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prove it, you won’t : h.js

word count | 19k (I AM SO SORRY)

pairing | joshua hong (svt) x female reader

warning(s) / includes | mentions of needles and getting tattoos, hospitals and common sickness, past breakups, food, alcohol (but no drinking) ; swearing ; 1-2 biting jokes/innuendos ; uses of ‘darling’ and ‘princess’ as pet names

genre | fluff, angst, humour, tattoo artist au, slowburn (?), flirty shua which is a genre in and of itself

note | part 3 of the fallin’ flowers series; based on tattoo artist!shua from the secret language of flowers; can be read as a stand-alone ; appearances by some characters from the other parts ; please forgive any potential inaccuracies with joshua and reader’s jobs </3

summary: stumbling upon a new tattoo parlour shouldn’t lead to so many complications in your love life. that is, until you met joshua hong.

a/n: she’s finally here!!!!!! again i’m beyond sorry for the extremely long wait :( writing this was tough due to both personal and writing difficulties, but i’ve read every single comment on the previous two parts of this series and i hope you know that all your incredibly sweet words motivated me a lot 💗 thank you so much for your patience and i hope this is somewhat worth the wait!! feedback is highly, highly appreciated as it keeps me going <333 enjoy!!

Sometimes, you wish Joshua Hong wasn’t so good at his job.

People always warn against being rude to tattoo artists because they’re the people who dictate how good or bad a design looks on your body—a design that’s essentially permanent and apparently hurts more to get removed than it is to get inked. So perhaps they’re right, maybe you should be a little nicer to Joshua Hong.

But like the nuisance he is, he’s definitely aware of just how much power you’re putting in his hands, and he never fails to dangle that very fact in your face any chance he gets. If someone were to lock you two in a room together, you’d probably perish within the first five minutes from your blood pressure shooting through the roof.

“Why not just go to another artist if you dislike this Joshua guy so much?” Jihoon asks one day after you got your first tattoo done by him. His inquisitive eyes observe you through his wire frame glasses; you’re vaguely reminded of a bookish character that came straight out of a cartoon, and you know that whatever reason you’re about to give, it’d better be a good one unless you’d like to warrant his seemingly infinite wisdom.

A drawn-out sigh leaves you as you set your fork down on your plate with a heavy clatter. Your friend’s eyebrows raise subtly when you remove your jacket before shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth, likely swallowing down a quip about not wanting to see you strip while he’s eating.

Conveniently, the shirt you’re wearing exposes the watercolour tattoos of flowers that decorate the expanse of your shoulders and décolletage, all of which came from the same artist.

All, but one; one that sticks out like a sore thumb.

That sole tattoo was done by none other than Joshua Hong, and you hate it almost as much as you hate him. Not because it looks horrible, but because it’s a stinging reminder that Joshua Hong is so good at his job that he makes everyone else’s work look like a child’s doodle. You hate it because you’d rather not think of the very reason why you now have no choice but to keep going back to Joshua.

You also hate that you can’t stop thinking about him, that he’s so perfect in every sense of the world. It’s almost a little hard to believe: how can someone be this good at everything and be blessed with that face at the same time?

Ever observant, Jihoon understands before you even have to explain, jaw dropping and mouth falling open into a small ‘o’ at the realisation. “One of these… is not quite like the others,” he meekly suggests.

You can only snort at the massive understatement. “Yeah… if he didn’t have the ability to make my other tattoos look like chicken scratch, trust me when I say that I wouldn’t keep going back to him. He probably has magic hands, or something,” you grumble bitterly, “like Midas’ touch but with tattooing people instead of turning stuff to gold.”

“For someone who claims to hate him, you sure do spend a lot of time thinking about his hands.”

“I’m going to aggressively poke you with this fork.” “Damn, do you speak to your kids like this too?”

The deathly glare you shoot in Jihoon’s direction does nothing to faze him, and he simply meets your heated—albeit half-hearted—stare with indifferent eyes and the barely noticeable upturn of his lips.

You noticed it, though. And you don’t like it one bit.

You remember the first time you met Joshua Hong.

“Hi, first time?” You blankly blink up at the person who just approached you: tall, lithe, silver hair parted down the centre. “You look a little nervous.”

Did you? The faintest onslaught of heat pricks at the skin of your neck, threatening to travel up to your face as you will yourself to push it down.

It takes you a brief moment to regain your words. “First time here, but not my first tattoo. I’m just having my consultation today, though.”

The gentle smile playing on the stranger’s lips stretches wider. “Ah. Well, welcome to 24H Parlour. I’m Minghao.”

“Thanks, I’m Y/N.”

He hums in acknowledgement. “I think I saw your name on the appointment sheet.”

“You work here, then?”

Minghao responds with a small incline of his head and sheepishly scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah… set to take over in a few years too.”

“That’s amazing! I’m sure everything will work out great for you.”

“Thank you, it means a lot to hear that.” His eyes drift from your face to something—or someone—over your shoulder before finding yours again. “You ready?” he asks, gaze soft and smile encouraging.

You nod, initial apprehension mellowing at Minghao’s gentle demeanour; he seems like someone you wouldn’t mind being around, more importantly a tattooist who knows what he’s doing if his portfolio on their website is anything to go by. Having been in quite a few consultation sessions, some disastrous and dissuading you from revisiting the parlour altogether, you can already tell this one with Minghao will be anything but that.

Still, you’re just a little nervous. New place, new people, why wouldn’t you be?

The leather surface of the couch in the waiting area clings to the skin of your thighs as you get up. So maybe you shouldn’t have worn shorts. “Sure, where should we go?”

Pink colours Minghao’s cheekbones and the tips of his ears as he apologetically explains, “Ah… I won’t be your tattooist,” he reveals apologetically upon seeing the way your brows furrow in confusion. “My coworker is—he’s much better equipped than I am at the style you mentioned wanting to get in your last call. Don’t worry,” he rushes to reassure you, and you hope it isn’t because you did a job at veiling your disappointment, “you’re in very good hands. I promise. Oh! Shua, over here!”

‘Shua’ has a nice side profile, you note when your head cranes in his direction; he’s currently speaking to a girl who you presume is his last client from the new covering just below her collarbone. He turns away from the girl briefly at Minghao’s call of his name to offer an acknowledging nod, and that split second is more than enough for you to conclude that his front profile is somehow even more attractive than his side; it has you wondering if 24H Parlour (a rather misleading name, because you’re certain that they’re definitely not a McDonald’s, not that anyone needs your input) just so happens to only hire attractive people—everyone you’ve come across so far, their receptionist included, looks like they stepped right off a runway.

You watch his lips move soundlessly as he speaks to the girl, whose face is tinted a pretty shade of pink that reminds you of a blushing rose. Moisture starts to collect on your palms and between your fingers the moment ‘Shua’ waves the girl, who looks a little too disappointed to leave, goodbye before making his way over to you and Minghao. You avert your gaze so that you don’t actually start drooling, but the tattoos that extend from his biceps to the elegant column of his neck are still at the forefront of your mind.

“‘Sup,” he says casually, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans. You wonder if the Jackson Pollock-esque paint splatters were part of the original design or if they were his own work. (Neither, you’d come to learn much later. They’re Minghao’s.) “Who’s the cutie?”

Heat assaults your cheeks, leaving them hot to the touch as you take sudden interest in the shiny black tiles of the floor.

“This is Y/N,” Minghao supplies, halfheartedly rolling his eyes, “she has the consultation with you.”

The dark-haired man turns back to you with curved eyes. “I’m Joshua. Everyone calls me Josh, though, but you can call me yours too.” Mortified at the wink he sends in your direction, you choose to stare helplessly at Minghao instead, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

Minghao sighs. “Do you ever get sick of using that line?”

So, he says it to everyone.

The corners of Joshua’s lips quirk up impishly. “No, not really. Why? Jealous?”

“You wish,” Minghao fires back. He appears to be imitating someone else judging by the exaggerated switch in his intonation, and the two tattooists share a brief fit of giggles over an inside joke you’re obviously not a part of.

The silver-haired man sobers up quickly. “Anyways, I won’t take up too much of your time. You can trust Joshua, Y/N. I’m confident he’ll be able to bring your vision to life.”

A tight-lipped smile stretches across your lips.

“You sure can,” Joshua confirms, facing you. You don’t know if you believe him just yet. “Shall we, darling?”

All the thoughts that previously occupied your mind are now replaced by static, a hissing noise that rings in your ears incessantly as you try to get a grip on reality.

What did he just call you?

A rush of scorching heat rises up along your neck. “Y-Yeah… o-okay,” is all you manage to stammer out before your tattooist gestures for you to follow him down a short hall towards a room in the back. You glance over your shoulder uneasily to look back at Minghao, who sends you a reassuring smile and thumbs-up. His gaze is torn away from you, however, when the receptionist calls him away, leaving you to your own devices.

Heart still pounding, you turn to face the front just in time to narrowly avoid crashing into Joshua’s broad back when he abruptly stops to unlock the door to his studio. You cringe at your clumsiness, your heart rate rising to an uncomfortable pace yet again at how embarrassing it would’ve been if you did bump into him.

He cranes his neck to look at you, eyes twinkling with mirth when he asks, “You okay there, darling?”

Mortified, you nod dumbly, not missing the light chuckle he lets out as he swings the door open and steps to the side, “After you.”

This is off to a great start.

•••

You blame your fumbling from the first meeting on nerves. Though, you can’t say the second one went any better.

You hover at the entrance of the room awkwardly. Joshua has his back turned to you as he slips on a pair of gloves, the contours of the muscles thinly-veiled by the white T-shirt he dons.

You spaced out. You were absolutely not ogling him.

He turns around and finds you still standing by the open door, the beginnings of an amused smile creeping onto his face when you hastily avert your gaze and pretend to look at the vinyl records he has displayed on the wall.

“Well?” he prompts. His hand finds the tattoo bed and pats it twice, signaling you to sit. “Hop on, darling. How else will I give you your tattoo?”

Lips pressed firmly together, you oblige wordlessly. You sit on the bed and swing your legs onto the smooth leather before lying down on your back, hands clasped firmly over your stomach as you squint up at the overhead lights.

His voice rings clear in the silence. “You’re very tense for someone who’s already gotten tattoos before.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t worry, darling, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

“No, thanks,” you retort huffily, “I’m good.”

Joshua shrugs. “Your loss. Shall we get started, then?”

He’s thorough, having prepared stencils of your to-be tattoo in seemingly every size possible in your desired range. It almost makes it more difficult for you to pick one, but you’re more appreciative of the options he provided you with than anything.

“Any special meaning for the orchids?” he asks as he applies the stencil—a thin orchid branch running parallel just under your right collarbone—and you nearly miss his question because you’re trying so hard to focus on anything but how his fingers rest on your sensitive skin.

“Oh… no, I don’t suppose there is? Other than that I think they look pretty. Why? Is there a meaning to them?”

“I’m sure there is, but I wouldn’t know,” Joshua replies with a cheeky smile. “But one of my coworkers is dating a florist, so I hear them talk about flower meanings a lot. His shop is just a few doors down, actually, you should check it out if you like flowers.”

“Sure…”

Your voice is strained, a little forced. Perhaps you don’t like flowers? Joshua frowns, but then you practically have a botanical book’s worth of them on your body. Maybe you had an ex who was a florist. He shrugs off the itching thought, deciding it probably isn’t a topic to bring up with a client he barely knows.

He gestures to the full-length mirror propped up against the dark grey wall. “You can check now and see if you like the placement,” he instructs. “If everything’s good, we can get started.”

You nod and approach the mirror, making exaggerated movements with your right arm to test whether the soon-to-be tattoo would warp too much with your daily motions.

Satisfied with the result, you turn back to Joshua with a smile, already giddy with adding to your collection. “I like it, everything looks good.”

“Good, good, I’m happy to hear that.” His smile is genuine, one of someone who truly has a love for their craft, so while you’re still a little apprehensive about Joshua Hong, you can always respect passion and dedication.

“I also have lollipops for people who need them,” Joshua continues, snapping you out of your reverie, “you want one? They’re strawberry. You’ll probably like them.”

You do like strawberries. There’s a fluttery feeling that erupts in your stomach—

“I’d offer you my arm, but I kinda have to work, so...”

—never mind.

“Sorry, just kidding,” he says upon noticing the exasperated look that now stains your features, gloved hands raised in mock surrender. “Trying to loosen up the mood a ‘lil, y,know? You still look a little nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you mutter as you sulkily settle back onto the cushioned bench, oblivious to the fond curling of his lips.

The whole process went by smoothly, much to your surprise, but you suppose at the end of the day he was still a professional. You even snuck a glance at him at one point, only to regret the decision almost immediately from how attractive you found him—well, more than you already did, but that’s besides the point—when he was in a serious mood.

Something about the way his gaze hardened and his brows furrowed from concentration has you wondering if your previous impression of him was a little too harsh. If being a little flirtier here and there helps him establish a steady client base, who are you to judge? Part of the hustle, isn’t it?

After all, he’s just your tattooist, someone you cross paths with once every month or two at most. Absolutely nothing could go wrong with this.

You’re determined to keep it that way.

No one was more surprised than you were when you started regularly going back to 24H Parlour—more specifically, Joshua Hong—for tattoo appointments, but you figured the end result was worth sitting through an hour or two of his flirting. In all honesty, he’s not that bad when he isn’t using every cheesy pickup line under the sun on you.

“…don’t put sunscreen on it until it’s fully healed, don’t wear anything that’s too tight, only use fragrance-free and alcohol-free moisturiser on it—”

“I know, Joshua,” you laugh, “it’s not like—oh, I don’t know—I’ve been coming here for months and getting tattoos for the past few years or anything.”

He half-heartedly rolls his eyes at your teasing. “Just following protocol, darling. Wouldn’t want you suing me for negligence.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Of course you won’t,” he agrees, “you love me.”

“A bit of a stretch right there.”

There’s a prickly sensation to your cheeks when he winks at you. “You’ll come around, Y/N.” He’s really far too attractive for his own good, him being completely self-aware only makes it worse. For your heart, at least, not that he has to know. “Why else would you keep coming back?”

The sarcasm that drips from your voice is so palpable it might as well create a puddle on the ground. “Hm, it’s definitely because you’re irresistible and not because you’re good at what you do.”

“See? You get it.”

“Oh my God,” you mutter to yourself in disbelief as you stretch out your limbs and adjust your top, unaware of Joshua’s eyes trailing over its elaborate beading. “Night out?”

You let out a confused hum until you look down at your shirt, realising why he’s come to such a conclusion. “Oh, yeah.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Nah, don’t have one,” you dismiss, “just some friends.” You decide to turn the tide on him. “Why? Are you seeing someone?”

“Is this your way of asking me out, darling?” he asks, looking over his shoulder with a teasing grin. “I didn’t know you liked me this much.”

“You wish, Hong.”

He shrugs before opening the door to his studio, prompting you to hop off the tattoo bed and grab your purse from the spare chair. “If you must know, not at the moment.”

You hum in response because you don’t quite know what else to say. You also don’t know why relief bubbles within you at the new revelation because last time you checked—you definitely don’t like Joshua Hong like that, he’s a friend at most, and you really, really couldn’t care less about if he’s seeing someone or not.

“Hey, this is gonna sound weird,” he blurts out as the two of you draw closer to the waiting area, and you crane your neck to throw him a confused glance, “but do you… wanna get coffee sometime?”

“Who’s asking who out now?”

“Okay, okay, no need to sound so smug,” Joshua grumbles, still walking you out to the front, “I just thought it’d be cool to get to know you as a friend.”

You find yourself stuck at a crossroad. His suggestion is tempting, yet there’s a little voice at the back of your head that’s just itching to ask—so you do. “Does this happen with all your clients, Joshua Hong?”

“No,” he says, simple but straight to the point, “you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to, of course. It’s no biggie.”

“Okay, but on one condition.”

“Shoot.”

“I pick the location.”

He looks at you weirdly with a “that’s it?” face. “Sure,” he agrees easily, “was gonna let you pick anyways.”

“O-Okay, then… sure. Why not?” You wear a mask of nonchalance, but there’s a fluttery feeling in your stomach that just won’t go away. Such a nuisance, you want nothing more than a net to contain the flock of butterflies that had erupted in your body.

“It’s a date then, darling,” Joshua beams. “Text me later.”

God, what have you gotten yourself into?

•••

You ended up choosing your favourite café, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets, located in a quaint alleyway with an uneven cobblestone path and slight incline. The interior is just as homely as the outside, rustic decor that reminds you of a little cottage in the woods while the smell of freshly-baked pastries wafts around you like an intoxicating perfume.

You and Joshua pick a table near the windows at the front. Your chair is a little wobbly and the table is barely big enough for your food and drinks, but the sunlight streaming through the glass offers a nice view of the quaint street outside and some much needed warmth on this chilly day.

“So…” you begin, a little awkwardly, stirring the ice cubes around your glass with your paper straw, “what do you do when you’re not injecting ink into people’s skin?”

Joshua makes a face at you. He’s in the middle of cutting up his waffles into bite-sized pieces, the action causing his biceps to strain against the sleeves of his T-shirt. The sight before you is quite amusing, yet weirdly endearing—buff, tattooed Joshua Hong with his “hot bad boy” (his words, not yours) eyebrow piercing daintily cutting up strawberry waffles dusted in a pound of powdered sugar and honey.

“It makes me sound like a criminal when you phrase it like that,” he says before popping a strawberry slice into his mouth, “and we both know I’m too sexy for jail.”

He’s not entirely wrong, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I asked a genuine question!”

“I was about to get to it!” he complains, pouting like a five-year-old. “I kinda just like to stay at home, to be honest. I make a lot of beaded bracelets… and I kinda wanna try knitting but I don’t know if I have time for that.”

You blink. Okay, so maybe not the response you expected from him. With the way he acts around you, you thought he’d say something totally obnoxious like posing in front of a mirror until his reflection winks back at him, not something as wholesome as making bracelets. You try to conjure up the image in your head: Joshua in his probably dark and grungy apartment, sitting crossed-legged on the ground threading cute little beads through string, his tongue poking out from between his lips from concentration which makes him look more attractive than it should.

“You look so surprised,” he observes, “don’t believe me?”

“Well… I guess it’s just a little hard to picture, but it’s a cute hobby. What do you do with them afterwards?”

“Wear them? Give them to people? I’m not a crow, I don’t just hoard a mountain of shiny things,” he chuckles, “and it makes me happy when I see my family and friends wear them, it’s like they’re taking a little piece of me with them so they know I’m always there.”

God, that’s so fucking adorable of him. It makes your stomach churn.

“What about you, princess? What do you do outside work?”

You take a sip of your latte. “Uh… read? Meet up with friends? I don’t know, life keeps me pretty busy so I don’t really do much.”

“Well, we gotta change that, darling. All work and no play? That can’t be good for you.”

Maybe it’s just the coffee, because you refuse to accept the fact that him calling you darling has your heart skipping a beat. Just a little.

“Excuse me, ‘we’?” you ask sceptically, the faintest traces of a smile lingering on your lips as your mind races to decipher what he could possibly mean by that.

“Yeah, we,” Joshua repeats casually, spearing a piece of waffle with his fork, “friends don’t let friends rot in boredom alone.”

You gasp, scandalised. “I don’t rot in boredom! My life is very interesting, I’ll have you know!” His playful jab almost has the fact that he just called you his friend flying over your head. Almost.

“Yet you’re here having coffee and waffles with me,” he points out, tone laced with a teasing lilt, “I thought you couldn’t stand me, Y/N.”

“You’re the one who asked me out! And—ugh, I can't believe I’m saying this—but I guess you’re pretty cool when you want to be.”

You shrug like your confession holds barely any significance to you, yet your heart hammers just a little stronger against your rib cage at the idea that perhaps your relationship can move beyond mere acquaintances. You’ve learnt more about him today than you have in the past several sessions, and suddenly being friends with Joshua Hong seems more tolerable than you ever thought possible.

“‘Pretty cool’?” Joshua echoes, an evidently pleased grin stretching all the way to the edges of his rounded cheeks. “Careful now, if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re starting to fall in love with me.”

“Please don’t make me take it back.”

“Fair, guess I shouldn’t push my luck,” he agrees. He leans in just a little immediately after, voice low as he tells you, “And for the record, I think you’re pretty cool too, Y/N.”

Curse his stupid doe-like eyes and the way they catch the brilliant afternoon sun, the way they crinkle into crescents and drip with honey as though his happiness cannot be contained any longer.

He reminds you of a sweet poison, one that infiltrates your system when you least expect it and rears its stupidly pretty head only when you’re already too far gone, too charmed to search for an antidote.

But weirdly, you think you don’t mind getting used to this.

Your stomach does a little flip as the familiar neon sign of the parlour draws closer to you with each step you take down the street. Unlike all the times before, you’re not here for a tattoo this time. However, another part of you is also giddy with anticipation, as frankly it has been a while since you’ve gone anywhere fun in your off-time from work.

Over the past three weeks, you and a certain black-haired tattooist have met up for coffee on several more occasions, your conflicting schedules preventing you two from planning anything longer than leisurely, hour-long chit-chats at cafés around town. At one point he even joked about starting a café review Instagram page with you.

“Let me know when you have more time from work, princess.” “Be prepared to wait a lot, then.” “I guess I’ll make an exception for you, you busy bee.”

The bell above the door signals your arrival, prompting Minghao to look up from his seat at the front desk. His eyes widen, brows pinching together as he immediately grabs the appointment binder to hastily flip through its pages. “Y/N? Did you make an appointment for today? Oh God, I didn’t forget to put you down, did I? Because Shua said he’s clocking out at 7—”

“No, I didn’t,” you reassure, gently cutting off his panicked rambling and smiling when his shoulders visibly sag from relief. “Although… I am here for him.”

The newly-added blue streaks in Minghao’s silvery hair shine a brilliant sapphire when he leans back in his chair. “What did he do this time that made you come all the way here without an appointment?”

You fiddle with the ends of your hair, pointedly avoiding his inquisitive stare. “Um… he said he’s taking me somewhere?”

“He’s—huh?”

“Yeah, he said wanted to take me somewhere fun. The new carnival on the outskirts of town, I think.”

Minghao blinks like he’s still trying to make sense of everything. Britney Spears is singing Till the World Ends and he’s this close to running home and packing his apocalypse bag because sure—you weren’t exactly mortal enemies with Joshua, but he wouldn’t say you were fond of him either. And now you’re going on dates together? Since when?

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” He springs up from his seat to press the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you being held hostage by him? Is this a hidden camera prank show? Because ha-ha, nice try.”

“Yes, no, and no,” you answer with a practised roll of your eyes. “We’re… friends now?”

He draws away with a coy smile. “Is that why you coordinated outfits?”

“We what now?”

Speaking of the devil, a familiar honeyed voice croons, “Well, well, well, look who decided to be a copycat.”

You peer over Minghao’s shoulder to find Joshua sauntering up to you as a boy about his age, presumably his last client for the day, makes a beeline to the front desk. Minghao excuses himself with a knowing glint in his eyes and steps behind the counter to help the boy.

You glare heatedly at the tattooed man standing before you, amused eyes watching your face carefully for your reaction. “I’m not the copycat here, Hong. I’ve literally never seen you wear cardigans before, like ever. Seems like you’re the one copying me.”

“Must not be paying enough attention to me then,” he smirks, looking down at his cream cardigan. It’s horrifically similar to the one you’re wearing right now, and will no doubt mislead any outsider into thinking you planned it on purpose. You refuse to be perceived as wearing matching couple outfits with Joshua Hong.

“I don’t care, go change!”

He cocks a brow at you. “Into what, darling? The forecast says it’s gonna be chilly tonight, do you want me to freeze?” He dramatically places a hand over his heart in mock hurt, a wounded expression etching itself across his features.

You’re about to fire off another retort when the client Joshua walked out with approaches you. “Thanks again for helping me out, your sketch looked so good already!” he says excitedly.

“No worries, Chan,” Joshua says. You don’t know why, but your nose starts itching. You sniff as quietly as possible, not wanting to disrupt their conversation. “And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I'll text you the final version soon, okay?”

The boy—Chan—nods enthusiastically, fluffy hair bouncing with the movement. “Okay, see you around!”

The violent sneeze comes just as the door closes behind Chan, prompting Joshua to frown in concern. “Woah, are you okay? Are you sick?”

“No, no, it’s probably just a tickle. I’m fine,” you reassure. “Was that your friend?”

“Ah, yeah! Remember my coworker that I told you about? The one dating the florist? That’s him. They’re out of town next week and he wanted to surprise them with a small tattoo of their favourite flower.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah… they’re really cute.” His eyes are soft as he looks down the direction Chan went in. He allows something akin to longing to linger on his features for several moments before it’s gone, replaced by his signature grin as he turns back to you. “Anyways, let’s go.”

•••

“I knew you should’ve ditched the cardigan,” you grumble, watching Joshua gently toss the folded outerwear onto the backseat, leaving him in only his fitted black T-shirt. “You didn’t even wear it most of the night.”

“I like to be prepared,” Joshua refutes smoothly as he backs his car out of the parking space. With him occupied with looking into the rear-view mirror, it presents you with an opportunity to observe the way his forearms flex when he spins the steering wheel, or how his slender fingers elegantly wrap around it and tap along to an imaginary rhythm.

There’s a tattoo on the ring finger of his right hand. Immediately, you find yourself drawn to the thorny stem coiling up the digit, almost like a snake or vines encircling an ancient pillar. At the end of it lies a wilted rose losing its petals.

You decide to respond before you lose yourself entirely in the potential sentiments behind the melancholic tattoo. “One of the vendors thought we were a couple.”

Your voice is impassive, but your cheeks betray you—growing warm at the memory of the smiling woman commenting on how lovely you two looked together as she handed you the bunny plushie.

And sure, Joshua may have won it for you, but it was purely due to your luck running out by the time you got to the last few game stalls. Your objections fell on deaf ears when it came to naming the bunny, and you finally begrudgingly agreed to Joshua Jr. because it was the lesser of many, many evils.

The man spares you a glance before turning back to the road. He goes quiet for several beats, letting the music playing from his speakers fill the emptiness until he speaks, casually and seemingly uncaring.

“Is it really so bad to be mistaken as my girlfriend?”

Your heart plummets like it’s doing a free fall, and if it weren’t for the lazy smile gracing his features, you would’ve thought you genuinely upset him. You relax a little, willing the jackhammering of your heart to fall back into a steady rhythm. And though the upturn of his lips should’ve been enough reason for you to swallow down that tiny pebble of guilt, it doesn’t go away. It remains lodged in your throat while your fingers drum on your thigh nervously.

“W-Well… I never said it was a bad thing,” you stammer out, fingertips pulsing along to the same beat as your heart while you continue, “you’re a nice guy, and… I had fun today.”

Your words hang heavy in the air. You’re almost too scared to see his reaction, so you choose to look out the window instead. A red sports car zooms past you, the sound of its engine revving obnoxiously disrupts the tranquil silence of night.

“I had fun too,” Joshua finally says softly, eyes gleaming softly from the glow of the street lights outside. “You know, I really did mean it when I said I wanted to get to know you better, Y/N. I like being around you.”

You tear your gaze away from the window, admiring the soft, dark waves of his hair and the gentle slope of his nose. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought about being in a relationship with Joshua Hong, especially as you started spending time as friends rather than in a professional setting. And sometimes you think what it’d feel like to hold his hand, to have his pretty pink lips pressed against your skin, to hear him call you “darling” and genuinely mean it.

Perhaps a month ago you’d chide yourself for having those thoughts about him, but as you sit in his car with his lo-fi playlist humming in the background, the street light’s golden luminescence dancing across his features, Joshua Jr. sitting atop his folded cardigan in the backseat… you don’t think you mind anymore.

If this is a dream, you’re not sure if you want to wake up from it. Because right now, everything feels perfect.

Disappointment is a powerful feeling in all the worst ways imaginable, eating away at you until bitterness stings your tongue. It hurts.

It hurts that perfection is temporary, perhaps it doesn’t exist at all. Ah, the irony of falling for a tattoo artist; someone who creates permanent designs that don’t stay perfect forever either. You think about the flowers dusted across your collarbones, and how there will come a day when the colours fade and the intricate line work bleeds into the crevices of your skin, reducing everything into a mere shadow of its former glory.

“So, whatcha doing this weekend, darling?” Joshua asks as he bandages up your new tattoo, a dainty sprig of lavender near where your left shoulder and arm meet.

“Work.”

“You say that every time!”

“Because it’s true!”

He shakes his head, platinum blonde hair bouncing along with the movement. You wonder when and why he got it dyed, it was still black when you bumped into him while running errands last week. “What kinda job makes you go in on a Saturday?”

A distant voice at the back of his head pipes up about how odd it is that he still doesn’t know what you do for a living, but he ignores it. He’s come to understand you’re a private person and if you wanted him to know you would’ve mentioned it, so he doesn’t push it.

“Mine does sometimes,” you answer simply, “besides, don’t you work on Saturdays as well?”

“Only for clients I like if they can’t make it on weekdays.”

“Oh… that’s… really nice of you.” Your eyes subconsciously follow his graceful movement of prying the rubbery material off his lithe fingers.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he coos as he sets the gloves off to the side, “you’re already on that list of clients.”

He flashes you a warm grin, one you find yourself returning as your cheeks grow warm, and it lingers on your face even while he’s doing the final checkups before declaring you’re good to go. It’s funny, and perhaps a little embarrassing, to think how you used to scramble off his tattoo bed the second he’s done and now you’re almost a little too disappointed about having to leave. You refused to admit it to Jihoon when he grilled you on your liking towards him just a few days ago, but perhaps your heart really has grown fond of Joshua Hong.

He walks you out to the front as usual, and you exchange a confused glance when the receptionist makes a face upon your arrival.

“What’s with the long face, Dahee?”

The receptionist glares at Joshua half-heartedly. “Ask the girl you’ve been seeing,” she huffs, “Julia, Julie, whatever her name is. I can’t keep track anymore.”

Can’t keep track? You frown.

“Huh? Why? What happened?”

Dahee purses her red lips into a thin line, eyes flitting over to where you’re standing. “She came in here just ten minutes ago… making a huge ruckus and saying she absolutely had to talk to you because apparently you blocked her.”

You stay silent. It’s not that you wanted to eavesdrop, but you still have to get your final receipt and it’s also not like Joshua’s putting any particular effort into keeping this conversation from you.

His confusion feels genuine. “I broke up with her weeks ago and then blocked her because she was fine with ending things. I’d never just ghost someone, you know that!”

“I know, I know,” Dahee sighs sympathetically. “I believe you, that’s why I insisted you weren’t here and told her to leave before I called security.”

“Thank you, really,” Joshua mutters, absentmindedly playing with the business card holder. “I… I guess I’ll set things straight with her again later. Thanks again, I owe you big time.” He finally realises you’re still hovering awkwardly by the reception counter, and manages a faint smile. “I’m gonna go get ready for the next appointment,” he says. “Bye, Y/N. Have a good rest of the day.”

“You too,” you respond, though you’re not sure just how much nicer his day can get after this new information. Your mind reels from everything you just heard,

Dahee clears her throat softly, and it’s then when you realise that you’ve been staring at the empty space Joshua had previously occupied for far longer than necessary. Your cheeks burn as you turn back to her with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry for the long wait,” she says, casually flipping through her binder to find your record like the two of them were just talking about something as insignificant as the weather outside. She looks up at you with an indifferent smile as she hands you the receipt, but it falls almost instantly when she meets your bewildered, almost frazzled, gaze.

She holds your stare for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hurt or confusion. You think she must’ve found it when she sighs quietly, checking the waiting area to make sure it’s empty before turning back to you. Your hands tremble slightly as you take the tiny slip of paper.

“Look, Shua’s not an asshole,” Dahee finally says, now avoiding eye contact with you. “He just—he’s just not looking for anything serious, hasn’t been even before I started working here. He’s transparent about it, but… I don’t know… some people get so upset about it that they come in here all the time trying to find him.”

You nod along, not completely sure why she suddenly decided to divulge all this to you. A part of you also wonders if this is a common occurrence, especially if she just mentioned not being able to keep track of his partners and appears to feel the need to defend him.

Before you can respond, her expression reverts back into a neutral state, a stark and somehow painful contrast to the storm of emotions that begins brewing within you. “As always, give us a call if you need anything. See you next time!”

The walk down the street to your car is heavy, and when you get inside you have to take a few moments to compose yourself, running a harsh palm down your face as you process everything that just happened. It really was too good to be true after all, and you are a fool for thinking Joshua Hong would ever want something serious with you.

Your mind drifts to the coffee dates, his tattooed fingers resting on his fork and knife as he cuts up his strawberry pancakes with his tongue peeking from between his lips, the powdered sugar clinging to the soft skin that tempts you to brush it off with your thumb; to the carnival date and the almost-matching cardigans, the triumphant giggle when he won you that stupid plushie, the beam that lights up his entire face as he proudly presents it to you…

You think about the lingering touches that seem to brand your skin, the look in his eyes as you ramble about God-knows-what, the fond smile that creeps onto his face when he thinks you aren’t looking, and they make you wonder if the mirage is truly that fragile, an iridescent bubble that bursts into obscurity with the touch of a fingertip. It’s sooner or later when you have to wake up from a dream, no matter how long you want it to last.

And it is that cloud of dubiety that has your mind blanking at the little row of text sent to you just as you’re about to call it a day and burrow underneath your covers.

Joshua Hong [00:04] i’m really sorry you had to overhear all that earlier, everything’s settled now

Joshua Hong [00:08] you’re probably asleep, sorry if i’m bothering you

Joshua Hong [00:09] good night

You let the screen go dark, and the muffled thump that results from your phone hitting the crumpled sheets only makes you feel emptier as your eyes flutter shut, images of tattoo sleeves and beaded bracelets dancing behind your eyelids.

“—Mimi’s making a full recovery soon.”

Jihoon smiles. The past few weeks have been especially stressful on you after a patient you’re tending to unexpectedly fell ill again, and to say he’s happy that a part of your life is starting to look up, evident from the hopeful twinkle in your eyes, would be an understatement.

“She’s the one who gave you that drawing of her cat, right? Mr. Sprinkles?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Your shoulders sag into a more relaxed position from the relieved exhale you let out. “She’s really excited to finally be able to see him soon.”

He nods, grabbing an empty cart as you step into the well-lit entrance of the supermarket a ten-minute drive away from your apartment. A man of few words, his way of showing love and care is picking you up after work every Friday night to take you grocery shopping so you won’t be tempted to order either overpriced healthy meals or processed garbage. Given your job, it’s ironic that he’s the one maintaining your decent eating habits.

“That’s really good to hear. What about Joshua? How’s he doing?”

His question has you freezing on the spot, and Jihoon just barely manages to stop the shopping cart from crashing into your back.

It’s here again—the vivid picture of those shiny, doe-like eyes that curve into crescents whenever in the presence of a sweet smile, the teasing grazes and careless glances, the words of endearment that roll off his tongue ever so smoothly as though they held no special meaning to him.

A few weeks ago, you would’ve let the butterflies roam freely. Now, you only feel sick to the stomach.

Just how many people has he looked at, talked to, touched like that?

“Y/N?”

Your stinging eyes meet Jihoon’s; dark, swirling pools of concern. “Are you okay?”

Wordlessly, you step to the side to allow him room for passing through the metal gates. “What happened? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” he inquires again softly. Considerate as ever, he sets a slow pace when walking alongside you, and you glumly note that unlike last time the wheels of the cart actually work somewhat smoothly.

“I don’t think so…” Your hesitancy barely provides him with any semblance of comfort, you can tell by the severe furrowing of his brows. “It—it’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

So you tell him about that day in the parlour, Joshua’s conversation with Dahee, then yours. Jihoon listens intently the entire time, while simultaneously plucking your usual groceries off the shelves and neatly arranging them in the cart. He’s silent for a few moments after you finish ranting, thoroughly processing the information you’ve laid on him.

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt,” he finally reasons. There’s a soft thud followed by a brief rattling noise when you glumly toss a bag of chips into the cart. Your feet drag along the tiled floors, rubber soles of your sneakers creating an obnoxious, squeaky sound as he continues, “He seems to like you a lot, and the receptionist could be telling the truth. Don’t judge him so quickly.”

“I’m not judging him, Jihoon,” you sigh, tiredly eyeing the vast selection of cup noodles to your left. “He can do whatever he wants, date around and play around with whoever, I’m just saying I’m not getting my hopes up anymore.”

“It could be different this time, though… you never know…” But even he sounds unsure.

You can’t help the disbelieving chuckle that pushes past your lips, followed by a murmured “excuse me” as you squeeze past a young couple. Going grocery shopping together, how wholesome, how domestic, how utterly disgusting given the messy current state of your mind. “What is this, a romcom?” you ask no one in particular. “One person isn’t just going to suddenly make him want a serious relationship.”

The rattling sounds of rusted wheels rolling on linoleum come to a halt, and you look over your shoulder to find Jihoon adding a pack of wheat noodles to the small mountain of groceries. His eyes, almost entirely hidden away behind his glasses and freshly-washed hair, however, are still trained on you.

“Have you tried talking to him about this?” he suggests hesitantly. “If he really likes you… I don’t know, Y/N… he might prove to you that he’s willing to try.” Since when was Lee Jihoon the hopeless romantic out of you two? He shrugs at the funny look you give him.

You shake your head with another sigh as you continue on your way, aimlessly making a right turn while resisting the urge to succumb to the temptation of the iconic red packaging of Shin Ramyun. You really don’t need a third purchase of their 5-pack within this month.

So instead you make a beeline to the dairy aisle to peruse their yoghurt selection, trusting that Jihoon will eventually join you. The frosty air blasting from the refrigerated aisle hits you like a blizzard, the thin scrubs you’re wearing hardly provide enough warmth from the cold that quickly starts settling into your bones. Shivering a little, you zip up your jacket and stash your hands into the pockets.

Your foot hits something, causing you to look down confusedly at the small jar of peanut butter that had rolled over from an unknown source.

With a soft grunt, you bend over to pick it up, looking up just in time to hear someone say, “I’m so sorry, that’s mine.”

Joshua Hong. Unfortunately, you’d now recognise that gratingly melodic voice anywhere.

“Y/N? Wh—”

“Here,” you say coldly, shoving the jar into his hands before brushing past him without a single glance. If you’re lucky, he’ll take the hint and go on his merry way.

“Wait!”

You don’t. Your footsteps quicken and all you want is to go far, far away to a place where there’s no Joshua Hong, maybe then you can convince yourself that you’ve truly gotten over him, that you haven’t irrevocably fallen for him.

He catches up to you with ease, slipping into the space in front of you to halt your hasty escape. He thinks his heart stopped beating for a few seconds at the sheet of ice that freezes over your irises, your stare so devoid of its usual warmth and friendliness that it doesn’t feel like he’s talking to you.

“What’s going on?” he breathes out. “You stopped responding to my texts for like, weeks. I’m worried.”

“Work kept me busy.”

“It’s because of that day at the parlour, right? When you overheard Dahee and I talking—”

“Overheard?” you interrupt incredulously. “You weren’t exactly trying to keep it down or wait until after I left to have that conversation.” He bites his lip, guilt flashing across his face. “I know. I—I was so surprised when she told me that I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, it was really unprofessional of me to do that in front of you.”

“It’s not that! All professionalism between us flew out the window even before you took me on that stupid date to the carnival!”

“Stupid…” Joshua repeats in a low, shocked manner. Genuine hurt wounds his features, but you’re simply too blinded by your pent-up frustration that you don’t pay any mind to it.

“How long would it have lasted?” you continue, the familiar sting of salty tears in your eyes. “How many more of those dates until you decide to break it off like it meant nothing to you?”

“What? Y/N, let’s talk this out, I can explain—”

“—Forget it, Joshua. Just forget I said anything,” you spit, words laced with pure venom. He doesn’t stop you when you briskly brush past him, arms hanging limply by his sides as your footsteps retreat into the distance.

You find Jihoon after a few minutes of aimless wandering at the bakery section, deciding between a loaf of sourdough and a baguette. Still burning with a combination of anger and dejection, you snatch both out of his hands, avoiding his bewildered gaze as you roughly toss the sourdough on top of the pre-packed salad greens.

“Are you… okay?” Jihoon asks tentatively, watching with mild concern as you aggressively shove the baguette back into its original place on the shelf. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s just go first.” You don’t wait for his response, already taking the cart from him and striding to where the cashiers are, eager to leave before Joshua decides to change his mind and goes after you.

“H-Hey! Wait for me!”

•••

Jihoon thinks you’re being a little paranoid when you start glancing over your shoulders almost everywhere you go when you aren’t at work, all because you don’t want to run into Joshua again.

He calls it excessive, you call it being cautious.

A small part of you is glad he stopped texting you after that evening in the supermarket, the guilt of essentially ghosting him beginning to eat you alive and threatening to consume your entire being. Yet, another part of you remains unsettled, antsy. Is it because he’s already found someone else, a new object of his affections?

The thought makes your heart sink to the deepest pits of your stomach, and despite all your attempts at convincing yourself not to care—he’s not your boyfriend, why should you?—it still comes back and haunts you every now and then. Perhaps that really was all you were to him, a fleeting phase that fizzles out as quickly as it blossomed.

An exhausted huff passes through your lips. Now’s not the time to think about Joshua Hong, especially as you’re currently hauling a tower of parcels out the post office.

“Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall,” you chant quietly, glancing up uneasily at the one sitting at the very top as it wobbles. Suddenly called in to work earlier today, you weren’t home when the mailman dropped by with the parcels, thus having to pick them up yourself. And being both stubborn and tired from work, you’d rather play a mini game of Tetris than make multiple trips between the post office and your car.

A man comes barrelling in your direction, and in your haste to dodge him you twist your body a little too forcefully, sending the smallest packages at the top crashing down on you. Your eyes flutter shut with dread as your lips twist unpleasantly, the muffled sounds of objects jostling and cardboard hitting asphalt reaching your ears just seconds later.

Not even a ‘sorry’, people these days, you think as you crouch to place the heavier boxes onto the ground, the weight of several stares piercing through your body while you scramble to collect the fallen parcels. Embarrassment burns you inside out, the tips of your ears are searing and you’re starting to feel lightheaded.

A hand enters your field of vision, thrusting the last box towards you. You reach out to grab it as your lips part, ready to thank the stranger for their help when your eyes land on something that causes the words to die in your throat.

A wilting rose hanging from a barbed vine.

“Joshua,” you blurt out. The name feels foreign on your tongue. How long has it been? God, it must have been weeks. Why do you miss him? He hurt you.

You miss him.

“Y/N.” The surprise in his voice is thinly veiled, as though he wasn't expecting you to acknowledge his existence.

With the looming tower reconstructed, you wrap your arms around the bottom-most box, mentally preparing yourself to haul everything back to your car with hopefully no public humiliation this time.

Joshua beats you to it, taking a good two-thirds off with seemingly no effort.

“I can—”

“I watched you struggle from a distance,” he says quietly. “Please, Y/N, let me help you just this once.”

You relent, wanting to get this over with. “I wouldn’t have dropped them if that guy actually watched where he was going,” you grumble, closing your fingers tighter around the edge of the box. “But… thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Just doing what anyone else would.” Joshua shows no sign of exertion, you’ve noticed. He looks at ease, like your boxes are full of nothing more but feathers.

You hate him. Why is he still being so nice to you? Does he not remember how you essentially blew up at him in the dairy aisle? You can barely walk through the entirety of its length without cringing at your behaviour from those weeks ago, yet here he is helping you when he well could’ve feigned oblivion and gone on his merry way. You remember learning about osmium in class years ago: it’s said to be one of the densest, heaviest substances on Earth, but you think you’ve found a heavier one.

Guilt.

The short walk back to your car is silent save for the sound of your feet hitting the pavement, your footfalls subconsciously syncing up like some twisted symphony. You open the trunk for him, watching with the same lump in your throat as he gingerly places down your parcels and arranges them in a way that ensures a safe trip back to your place.

It feels remiss not to say anything.

“Joshua,” you begin tentatively; you almost wish he wouldn't meet your eyes. It’s so much easier to hate him if he was angry at you, hated you back the same way. But his eyes show no trace of resentment as he gazes at you with the same gentleness as he did before things fell apart.

Your bitterness is misplaced, you know that. You’ve come to such a realisation over the past few weeks; it’s always at the forefront of your mind when the nights get a little too quiet, you just didn’t want to admit it to anyone. Including yourself.

You don’t hate Joshua Hong. You hate that you like him more than you should, that you would’ve let yourself fall unreservedly if you knew he felt as strongly for you as you did for him. Maybe it’s the universe that you want to curse at, for allowing you to cross paths with someone as perfect and unattainable as Joshua Hong. It’s always been easier to direct negative feelings towards a person than a seemingly intangible entity.

“I’m sorry for what happened that day,” you continue, “I was upset and acted rashly, and that wasn’t fair to you. So again… I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, and your eyes drift to how his blonde hair falls over his eyes messily. His roots must be at least an inch long by now; you’d ponder why he, someone who’s unsurprisingly perfectionistic given the nature of his job, hasn’t gotten them retouched yet, but you feel like you already know the answer to that.

“It’s okay, Y/N. I thought about it a lot, and I understand why you reacted the way you did. I would’ve too if I were you,” he chuckles mirthlessly. “I’d be really mad too if I thought someone was leading me on.”

Your bottom lip hurts from your gnawing. “Were you, then?”

“No, I can promise you that.”

You nod, not really knowing what else to say. You don’t exactly disbelieve him, but words are ultimately just that: words, empty vessels that lose their meaning without something substantive to back them up.

“Do you still hate me?” His voice cracks a little at the end of his question, betraying his anxiousness despite the calm front he’s put up.

“It’s not you I hate.” Mentally, you’re kicking yourself in the shin. Should’ve just said ‘no’ and left it at that, you think bitterly, already bracing yourself for the inevitable follow-up question.

“Then what is it?”

“I hate that…” You can’t do it. You can’t. You feel so stupid. “Never mind. Just—I don’t hate you.” Joshua’s hand wraps around your arm before you can brush past him, fingers securely, but not painfully, pressing into your skin. You exhale shakily as he blocks your path with his body, and you know this time there’s no running away. You’re an adult, for God’s sake, it’s about time you sort out your problems like one.

His intense gaze bores into your wary eyes when you raise your chin to face him once more. “Tell me, please?”

“Fate, I guess,” you say softly after a few moments of hesitation.

His eyebrows furrow, and you let out a dry chuckle upon realising how silly you sounded. “I know, I know, it’s stupid, but… I’m frustrated, you could say, because we obviously have some kind of chemistry and if we’re just gonna be honest with each other today—I like you more than just a friend, okay?”

Joshua’s eyes widen at your confession, completely shell-shocked as you continue, “And I have to tell myself not to act on these feelings because I know we want different things in life right now. It—it hurts pretending I don’t want to be with you, but I know I can’t because it’ll only end badly.”

“Says who?” Joshua asks, voice doused in desperation, something so uncharacteristic of him that the aching pit in your gut only seems to grow heavier and heavier. “I like you, Y/N, and I really do think this can work out. We won’t know if we don’t try.”

The hurt that etches across his face when you shake your head makes him look like a wounded puppy. It’s a sight you never want to see nor want to be the cause of, but you know this is for the best—and maybe after a while you’d still have a chance of salvaging your friendship.

“It won’t work out, and it’d be stupid of us to head into a relationship when we know we don’t want the same thing—”

“You keep saying that and I still have no idea what you’re referring to. What is it that you think I want?” he demands.

“Dahee told me, Joshua,” you sigh, not oblivious to the way his face falls. “She says you aren’t looking for anything serious, which is completely fine, of course. But it’ll only cause more friction in the long run and hurt us both if we become a thing, and I’d rather stay friends with you than have us end on horrible terms.”

Warmth radiates from his palms as he takes your hands in his. “What are you looking for, then? Tell me, maybe I’ll—I’ll be able to reciprocate! Let me prove it to you, please…”

Your heart cracks when you gently pry your hands out of his hold. You can almost hear the chipped pieces falling onto the pavement in soft clinks, sprawled out for the world—for Joshua—to see.

“It doesn’t matter,” you croak out, “it doesn’t matter because this just won’t work out. So don’t prove it, Joshua, because you won’t… and neither do I want you to. I’d never ask that of someone.”

The evening breeze kissing your skin brings an icy sensation as wet trails seep to the edge of your jaw. You wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your sweater; you’ve already abandoned all your dignity by laying your heart bare and confessing to Joshua, crying in front of him is the least of your worries.

He doesn’t say anything as you shut the trunk. Maybe he’s finally realising this is a lost cause. It’s for the best, you tell yourself, and you’ll repeat it in your head over and over again, for as long as it takes to get over Joshua Hong.

“I really do hope we can be friends again… maybe after some time,” you tell him quietly. “Thanks again for today, and I’m sorry. Really.”

The look in his eyes is indecipherable. He opens his mouth to speak, but ultimately decides against it and merely shakes his head. You wonder what it means: a sign of disappointment? Anger? Or is he telling you not to be sorry?

The last one can’t be right, not when he turns and walks away from you, his retreating figure a melancholic, lonely sight.

•••

“I thought I saw you walk in here.”

If anyone asked, Xu Minghao ambushed you.

“And I have to talk to you,” he declares, seemingly materialising next to you out of thin air in the coffee shop just across the street from his parlour—a poor choice considering your plan to avoid Joshua until everything blows over, but you were running errands in the area and needed a pick-me-up.

You look down at the hand wrapped around your wrist. “Can I at least get my coffee first?”

He rolls his eyes at you, though you can tell he’s not genuinely upset. “Yeah, yeah, of course. But hurry.”

“Like I have control over how fast they make their orders,” you mumble, shying away from the playful punch Minghao tries to land on your arm. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I think you know.”

His eyes are gentle, sympathetic when you turn to face him. Absent-mindedly, you toy with the receipt in your hands. “How much did he tell you?” you ask quietly.

“Just enough for me to know what’s going on,” he replies, voice lowered to match yours. “Before you get mad at him for telling me—” you weren’t going to, but you’re glad there’s an explanation for it—“I was the one who told him to talk to me. When one of my colleagues’ been a total mess at work, I have the responsibility to check on them.”

Your throat goes dry and suddenly you've lost all ability to speak. The thought of Joshua—perfect, perfect Joshua Hong—being miserable because of you is like someone dealing a blow to your gut and knocking the wind out of you.

“3012!”

Shooting Minghao an apologetic look, you leave his side briefly to get your coffee. The barista at the counter snatches your receipt and offers you nothing more than a paper straw and an acknowledging nod before going back to calling out orders.

“Please?” he says when you return, “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Okay.”

Minghao takes you back to his private studio at the parlour with the promise that Joshua took a few days off, hence guaranteeing his absence completely. A small part of you expects a trap like the ones in movies, where it’d turn out to be a big fat lie with Joshua standing in the middle of the room while Minghao runs out and locks you both in, refusing to let you out until you’ve made up.

True to his word, however, the waiting room remains Joshua-less on this Thursday afternoon. The few customers waiting on the couches glance up at you and Minghao as the bell above the door chimes with your arrival, but return their attention to their phones just as quickly. Dahee’s on the phone with someone, but flashes a smile at you in greeting.

Minghao’s studio is located in a separate hallway from the others’, but you can’t help yourself from looking down that particular hallway you’ve been strangely missing. Joshua’s door is closed, not a rare occurrence, but it feels different this time because you know there’s no one behind that door. The humming of the tattoo gun isn’t coming from his room but someone else’s, and unlike your previous visits to the parlour, there will be no Joshua Hong walking out into the waiting area to greet you with a cheeky smile and an affectionate darling.

You feel horrible, or rather, a horrible person. Horrible, horrible, horrible, it rings in your head like a mantra.

Minghao’s studio is tasteful, a bit more spacious than Joshua’s, awash in light monochromes with just the right amount of accent colours from the paintings that decorate his walls. He pats one of the armchairs, the gesture terribly familiar, as he settles into the other. You don’t meet his eyes at first, toying his fuzzy carpet with the tip of your sneaker-clad foot.

“Fill in the gaps for me,” he says softly after a few minutes of silence. The gentleness in his eyes is a much appreciated reassurance that you won’t be harshly judged, and perhaps that is what’s convincing you.

“What happened between you and Shua?”

Joshua has some thinking to do.

“Shua? What are you doing here? I thought you’re taking today off!”

“You look so unhappy to see me, Dahee,” Joshua teases, “can’t I show up to my own workplace?”

“O-Of course you can! I was just surprised to see you, that’s all. Especially after Hao made it very clear that you needed a break.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m feeling better now, so I figured I’d come back and do some prep work, clean up a bit, y’know? My stuff probably collected some dust while I was gone. Plus, I need to talk to Hao about something.”

“No! You can’t!”

He freezes, eyebrows raising in surprise at Dahee’s unexpected reaction. Her eyes are blown wide with alarm. “I… I can’t?”

She clears her throat sheepishly. “Uh, it’s just that… he’s a bit busy right now in his studio! Why don’t you… go grab a coffee and come back later?”

Joshua laughs awkwardly at the suggestion, wholly confused by her weird behaviour. “It’s fine, I’ll just wait here or in my room. Does he have a girl in there right now, or something?” he jokes.

“Yes!” Dahee blurts before clamping a hand over her mouth. “Well, not like that! No, he doesn’t—I’m gonna stop talking. Forget I said anything.”

“That’s only making me more curious!” His hands find purchase on the marble counter as he looms over her sitting figure. “What’s going on and why are you acting so weirdly?”

Dahee runs a hand through her bubblegum pink tresses, manicured nails the same hue of wine red as her lips. “You didn’t hear it from me, okay? It’s Y/N, the girl you’re into?”

Joshua chuckles nervously, his gaze shifting nervously under her deadpan stare. “W-Who said anything about me being into her? Wait! You mean they’re—” His heart stops before dropping to his stomach like that one ride at the amusement park he’s too scared to try. Would Minghao really be so cruel as to make a move on you when he knows what happened?

“You’re not subtle at all, it’s written all over your face whenever she comes in,” Dahee responds matter-of-factly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Now, I don’t know what happened exactly between you two, but literally everyone here saw a shift in your mood when she stopped coming.”

Her lips curve into a satisfied smirk when he guiltily tips his chin down like a puppy who got caught tearing up pillows. “And before you freak out—they’re just talking in Hao’s room, nothing like whatever you just thought of—oh my God, please don’t eavesdrop!” She’s too late, he’s already halfway across the room. “What if you get caught?”

“I won’t!” Joshua hisses, still inching closer to the hallway that leads to Minghao’s studio. “They won’t even know I’m here!”

Dahee shakes her head. “If Hao asks: I saw nothing,” she relents. “This is all a figment of my imagination and in reality you’re still at home and definitely not here.” She swivels back around in her chair with an exasperated sigh, picking up her phone so she can no doubt return to her ceaseless scrolling through cat pics on Instagram.

She can deny it all she wants to protect her reputation as the “baddest bitch on the block”—a self-proclaimed title, but he agrees—because everyone and their mother have caught her silently squealing at her phone, feet kicking under the desk, to the point where their cat-owning regulars now bring in new photos for her to coo over.

Grateful for her unorthodox method of showing support, Joshua makes the final few steps down the hallway until he reaches the hardwood door. He’s suddenly thankful for the storage closet just across Minghao’s studio, which will serve as his hiding place should he need a hasty retreat.

Hesitantly, he presses his ear to the door not knowing what to expect. Cursing? Yelling? Crying? None of those options sound very good. He wills his pounding heart to settle and decides to focus on listening—okay, eavesdropping—for the time being.

“—what to do.” That’s you inside alright, he’d recognise your voice anywhere. The sound of your voice makes his heart ache with familiarity, like seeing an old friend who you’ve lost contact with, who now feels more like a stranger than someone you’ve once had a connection with. God, it feels like eons ago since he last spoke to you; he misses your laugh, your jests, your smile.

He misses you.

“I feel so horrible for ending things like that with him,” you continue, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who ‘him’ is referring to. “But I want to save us the heartbreak, because I know I’m not what he wants.”

Wrong. For someone who is so bright, so smart, so witty, you cannot be any more incorrect.

“You don’t know that,” Minghao reasons softly. “Things change, people change, the things they want change.”

Disbelief colours your voice, “Over someone they’ve only known for months?”

“You don’t have to be anything or put a label on it, Y/N. Whether it takes weeks or months for you two to figure out whether you’re right for each other, I don’t think Shua would mind at all. He’s a patient man.”

“Is he?”

“I understand your reservations, I really do, and they’re valid. T-There… there are reasons why he never sought serious relationships in recent years, but they’re not my stories to tell,” Minghao says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “All I’m saying is… yes, maybe he doesn’t understand you well enough the same way you may feel you barely know anything about him, but isn’t that more of a reason to keep trying so you’ll get an answer?”

“I-I guess…” you stammer, “I just… I don’t want him to feel obligated to me, if that makes sense.” Joshua lets out the breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, for even the sturdy door that separates you is not enough to filter out the defeated strain in your voice. “He’s free-spirited, and I’m in a place in my life where I want a little more stability. I don’t want him to… feel trapped, or not be able to be himself just because he wants to be with me.”

“I don’t think he feels that way,” Minghao says, “he genuinely likes you a lot. It’s unfair to both of you to make assumptions on how he feels, which is why I really do think you should talk to him whenever you’re ready instead of letting these thoughts stew alone in your head.”

“Yeah, you’re right… thanks for this, Hao. I appreciate it, really.”

“It’s nothing, just doing what any friend would do,” he reassures, “it sucks seeing you two on such terrible terms when you were such good friends before, especially when it can be talked out.”

“I’ll keep you updated, though I’m sure Joshua probably will too,” you add. The tinge of amusement in your delivery eases the tension that settled all around Minghao’s office like a dense fog. Even in such an unideal predicament, he still can’t get enough of the way his name rolls off your tongue.

He hears Minghao speak again over some shuffling in the room. “Oh, that’s right: you still have somewhere to be. You should’ve told me, I wouldn’t have held you up for so long!”

“Nah, I needed that talk,” you say, “and I won’t be late because it’s just the bakery a few blocks away, don’t worry.”

Minghao hums in thought. “Ode Bakery?”

“That’s the one.”

“Special occasion?”

“Mhm, I promised my kids I’d bring them fruit tarts today.”

Joshua backs away from Minghao’s door until he’s firmly pressed against the one of the storage closet. His heart, which had just begun to calm down a little, violently hammers against his rib cage yet again, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Kids. You have kids.

The sound of approaching footsteps snaps Joshua out of his frozen state. His hand scrambles for the doorknob, shutting himself into the small space just seconds before he hears Minghao’s door fly open followed by you bidding him goodbye. Little did either of you know, the topic of your conversation is a mere few feet away, realisation raining down on him like a ton of bricks.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Why you always seemed to be busy, or rarely talked about your personal life, or emphasised wanting stability in life and were so certain he wouldn’t want the same yet—it was because you’re a mom. With kids. Plural. Tiny versions of you.

The last thought makes him smile despite his mind still reeling from the revelation. If your kids were anything like you, he’s certain they’re angels.

Joshua rolls over in his bed, facing the nightstand where his digital clock sits. The glowing numbers tell him it’s far past his usual bedtime, but he can’t seem to fall asleep. He wonders if he’s thinking too much about all this, but just as quickly reassures himself it’s the right thing to do: this is a huge deal, and the last thing you need is him taking rash steps in what’s left of your relationship without careful consideration.

When his eyes finally droop shut, he dreams of chubby cheeks and wide, curious eyes.

•••

Your conversation with Minghao weighs heavy on your mind every day whenever you allow yourself to indulge in thoughts about your personal life. He advised talking to Joshua once you’re ready, but the bravado you muster up through what feels like hours of pep talk all but goes out the window every time you pull up his contact. Some days when you’re feeling particularly pessimistic, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to actually do it or if you’d eventually resort to moving away to a new city, changing your identity and leaving your past behind.

Tempting as it is, you really can’t afford to uproot your entire life like that, nor do you think you want to anyways.

Though, it appears as though you wouldn’t have to worry about being the first to reach out anymore, because almost one month after that afternoon in Minghao’s studio, when you’ve finally had the time to check your phone after a gruelling shift, you realise he’s already beaten you to it.

Joshua Hong [23:47] Y/N, hi

Joshua Hong [23:47] can we talk?

Joshua Hong [23:47] when you feel ready, let me know okay?

Your response comes immediately.

•••

The first time you brought him to the café, your heart was pounding from the ambiguity, unsure why Joshua Hong of all people would want to ask you out for coffee. Today, you’re back with the same jittery feeling that quakes every cell in your body and makes your stomach do flip-flops.

Sweat collects in your palms as you wrap a hand around the door handle and push it open, already spying Joshua sitting in the far corner of the quaint café. You sneak a glance at the table by the window you and Joshua occupied all those months ago, finding a young couple seemingly in their early twenties settled into the cushioned chairs.

You squeeze past a server on your way to the table, a mumbled ‘excuse me’ falling from your lips, hardly audible from how your throat seems to have closed up from nerves.

Joshua looks up from his phone as you draw closer, offering a weak smile as you slide into the empty chair across from him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say back awkwardly, busying yourself with taking off your crossbody purse. It sits in your lap, your arms coming around to hug it against your torso for some semblance of comfort.

“I, um… I just ordered the same things we did last time. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course.” Frankly, you don’t remember what you ordered that day; it’s the least of your worries with everything that has happened since. You do, however, remember his plate of strawberry waffles that was topped with more powdered sugar than days’ worth of the recommended daily sugar intake.

You cease your fidgeting in favour of scanning your surroundings. While you like to think of yourself as a regular of the café, you don’t think you’ve ever sat in the far corner before. Why would you when there are far better seats, like the aforementioned window seats that get plenty of sunlight, or the sofa seats with the fluffy pillows? But for the dreaded conversation you’ll be having, this little corner where no one else other than the staff passes by allows for the most privacy.

Your eyes finally land on Joshua, a jolt of lightning shooting down your spine when you find him already looking back at you, simply observing. You both chuckle uncomfortably.

“Thanks for seeing me, by the way,” he’s the first to make conversation again, something you’re deeply grateful for, “I really appreciate it.”

You shake your head. The guilt that’s been haunting you for months rears its ugly head again, creeping up your throat like bile. Admittedly, you’ve been extremely stubborn, he has every right to be annoyed with you and yet he’s treating you with the same kindness as he’d always shown.

“No, thank you for… actually trying to amend things,” you admit. Nerves sink their fangs into your skin, and you begin playing with your fork for a distraction as you continue, “I’m sorry for ignoring you for ages.”

“It’s okay, you needed space and time to think. I understand.”

The server approaches your table with a smile and places your orders before you. Strawberry waffles and Iced Americano for Joshua, iced oat milk latte and—oh yeah, you did get the chocolate-banana crepes last time.

“Enjoy,” the server chirps before turning on her heel and striding off to another table.

The air around you is still heavy, discomfort still emanating from both of you in strong waves as you pick up your forks. It feels wrong to be in such a happy, cosy place just to eat in silence, avoiding meeting Joshua’s eyes like your life depended on it while he did the same as if you’re strangers who were forced to share a table. You begin doubting the success rate of this meeting; judging by how things are looking at the moment, the air wouldn’t be cleared until one of you spoke.

You desperately rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to get the ball rolling so you don’t throw up from the silence that tightens the knots in your stomach. It hits you out of nowhere as you peer up at him through your lashes when he’s not paying attention—his hair isn’t blonde anymore!

You decide to start there.

“So…” you begin slowly, eyes still trained on the ashy brown colour Joshua now sports, “you dyed your hair again.”

The harsh clang of cutlery against porcelain reaches your ears as Joshua drops his fork and knife on his plate of half-eaten waffles.

“I’m sorry!” he says, “I—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop!”

You blink at him, wholly confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“I overheard you and Hao talking! I stopped by the parlour and happened to hear you two and—I just couldn’t not listen!” Your eyes widen, heart pumping erratically in your chest as shame unpleasantly twists his features. “It was a really awful thing to do but I was so scared you wouldn’t talk to me again, so I thought if I knew what you were thinking I’d be able to understand your frustrations better!”

He pauses his frantic rambling in exchange for several deep breaths, and you watch with an earth-shattering combination of shock and horror as his shoulders rise and fall with his exhales. Only one question is thrumming at your skull: how much had he heard?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past month after hearing you and Hao talk,” Joshua continues to fill the silence that had once again settled over your table, this time in a calmer, lower tone. “I’ve been thinking about my priorities and where I want to see myself in the long run. I know to you I might look like someone who doesn’t take relationships seriously, or isn’t ready to settle down with a family or anything, but I never once saw you as a fling because you… you mean more to me than that, a lot more.”

Your heart jerks at his words, each one completely saturated with sincerity. “Really?” you ask, voice hushed and wobbly.

Joshua’s nod is resolute. “I thought it all through now, and I’m being a hundred percent serious when I tell you that I’m ready to start a serious relationship again, and that it’s what I genuinely want to try and have. So that… one day…” He hesitates, the rest of his sentence crawling into drawn out syllables. You take the chance to stuff another bite into your mouth to physically stop yourself from interrupting or pressuring him.

It takes a short while until he’s able to finish. “So one day… I can be a good father figure for your kids.”

You’re still chewing when he speaks and immediately start choking on your crepes.

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

Joshua watches in alarm as you repeatedly pat yourself on the chest to stop the heaving. His fumbling hands pass you a tissue while you let out the last of your wheezy gasps, finally able to swallow down your food.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” you manage, grabbing your glass to take a sip of water. “Sorry, the last part just really startled me because—”

“I know,” Joshua says guiltily, head hanging down with shame, “it’s personal and it was none of my business. I really, really shouldn’t have eavesdropped. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not that at all.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek as you contemplate on how you should break the news to him, that this was all a huge misunderstanding you didn’t even know you had caused. “I don’t have kids.”

His body tenses up, his stare perplexed as he gapes at you. “B-But… I heard you!” he stutters. “You were telling Hao about how you promised to bring them cakes, or tarts, or something like that! You said ‘my kids’.”

Realisation goes off in your head like lightbulbs and now this all makes sense. To say you feel bad for the man would be a massive understatement. “Joshua… I’m a nurse,” you reveal in a quiet murmur, burying your face in your hands to shield yourself from his reaction. “I work in paediatrics, specifically. Sometimes I call my patients my ‘kids’ because of the close relationship we have.”

“Oh my God,” he mutters, your words slowly processing in his brain, “I’m—I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed…”

You lift your head and offer a sheepish smile. “It’s okay, I get why you came to that conclusion now. I’m sorry for misleading you, even if it was unknowingly… and I’m sorry for all the other stuff as well.”

A light chuckle emits from Joshua. He cards a hand through his hair, the soft tufts passing through his fingers as he shakes his head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I thought—never mind. But… whether you have kids or not, everything I said a while ago is still true, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you, I… appreciate it, a lot,” you say, this time locking eyes with him before continuing, “and thank you again for reaching out, I think talking to you again will help a lot with me sorting out my own feelings. Can we… can we start over?” Your gaze, while still hesitant, glazes over with hope, “retry being friends again?”

“Of course,” he agrees immediately, a relieved smile blooming across his face. “I missed talking to you.”

“Me too,” you bravely admit, your smile uncontrollably stretching wider at the thought that things might go back to normal soon, just the way they were. “I missed having you as a friend.”

Joshua raises his glass, half empty with condensation trickling down the sides and dripping off the bottom. “Let’s cheers to that. To new beginnings.”

You can’t help but laugh, though you do as he does as raise your own glass. “With coffee?”

He hums, “Feels more fitting for us than alcohol anyways.”

Secretly, you agree, and your glasses meet in a soft clink.

It’s times like these when Joshua realises that perhaps he didn’t know you as well as he’d thought.

Are you the type to like tomatoes in your sandwiches? Onions? Pickles?

The sandwich shop employee eyes him weirdly when he changes his mind for what felt like the umpteenth time, her gloved hand slowly retracting from the pickles bin. He’s lucky it’s late and there’s no one behind him in line, or he probably would’ve been ushered out ages ago.

He hopes you like tomatoes.

With the sandwich and canned coffee sitting in the passenger’s seat, hilariously strapped into the seatbelt, he takes off for the hospital you work at while vibrant pinks and oranges bleed together over the horizon. He was supposed to pick you up to take you out for dinner, but you apologetically texted him a few hours ago about taking a rain check as your workload for the day proved to be more than expected.

He realises he doesn’t have a plan when he pulls up to the hospital, and after deciding it probably wasn’t the best idea to call you during your shift, he nervously shuffles over to the receptionist in the lobby.

The older woman looks up with a warm smile. “Hi, what can we help you with? Are you a visitor?”

“No—well, kinda, I guess,” he stumbles, “is there a way I can drop o—”

“Joshua?”

He whips around to find you standing a few feet away from him, eyes blown wide in surprise. You’re makeup-free and in your scrubs, so unlike anything he’s seen you in, but as cheesy as it is he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person he’s met.

A small group of children in hospital pyjamas form a circle around you, each of them peering at him with round, curious eyes as they take in every detail of the unfamiliar man standing in the middle of the lobby.

The receptionist wears the same kind smile as she asks, “Back from the gardens?”

“Yeah, about to take these guys up for dinner,” you reply, grinning down at the kids before turning back to Joshua, “what are you doing here?”

He holds up the sandwich and coffee. “Thought you probably wouldn’t have time to get food, so I came to bring you these.”

Your smile turns shy. He doesn’t tell you, but it illuminates the whole lobby like you’re the sun and the rest of them are the planets orbiting it. “O-Oh… thank you, really. That’s so sweet of you. I have a break in, like, fifteen minutes, so I’ll be right back, okay?”

He opens his mouth to answer, though his attention is quickly stolen away by one of the kids tugging at your pants.

“Nurse Y/N, who is he?” the boy asks, looking back and forth between you and Joshua.

“He’s my—”

One of the girls mischievously grins up at you like the Cheshire Cat, her eyes twinkling as she chimes, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Her comment sets off a chain reaction, and the rest of the children immediately break out into a chorus of ooh’s and “Nurse Y/N has a boyfriend!” In the blink of an eye, Joshua finds himself flocked by the kids in every direction imaginable as they depart from your side to his. The questions come pouring in right after.

“How long have you been dating Nurse Y/N?”

“Why do you have so many drawings on your neck and hands?”

“What does this one mean?”

“Does she bring you cakes too?”

“Have you kissed before?” This stirs up a symphony of gleeful squeals and feigned gagging noises, causing a scarlet fire to twist up his neck and all the way to his ears. Joshua glances at you through his lashes, the bashful, somewhat dumbfounded expression lingering on your features tells him that the feeling is mutual.

An amused grin tugs at his lips. Cute.

“I like your bracelets, Mister,” he hears one girl marvel quietly amidst the chaos. She runs a tiny finger along the beaded jewellery around his wrist, a sight that has his heart melting in a pile of mush on the shiny tiles.

“I’ll make you one,” he promises gently, unable to contain his fondness when her head bobs excitedly, cheeks round from the hopeful beam that lights up her face.

You clap your hands together to get the kids’ attention. “Okay, okay. Time for dinner, guys!” When they seem reluctant to leave, you try again with a singsong lilt to your voice, “We have pudding tonight.” Despite the numerous disappointed pouts you receive, this does the trick. One by one, they peel away from Joshua’s side, saying their goodbyes before letting you usher them towards the elevators, still chattering amongst themselves and peeking out at him from behind your legs.

“Sorry!” you call out to him, “I’ll be back in a sec!”

Joshua shakes his head in reassurance and tells you he’ll be waiting. A chuckle rumbles from his chest when one of the girls—long, shiny hair gathered into a ponytail and adorned with a sparkly scrunchie—waves goodbye.

“Bye, Nurse Y/N’s boyfriend!”

You shush her shyly before saying something he can’t hear, your footsteps hurrying as she continues giggling behind her tiny hand.

•••

It’s over half an hour later when you finally get a moment’s reprieve from work. Joshua looks up with a smile as you jog up to him in hurried footsteps.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting for so long,” you say breathlessly, holding onto the couch’s armrest for support as you steady your breathing. “I was about to come down when I got pulled away and—”

“It’s okay, your work is important and I’m not in a rush anyways,” he interrupts gently, showing no sign of annoyance at all before patting the empty space next to him. “C’mon, sit.”

“Still, I made you wait way longer than I said I’d take—” Your sentence cuts off abruptly, the guilty look on your face replaced by one of thinly-veiled excitement when he passes you the sandwich. The sight of food has your stomach rumbling, a reminder of how hungry you’ve been from not being able to eat much all day due to work. Eyeing the loaf with the most interest he’s ever seen someone have towards a regular turkey sandwich, you unwrap it and take a huge bite, completely oblivious to the endearment dripping from Joshua’s gaze as he watches you eat.

Finally, you catch him staring, blood surging to your face while you meekly explain, “Sorry, I haven’t had a full meal since this morning.”

“It’s really okay,” he says with a good-natured laugh, “you don’t have to apologise.”

“Thank you, by the way. You totally didn’t have to do this.”

Joshua shrugs, indicating it’s no big deal to him. “I wanted to. I figured if you were working longer it probably meant you wouldn’t have enough time to get food, let alone eat.”

“I probably wouldn’t,” you agree, “you’re a saviour.”

“Well, friends don’t let friends go hungry.”

There’s a wry smile playing on your lips as you recall a similar sentence he once said. “Like how friends don’t let friends rot in boredom?”

Surprise flickers across his features, his eyes soften and he gazes at you tenderly. “You remembered.”

“I remember a lot of things, Joshua.”

Neither of you say much after that, especially after his insistence that you finish as much as you can of your sandwich before going back to work, and you allow comfortable silence to fill the space between you both. He only speaks again several minutes later while you’re folding the other half back into the parchment paper, your break drawing to a close.

“What time do you get off work?”

“2 a.m. if nothing comes up.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“What? No! You should get some sleep! You’ve done enough for me.”

He cocks a brow at you. “How will you get home at that hour then?”

You falter, cursing your decision of not driving to work today as you normally do when you have late shifts. Though in all fairness, it was only because you didn’t expect your dinner plans with Joshua to fall through.

“I—I don’t know… call a taxi, maybe, or see if one of my coworkers can give me a ride.”

“Y/N, I’ll rest easier knowing you have a safe way home. I’m a night owl and I don’t have work tomorrow anyways.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” A warm, fuzzy feeling surges through your veins at his reassuring smile. “I’ll see you at two then, okay?”

•••

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur as you slide into the passenger seat. The interior of his car still looks the same since the last time you were in it; you recognise the deer figurine sitting on the dashboard, the small diffuser next to it that emits faint notes of jasmine, the kimchi stew stain on the carpet beneath your feet which refused to come out no matter how many times he claimed to have cleaned it.

“You’re very welcome, miss,” Joshua replies with a cheeky grin, his corny impression of a personal chauffeur earning a roll of your eyes . You can tell he went home from his change of clothes, having swapped his white T-shirt and jeans for a pair of matching sweats.

You hate that even at two in the morning, Joshua Hong still looks perfect.

“How was work?” he asks after you’ve had some time to settle in. The streets are desolate for the most part with only the lone pedestrian or car appearing every once in a while, awash in the pale glow of the crescent moon hanging above.

“Good,” you hum, “tiring, but good.”

“It really should have clicked in me sooner that you’re a nurse.” Joshua shakes his head, a gesture aimed at himself rather than you. “All the signs just flew over my head for some reason, I was so embarrassed that day in the café.”

Perhaps you’re a little loopy from exhaustion, but you’re unable to suppress the fit of giggles that bubble out of you at the memory. Joshua pouts at you as you double over in laughter, “Don’t tease me! I really had no idea!”

“It’s fine,” you say upon composing yourself, “I just found it funny. In hindsight, I totally should’ve told you ages ago to save you the embarrassment, but I guess it never came up. And it’s not like it’s anything to brag about.”

“Are you kidding? You help people get better, that’s so cool. Seeing you interact with those kids back there only proved me right—you’re genuinely one of the most amazing people I know.”

“Stop it, I’m not,” you deflect, cheeks burning from his praise despite the cool night breeze blowing through the rolled-down window, “you’re gonna inflate my ego.”

“Good, you’re too humble,” Joshua teases, eyes trained on the road ahead. “By the way, I have something for you in the backseat. It’s in the Luna pouch.”

“I didn’t know you watched Sailor Moon.” Curious, you reach into the backseat for the drawstring pouch, holding it to the light coming from the streetlamps outside as you peer inside. “Bracelets?”

He hums in acknowledgment. “One of the girls said mine were pretty earlier, so while I was waiting to pick you up I just decided to make a bunch. I don’t know how many kids you’re in charge of, but hopefully there’s enough so they can each get one.”

Your eyes sting with salty tears and you have to bite down on your tongue so you don’t dissolve into a bawling mess right beside him. As if waiting hours just to pick you up from a graveyard shift wasn’t enough, he even made your patients bracelets in various designs and colours. You tilt your head back against the cushioned headrest while blinking back the moisture that’s gathered in your eyes, your shoulders falling and rising as you keep the volume of your heavy breathing to a minimum. Only one thought swims in your mind, ringing clearer than it ever has in the past few weeks: you don’t deserve Joshua Hong.

He notes your worrying silence and sneaks a glance at you. Though the inky night casts shadows over your face for the most part, he still manages to catch the glaze in your eyes.

“Oh, Y/N, why—”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you croak out, “I’m just… really touched. Just give me a moment and I’ll be okay.”

“If you say so,” he smiles at you softly, “please don’t feel indebted to me or anything, I thought it was a nice thing to do since no one likes being in a hospital.”

“Please stop talking before I actually start crying,” you whimper as you lay your arm over your eyes, the wobble in your voice signalling that your words hold no real malice.

You really, really don’t deserve Joshua Hong.

•••

“It’s because of that day at the parlour, right? When you overheard Dahee and I talking—”

“Overheard? You weren’t exactly trying to keep it down or wait until after I left to have that conversation.”

Joshua bites his lip, guilt etched across his face. “I know. I—I was so surprised when she told me that I wasn’t thinking properly. I’m sorry, it was really unprofessional of me to do that in front of you.”

“It’s not that! All professionalism between us flew out the window even before you took me on that stupid date to the carnival!”

“Stupid…” Joshua repeats in a low, shocked manner. Genuine hurt wounds his features. “Was that really all it was to you? A stupid date?”

You don’t answer.

“Y/N? It was, then?”

Why can’t you speak?

“Y/N?”

“Y/N? We’re here. Y/N?”

Your eyes snap open, a harsh gasp tearing from your throat as your body simultaneously lurches into a more upright sitting position. It takes a few seconds of disoriented blinking for the surrounding environment to register in your foggy mind, the scent of jasmine, the darkness outside, your looming apartment building. You’re in Joshua’s car, likely having fallen asleep sometime during the rest of the car ride.

Joshua frowns, visibly concerned. “Are you okay? Was it a bad dream?”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you blurt out. “It wasn’t stupid to me. I don’t know why I said that, I was angry and I didn’t mean it—”

“Slow down. Take deep breaths, okay?” he consoles, his voice a soft coo. “What do you mean?”

“That day at the supermarket… I said our carnival date was stupid,” recognition flickers across his face briefly as you continue, “I didn’t mean it. I said it in a fit of anger because at the time I still thought you were stringing me along so I felt like an idiot for thinking it meant something, and now I regret saying it so, so much. It wasn’t stupid to me, Joshua, none of it was.”

His eyes flutter shut, pretty pink lips stretching into a serene smile as he shakes his head. “I know.”

“Y-You know?”

“Well, it was just an inkling at first, but when we talked outside the post office and you confessed that you liked me back… it kinda confirmed to me that you didn’t mean what you said about the date.” His lips purse to the side as he considers his next words. “And even when we were at the carnival, I had a tiny suspicion you returned those feelings.”

“How?” you dare ask, heart jack-hammering against your chest, eardrums ringing with the rush of blood, stomach flipping upside down, nails digging into your clothed thighs.

Joshua lays a gentle hand over yours.

“Because… you look at me the same way I look at you.”

Chan’s looking over some bills when Joshua bursts into his shop like a whirlwind.

“Hey!” he greets brightly, either oblivious or ignorant to Joshua’s visibly frazzled state, “are you looking for—”

He jumps when the tattooist slams his palms against the counter with a wild look in his eyes.

“What flowers do you get for someone who’s sick and can I have the prettiest ones you have?”

•••

When you called Joshua earlier to cancel your appointment later that evening due to a horrible cold, you certainly hadn’t expected a text message from him saying he’s on his way. Yet here he is, ringing your doorbell repeatedly as you tiredly shuffle out of your bedroom with your blanket wrapped around your shivering body. You didn’t even have the energy to make yourself look presentable, wearing a baggy set of pyjamas, fluffy mismatched socks, and your hair looking like a complete and utter mess from spending the majority of the day rolling in bed.

You quietly groan aloud into the empty space of your living room. “I heard you the first time,” you mumble to no one in particular, a clammy hand wrapping around the doorknob before slowly pulling the door open.

“I brought stuff to make soup,” is the first thing Joshua says, “but I didn’t know what soup you like best so I pretty much got one of every kind they had at the store—”

“Shua, I appreciate you for doing this, really,” you rasp out, your voice so rough it sounds as though someone grated it with sandpaper, “but please don’t talk so fast, it’s making my head spin.”

Your bleary eyes land on the object in his hands before widening in horror. With the burst of energy you’ve suddenly gained, you leap back until you’re several feet away while almost tripping on the blanket ends that trail behind you.

Joshua, who’s still standing at your front door with the most bewildered expression you’ve ever seen on a person, stares as you bring the blanket across the lower half of your face in a makeshift mask. Perhaps he’s thinking you’ve gone mad with sickness.

“Y-Y/N?”

“I’m so sorry, Shua… there’s something else I’ve never told you before—I’m maybe, kinda, just a teeny bit… allergic to pollen?”

Your confession, muffled through the fabric, has Joshua looking down at the bouquet with what can only be described as pure alarm as dread tumbles down on him like a ton of bricks.

“You’re—you’re what?”

“I know, I know! I’m sorry!” you wail, pressed against your couch like a cornered puppy, “I literally feel so bad that this is happening again!”

“No! Don’t be sorry! I’m sorry! You always get flowers tattooed so I thought—oh my God.”

“I do like flowers,” you sniff before continuing, “it’s like people being allergic to dogs and cats but still loving them. That’s me, but with flowers. I can’t be near them, so I get them tattooed on me.”

Joshua runs a rough hand through his hair, looking up at you and back down at the flowers in his other hand. “What do I do with these?” he asks, sounding just as despaired as you did.

You scurry into the kitchen, yanking open the cabinet that holds spare plastic bags before fishing out one that will fit the bouquet. “Put them in here,” you say guiltily as you slide the neatly-folded bag towards him, “I’d hate to see them go to waste because they’re lovely. My neighbour—he lives a few doors down at 808, his name is Seungcheol—he’s taking floral arrangement classes, I think. He’d like them, if you don’t mind giving them to him instead. It’s 808, don’t accidentally go to 809 because the old lady who lives there will yell at you for trespassing.”

“Okay, good plan, 808, got it,” Joshua confirms, feeling a little more relieved now. While he’s a little bummed the flowers won’t be going to you after all—for a perfectly valid reason—he’s glad they’re at least not landing buds-first into a trash can.

“Make yourself at home,” you call out, looking like the most non-threatening ghost in your bundled-up state as you take tiny steps backwards. “I’ll just be in my room. Feel free to come in whenever, but without the very-beautiful-and-I’m-so-sorry-I-can’t-take-them flowers!”

You’re buried beneath the covers, only visible from the eyes and up, when Joshua enters your bedroom ten minutes later. He smiles sympathetically at the world’s saddest lump before gently shutting the door behind him and making a beeline over to you. He pulls out the cushioned stool from under your vanity, situating it near the foot of your bed so he can sit.

He adjusts the wrinkled corners of your covers. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you croak, “I, like, never get sick—”

“—Mhm.”

“But when I do, I get really, really sick, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Have you taken your medicine yet?”

You stare up at the ceiling, he can practically see the gears turning in your head as you jog your memory. “Like two hours ago, so… I need to take it again in another two.”

“Okay, I’ll start the soup soon, then.”

“Don’t you have—sniff—more appointments?”

Joshua shakes his head, the gentle smile on his face unwavering. “You were my last one for the day, I was gonna see if you wanted to get dinner after.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he parrots back playfully, earning a hoarse chuckle from you. “You should try getting some sleep, I’ll wake you up when the soup’s ready.”

You shake your head. “I’m sleepy, but I can’t fall asleep at the same time. Am I making any sense right now?”

“Not really, but it’s okay,” Joshua laughs, “what do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”

“I don’t know, I usually knock right out because I’m so tired from work.” You let out a low, contemplating hum. “Can we keep talking?” you finally ask, voice small and hopeful like a child’s. “Your voice is pretty, feels like it could lull me back to sleep. Has anyone told you you should be a singer?”

He blushes at your praise, but brushes it off with another laugh. You must be really sick. “Sometimes, I guess. What do you wanna talk about?”

“Hm… anything. Ooh—I know! Tell me what your tattoos mean.”

Joshua looks down at the exposed skin of arms in amusement before back at you with a twinkle in his eyes. “Where would we even start, darling? I don’t think there’s an area on my arms that isn’t already inked.”

Your head clumsily jerks from left to right on your pillow as your hand reaches out from under the covers. “There’s always one I’ve been intrigued by.”

“Yeah?” he watches you expectantly. “Which one?”

“The one on your right hand, the ring finger. I saw it when you were driving before. The rose and thorns.”

Your hazy vision doesn’t allow you to catch the abrupt downturn of the corners of his lips, his gaze becomes pensive as he traces the tattoo you identified with his thumb.

“You sure you wanna know?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Tell me, if you wanna.”

Sighing heavily, Joshua gets comfortable on your stool to buy himself some time, racking his brains for where in the story he wants to start.

“You know how Dahee said I’ve never had a serious relationship in a few years?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… I had one… before that all began.” Your eyes widen comically, bringing a small smile to his face. “We were high school sweethearts, you could say. Everyone was so sure we were each other’s person, even my parents thought I was going to marry her. It—it was the best five years of my life.” You stay silent as he continues, and even in your sick-ridden condition you can tell this is a painful memory for him.

“I was just starting out at the parlour when she broke up with me and told me she didn’t love me anymore, and—God, I was a total mess after that because I loved her so much,” a humourless chuckle whistles between his lips, “it was such a rough patch in my life, I felt like I lost the love of my life. Hao was one of the people who helped me through that, and after I thought I got over it all I started having casual relationships and breaking them off before either one of us got too committed.”

Sometime during his retelling your hands have found each other’s. Much like how he rested his hand over yours in his car a week ago, this time it’s your turn to provide some comfort. You’re certain your skin feels uncomfortably clammy, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s warm.

“Deep down, I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I thought if I stopped having serious relationships then I’d never be in that degree of pain again if things did go south.”

He tears his glossy eyes away from your face to glance down at the tattoo with a bittersweet smile. “I got this when I was really bitter about everything. I somehow convinced myself I wouldn’t be able to find love again, so I decided to tattoo a ring on my ring finger, hence the wilted rose and the thorn to remind myself of the hurt I felt. I almost went through with it according to my original plan, but right before Minghao started I had a change of mind, a sudden epiphany.”

Your hoarse whisper barely cuts through the heavy silence in the room. “What was it?”

“I asked him to move it from my left hand to my right.” Realisation dawns on you moments later, and it must be evident in your eyes because Joshua smiles genuinely. “I always knew I wanted to get married someday, even when what I thought would be my first and last relationship ended badly. I moved it to my right hand so when that day comes… the ring finger on my left would be saved for the person I love. And…” he turns back to you hesitantly, “that’s pretty much it.”

“Not cool,” you mumble weakly, sniffling before hastily burying your head underneath the covers, “you’re not supposed to make a sick person cry.”

You hear his laugh, a laugh you’ve grown to love the sound of. “I know, darling. But you asked, and I wanted to tell you too.”

Ensuring any stray tears are now soaked into the sleeves of your pyjama top, you lower the covers to their original position across the bottom half of your face. “No, but—” okay, maybe one last sniffle—“thank you for telling me that… and for trusting me enough to do so. I’m so sorry about what happened with your first girlfriend, but you’ll find love, Joshua. I really do believe that.”

You wonder if you’re seeing things; you swear you just saw a tear roll down his cheek. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I will, and so will you.”

The two of you bask in now the tender moment, your hands still connected. He’s warm. Very warm. You dissolve into giggles several minutes later, and the look on Joshua’s face is nothing short of amusement and fondness.

“What are you laughing about?”

He waits patiently until you’ve let out the last of them. “I’m just thinking… will I remember any of this when I wake up?”

“Probably not,” he responds, head tilted back slightly as he laughs, “but I’ll gladly tell you again if you want to hear it later. For now get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” You burrow further into your bed, lids growing heavily as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You make out Joshua’s silhouette hovering over you, his fingers gentle as he brushes stray hairs away from your face.

He’s adjusting your covers when he hears the quiet, muffled call of his name. He glances at your still figure, your eyes fluttered shut and lashes resting against your cheek. His voice comes out equally hushed. “Yes?”

“Thank you, Joshua. For everything.”

There’s a light pressure on your forehead, something that feels all too much like soft lips pressing against your skin. Maybe you’re already dreaming.

“No, thank you.”

❀❀❀ E N D ❀❀❀

💌 thank you for purchasing our lavender! — dino’s flower emporium

a/n: i’m once again really sorry to everyone who’s been waiting for the third part of this series ;-; it was pretty hard and i got super demotivated in the process bc i thought it was absolute garbage so this went through a few rewrites ahdajhd but i’m really glad i pushed through and i’m decently happy with how this final version came out :’)

if you enjoyed this, i’d really appreciate if you could take a few mins to lmk what you think through replies/tags/asks as it helps me become a better writer and encourages me to keep writing 💗💗 your gentle reminder to support cc’s through giving feedback <3

this was written with my favourite joshushu in mind <3 you know who you are bc only you (and lucy <3 hai wifey) will truly understand all the personalised bits here (@joshuas muah)

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