull her into his arms right away, nor did he offer words of comfort. He just sat there in the dark, a quiet, protective sentinel, letting the steady sound of his breathing anchor her in the middle of her storm.

Slowly, Y/N shifted, rolling over onto her back to stare at the dark ceiling. Her face was sticky with tears, her throat burning.

"They're still out there, aren't they?" she whispered, her voice incredibly raw.

"Yeah," Wonwoo murmured, his eyes adjusting to the shadows. He was leaning back against her headboard, his long legs stretched out over the blankets. "Coups is sitting on the floor. I think it’s the first time in six years I’ve seen him completely speechless. Seungkwan and Dokyeom are a mess. Jihoon... Jihoon went straight to his room and locked the door. I think he’s rewriting the booklet credits."

A bitter, exhausted sigh escaped her lips. "It doesn't matter anymore. A rewritten credit sheet won't fix the last six years."

"I know," Wonwoo said softly. He turned his head to look down at her, his expression filled with a tenderness that cut through the darkness. He reached out, his cool, long fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her damp forehead. "I didn't bring you out there to make them change the album, Y/N. I brought you out there because you deserved to leave that room carrying your dignity, not slipping away like a thief in the night."

Y/N looked up at him. Without his glasses now, his sharp eyes looked vulnerable, brimming with an unshed, heavy sorrow. "Are you mad at me? For actually going through with it?"

Wonwoo’s hand paused on the side of her face, his thumb gently resting against her cheekbone. A long, painful pause stretched between them.

"I am selfish," Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping into a ragged, quiet whisper that vibrated with absolute honesty. "When I saw that legal contact on your phone... my first instinct was to delete it. To hide your phone. To lock you in this room and beg you to give us one more comeback, one more year. Because the thought of walking into that practice room tomorrow and not seeing you sitting in the corner... it feels like losing a piece of my own lungs, Y/N."

A fresh tear slipped from the corner of her eye, catching the dim light. "Oppa..."

"But then I looked at you," he continued, his thumb tracing the path of her tear, his voice cracking slightly. "I looked at how small you've been making yourself just so the thirteen of us could take up space. I remembered the balcony. I remembered how cold your hands were. And I realized that if I force you to stay here just so I don't have to miss you, I'm no better than the company. I'm no better than the people who hid you in the back row."

He slowly shifted, sliding down the headboard until he was lying on his side next to her, pulling her small frame tightly against his chest. Y/N didn't resist. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, her fingers clutching the thick fabric of his black hoodie as if she were hanging off the edge of a cliff.

Wonwoo wrapped his broad arms around her, holding her with a fierce, desperate tightness, burying his face in her hair. He was shaking now the stoic, unbothered rapper completely falling apart in the quiet dark of her room.

"I’m going to miss you so much," he whispered against her hair, his chest heaving as a quiet sob finally escaped him. "God, Y/N. Who am I going to sit with during the lives? Who is going to understand when I just want the room to be quiet? You’re the only one who never expected me to be 'Seventeen's Wonwoo' all the time. You just let me be me."

"You'll have Vernon," Y/N cried softly, her tears soaking into his collarbone. "You'll have the boys. They love you, Woo. They just... they forgot how to look down."

"It won't be the same," he murmured, tightening his grip, burying her even deeper into his warmth. "A fourteen-piece puzzle with a missing center is just a broken picture."

They lay there for hours as the clock ticked toward 4:00 AM. They didn't talk about the legal meetings that would inevitably start the next day. They didn't talk about the statements Pledis would release, or the chaos that would erupt when the fandom realized the fourteenth member was gone.

For tonight, in the quiet sanctuary of the dark bedroom, they were just two tired people holding onto each other before the universe pulled them down different paths. Y/N closed her eyes, listening to the steady, heavy beat of Wonwoo’s heart. It was the only rhythm she had ever truly belonged to.

“She clearly said no. Multiple times.” The deep voice booms from behind you, and it feels hauntingly familiar. Your entire body freezes, and you cannot bring yourself to turn around, petrified of the face that awaits you.

You are suddenly more terrified of a mere voice than a drunk stranger forcing you to go home with him. It’s because this voice comes with so many memories; memories that haunt you every day, and you shove them down only for them to spring back up when you are alone in your bed at night. 

The man comes to stand next to you, peering at your face in the low lights of the bar. “Are you okay?”

You had a couple of drinks, so in the back of your mind, you were praying that your tipsiness had you mistaken. That hope is crushed when you look up at him, your eyes locking with his. The man’s face changes, recognition setting in, and almost instinctively, he takes a step back.

“Seungcheol.” You whisper, uttering the name you have not dared to whisper in almost five years.

— 

5 YEARS AGO

“I think that it is best that we break up.” You announce, your voice louder than usual, so that he can hear you through the pouring rain. Your boyfriend stands in front of you, soaked to his bones, and it takes all of your self-control not to extend the umbrella over his head and usher him inside your shabby little dorm.

No, you need to be cruel tonight.

“I don’t understand,” he pleads, his eyes frantically searching for yours. “What did I do wrong?”

You love me. You love me too much, Seungcheol.

“I don’t like you anymore. You are so...burdensome.” You hiss, trying your level best to keep your voice steady. “You know I am going abroad to get my degree. This won’t work anyway.” You grip the handle of the umbrella tightly with both hands, directing all your energy at the flimsy plastic.

“You are joking, right?” He whispers, but you hear him. You vividly see the desperation in his eyes despite the darkness of the night, and you wish he knew how much worse you feel.

Gathering all your resolve, you take a step back. “Delete my number, Seungcheol. Don’t contact me again. I thought I owed you this much. Goodbye.”

You don’t stop, you don’t look back. You don’t know how he looked as he watched you leave, and you are thankful for that. You could not bear to see him in any more pain. More than that, you are glad he cannot see you, your crumbling facade as big droplets of tears rolled down your cheeks.

— 

The bouncer escorts the drunk creep away after Mingyu, Seungcheol’s friend—once upon a time, your friend too—explained the situation.

You and Seungcheol are yet to speak to each other, quietly watching the yelling man get escorted outside.

You should leave. 

Your feet are frozen, however, and you are not sure what the best way is to get out of here. Should you just run outside and not look back? Or should you strike up a conversation before leaving?

“Well, look who it is.” Seungcheol decides to speak finally. With every passing second, his lips curve into something sharper than a smile, his eyes laced with venom and delight.

Yeah, this is not going to end well. Then again, what did you expect?

“Hi.” You whisper, looking away. The less you speak, the better.

Seconds pass. He keeps staring at you like a hawk before bursting into a belly laugh of mockery. “Really? Hi? That’s all you have to say after so many years?”

“I think I should leave.” You state, your voice firmer. Avoiding his eyes, you step past him to get your purse from the stool, ready to dash for the door. 

“You haven’t changed, have you?” He asks, his voice deep and grave, stopping you in your tracks. “Always the coward. Running away. Go on, run away, little sheep. That's the only thing you can do.”

You turn your head to look at him. His eyes flash with hatred and mischief, his cruel smirk turning into a nasty, predatory grin, laced with tipsiness as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

He is drunk. He is picking a fight with you. You need to leave.

Mingyu comes at his side, making sure he does not lose his balance. His friend’s eyes meet yours, apologetic, nonverbally telling you to just leave for the better. You turn away with determined steps.

“For fucks sake!” His voice booms, garnering attention from others. You are once again forced to look at him. His droopy stature and the haziness in his eyes tell you he is drunk, and you know drunk Seungcheol very well. That is when he becomes his most stubborn self.

“The least you can do is thank me!” He yells, his body leaning forward as Mingyu struggles to stabilize him. “Hyung, please.” He whispers, getting him to stand upright. From somewhere, a woman comes rushing, immediately putting her hands on Seungcheol to check on him. Blond hair, tall, thin, and pretty—you get the message.

With one last look at Seungcheol, you walk out of the bar. 

— 

On Monday morning, your supervisor, Daisy, steps into the office a little late, but she has that smile plastered on her face that tells you good news awaits. 

Looks like she has finally secured the deal.

Last week, she announced that the company has a chance of taking on a very big client, and judging by the look on her face right now, you can tell that the client is secured. On any other day, you would be brimming with excitement to know who this VIP client is finally, but after the happenings of Saturday night, a perpetual gloom has overtaken you.

You should not have gone for a drink that night.

The memories of Seungcheol still linger, stitched to your skin and carved in your mind, leaving you restless ever since. One thought leads to another, and before you know it, your mind is occupied by the thought of him only. It is a vicious cycle.

It is not fair. Why did you have to bump into him out of all the people in the world? And why did it have to be a bar thousands of miles away from home? What was he even doing there? Should he not be back home in Seoul? He has a business to run after all.

From beside you, Seungkwan, your co-worker pipes up, “What has got you smiling like that this morning, boss?”

Daisy laughs. “Our client is on the way, folks. Meeting room in five minutes.” She points at you, Seungkwan, and Yoona. “You three are on the team with me.”

“I see you are still keeping the suspense.” Yoona pouts. 

“You bet,” she winks, sitting down at her desk. You smile, watching your coworker’s reaction as you gather your notebook, pens and other necessary documents before heading to the meeting room.

As Seungkwan sets up the projector, Daisy takes a seat opposite you on the meeting table, keeping the head chair empty.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asks, setting down her tablet, her gaze narrowed at you. “Normally, you would be the most enthusiastic. Is everything okay?”

You sit up straighter and clear your throat. “Yeah…I just did not have a good night’s sleep.” You reply. She does not seem convinced, but decides not to push you further.

Five minutes later, Choi Seungcheol walks into the meeting room.

—

The project is a market expansion campaign.

Choi Industries is now looking to enter the European market, and to get the job done, it seems they found your marketing firm to be the perfect ally. This is your worst nightmare—no, something worse than your worst nightmare. What cruel ploy of fate would lead to this, you and he working together in a foreign land?

The meeting is tedious and painfully slow.

You do your best not to make eye contact with Seungcheol or even look in his direction. Of course, that does not mean you do not feel his eyes on you, and you know for a fact he is plotting ways to get to you. The first blow comes as the meeting rolls to an end. Seungcheol directs the words towards Daisy. “Did you know that Miss ___ and I went to the same high school?”

“Really?” Your boss regards you with surprise. Suddenly, all the eyes in the room are on you. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your pleading gaze directed at Seungcheol. He continues, “We were really close friends. Really close.”

You feel faint. Under your breath, you mumble, “Not that close, really.”

Daisy is happy. “Well, that makes this project much more fun. I’m sure we will all work together well and make this a successful campaign!”

Seungkwan and Yoona nod, sharing their agreement, while you sit with your head low, praying that this is all just a very, very bad dream. Your boss calls your name, prompting you to snap your head up. “I have another meeting now. Why don’t you see Seungcheol to his car?”

What?

“Me?” You blink, terrified. Your eyes meet his for a brief second, and judging by the look in them, you know he was waiting for an opportunity like this. An opportunity to devour you whole and spit out the bones.

“Yes, you,” Daisy repeats. With a hard swallow, you nod, quietly trailing behind Seungcheol towards the VIP elevator. The moment the doors close and the metal box starts descending, you feel your stomach drop.

He turns to look at you, eyes shining dangerously. “What a coincidence, huh?”

You stand mute, pressed against the elevator wall, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

“This is going to be so much fun,” he hums, a smirk taking over his lips as he steps closer to you. Slowly. One step after the other. The air thins, and your nostrils fill up with the smell of his cologne. It seems faintly familiar, a mixture of bergamot and citrus. It is distracting and alluring. It becomes increasingly difficult to find your words and then—

A hand snakes around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. Then, his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is brutal. It almost feels like a punishment, hard and merciless, but also addictive. His body pressed against yours, his hands in your hair as he devours your mouth like it is his last meal. You give in to the desire, meeting his tongue with yours, equally wanton until your brain finally snaps back to reality, and the logical part of your brain starts to go back online. With a harsh grip on his chest, you push him away, panting for air. “Shit. We…we should not have done that. You—you have a girlfriend.”

You cringe at yourself. Really, that's the first reason you give?

Seungcheol’s thick brows knot into confusion. “I saw the woman that day in the bar. The blonde,” You wipe your lips as you explain. Yep, your lipstick is smudged, and you probably look like a clown. 

Seungcheol smirks. “Look at you all worried. She’s a fling. I don’t do girlfriends. Not after what you did to me.” The look in his eyes shifts, and you have to take in a deep, shuddering breath to find your voice back. “Anyway, we are working together now, and that—that was highly unprofessional.”

“Don’t look at me like that.. Like it was only me.” He licks his lips, taking a step closer to you. “You were practically eating me up like a touch-starved whore.” His eyes darken as his lips form a flat, thin line. “It was a one-time thing. Don’t expect that to happen again.”

The elevator doors open with a soft ding, and he marches away without wasting another breath, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded. You stand rooted in your place, infuriated at his audacity but the sear of his kiss leaves behind a maddening tingle on your lips.

— 

As the week goes by, the project starts to take its baby steps, and you are thankful that Seungcheol does not drop by again. His secretary shows up throughout the week for updates and monitoring, letting you work in peace with your colleagues. 

You cannot imagine seeing him again after kissing him in the elevator. And the audacity of that man! Telling you not to expect it again, as if he did not initiate the kiss, and acting like you were begging him for it!

Ultimately, that kiss has earned Seungcheol a permanent space in your head; thoughts of him following you around all day and all night like a shadow. You find yourself zoned out or daydreaming, every now and then, during lunch or a tea break, earning suspicious looks from your coworkers.

The more excuses you give, the more suspicious they get. You have worked with them for a while, and they know something is up with you. Thankfully, none of them has figured anything out yet. But the way Seungcheol has been behaving, you doubt it will take them long to connect the dots.

—

On Friday, you are the last one to leave the office. As you pack up your belongings, ready to get home, Daisy calls you.

“Hey, I just received your mail for the moodboard. It looks great. I think we can go ahead with it.”

“Lovely,” you stifle a yawn as you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Are you still in the office? Seungkwan said you would be working late.”

“Yes…why?”

“Please do me a favour and get a copy to Seungcheol right away. Get his approval tonight so that we can get started from next week,” Daisy announces. You still, your fingers tightening around your phone. 

“Wait, why do we need his approval?”

“Come on, ___. You have seen how sensitive he is. He has a reputation for being nitpicky; it runs in the family. I’m sure he won’t say no. It’s just a formality. I know it’s late, but he lives nearby. I will give you the address. I would have done it myself, but I am an hour away.”

A dejected sigh escapes your lips as you pinch the bridge of your nose, dreading approaching Seungcheol with the storyboard. “I don’t think I can do this.” You whisper to yourself. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Daisy asks from the other end. “Normally, you are so confident in your work, ___. What's going on?"

“I guess I am just tired.”

“You can have a nice, long break after this project,” she assures.

“Right. Thanks.” You mumble.

— 

It is almost 9 in the evening when you reach the mansion that Seungcheol is staying at. You don’t know if it is his family property or if he is renting it, but either way, it screams luxury. A butler receives you at the front door, guiding you down the long, warmly lit and polished corridor, tints of gold, brown and cream surrounding the space. 

You are led to a small living area next to a library, and as you step in, you find Seungcheol bent over the pool table, his eyes razor sharp as he takes a shot. Next to him stands Mingyu with a cue stick in one hand and a glass of whiskey in another. As the balls scatter across the table, he sighs, “Looks like you are winning this one, Choi.”

Seungcheol smirks, reaching for his own glass of whiskey, gulping it down all at once. You are frozen in your spot, your eyes transfixed on the uninterrupted view of his flexing biceps thanks to the tank top he is wearing. 

Suddenly, your throat is dry and you have forgotten what you came here for. Damn it, you should have taken the butler’s offer of having something to drink.

Mingyu is the first one to spot you, snapping you back to reality. “___?” He calls, his voice somewhat confused.

“Hi,” you give him an awkward smile as Seungcheol turns around. His face falls, a frown forming in his brows as his eyes land on you. You continue, worried that you would stumble over your words, “I needed Seungcheol’s approval for the ad storyboard.”

“Great. You guys chat. I’ll get you something to drink. What do you want?”

The strongest of whiskey would not be enough right now. “Tea would be lovely,” you smile at him. With a nod, the taller man steps away, leaving you and Seungcheol alone in the room. Instantly, the place is shrouded with a thick blanket of tension, eerily quiet and suffocating.

Seungcheol gazes at you for a few seconds before going back to his game, ignoring you like you are not standing right there. “I’m busy,” he announces.

Oh god.

“I understand. It’ll only take five minutes.”

He rolls his eyes with a huff, marches over to you to snatch the file out of your hands and roughly flips the pages. Not even ten seconds later, he tosses the file on the coffee table and resumes his game. “Yeah, this won’t work.”

He has to be kidding right now.

“Seungcheol, please. The least you can do is be a tad bit serious about this. It is for your company.” You plead, unamusedly watching him focus on aiming at the cue ball on the pool table. He takes the shot and, after a satisfied hum, says, “I know. And I am very serious about this. Which is why I am telling you, it needs to be redone.”

“No, it does not, Seungcheol. You did not even take a good look at it.”

“Or maybe you are not that good at your job as you think you are.” He hums casually. “I’m sure it is a hard pill for you to swallow, since you are so used to being the best since high school. Best student, best debater—oh, I heard you won the employee of the month last month. Congratulations for that, by the way, but it looks like the same won’t happen this month.”

His words burn. They are like ice picks on your skin and you know he knows. He is deliberately hitting you where it hurts.

You never had much in life. Your academic accomplishments have been your everything, and you have carried that dedicated, hardworking mindset to your workplace. So far, the response has been good, and more than that, you don’t need anyone to tell you how good you are at your job.

You know you are.

“You are being unprofessional, you know?” You decide to be civil, placing the files on the nearby coffee table. “You’re bringing up old things that are not related to this project. I’m afraid I need to remind you to keep your personal and professional life separate.”

His body freezes. You see his jaws clench as he stares at a fixed spot on the wall for a few beats. Then, a moment later, he is standing right in front of you with the pool stick in his hand, his burning gaze set on your face.

He is so close you can smell his cologne, and instinctively you take a step back, only for him to take a step closer. “Listen to me very carefully, ___. I fucking loathe you. I cannot look at you—hell, think about you for a second without remembering what you did to me. So I don’t care if I am being unprofessional right now. In fact, I want to be. When I saw you at the meeting on the first day, you know what the first thought I had was?”

You look away, your heart racing in your chest. It is too much—his proximity, his words, his gaze. Your mind starts short-circuiting, and the air feels too thick to breathe.

“Look at me.” He hisses. “I wanted to kick you out of the team right away. I wanted to make a scene and announce that I would not work with your company if you were on the team. But then, you know what I realized? Keeping you on the team would be so much more fun. I could ruin your life bit by bit and see you suffer.”

Tears of infuriation brim in your eyes. 

“Remember how you called me a burden?” he whispers, chuckling menacingly. “I will show you how burdensome I can really be. News flash, ___. I am your client now, not your stupid boyfriend, and you have no choice but to do as I say.”

Dropping the cue stick on the ground with a loud thud that makes you jolt, Seungcheol walks past you. You clutch your chest with one hand, trying to breathe in large gulps of air. It takes a moment for you to notice Mingyu standing at the doorway with a cup of tea in his hand, looking helpless and apologetic.

Blinking back the tears, you force a smile at him. “I will get going now.” Your hands reach for the files on the coffee table, your fingers numb and shaky.

In silence, you head for the front door. 

—

In the end, your proposal gets the green light after Daisy approaches Seungcheol the next day. After some minor changes, you get to work with Seungkwan and Yoona, thankful that you don’t have to deal with Seungcheol again.

Later that week, you have a private chat with Daisy, informing her that you and Seungcheol parted in not-so-amicable terms after high school. You try to share as little information as possible, and thankfully, she understands your predicament. She assures that you won’t have to deal with him directly from now on, and you breathe a sigh of relief. That's the end of that.

The month rolls by. The project continues to take shape. You see Seungcheol very few times, and whenever you do, your interaction stays limited to curt greetings and professional politeness. Over time, you have gotten very good at pretending that he does not affect you. Putting the mask on has been easy, and when you are in the office, busy with the project and seeing your work come to life first-hand, your past with him almost seems insignificant. 

Because it is the past. You don’t have the luxury to let yourself slip while thinking about the good old days. Seungcheol can do that, but not you. Surviving in a foreign country by yourself has been a challenge, and thankfully, you have managed to remind yourself what truly matters.

Seungcheol will leave once the project is over. You will go back to your life and he to his. That's how it has to be.

— 

Seungcheol is treating everyone to dinner tonight, as a celebration for the successful wrap-up of the campaign. You, Daisy, Seungkwan, and Yoona from your firm and Seungcheol’s secretary, and two other employees from his end. At first, you did not want to join them, but when you heard that it is one of the finest restaurants in town with a stellar menu, paid for with his black card, you decided not to go would be a huge loss. After all, you have been working like a dog for this project behind the scenes, with barely any recognition, and this is a perfect opportunity to drain his card, though you doubt it would leave barely a dent in his wealth.

At the long, rectangular dinner table, you make sure to sit as far away from Seungcheol as possible, right at the end, while Daisy and his employees occupy the seats near him. Despite your insistence against it, Seungkwan sits next to you.

“It’s more comfortable here.” He says. “I am not in the mood for socializing. It’s bad enough that we have to pamper his ass all week and now, we have to eat dinner with him.” He grumbles under his breath, making you laugh. “Well, at least he’s paying for the meal.” You reply, taking a sip of water.

“The only reason I am here, can’t say no to a free fancy meal.” Seungkwan huffs. You have come to confide in Seungkwan over the past couple of months. Little by little, you shared your colourful history with him, and he has developed a dislike for Seungcheol as well. 

It is fun to have people to gossip with.

Dinner starts smoothly. Despite having some worries on the back of your mind that Seungcheol would strike up a conversation with you and make not-so-subtle remarks on your performance, he leaves you alone. You enjoy your dinner, chatting with Seungkwan about work and future plans, Yoona casually joining your discussion every now and then. 

Just before dessert, you get a call and excuse yourself from the table, heading towards the ladies' room with your phone pressed to your ear. The male and the female washrooms sit along the same corridor, and right when you are about to turn left, you see Seungcheol emerge from the men’s room. 

Right, he was not at the table when you left.

His eyes lock with yours and your steps falter, slowing down to a stop in front of the door as you hang up the call. The gears in your head start shifting, debating on whether to acknowledge him or go your way.

“Was the food to your liking, Junior Assistant ___?” He addresses you by your title, the sarcasm potent in his tone.

His eyes darken immediately, flashing with venom. “Don’t piss me off, ___.”

He just cannot help himself from picking on you, can he?

You force a smile on your face. “Yes, it was delicious. Thank you for your generosity, Vice President Choi.”

God, help me. “I did not mean to—”

“Stop smiling all the damn time. Stop acting like you are not affected by me.” He hisses, a snark on his lips. He takes one step after another, his shoes making a crisp click sound as he nears you. You look around frantically, worried someone will see you in such proximity to him.  

“Stop getting on my nerves,” he breathes, his face hovering inches away from yours. With no room to escape, your back is pressed against the door, “Seungcheol…this is the ladies—”

Ignoring your scandalized gasp, he pushes you inside, stepping into the ladies' room with you. “What the hell are you doing?” You whisper-yell, eyes skimming around to see if anyone is inside. The stalls appear empty, thankfully.

Unaffected, he keeps his blazing eyes on you, backing you towards an empty, open stall. “Stop with the facade. I know you are doing it to push my buttons.  You get off torturing me, no? All worked up while you don’t bat an eye, acting like our past does not exist.” You feel his hot breath against your face.

“I do not,” you whisper, trying your best to look away. You are surrounded from all sides by his warmth, his touch and his presence. It is hauntingly familiar, messing with your sensitive, tipsy brain and lowering your guard. 

His words undo something inside you. The breakup with him had left you undone and you have carried on like that, a chunk of your heart empty, left behind in front of your dorm in Seoul. The knowledge that you are treading into dangerous territory claws at you, neon red alarm bells going off in your head, yet you are helpless against yourself. 

“I think you are drunk, Seungcheol.” You manage.

There is a subtle shift in his gaze. With a scoff, his lips break into a smile, like you are the most amusing creature he has ever laid eyes on. “Ha. I could drink all the booze in this world and still not be drunk enough to forget you. Trust me, I have tried.”

Seungcheol is your weakness, always has been. Maybe your touch-starved soul desires to feel his warmth against your skin, or maybe it is the selfish desire of your teenage self to have his eyes only on you that keeps you rooted to your spot, looking into his eyes. In silence, you drink him in—the slope of his nose, his long, fluttery eyelashes, his moles, and his beautiful eyes that look at you in pure hatred. 

Your lips tingle with the memory of the messy, wanton kiss you shared with him not so long ago. You crave to feel it again.

“I hate you,” he breathes after a moment, the look in his eyes shifting from pure venom to hazy with lust. “I hate you so fucking much, ___. I wish I could burn you to the ground. I wish I could destroy you.” His voice grows heavy with each word and you let yourself believe that he does not mean them.

“I know,” comes your meek reply. 

The man groans, the sound coming from the deepest part of his chest, resonating through your body as he hastily grabs your shoulder and pushes your face upwards, stealing your lips for a bruising, toe-curling kiss. It is a kiss that makes you forget where you are or what your name is. 

“Please, Seungcheol.” You moan, your entire body a flame. You feel his kiss in every nerve, the precision and roughness of it altering your brain chemistry. You are no longer yourself, lost in a space between mind-bogging lust and the memories of old days when he used to be deep inside you like this after sneaking into your dorm late at night.

Seungcheol roughly shoves you against the wall, his body nestled close to yours in the cramped space as his free hand slips underneath your blouse. His kiss is dizzying, like always. Right now, it feels particularly harsh and raw; all other thoughts flying out of your head and making you forget to breathe. His hungry lips trail over your mouth and then your jaw, his body keeping you pressed against the stall wall as he links his fingers with yours before pinning them straight above your head.

“Seungcehol,” You utter his name like a mindless prayer. The man does not acknowledge you, unbothered by your pleas. Instead, he steals another kiss, this one more languid as he takes his sweet time exploring every bit of your mouth with his tongue. With his every movement, your moans grow louder as you feel the wetness between your legs increase. Some part of you knows how depraved this is, making out with your ex—who clearly hates you—in a bathroom stall. Still, the thought dominating your mind is how frustrated you feel, pinned to the wall and unable to touch him, feel his body underneath your fingertips after so long.

You writhe, trying to free your hands from his grip, but it remains futile. “Please,” you whimper between kisses. “Please, Seungcheol.” Looks like that is all you say.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The man grunts. He presses you roughly against the wall with one hand, pushing your body upwards slightly so that he can undo the zipper of your skirt, loosening the material around your waist. Then, his hand goes underneath your skirt and without any warning, his fingers cup your core, roughly, so, feeling you through your panties. “You are soaking through your underwear,” Seungcheol mutters as he feels the wet fabric pressed against your core.

“I need you,” you mewl, letting your head fall to the side to give him better access to your neck. His lips meet your skin with a hum, the sound so deep and throaty you feel it in your core. His lips do not break contact with your skin, kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh until your whole body shakes like leaves in a tree. 

“Fuck, I need you, please.” You beg, digging your nails into his shoulder and grinding harder against him, desperate to ease the throbbing ache between your legs. Seungcheol, finally satisfied with the red spot blooming on your neck, lets you go, loosening the grip on your body to let you slide down the wall.

“You are still a temptress, you know? You fucking ruined my life years ago and you’re still ruining it.” Seungcheol hisses between pants, shuffling inside the small space to undo the zipper of his trousers. One of his hands grips the flesh of your ass, letting you lift one leg and wrap it around his waist. Once his hold on you is firm, his eyes lock with yours for a brief moment as he lines himself up with your entrance, before thrusting in deep.

A pathetic, muffled shriek rips from your throat, your head banging against the stall from the impact of the pleasure. All thoughts of subduing your moans go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you, rough and restless, his fingers gripping your flesh in a hold that will leave marks for days to come.

“You like it?” He taunts, his lips curved into a snarl. “You like my cock ruining you? Does it remind you of the old times?”

One particularly hard thrust and your head lulls forward, your hands desperately clutching on to his biceps. “C-Cheol” You shudder, eyes squeezed shut, your mouth hanging half-open.

“That’s right. Only say my name,” Seungcheol pants harshly, his voice strained as he pauses for a moment and remains fully buried inside you, toying with your pleasure. You can feel his grin against your shoulder before he pulls back all the way out and then thrusts back in. The force makes your body jolt but you do not have enough time to recover as he builds a pace, pushing in and out of you in movements so strong, your back arches and your toes curl in your heels. Your brain feels like mush as you fail to utter anything, your mouth simply hanging open to let out breathy pants as you close your eyes and feel every ridge of his cock move in and out of you.

You can feel how much he hates you. 

It is an addictive, blissful experience, a high you never want to come out of. “Yess…” you mumble mindlessly, the force of his pace blanking your mind, freeing you from the curse of your own thoughts.

“Are you going to come, little slut?” He hums in your ear. You have lost your voice so your body speaks for you, shaking and nodding at his words. “Of course you will. You are always such a whore for me,” he hums, nibbling the skin of your neck. One of his hands reaches below to touch your clit as he wastes no time rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the pads of his finger, all the while continuing to thrust inside you earnestly.

“Seungcheol!” You scream, your entire body jolting.

Your reaction makes Seungcheol smirk as he chases his own high, seconds away from erupting inside you. He places your clit between his thumb and index finger, giving you a particularly harsh rub followed by a pinch.

You are catapulted over the edge. 

Your vision goes white, your entire sweat-coated body twitching from the intensity of the pleasure. It only amplifies as you feel Seungcheol spill inside you, his warm release filling you up and dripping lazily out of you. 

After a short lived moment of silence, things turn mechanic. Seungcheol untangles himself from you, that mask of indifference and boredom taking over his face once again as he cleans himself up with tissues, quietly handing some to you as well. He refuses to meet your gaze, or even acknowledge your presence, finishing his work in lightening speed and stepping out of the stall. You sit on the toilet lid for a long time, processing what you just did, before fixing your clothes and cleaning up.

By the time you step out after you have managed to gather yourself, both mentally and physically, Seiungcheol is no longer in the restaurant. 

—

When your intercom rings on Saturday night, it's almost 10 pm. It is Mingyu, completely taking you by surprise. You open the door and stand unsurely as the taller man regards you with an unreadable gaze.

“I was not expecting…you.” You blink, wondering if all the wine got to your head.

“Were you expecting Seungcheol, then?” He half-jokes but you don’t smile. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” you murmur, fetching a glass for him. As you take a seat on the couch, Mingyu pours himself a drink, saying, “Something happened between you and Cheol yesterday.”

“Of course,” setting aside your confusion, you show him in. “What would you like to drink?”

“I see you are drinking by yourself.” He points at the bottle of red wine and the glass on your coffee table. “I guess I’ll join.”

Oh god. 

You don’t look at him, busy taking a sip. Mingyu continues, “He has been weird since last night. Came to my place straight from the dinner, saying he fucked up.”

You offer nothing.

“Ugh, for god’s sake,” Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, his voice laced with frustration. “You guys are so…” his words fail him.

“You guys had sex, didn’t you?”

“I’m still too sober for this.”

“I can’t believe I am talking to you about this but it was hate sex, Mingyu.” You rub your forehead. 

“It should not have happened.” You announce. “I was weak and I gave in to temptation. Can we put it past us now?”

“You were not the only weak one, trust me. Seungcheol is acting like a fucking teenager.” Mingyu makes a face, sipping his wine.

“If it was, he should have fucked you out of his system, not come home and whine about it continuously.” He regards you impassively, like he is trying to deduce something from your face. 

“What is your point? Why are you here?” You throw him an exasperated look.

“You two need to talk. I am sick and tired of taking his bullshit and walking on eggshells around the two of you.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes and lean back on the couch. “Finish your drink and leave. I want to be alone.”

The man stays silent, quietly but leisurely sipping his wine. Time ticks by slowly as your mind wanders back to Seungcheol. The desire to ask Mingyu what he said about you grows and you know the longer he stays, the stronger your urges will grow.

Did he like it? Does he regret it? Does he miss you? 

You bite your lip and finish your drink. Next week is the launch event for the campaign, and you already have your work cut out for you. Mr. Choi, along with the board of directors, will fly in from Seoul for the press conference, which is daunting enough. Right before this very important day, you had sex with Seungcheol, the one person you should not have. That too in a fucking bathroom.

Your whole life seems like a joke to you. 

Your train of thought is led back to reality when you hear Mingyu murmur, “He was going to propose to you.” 

You still.

The whole world stops. Your hand stills mid-air, failing to reach for the wine glass as you soak up his words. There is a dreadful, sinking feeling in your chest that grows rapidly larger each second, swallowing you whole. With all your being, you pray that you heard him wrong.

“What did you say?” You whisper, your face devoid of colour.

The man sighs, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. “God,” he huffs, “Seungcheol was going to propose to you that month back in high school. I went with him to choose the ring. Of course, he was not going to marry you right then. He wanted to make a promise to you before you both went to college, and after you got your degree, you would get married. That was his plan.”

You are at a complete loss for words. Mingyu’s words feel absolutely unreal, a haunting mirage of a past that almost feels like a dream but somewhere deep in your heart, it makes perfect sense. It makes sense that he was planning to put a ring on your finger.

You two were madly, hopelessly in love. You dreamt of a future together and made a thousand different plans. You thought of the many, many possibilities, yet not once did you imagine breaking up. 

How naive you were.

“After you broke up with him, he went crazy. He was actually batshit insane.” Mingyu shakes his head. “I never saw him like that, ever. He would drink himself to death and get into fights almost every day. He even got into a motorcycle accident and spent a month in the hospital, recovering from multiple surgeries on his knee. His father was livid, and it made things much worse.”

You feel like throwing up. Your heart has shrivelled up, folding back into itself inside your ribcage. The air feels too heavy for you to breathe in, the weight on your chest only growing larger each second.

“It was only after Mrs. Choi’s desperate and relentless begging in the hospital that he got his shit together. As his father wished, he agreed to aim for SNU, get his degree and then take over the company.” Mingyu sighs, a heavy stillness hanging in the air. “I don’t think he ever became normal. He’s just…different now. More reckless about everything. He basically became an asshole.”

Stunned, you stare at the ground. A lone drop of tear strolls down your cheek and you have to take in a few large gulps of air before you can find your voice. “Well, I am glad he is okay now.” You murmur, keeping your voice as neutral and uninterested as possible as you reach for the wine glass and chug the liquid down.

Mingyu frowns, “Don’t be like that. Don’t pretend that you don’t care.”

“I d-don’t!” You yell, but your voice breaks. A sob struggles free from your throat, and you have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into tears. Mingyu looks at you pitifully. “Gosh, ___. You are both miserable.”

“I am fine, Mingyu.” You announce, looking away and wiping your tears. “You should leave now.”

Ignoring your words, Mingyu scrutinizes you. “For old times' sake, can you at least tell me why you broke up with him? The real reason, not some bullshit excuse. I will not tell Seungcheol, I promise. I just need to know for my own peace of mind, because no matter how hard I thought about it, it never made sense.”

You sigh. “I was insecure.”

Mingyu makes a sound of annoyance. “The truth, ___.”

“It is the truth.”

—

5 YEARS AGO

The living room is ornate, decorated tastefully with expensive mahogany furniture. Alongside one wall hang dozens of pictures, mostly family portraits and pictures of Seungcheol’s grandfather when he started the Choi Industries. 

Blowing on your tea, you take a sip and watch seconds tick by in the large grandfather clock. Seungcehol’s father called Seungceol away for a moment, stating that they needed to talk privately while his mother went to put dinner in the oven. It has been a while, and they have yet to show up, leaving you feeling awkward in the large, polished space. Until now, silence has been hanging in the air when suddenly, you hear muffled voices that keep rising in pitch. It sounds like someone is having a heated argument. 

Half worried and half curious, you leave your spot on the sofa and carry down the hallway and towards what looks like Mr. Choi’s study, the place from where the voices are emerging. The door is not fully closed, leaving a good couple of inches gap that gives you a view of the people inside.

Seungcheol’s father stands behind his large desk, while your boyfriend stands facing him, a burning look in both of their eyes. Seungcheol’s mother stands between with her back towards the door, slightly hampering your view of the two men.

What is going on?

“Do you really have to be like this, father?” Seungcheol fumes, his voice laced with desperation.

“Yes, I have to!” The older man booms. “You have lost your mind. I let you be at first, thinking that you were not serious about her, but what? You want to go abroad to study with her? And not even to a prestigious university, but a basketball program? Are you insane?”

“Father, I don’t want—”

“You know I love basketball!”

“You are too old for that. You need to get serious and study to get into Seoul National University. My son will take over my business, not go abroad and play some stupid sport!”

“She has gotten into your head. She is using you for your money, you idiot!”

“Father, watch how you speak about her.” Seungcheol hisses.

“Enough, both of you. She is still here. We can have this conversation later.”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to do, boy! Did you forget what type of family she comes from? She comes from nothing, for god’s sake! Her father is a deadbeat alcoholic. Her mother lives with her boyfriend! She has no family, no home. How could you date someone like her?”

“Enough, father!” Seungcheol, seethes. His mother rushes to his side, trying to calm him down.

“Get some sense into his head!” Mr. Choi snaps. “He has gone insane. There is a limit to my patience. How could he think of bringing her here? How could he think I would accept her!”

You have heard enough.

With quiet steps, you go back to the living room and sit down at your spot, wringing your hands. Your fingers shake, matching your breathing, giving you a very hard time holding back tears. You fail to do so, and a tear slips down, making you do your utmost best not to break into sobs. Hearing footsteps down the corridor, you quickly wipe your face and reach for the teacup. Seungcheol steps into the living room, followed by his mother. His face gives away nothing when he speaks, “Sorry about the wait. My father got an important business call, so he won’t join us for dinner.”

“No, it’s okay,” you smile, standing up. “Actually, I got a message from my friend. There is a leak in our dorm because of the rain. She needs my help to move stuff. I should get going.”

“I will come with you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to.” You rush, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “It’s raining outside. I will take the bus. Goodbye, Mrs. Choi. It was lovely to meet you. Please convey my apologies to Mr. Choi.”

That was the first and the last time you were inside Seungcheol's house.

—

“Deep down, I always knew it would not work. How could it? We were so different. I always found it unbelievable that we were dating. Every day felt like a dream. When I heard them talk, it was like a wakeup call. His dad's words were bitter but they were the truth that I knew deep down. I have always been miserable. It was a sheer stroke of luck that brought Seungcheol into my life. It was a small period of blessing, and I wanted to leave it at that. Simple.” You whisper, your eyes trained outside the window, watching the darkening sky. In the distance, you hear thunder rumble.

Mingyu remains silent.

Minutes tick by. You swallow the hard lump lodged in your throat before looking at him. “What’s done is done. This project will be over next week and then we won’t have to see each other again.”

“Right,” Mingyu nods, his head moving unsuredly. “Don’t you think you owe him an explanation? It still eats him up because he does not know what he did wrong. All his anger towards you is just misplaced hurt.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Your voice is a shaky, sorrowful whimper. “It kills me every day when I remember what I did to him. He deserves an explanation, yes, but it hurts to even stand in front of him. Maybe under different circumstances, I would have made an attempt, but now? I think we are past everything.”

Mingyu stares at you for a beat. “At least for your sake, I think you should talk to him. I am looking at you now and it’s clear you are suffering as much as he is. And I know a thing or two about guilt. It eats you alive.”

You remain silent.

“You are barely holding on by a thread, ____. You broke up with him, but he had people around him for support that helped him get back on track somehow. You need to stop suffering by yourself,” he trails off.

“I have always been alone, Mingyu.” You offer him a sad smile.

“You don’t have to be.”

—

The week starts off busy, the hours dragging on and on as you work with Seungkwan and Yoona to perfect everything for the launch event on Thursday. Seungcheol drops by the office on Tuesday for a meeting with Daisy. You thankfully do not have any interactions with him, only catching a glimpse of him as he left her office.

The glimpse itself was heavy enough.

Like a compass always seeking north, his eyes locked with yours for a few seconds, his gaze heavy and almost…guilty. They were not burning with hatred for once, and the somber look on his face was once again a cruel reminder of what happened Friday night.

Work, thankfully, kept you busy and you had no choice but to push Seungcheol to the furthest corner of your mind.

When you see him the next time, it is Thursday morning, in the opening ceremony. You shake hands with him, all polite and business-like, posing for photos, talking to the his guests and his team. 

You don’t think of the way how his eyes stay on you a second longer each time. You don’t think of the way how the look in his eyes shifts your gaze finds his, how they burn quietly with heavy, unsaid emotions. You don’t think of the way your eyes search for him in the crowded room, finding solace in having him within your sights, dressed in a stunning three-piece suit, the epitome of perfection, and a glaring reminder of why you would have never worked out.

No, you don’t think of any of those things. You think of doing your job right, staying on top of things and working alongside your team to prepare for Mr. Choi’s arrival.

And when he does, things go smoothly.

He does not recognize you. You honestly did not expect him to. But somewhere deep within you, there was a fear, an irrational one, that he would recognize you from before, and maybe discredit everything your team has been working for so far. 

Nothing such happens. It’s just another round of business smiles, another round of introductions and photos. It’s just you amongst a sea of faces.

— 

The event wraps up just before noon. As the hall clears out, echos of praise and hums of approval hang in the air. You join Daisy and the CEO of your company for one last small talk with Mr. Choi and his men. In the small group, Seungcheol and you stand opposite each other, sneaking glances when the other person is not looking. 

At some point, the group moves on with their conversation, strolling away while you and Seungcheol stay in your place. When you gather the courage to look in his eyes, he appears jittery, nervous, and awkward at the same time, much like how you feel.

“Good work today.” He murmurs, his voice scratchy. 

“Thank you.”

Silence. It becomes suffocating as you struggle to find the right things to say. You know your time with him is coming to an end. What is the right way to bring an end to this relationship?

“I am sorry about Friday night.” He finally speaks. You blink and wait, understanding that he has more to say. His eyes remain on the ground, “I am ashamed of the way I behaved. It was very…unprofessional and…I don’t know…I just…lost control and…”

“I understand, Seungcheol.” You offer, giving him a small smile.

“Right.” He blinks. 

More silence.

“Seugcheol?” You whisper, realizing this might be the last time you are calling his name. He gazes at you with a somber look.

“I need to tell you something.”

He stays mute for a beat. “Go on.”

For a second, the world slows down. Time stops and creates a space where it is only you and him, and the haunting memories of your love. It is a comfortable, precious, but momentary bubble—one that you wish you could stay in forever. Swallowing the hard lump in your throat, you whisper, “I am sorry. I am sorry for breaking up with you the way I did.”

Silence. 

He blinks, staring at you with an unreadable expression, making you wonder if he even heard you.

“A little too late for that, no?” He says with a mock smile, shifting his gaze to look outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“Yes.” You reply. “And I am sorry for being so late as well. I have owed you this apology for a long time, and I wanted to say it out loud to you, even though it is too late.”

He sighs, nodding his head, not looking at you.

“I did not mean the things I said that night. I am sorry.” You repeat, your voice catching at the end. He finally looks back at you and, for a long moment, stares at your face. You see his eyes shine, mirror the turbulent emotions in yours, and for a moment, you get a glimpse of the Seungcheol four years ago. The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve, dreamt big things, and loved you more than anything else. You see the last five years flash by his eyes. 

“I am sorry for my behaviour over the past few months,” he says after taking a deep breath. “It was immature of me.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice feather light. For some reason, you feel like crying. “I understand.” Something about this conversation solidifies your idea that this is goodbye. You are not going to see him again.

He nods and gives you a tight-lipped smile that does not reach his eyes. “Well then, good luck.” Sparing one final glance at you, he turns around and marches towards the exit. You watch him leave, committing the view of his back to your memory while holding back a sob. You will not cry until he is out of sight. 

A few steps in, he turns around and calls your name. “Can you tell me now why you really broke up with me?”

You could not.

You force a smile, friendly but casual. “It does not matter anymore, right?”

For a brief second, disappointment flickers in his eyes. He remains silent for another second before giving you a smile that mirrors your own—amicable but rehearsed. “Right.” He pauses, “Best of luck, ___.”

He walks away before you can reply.

— 

It is going to rain today.

In the empty convention hall, you sit facing the window, the half-empty bottle of wine keeping you company in the silence. Time ticks by slowly as the darker clouds roll in, followed by the pitter-patter of the rain.

The doors open, revealing Seungkwan carrying a plate of dessert and an empty glass. “Heard you were here. I knew you would be moping, so I decided to join you.” He announces, taking a seat next to you.

You smile. “Good choice. The view is lovely here.” 

He sits down on the chair next to you, putting the plate of tiramisu between the two of you. “I got this for you. People generally eat ice cream and cry but they did not have any ice cream here.”

With a soft chuckle, you reach for the spoon. “I assume they left.”

Seungkwan knows who you are referring to. “Yeah, Daisy and I saw them out. President Choi was very pleased with us. I think we can expect a good bonus.”

“That’s good to hear,” you murmur, mindlessly sucking your spoon.

Seungkwan pours himself some wine. “Seungcheol's friend—Mingyu, I think, also came. They are all going out for lunch. President Choi is flying out tonight.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

Next to you, your coworker falls silent, watching the rain fall steadily outside. “I don’t think President Choi recognized me.” You mumble, more to yourself.

“That’s a good thing, no?”

“I guess.” You pause, taking a sip of your wine. “But it hurt. It made me feel so insignificant. I knew I was insignificant, which is why I broke up with his son in the first place. But realizing that he did not even remember my face after saying all those things really put everything into perspective.”

Seungkwan remains silent next to you.

“I am a good worker but I would never make a good prospect for his son,” you chuckle, shaking your head at the pathetic situation as you remember him complimenting your hard work.

“Did you tell him why you broke up with him?” He asks. You finish your wine and set the glass down. “No. How could I? I could tell that his relationship with his father is still very strained. Why make it worse? No point in crying over spilt milk.”

“But he will never know the truth.”

“Maybe it is better this way. I apologized to him. That should be enough to move on.”

Your colleague does not say anything. In silence, he finishes his drink while you watch the rain, the sky flashing purple with distant rumbles of thunder.

“Let’s go and stand in the rain.” Seungkwan suddenly announces. You cock an amused brow at him. “What?” He pouts. “This is the perfect mood for that. You are depressed and it’s raining outside. Go and soak in the rain or something. Cry your heart out and then leave him here. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

You reflect upon his words. Yeah, it is about time.

“You’re right, let’s go.” With a resolved sigh, you stand up, followed by Seungkwan, who excitedly trails after you. The large compound in front of the hotel is silent and empty, save for the occasional cars that drive past down the main road. Your steps slow down as you walk past the entrance and stand under the portico, feeling the chill in the air that accompanies the heavy rain.

“On a second thought, maybe getting wet in the rain is not the best idea. It’s quite chilly.” Seungkwan murmurs as you both stand and watch the rain. You hum, looking at the grey sky, “Yeah. I don’t know how they make it look romantic in the movies. This feels depressing as hell.”

“Probably has something to do with your mood.” Your colleague whispers drily. You roll your eyes. “Do you know how long our rooms are booked?” You ask him. “Didn’t Daisy say something about us staying over if we want to?”

“Yeah. We can stay the night.” He affirms.

You sigh a breath of relief, crossing your arms and making yourself smaller. “Good. A warm bath sounds lovely right now. Let’s—”

You are cut off as a sports car pulls into the driveway at rapid speed, way faster than the speed limit. Your breath catches in your throat when you realize whose car it is.

Mingyu’s.

“What in the fucking romcom is going on?” Seungkwan snickers next to you as you hold your breath, expecting to see a familiar face. A second later, Seungcheol gets out from the passenger’s side, his eyes immediately finding yours as he stands in the rain, staring at you. One glance at him and you know he knows. You can tell from the look in his eyes, the way his brow is subtly knotted, and the clenched muscles of his jaw.

Mingyu could never keep a secret.

The driver’s side window rolls down, revealing Mingyu, who looks at you and goes, "Don't fuck it up this time, seriously." Then, he points to Seungkwan, “You, get in. Let's give them a moment.”

“Yep!” The man rushes past you and gets in the car. Mingyu throws a cheeky wink at you before pulling out of the driveway with a loud roar of the engine.

Once again, silence falls, save the constant hum of the rain, as you and Seungcheool stand face to face.

Why is he standing there in the rain? It reminds you awfully of the time you broke up with him.

“Seungcheol—” You take a step closer, feeling the smallest drops of water hit your skin. It’s cold. It’s cold and you don’t know what you want to say or why you called his name. 

The man takes slow but determined steps towards you. “I’ll ask you once more. Why did you break up with me?” His voice is steady but loaded with a thickness that you have not heard in a long time. 

The raindrops have engulfed him by the time he stands under the portico with you, dripping down his temples to his chiselled jaw, and you swear he has never looked more handsome, drenched in the rain, his breath coming out heavy with an unmistakable look in his eyes—hope.

“Seungcheol,” you breathe, a small smile spreading into your lips. It’s relief. “It does not matter.” You reply, and this time, you mean it. It truly does not matter anymore. Not when he came back. Not when he is standing in front of you.

He exhales a long breath, taking another step closer to you. He stands in front of you, intimately close, so much so that you can count the raindrops on his face. 

A lot of things go through your mind. You don’t know how to articulate them, so you bask in this feeling of delight and warmth. You bask in his gaze, tender and warm, just how he used to look at you, years ago. 

“You should dry up,” you whisper, still hypnotized by his eyes.

“You should have told me.” He whispers, his voice feather-light, almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. You look at him in confusion.

“You should have just been honest about your feelings. The things my dad said about you that day…they were unforgivable. It kills me to know that you heard them all and here, I have been living hating you, completely oblivious all this time.”

“It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters to me,” His voice sharpens. “To me, it is the present. I would never have found out unless Mingyu told me.” He takes a breath, running a hand through his wet locks, “Gosh, ___. I feel like I failed you. I did not make you feel safe enough to be honest with me.”

“Seungcheol, no. I was insecure—”

“I would have let you go, I swear. If I knew that you had heard all the things my father said, I would have let you go voluntarily because it was just too shameful. I would have given you your space, and then, I would have come to you. I have always wanted to do that. No matter where you went, I was ready to follow.”

Tears sting your eyes.

“I should have been honest with you. I’m sorry.” You murmur, looking at the ground, your head hanging low.

“Fuck,” he hisses and, in the blink of an eye, engulfs you into his arms. “Don’t apologize, please. If anyone should be sorry, it is I. I am sorry for every fucking thing. God, I don’t know how I could ever make it up to you. I keep failing you, ___. I almost did it again. Thank god Mingyu told me everything.”

“He promised me he would not,” you mumble into his chest, a smile blooming on your lips. 

Seungcheol gently removes you from his chest, his eyes searching for yours while your smile fades, wondering what is going on in his mind.

Ever so tenderly, he reaches out cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His eyes remain devoted to you and only you, while his right hand wraps around your waist, pressing your torso to his. You feel like gasoline is running through your veins, ready to ignite at any moment.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.

The rain has faded into a drizzle by now and you see the grey starting to fade from the sky.

“Yes.” You reply, closing your eyes.

The fire ignites when his lips meet your tender and soft, slow and passionate, deep and lingering. Both of your hands claw at each other, despite being skin to skin, it is not enough. The empty void you have been trying to mend for all these years has opened with a gaping split, and only he can mend it.

Only he could ever.

The kiss continues. Tears roll down your face. The rain stops and the sun shines again.

“I love you, Seungcheol.” You rest your forehead against his, pouring your heart out. “I love you so much. I never stopped loving you.”

“Me neither,” he breathes. “You never left my mind. Everything reminded me of you. Even when I was hating you, I was in love with you.”

A small, sad smile makes way onto your lips. “Do you think we could go back to what we were?”

“We don’t have to go back.” He replies firmly. “We can be better now. I, for one, don’t want to go back. I was foolish to lose you. I won’t do it again.”

“Things haven’t changed.” You whisper, eyes locked with his.

He makes a sound of amusement. “No, everything has. I know the truth now, so everything has changed.”

“Do you mean it? I don’t think I can survive another heartbreak, Seungcheol. I have enough ghosts already.” You try very hard not to let your voice crack.

His arms tighten around you. He pauses for a moment, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his eyes sharpening. “No more ghosts. It’s just you and me, now.”

His lips reconnect with yours, soothing your worries. 

After a long, long time, you won’t go to bed haunted by ghosts. Ghosts of him and your past. The thought is a balm to your cracked soul.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes now.” You murmur, taking a look at his soaked clothes. He raises a teasing brow at you, a smirk playing on his lips. You roll your eyes, stepping into the hotel. Seungcheol quickly reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours.

Smiling ear to ear, you walk inside. 

For a bonus epilogue, 1 month into the future, click here or head over to my Patreon!

This work is cross-posted on AO3.

© startlightxsvt 2025 | All Rights Reserved. Do not copy, translate, adapt, or repurpose any of my works.

a/n 2: This was supposed to come out a long time ago but I've been so swamped with a research paper and conferences that I could not make time to finish the minor editing. I also got really sick last week, during my bday, on top of that lol, so I've just been feeling miserable for a while. Anyway, I am glad that I could finish this and put it out for you guys. I don't think I will be able to upload any other fic this year as I have a lot of coursework due. If I am not dead, I hope to return with some bangers next year. I have some abandoned drafts and some interesting ideas in my head, so let's see where the wind takes me.

On a different note, I have recently been wondering/overthinking as to whether my content is substantial, in the sense that I don't want my works to be the same rehashed tropes or just in general unsubstantial pieces (fyi, I am not looking down at any other writers or comparing my works to others). It's a trial and tested pattern here that pwp fics always get more traction, which is not wrong but I think I have always been a writer who is very lore/plot-heavy. I always find smut the hardest to write and even though I like indulging in pwp fics once in a while (like my last dilf cheol fic which did numbers!) I am always looking forward to writing complex/dramatic plots. And in relation to this, I'd just like to add that I am very proud of Scars Leave a Beautiful Trace. I generally always find my work cringy when I reread it, but I think the SLABT universe is very well-crafted. I truly had the most fun time writing it; in my head it was playing like a kdrama lol, and I really appreciate all the love it has got. Please keep showing it more love, y'all!

What I'm trying to say is, I just hope that you guys, as my audience, are happy and find meaning in my work. This community is truly precious to me and I realized that I have taken this appreciation for granted. It truly means a lot to have so much love and support here, in my little corner of the internet. I am grateful to have a space to express myself and get so much love in return. My request would be for you guys to leave any feedback you have on my work and suggestions for any particular type of writing that you would like to see from me in the future. I have recently opened another tumblr account where I post random thought dumps and whatnot and I would have shared the link here, but I realized many people I know irl follow this blog and I don't want them to follow me over there because the writings there are very intimate?? lol, anyway, I'll try to build an audience over there as well from scratch and we'll see how that goes. In future, perhaps I'll share some writings here.