#svthub

‘Baby,’ Jeonghan’s arms were up now, reaching towards your busy figure, rag in hand, rustling the dust off of the bookshelves. 

‘Hannie.' Upon hearing the sternness decorating his favourite nickname, he flopped further into the cushions lazily.

Today was spring cleaning day — time to refresh the apartment for the warmth of the summer, the long days and humid nights, busy schedules and sticky bodies. 

To be completely fair to your sulky boyfriend, he had done some jobs. He’d sifted through heinous amounts of PR packages, emptied his side of your shared wardrobe ready for summer clothes, and he even scrubbed at the entire bathroom. 

But not without his very distracting and very regressive habits, a routine of procrastination masked as affection — relentless moaning that he needed a kiss after every single job and after four rounds of glum noises from your boyfriend, you’d oblige. Then, rather greedily, might you add, he’d urge for a hug.

This is where you always went wrong, helplessly yielding to his glistening eyes and upturned smile, which only allowed Jeonghan to rapidly sweep you up in an all-consuming movement that trapped your body in an enamouring embrace. 

Under any other circumstances, you’d enjoy every moment of your boyfriend’s clinginess, especially when it was so rare. But the cuddles and kisses had stretched a house clean that should’ve taken a day into a three-day extravaganza.

Therefore, to end his tempting wrath, he had been banished to the sofa until you’d ticked off dusting from the ever-growing list.

The quiet hum of a Red Velvet song wafted through the TV as your boyfriend supervised your cleaning, huffing and puffing dramatically with each swipe of the cloth against the wood. 

‘You don’t love me, right?’ There was a rustle of softened padding, and you could only assume Jeonghan had thrown his body down onto the sofa in a big, dramatic motion. 

‘I love you very much, Hannie,’ You replied, refusing to face your boyfriend, as you used every piece of willpower you harboured to withhold from folding to your extra sulky, extra cute and extra dramatic boyfriend. 

With a big swipe, dust flew into the air, dancing up your nostrils and tickling small sneezes from you. 

‘Baby,’ Jeonghan stood, his voice lacking the sullen tone and instead, concern penetrating through the words — but you raised your hand, still sneezing a colony of dust out of your system as you signalled for him to pause. 

‘I’m okay!’ You urged, shaking your head and turning towards Jeonghan, who cocked an eyebrow at you. Even as you rapidly blinked dust from your eyes and fanned it pathetically away from you, it was still riveting your nostrils.

‘Let me help you, baby,’ He said, but you shook your head vigorously. ‘Please?’ 

‘No no, you’ll distract me more,’ You told him, recovery from the sneeze attack allowing you to catch your breath for a moment. 

Only a very minuscule part of Jeonghan actually had the intention to help; really, he was bored of being confined to the sofa and yearned for any excuse to get your undivided attention.

‘I won’t, I promise.’ He lied pathetically, and there was even a peek of a smile quirking on the corner of his lips that you saw straight through. 

‘I can read you like a book, Yoon.’ You popped your hip, sharply eyeing him as his expression was twisted into a mixture of feigned offence and cockiness. ‘Verbal support from over there.’ 

‘God, I love it when you call me by my surname,’ he said, falling back onto the sofa in a manspread, head falling onto the back cushions as if it were hung in pleasure. 

The sight of your boyfriend forced you to blink — his figure almost erotic when he sat like that, neck exposed, shoulder-length dark hair framing his defined cheekbones, thighs toned, tanned and open.

‘It’ll be your surname soon.’ He muttered, his eyes watching you closely as blush crawled up your face and you snapped your body back towards the dusty, neglected bookshelf. 

‘Shut it, Yoon.’ You replied, and the cocky smirk that infiltrated his features could practically be heard in his small, hearty laugh. 

Staying true to your wish, Jeonghan remained glued to the sofa, keeping his whining to a minimum as he curated a playlist of songs for you to clean to. 

‘Honey, how long until it’s sofa time?’ He asked, and it was timid, with no hint of teasing or sulking, just pure sweetness that caresses your heartstrings. 

‘Last shelf, baby.’ You answered, clambering onto a wooden chair to reach the absolute top of the bookshelves. 

If you turned around, you knew Jeonghan would be watching every movement with a disapproving look, shaking his head at the varnished wooden chair and tutting at your very slippery but very comfortable fluffy socks. 

And he really pondered: should he abide by your strict rules for him to remain on the sofa, confined like a puppy in a cage, or should he be a good boyfriend and ensure that if you slipped, the ground would not find you — his arms would.

Like an answer to his internal conflict, the pad of your foot slid an inch unexpectedly, making you grip the bookshelf in an attempt to steady yourself, but like it was his calling, Jeonghan had already shot across the room, strong fingers holding your waist for stability.

‘Sweetheart, you’re a liability.’ Jeonghan rasped, and his big espresso-brown eyes stared up at you, glazed over with something that landed between adoration and satisfaction. 

‘You were supposed to stay on the sofa.’ You pouted, reaching the furthest corner. Jeonghan followed your movements skilfully, not allowing his hands to leave your waist for a split-second. 

‘I’d be a bad boyfriend if I let you slip.’ Jeonghan said, and you couldn’t argue with that. With a small hum, you nodded, leaning onto the ball of one foot and stretching as far as you possibly could. 

Silently, Jeonghan allowed you to finish, the victory line so close he could practically already feel your hands wrapping around him. Lightly smoothing the pads of his fingertips over your waist, tracing the curve of your spine as it twisted with your movement, he sighed contentedly. 

‘Voila!’ You spun, almost toppling off the chair in the process as Jeonghan smoothly slid his arms around your thighs, sweeping you up in one movement, which had a high-pitched squeal escaping your mouth. ‘Hannie!’ 

‘About time.’ His chocolatey orbs levelled with yours, and he smiled with cocky satisfaction before dipping to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. 

As always, his lips are warm and plush against yours, kissing with rehearsed expertise that only comes from years of kissing the same person. 

It’s blissful how much his lips spark sweet endorphins to pump through you, dragging your fingers through his long hair as he begins to pepper small kisses all over your face.

‘Baby,’ you giggled at the tickle of his lips as he manoeuvred your bodies to the sofa, his kisses not halting until every inch of skin had been showered in affection, loud hearty laughs sprouting from your throat with each skin of his mouth against you. 

Landing on his lap, Jeonghan cocooned your body into his with a hook of his chin on your shoulder, flattening his palms against the dips of your hips as he just feels you, feels the warm skin beneath him, feels the weight of your body on his lap, feels the tickle of your hair as it wisps by his nose. 

‘Mmmm.’ A sound of contentment rumbled in his throat as he breathed you in, fluttering his eyelids shut in pure fulfilment, the feeling of your muscles relaxing underneath him like the cherry on top. 

‘Let’s watch a movie,’ You mumbled into his hair, voice dipping to a tired husk that only Jeonghan’s arms can coax out of you. 

The effect your boyfriend had on you was head-spinning, his touch melting every rational part of your brain and morphing it into 

‘Okay baby, my choice.’ Your boyfriend agreed with a cheeky remark, running his fingers through the curled ends of your hair, the sensation stirring goosebumps along your skin. 

At his statement, you nudge him lightly with your fingertip, poking his side in that way that made him squirm and almost buck you off of him. 

‘Yah!’ He whined, gripping the spot you’d burrowed your finger into like he was cradling a bullet wound and not a brief poke. 

With an awful attempt at concealing your cheeky look, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek as you met his wounded expression, a giggle threatened to erupt from you. 

Your boyfriend looked too cute with a pout on his face, pink lips jutted out to display a pathetic pout, cheeks puffed out like he was threatening a strong exhale, gentle eyes big and doe in their fixed stare. 

‘You are so adorable,’ you told him with a smile, your heart practically racing up your throat. ‘Maybe I should poke you more.’ 

Wiggling your slender fingers toward him, his expression sharpened like it was calculating exactly how to escape this situation —  would he chuck you off, sprinting into the hallway, or would he attempt to poke you first? 

Instead, in a flurry of unpredictable movement, he’d flipped you onto your back, skin meeting the plush of the cushions as he pinned you underneath him. 

For a second, your eyes flicker downwards, raking along his body temptingly slow; however, before you can tug his lips down to yours, his hands are on you. 

But it’s not pleasure that blooms, it’s chaos. Because Jeonghan was tickling you — finding that spot above your hip that forced almost violent squirms out of you, his legs on either side of your thighs subjecting you to his wrath. 

Uncontrollable laughter leapt out of you in a muddled mess, body desperately attempting to escape his skilful fingers, yet he’s stronger, a wide grin bunching his cheeks and turning his eyes into joyful crescents as he succeeded in his mischief. 

‘Jeonghan!’ You shouted, but the name is twisted into a half-laugh, half-exclamation that gets swallowed by a desperate inhale. ‘Baby! Please!’

For a split second, he halts, looking down at you. From an outsider's point of view, the scene was almost erotic: boyfriend straddling you, his hands trailing your body and you, breathless and panting, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

But the illusion was shattered with his words. ‘My choice of film or more tickles.’ 

‘This feels like blackmail, Mr Yoon.’ You raised an eyebrow at the man above you, reaching for his wrists as if it would stop his tickles. 

‘Maybe it is Mrs Yoon.’ He flirted overzealously, wiggling his eyebrows at the prospective title. 

‘Now this feels like emotional manipulation, get off.’ Rolling your eyes playfully, he slid off of you and carefully pulled you into him, planting a tender kiss on the top of your head.

The rest of your lives could be spent on this sofa, lounging amongst one another without a second thought, in a tangle of limbs and sweet touches. There was no other place you felt so content apart from in Jeonghan’s arms, lazing together on a spring day. 

‘I love you.’ You muttered against his shoulder, cheek pressed into the curve as your eyes followed his choice of film. 

Silently, he peppered a light kiss onto your parting, ‘I love you.’ 

In your haste you didn't bother knocking, you just barged in. You find him shirtless, in his sleeping pants. His brows knit together in shock. If you weren’t absolutely appalled at the scene you just witnessed, you might take the time to enjoy the sight of Junhui's glorious body, completely on display..

"I no longer want to be queen." Your eyes are the size of saucers.

Junhui stands up, knitting his brows together, he tries to process what you just said.

"Excuse me Princess?"

"The Prince—" Embarrassment creeps up the back of your neck. The visions of the Prince naked on top of your royal adviser play on repeat. "The Prince— and Jisoo were naked together." Junhui's brows furrow. Tilting his head he stares at you confused. "They were having sex."

"Oh, your highness—" He reaches for his linen shirt that's on the edge of the bed.

"I refuse to be in a loveless marriage. Especially one that will be built on lies and deceit." You've given up enough of your life. You refuse to give up anymore of it.

"Princess, I'm sorry." Junhui looks upset. "The Prince doesn't deserve you." His hand is still gripping his linen shirt.

Looking down, your eyes start to brim with tears. You knew the Prince wasn't in love with you, you knew to him that this relationship was purely arranged.But you hoped deep down inside maybe you could convince him to fall in love with you. After tonight you have lost all hope. But truly, it shouldn't matter that the Prince won't love you, because the man you've actually fallen for is forbidden. In no reality would a Princess and her knight be able to be together.

"I'm realizing, I may not ever find love." Walking over to the window, you look out into the rose garden down below.

The room is silent, all the can be heard is your breathing and the breeze from outside. The sound of Junhui's footsteps catch your attention.

"Princess—" His voice is strained. Glancing over your shoulder, you look back at him. "Believe when I say, someone loves you."

Salty tears slide down your cheek. He can can't confess his love whilst under oath to your new kingdom. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"Princess, you can't leave."

"I want to go far away from here. I don't want to go home, I want to go somewhere far away where I'm no longer a princess and you're no longer my knight." Reaching up, you push away your tears.

Junhui steps between you and the window. Letting his calloused hand gently rests on your cheek. Slowly he drags his thumb across the delicate skin of your, cheek. "If I'm no longer your knight, what am I?"

"Whatever you want to be." Your eyes flutter shut, you enjoy the feeling of him finally touching you.

THE PLANE SHUDDERED vigorously as its wheels screeched against the newfound tarmac below, and Vernon peered out of the small cabin window, the vast blue of the Pacific replaced by the expanse of rural America – swarms of urban bliss with hues of greens and browns, a harsh difference from the modern surroundings he was so used to in Korea. 

The hyperpop that had been pumping through his headphones subsided as anxiety rose upwards through his throat. Nine years since this end of the bible belt had seen Vernon, nine years of playing concerts around the world and having his life on show for everyone. But, to put it plainly, performing at the Tokyo Dome didn’t compare to the intense anxiety blossoming within his chest.

Small Town America. There was nothing like it, his earliest memories were all tinted with Americana. The aircraft halted smoothly, a soft ding! ripping Vernon from his nervous trance as the seatbelt signs flicked off. Hastily, he tore his eyes away from the vastness of the outside, the shrubbery an uncomfortable reminder that he had begrudgingly returned to what he deemed the worst place on earth. 

This was going to be one hell of a trip. Alone and so far from his best friends, all of whom had to convince him for hours that it would be good to see his family after so long. Thousands of miles away from his small comforts, his familiar novelties, from the men who were his lifeline. 

Vernon felt pure, horrific dread.

‘They must miss you, Sol,’ Seungkwan began, Vernon presenting his most vacant expression to try and avoid the uncomfortable feeling crawling up his spine. 

‘It’s far to go,’ Vernon leaned on his hand, looking out over the nighttime darkness of Seoul. His eyes traced the blinking red lights decorating the skyscrapers as the three member’s gazes weighed heavily on him, excuses rife in his racing mind. He was ready to spout any volume of justification as to get himself out of his grating conversation – if you could even call it that. It felt more like a ‘stern talking-to.’ 

Seungkwan had rallied Seungcheol and Joshua to convince Vernon to visit home. Just once. Recently, it seemed there wasn’t a day that Vernon didn’t mumble a brief recitation of a childhood story or a yearning for his mother’s food once again. However, it was unknown to his friends that Vernon yearned, almost painfully, for home, yet refused to let himself travel so far away. 

The fear of what he left behind was all-consuming. Avoidance had rendered Vernon a villain of his own imagination, visualising the town throwing rotten tomatoes at him as he stood on a plinth, overcome with embarrassment and regret – his mother in the front row, staring with distaste, his father beside her, refusing to look at his son who had packed up and left ten years ago.  

‘Hansol,’ Seungcheol was using his leader tone, laced with sincerity and authority, ‘it’s important to go back to where you came from.’ The youngest met his elders’ eyes, a slight softness bleeding through the concerned stare. Vernon’s face seemed to harden as his members watched him closely, all trying to unpick his blank expression.

The hot, dry air hit Vernon like a brick as the air conditioning of the airport slipped from around him, the baking heat beginning to cook him alive. Even the air smelt different here, like petrol, smoke and dust, the roaring of the highway intruding on the music blasting through his headphones. 

Vernon had toured in America, been to the big cities and stadiums, and basked in his Americaness. He had shown his best friends vast landmarks and indulged in various American delicacies with them, however, he faltered when people asked about his southern small town, the place where everyone knew everyone, where your secrets were the next piece of gossip and success came at the price of leaving everything behind. 

Maybe it was a sense of guilt clawing up his throat, or absolute dread at the sight of his mother standing a few feet away from him, beaming widely at her son with an eager wave that made Vernon’s head begin to spin. A sharp inhale, an uncomfortable cough, and he plastered a shit-eating grin on his face, for his mom’s sake, not his. 

‘Mom!’ He said, letting his suitcase go to consume his mother in a tight hug. The lavender scent she’d worn all of Vernon’s life wafted through his nostrils, nostalgia crashing into him. 

‘Oh, Hansol.’ She pulled away with a tight hand on his arm, as if he’d slip away back into the airport and not return again. With a tender touch, she cradled his jaw, letting her thumb run over her son’s cheek — a touch so light, it was like she was afraid he’d dissolve into the soil if she was too rough. 

As she stared at her adult son, here in the flesh and not a vision on the TV or a dot on a stage in a huge arena, her eyes became glassy, tears welling up as if it was painful to see her son back home after such a long time. 

The guilt riveted Vernon’s soul, his heart heavy as he watched his mother begin to fall apart on a dirty sidewalk, the screech of brakes, the roar of engines and the buzz of paving under tyres a mismatched soundtrack to the moment. Vernon felt as if he was eating himself alive, his chest physically aching at the sight of his teary-eyed mom. 

‘Hey, hey.’ He attempted to comfort her, bringing her significantly smaller frame into his arms. ‘Don’t cry, I’m here now.’ 

Great comfort, Vernon. Yeah, you’re here now, but where have you been for the last 10 years? 

The sense of doubt upon his every decision made him rife with guilt; even as his mother collected herself, nodding at Vernon’s attempt at comfort, he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought that he’d abandoned this place — abandoned his parents, with not even a quick glance back. 

The highway felt daunting as his mother drove steadily down it, small talk sparking between them. The flatness of the sprawling fields made Vernon feel confined, for miles, there was only browns, greens and the never-ending stretch of road the car sped down smoothly. 

There was so much to say, so much to see, and so many apologies owed. And they weighed in the air, heavy on the shoulders of Vernon as he discreetly peeked at his mom, who, despite the wide smile decorating her lips, still had a reserved tightness on her face that her son could see clearly. 

‘Your dad is at home,’ she started, beginning to veer off the highway, the roads feeling like a clunky dream as recognition dripped hefty nostalgia into Vernon. There was so much swirling in his brain that he struggled to distinguish quite how he felt to be here. ‘And the whole family is coming tonight!’ 

Anxious. Maybe terrified. That’s exactly how he felt as those words left his mom’s mouth. That racing in his heart returning and sending tension through his senses, he was completely on edge. 

But this trip across the Pacific was to rectify these relationships — so he didn’t just feel like a famous cousin, the one who no one really knew anything about whilst simultaneously knowing every detail of his life. 

A sigh threatened to escape his lips, and he replied to his mom, ‘Great, it’ll be nice to see them.’

ᯓ‎♪ “ LOOK BACK and watch the engine blow, through the darkness and the dripping snow ”

Formalities, forced smiles, hugs, ‘How are yous?’ and ‘We’re so proud of you!’ and more formalities. Cups of tea, handshakes, pats on the back, questions - ‘When are your group going to play here?’ ‘Why don’t you visit us more?’ ‘Have you got a girlfriend?’ More hugs, ‘Big smile, Hansol!’ pictures, flash! ‘I’ve told all my friends you’re famous.’ 

The patio door swung shut behind Vernon aggressively, his breath running away from him as he leaned over the wooden railing, his shoulders rising rapidly as he attempted to steady his breath. The chatter from inside pierced his ears, the hum of the traditional Korean tracks jabbing at him, and he let his body slump onto the folding chair, positioned to view the suburban street stretching ahead. 

Was he sweating, or crying? Vernon wasn't sure; he could just feel liquid trickle down his cheek as his gaze became hypnotised by the flickering street lamp. Breaths were evening out slowly, the racing in his heart subsiding gradually. Vernon couldn’t go back in there; in fact, he refused. Tearing his gaze away from the flickering glow, he rapidly decided to text his mother.

[20:53] Sol: Important call with my company, will be back in a few hours

With that, he shot out of the plastic chair, a loud creak emitting into the silent street, and let his legs lead the way, sliding his headphones in and allowing the music to drift him away. 

This town was like a vein in his arm, he knew every street, the alleys, the lampost of which he crashed his first bike into and the tree in which he had his first kiss under, only 12 years old. A giggly, shy, nervous boy, Vernon had kissed his girlfriend of six days on the cheek and then ran away, a huge smile dancing on his reddened face. 

Vernon was never one to call his friends when he felt down; they were always just there, in the next room or the rehearsal studio, they read him almost instantly in those minutes when he was more muted than usual, when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

However, this distance felt unbearable, a month away from everyone. Glancing down at his phone, he hovered over Seungkwan’s contact, the green call button so appealing. 

What would he say? I’ve been here 8 hours, and I need to come home? I can’t face all these people I wrongfully left behind? I can’t get rid of the looming anxiety that this fuck town gives me? 

‘Sol!’ Seungkwan’s cheerful voice rang through the phone. ‘How is it? How are you?’ There was loud commotion behind Seungkwan’s voice, chairs screeching and various levels of chatter, panging Vernon’s heart a little harder.

‘Hey,’ Vernon replied, trying to force an air of normality into his voice, ‘it’s yeah, it’s..’ 

‘Vernon?’ Seungkwan could hear the hesitation in his best friend’s voice, concern immediately bleeding through him. ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘I,’ Vernon dug through his brain to find the right words. ‘Yeah, I’m okay…I just.’ 

Seungkwan was listening intently, allowing Vernon to process his words as they were spoken. 

‘I don’t know if I can be here for a month.’ Vernon settled on a simplification, not ready to admit the moral defeat that faced him when he looked into his family’s small suburban home. 

‘Ah,’ Seungkwan sighed, a shuffle sounded through the speaker, and after a second, the background noise faded away. Seungkwan worried that he was receiving this call so soon. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’ 

Vernon appreciated Seungkwan a million times over, never one to press or push him; everything came out in his own time and always to a kind and compassionate face. However, right now, he couldn’t let the words slip out of his mouth — the reality would settle, and he wasn’t ready to accept that. 

‘It’s just not home anymore,’ Vernon admitted, watching water run dirt and grime down a drain, a shrivelled leaf being carried away with it.

The house became a distant glow of light as Vernon turned the corner without hesitation, the playground that he deemed unconquerable at eight years old resting quietly to his right. The bright paint on the climbing frames had succumbed to rust, no longer possessing the vibrant aura that Vernon vividly recalled. The depressing deterioration had almost stopped him in his tracks, the exhausted park striking pitiful sympathy in his heart.

‘Oh, Sol,’ Seungkwan sighed with sadness for his best friend, ‘a month, okay? We’ve had tours longer than that. And you can always come back sooner, we’re not going anywhere ever.’ 

Vernon hummed at this, his words slightly reassuring but not quite convincing. The distant noise of the town centre approached as he held his phone to his ear. 

‘Sol?’ Seungkwan questioned, the sudden silence further worrying him. 

‘Hey, sorry.’ Vernon focused once more. ‘I’ll text you.’ 

‘Don’t be afraid to call anytime,’ Kwan said, his indirect way of saying, I love you. 

The surprisingly settling quietness of the suburbs began to die down as the commotion of the town centre distracted Vernon — his feet leading him towards the busy stretch, desperate for a drink, a cigarette or even live music. Anything all-consuming and distracting, something that could be so completely separate from the looming anxiety attack which was home. 

Cars began to buzz past, the dreary atmosphere seemingly picking up as he neared the main stretch, dive bars and convenience stores shining contrasting lights onto the dirty sidewalks. There was electricity in the air, like the town was waking itself up for the night ahead. 

Voices, heavy and southern, chattered loudly as bodies swarmed outside bars. Not one of them batted an eyelid at Vernon, who struggled to walk to the shops without disruption in Seoul. 

This is what he missed. What he yearned for, the American upbringing: going to the bar with your friends in your hometown, not having to worry about who knows you and if they’re going to watch your every movement. 

With temptation, Vernon looked towards a particular dive bar, slowing his pace slightly as his brain considered entering. However, the commotion down the road made his head turn. From a distance, he could spot a crowd of people, their chatter loud and attracting. 

A vivid billboard was blaring above, and it took Vernon getting closer for him to realise it was the biggest venue in the town, one he dreamed of playing as a trainee. All shabby chic, ‘in the old town way,’ this venue had been here for decades, and it had infiltrated Vernon with a drilling sense of nostalgia. 

The hordes of people were dressed in casual clothes, sipping beers and smoking cigarettes. An unspoken atmosphere of excitement fluttered through the light breeze as people prepared themselves for the shared experience of listening to live music together. 

Vernon unintentionally wore a look of longing as he saw friends laugh loudly and wholeheartedly together, others jumping in either excitement or drunkenness — Vernon wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. 

Taking a long look at the main stretch of road, the hustle and bustle of his hometown, Vernon considered his options. A, stay here and listen to live music, B, go back to that dark and quiet dive bar or C, go home and face the artificial smiles again. 

Yeah, A. 

Joining the queue, Vernon was prepared to cough up whatever they wanted for a ticket. Considering the long queue, he wondered if it would be a lot. It was almost foreign to him to be queuing for a concert — in Korea, he got passes into any music he wanted to see, a private viewing area and an almost guaranteed hangout with whichever artist he was seeing. 

But here. Here, he was just another punter; no one could give a fuck about who he is or how famous he is. In fact, if anything, he preferred it like this, being just like anyone else here. Lapping in the normality, Vernon took this time to watch the people around him, their American accents strong and prevalent as they giggled, shouted and laughed together. 

After a short while, the line moved slowly, Vernon reluctantly producing $22 for admission as he entered the venue. The room must’ve only been big enough for around 600 people; however, it was just as he remembered it from childhood. Sticky floors, battered walls and a low hum of music swirling around the space. It felt intimate compared to the thousands of blurry faces he saw when he performed; it was almost cosy, and for the first time since his plane's wheels hit American soil, Vernon felt a slight wave of relief, stress evaporating off his shoulders. 

People crowded, drinks in hand, chatter abundant and roaring. The stage was set up like any band, a drum kit dead centre, with a microphone stand directly in front of it. He could see pedal boards resting below the three microphone stands across the stage, but was too far away to properly examine them.  

Vernon quite honestly had no clue what he was in for, withholding from googling the line-up and allowing sweet, sweet anticipation to overtake his body. From his place at the side of the room, Vernon could really people-watch. He absentmindedly stared at the couple in front of him, an arm wrapped tightly around a shorter woman’s waist as she and her partner laughed lightly together. He stared at the sound technician as he fiddled with various settings on his desk; he even attempted to stare at the pedal boards, trying to decipher what they were from a distance.

Everything felt so foreign, so new and exhilarating. A playlist played over the speakers, a mix of country and rock pumping into the already growing atmosphere. 

As he adjusted his jacket, the warmth beginning to seep through him, the lights dimmed, and the faint tune faded. The crowd began to hoot, anticipation almost at its breaking point. A few figures appeared from the wings, throwing small smiles and shy waves at the crowd as the people, all dressed rather alternatively, approached their respective instruments, the centre-stage microphone and guitar left untouched. 

The drums began to hit lightly, the bass following in a repetitive thumping pattern, a lead guitar beginning to screech in varying lengths as the song built up momentum, the instruments becoming louder and louder. Another figure appeared, long hair flowing in the dark purple stage lights as the crowd roared, the mystery figure taking up the empty spot and slinging the electric guitar over her shoulder. 

Not yet addressing the crowd, the figure began to tap various pedals with her boot as the music grew and grew, louder and tighter than before. The silhouette at the centre joined in, her guitar creating a gritty and repetitive strumming — contributing to the knife-edge the song was dancing on, the tempo picking up as the figure turned away from the crowd briefly. A jerk of a head resembling a solid nod was thrown by the darkened frame to each of her bandmates before she rapidly spun, the song reaching its breaking point as she screamed into the microphone, the lights illuminating you in a strobe fashion.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. It’s — you? 

Vernon just blinked, his mouth slackened with shock. You? Like, you — the girl whom he used to sit next to every day in homeroom. The girl who always had your hair neatly tucked away in plaits. The girl who would always offer a sweet smile and a healthy conversation to Vernon; you were always so timid, your voice always hushed, and your circle very small. 

But Vernon couldn’t quite believe his eyes right now. This was you, confidently playing and singing to your own music. Thriving and bathing in the stage lights, your face was more filled than the thirteen-year-old face Vernon remembers yet; your cheekbones were still there, ever present. The music was heavy, a fusion of what seemed to be country and heavy rock, perfectly experimental, it made Vernon want to write.

This is not what he expected. 

Your hair flowed as you rocked lightly, singing passionately, your voice flipping almost flawlessly as the song came to an end. 

‘Hey,’ you smiled into the microphone, your face glowing with a healthy shine. The crowd whistled and cheered as you began to tune your guitar. ‘It’s so nice to be back here, again.’ You joked. 

Yeah. That’s definitely you, given your voice was slightly deeper than the teenage version Vernon remembered, but your smile, wide and gummy, was the spitting image of the one he had memorised. 

‘We love our hometown, and we love playing here.’ 

‘We love it too!’ A punter shouted, making you and the entire band laugh lightly. Cheekily, you blew a kiss in the direction of the voice and began strumming again. 

Vernon was utterly mesmerised, this girl that he regarded with softness and warmth was owning the stage like it had been her home all of her life. Your music was nothing like he expected, country-style tracks that bled into heavy, overdriven rock tracks. A couple of acoustic tracks contrasted the distorted sound you’d built up. 

At one point, you played a fun and groovy country-style song that had you dancing with your guitarist without missing a riff, the pair of you only splitting apart to harmonise. 

Vernon’'s heart raced, he was in a trance with the woman you’ve become. So confident and talented, effortlessly singing and playing like it was second nature to you. 

‘This is townies! Goodnight!’ You said, a wide and earnest smile on your face. 

Finishing the set with a track that had the crowd ecstatic, people throwing their beers, moshing, jumping and dancing around. The song told the story of townspeople who never left — these beings becoming known as townies, and you sang the stories of teenage drunkenness and high school romance, all these things he yearned for. Vernon couldn’t help but feel drawn to the song because it was everything he was not; he wanted that reality. 

It was witty yet sincere; it made Vernon believe that perhaps you teetered on the edge of everything as well. Maybe you up and left just like him, to only return when necessary or instead, you lived out the life he selfishly dreamed of, the dive bars, the graduations, swimming in the creek. 

As the song ended, the guitar ringing out and echoing across the room, you spat a quick ‘thank you,’ leaving your guitar buzzing on the stage and walking off. 

Vernon felt frozen in his spot, watching the stage where you just were, only the hum of your electric guitar and the dim stage lights left in your wake.

The crowd began to file out around him, yet he remained unmoving, processing slowly what he had just seen. Not in a million years could he have imagined that this was what was waiting for him. What he’d been missing whilst residing so far away. 

‘Excuse me, sir, you need to leave.’ A tap on the shoulder from a grouchy security guard forced Vernon to shake himself out of his trance, taking one last glance at where your figure had played so mesmerisingly fifteen minutes ago and then following the crowd out onto the busy street. 

He felt like he was in a daze as he exited the venue, people gathering and buzzing as adrenaline poured out of the crowd. The street had gotten busier, and the atmosphere more and more electric as Vernon let himself cool off in the tepid summer night. 

Clouds of smoke exhaled from the crowd, and Vernon thought, fuck it, and retreated to the closest convenience store, apprehensively handing over a twenty-dollar bill and exiting with a pack tucked tightly in his back pocket. 

The night air had a bite to it, and it made the smooth cigarette roll off the boy’s tongue with ease and into the atmosphere as Vernon slouched against a brick wall, his mind floating away as he reminisced about the performance. 

Your voice was so gritty yet irresistibly smooth, riffing and flipping on certain parts before you launched into melodic screams, your flushed face radiating confidence and beauty. 

‘Have you got a lighter?’ 

Vernon’s head snapped up from his dead stare at his trainers, breath held in his throat as his eyes caught yours. Like, really caught yours. Like, you are in front of him right now, a sweet smile on your face, your long hair in a messy braid as if the sweat from the show made it unbearable, and a cigarette waiting patiently between your lips. 

‘Holy shit dude!’ You burst into a wider smile as your eyes took in the boy who had left all those years ago. ‘Vernon, right?’

The boy cracked a warm smile, stretching his arm out to hand you a lighter. A part of him felt his insides churning, yet he couldn’t muster the energy to think about it as your figure stood before him. 

‘We shared a desk in middle school.’ He spoke, a tender grin revealing itself. 

‘Yes! Yes, we did!’ You laughed openly with such quirky grace, and Vernon felt himself mentally cursing his years of idol etiquette training. ‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you! How’s things, how’s Korea?’ 

He was shocked you even knew he left for Korea, feeling profoundly invisible from the world outside of the one he’d built in his head. 

‘It’s good, yeah! Great!’ He forced himself to speak as you looked up at him, the identical cigarette you smoked lingering by your mouth. With a shyness that only protruded in a minuscule voice crack, he mustered the compliment that sat on the tip of his tongue. ‘You were really good up there!’ 

Now it was your turn to feel embarrassment crawl up your spine, which was unusual. People around the country regularly shower you in compliments post-show; however, this one felt different. It felt truly sincere. 

‘Thank you!’ You laughed with a forced politeness, ‘It was nothing too special, same old.’ 

‘But it was great.’ He offered, and you nodded as if to accept the compliment. 

‘What are you doing back? I haven’t seen you for - I don’t know-‘ 

A booming shout of your name halts the conversation as a figure appears around a corner, Vernon recognising it as your drummer. ‘Let’s fucking go! To the Tavern!’ His voice slurred, forcing a small giggle out of you, rapidly stamping out the end of the cigarette. 

‘Looks like I’m off.’ You extended your hand out to return his lighter; your eyes met, and there was a sincere sweetness between you. A part of Vernon’s heart sank, you’d ignited unexpected excitement within him, and he didn’t want you to go — you were an enigma, a package that Vernon wanted to rip the paper off of. ‘Unless you want to join us?’ 

Your ruby lips quirked a kind smile, the type that made your cheeks raise cutely, but the memory of him ditching his family stung in the back of his head; Imagining their happy faces twisting into distant looks of disappointment. ‘Oh, maybe!’ 

‘Well, hopefully see you there!’ You replied, walking backwards back to the commotion, radiating excitement before disappearing around the corner. 

For the second time in an hour, Vernon just stared at the space where your body was. The corner was absent of your dark hair as the sound of your friends fizzled into the distance, his brain hot-wiring at these unexpected emotions that came surging through him. 

[11:36] Mom: Hansol, where are you?

[11:37] Mom: Your aunties and uncles have left and you didn’t say goodbye. 

With a heavy sigh, Vernon pushed himself off the brick wall, his body reluctant to return home before giving the corner one last longing glance.

ᯓ‎♪ “ CHANGE like the wind, like water, like skin ”

After a tense scolding, Vernon padded up the stairs and beelined to his childhood bedroom. The walls were still an ugly shade of boyish dark blue, decorated with Pokémon posters, toys on shelves, comics stacked up — it made Vernon shiver; he felt like a ghost in this room. 

Clicking the door shut, he let his body go limp the moment it hit the mattress. The piece of comfort creaked loudly with his weight, forcing Vernon to squeeze his eyes shut at the irritating sound. 

He stared at the ceiling, the faint glow from the orange street lamp illuminating the plaster in ragged stripes. Everything was so silent; there was no distant chatter of his members, no buzz of music being played too loud in someone’s headphones, no feet tapping lightly against polished floorboards. 

A part of him felt pathetic, this house practically wrung out happy memories from his childhood, yet it was seemingly frozen in time. People had grown, explored, spread their wings and allowed age to pass through them, but Vernon’s parents couldn't relinquish their childish attitude towards their son. Their desire to contain him, as if he was a fleeting teenager again, was twisting the longing for home into something bitter. However, It’s not like he can blame them, he left so prematurely, not sparing a glance over his shoulder as he disappeared through airport security, an ambitious smile on his face and a head full of avid ideas to tend to. 

The tick of the clock seemed to echo his heartbeat, and his brain trailed back to you — your voice, your bright eyes, the way your hair flowed behind you. Whittling his phone out of his pocket, Vernon apprehensively opened Instagram, the search bar practically blaring in his face. 

He shouldn’t. He was never one to stalk. Or seek people out. 

But before he knew it, his fingers were flying, tapping your name into the search, your profile popping up at the top of the search, a small blue tick next to your handle. 

You were way more of a big deal than he thought. 113k followers? 

As his body moved faster than his brain, he began to scroll through photos of you on stage, in a studio, in a bedroom with instruments all around you — it looked like you belonged within music. Other photos taken off of tour buses, pieces of art you’d made, your bandmates posing stupidly. It was like the most perfect organic Instagram page he’d ever seen. 

It weirdly made him feel vulnerable, he loved his life. He loved his members, he loved performing, he was always proud of everything he’d done — but there was a longing for the life he could’ve lived.

He followed you without hesitation, if he wasn’t going to see you again, he might as well see your face on his feed. Continuing his scrolling, he felt sleep pulling him under with ease, your face fresh in his mind.

The next day was cloudy. And not in a cool, thunderstorm, relieve people from the baking heat way. In a way where the whiteness of the sky was unrelenting, the sun somehow still beating down as if it wasn’t hidden away. The air practically felt thick with heat, and Vernon woke up like a bucket of tepid water had been poured all over him — except it was his sweat, the duvet sticking to him in all the worst ways. 

He leant up, reaching over the bundle of covers to push open the window, the buzz of cicadas infiltrating his ears instantly as he attempted to feel any cooler air. 

Internally, Vernon debated whether going downstairs and facing his parents' disappointed faces would be worse than baking in his bedroom. 

With a large sigh, he stripped his damp tank top off and let his body flop backwards, blindly reaching for his phone to pass the time. 

A few messages, a rant from Seungkwan about how boring life was without him, a reminder to check on his farm and an Instagram notification. 

@girlinthatband followed you back!

Vernon’s eyes could’ve bulged out of his head. The memories of his sleepy late-night Instagram stalk and his hazy confidence in following you trickled back in. But he didn’t feel embarrassment, for some reason, excitement pulsed through him. Maybe this shit-hot day won’t be so bad after all?

A few days passed painfully slowly, Vernon feeling reduced to a teenager in these four walls. The tension still hung every time he went to the kitchen, despite Vernon’s apologies being sincere and very often. 

The tight-lipped smiles his parents gave him held something heavier, a signal of more things left unsaid. Explanations, apologies, discussions – all bubbling below the surface, softly simmering at a torturous pace. Vernon could feel the disappointment penetrating through their faux joy, the hesitation in their actions forcing him to believe all those fears he had were coming true in front of his eyes. But he couldn't face them, not right now. He wasn't ready to admit bashful defeat. 

As Vernon leant back on his squeaky office chair, the seat slightly too small for his adult frame, he squinted his eyes at the producing software he had opened, replaying a verse idea for a hyperpop song he was in the midst of creating. 

It pulsed chaotically in his headphones, the song feeling scatty and slightly fractured and on instinct, he shook off the headphones, the song reduced to a tinny sound as he took a deep breath. 

He’d hit a wall.

At times like this, he’d call one of his members into his room to listen — sometimes he’d pull himself into Jihoon's studio and force him to play the song out of the booming speakers. And Jihoon would give a grumpy sound of agreement, secretly loving when Vernon appeared, a new idea practically jumping out of his laptop. But here, there was no one with a keen listening ear, no one ready to tell him exactly what the song needed. 

For the first time in a while, Vernon felt lonely. The muggy weather felt almost suffocating as the sun fought the clouds to break through. This should be easy, like slotting a coin into a slot, but how can he fit into a hole that is no longer shaped for him anymore?

With a husky sigh, Vernon pushed himself away from the desk and towards his discarded phone on the bed. The screen glowed as he began his absentminded doomscrolling then, a small notification popped up, making Hansol freeze — a mixture of surprise and pure teenage excitement. 

[16:43]@girlinthatband: hey vernon! a few of my friends and i are heading to the tavern later if you’re still in town and want to come along! 

It was strange seeing your name pop up so casually in his notifications — the invitation making a grin appear on his face for what felt like the first time in days. Maybe he was going slightly stir crazy, but you felt a bit like a saviour, offering respite from the strain of his parents constant heavy gaze. 

[17:28] @vernonline: I’ll be there. What time?

ᯓ‎♪ “ MOTHER weep the year I'm missing, all our time can't be given back ”

The pulse of life flowing through the town centre seemed to have subdued on this weeknight – the 9-5 folk tucked up in bed, resting for their intensive workdays tomorrow. Leaving only those who dared to be fur-tongued in the rush-hour traffic and everyone else who didn’t work quite so conventionally. 

As Vernon strolled through the midst of the hushed atmosphere, he let himself feel the nerves that jolted through him. At least ten times over, he thought of things to say and what answers he’d stutter out to any awkward questions. 

The small bar began to creep into view, and Vernon absentmindedly brushed invisible dirt off of his white t-shirt, adjusting his snapback to ensure it wasn’t crooked. The place was barely a full-length storefront, the windows hugged tightly by two conjoined buildings. Low light illuminated the interior, a heavy wooden door behind a horde of smokers squeaking loudly as a couple exited onto the pavement. 

Vernon tilted his chin up to observe the aged sign, the shamrock green paintwork chipping in one corner – weathered and battered. He squinted faintly, trying to make out your figure through the condensation-clad window, checking his watch to ensure he wouldn’t be the first person here. 

Letting a hefty exhale leave his lips, he pushed the wooden door open, the shrilling creak instantly drowned out by the light hum of a country track. Vernon realised everything creaked here – like everything needed to cry out in a mixture of ageing and pain. The beating of burning summers and the frostbite of icy winters rapturing not just the sprawling fields but the infrastructure. Even some of the locals looked like they could creak, Vernon thought – maybe his bones would begin to ring after spending a month here.

Inside, the tavern was like a shrine to all things Americana – a huge American flag strung above the bar, a vintage neon Budweiser sign flickering momentarily, the walls covered from skirting board to cornice in frames, old beer mats, metal number plates, the sheer volume of memorabilia overwhelming. A long and dark wooden bar hugged the wall, regulars perched on stools having casual conversations. Vernon was slightly amazed, the environment was so refreshing compared to the bars he’d visit in Korea. 

As he peered around the room, his vision zeroed in on long dark hair as it flowed with movement, the lack of light practically making your hair appear as if it swallowed all its texture. Your head hung in a vivid expression of joy, your laugh penetrating his ears as you swung on your chair. 

It dawned on him that he was a complete outsider, infiltrating your evening with his unfamiliar presence. But before he could cower and let his self-doubt best him, your head turned – soft and curious eyes meeting his, and your arm rose with ease, boasting an excitement-fuelled inviting wave. 

‘Vernon!’ You cheer, shifting up to give him your chair as you scooch into a mismatched stool next to him. ‘Hey!’ 

Your warmth practically fills Vernon with a resigned bliss, the type that bubbles below the skin and simmers the firing anxiety residing in his chest. 

‘Hey!’ He replied, flashing a sincere grin at you. A dark orange shirt with a logo for a band he didn't recognise covered your frame, a pair of dark wash shorts exposing the tattoos dancing on your legs, a pair of boots snug against your feet as you swung them underneath the table. 

‘Guys, this is Vernon, we went to middle school together,’ you introduced him to the three other men sitting at the table, leisurely nursing pints between their hands. 

‘That’s Minghao.’ You pointed to a slimmer man, a mousy blonde mullet tickling his shoulders. His face was decorated in freckles that accentuated his high cheekbones, dark eyes piercing Vernon as Minghao nodded to the boy, a tight-lipped smile on his lips. ‘He’s the bassist in the band.’ 

A blurry memory of his slender figure on stage left flashes through Vernon’s memory, Minghao awkwardly showing a mix between a salute and a wave, exposing his tattoo-dotted arms, intricate fine-line drawings adorning the skin. 

‘God, be anymore awkward,’ A platinum blonde man interrupts, lightly slapping Minghao’s shoulder. 

‘This is Soonyoung.’ You spoke, Soonyoung had a pair of sunglasses, pushing his light hair away from his face, his soft eyes meeting Vernon’s with a large dimpled grin accompanying. Vernon recalls seeing you prance and swing with him on stage, both of you harmonising and then stepping back to attempt a country dance together. 

‘Nice to meet you, Vernon!’ He said cheerfully, a wide smile on his face. 

‘And last but not least, this is Mingyu.’ You finished, the tall and broad man by your side smiling like a puppy dog at your words. He was strikingly handsome, jet-black hair fluffing his forehead as he smiled kindly at Vernon. ‘Drummer.’ 

The three men welcomed Vernon easily, the table sliding into conversation like there was no new presence at the table. At some point, you’d ordered a lager for Vernon, the group discussing everything and anything under the sun. It felt natural – conversation flowed as if he had been friends with you all for life. 

‘Hey, so, how come we’ve never seen you around?’ Soonyoung asked curiously, taking a sip out of his straw, the dark vodka and coke zipping up and into his mouth. The music hummed with prominence, a guitar track flowing through the bar – in the corner of Vernon’s vision, he saw your knee bobbing along to the tune.

‘Ah,’ Vernon rubbed his neck, ‘I moved to Korea when I was thirteen.’ You smiled at him, nodding eagerly for him to continue. 

‘Wow!’ Mingyu spoke in shock, Soonyoung’s mouth now curved into an ‘O’ shape. 

‘This is actually the first time I’ve been back,’ He admitted gingerly, taking a gulp of his beer.

‘Ah, so that explains it!’ Soonyoung exclaimed, ‘I thought I knew everyone.’ 

There was a threatening potential for the conversation to develop into an uncomfortable discussion, one that delved deeper than Vernon ever intended, and he felt the anxiety slowly clawing its way up his throat, his gaze becoming erratic as he avoided everyone's eyes. However, you reached over to pat his leg lightly, his eyes following your supportive gaze. How you knew he was almost shaken with nerves was beyond him, but the sincere smile you gave him grounded him almost instantly.

‘What do you do in Korea?’ Minghao asked, sliding a cigarette into his mouth. 

The question – the one that could make everyone at the table, with the exception of you, grimace and silently judge. He hesitated, trying to form the words that he couldn’t quite find. 

‘He’s a musician,’ you said, urging him with quiet contentment, ‘Remember that song Soonyoung used to want us to cover, Clap?’

‘Oh fuck yeah, I love that song.’ Soonyoung replied, unaware that the artist was sitting directly opposite with a flushed look on his face. 

‘Voila!’ You exclaimed, holding your arms up as if the table should behold Vernon. 

‘Haha, shut up!’ Soonyoung retorted, a deadpan look on his face. He scanned your scowl, your eyes wide as you urged your guitarist to not embarrass himself. ‘No fucking way.’ 

‘That’s fucking cool, dude.’ Mingyu said, pleasantly surprised at the unassuming man. Vernon shrugged it off, trying to cool the flush on his neck with a long sip from his beer. The conversation sparked into music-related chatter, inspirations, favourite artists, producing set-ups, and Vernon felt himself relax once again. 

‘Oh A.G. Cook, how could we not mention him,’ You moaned. Minghao had been scrolling through a playlist your band used for inspiration and sharing tracks with Vernon. ‘Just amazing, I wish I could be in his brain.’ 

‘I love A.G Cook,’ Vernon said, shocked that you know the producer that he closely admires. Your smile is so wide and so cute, he swore his heart may have skipped a beat or two. 

‘Really?’ You replied, eyes wide. The three boys had shimmied their way out to the smoking area, leaving just you and Vernon at the sticky wooden table. Crowds of empty glasses dotted across the wood, trails of water in their wake as you absentmindedly stacked them to one side. 

‘Come on, 7G is a masterpiece!’ He exclaimed, leaning back on the wooden chair, slotting his arms behind his head as he thought about the album. 

‘Vernon, you’re full of surprises.’ You admitted, sipping your beer and looking over the rim at him. Vernon didn't miss the way your eyes traced his biceps, his cheeks heating at the subtle ogle you were giving him. ‘So what are your plans whilst you’re here?’ 

‘I’m not really sure,’ he thought, imagining going back to his parents' house, sitting in his room for another month. How bland. ‘Maybe explore some places I’ve forgotten.’ 

You nodded, crossing your legs on the small stool and leaning a hand onto Mingyu’s abandoned chair. ‘The weather is nice tomorrow, want a tour guide?’ 

Vernon couldn’t have nodded more eagerly, his eyes practically widening in satisfying shock. ‘That would be really great.’ He attempted to play off his enthusiasm, crossing his arms over his chest. 

‘You still live under that big oak tree?’ You questioned, a quirk on your lips. Both of you remembered tenderly cycling home together with a bundle of other kids after school, shouting and swerving through the suburbs with childhood arrogance. 

‘Yeah,’ he breathed. Your gazes have been hooked on each other, creating something unsaid – Was it Vernon’s teenage-like crush imagining the flirtatiousness in your stare? 

‘3pm sound good?’ You reached out your hand, urging him to shake it in agreement.

‘Sounds perfect.’ Your face lit up in a sweet smile, one that penetrated through him and made butterflies flutter in a frenzy inside him. Without realisation, his face broke into a shy grin as he took your hand in his, the jolt of electricity travelling through his body as your soft hand met his slightly clammy one and you shook his hand with an unfaltering grip.

ᯓ‎♪ “ DID you think we'd make it? Can't budge the water down the drain ”

As promised, you showed up in your pickup truck at 3pm the next day. Waiting patiently outside the suburban home that was borderline identical to almost every house in this town.

The aged oak that hung over the abode looked just as it did all those years ago, and you couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous it was — noticing the way the sun flickered through its rattling leaves and how it seemed like it was protecting the small building. You vividly remember the tree being so big and daunting when you were a teenager, its spindly arms casting all manner of shadows across the road; yet now, it seemed to stand shyly, shading the house with calm ease.

Humming along to the cassette in your car, you eyed the front door, noticing the well-kept herbs in the planters dotted along the porch. The sort of herbs that, even from a distance, you could spot as glowing and thriving, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the evident love that had cherished their growth. 

Meanwhile, Vernon was struggling to choose an outfit to wear, not accounting for the harsh southern heat when packing. He could hear the distant clash of his mother in the kitchen, the drawers rattling exactly how they did ten years ago. 

Excitement was pooled with offsetting nerves within him, anticipation for spending an afternoon with you stirring unexpected emotions that deeply rattled Vernon, the reflection of himself not seeming quite right. He didn’t know what to wear, he didn't know where you were taking him, he didn't know what he needed – he was just trusting you. 

The clock on his bedroom wall ticked as the seconds became minutes, and he eventually begrudgingly tugged a cardigan on over a vest top and strolled downstairs, an anxiousness settling upon him as he spotted your car through the window. 

‘Bye mom, I’ll be back later!’ He offered, side-hugging his mum awkwardly and speeding out of the front door. Vernon knew she was staring through the blinds, her light eyes judging heavily as he strolled towards you. 

Like the perfect picture of peace, your legs were hanging out of the window, cap covering your face as you lay still across the three seats, body paralysed in the sound of a soft indie rock song. Vernon almost didn’t want to disrupt you, an air of tranquillity swimming around you, however, he approached, lifting his hand to rest on your leg. 

Immediately, you looked up, a sweet smile on your face that mirrored the one Vernon had dancing across his features. 

‘Hey,’ he breathed out, carefully appreciating your colourful sundress, layered over a pair of baggy shorts, the cap now perched on top of your head as you suddenly leaned up, faces now inches apart. 

Vernon could get used to this, being close enough to see the wisps of your fringe you’d shoved back into hair clips off your face, to notice the faint birthmark below your left eye and to smell that honeysuckle scent you carried.

‘Ready for an afternoon of fun?’ You kept the proximity to his face as you asked the question with a sarcastic tone. 

Vernon quirked a small smile, ‘as ready as I’ll ever be.’ 

With that, you manoeuvred your legs out of the open window and swung the truck door open, beckoning Vernon to get in – he hadn’t realised his hand rested on your leg for as long as it had until you shook it off in your skilful twist. 

The inside of your truck was exactly as Vernon imagined: an aged interior, with a Virgin Mary hanging from the mirror – Various blankets draped across the chairs and a pair of sandals kicked off next to the pedals. The stereo continued to play a light tune of guitar-based music as you pulled away from the Chwe residence.

‘There are loads of tapes in there,’ you said, motioning faintly to the glove box, ‘judge me all you want, choose one for the drive.’ 

‘Where are we going?’ Vernon questioned, opening the compartment above his legs to reveal a mass of tapes that came tumbling out. 

‘Fuck, sorry,’ you giggled, and Vernon felt his heart flutter. ‘Not a lot of organisation in this truck.’ 

Vernon peered at you, the blur of vivid green trees making your dark hair stand out as it rustled in the wind.

Filtering through your abundance of tapes, a majority of them fell within the heavy rock, psychedelic and country genres. However, at the back of the small compartment were a few pop albums, tucked away like they’d not been touched in a long time. 

‘Oh hell yeah,’ Vernon said, holding the pale case cover of how im feeling now by Charli xcx in his hand, looking closely at the track list. 

At his celebratory utterance, you peeled your eyes off the road and looked at him. Something in your heart tightened upon seeing the wide smile on his face, his dark hair rustled by the wind. 

‘Dimples,’ you said aloud, without even realising. Pure shock and humiliation consumed you, and you snapped your eyes back to the road, glueing them to the traffic ahead. 

‘What?’ Vernon turned to look at you, faintly gripping the tape. 

‘You have dimples,’ you forced out, hands holding the steering wheel particularly tight. ‘They’re cute.’

At this, Vernon felt as if his heart was skipping, his cheeks almost instantly turning pink. He dared to meet your brief glance, and those dimples were ever present, almost taunting you with their presence as he grinned shyly. 

‘Thank you,’ he said, fiddling with the case in his hands. 

‘Right,’ you rapidly changed the subject, a weak attempt to kill the awkward silence that not even the wind blowing through the truck could fix. You hastily took one hand off the wheel to eject the current tape and toss it onto the seat. ‘Do the honours.’ 

The boxy and harsh beginning of Charli xcx’s album bled through the speakers, making you smirk, mentally approving of his rogue choice. 

‘This album is her best,’ he said, beginning to nod along to the inconsistent beat, a sign of him knowing the album inside out. 

‘It feels so nostalgic,’ you said, turning it up as the bass rumbled in the car. ‘Like I’m in high school again.’ 

Vernon peeked at you driving, the expanse of southern America not as outstanding when you were in his eye line. ‘This is what I imagined high school sounding like.’ 

It dawned on him that you had the high school experience that he yearned for, not the practice rooms until early hours or the horrific dieting that still haunts him. 

You laughed lightly, letting your gaze slide to Vernon as he sat slightly rigidly before, turning back to the road above. ‘I promise you, high school sounded nothing like this.’ 

Vernon scrunched his face in playfulness, watching the central reservation line disappear under your truck. ‘So, no coming-of-age vibe?’ 

At this, you turned to Vernon with tenderness, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I wish.’ 

You hadn’t realised quite how young Vernon was when he left, suddenly just gone from your class, the seat filled by someone else almost instantaneously – and you’d never comprehended how much you missed the presence of your nerdy desk mate until he materialised last week, the younger version of Vernon always presenting snacks to you under the desk, or sliding messily written notes into your arm. 

‘Did you always want to be a K-pop idol?’ You questioned. 

‘I guess,’ Vernon shrugged, keeping his eyes on the vast corn field you drove past. ‘I love music and always have, and at that age I was just desperate to explore, discover where I’m from.’

The sincerity in his tone felt heavy on your shoulders, and you couldn’t quite figure out how he felt about America. It seemed like he’d never been here before, yet you grew up with him, shared a desk all those years ago. 

‘Was it difficult?’ you asked, ‘leaving?’ 

No. Coming back is worse. Vernon could’ve shouted that into the miles of fields around, telling each woodland creature about the guilt he’s forced himself to carry. 

‘Not then,’ he spoke slowly and quietly, and you listened closely. ‘It feels more difficult as I’ve gotten older.’ 

You nodded, ‘Well, I think you’re pretty fucking brave.’ A smile broke through Vernon’s stone-faced facade as you eyed him quickly. ‘Plus, I enjoy your music.’ 

Vernon almost choked; the music he made with his members was so distant from the country rock music you made. Real sincere surprise overtook him — he wasn’t embarrassed, never, but he was just shocked. With an attempt at playful finesse, he continued, ‘Enough to cover it?’

Your lips crackle into a smile, your head shaking to deflect the mischievous dig. ‘It never got past Soonyoung’s dream setlist.’ 

A moment of silence settled, the purr of the engine a quiet soother over the vicious wind.

However, the brief quiet was disrupted by a sarcastic jest. ‘Come on,’ you said, ‘You were quite the town news when you released your first album, plus, who didn’t have aju nice playing daily all those years ago?’ 

You remembered it distinctly, the confusion when discovering the song your mum and you would dance around the living room to was sung by the shy Korean boy who used to be glued to his DS in the playground. 

Before he could even object, you began to rap along to his part in the song, an instant heat invading his cheeks. 

‘I have to apologise, though, I haven’t listened to much K-pop in quite a while,’ you continued as if you hadn’t just charmed Vernon with your (his) American-Korean rap. 

‘I’m just shocked you even know it,’ he said, disbelief bleeding through each word. You smiled at him cheekily and hummed along to Forever, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you remember the river?’ 

The distant echo of joyful screams, the squelch of mud between the toes and flashes of tying tight knots onto trees to make rope swings flooded into his mind, splashing into the running river with bravery only children possessed. 

‘How could I forget?’ he replied, ‘searched for hours for a branch sturdy enough for a swing.’ 

Those memories seemed so fond yet nostalgic, playing wizards in the woods by the creek, building houses out of sticks and making potions from mud, leaves and whatever else. 

‘Well, I know it’s predictable to say I know a spot,’ you said, turning onto a dirt road, ‘but I know a spot.’ You exaggerated. 

‘I’m trusting you,’ Vernon replied, appreciating the fields that stretched for miles, yellows, greens and browns dominating the landscape. Distantly, huge metal silos pierced through the trees, and daunting electricity pylons seemed to drape across the landscape. 

A rickety-looking chapel approached to the right, the wood slackening and rotting in its isolation. Despite the structure's evident deterioration, the spire stood tall and piercing, reaching its dark point into the bright blue sky. Any sign of forced entry had been haphazardly boarded over with pieces of plywood, and as the truck passed, Vernon squinted to attempt to get a clearer look. 

‘Creepy, right?’ You asked, the dust awakening from beneath the wheels, dispersing the vision of the chapel in the wing mirror into a cloudy blur. 

‘I forget that that stuff,’ He hesitated, ‘is, like, common here.’ 

‘You’re on the bible belt,’ You joked, wavering your voice to a deeper tone, dripping with sarcasm.  ‘Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved and whatnot.’ 

Vernon smiled, shaking his head, ‘I never see that type of stuff in Korea.’ 

‘Welcome back to the Deep South, Mr Chwe.’ Your tongue poked your cheek as you focused your eyes on the approaching tree line.  ‘Might want to hold on.’ With a stiff crank of the gears, the truck was swallowed in sweet shade, allowing fierce release from the beating rays of sun. 

The truck bumped and rocked as you persisted down the road, clouds of dust waking with the wheels, your face screwed into unmistakable concentration. Vernon trusted you, but good god, each violent bump made him question how much trust he put in you. 

He remembered this feeling, like being strapped into a rollercoaster in the back seat of his parents’ car, driving down unmade dirt roads to get to the best picnic spots. 

After an almost ten-minute, concerningly rocky drive through the woods, you pulled the car under the shade of two colossal oak trees. 

Swinging the truck door open, you hopped out, and Vernon followed your lead. Taking a moment to really appreciate the way the breeze kissed his skin, light and refreshing in the dry air, the smell of countryside infiltrating him and the sound of nothing but nature and you. 

Snapped out of his outdoors-induced trance, he glanced at you, now opening the back of your truck and slinging a rucksack over your shoulder and grabbing the neck of an acoustic guitar. 

‘Let me take something,’ he offered shyly, holding his arm out. Standing on the crusty rock and dirt, Vernon really noticed the height difference between you. Not a lot. But enough that you had to lightly tilt your head up to look at him. Cute. 

‘I mean,’ you shrugged, slamming the back shut, ‘if you insist.’ 

With a rucksack slung over his shoulder and a blanket rolled under his arm, he watched you lean through your open window, almost hanging over it and grab your sunglasses. 

‘Shall we?’ you questioned, a wide smile on your face as you looked at the boy. 

Vernon looked awkward as he nodded. But for some reason, you decided it suited him. The slight hesitation in his movement, the baited expression he wore and the withheld conversations you actually found charming. Despite him being a big celebrity, you could see his younger self so strongly within him, and it piqued your interest completely — In a town where everyone had either grown into complete American nothingness or instead became some of the coolest people you’ve ever met, it’s refreshing to see something different. However, you think Vernon is becoming the latter. 

‘Let’s do it,’ he replied, his cheeks dusted pink from the unintentional stare you laid upon him. 

After a ten-minute walk down a dusty path, overgrown with shrubbery and jagged with rocks peaking out, the faint trickle of water became louder and louder until the tree line broke onto a small grassy clearing. The water meandered lightly, glistening in the late afternoon sun, and a tall willow tree bent over the clearing, providing much-needed shade across half of it; its wispy arms swayed in the light breeze. 

‘That was a lot choppier when I was a kid, I swear.’ Vernon grinned, looking at the river as it ebbed and flowed downstream. 

You chuckled, and Vernon wondered why it made his heart skip. ‘I don’t know about that one, Vernon.’ 

‘No,’ He bantered, ‘It definitely was, I used to fight for my life to get to the bank!'

A shy smile played on both of your lips, the memory of diving headfirst into the river was so similar, it could’ve been the same one. 

Without a word, you slid the blanket out of Vernon’s arm, laying it between the sun and shade before plopping down on it. 

Vernon peeked out of the corner of his eye as he watched you bask in the sun, your pale skin glowing in the sunlight, your head slacking backwards as you really took it in. 

‘Joining me?’ You said, head not moving an inch – Vernon realised he had been planted in place for the last few minutes and quickly turned. 

He settled with a slight stiffness beside you, opting for the shadiest spot on the worn blanket, allowing himself to let out a relieved sigh at the coolness the tree brought. 

This was tranquil. The sounds of home, nature rustling and cascading around him, the childhood river glistening in front of him, the grass bright and soft under his hand. He let himself really feel it. Feel the breeze as it tickles his cheeks, feel the ground solidly beneath him, and he especially feels the weight of your gaze as you turn your head to look at him. 

‘This is the best, right?’ you asked, an honest smile on your face.

‘It’s,’ Vernon breathed, ‘perfect.’ 

After close to an hour of sunlight and small talk, you shot up. ‘Fancy a dip? For old times’ sake?’ 

Vernon scanned your expression, not an inch of humour - you were dead serious. 

‘No pressure,’ you smiled, ‘But it’s fucking hot, so I’m going.’ Before he could even muster a reply, you kicked off your shorts and shimmied out of your summer dress, leaving you in a small black bikini you’d worn under your clothes. 

Vernon tried to look respectfully, really. He looked up to the leaves above him, to the red of the blanket below him, even to the lingering tree line, but he kept catching glimpses of your curves, the way your hips swayed as you approached the water, your hair almost tickling the dips in your back. 

He couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain why he was so entranced, he’d slept with plenty of girls, seen models scantily clad and even had one serious relationship before, yet no girls had ever made his heart jump the way it was right now. Maybe it was that you were an embodiment of all the best parts of home, maybe it was that you showered him with unconditional and undeserved kindness, or maybe it was because he’d never met someone like you before, and that made you oh so appealing to him.

Before Vernon could slip into a trance, your figure dove effortlessly off the bank and landed with a loud splash in the river. The water flowed lightly today, not choppy or harsh like Vernon swears it once was. 

Under the bubbling surface, you let the coldness of the water act as a faux reset, calming your heart, which seemed to be racing whilst conversing with your childhood friend who sat on the grassy plain behind you. As you break the surface, you thank the gods for dumb luck and newfound confidence that you even managed to talk to Vernon as much as you had. 

As you let a loud sigh out, Vernon watched your figure float effortlessly on the water, like you’d become one with the liquid. 

After a peaceful few minutes, the water and wind the only sounds to be heard, he felt small drips of water coat the front of his shirt and face, slightly relieving the unforgiving summer heat. 

Gingerly, you were grinning at him, hand still in attack as you held in a laugh. ‘God, is it raining?’ 

‘Oh, I’m so going to get you.’ Vernon replied.

Fuck it. 

Springing up, he reached behind him and pulled his shirt up in one swift movement before starting a light jog towards the water and jumping in as hard as he possibly could muster. 

A huge splash coated your already soggy figure as he jumped in a metre from you, giggles bursting through you as you readied your defences against the impending water fight. 

As soon as he arose, it was war. You were more drenched than you could imagine, artificial waves created by Vernon’s big hands dominating you in a game that you had regretfully started.

Normally, you were the reigning water fight champion. Hours and hours spent in this river with your friends, causing mischief and soaking each other. However, the glimpses of Vernon’s toned figure through the sprays of water were rendering your strategies completely useless – your brain was practically mush at the sight of Vernon’s shirtless figure, his expression radiating complete joy and determination. Through your harsh blinks, you were mesmerised by his cheeky smile, the grin reaching his eyes as sweet laughs poured from his mouth.

‘Vernon!’ You laughed, his own chuckles mirroring yours. 

You were fucked. You couldn’t even attempt to get him back, so, like a coward, you retreated quickly, turning to swim against the current away from him.

‘Not so fast!’ He objected, swimming after you, making you release a noise that was somewhere between a giggle and a screech. Before you could even make it to the bank, Vernon’s arms had wrapped tightly around your legs. The river was shallow enough here that it only reached his waist, and in one skilful movement, you were over his shoulder, his arm securely around the back of your knees.

‘Vernon!’ You tried to object in an authoritative tone, to no avail – the air wafting against your exposed legs and up your spine, threatening a shiver. However, as you let your neck slacken, you came face to face with his strong back, his arms flexing literal centimetres from your face. 

With a sharp shake of the head, you ripped your face away from his defined body, deciding to taunt Vernon into putting you down through various unsportsmanlike tactics, poking his side, tickling his armpits – anything. 

‘You started this!’ He smiled through his words, the touch of your skin against his shoulder, your hands gripping his back, making his skin heat instantaneously.

He wondered what they’d feel like against his back in a different circumstance. 

Vernon shook the thought off, letting the water flowing between his legs ground him. 

‘Admit I win,’ Vernon said cheekily, beginning to shrug his shoulders in an attempt to threaten to drop you. 

‘Never!’ You replied with defiance, grateful that Vernon can’t see your reddened cheeks. 

‘Well..’ Vernon slowly turned back to the deeper part of the river. 

‘I will never admit defeat!’ You continued, the smile on your face evident in your words. 

‘That’s too bad.’ Vernon then submerged you both with a small jump, fits of giggles erupting from both of you.

Wet hair dripping down your back, you sat quietly on the bank, Vernon next to you, inching slightly closer to your body than before. You’d slung your sundress on, your bikini drying rapidly in the early evening sunlight. The heat never seemed to subside here; it was beating at you by day and choking you by night. 

Vernon comfortably leaned on his hands beside you, his shirt back on his body as he stole glances at you. The air was filled with light strumming as you lay with the acoustic guitar across you. 

‘What’s your favourite song to play?’ He asked sheepishly, desperate to hear your liquid honey voice again.

‘God,’ you exhaled, thinking hard. ‘I never play alone anymore.’ Silence followed as your brows knit together in thought, Vernon flicking his gaze from your eyes to your fingers absentmindedly plucking. ‘But if I did, probably Pick Up That Knife.’ 

Vernon racked his brain to remember the melody of the song you were referencing. Hesitantly, he asked, ‘Can you play it for me?’ 

Silence. With suspicion, you hung your head to one side, your brows creasing even deeper together, inspecting the boy in front of you. ‘Really?’ You smiled with distrust — somehow, your confidence never bled as far as playing solo, especially in front of a single person. 

‘Yeah,’ He replied, an earnest and innocent smile on his lips, as if to say, go on, please.

‘Sure,’ you replied, Vernon desperately trying to hide his very wide smile. ‘Only if you play after.’ 

‘Yah, ' he said, looking up at the trees above him. An outsider would never guess that the pair of you are professional musicians, performing to hundreds of people every time either of you is on stage. Yet, you were both so bashful in this moment. ‘Fine. Deal.’ 

With that, you began to strum the guitar, the pretty melody floating around him like pollen in the springtime, invading his senses. With the absence of your band, he really appreciated how delicate your voice was, singing lyrics he couldn’t possibly write even if he tried. 

He was in a trance, your side profile practically glowing in the late sun. Your hair had dried in frizzy curls that came tumbling down your back, your chipped red nails picking and plucking the guitar strings effortlessly and the silky smooth sound of your voice as you sang. 

‘And this is when I’d scream,’ You said, a slightly embarrassed tint to your cheeks as you continued to play under Vernon’s intense gaze. 

And then the song ended, and you stopped. Vernon was unmoving as he just stared at your figure. 

‘Not great then?’ You remarked sarcastically, avoiding his eyes. This was the first time Vernon had truly seen you embarrassed, so confident and secure regularly, that he realised it was unnatural for you to be in a state of nervousness.

‘No, I mean,’ Vernon was flustered and failed to hide it. Painfully so. ‘It was great, you’re really…’ 

You smiled with a slight furrow of the brow as the man struggled to put his words together. 

‘You’re really amazing.’ He breathed out shyly, avoiding your eyes desperately. 

At that, you were sure you turned an even more embarrassing shade of red, looking towards the guitar resting across your lap. Quickly, you shoved the guitar at him, ‘Your turn!’

Slightly flustered, Vernon held the guitar in his hands, familiarising himself with the dark wooden curves of the instrument and tuning it by ear to the right notes for his song. 

‘This is called Black Eye,’ He started, strumming my lightly before you can reply. ‘I’ve actually never played it to anyone acoustically.’ 

‘Blessed to be hearing it,’ you smiled, leaning back on the palms of your hands, bathing in the music and sunlight. Your eyes never left him, tracing his soft features as his eyebrows sank in concentration. 

The song was Green Day-inspired, fun and cheeky. It was so Vernon — you were surprised he didn’t shout, I fucking wrote this! However, you didn’t expect his voice to be so smooth and sweet, dancing over the lyrics intricately as he sang. 

His fingers strummed strongly, your eyes tracing from his face, down his shoulder, along his pronounced biceps, down his strengthened forearms and to his long fingers. 

Suddenly, it felt very hot.

As the song ended, you smiled widely, clapping with genuine appreciation. ‘No wonder you’re a famous idol.’ 

Vernon let out a laugh, forcing himself to catch your eyes, which were focused on him in a way he’d never seen. 

‘That was really good by the way,’ you said shyly, ‘I was kind of hoping for Pretty U though…’ 

The humour in your tone made a surge of joy ride through him, and he jokingly shoved your arm. 

‘Does she love me-,’ You started. 

‘Enough,’ He exaggerated before putting the guitar down. 

For the next hour, the pair of you continued to play songs together, your own, covers, even writing small, delicate melodies together. The pair of you were entangled in each other’s creativity, and only when the cicadas began to ring did you realise the sun was setting. 

The blue sky had now faded into hues of red and orange, clouds dancing across the colours lightly. The light illuminated Vernon like an angel, and you felt a slight panic overtake your senses. You could not let yourself fall for him; he’s him. A famous idol, living oceans away. Yet, when he looked so soft-faced in this light, your heart reassured you that maybe one day you could fall for him.

Shaking off the abnormal thoughts, you peeked at him once more. ‘Shall we make a move? That road can be a bit of a pain in the dark.’ 

Vernon was enjoying your company so much that he hadn't thought once about the hours you’d both spent here, the sun sinking below the horizon. ‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’ 

With a comfortable silence, you both packed up, bidding goodbye to the grassy plain and rushing river and heading back to the truck. 

Approaching the vehicle, you leaned over to place the guitar in the trunk, the strings reverberating with the movement as you yawned widely, turning around. 

Immediately, you were met with Vernon's chest as he reached over you to place the blanket back. With a slight stumble, you look up at the boy, the world seeming to slow as his dark velvet eyes met yours, an element of shock dancing in them. 

Cicadas chirped around the pair of you as Vernon felt himself be glued to your glance, your eyes wide in his closeness. The boy realised he could get used to being so close to you, in fact, a part of him wanted you to always be this close to him. Everything seemed to slow, the rustling of the tree subduing as your eyes stayed trained onto each other – there was something about the look that was tender and full, the exhaustion of the sun not infiltrating his gaze as he let himself trace your features, hindering when he inspected your lips. They were a ruby shade that tinged pink in the sunlight, they looked plump and very kissable. Vernon apprehensively dragged his eyes up to yours and flickered back down to those ruby red lips. 

‘I am so beat,’ you yawned, awkwardly shuffling out of his proximity with rapidness, and Vernon stepped back with startling urgency. Your vulnerable look vanished into the breeze as you swung yourself into the truck, slapping the side twice, signalling him to hurry up.

As soon as Vernon hopped up into the van, you were completely normal with him — not flushed anymore, no red tinge on your cheeks, just chatting as if your lips didn’t just practically torture him. 

You urged him with jokiness to choose another tape as you began to drive, bumping and giggling, and Vernon wondered if maybe he dreamed the feeling of you pressed against his chest. The ghost of your body so close puzzled him all the way home, it puzzled him when he was regretfully saying goodbye to you, it puzzled him as he stepped into an icy shower.

Once his sheets found him, you danced around his mind like a ballerina performing an adage, with deliberate slowness, your curves and expressions on display for him to consume. A smile found its way to his lips, and he pulled his hands down his face to soothe the heightened beating of his heart. 

[23:34] @girlinthatband: it was so nice to hang out today, see you again before you go?

Any attempt to soothe himself was useless. A nervous excitement pulsed through him, surging up his throat as he caught his lip between his teeth. 

Really, it was immature to let himself feel something for you, no matter what it was, there was no plausible way it could work. You were happy here, a star shining amongst a dark galaxy, and he was just a planet, rotating his way back and forth – being pulled hundreds of miles from here in a month's time. The lives you both led were both similar and so contrasting, yet, as you floated through his brain, he could imagine being by your side, you curled closely in his arm, nodding along to an indie-rock song you’d claim is the best song ever – and Vernon would laugh at your predictability, kissing your head as you hummed along.

ᯓ‎♪ “ I WILL go wherever you want me, long haul flights to stupid new countries ”

As the days stretched on, somehow you’d materialised into a fully-qualified tour guide. Dragging Vernon to backstreet antique shops, to sit on creaking Victorian furniture and ogle taxidermied animal heads together or lugging him to basement record shops, to dig deep through dusty twelve-inch discs hip to hip, and emerge with the most treasured vinyl you could discover. 

Vernon had seen the interior of your truck more than the back of his eyelids at this point, the passenger seat in your boxy cab was comfier than the bed in his childhood bedroom. During one escapade to a late-night thrift store, you’d even convinced Vernon to let you buy him a few tapes to live in your car. 

‘No, no.’ Vernon laughed, pushing the bills back into your hand as you hung your head sideways. ‘I’ll pay, and you can keep them, you know, for when I'm gone.’ Vernon imitated being a ghost, producing a ghoulish sound at the end of his sentence as he wiggled his fingers at you. 

‘God, you’re morbid.’ You joked as he continued to move close to your eyes. ‘But, really,’ you paused to grab his hands, looking up at him with a gleaming gaze. ‘I insist.’ 

And that’s how you ended up with an Adrienne Lenker tune slipping through your speakers every time you turned the key in the ignition. 

Even as Vernon stood at the second family gathering of his excursion, chopping vegetables alongside his mother and aunt, the shy smile wouldn't leave his lips. The blissful memory of your giggle in an empty store or the vision of your hair dancing in the wind during a late-night drive pumped instant endorphins through him. 

It was a strange type of intoxication that Vernon had never experienced before, the rush in his head when he’d spot your silhouette waiting against your truck, the leap in his heart when your name would pop up on his phone – his entire body was warming to your presence, and little by little, he welcomed it. 

[13:11] @girlinthatband: hope family gathering isn’t too bad :P 

[13:13] @girlinthatband: listen to this song when you’re not busy being son of the year 

[13:13] @girlinthatband: 🎵whatever you wanna by annabelle dinda 

Vernon grinned at his phone, subtly sliding it back into his pocket before turning to a gaggle of cousins and diving into their conversation.

On a rather humid and sunny Wednesday, Vernon pulled himself out of the stuffy house. Even with the warm humming sensation that you caused within him, there was a tidal pool stirring quietly deep down. 

Inside, there were hands pulling him two ways, soft palms that touched him calmly, each brush filled with anticipation and excitement. But the other hands were rough and calloused, tugging him into the depths of head-spinning anxiety. As he stood at the top of his stairs, nervously raising himself onto his tiptoes, he could feel those careless hands pulling at him. 

It had been two and a half weeks of his parents’ forced smiles and polite nods. Minimal conversation and biting expressions, their resentment hidden beneath their tongues and their remarks tidied away into cupboards and swept into dustpans. 

So when he hit a wall again, the producing software glaring in his face with a taunting glow, he decided he needed a change of scenery. Backpack slung over his shoulder, he braved the descent downstairs, creeping with teenage-like slyness as if his parents would scold him for leaving the house. 

Successfully slipping out of the door unchecked, Vernon quickly made way to town — spotting the first café and sliding in with a small jingle of the bell. 

The hole-in-the-wall style abode was cosy, people littered on various seats, nursing steaming beverages. As Vernon sipped an obnoxiously over-iced Americano, he struggled to comprehend how anyone could possibly ingest hot drinks in this stuffy weather.

Headphones snug against his ears, he reopened the software with a heavy breath, ready to start anew if he so called for it. 

However, surprisingly, the hours sped by as the music consumed him, beats congregating and melodies materialising – it sparked sweet satisfaction. People moved around him, but he took no notice, he was submerged in the beat, inspiration trickling out of him. 

A figure appeared over the top of his screen, plopping into the squeaking chair opposite him. Vernon ripped his eyes away from the software to eye the stranger who’d intruded on his steady workflow.

There was that charming air around you, the dark hair pulled messily into two plaits covered by a cap with a mocking slogan on it, pale complexity shining against the sun-kissed tan everyone else possessed, excited grin on your plush ruby lips. And like a figure of Vernon’s imagination, you’d materialised in front of him.

‘Hey!’ Vernon spoke, shock in his voice. His heart skipped at your sudden appearance, and he couldn’t help but feel his mouth begin to beam at you.

‘I’ve been waving at you for at least two minutes.’ You complained, an artificial annoyance in your tone that wrung dry when he shook his head. 

‘Sorry! I was super concentrated.’ He replied, placing his headphones down quietly and looking at you — Even with the thin sheen of heat dusting your cheeks, Vernon thought you looked incredible. 

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ you wiggled your eyebrows with an amused tone, ‘What’s got you concentrating so hard?’  

With curiosity, you leaned forward, and Vernon didn't hesitate to twist his computer to show you his screen. 

‘Ah.’ You said with an understanding nod.

‘It’s actually only just started to go well.’ He admitted, the coffee machine whirring lightly behind him. ‘I just felt so blocked?’ 

In front of Vernon, your expression is strangely comforting. It looked like you were fully immersed in him, your ears only listening to his words, a warmth to your features that sprouted reassurance through him. 

‘That’s the best fucking feeling ever, ' you sighed, leaning on your palm and looking at Vernon with soft eyes. ‘Want a second pair of ears?’ 

‘Please.’ He said, battling the pressure within that blossomed from his apprehension to share his own music — It was ironic, really, knowing he’d produced countless tracks that had millions of streams, yet, you listening to his music made him feel wildly vulnerable. 

The headphones sit on your head slightly lopsidedly, but your eyes shine as you inspect the programme, scrolling through the layers and brushing over levels. 

Vernon sat almost rigidly, scanning your face in an attempt to predict your thoughts. He wished he could read your expression, but it stayed dead still, unreadable and unmoving. The playback line didn’t sprint across the program like normal, it felt like it dragged across the sound waves with hesitation.

Three excruciating minutes pass and you place the headphones down on the table. ‘What the fuck, man?’ You spoke, shock permeating through you. ‘That’s so good.’ 

Instantly, you jumped into exclamations and passionate compliments, spiralling about the various samples and showering kind words on different parts. 

Time slipped past you both as the music engulfed every conversation, small pointers given and valuable opinions shared, both of you listening keenly to one another, allowing yourselves to share even the most embarrassing opinions. 

As the café closed its doors, a barista politely ushered you both towards the front door, the pair of you still tangled in conversations, sharing personal picks and arguing passionately about different genres. The two of you clicked like two opposite sides of a magnet, hopelessly perfect for each other. 

High above, the sun shrank below the horizon, painting a golden glow onto everything that moved in its path. Including you, as you sat comfortably on a swing beside him, hand lightly gripping the chain as you swayed backwards and forwards – the conversation had paused, and serene silence had fallen between you. 

Vernon couldn’t help but feel shifting deja-vu as he rocked alongside you, the motion-induced breeze brushing his cheeks delicately as he closed his eyes and basked in the late evening sun. This park – rusting metal, peeling paint and squeaking joints was the epitome of Vernon’s childhood nostalgia, the surfaces left untouched for years, the maintenance seemingly halted around the time he left. 

‘Hey Vern?’ You broke the quiet to look at him. 

‘Yeah?’ He replied, letting his trainers drag against the dry wood chips. 

‘I’m really happy you came back.’ You told him, a subtle smile ghosting your lips. 

Vernon's heart thumps selfishly within him, his vision focused on his shoes as he attempted to hide the heat crawling up his neck. In this moment, Vernon knew he was too far gone; there was no hiding or running that could escape this feeling. The feeling of his stomach fluttering every time you met his eyes, the feeling of his heart swelling when you smiled at him, the feeling of his face crinkling every time you spoke. 

He was fucked.

‘Me too.’ He admitted gingerly, finally turning to face you.

There was an unspoken look. One that screamed just let it happen Vernon, your lips were plump and insanely kissable, the loaded look in your eyes almost inviting him in. The way your hand was so grabable, so ready to be held and felt – all that stood between him and euphoria was twenty centimetres. 

‘Make sure you come back when you’re not too busy mansae-ing or whatever it is you do across the pond.’ You joked, pushing on your heels to propel yourself forward. 

‘Hey!’ he smiled, ‘I’m not gone yet, stop speaking like I’m leaving!’ 

‘I know,’ You state simply, ‘Just reminding you.’ A cheeky grin sits on your mouth as you sway in the aftermath of your pushing. 

‘You’re stuck with me for another thirteen days.’ He returned to you, now joining you in swinging himself harshly back and forth. 

The hinges squeaked obnoxiously, the shrill ring echoing through the quietened streets as the moon appeared in the darkening sky. As Vernon’s vision blurred with the momentum, his head battled his heart, the rational thought of his life millions of miles away – the image he upheld, the expectations he carried, the pressure he had to amount to. Yet, the heart-racing thought of how it would feel to press his lips to yours, to smell your perfume on his pillows or to feel your skin flush against his was unyielding within him.

The sun set long before Vernon shuffled through the front door, beelining for his bedroom instantaneously. The heat felt like it was sticking to him as thoughts of you swirled around his mind smoothly, your charm whittling into every crease of his brain. The elongated distance his parents stood at didn’t concern him when you’d waltzed into his life like a ballerina, pirouetting through him. 

[23:06] @vernonline: thank you so much for helping me today, i really enjoyed hanging out with you :) 

The faucet splashed viciously as Vernon twisted it, droplets splattering his stomach as he cursed silently. You’d taken residency within him, your face distracting him with every passing thought – Vernon was almost spooked at how effortlessly you’d burrowed your way into his mind, and he allowed the memory of your sweet laugh to soothe the anxiety that threatened to brew within him. 

[23:27] @girlinthatband: anytime! lmk when you’re free to hang out next

[23:30] @girlinthatband: i also always enjoy hanging out with you :) <3

ᯓ‎♪ “ CAN YOU read my mind, I've been watching you ”

Across the dusty plains and sprawling highways, towering wooden crucifixes were impaled into hillsides. Huge, daunting crosses weathered and tarnished, hidden down dirt tracks and standing immensely over miles of agriculture. These crooked wooden symbols were a part of Southern America that had slipped Vernon’s mind. The relentless signposts coining ‘Christ is coming, have you confessed?’ and ‘If you died today, where would you spend eternity?’

As his mother's car sped down the interstate highway, Vernon imagined spending eternity here. Stuck like a pylon at the side of a beaten road, huffing dry dirt and carrying the weight of heavy sun rays, his skin splintering with each sunrise. Allowing the cars to race past without a second glance, always there – unnoticed, resting under relentless heat and depending on the crackling earth to keep him upright. But maybe if he spent his eternity here, once in a while your dark brown truck would whisk past. The sound of the wheels slapping and the engine panting masked by an overzealous rock cassette rumbling out of the open windows – and in the two seconds it took for you to pass by, Vernon would see your dark hair violently wisp in the wind, your face glowing as lyrics fly out of you. The effortless flip in your voice, jumping you from one vocal register to another, would reach his ears and then he’d allow eternity to swallow him up once again. 

The chilling blast of air conditioning knocked Vernon back to the dark interior of the car. His mother, with a polite grin, gripped the steering wheel. There was an air of relief swarming his mother, her chin tall as she watched the road closely, a small victory to have her son beside her. 

It seemed the lifespan of a grudge was two long, slow weeks in the Chwe household, and Vernon was grateful for his parents to resume as expected, with smiles and warm discussions. However, to avoid the unnecessary tension arising again, Vernon eagerly agreed to shop with his mother, too afraid any apprehension might spark another fire that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to put out. But as the car travelled down the highway in the midday sun, he couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted agreeing to the field trip his mom was apparently taking him on. 

Did you know that in a hundred-kilometre radius there is one asian supermarket? – Because Vernon sure didn’t. It was news to him when the roads stretched out into long open masses and not tiny, car-ridden passages. Slopes and bumps decorated in varying hues of greens and browns lengthening in front of him, all volumes of Evangelical Protestantism cropping up every half-a-kilometre. Old abandoned chapels piercing through evergreens with their sharp spires metres above, billboards climbing tall to spew bible verses to the masses, crucifixes remaining wary distances away from the road – casting watchful gazes afar. 

As the car slowed, the department store slid into view. ‘You travel this far every time?’

Vernon’s mother nodded timidly, pulling the keys of the ignition and slipping out of the car, Vernon following quietly. To fulfil the good son role, Vernon chattered lightly, pushed the cart without a complaint and reached for anything his mother struggled to get. A part of him was thoroughly enjoying this; the errand felt so mundane, the act of just being able to shop around without the weight of public attention whilst absentmindedly conversing with his mom healed a young part of him he wasn’t aware was sabotaged. 

Cool air floated around him, applying relief to his humid frame. In front, his mother closely examined varying jars, tipping her glasses forward as she squinted at labels and prices, muttering under her breath. However, the subtle stillness of the grocery shopping was disrupted by a hearty laugh booming over the aisles, as the rattle of a cart distracted him from counting how many spring onions were stacked amongst the items. 

Gliding down the aisle with a happy grin, you came into sight. Lively talk was sprouting and buzzing between you and who Vernon can only presume is your own mother, her eyes in crescents, like the perfect replica of yours. 

With a nonchalant lean, you pushed the cart, your mother close to your side as you nattered amongst one another, both of your expressions ridden with joy — like scanning the aisles was the most exhilarating activity in the world.

Vernon’s heart pounded as your joyful face continued chatting animatedly, hands flying off the cart rapidly to accentuate your words, your mother laughing lightly and rubbing your arm. He knew you were always authentically yourself, always smiling and extending niceties, but this version of you felt more organic than the girl who swung on her chair at the bar. 

Before Vernon could decide whether to wave, greet you or simply look away, those soft eyes you possessed met him prematurely, twisting from your blissful expression into one of pleasant surprise. 

‘Vernon’ You exclaimed, and he could’ve melted, his name sounded just right sliding off your tongue. 

At your bellow, Vernon’s face cracked a smile, his mother snapping her head to the sound and leaning back to eye you. 

‘Hey!’ He said, stepping away from the cart to approach you. A grey tank top covered your frame, a graphic printed onto the centre that Vernon consciously tried not to make out, baggy cargo shorts hanging low on your hips as you smiled widely at him. 

‘Vernon, meet my mother.’ You introduced the two politely, and your gaze flickered from Vernon to the figure approaching his side. 

‘Mrs Chwe!’ Your mother says, recognition flickering through her eyes. 

‘Mrs ____!’ Vernon’s mother replied, smiling widely and hugging your mother. The two women burst into animated conversation, talking informally to one another with passion – their dialect thick and hurried.

Both you and Vernon stood rigidly with hung mouths, watching the older women converse like old friends – which Vernon realised they probably are. 

‘I guess they know each other…’ You said, your head hung in a questioning expression, foot propped up against the under basket as you slouched against the cart. 

Beside you, Vernon mirrored your tilted head, also squinting at his mother. The bewilderment didn't leave his face as the two began to walk ahead together. Forcing a shrug from his shoulders, ‘Yeah, I guess so.’ 

Still paused, Vernon finally turned his face to meet your side profile. The long dark locks he was so used to seeing clouding your face had been pulled back into a singular plait, stray hairs tickling your jaw and neck. The hair tucked behind your ears drew attention to your soft jawline that Vernon had somehow missed in all your time spent together. 

Without a glance, you shake your head quickly, as if you were shimmying his gaze off of your face and turn to him, that wide grin you always wore shining straight at him. 

‘Anyway, hello, hi!’ You stepped away from your cart to throw your arms up, engulfing Vernon in a warm hug. In panic, he let his arms come to your waist, feeling you in his arms, even for a brief couple of seconds, was strangely natural to him. ‘Your mom drag you shopping as well?’ 

‘Yes ma’am.’ He replied as you fell into step beside each other, slowly pushing the carts forward in tandem. Vernon realised how teenage this felt, to be following your parents around the store, slouching behind whilst your mothers conversed – it was all oddly comforting.

‘I can’t believe we travelled an hour to get here.’ Vernon muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. In the corner of his eye, he watched a grin crack on your face as you looked down at the contents of your cart. 

‘Count yourself lucky this is your first time making the trek.’ You joked, swinging your head towards him. ‘She makes me do this almost every week, god forbid I go on tour.’ 

‘I kinda like it,’ Vernon admitted with an honest shrug, continuing to glide alongside you. ‘See the landscapes, go shopping with my mom, it all feels…’

Vernon paused as he thought, the normality of the excursion providing a sense of comfort he didn’t think he could explain. Especially not in the middle of an aisle in this supermarket. But as he turned to you, a slight furrow in his brows, you’ve got silent encouragement etched in your expression, your patience stretched infinitely as if you could wait for eternity for him to finish talking.

‘Mundane.’ Vernon finished, hyperaware that he was completely exposing how detached he was from this reality, the reality you lived, the reality his mother lived, the reality everyone he used to know lived. 

Deep inside Vernon, there was fear that mongered in anticipation of your reaction, worry penetrating him as he revealed his blatant disconnect with a life he’s come to yearn for. He couldn’t help but presume the worst in this moment, that maybe you’d scoff at him and walk away, or worse, you’d become silently resigned and begin to resent him. 

‘And that’s the beauty of it, right?’ You smiled at him, a beam that was really and truly sincere, and if he wasn’t enraptured by how gorgeous he thought you looked, he would’ve noticed those ruthless anxieties evaporate into thin air – as if you were the remedy he needed. 

Simultaneously, you both halted in the empty aisle, looking closely at each other; Vernon’s lips had too quirked up into a shy grin as he looked down at you. That reassuring gaze you possessed rested on his face as you met his eyes, softness following your waterline and curving up your eyelashes. 

Vernon felt like his heart was going to burst just looking at you. 

The feeling of you standing slightly too close to Vernon made him feel overwhelmed with need. The racing heart, the sticky palms – he felt like he was standing by your truck all over again, contemplating whether or not to just kiss you. 

‘Yah! There you both are!’ 

Abruptly, you both fumbled away, snapping your heads to Vernon’s mother's shrill call, scampering towards her without sparing a glance for each other, the heat of the moment still residing on Vernon’s skin. 

‘Your mom was just telling me you’re going to record in New Orleans, how exciting!’ Vernon’s mother had opened the conversation, placing items into her cart as your own mother stood with an elated expression. 

New Orleans? Vernon can’t recall you mentioning it at all. Not that he would or should know, but somewhere inside of him, the thought of you disappearing off after only just reconnecting made him sour, an undeniable pang returning to his chest. 

‘Yeah!’ You nodded, ‘Only for a few days, but I’m really looking forward to it.’ The politeness in your voice made it feel pruned and shaped especially for this conversation. However, the delight in your eyes as you spoke to his mother ignited something within Vernon that he wasn’t sure he could identify.

‘That’s amazing!’ She gushed, raising her eyebrows. ‘It’s just so impressive how talented you both are.’ 

Awkward laughs forced their way out of both yours and Vernon’s throats, stepping side to side to ease the uncomfortable feeling resting on both of your shoulders. Either both of your mothers were painfully oblivious, or they enjoyed seeing you both squirm like children, embarrassed on behalf of their moving mouths.

‘Thank you!’ You said graciously, absentmindedly tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’ve finished most of the recording, we’re just doing some final touches.’ 

‘That’s brilliant! New Orleans is so lovely at this time of year.’ Vernon’s mom smiled. ‘When are you going? I’ll have to send your mom some restaurant recommendations for you!’ 

‘In two days.’ You replied with a grin, a shade of politeness in your voice that was new to Vernon. ‘We're only there for a few days to do all the finishing touches.’

‘Oh darling, why don’t you take Vernon with you?’ Your mom spoke.

Vernon froze, muscles rigid and eyes wide. Yeah, they must be horrifically oblivious. 

‘No, no I couldn’t.’ 

‘I’d love to!’ 

Oh…oh? Vernon looked at you, trying to piece together whether your answer was just a formality or if that was actual sincerity. But your eyes shared that kindness and willingness that practically says Fuck it, I’m all in.

‘That would be so lovely!’ Vernon's mother exclaimed, smiling graciously at your mom. ‘I know you’ve been bored out of your mind.’

Vernon's brain felt like it had been muddled, actions, signals and emotions tangling into a tight mess inside him. The furrow threatening to dance his brow was resisted harshly as he tried to decipher his mother. What did she want him to do? Would she really be content for him to go? It seemed like all he was reading were mixed messages – the wrath of a silent treatment that had ended just a few hours ago like a mere memory in the wake of this keen woman, who was encouraging Vernon to slip away.

And you – thrown in the middle like a stick in a flowing river. Allowing whatever lapped at you to lead the way. This time, it was Vernon, being thrusted into your downstream flow, and you seemed to be letting him dance on your trail.

‘Are you sure?’ Vernon blinked, watching your face for an answer, not yours or his mother's. Only yours. 

‘Absolutely,’ you reassured him, that same sweet smile on your lips that he’d spent hours tracing in his mind.

ᯓ‎♪ “ AND THOUGH you know what is implied when your room is free, you're feeling lucky ”

It was another day of relentless heat, the southern sun refusing to relieve its citizens of its harsh reign. Birds chirped happily in the towering trees, wings occasionally fluttering and shuddering unsuspecting branches with their movement. The distant hum of an indie rock song rang quietly out of Vernon’s laptop as he combed through his bags, checking for all he’d need for his brief trip to the deeper south.  

Everything had happened very rapidly. From your mother's blissful meet-up to the flirting in aisle six to your mother inviting him to your trip, it seemed the higher beings aligning your fate had their undivided attention on Vernon and you. 

The familiar sound of your horn rang through the open window, and Vernon felt the excitement rise in his chest. Rapidly zipping his duffel bag up, he slung it over one shoulder and bid a hearty goodbye to his parents – who decided to stand on the porch and wave you both off. 

Casually, you leant against the side of your shiny brown pick-up, a flowy blouse and denim shorts dancing on your body as you waved happily to Vernon’s eager parents. The feeling inside him was fit to burst as you stepped towards his approaching figure, ready to engulf him in another of your renowned hugs. 

‘Ready to hit the road, Mr?’ You questioned with a quirk to your lips, your voice tickling his ear before you pulled away and attempted to swipe his bag off him. 

‘Yes, ma'am.’ He shook his head in dismissal at your attempt and placed it into the open trunk. 

‘Drive safe!’ Vernon’s mother called, waving you off joyously as the engine kick-started, the small rumbling drowning out his parents' valedictions. 

‘Ready for eight hours of open road and rock music?’ You joked, adopting a heavy southern accent as the car wound out of the suburban road, houses becoming blurs through the open windows. 

‘Hell yeah.’ He agreed.

‘Your choice of tape.’ You nudged, keeping your eyes glued to the intersection in front.

‘You’re the driver, your choice.’ Vernon argued, opening the glovebox with a click and rifling through it. 

‘Nuh-uh, trust me, once your choice is done, I am absolutely choosing.’ You responded, pushing your sunglasses up your nose as your gaze flickered from the road to Vernon. 

The boy shook his head, an act of disbelief, and began to dig through the tapes – Vernon knew every tape you had, he’d burrowed through your glovebox too many times now, yet he let them clink beneath his fingertips as he chose. 

Without faltering, he placed an MJ Lenderman tape into the player and pressed play, a twangy guitar floating through the cab as you let out a large sigh. 

‘What an amazing pick.’ The music seemed to let your neck slacken as your eyes watched the road down the bridge of your nose, letting the track slither through you. Vernon kept a smile on his cheeks, the sight of your relaxed posture and satisfied expression making him feel somewhat appeased.

‘So, where are the rest of the band?’ He asked curiously. 

‘Taking Mingyu’s van.’ You responded, ‘I’m grateful to not be in that stuffy death trap. I love Gyu like a brother, but holy fuck, he cannot drive.’ Vernon laughed lightly, listening to you intently.

‘Normally, we all pile into his van and try to fit as much of our kit in as possible.’ You explained, ‘but god forbid you hit a pothole.’ 

You exploded into an animated story of Mingyu driving, perhaps recklessly, and causing the van to dip into a pothole – The impact shuddered the van so harshly that a box of handmade merch plummeted off a haphazardly stacked pile of kit and straight onto Minghao’s head. 

‘Hao insisted he had a concussion! He refused to speak to Gyu for three days!’ There was laughter all over your words as you spoke, a gorgeous, toothy grin on your lips. 

‘Did he have a concussion?’ Vernon questioned naively. 

‘Fuck no!’ You said with that same shit-eating grin. ‘When we asked if we should cancel the show, Hao almost hit us.’ 

Conversations sparked from that, Vernon retelling stories of his members and their antics across the sea, you swapping equally embarrassing tales of your bandmates. Vernon’s heart sings to talk fondly of the boys that became his found family, and it screams louder as you curiously ask about them.

Hours whizz by, fields evolving from vivid greens to warm, dusty yellows as the truck travels further south. Those same soaring billboards sprouted in regular intervals, the religious memorabilia scattered across beautiful landscapes like lost property – crucifixes in bustling fields of corn, chapel spires puncturing bright blue skies, church adverts on vehicle bumpers. 

As you stopped for a beverage break – purchasing Vernon an abomination of a slushy that you insisted he had to drink – you stood side by side, head tilted at a bold letter signpost. 

‘A free thinker is Satan’s Slave,’ You spoke almost phonetically, as if the words didn’t make sense aloud. 

‘A very bold statement.’ Vernon said from beside you, lifting the liquid sugar to his lips and sipping slowly. 

‘No, no,’ You said sarcastically. ‘You must consult with god before you dare sip that slushy.’ 

A cheeky grin appeared on Vernon’s face as he poked his tongue through his canines, removing the slushy from his mouth and shaking his head. Next to him, you looked at his drink with an amused expression, raising your eyebrows before moving back towards the truck.

In all of Vernon’s years travelling the globe, he’d never set foot in New Orleans. The daunting highway dissolved into industrial masses before subduing into busy Creole townhouse-clad streets, the road narrowing as you slowed the truck, tapping along to a Malcom Todd song.

‘Welcome to New Orleans!’ You said with a smile, leaning forward with excitement in your eyes. ‘The best city on planet Earth.’ 

‘Whoa,’ Vernon was taken by the wide variety of colour on every street corner, warm hues painted slickly on buildings, healthy greenery sprawling up lampposts and breaking the paving to reach upwards. 

Truly, Vernon had never realised how monotone Seoul could be at times — the practice room walls so devoid of colour that maybe it was depressing to spend days in there on end. 

‘It’s so nice here,’ He muttered, letting his arm hang out into the rays and feeling the gentle breeze through his fingertips. Beside him, you stifled a small laugh, which had Vernon’s head snapping to look at you at almost record speed. ‘What?’ 

‘You’re so nonchalant.’ You said, biting your lip to prevent a giggle from slipping out. 

‘You know what.’ Vernon began, a fake expression of offence on his face as he spoke. ‘That’s actually not the first time I’ve been told that.’

‘It’s not a bad thing!’ You attempted to explain, laughing lightly, a sound that sounded like sweet music to his ears — he couldn’t even fake annoyance at you. 

‘I like being a bit mysterious.’ He shrugged, in the most exasperatingly nonchalant manner, making you squint at him before shaking your head and turning to the road ahead. 

Heat gathered on his cheeks when he felt your gaze resting on his face, his heart practically skipping as you settled your concentration back on the traffic. 

‘Maybe I should try being a bit more nonchalant.’ You jabbed, sliding a cigarette into your lips as you masterfully shifted onto a quieter road. 

Vernon can’t even imagine you being nonchalant. Every inch of you bubbled, your presence drawing attention alone, your laugh so contagious that it would be considered a huge travesty if you were to feign nonchalance even for a minute. 

In front, a broad-shouldered figure turned towards the truck – the distant silhouette performing an obnoxious wave straight towards you both. An excited squeal left your mouth as you muttered, ‘There he is.’ 

As the truck neared, Mingyu’s face was revealed, his hand steadily holding a drum case as he refused to falter in his greeting. Expertly, you parked behind his van, hopping out to jump into his arms eagerly.

Softly swinging the truck door open, Vernon stretched his leg out as if he was testing the waters of this unknown place before diving straight in. The air was definitely thicker here, hotter even, the sun beating down on the tight street viciously, so hot it prickled the hair on the back of his neck as he manoeuvred to join you and Mingyu. 

‘Holy shit, I missed this place.’ You said, looking up with stark appreciation at the towering building. 

The unassuming four-floor structure was nestled tightly amongst balcony-clad French-style townhouses. Painted in a deep yellow, the French-Caribbean fusion-style architecture had tall, sprawling windows, each decorated in dark wooden shutters. Wrought-iron balconies hung over every floor, shading the street from the stinging sun. 

‘It’s just the best place on earth.’ Mingyu agreed, leaning his head onto yours before turning to Vernon. The drummer’s limbs tangled around him, pulling him into a sweaty hug. ‘Hey! Vernon! So excited you’re here!’ 

From afar, Vernon could see you smiling at Mingyu’s outright affection, the taller man a bundle of limbs as he slung his arm around Sol’s shoulder, guiding him inside. 

‘Enjoy your tour!’ You shouted as Mingyu steered Vernon inside the bright house, your voice quietening as the doorway approached.

The townhouse was breathtaking, and Vernon had to stop himself from rubbing his eyes out of disbelief. Below him, burnt orange terracotta tiles stretched across the floor, a dark wooden staircase snatching his attention as it sprawled upwards, various books, sculptures and deliberate trinkets littering the polished wood. The walls that weren’t dominated by climbing plants and abstract art were painted an array of diverse colours – brick reds mingled with bottle greens and dijon yellows kissed midnight blues. In every empty space, a healthy array of plants grew in all directions, trailing down the curved bannisters and hanging from hooks in the ceilings, natural light pouring in from skylights that trapped glowing rays into the hallway area. 

‘Pretty fucking cool, right?’ Mingyu spoke with a smile, swerving Vernon through a curled wooden doorway to reveal a seating area, slits of light slipping through the closed shutters. Yet, an open door let a cool breeze through, the glow of daylight drawing his attention away from the chaise lounges and the reclaimed oak furnishings. 

‘Oh dude, wait until you see this. It’s a fucking dream.’ Mingyu pulled Vernon through the beckoning doorway, an idyllic courtyard creeping into view. Gorgeous evergreen oaks sprawled above, twisting and digging into the building, leaves fluttering in the wind, making sunbeams glitter across the dark red brick paving. Vivid shrubs and sprouting flowers swarmed the space, the intimate courtyard tightly hugged by four towering walls that allowed sunlight to only bleed in from above. 

Sitting with his head slackened under a shaded oak, Soonyoung hummed a quiet tune, his face in a restful expression as he sang to himself. There was an air of tranquillity in his relaxed position, and Vernon was almost afraid to make a noise in fear of disrupting his perfectly still peace. 

‘Hey Moron! There’s more shit to unload!’ From a different doorway that Vernon hadn’t even noticed, you materialised, ripping the peace to shreds instantaneously as you drilled into the once restful guitarist, who now looked like a startled animal as he leaned up abruptly. 

‘Stupid fuck.’ Mingyu laughed, rubbing Soonyoung's shoulder before lightly pushing him away.

Although bewildered, Soonyoung cracked a smile at Vernon, ‘Hey dude.’ The sleepy man clasped Vernon’s hand, pulling him in for what can only be described as a ‘bro’ hug, before disappearing through the doorway you were standing in. 

‘This place is crazy.’ Vernon said, shock permeating his body as he listened to birds chirp playfully above. 

‘Oh dude,’ Mingyu clapped him on the back, ‘It only gets crazier.’

The building was a maze of bedrooms, studios and curious third spaces. Each room more unique and intriguing than the next. Mingyu took his time showing Vernon the studios, messing with expensive guitars and switching a variety of knobs and then dragging him onto creaking balconies that possessed views that stretched miles across the city's skyline. 

Mingyu opened the door to another bedroom — the room adorned with matching cold terracotta flooring that was masked in deep red bohemian rugs, a plush bed centring the room as it faced a set of slim doors, open widely as they ushered a soft breeze into the bedroom. 

‘Oh yeah,’ Mingyu continued to yap, telling a long-winded recollection of a drunken hike up the stairs, the main focus being you. ‘And she was on her hands and fucking knees! She wouldn’t let us carry her!’ 

‘Oi!’ 

Sliding out of an adjacent doorway, you appeared, a strict furrow on your brow as you eyed Mingyu. 

‘I thought we promised to keep that between us!’ You pushed Mingyu lightly, shaking your head in disbelief before apologising to Vernon. ‘Whatever he’s told you is all a lie.’ 

‘Even the Kahlua shooters at the student bar?’ Vernon joked with raised eyebrows, your jaw instantly dropping in shock as you slapped Mingyu's chest, embarrassment penetrating through you. 

‘I’m going to fucking kill you.’ You said, plucking Mingyu’s cap off of his head and sprinting off with it. 

The lanky man laughed loudly, following your footsteps with ease. ‘Kahlua shooter! DUI scooter!’ Mingyu sang along to a mocking MJ Lenderman song, the lyrics making a scream sound down the halls. 

Vernon took this chance to settle his bag in the corner of the bedroom, the distant sound of yours and Mingyu’s tussle muffled as he let himself fall back onto the plush bed, the smooth sheets soft against his body. Silence soon settled throughout the house, and the pull of sleep tugged harshly at him.

Faint chattering forced Vernon to stir, his limbs stiff from his unconventional napping position, the cap still on his head as he shook himself awake. The room had darkened significantly, only the warm glow from the courtyard floors below illuminating the space through the open balcony doors.

The unplanned nap had spanned hours and Vernon felt immensely guilty as he scurried to change – splashing cold water on his face before tugging a hoodie over himself. 

Downstairs, five bodies gathered in the courtyard, leaning on wired chairs lightened by low stringing bulbs that emitted a warm glow across the confined space. The greenery felt like it hugged the circle as Vernon emerged from the doorway, recognising Minghao strumming lightly as Soonyoung and you sang lightly, an identical acoustic being played between your arms.

‘It falls apart, we all work to do.’ Soonyoung took the lead, your voice blending in subtly behind his. ‘It gets dark, we all got work to do.’

It was one thing to watch you perform on stage, but in this intimate space it felt like the world had shrunk and contorted to just be shaped around you and your band. Minghao plucked the strings effortlessly, his eyes flickering between his bandmates with precision, Mingyu bashing his knee to keep the tempo as Soonyoung and you looked at each other, ensuring to keep your voices dancing around the perfect line. 

With a nod from Soonyoung, you begin to sing alongside him, ‘She’s leaving you.’ 

The song repeated, the separate lyrics blending perfectly together as you strummed along to Minghao, his head turning as he silently urged you to stop playing, the end of the song nearing and Soonyoung’s voice quietened – leaving just you to repeat the last two lines in an almost haunting manner.

‘She’s leaving you.’ 

Vernon’s heart thumped as he relished in the sound of your voice, its tone moulded for the three boys you made music with. Vernon believed that maybe this was a platonic soulmate situation; the four of you were like an unstoppable force when you performed. 

Like the music exiting your bodies was second-nature, you bursted into a fit of giggles – A smile cracked on Minghao’s face as he leaned forward to tap your knee excitedly. 

‘Holy shit! That’s so good!’ Soonyoung exclaimed, high-fiving Mingyu with a thrilled expression on both of their faces. Another figure sat in the circle, Vernon too enamoured by your sweet voice to even notice the man who was wedged between Mingyu and you. 

A sixth sense awoke as your eyes met Vernon’s across the garden, face softening as you spotted him. 

‘Vern!’ You beamed, springing up to greet him, causing a shy smile to play on his lips, the expression only widening as you slung your arm around his shoulders.

‘Sorry for conking out, I don’t know what came over me.’ He said to the circle as you ushered him to sit in your spot, you taking up seating on the floor. Whether it was deliberate, Vernon wasn’t sure, but you leaned onto Vernon’s leg, letting your hand brush his calf. 

‘Oh dude, don’t sweat it, Hao was asleep for hours.’ Soonyoung spoke, catching a lighter from across the chairs to light the cigarette in his mouth. 

‘Vernon, meet Chan,’ You spoke. Sat leaning haphazardly on one of the flimsy chairs was a shorter man, his hair jet black and styled into a tousled mullet. His warm and fox-like eyes focused on Vernon, and his defined cheekbones were revealed as he smiled. ‘He’s our producer.’ 

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Chan spoke lightly, nodding at you. 

‘This is his house,’ You explained, squeezing Vernon’s leg as a silent apology for springing everything on him at once. The warmth of your hand against his skin made him tingle, and he looked down to meet your big eyes, doe and wide as you looked at him. 

‘Thank you so much for letting me stay, this place is beautiful.’ Vernon said politely as Chan lit a cigarette, returning the pleasantries. 

The conversation rumbled on, talks of the schedule, what songs needed adjusting, which instruments demanded to be re-recorded, things that required tweaking – but Vernon couldn't quite concentrate on any of the words leaving anyone's lips, his brain hot-wired due to the feeling of your back against his leg, your arm now resting above his kneecap as you sat comfortably. 

There was something so domestic and familiar about how you leaned into him that had his mind doing spirals, your skin raising goosebumps on his with just a simple touch – it was insanity. The feeling of your hand gripping his knee lightly, nails occasionally brushing his skin when you laughed and palm squeezing when people recounted humiliating stories. 

‘Vernon will have good input too,’ Mingyu spoke, drawing Vernon’s attention away from the sight of your hand resting on him and to the beefy drummer. 

‘I agree, it’ll be good to get a fresh set of ears listening to the tracks.’ Minghao contributed, nodding solidly at Vernon, who just smiled willingly – unaware of any topic of conversation being passed around.

In depth conversations about melodies and guitar layering continued, and you turned to Vernon, looking up at him with sweet eyes, fatigue melting into your look as you rested your cheek on his knee.

‘You tired?’ He questioned – the vision in front of him was like a dream come true, the way you relaxed into him instantly making his heart yearn, almost painfully, for more.

‘Mhm,’ You hummed back, closing your eyes momentarily before looking back up at him. ‘I can’t wait for you to hear the tracks tomorrow.’ 

Vernon sharply resisted the urge to run his fingers through your hair, the waves flowing down with messy perfection, a few rogue strands tickling your nose as you breathed. 

‘I can’t wait to hear them.’ He replied, a small smile on his features. ‘You should sleep, it’s late, and you’ve driven for hours.’ 

Reluctantly, you agreed, nodding your head slowly as sleepiness plagued you. ‘Goodnight, family,’ you muttered, ‘don’t give him too harsh an initiation, we have an album to finish.’ 

With that, you lazily patted Vernon’s cheek, your touch lingering for an almost unnoticeable second too long before you disappeared through the doorway, not pausing to look back. 

At this point, Vernon didn’t know if it was all in his head, the elongated touches, the jettisoned pet names, the prolonged glances. Perhaps he was grossly misconstruing your kindness, his own personal feelings making your actions seem motivated. Or maybe, there was a chance that your heart raced for him too. Maybe you had waited eagerly for him to return from his impromptu nap, checking the time and bobbing your leg in anticipation. Was it possible that you felt the sparks that ignited every time his skin met yours? 

The boys swung back into conversation, inviting Vernon eagerly to join in with their jokes and encouraging him to tell them more about his life across the sea. Even with the shyness he held in his throat, there was something comfortable about being around these boys that let Vernon convince himself he didn’t have to worry. 

The hours trailed on, laughs and handshakes shared amongst them, Vernon engaged in deep talks with Chan before a big yawn unknowingly took him over, the night bleeding on above them. 

‘We should call it a night.’ Minghao said, glancing at his watch and grimacing. 

‘You’re so lame, dude.’ Soonyoung protested, sipping the end of his beer and leaning back. 

‘We have to be in the studio in four hours,’ Minghao reminded him, raising his eyebrows with a shake of the head. 

‘Come on Soon, we’ll go out properly on the last night.’ Mingyu convinced the guitarist, standing as if to silently urge Soonyoung to shift out of the chair. Vernon too stood, bidding a quiet goodnight to the boys and trudging through the echoey house to his bedroom.

The building seemed to feel endless at this late time, hallways stretching into dimly lit social spaces and rooms engulfed in darkness. There was a settling type of quiet that was unfamiliar to Vernon, the reassuring feeling of having so many bodies a room away completely foreign in this big townhouse. 

When Vernon's head hit the pillow, the faint smell of detergent wafting up his nose, all he could think of was you. His brain was riddled by the way you stayed so close to him, the sensation of your hand on his leg, the tingling along his spine when you looked into his eyes. He was confused – but he welcomed it, he welcomed the excitement he felt when he saw you and eagerly anticipated the butterflies that brewed when you spoke with one another.

EARLY 2024

The clink of porcelain echoes softly through the kitchen as you stack the last of the dinner plates into the dishwasher. A few streaks of sauce smear the rim of a bowl, and you pause to rinse it before sliding it into place. Behind you, the muffled hum of little giggles and Seungcheol’s voice floats down the hall, low and unmistakably patient.

“Okay, one more page. But that’s it,” he says, probably for the fourth time. Your two girls are always masters of manipulation when it comes to bedtime stories, especially when it’s their dad’s turn.

You smile to yourself, wiping your hands on a dish towel. Moments like—quiet evenings when Seungcheol isn’t buried in work or halfway across the world on tour—are so precious. Having him here to end the day with you and the girls means the world to all four of you.

A few more minutes later, the sink is empty, the counters are clean, and for the first time in hours, the apartment is quiet. You’re heating some water for a late-night cup of tea when footsteps pad toward the kitchen slower than the usual rush ones from tiny feet, the kind of satisfied walk of a man who has just successfully navigated bedtime without a single tear or tantrum.

You look up from the tea bag you’ve just placed inside the mug, eyes drifting to Seungcheol leaning against the doorway, arms folded in a way that highlights his biceps, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

“All tucked in?” you ask, turning off the stove and grabbing the kettle to pour the boiling water into the mug.

He hums. “Out cold. But Hayoon tried to convince me she saw Bluey in the hallway again.”

You snort. That sounds a lot like your youngest daughter.

“She’s got your imagination.”

“And your dramatic flair,” he adds, moving closer.

Seungcheol wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder and nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in, while you blow on the rim of the mug, letting yourself lean into him. He smells like your daughters’ baby lotion and bedtime—if that can even be considered a smell.

He places a kiss on the exposed skin of your shoulder. And then, casually—almost too casually for your taste—he says, “So… I’ve been thinking.”

You take a sip of your tea, peeking at him over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol laughs briefly against you. “I don’t know… looking at them tonight, hearing them giggling,” he shrugs, “I think we should have another.”

You let out a small laugh too, placing the mug on the counter and slowly turn in his arms to face him. “Another what?”

Seungcheol looks at you like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world. “Baby.”

You open your mouth, then close it again, a little shocked by the sudden topic.

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice is gentler, almost shy. A small pout is already forming on his lips. “I love being a dad. And I know you love being a mom just as much. I just feel like we’ve got more love to give.”

You narrow your eyes, playfully. “Are you saying that because we outnumbered you and now you want a boy?”

He laughs again, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “You know it’s not that, baby. As much as I’d love for us to have a boy, I love being a girl dad and would be the happiest man on earth with several of you running around this house.”

You knew all of that from a conversation you had long ago, back to before you were married, before the girls. It was during your third month of dating, when he saw you holding his cousin’s baby at a family dinner. Seungcheol watched you with such soft awe, and later that night, in the car ride back to your place, he told you how much he wanted to be a father someday.

“At least five,” he had said with a smile that made your heart flip. “A whole little team.”

You laughed then, shaking your head as you admitted you had always imagined yourself having at least two. So, you both compromised, settling on a middle ground: three.

You try not to smile, but it creeps in anyway, tugging at the corners of your lips. “Several, huh?”

“Well, at least one more.” He offers you a small smirk, knowing you’re thinking about the same conversation. “Haein is such a great big sister. And I’m sure Hayoon will be too.”

“She really has a middle sister energy, doesn’t she?” Your head tilts to the side thoughtfully, and Seungcheol chuckles, agreeing. You lean into him more, your hands resting on his chest as his fingers lazily trace patterns along your lower back.

Of course you want another child with him. God, you would have as many children as this man wanted if labor wasn’t so difficult. But you’re not sure this is the right time to have another one. Not with everything going on in his and SEVENTEEN’s career, solidifying them as one of the biggest groups K-POP has ever had.

Not to mention your own career. You have always been lucky that your job gives you time to spend with your daughters when they are not at school or daycare. You don’t want to push your luck with your boss by going into a second pregnancy in the span of five years.

“It’s not that I don’t want another,” you begin slowly, your voice quieter now. “I just… I don’t know if we’re ready yet.”

Seungcheol nods, no trace of disappointment on his face, only patience and understanding. “That’s okay,” he reassures you. “I’m not trying to pressure you, baby. I just wanted to put the thought out there, you know?”

You agree with your head, your eyes searching for his. “It’s a big step, don’t you think? Bigger than it was the first or second time, somehow.”

“Three under two.”

He brushes your hair behind your ear and gives you the softest smile. Gosh, you love this man so much that saying this is an understatement. You smile back, touched by how well he understands you.

“Exactly. It’s not just about love. It’s about time. Energy. Sleep. Diapers.”

“Endless diapers,” he echoes with a dramatic shudder that makes you laugh. “And we just got Hayoon out of it.”

“But also… tiny socks. First words. First steps.” You pout, your voice trailing off as the thought settles between the two of you—warm, bright, and a little terrifying in how much you want it all over again.

Seungcheol leans forward and kisses your forehead, lingering there. “We don’t have to decide anything tonight. I just wanted you to know that my heart’s open if yours ever is too.”

You rest your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath your ear. It’s comforting, familiar, your home. Maybe you’re not ready to say yes. But you’re not ready to say no either. Which is why your mind starts to wander while you’re there, seeing from where you stand the two Daesangs SEVENTEEN has just won at the last MAMA Awards, shining under the soft light filtering through the living room.

You stare at him, then smile sweetly and pat his chest. “Okay, how about this: when Seventeen wins a Daesang for Artist of the Year at MAMA, I’ll give you another baby.”

Seungcheol’s eyes light up like you’ve just proposed to him. He blinks, completely caught off guard, before a slow, incredulous smile spreads across his face.

“Are you serious?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, but the twinkle in your eye gives you away.

He lets out another laugh, eyes crinkling, and pulls you even closer. “You do realize that now I have even more motivation to make sure we win it, right?”

You tilt your head, fake amused. “Oh no, what have I done? How am I supposed to live peacefully knowing my hot husband is working hard to put another baby in me?”

Seungcheol freezes for a moment, his eyes darkening with lust as the implication sinks in, not even trying to hide the breeding kink you know so well. When he looks at you again, it’s with a kind of hunger you see almost every night. It’s not rushed or needy, but something deeper, anchored in love and years of wanting you in every way possible.

He leans in, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “You just made Artist of the Year the most personal goal I’ve ever had,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, raspy.

You laugh softly, your hand resting over his heart again, leaning into his kiss. “Good. Just don’t tell the boys. They’ll never let me live it down.”

He chuckles. “Deal.”

MAMA Awards Night – Osaka, Japan

It had been an emotional night from the start. You were sitting just offstage, your heart pounding every time they were shown in the crowd, every time a camera panned across the boys in their performance clothes, nervous smiles on their lips.

You were already tearing up by the time they won their first award. But when Ma Dongseok stepped onto the stage, his deep voice announcing that SEVENTEEN was Visa’s Artist of the Year, the tears came down in earnest. You were overwhelmed with pride, and not just for your husband, but for all of them.

By the time Seungcheol finally slips away from the cameras, the press, and the post-win chaos, you’re already waiting for him in the quiet of the dressing room, seated on the couch with his coat folded in your lap. One by one, the other boys have come and gone, stopping to talk to you briefly.

Now, only he remains.

So, when the door creaks open, you don’t look up. You don’t have to. You feel him the second he steps inside.

The door clicks shut behind him, and silence follows.

“I cried,” he says.

You smile, eyes still fixed on the coat in your hands. “I saw.”

“I try not to, but it’s so emotional.”

“I know.”

Footsteps pad across the room, then Seungcheol drops onto the couch beside you with a tired, relieved sigh. He sits in silence for a moment, then leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them.

You look over at him. His hair is slightly tousled from hours under stage lights, cheeks still faintly flushed from emotion. His eyes are red-rimmed, not from exhaustion, but from everything that comes before this moment.

Without thinking, you reach up and brush your fingers beneath his eye, cleaning up the remains of eyeliner. Seungcheol closes them at your touch.

“I’m so proud of you, Cheol,” you murmur quietly. “Of all of you.”

His lips curve into a faint, tired smile. “I keep thinking about the first time I ever watched MAMA on that small TV in our old dorm.”

You stay silent, just leaning your head gently against his shoulder.

“I used to wonder what it would feel like,” Seungcheol goes on. “To win something like that. I never thought it would be like this. That would mean this much.” He pauses for a beat. “That you would be here for it.”

You lift your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. “Where else would I be, baby?”

He lets out a short, shaky laugh. “Probably somewhere not with two toddlers while your husband tries to make deals about future babies.”

That makes you roll your eyes.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe that’s what you’re thinking about right now.”

He gives you a cheeky grin and leans in, nudging his nose against your cheek. “You made a deal, Mrs. Choi.”

“It was a joke.”

“A verbal agreement is still a contract.”

“You didn’t even sign anything.”

“Well, God forbid a man takes his wife’s word for it.”

You huff a laugh and shove his shoulder lightly, but he catches your hand before it falls, bringing it to his lips. The kiss he presses there is slow, quiet. Reverent.

Your teasing fades.

For a second, the noise of the night disappears again, and all that’s left is him. The man who carries a world of pressure on his back and still comes home every night with arms wide open for his daughters and wife. The man who gives everything to the people he loves, even when there’s barely anything left for himself.

Seungcheol exhales, long and quiet. “I’m saying all this, but… I only want it if you do. You know that, right?”

You turn your face to search his eyes. There’s no pressure there, but you can see just a little bit of hope.

“I want to,” you affirm, voice sure. “I do.”

He stills, analyzing your face in search of something that says otherwise. He finds nothing.

“I’m ready,” you add, your fingers gently brushing the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about it more than I realized. And watching you with the girls lately… tonight, seeing you on that stage with the boys… I want this again, Cheol.”

Seungcheol watches you with so much adoration in his eyes your heart races just a little—a lot. A huge smile spreads across your lips.

“Besides… I’m a woman of my word. I said all it takes is a Daesang, and you delivered.”

His breath catches, and for a second, Seungcheol just stares, blinking at you like you’ve hung the stars. He leans close.

“God, I love you.”

It’s the last thing you register before Seungcheol leans over you, his buff body pinning you against the couch while his mouth captures yours in a kiss. His hips settle between your open thighs, and you don’t even hesitate before wrapping your legs around him, fingers tangling in his long hair to keep him close.

There’s no rush in your kiss, not a single drop of desperation. Just fullness. Full of the joy clinging to his skin from earlier, full of the love he carries for you like it’s part of who he is, full of the want he’s been quietly holding back since the second you made that promise in the kitchen all those months ago.

Your fingers find their way to his shirt, pulling him even closer, and Seungcheol moves with you, almost instinctively, like your magnetic field is pushing him deeper than he already is.

His hand slides to your waist, and you can feel his smile still pressed into his kiss, feel the tension melting off his shoulders. It’s a gentle kiss, but there’s an urgency slowly building beneath it, a slow, burning awareness of the moment you’re about to step into.

When you finally pull back, his voice is barely a whisper, forehead resting against yours.

“I love you.”

You smile, breath warm against his lips. “I love you too,” you reply, running your fingers across his cheekbone. “Now take me home, daddy.”

And by home, you meant the hotel room you’re staying at in Osaka.

After being the perfect picture of good behavior in the car ride here, Seungcheol carries you out of the elevator and doesn’t put you down for a second, not even when you reach the hotel room. He manages to slide the keycard with one hand, the other still wrapped securely around you as he holds you bridal style.

The room is dim, lit only by the ambient flow of Osaka’s skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights flickering like scattered stars against the black sky. Seungcheol doesn’t bother with the lamp, though. He shuts the door with one swift kick, then spins to press you up against it, his lips colliding with yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

A strong rush of need surges through you, intensifying as you wrap one leg around his hips and draw him closer. Wasting no time, his hands grip your waist and effortlessly lift you off the ground, both of your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, a soft gasp escaping your lips when you feel him already hard.

Rubbing your clothed core against his, you quickly find the friction you’ve been craving since ever since the kiss in the dressing room earlier; and judging by the way one of his hands grabs the back of your thigh while the other slams loud against the door beside your head for balance, so does Seungcheol.

His tongue meets yours, claiming your mouth with a fierceness that leaves no room for resistance, as though he's trying to remind you that you've always been his. And you’ll be doomed before you deny that. Every little cell in your body belongs to him; every atom, every breath that fills your lungs.

Seungcheol rolls into you, and the motion pulls matching, breathless moans from both of you, your head tipping back against the door with a soft thud as your mouth hangs open.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, eyes flickering down to watch the way your fully clothed bodies move together. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You aren't much different when it comes to him. Especially when his lips wander from your mouth to your jaw before settling at the sensitive curve of your neck—licking, sucking, and peppering desperate kisses that make a rush of thousand shivers race down your spine while his hand traces your side until they give your ass a firm squeeze.

The world outside the hotel room fades into a blur, the only reality you’re stuck in is the delicious pressure of your husband’s body pressed against yours, his familiar, intoxicating scent filling your senses completely, and the insistent rhythm of his heart pounding against your own.

Your fingers fist in his hair and shoulders, pulling him closer. “Cheol,” you whisper, but it’s barely a sound. It’s more like a desperate plea.

Seungcheol groans against your neck before sinking his teeth into it, claiming as though the sound of his name on your lips sets something primal within him, possessive. His hands grip you together: one sliding up your back to anchor you to him, the other still steady against the door as if the weight of what you’re both feeling right now might knock him over.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he repeats against your skin, now trailing kisses along your collarbone, moving close to your breasts. “You sit there looking like a dream, crying during our speeches, cheering louder than anyone else in that damn room, and all I could think about was getting you alone.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt, heat flooding your entire body.

Suddenly, Seungcheol lifts his head, waiting until your eyes lock before continuing, “You have no idea how many times I looked at you tonight and thought, That’s mine. That’s my forever.”

“Yours,” you whisper against his swollen lips, the word urgent and aching, as though you’re trying to prove something you both already know.  “Yours. Forever.”

A low groan rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin as Seungcheol goes back to press his lips against your neck—his favorite and beloved spot.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” His lips left your skin with a wet pop. “Desperate and needy for me. Goddamn it, I could come like this and not even be ashamed.”

You pout softly, cupping his face and bringing it close until your foreheads touch, both of you catching your breath already heavy. “Don’t you want to come inside me, Cheol?”

“Mmm,” he actually moans, eyes snapping open, pupils blown wide with lust as a sharp inhale cuts through. The way you say it—softly, breathless, almost innocent—punches the air right out of his lungs.

“You’re so hard, daddy,” you murmur, grinding against him just a little before slowly unwrapping your legs from around his waist and rising to your feet again. “We should probably do something about that, don’t you think?”

Seungcheol exhales a shaky breath through his nose, eyes glued to you as you land on your feet. His hands trail down your thighs like he’s reluctant to let go, but he leans back slightly, giving you room, his gaze burning into you with something close to reverence and hunger.

It would’ve been almost shameful how quickly you drop to your knees in front of him, if you hadn’t done it a hundred times before. Settling back on your heels, hands neatly folded on his thighs, you look up, blinking angelic through your lashes. Seungcheol’s hand cups your cheek and jaw, his thumb dragging over your lips before slipping past them, leaving you no choice but to part them for him.

The hotel room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft city hum bleeding through the windows. Seungcheol’s thumb rests heavily on your tongue, and you close your lips around it, sucking gently, your eyes locked on his the entire time.

The groan that leaves him is guttural. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, watching you like you’re something holy. “Look at you. On your knees for me.”

You hum around his thumb, and his eyes flutter shut for half a second before snapping back open, like he refuses to miss a single moment of this. Seuncheol pulls his thumb from your mouth with a soft pop, dragging the wet pad of it across your bottom lip before letting his hand slide back into your hair, gripping just enough to tilt your face the way he wants it.

“You did so well tonight, Cheol” you purr, eyes flicking up to meet his. “You deserve to be rewarded.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, fingers working at his belt, the metal clinking in the quiet of the room. “Winning a Daesang like you promised you would.”

“I told you had made that the most personal goal I’ve ever had,” he says, watching your every move.

“And you did,” you whisper, bitting you lip softly. “Now let me show you just how proud I am.”

Your hands move with purpose and, by the time you’re tugging his zipper down, Seungcheol is already breathing heavier, his abs flexing under the fabric of his shirt. After that, you make quick work of his pants, tugging them down and tossing them aside as he shrugs off his shirt, the fabric disappearing somewhere in the room. The sight of him like this—bare-chested, golden skin flushed from arousal, towering above you—is enough to leave you breathless.

Your mouth waters as your eyes drop lower, catching the way his hand wraps around himself through his boxers, giving you a show you’ve seen countless times before but never grow tired of. He was teasing you with something that was probably already branded in your memory and pussy forever and never fails to amaze you: how big he is.

You ease his boxers down slowly, dragging your nails along the sensitive skin of his groin as you go, until they join the rest of his clothes on the floor. His cock springs free, hitting your face with a soft, wet slap, and you giggle, unable to help yourself, feeling a bead of precum paint your cheek. And even after years of this, of him, your mouth still waters at the sight.

Seungcheol throws his head back with a loud groan as you circle your finger around his tip, spreading the precum. When you glance up at him, locking eyes, you cup his cock with one hand and give it a few playful slaps against your cheek. His reaction is immediate—a deep, raw grunt rumbles from his chest, feral and unfiltered.

Your hand looks small wrapped around him, unable to fully close around his girth, and the sight alone makes your thighs press together. “God, you’re so big, Cheollie,” you whisper, half to yourself, giving him a slow stroke from base to tip.

Seungcheol chuckles breathlessly. “You say that every time, baby.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

His thumb strokes your temple, sweeping loose strands of hair away from your face. “Then open for me, pretty girl. Let me see that mouth.”

You do, sticking your tongue out flat for him, and Seungcheol has to grip the base of himself just to steady the twitch that runs through his cock. He guides the tip along your tongue, tapping it there once, twice, before sliding just the head into your mouth.

“Fuck.”

You close your lips around him, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling around the tip like it was your favorite flavor of popsicle, savoring it and lingering there for a while, tongue moving slowly and teasing, the way you know will drive him crazy. His hand tightens in your hair, and you feel the tremor in his thighs beneath your palms.

“Stop teasing,” he rasps, fingers pulling your hair slightly, forcing a moan from your throat that vibrates against his cock.

You take him deeper, still slowly, letting him watch every inch of himself disappear between your lips. Seungcheol’s mouth falls open, a soft, wrecked sound escaping him as your nose bumps against the coarse hair at his base. You swallow around him, throat fluttering, and his knees nearly buckle.

“Holy shit!” His head tips back, exposing the long line of his throat, and you take the opportunity to pull off just enough to breathe, sucking hard on your way up before sinking back down.

Your fingers form a tight “O” around the base, working in sync with your mouth, head bobbing toward his groin, taking more and more with every movement.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he chants, hand cradling the back of your head, guiding you gently but not forcing. He never forces. “You feel so good. Your mouth is fucking heaven, you know that?”

You moan around him, and the vibration makes him hiss through his teeth. He looks down at you again, and the sight of you—kneeling on the hotel carpet in your beautiful dress, mascara starting to blur at the edges, spit already glistening on your chin—makes something animalistic flicker behind his eyes.

“Look at my perfect little wife,” he praises, thumb stroking your cheek where his cock bulges against it. “So pretty with my cock down her throat. Taking me so well.”

The praise sends a bolt of heat straight between your legs, and you whimper, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing faster. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach, twisting on the upstroke the way you know he loves.

You can’t help but clench your tights at the sight of him: head slightly tilted back, abs tight, jaw clenched. A view of pure sin. Your paradise. Your husband. Your baby daddy.

“Ah fuck, careful, baby, careful,” Seungcheol warns, his hips stuttering forward once before he catches himself. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that. And I don’t wanna waste it.”

You pull off with a wet sound, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his cock. “Then don’t waste it,” you whisper against his slit, tongue flicking teasingly. “Give it to me. Come first one in my mouth.”

Seungcheol groans, low and long, his forehead dropping as he stares down at you in disbelief. “Yeah? You want that, baby?”

You nod, blinking up at him with the most innocent expression you can muster while your hand strokes him steadily. “Please, daddy. Wanna taste you before you fill me up. Wanna have every part of you tonight.”

“Christ,” he breathes, and both his hands find your hair, gathering it loosely at the back of your head. “Open up, then.”

You obey, mouth wide, tongue out, and Seungcheol carefully guides himself back between your lips. He sets the pace this time, slow and deep, watching himself disappear into your mouth with dark, hooded eyes.

“Just like that, baby. Suck me just like that. Fuck, look at you…" His voice breaks off into a moan when you swallow around him again. “So pretty. My pretty, perfect wife. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take me.”

You moan in agreement, sinking as far as you can, and Seungcheol’s rhythm falters.

“Such a good little wife,” he growls, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes. “Can’t wait to choke on my cock, huh?  Isn’t that what you want so bad, baby?”

You shake your head with his cock still in your mouth, eyes fluttering with tears as you slowly pull back to take a steady breath through your nose. Then you off again, determined to take more of his thick length into your throat, even if your gag reflex trembles.

That’s when Seungcheol’s touch turns gentle, one hand soothing along your back while the other grips the part in your hair, guiding you forward with slow pressure. Inch by inch, until your nose is pressed against his pelvis, your throat stretching deliciously around him.

The way Seungcheol trembles above you makes it obvious that if you keep this pace, he’s not going to last much longer.

His grip eases, and you pull back for air, gasping as a string of saliva stretches from your lips and tears start to drip down your cheeks. You spit the excess from your mouth—some of it dripping down your chin, but most of it landing messily on Seungcheol’s cock, making it glisten even more

“So messy,” he groans, eyes locked on you to watch you wipe the drool from your bottom lip, still panting softly.

Your watery eyes stared up at him, blinking angelically as you whisper, licking your fingers slowly and teasing, “I like messy, Cheol.”

“I know you do,” he murmurs, caressing your face with a gentleness that contrasts the filth in his voice. “You’re my good little messy slut, aren’t you?”

You nod wordlessly, eyes locked on his as heat coils low in your stomach. His smirk deepens, dark and satisfied.

“I’m close, baby. So close. You want it? You want me to come on that pretty tongue?”

You make a frantic sound of agreement around him, hollowing your cheeks harder, sucking with everything you’ve got. Your hand keeps stroking what your mouth can’t reach, twisting just the way he taught you years ago, and Seungcheol’s breathing turns even more ragged.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” His grip on your hair tightens, and you know he’s right there now. It’s only a matter of seconds. “Coming, baby, I’m—”

The first spurt hits the back of your tongue, hot and heavy, and you moan around him as more follows. Seungcheol pulls back just enough that you can taste him properly, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as his cock pulses on your tongue, filling your mouth with him.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Take all of it.”

When he’s done, panting above you, you don’t swallow right away. You look up at him, mouth still open, showing him what he gave you. Seungcheol’s eyes darken impossibly further.

“Show me, baby. Show me what daddy gave you.”

You do, tongue coated in white, before you close your mouth and swallow slowly, letting him see the way your throat works around it.

“Fuck.” Seungcheol drops to his knees in front of you before you can even react, his hands cupping your face, thumbs swiping at the corners of your mouth where you’d made a small mess. He drags his thumb across your lower lip, catching what he can, and pushes it back between your lips. “That’s my perfect wife.”

You suck his thumb clean, and he groans, leaning in to kiss you deep, tasting himself on your tongue without a second’s hesitation.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs against your lips. “Absolutely unreal.”

His hands slide down your neck, over your shoulders, and then to the zipper at the back of your dress. Seungcheol tugs it down slowly, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he exposes, worshipful and unhurried. The dress pools around your knees, and Seungcheol’s breath catches at the sight of you in nothing but the delicate lace set you’d chosen for tonight.

His hands roam reverently over your ribs, your waist, up to cup your breasts through the lace. “Look at you. Every single time you take my breath away.”

Your heart stutters, but before you can say anything, Seungcheol kisses you again, scooping you up off the floor with an ease that never fails to make your stomach flip. He carries you to bed and lays you down on the crisp white sheets, following you down, caging you in with his buff body.

His mouth trails down your throat, your collarbone, and lower. He unclasps your bra one-handed—a skill he’d perfected years ago—and tosses it somewhere across the room. His mouth is on you in an instant, tongue lavishing one nipple while his hand palms the other, rolling and tugging until you’re arching off the bed beneath him.

“So pretty, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing between your breasts. “God, I love these. Love how sensitive you are for me.”

Seungcheol works his way lower, kissing across your stomach, pausing right below your navel to press his lips there with a specific kind of tenderness that makes your throat tight.

“Gonna be so pretty here again,” he says, thumb tracing slow circles over the skin. “Round with my third baby.”

“Cheol…” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair.

He looks up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark and impossibly warm at the same time. “Yeah, baby? You want that? Want me to put another baby in you?”

“Yes! Yes, please!”

“Then let me get you ready for me first.”

He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and drags them down your legs, tossing them aside. His breath ghosts over your bare cunt, and you shudder.

“Look at you…. already so wet, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Sucking your cock does that to me,” you whisper, and Seungcheol’s grin is downright sinful.

“Yeah? Then let me return the favor, sweet girl.”

He dives in without warning, tongue flat and hot, dragging up through your folds in one long, slow stroke that makes your back bow off the mattress. His hands push your thighs wider, holding you open for him, and Seungcheol settles in like he has all the time in the world.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, one hand flying to his hair, the other fisting in the sheets.

“Mm. Missed this,” he hums against you, and the vibration makes your hips buck. His arm slides across your lower stomach, pinning you down as he laps at your clit with focused, deliberate strokes. “Missed how sweet you taste. My favorite fucking meal in the world.”

“Cheol!”

Seungcheol slides one thick finger inside you, and you clench around it immediately, already so worked up. He curls it just right, dragging along the spot that makes you see stars, while his mouth stays locked on your clit—sucking, licking, flicking his tongue in ways that have you writhing beneath him.

“That’s my good girl. Grind on my tongue, baby. Use me.”

A second finger joins the first, stretching you open, and you cry out, your hand tightening in his hair. Seungcheol groans against your pussy at the sting, and the sound alone almost sends you over.

“Cheol, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. I can feel you. Come on my face.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and fingers slamming into you at just the right angle, and you shatter with a sharp cry, back arching, thighs clamping around his head. He works you through it, tongue never letting up, until you’re twitching and pushing at his forehead from oversensitivity.

Seungcheol pulls back with a smug, wet smile, his chin glistening. “One down.”

“Cheollie…” you pant, still coming down.

“Nuh-uh, baby. You know how this goes.” He crawls up your body, dragging his mouth across your skin as he goes, until he’s face to face with you again. Seungcheol kisses you hard, and you taste yourself on his tongue. “One’s just a warm-up.”

He sits back on his heels, and you have to bite your lip at the sight of him towering over you. Broad shoulders, thick chest, the soft definition of his stomach—all of it flushed pink and warm from want.

You reach for him, and he leans down obligingly, letting you drag your palms across every inch of him. His neck, his jaw, his shoulders, the swell of his biceps.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh. “That’s my line.”

“Not tonight, it’s not.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, and you feel that he’s already hard again—his cock heavy and flushed—and your mouth goes dry.

“C’mere,” he commands, sitting back against the headboard and holding a hand out to you. “Wanna see you ride me first, baby.”

You crawl to him without hesitation, straddling his lap, and he groans as you settle over him, your bare pussy sliding along his cock without taking him yet.

Seungcheol’s hands grip your hips, and his eyes are locked on where your bodies meet. “Fuck, look at us. Look how pretty you look on top of me.”

You brace one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching down to guide him to your entrance. You sink down slowly, inch by inch, and both of you gasp in unison at the stretch, at the feel of him bare inside you for the first time in a long, long time.

“Oh, fuck!” Seungcheol fingers dig into your hips. “Baby, you’re not on birth control anymore, are you.”

It’s not a question. His voice is wrecked.

“Stopped it a week ago,” you confirm it against his lips, sinking the rest of the way down until you’re fully seated. “Wanted to be ready. Just in case.”

His head drops back against the headboard with a thud, and a low, disbelieving laugh escapes him. “You are trying to kill me.”

“Mm. Just trying to give my husband what he wants.” You roll your hips experimentally, and Seungcheol’s hands fly to your waist, holding you still.

“Wait, wait. Give me a second, baby. You feel too fucking good.”

You settle, hands on his chest, and just breathe with him. His cock throbs inside you, and you’re so full you can barely think.

“Ready?” you ask softly.

He nods, thumbs brushing your hipbones. “Ride me, baby. Nice and slow.”

You lift up on your knees and sink back down, and Seungcheol’s mouth falls open. You do it again, and again, finding a rhythm that has you both trembling.

“That’s fucking it,” he groans, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples. “Just like that. God, you look incredible. My perfect fucking wife riding my cock like she was made for it.”

You whimper, picking up the pace, and Seungcheol’s hips start to meet yours from below. One of his hands slides up your chest, over your collarbone, and settles gently around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, thumb stroking your pulse.

“You want it, baby?” he asks quietly, watching your face for confirmation.

You nod, tipping your chin up into his palm. His fingers close around your throat, firm but careful, just enough pressure to make your head spin, to make everything narrow down to him and the way he stretches you open.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips grinding down harder.

“That’s my girl.” His other hand slides around to grip your ass, guiding your movements. “Bounce on it, baby. Show me how much you want it.”

And you do, thighs burning as you ride him harder, and Seungcheol watches you with an expression that borders on worship. His grip tightens on your throat just slightly, and your second orgasm builds embarrassingly fast.

“Cheol, I’m…already…”

Seungcheol releases your throat to snake his hand between your bodies, thumb finding your clit immediately. “I know, baby. I feel you.” He guides you through it bringing you closer and closer to the edge while your moans grow louder. “Come on. Come on my cock, sweet girl.”

His thumb circles fast and firm, and you come for the second time, crying out his name as you clench deliciously around him, body shaking violently. Seungcheol groans through it, jaw tight, hips still rocking up to fuck you through it.

“So good, baby. So good for me. Fuck!” He grips your hips hard and lifts you off him, and you whimper at the emptiness. “On your back. Need to see you.”

You barely have time to move before Seungcheol is flipping you himself, laying you back against the pillows and settling between your thighs. He grabs one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder, then presses back into you in one long, deep stroke.

“Ohhh!” you moan, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

“That’s it. Right there. Right where I belong.” He starts to thrust in earnest now, deep and steady, the new angle letting him hit even deeper. His eyes never leave yours. “This is where I’ve been dreaming about being all night.”

Your fingers claw at his back as Seungcheol leans down to kiss you, his mouth hot and messy, teeth and tongue tangling together.

“You feel me?” he pants against your lips. “Feel how deep I am? Right where a baby goes, baby.”

You sob a moan, nodding, and he grins against your mouth—a little feral, a little sweet.

“Say it,” he demands softly, hips snapping harder. “Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to come inside me, to fill me up. Want your baby, Cheol, please!” Your voice comes out in desperate moans and gasps at the feel of him, his movements just as desperate.

The sound Seungcheol makes is not quite human. His pace turns punishing, hips slamming into yours, and one of his hands comes down to grip the pillow beside your head.

“Say it again.”

“Give me a baby, please, daddy, please!”

“Fuck. Fuck. You want daddy to breed you, baby? That what you want?”

“Yes! God, yes!”

His hand slides down to your ass and smacks the outside of your thigh, sharp and stinging, and you cry out from the shock of it. Seungcheol soothes the spot with his palm immediately, kissing your temple.

“Turn over,” he growls against your ear. “Wanna see you like this. Wanna do this right.”

You barely have the coordination to obey, but Seungcheol helps you, flipping you onto your stomach and dragging your hips up until you’re on your knees, chest pressed to the mattress. He palms your ass, spreading you open, and hums low in his throat.

“Look at that. All mine.” He drags his cock through your folds once, teasing, before pushing back inside in one deep stroke that has both of you groaning.

His hand finds your hair and gathers it into a loose grip, tugging just enough to make your back arch. His other hand grips your hip, and Seungcheol starts to thrust, deep and grinding.

“Seungcheol!” you sob into the sheets.

“Feel me getting in there deep? Yeah?” His hand tugs your hair a little harder, and you moan. “Look at you, taking me so well. Perfect little wife. Perfect fucking pussy. Made for me, aren’t you?”

“Yours, only yours!”

His palm comes down on your ass with a sharp crack, and the sting shoots straight to your clit. “Damn right, only mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to love. Mine to fill up whenever I want.”

He soothes the red mark with his palm, then does it again on the other cheek, and you keen, cunt clenching around him.

“Oh, you liked that, baby? My good girl likes a little sting?”

You nod frantically, and he laughs, low and dark.

“So needy. So greedy for me.” His pace picks up, hips slamming into yours, the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. “Touch yourself for me. Come on my cock one more time. I know you can.”

Your hand slides beneath you, fingers finding your clit, and it takes barely a minute of Seungcheol hammering into you and his voice in your ear before you’re falling apart again.

“That’s it! Fuck, there she is, that’s my girl.”

You come with a broken cry, clenching around him so hard he stutters, and then his rhythm falters entirely, hips jerking erratically. Seungcheol pulls you up by the hair until your back is pressed to his chest, one arm wrapped tight around your waist, holding you there as he grinds up into you. His other hand slides down to rest low on your stomach, and his teeth find your shoulder.

“Take it,” he growls against your skin. “Take all of it, Mrs. Choi.”

Seungcheol comes with a long, guttural groan, hips pressing flush against yours as he empties inside you. You can feel it the way his cock pulses, the warmth of him filling you up, and it draws another whimper from your throat.

He holds you there for a long moment, not letting you move, not letting a drop escape. His hand stays splayed low on your belly, thumb stroking slow circles.

“There we go. Keep it in there for me, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, voice wrecked and tender.

Slowly, gently, Seungcheol lowers you both back to the bed, still buried inside you, his weight warm and heavy on your back. You lie there for a long time, catching your breath, his lips pressing lazy kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, your temple.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You hum, boneless. “Perfect.”

“Good.” His hand slides up to brush your hair back from your face, and he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You did so well, baby. So, so well.”

You reach a shaky hand back to cup the side of his face, turning your head to catch his lips in a soft, lazy kiss. Seungcheol hums into it, satisfied, and slowly, gently, he starts to shift like he's going to pull out.

“Wait!” you whisper-yell against his mouth, tightening your grip on his jaw. “Don’t. Not yet.”

He stills, his eyes searching yours. “Huh?”

“Stay inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning even after everything. “Just for a minute. I want to make sure it…” you swallow, “… that it sticks.”

Seungcheol’s breath catches like you’ve knocked the air out of him. For a moment, he just stares at you, his pupils blowing wide all over again, and then his mouth is on yours, a little desperate. He groans against your lips, and you feel his cock twitch inside you where he’s still buried deep.

“Fuck, you can’t just say things like that, baby. You’re gonna kill me.”

“Please,” you plea softly. “Just a little longer.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, baby. Anything you want.” His voice is so soft now, so tender. “Come here. Let me hold you.”

Carefully, so carefully, Seungcheol guides you both down onto your side, curling around you from behind without ever slipping out of you. His arm slides beneath your head like a pillow; the other comes to rest low on your stomach, palm splayed wide and warm. His hips stay pressed flush against yours, keeping you full, keeping every drop of him right where you both want it.

“Like this?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

“Just like this.”

Seungcheol hums, satisfied, and presses a slow kiss behind your ear. His thumb strokes over your lower belly in soft, reverent circles, and you feel him twitch inside you again, a soft, pleased sound rumbling in his chest at the way you clench around him in response.

“My perfect wife,” he whispers. “So good for me.”

You close your eyes, tucking your face into the crook of his arm, feeling his heartbeat slow against your back. His body is so warm behind you, so solid, so safe.  

“Cheol?” you call, after a moment.

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your shoulder, then your temple, then the curve of your cheek. His hand spreads a little wider across your belly, holding you closer.

“I love you more, Mrs. Choi. So much more.”

# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | PERMANENT TAGLIST

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You sat alone in the TA office the following morning, laptop open and coffee slowly going cold beside your elbow, staring at the grading portal with the kind of exhausted determination usually reserved for people defusing bombs. There were forty-eight final essays waiting to be marked, which was forty-eight too many, but at least you had developed a system. Every submission received a digital case number, a score, and a collection of comments that ranged from professionally constructive to increasingly desperate pleas for students to please, for the love of everything, stop using Wikipedia as an academic source.

You had already worked your way through the first forty-six.

FINAL ASSESSMENT GRADING LOGSUBMISSION #47STATUS: Awaiting assessment STUDENT: Choi Seungcheol

You sighed when you saw the name.

Of course.

Seungcheol was not a bad student. That was, perhaps, the most irritating part about him. If he had been consistently terrible, you could have written him off and moved on, but he was actually quite intelligent when he bothered to demonstrate it. His essays were usually well-researched, his arguments were surprisingly thoughtful, and his participation in class was good enough that the professor occasionally praised him in front of everyone.

The problem was that Seungcheol seemed physically incapable of doing anything without making it unnecessarily difficult for you.

He had once submitted an assignment twelve minutes before the deadline with the file name sorry, only to discover that the document inside was perfectly formatted and ninety-eight percent complete. Another time, he had handed in an otherwise excellent essay with a handwritten note attached that simply read, I know the conclusion is dramatic, but I stand by it. You had given him an 89.

He had come to your office afterwards and spent twenty minutes arguing that the deduction was unfair.

You had spent twenty minutes trying not to laugh.

You clicked on his final submission.

The document loaded.

You frowned.

For several seconds, you simply stared at the first page, convinced that the formatting had failed to load properly. There was no title. No student number. No essay heading. No citations.

Instead, at the very top of the page, in plain black text, were four words.

Dear Y/N,

Your hand stopped above the mouse.

You blinked once. Then twice. You scrolled down.

The document was not an essay. It was a letter.

You sat back in your chair slowly, your expression becoming more and more incredulous as you continued reading.

I don't really know how to start this without making it sound stupid, so I'm probably going to make it sound stupid anyway.

You should have closed the document.

You knew that.

You were a TA. This was a student's personal correspondence, accidentally or otherwise, and you had absolutely no business reading beyond the first line. The correct response was to close the file, email Seungcheol informing him that he had submitted the wrong document, and move on.

Instead, you kept reading.

I've been trying to figure out when exactly this started, but I don't think there was one specific moment. Maybe it was when you stayed back after class because I didn't understand the reading, even though I'm pretty sure I understood it. Maybe it was when you started remembering that I hate the vending machine coffee and began bringing your own coffee into the office. Maybe it was when I realised that I knew what days you wore your hair up.

Your stomach dropped. You scrolled further.

Actually, it was probably before all of that.

You stared at the screen.

There were details in the letter that made your face grow progressively warmer. He had noticed the way you tapped your pen against your notebook when you were thinking. He had noticed that you always organised your grading folders by colour. He had noticed that you rubbed your eyes whenever you had been staring at a screen for too long.

He had noticed you.

Not in the vague, passing way students sometimes noticed their TAs, either. He had been paying attention.

You reached the middle of the page and finally remembered how to breathe.

GRADING LOG — SUBMISSION #47ASSIGNED TASK: Final Essay DOCUMENT RECEIVED: Personal Letter SUBMISSION STATUS: Incorrect INITIAL GRADE: 0/100 MARKER'S NOTE: This is not an essay.

You typed the note into your grading document almost automatically, because treating the situation like an administrative problem was considerably easier than acknowledging the fact that your heart was beating much too quickly.

You looked back at the letter.

I know you're probably going to think this is weird.

You swallowed.

And it probably is weird. You're my TA, I'm your student, and there's a whole list of reasons why this is a terrible idea. I know that. I've thought about it enough times to have basically memorised the list.

That made you pause.

At least he knew.

But I also know that every time I come up with a reason not to tell you, I end up finding another reason to come to your office.

You stared at that sentence for longer than you should have.

The office suddenly felt much too quiet.

Outside, students were moving through the hallway, voices drifting past the closed door, but none of it seemed particularly real anymore. You were still looking at the screen, still holding the same pen you had been using to grade essays all morning, except now you were twisting it between your fingers instead of writing.

You continued.

You don't have to say anything. Honestly, I don't even know if I'm going to have the courage to say anything after submitting this. Maybe this is easier because I can pretend it was an accident.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“Unbelievable.”

The final paragraph was shorter.

Anyway, if this was supposed to be my final essay, then I have officially failed the assignment. But if you ever wanted to give me some extra credit, I wouldn't complain.

You stared at the final sentence.

Then you closed your eyes.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

There was no way he had done this intentionally.

There was absolutely no way.

You reopened the document and looked at the file name.

finalessay.docx

That was not helpful.

You checked the submission time.

11:58 p.m.

Two minutes before the deadline.

You imagined him sitting somewhere on campus, probably typing this with one hand while frantically trying to finish an actual essay with the other, and somehow submitting the wrong file at the last possible second.

Except the letter was too polished.

Too specific.

Too long.

He had not accidentally written this.

He had accidentally submitted it.

There was a difference.

You leaned back in your chair and rubbed your forehead.

This was an administrative nightmare.

You needed to email him. You needed to tell him that the submission was incorrect and that he would have to submit the actual assignment. You needed to forget you had read the letter. You absolutely did not need to think about the fact that somewhere between his complaints about your grading and his suspiciously frequent visits to your office, he had apparently developed a crush on you.

You opened the grading comments again.

Your cursor blinked beneath the official feedback box.

You typed:

MARKER'S COMMENT: This submission does not address the assigned question and therefore cannot receive full credit.

You paused.

Then you added:

However, the argument is surprisingly compelling.

You stared at the sentence.

“No.”

You deleted it.

You typed again.

GRADE: 47/100

Your finger hovered over the keyboard.

Forty-seven was not an appropriate grade. There was no rubric category for accidentally submitting a love letter. There was no academic justification for giving him anything other than zero, followed by a polite request to resubmit the correct document.

But you couldn't give him zero.

Not when you had read the entire thing.

Not when, despite every reason you had to be annoyed, you had caught yourself smiling at several parts.

And definitely not when you had started wondering whether maybe, just maybe, he had been right about you remembering his coffee order.

You saved the grade.

Then you immediately regretted it. Your inbox chimed. A new email.

From: Choi Seungcheol

You stared at the notification.

There was only one sentence.

Please tell me I didn't submit that.

You pressed your lips together. For several seconds, you considered pretending you hadn't seen it. Then you typed back.

You did.

The reply came almost immediately.

Oh my god.

You couldn't help it.

You laughed.

Another message appeared.

Please tell me you didn't read it.

You looked at the open document on your screen, then at the grading sheet, then back at the message.

I am your TA.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.

That isn't an answer.

You smiled despite yourself.

Yes, I read it.

The typing indicator vanished. For almost a full minute, there was nothing. Then:

Can I drop the class?

You laughed again, quieter this time.

The semester ended yesterday.

Can I drop out of university?

That seems excessive.

You don't understand. I need a new identity.

You leaned back in your chair, shaking your head.

You still need to submit your final essay.

There was a pause.

You gave me a grade?

You looked at the number on the screen.

47.

The response was immediate.

FORTY-SEVEN?

You smiled.

Generous, considering you didn't answer the question.

What did I get points for?

You thought about it.

Effort.

The typing bubble appeared again.

So if I improve the argument...

You knew exactly where this was going.

Submit the correct essay, Seungcheol.

Another pause.

Yes, ma'am.

You rolled your eyes.

Don't call me that.

Sorry, Y/N.

You froze. Your name looked strangely different coming from him.

It was ridiculous. You had heard him say it before. He had called you by your name countless times, usually when asking a question after class or trying to get your attention in the hallway.

But now, after reading everything he had written, the name carried a different weight.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary.

Then you closed the laptop.

You told yourself the warmth in your face was embarrassment.

You told yourself the small smile you couldn't quite suppress was amusement.

And when you eventually returned to the grading portal, you made one final note beneath Submission #47.

CASE STATUS: Pending resubmission. MARKER'S NOTE: Student has been informed of error.

You hesitated before adding one final line, this time not in a single rushed thought, but in a steady, deliberate sentence that you still ended up deleting anyway.

Because you knew perfectly well that “further investigation unnecessary” was the one thing you were least convinced of.

—

By the time you arrived at the TA office the following morning, you had almost convinced yourself that yesterday had been an isolated incident, something embarrassing and mildly amusing that would disappear the moment Seungcheol submitted the correct essay. The letter would become an unfortunate story you could tell yourself years later, assuming you ever wanted to remember the exact moment a student managed to turn an ordinary final assessment into the most complicated grading situation of your academic career. You had spent the walk across campus reminding yourself that the semester was finished, that you were no longer going to see him every Tuesday and Thursday morning, and that, most importantly, you were not going to encourage him.

Then you opened your inbox and saw an email from him.

From: Choi SeungcheolSubject: Revised Submission

You stared at it for several seconds before opening it.

The email itself was disappointingly normal.

Attached is my actual final essay. I have checked the file three times. It is definitely the essay this time.

You almost smiled.

Also, I apologise for yesterday.

You read that sentence twice.

And I promise the letter wasn't supposed to be submitted. Unfortunately, I cannot promise that I regret writing it.

Your smile disappeared.

You looked around the empty office as though someone might have witnessed the expression on your face, even though there was nobody there to see it. Then you opened the attachment.

It was, mercifully, an essay.

You checked the file name first.

Final_Essay_Choi_Seungcheol.pdf

Correct. You checked the title. Correct. You scrolled to the bottom. References included.

You leaned back in your chair.

“Thank God.”

For the next forty minutes, Seungcheol was simply another student.

You forced yourself to treat his essay exactly as you would any other submission, reading each paragraph carefully, checking his references, marking the places where his argument needed stronger evidence, and resisting the temptation to read more into every sentence simply because you now knew he had written a love letter about you. The essay was good. Irritatingly good, actually, because it meant you couldn't justify giving him a lower mark simply to regain some sense of professional distance.

By the time you reached the conclusion, you had already decided that he deserved somewhere in the low nineties.

You opened the grading sheet.

FINAL ASSESSMENT GRADING LOGSUBMISSION #47STUDENT: Choi Seungcheol CORRECT DOCUMENT RECEIVED: Yes PREVIOUS DOCUMENT: Personal correspondence STATUS: Under review

You stared at the previous document entry.

For some reason, you changed it.

PREVIOUS DOCUMENT: Highly inappropriate supplementary material.

You paused. Then smiled.

It was a stupid joke, but it made you feel slightly less like you were losing your mind.

You finished the grading and entered 91/100.

Your cursor hovered over the feedback box.

There were several comments you needed to make about his analysis, but your attention kept drifting back to yesterday's letter. You could still remember certain lines with uncomfortable clarity, particularly the parts about things you had never realised anyone noticed. The way you tapped your pen. The coffee. The days you wore your hair up.

You wondered how long he had been paying attention. You wondered how long you had been paying attention to him. You immediately shut that thought down.

It didn't matter.

You were his TA.

Even if the semester had technically ended, the final grades had not been released, and you were still responsible for evaluating his work. Whatever feelings existed between you had to remain exactly where they were: somewhere outside the grading portal, outside the office, and preferably outside your head altogether.

You typed your feedback.

MARKER'S COMMENT: Strong argument overall. Your evidence is well-selected, and the conclusion effectively ties the central points together. The structure is much clearer than in your previous submission.

You read it back. Professional. Perfect.

You were about to submit it when another thought occurred to you.

Much improved from your previous attempt.

You looked at the sentence.

Then deleted it. Then typed it again. This time, you left it.

You submitted the grade.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed.

Choi Seungcheol: 91?

You frowned. You had not told him you had finished grading. Another message appeared.

You grade quickly.

You stared at the screen.

How do you know I've graded it?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

I checked.

You narrowed your eyes.

You submitted it thirty seconds ago.

Yes.

Why are you checking the grading portal thirty seconds after submitting?

There was a pause.

Anxiety.

You sighed.

Go do something productive.

I am.

What?

Waiting for my grade.

You put your phone face down on the desk.

This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid.

You had spent months dealing with Seungcheol's teasing, his stupid jokes, and his habit of appearing in your office whenever he had the slightest excuse, but there had always been a structure around it. There was a reason for every interaction. He was a student. You were a TA. If he stayed after class, it was because he had a question. If he came to your office, it was because he needed help. If you gave him a sarcastic comment on an assignment, it was because you were grading his work.

Now the semester was over, and the structure was disappearing.

You picked your phone back up.

You got 91.

His reply came almost immediately.

So I've improved.

Yes.

By forty-four points.

You frowned.

You got 47 because you submitted a love letter.

Still counts.

You stared at the message.

It absolutely does not.

I disagree.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

Your argument lacks sufficient evidence.

There was a longer pause this time.

Then:

Can provide additional evidence during office hours.

You dropped your phone onto the desk.

“No.”

You could practically hear him laughing through the screen.

Another message appeared.

That was good.

You ignored it.

Another.

You smiled, didn't you?

You picked up the phone.

No.

Liar.

You didn't respond. You told yourself that was the end of the conversation.

It wasn't.

For the next ten minutes, your phone continued to buzz with increasingly ridiculous messages, most of them variations of the same argument: Seungcheol insisting that the original letter deserved some form of academic recognition and you insisting that emotional sincerity did not count as evidence. Eventually, you turned your phone onto silent and returned to grading.

You managed to get through three more essays before someone knocked on the office door.

You didn't look up.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

You expected another TA.

Instead, Seungcheol stepped inside. Your hand stopped halfway across the grading sheet.

He looked almost exactly as he always did, which somehow made the situation worse. Dark hair slightly messy, backpack hanging from one shoulder, sleeves pushed up his arms, and an expression that suggested he was entirely too pleased with himself for someone who had accidentally submitted a confession to the person responsible for his final grade less than twenty-four hours ago.

“You said office hours were for academic assistance,” he said.

You stared at him.

“They are.”

“So I'm here for academic assistance.”

“You're not enrolled in this class anymore.”

“I know.”

“Your final essay has already been graded.”

“I know.”

“You got ninety-one.”

“I know.”

You slowly put your pen down.

“Then why are you here?”

He smiled.

It was not the teasing smile from class, either. This one was smaller, more uncertain, and for the first time since you had known him, you noticed that he looked nervous.

“I wanted to apologise properly.”

That caught you off guard.

You leaned back in your chair.

“For the letter?”

He nodded.

“I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

The joking tone was gone now, replaced by something much more sincere. He shifted his backpack from one shoulder to the other before setting it down beside the chair opposite your desk.

“I know it was inappropriate,” he continued. “Especially because you were still grading me. I should have waited until after everything was finished, and I definitely shouldn't have submitted it.”

“You definitely shouldn't have submitted it.”

He winced.

“Yeah. I've established that.”

You couldn't help smiling.

He noticed.

“You're laughing at me.”

“A little.”

“That's fair.”

The room settled into a quieter silence.

You looked at him properly for the first time since he had walked in. Yesterday, the letter had turned him into a collection of sentences on a screen, each one more embarrassing than the last. Today, he was simply Seungcheol again, sitting across from you with his hands folded together, waiting to find out whether you were going to tell him that everything was fine or ask him to leave.

You found yourself remembering one particular sentence from the letter.

Every time I come up with a reason not to tell you, I end up finding another reason to come to your office.

“You really meant it?” you asked.

His eyebrows lifted.

“The letter?”

You nodded.

He looked down at his hands.

“Yeah.”

There was no joke this time.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I meant it.”

You swallowed.

You had expected him to be embarrassed. You had expected him to laugh it off, to say that he had been tired or impulsive or that it had been some elaborate joke that had gone too far. Instead, he was sitting there looking at you as though he had decided that, having already humiliated himself once, there was no point pretending anymore.

“I've liked you for a while,” he admitted. “I just didn't want to make things weird for you.”

“You did make things weird.”

“I know.”

“You submitted a love letter as your final essay.”

“I know.”

“You gave yourself the academic equivalent of a restraining order.”

He laughed at that, finally relaxing a little.

“I was panicking.”

“You wrote three pages.”

“Panic can be very articulate.”

You looked away so he wouldn't see you smile. That was the problem. He was making it very difficult to stay annoyed.

You picked up your pen again, mostly because you needed something to do with your hands.

“Regardless, nothing can happen while I'm still responsible for your grade.”

“I know.”

“And I mean that.”

“I know.”

“You're not going to try to convince me otherwise?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

The answer came so easily that you looked up.

He met your eyes.

“I don't want you to feel like you have to say yes because I'm your student,” he said. “Or because I wrote something embarrassing and now you're worried about hurting my feelings. If you don't feel the same way, that's okay.”

You didn't know what to say. Because the truth was that you weren't sure you didn't feel the same way.

You had spent the entire morning trying not to think about it, but now he was sitting in front of you, giving you every opportunity to reject him, and somehow that made the possibility of doing so feel much harder.

You looked down at your grading sheet.

SUBMISSION #47 — FINAL GRADE: 91/100.

Underneath it, the cursor was still blinking.

You suddenly had an idea. It was probably a bad one. You typed a new note.

MARKER'S COMMENT: Strong improvement. However, the student appears to have a recurring issue with inappropriate submissions.

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly.

“What are you writing?”

“Feedback.”

“About my essay?”

“Yes.”

He looked suspicious. You turned the screen slightly away from him. He laughed.

“Are you seriously grading me right now?”

“That's what I do.”

“You're enjoying this.”

“Maybe.”

He smiled. You continued typing.

RECOMMENDATION: Continue developing the argument. Provide stronger evidence where necessary. Avoid submitting personal correspondence as academic work.

You saved the document.

Then you looked at him.

“For the record, you don't need to worry about me being offended.”

His expression softened.

“Okay.”

“And you don't need to apologise again.”

“Okay.”

“But you do need to promise me you won't submit another letter.”

He thought about it.

“An essay?”

“Yes.”

“A normal one?”

“Yes.”

“No hidden messages?”

“No.”

“No acrostic?”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Seungcheol.”

He laughed.

“Okay. Fine.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling again. He stood and picked up his backpack. For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then he reached the door and turned around.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nodded.

“After the grades are released…”

He hesitated, and suddenly the teasing confidence was gone again.

“Can I take you out?”

Your heart gave an annoying little jump. You knew what the sensible answer was. You knew what the professional answer was.

You also knew that the semester was over, that his grade was already submitted, and that there was nothing left for you to evaluate except the increasingly obvious fact that you liked having him around.

Still, you weren't going to make it easy for him.

“You'll have to wait for your final grade.”

He stared at you.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But I already got my grade.”

You smiled.

“That was the essay.”

He looked genuinely confused.

“And what am I being graded on now?”

You picked up your pen and tapped it thoughtfully against the desk.

“Behaviour.”

He laughed.

“That's unfair.”

“Life is unfair.”

“So what do I have to get?”

You pretended to consider it.

“An A.”

He smiled.

“I can do that.”

“Good.”

He opened the door. Then, before leaving, he looked back at you one last time.

“Just so we're clear, though.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled.

“I've already started working on my extra credit.”

The door closed behind him before you could answer. You sat there for several seconds, staring at it. Then you looked back at your computer.

CASE FILE #47FINAL GRADE: 91/100 BEHAVIOURAL ASSESSMENT: Pending

You should have closed the file. Instead, you opened the original letter again. You read the first paragraph. Then the second.

And, for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder whether the problem wasn't that Seungcheol had fallen for you.

Maybe the problem was that you were starting to fall for him, too.

—

The semester ended quietly, which felt almost insulting considering how much of your life Seungcheol had managed to complicate over the past few months. There was no dramatic final class, no grand declaration in the middle of the lecture hall, and certainly no cinematic moment where the entire university suddenly seemed to understand that something had changed between you. There was only the slow disappearance of students from campus, the gradual emptying of your inbox, and the strange realisation that you no longer had a legitimate reason to expect Seungcheol to appear at your office.

You told yourself that was a good thing.

It was probably healthier this way. The grades were final, the assessment period was finished, and your responsibility as his TA had officially ended. There were no more assignments to mark, no more reasons for him to stay behind after class, and no more excuses for you to spend twenty minutes pretending to discuss coursework when neither of you had any intention of talking about coursework.

And yet, three days after the semester ended, you still found yourself looking at the office door whenever footsteps passed outside.

You hated that.

You hated it even more when the door opened on the fourth day.

Seungcheol stood there.

He wasn't carrying a backpack this time, and there were no papers tucked underneath his arm. There was no excuse in his hands, no assignment that needed clarification, no question about a reading he had supposedly failed to understand. He simply stood in the doorway, looking at you with the same nervous smile he had worn the last time he had asked whether he could take you out.

You tried to look unimpressed.

“You know you don't have office hours anymore.”

“I know.”

“You're not in my class anymore.”

“I know.”

“You don't have anything to submit.”

He smiled.

“I know.”

You put your pen down.

“Then why are you here?”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, though not all the way. You noticed that immediately, and some small part of you appreciated the gesture. Even now, when the semester was over and the rules had changed, he was still careful not to make you feel cornered.

“I was waiting,” he said.

“For what?”

“For the grades to be released.”

You blinked.

“They were released yesterday.”

“I know.”

“You could have asked me out yesterday.”

“I could have.”

“Why didn't you?”

He shrugged, looking suddenly much more nervous than he had during any of your conversations about his disastrous submission.

“Because I wanted to be sure.”

You tilted your head.

“Sure of what?”

“That you actually wanted me to.”

The answer left you quiet.

You had spent the past few days thinking about what would happen when this moment finally arrived. You had imagined him making some ridiculous joke, perhaps asking whether an A on his final assessment had earned him enough extra credit to qualify for a date. You had imagined yourself teasing him, making him work for it, perhaps reminding him that he had spent an entire semester trying to charm his way through your grading rubric.

You had not imagined him standing in front of you looking genuinely uncertain.

“I told you last time that you didn't need to worry about offending me,” you said.

“I know.”

“And I told you that you didn't need to apologise.”

“I know.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

He looked at you for a moment.

“An answer.”

The room felt suddenly smaller.

You looked down at the grading sheet still sitting on your desk, even though you had no reason to have it open anymore. The familiar formatting stared back at you.

FINAL ASSESSMENT GRADING LOGSUBMISSION #47STUDENT: Choi Seungcheol FINAL GRADE: 91/100 CASE STATUS: Closed

You had kept the file open without realising it.

You stared at the words for another second before closing the document.

“Okay.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Okay?”

You nodded.

“You can take me out.”

For a moment, he didn't move. Then his entire expression changed.

The nervousness disappeared first, replaced by something bright and almost disbelieving, and then he laughed quietly, dropping his head as though he needed a second to process the fact that you had actually said yes.

“Seriously?”

“You're making me reconsider.”

“No, no.” He straightened immediately. “Absolutely not. I'm accepting the answer before you can change your mind.”

You smiled.

“You're very confident for someone who got forty-seven on his first submission.”

“That was a clerical error.”

“That was a love letter.”

“A passionate research proposal.”

You laughed.

He smiled at the sound, and for a moment neither of you said anything.

It felt different now.

There was still the familiarity of everything that had happened before, all those office hours and sarcastic grading comments and stolen glances across the classroom, but the invisible line between you had finally disappeared. He wasn't sitting across from you waiting for feedback anymore. You weren't responsible for deciding whether his work deserved a passing grade.

You were simply two people standing in an empty university office, both trying not to look too pleased about finally being allowed to admit what had been obvious for months.

“So,” he said eventually, “when are you free?”

You considered pretending to be busy.

“Tomorrow.”

His smile widened.

“Tomorrow?”

“Unless that's too soon.”

“No. Tomorrow is perfect.”

“You seem excited.”

“I've been waiting since mid-semester.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“That's concerning.”

“I know.”

He took a step closer.

“I've also been trying to think of somewhere to take you that isn't campus.”

“Good start.”

“And somewhere without vending machine coffee.”

“Even better.”

“And somewhere I can talk to you without pretending I need help with an assignment.”

You smiled.

“I might miss that.”

“You can still give me feedback.”

“I don't think that's how dates work.”

“You've never dated a student before.”

You stared at him.

He immediately grimaced.

“Sorry. Terrible wording.”

You laughed, and he looked relieved.

“I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.”

“Please do.”

He reached the door, but before he opened it, he turned around again.

“There is one thing I wanted to ask.”

“What?”

He pointed towards your laptop.

“The letter.”

Your stomach fluttered.

“What about it?”

“Did you keep it?”

You hesitated.

That was probably the easiest question he had asked you all semester, and somehow it was the one that made you feel the most exposed.

“Yes.”

His expression softened.

“Why?”

You looked at him.

“Because I liked it.”

The words were quiet, but they were enough.

He smiled.

“Good.”

Then he left.

You waited until the door clicked shut before letting yourself smile properly.

The next evening, you met him away from campus.

It was strange at first.

Not bad strange.

Just unfamiliar.

Without classrooms and lecture notes and grading sheets between you, there were suddenly things you didn't know about each other. You knew that Seungcheol hated vending machine coffee. You knew that he procrastinated when he was nervous, that he had a tendency to over-explain jokes when he thought they hadn't landed, and that he had apparently been watching you tap your pen against your notebook for far longer than you wanted to know.

You didn't know what his favourite place in the city was. You didn't know what he ordered when he wasn't trying to impress you. You didn't know what he did when he had a completely free afternoon. You didn't know what he looked like when he wasn't pretending to be confident. You learned those things over dinner.

You learned that he talked more when he was nervous, that he became embarrassingly enthusiastic whenever he talked about something he genuinely loved, and that the smile he usually wore around other people became softer when it was only the two of you.

Eventually, the conversation returned to the letter.

“I still can't believe you gave it forty-seven,” he said.

You laughed.

“You submitted the wrong assignment.”

“But you liked it.”

“That doesn't make it academically relevant.”

“You keep hiding behind the grading rubric.”

“Because the rubric is objective.”

“You gave me ninety-one.”

“Because your essay deserved ninety-one.”

“And the letter?”

You looked at him. He was smiling, but there was something hopeful underneath it. You reached across the table and took his hand. His fingers tightened around yours almost immediately.

“The letter,” you said, “was worth more than forty-seven.”

His smile disappeared for half a second, replaced by something softer.

“How much?”

You pretended to think about it.

“Maybe ninety-six.”

“Only ninety-six?”

“You're pushing it.”

“I thought I had extra credit.”

You laughed.

“You're impossible.”

“And yet you're here.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

“Yeah.”

The answer was quieter this time.

“I'm here.”

He squeezed your hand.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, and you found that you didn't need to.

For months, everything between you had been hidden inside things that could be graded, corrected, revised, or submitted. Feelings had become comments in the margins. Flirting had become jokes disguised as questions. His confession had become a file uploaded to the wrong folder.

Now there was nothing left to hide behind. When he walked you home later that night, you stopped outside your door. He looked at you, then at the distance between you.

“Can I ask for one more thing?”

You smiled.

“You've already asked for a date.”

“I know.”

“You got the date.”

“I know.”

“So what now?”

He leaned slightly closer.

“Extra credit.”

You laughed softly.

“You're never going to let that go, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

You looked at him for a moment, then closed the remaining distance yourself.

The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant at first, as though both of you were still waiting for someone to remind you that this wasn't allowed. There was no grading sheet between you, no university policy, no deadline, and no reason to pull away. When you finally did, Seungcheol was smiling.

“Was that enough?”

You pretended to consider it.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“You might need to submit another attempt.”

He laughed.

“I can do that.”

You shook your head, smiling as he leaned in again.

For once, you didn't need to grade him.

And perhaps that was the strangest part of all.

After spending an entire semester convincing yourself that you were the one evaluating him, you were finally beginning to understand that the moment you had opened that first letter, the person being tested had never really been Seungcheol at all.

It had been you. And, somehow, you had passed.

—

By the time the new semester began, the whole thing had started to feel strangely unreal.

Not the relationship itself. That part was surprisingly easy.

It was the memory of everything that had come before it that felt impossible sometimes, particularly when you remembered sitting alone in the TA office with a stack of final essays, opening Seungcheol's submission and finding Dear Y/N staring back at you from the top of the page. It had seemed like the beginning of an administrative disaster then, something you would eventually laugh about once enough time had passed.

You hadn't expected to be dating him a few weeks later.

You certainly hadn't expected him to become the person you now automatically looked for whenever you entered a crowded room.

And you hadn't expected him to still be obsessed with the concept of extra credit.

“You're thinking about me.”

You looked up from your laptop.

Seungcheol was sitting across from you at the library table, chin resting in his palm, wearing the most unbearably smug expression you had ever seen.

“I was thinking about work.”

“You were thinking about me while working.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You have absolutely no evidence.”

He smiled.

“You're smiling.”

You immediately stopped.

“I was not.”

“You were.”

You closed your laptop.

“I regret telling you anything.”

“You regret liking me.”

“I regret giving you that ninety-six.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“You still think I deserved ninety-six?”

“No.”

“What happened to the extra credit?”

“It expired.”

“That's not how extra credit works.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know enough.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile.

It had become like this almost immediately after your first date. The academic jokes had followed you out of the classroom, except now there was no longer any reason to hide behind them. Seungcheol could flirt with you without pretending he was asking about an assignment, and you could tease him without worrying about whether you were crossing a professional boundary.

There was something strangely freeing about that. You reached for your coffee. Seungcheol watched you over the edge of his laptop.

“You kept the letter, didn't you?”

You nearly choked.

“You ask me that every week.”

“Because you never answer.”

“I already answered.”

“You said you liked it.”

“I did.”

“That wasn't the question.”

You sighed.

“Yes.”

His smile appeared immediately.

“You actually kept it.”

“Obviously.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it's embarrassing.”

“For you?”

“For both of us.”

He laughed quietly.

“I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that my first confession to you was submitted through the university grading portal.”

“You shouldn't.”

“It was romantic.”

“It was a clerical error.”

“It was fate.”

“It was poor file management.”

He grinned.

“You're never going to admit it was romantic, are you?”

You looked at him.

“No.”

“Fine.”

He returned to his laptop, apparently satisfied for the moment. You watched him for a few seconds before opening yours again. Your eyes drifted towards the folder sitting in the corner of your desktop.

You had never deleted it.

FINAL ASSESSMENT — SUBMISSION #47

Inside was the original grading record, the actual final essay, and the accidental letter that had somehow changed everything.

You opened the document. The old notes appeared exactly as you had left them.

CASE FILE #47STUDENT: Choi Seungcheol INITIAL SUBMISSION: Incorrect DOCUMENT RECEIVED: Personal correspondence INITIAL GRADE: 47/100 STATUS: Pending revision

You scrolled down.

CORRECTED SUBMISSION: Received FINAL ESSAY GRADE: 91/100 BEHAVIOURAL ASSESSMENT: Pending

You smiled.

There was something almost ridiculous about how seriously you had treated it all back then, as though assigning a case number to your feelings could make them easier to understand. You had tried to turn everything into something measurable because that was what you were good at. Essays had grades. Assignments had deadlines. Arguments had evidence. Problems had solutions.

Feelings were much less cooperative.

You scrolled further.

At the very bottom of the document, beneath all the official comments, you had eventually added one final note.

FINAL CASE REVIEW

Academic performance: Excellent. Compliance with submission guidelines: Questionable. Ability to follow instructions: Requires improvement. Persistence: Excessive. Argument quality: Surprisingly convincing. Marker's personal bias: Significant. Final assessment: Complicated.

You stared at the last line. Then you added another.

Case status: Closed.

You saved the document.

“Done?”

You looked up. Seungcheol was watching you.

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing?”

“Grading.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You're not grading me again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He closed his laptop and stood. You raised an eyebrow.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“We're studying.”

“I've studied enough.”

“You've done nothing.”

“I've done plenty.”

“You've spent the last hour bothering me.”

“Exactly.”

You laughed, packing your things. He waited until you had finished before reaching for your bag.

“I can carry that.”

“I can carry my own bag.”

“I know.”

He took it anyway. You let him. It was such a small thing, but you still noticed it.

There had been so many moments like that since you started dating him, small things that had nothing to do with the dramatic confession that had started everything. He remembered your coffee order. He sent you messages when he knew you had a long day. He listened when you complained about assignments without immediately trying to make you feel better. He knew when you wanted advice and when you simply wanted someone to sit beside you.

The letter had been the beginning, but it wasn't what made you fall for him. That happened afterwards. It happened slowly, in all the ordinary moments.

Outside the library, the evening air was cool, and you walked beside him with your hands brushing occasionally.

“You know,” he said, “I still think I was robbed.”

“Of what?”

“My full marks.”

“You submitted the wrong document.”

“A passionate document.”

“A love letter.”

“An excellent love letter.”

“You're very proud of it.”

“I have reason to be.”

You smiled.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think the forty-seven was fair.”

He looked offended.

“After everything we've been through?”

“Yes.”

“That's cruel.”

“But…”

You paused.

He looked at you expectantly.

You smiled.

“I think the extra credit brought you up.”

His expression brightened.

“How much?”

You pretended to consider it.

“Enough.”

“That isn't a number.”

“You're not getting a number.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Y/N.”

You stopped walking.

He stopped too.

The street around you was quiet, university buildings glowing in the distance, and for a moment you were reminded of the first time he had said your name in that letter. Back then, seeing it written at the top of the page had made your heart race for reasons you hadn't wanted to understand.

Now, hearing him say it simply made you smile.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

He looked at you for a second, then smiled.

“I just like saying your name.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That was terrible.”

“It worked.”

“Barely.”

“Still counts.”

You shook your head, but you stepped closer anyway.

He leaned down and kissed you, gentle and familiar now, without the hesitation that had accompanied the first one. When you pulled away, he was smiling again.

“You know,” he said, “I think I deserve another chance at the final.”

“You already passed.”

“Barely?”

You smiled.

“With distinction.”

He laughed.

“Finally.”

You started walking again, his hand finding yours naturally.

The whole thing had started with a mistake.

A badly named file. A final essay that never existed. A letter that had been written with the intention of staying hidden and somehow ended up in exactly the wrong inbox.

You had spent weeks trying to classify it as an error, something that could be corrected and forgotten, but perhaps some mistakes were not meant to be fixed. Perhaps some were simply meant to lead you somewhere you hadn't expected to go.

Later that night, when you got home, you opened the old file one last time.

The letter was still there. You read it again, although you already knew every word.

At the bottom of the page, beneath Seungcheol's final sentence, you added one last comment.

Not as his TA. Not as his marker. Just as yourself.

FINAL GRADE: A+

You smiled and closed the document. A moment later, your phone buzzed.

Seungcheol: Did I finally get full marks?

You laughed.

You: Yes.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Seungcheol: Knew I could do it.

You shook your head.

You: Don't get cocky.

His reply came a few seconds later.

Seungcheol: Too late.

You smiled at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Seungcheol: Love you.

You stared at it for a moment, warmth spreading through your chest in that familiar way that still surprised you sometimes.

You typed back.

You: Love you too.

There was no grading rubric for that.

No case file. No comments in the margins. No deadline. 

And, for once, there was nothing left to revise.

Local law enforcement has been trying to get their mitts on him since before he even started the gang, but Seungcheol is smart, he's always made sure to keep his hands squeaky clean.

Which is why, when you heard the news come through on your police scanner that he's been spotted with some real nasty fuckers and this is the chance to get him cuffed, you wanted to get there asap to witness and join the scene.

Who wouldn't want to have the pleasure of slapping some cuffs on Choi Seungcheol and shoving him around a little, after all?

“What did you get him for?” you ask as you approach the scene with nothing but confidence, thumbs hooked into your belt casually.

Seungcheol glances over at you, and his jaw tightens with how hard he clenches his teeth as he takes you in from head to toe, dressed in uniform so crisp it's like you've just pulled it on. You have. He doesn't look impressed.

“Probable cause,” the young, over-eager cop who is getting ready to handcuff Seungcheol informs, sounding almost proud, while his partner keeps his gun pointed firmly at Seungcheol's head.

Seungcheol isn't stupid, reckless at times, yeah, but not stupid. He's been known to get pretty injured, and take some big risks with his own body in order to get what he wants, but even he wouldn't risk making a move in front of a trigger-happy rookie-cop.

“Oh, you fucking idiots,” you laugh, walking over to snatch the cuffs into your own hold.

“What the fuck?” the younger cop baulks, dumbstruck. “Who the fuck are you to just–”

“You really think you're going to get brownie points with the captain by bringing him Choi Seungcheol with no solid fucking cause? You think you can just put the guy in cuffs and the rest will follow? You're fucking stupid, kid.”

“But we caught him.”

“Yeah, and you know what his legal team is like? You're fucking lucky I turned up.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm willing to take him off your hands and deal with it myself. I've had my eye on Choi for fucking years, boys; I've got quite the file on him. What have you got?”

Admittedly, you take a hell of a lot of joy in grabbing Seungcheol's right forearm to force it down and around to his lower back, where you can secure the cuff around his wrist. He grunts at the unexpected force yet doesn't fight you, just clenches his jaw tighter.

“That's a good boy,” you whisper into his ear, while the two cops exchange lost, almost torn expressions as they attempt to silently communicate with one another about what to do.

Clearly, they don't want to just hand the man over to you, but you're right; they don't have shit on Seungcheol, and it would only cause them a lot of hassle to arrest him. He's too smart to talk, even in holding, and would just stare darkly at them, not moving a muscle until he's released. It’s happened before, once, over a year ago, and his legal team tore apart the station so thoroughly that the cops who arrested him had to resign and get minimum wage jobs, despite being the best the precinct had to offer.

Once you've got Seungcheol securely in the cuffs, you grab his bicep and appreciatively squeeze it as you tug on him to signal him to get up. You have to bite back your pleased grin as the powerful man silently obeys your order and gets to his feet. Though he does glare at you over his shoulder. It just makes it all that much sweeter.

“You boys better get back to your patrol before you get demoted,” you warn, shoving Seungcheol towards your car. He stumbles a little and glares at you again, but you ignore it to reach past him and open the back door.

Seungcheol swears and mutters under his breath when you roughly push his head down to urge him into the back of the car. He almost falls flat on his face onto the cheap imitation-leather seats. You shut the door before his colourful language cussing you out spills out any further to reach the cops and they can try to drag this out further. That’s the last thing you need right now.

“What?” you ask the two young men upon facing them again once you’ve closed the door and turned away from the car; they’re still watching you dumbly. “I know; my ass looks great in these.” You smirk smugly to yourself and smack your own ass, making both men jump at the loud, sudden sound.

“Yeah,” the younger agrees mindlessly, eyes now glued to your ass as you open the driver's door.

“Idiot,” his partner hisses, backhanding him. “Don't fucking agree, now she's gonna report you for sexual harassment!”

“She started it!”

While the pair are arguing, you take the chance to climb into your car and drive off with a pleased little cackle at causing the most chaos you can with so little to work with. It’s a point of pride for you.

At the end of the street, Seungcheol kicks the back of your seat. You don't need to look at him to know he's glaring at you; you can feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your face. You love it.

“Now, now, Mr. Choi, please respect my car.” He kicks the seat again, making you snicker. “So ungrateful; I just saved you from being locked in an interrogation room for 24 hours. You'd think you'd be at least a little appreciative.”

“Like fuck am I,” he grunts and shuffles closer to the crisscross of bars separating the two halves of the car. “Didn't have to be so fucking rough, you bitch.” You lift your eyes to the rearview mirror to meet his gaze and grin smugly at him, before returning your gaze to the road in front of you. “Sick fuck; you get off on it, don't you?”

“Damn right,” you confirm shamelessly, with an almost twisted smirk. “Big boss man on his knees for ickle ol' me. Gets me all warm and tingly, Cheolie.”

“How many times have I got to tell you not to fucking call me that?” He's too close to the front seats to kick them again, but he does knee the back of yours where his legs are spread as wide as possible in his pale, ripped jeans to allow him so close.

Fuck, you wish you can see his thighs right now. You quickly look over at him to test your range of sight, but the fucking seats are in the way. Dammit.

You sigh and turn back to the road forlornly. “Well, maybe if you ever punish me like you claim you will, yet never stick to, I might learn my lesson.”

“You'd fucking like it,” he grumbles. You just grin. Yeah, you definitely would. “Pull over and uncuff me.”

“Nope.”

“I'm warning you, little one.”

“Pretty sure I'm the one in charge here,” you chirp, unaffected by his low, warning tone. Though a second later, you're choking on a laugh when his body jerks forward due to you suddenly breaking to join the queue of traffic at a red light. Seungcheol's forehead slams into the grate, making him swear harshly. “Oops,” you offer with false innocence and a big grin.

“You fucking–” he starts harshly, only to cut off when you pull away rapidly at the green light, sending him toppling back in the seats and cutting off with a surprised sound. You don't stop yourself from laughing this time.

“Now, here's what's gonna happen, Cheolie,” you declare when you turn around in your seat to look at where the big gang boss is sitting quietly in the back seat, hands still cuffed behind him between his thick body and the backrest. His thick legs spread with his slouched position.

Man, he's so fucking thick; you know it's true all over his body. You've conveniently walked in on him fucking enough people to know that the man's blessed with a diabolically thick cock too.

Not forgetting the memorable time that he didn't notice your very obvious spy camera in his bedroom for a full two months. For two glorious months you got to watch him wrap a hand around his cock and cum over his chest in live action; automatically recorded for your rewatch pleasure.

You've never been gladder that he has a strict policy of not taking anyone to his home to fuck; you quite enjoyed his solo sessions and still watch them regularly.

In fact, you had been watching one while spread over your own bed when the scanner had caught your attention. You didn't even have the chance to clean up; your thighs are still sticky. But that could also just be from having Seungcheol in handcuffs. It really does a lot for your endless arousal where Choi Seungcheol is involved.

“You happened to interrupt my favourite hobby by almost getting arrested and making me come to your rescue.”

“If you say you were watching those fucking videos again–” he starts.

“I wouldn't have to if you didn't increase your security and make it harder for me to put up new cameras.” You can’t help but pout a little; disappointed and heartbroken at your inability to get new spank-bank material. At least currently. You’re determined where stalking Seungcheol is involved and have already been devising plans.

“I did that so that I don't have your perverted ass watching me in my private spaces!” he barks. “I swear, one day, I'm going to actually choke you.”

“Do it.” The sparkle in your eyes makes Seungcheol groan in frustration and tip his head back, eyes closing as he prays to a god that he doesn't believe in for the strength to handle you and your endless depravities. “Question.”

“What?” He sighs and lifts his head to look at you resignedly. After knowing you for so many years, he knows it's just easier to play along, unless he wants to deal with you badgering him for the rest of the day.

“Would you use your hands to choke me?”

“What else?”

“Your thighs–”

“Shut up,” he groans and pushes himself further upright. “Can you go a single day without making a remark about my thighs?”

You don’t hesitate to respond shamelessly “No. Can you crush my head between them like you did that watermelon?”

“I should've never done that. I thought playing along would make you shut the fuck up asking, but no, you're even worse.”

“I appreciate art, and those thighs, Choi Seungcheol, are pure fucking art.”

“We have very different definitions of art,” he deadpans.

“Yes, I know.” You roll your eyes. “You like silicone and spray tan.”

“Do I?” He raises an amused eyebrow at you when you look at him suspiciously.

“Every woman I've seen you fuck are more silicone than my dildo collection.”

“Not gonna comment on the collection,” he mutters, looking more like he's convincing himself that his curiosity about how extensive your collection may be is not worth actually engaging you in a discussion about your sex life. Which, he knows, heavily involves you masturbating to those videos of him masturbating.

“Do you want to see?” you offer brightly. “I have one that I think could compare to your cock.” Your gaze drops down to his crotch where there's an obvious bulge, which you know is him flaccid. “Maybe...” You suck on your bottom lip thoughtfully as your mind runs wild with memories of the sight of his cock peeking through his fist as he chased his high. Or wrapped in rubber as he bent another woman with fake tits over his desk, or face first against a too-rough wall, to take what he wants.

You really don't know how he can claim to not have a type when you truly have only seen him actually having sex with one type of woman. You've seen him seduce and hit on a wide range of people— not even just women—, but that's always to get his way, and he doesn't fuck them, even if he does sometimes make out with them just to win them over.

“Stop thinking about my cock,” Seungcheol deadpans, snapping you back to reality, and causing you to look up at him, though your gaze darts back down upon realising there's a change in the bulge in your periphery vision. “Don't–”

“Are you getting hard?!” you gasp, shuffling onto your knees excitedly and gripping the grate.

“No.”

“Liar.” You grin, eyes sparkling.

Seungcheol knows he's done for now. For years you've been trying to fuck him, and now, now he's actually lost his usual firm grip on his own libido and let you see that he's not actually turned off by you in any way.

“So, what's going to happen, Cheolie–” He swears at you, head tipping back to stare up at the ceiling. Of course, you ignore the interruption. “Seeing as you ruined my me-time, I'm going to come back there–”

“And uncuff me.”

“No, silly boy,” you giggle. “And ride your giant cock.”

Seungcheol curses under his breath and swallows before lifting his head to look at you.

For a few moments, you both just stare at each other. You, in wait for permission— because although you do a lot of questionable shit, you'd never physically force yourself on anyone—; and Seungcheol clearly in thought.

“Get back here,” he decides in a low, rough tone that makes your lower stomach twist and squeeze with genuine aroused excitement.

“Fuck yeah,” you exhale, climbing out of the car, where minutes ago you parked in one of the many empty warehouses belonging to Seungcheol’s gang.

Seungcheol watches through the window as you make short work of kicking off your shoes and removing your trousers and panties. He tries to look at you properly, but that stupid fucking police uniform shirt you're wearing hangs to the top of your thighs and makes it so that he can't see shit. Not even once you've got the back door open and crawl into the backseat.

“You got a condom?” he asks. He lets out a harsh exhale when you start to palm at his cock without warning.

“Nope.” You shrug carelessly and use your free hand to open his belt, before working on the button and zipper of his jeans. “Got a problem with that?”

“Fucking you raw?” You hum in confirmation and reluctantly let go of his cock so that you can yank down his jeans and boxers. Seungcheol helpfully lifts his hips off the seat, leaning back onto his shoulders against the backrest for balance to let you get the clothing down to his knees and reveal his rapidly hardening cock to your greedy gaze. “You may be fucking psychotic at the best of the times, and weirdly fucking obsessed with me–”

“Hey,” you complain, pouting at him offendedly.

“Are you really pouting at me for calling you psychotic?” he deadpans in disbelief. He's called you worse before, much worse, and you usually just giggle and act like he's given you a giant compliment.

“What? No,” you scoff and move over to straddle his thighs. “It's you saying weirdly obsessed as if you're not the single hottest person I've ever met. How dare you?”

Seungcheol licks his lips and looks down to watch what he thought was you making a move to ride his cock like you said you would. But no, you adjust your position at the last second and sit directly on his left thigh.

“You're so fucking wet,” he comments, voice thick with arousal and awe. His mouth drops open a little when you drag your slick pussy over his thigh and smear wetness over bare skin. “Fuck.”

“This is what you do to me, Cheolie,” you complain, and wrap your hand around his cock roughly. He groans and tips his head forward, thunking his forehead on your shoulder as you jerk him in time with the drag of your pussy up and down his thigh; he tenses it to make his muscles bulge and give you something firmer to grind your clit down on. It feels better than you could’ve imagined, and you’ve fantasised about riding Seungcheol’s beefy thighs more times than you can count.

“You're so fucking shameless,” he grunts after a moment of just watching your movements. You're torturing him with the too-rough, slow pull of your palm against his cock, never close enough to the top to catch any of the precum that's starting to dribble down the side.

“For you, not anyone else.”

“You're going to give me a giant head.”

“It'll match your cock.”

Seungcheol huffs a laugh and lifts his head to look at you. “You gonna sit on it then?”

“I'd love to, but you didn't actually say you're okay with not using a condom. I know you always do with those women.”

“You're not them,” it's perhaps the softest fucking thing Seungcheol has ever said to you. Your movements slow to a stop as you stare at him in surprise. “I trust you with every fucking aspect of the gang; trust you to back me up more than I do anyone else. You think I'd put my life in your hands and not the health of my dick?” He scoffs. “I trust you to not do this if you have anything you could pass on, and I know I sure as fuck don't.”

“And what if you knock me up?” Seungcheol raises his eyebrows at you bewilderedly, barely even noticing that you've stopped grinding on his thigh and have moved over to hover over his cock. “What?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to respond but you decide to drop down onto his cock, letting his thick length split you open harshly as you both moan at the sudden friction. “Fuck!” he exclaims, head tipped back and eyes screwed shut. “You–you fucking idiot!” He lifts his head to look at you. “You didn't even take it slow! You could get fucking hurt!”

“Good, I like it.” You smirk, proud of yourself for getting the usually so put-together man so worked up. There's something beautifully wild in his dark eyes, and a pretty pink smeared over his cheeks.

You really wish you hadn’t left your phone in your trousers; you’d love to take a photo of him right now. You’d put it as your lock screen, and he’d probably threaten to beat your ass if you don’t remove it, yet he never follows through with his threats to you. A bit of spanking surely wouldn’t be undesirable, not if it’s Seungcheol’s firm hand landing on your ass.

“You're fucking crazy.”

“Yep.” You grin, and grind down against him, breath catching as his cock presses against multiple sensitive spots inside you that has you repeating the swirl of your hips again, and again, and again.

“Fu–fuck, just ride me, shit,” he groans, trying to urge you to bounce by thrusting his hips up against you.

“Don't you like this?” You pout at him, faux-offended, and keep at your grinding. You know he likes it, it's obvious by the tightness of his expression. The pleasure is clear in his furrowed brows and tense jaw, in his shoulders pressed back against the seat, and biceps bulging as he tries to free himself from the cuffs.

You really hope he doesn't break them; you really fucking like him like this. Then again, the thought of Seungcheol using his stupidly beefy arms to break free from his binds so that he can grab your hips and force you to take the pummelling of his giant dick against your pussy walls, well, that's a real fucking nice thought.

It makes you clench down on him, and he moans, head tipping back and showing you the unblemished expanse of his throat. You wonder if he'd let you bite him.

“Can I bite you?” you ask, falling still.

“What the fuck?” He looks at you as if you're insane. Which, not exactly a new expression on the man when he's faced with you. But this time he looks utterly offended too.

“Is that a no?” You pout.

“I don't give a fuck, just keep going!” he demands, looking crazed.

“Can I kiss you too?”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and instead of verbally responding, he tilts forward to crash his lips to yours, desperation urging him to kiss you in such a filthy way that your pussy throbs. “Bounce,” he growls against your lips, before letting out a string of almost whispered praise when you obey and start to lift and drop yourself, finally riding his cock like both of you have been wanting for, admittedly, longer than he's been in cuffs.

To your surprise, Seungcheol keeps kissing you and chases your lips every time you lean back or turn your head for breath, or just because you think he probably wants to stop and focus on your pussy dragging up and down his cock, soaking him with every wet smack of your thighs against his.

“Che–Cheol,” you pant out, knotting your fingers in his hair to force him back and allow you to actually breathe. He moans deeply, and his eyes roll back.

Very interesting reaction indeed.

You never took Seungcheol to like having his hair pulled; but the filthy moans he lets out every time you experimentally tighten or yank on the strands now you've got the idea in your head, tells you that the man really fucking likes it. Not even mentioning how he fucks up into you harder every time too.

“Good boy,” you compliment breathlessly, looking down at his cock sliding into you as you pretty much just hover over him now; more interested in finding out what makes him tick and turns him on than actually riding him. Not that you need to when he's doing a good enough job fucking you, even with his arms restrained.

You just know he'd ruin you if he had full use of his body. He'd ruin you, and you'd thank him for it and ask to repeat it every fucking day. He could break your hips and you'd thank him.

“Oh, fuck, I–I'm gonna cum,” he warns, making your eyes widen in alarm.

“No!”

Seungcheol opens his eyes to look at you with equally as wide eyes yet doesn't stop fucking into you. “The fuck you mean no?”

“You can't cum yet! I'm not done!”

“I'm gonna–”

“No!”

“Fuck.” His eyes roll back, and he lets out a string of porn-worthy moans as he jerks up into you a few times harshly while filling you with cum.

You can only gawp at him in disbelief, one hand still in his hair and the other braced on his heaving chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” you exclaim, slapping his chest as he slouches against the seat while trying to catch his breath back. “You useless man!” You pinch his nipple where it's pressing against his t-shirt, making him yelp and shoot his eyes open to look at you.

“What the fuck?!”

“What kind of a gang boss are you, huh?” you berate, climbing off him, and wincing at the feeling of his softening cock slipping out of you, trailing cum with it. You don't even care that it's getting all over him and the seats as you move. “To bust in minutes; you that pussy whipped, Choi Seungcheol?” you tut and shove him down on the seats.

“Ow, you fucking–” he cuts off, awkwardly wriggling to get on his back instead of laying painfully on his right shoulder. “I'm gonna beat your ass as soon as these cuffs are off, bitch,” he warns, watching you with dark eyes, half warning, half aroused, as you clamber over his body.

“Ooh, call me more names, my likey.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him as you plant your knees either side of his face.

It visibly takes everything in Seungcheol to keep his eyes on your face and not look at your pussy where it’s inches from his face and dripping cum down your slick inner thighs. “You're clinically fucking insane, aren't you?”

“I work for you; comes with the job,” you coo, leaning over to plant your left hand on the door above his head to get your balance while your right hand knots into his hair, making him let out a groan that travels through your body as your pussy meets his parted lips. “Now, make me cum like a good boy, Cheolie.”

To your utter delight, the words are barely out of your mouth before Seungcheol's tongue is dragging through your folds, uncaring that he's swallowing down his own cum as he enthusiastically starts to eat you out like a man starved.

Honestly, you've never seen Seungcheol do this. You've never known if he's the type of man to eat pussy and if so, if he does it as a means to get his dick wet or because he actually enjoys it. But now? Now you fucking know.

Seungcheol is making more noise than you are as he greedily laps and sucks at your pussy, alternating between thrusting his tongue into your hole and suckling on your clit. You swear, the man is determined to suck your soul out through your clit. He's not gentle about it at all; but you can't lie, you really fucking enjoy the rough, messy actions.

“T–that's it,” you encourage when his tongue is back inside of you as deep as he can get it to lick at your inner walls greedily, nose grinding against your clit with every movement of his head, and his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

His face is buried so deep between your thighs that you're positive he can't breathe, but even when you loosen your hold on his hair and stop moving your hips against his face to let him have space, he dives in even deeper somehow.

The pure unfiltered enthusiasm he devours your pussy with sends you hurtling to a powerful orgasm that takes you a bit by surprise when he gets a little too into it and his teeth drag over your skin. You didn't know you like that, but now you certainly do as you shudder and gasp over him. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you let the vibrations of his groans and moans help ride you through your climax as you smother him in your pussy.

Your legs feel like jelly when you shakily clamber off his face and drop to sit on his still exposed thighs. His cock is making a valiant effort to get hard again. It's very distracting, but you're both breathing too hard and trying to remember how to get air into your lungs to even consider going for round two. Well, mostly.

“Please tell me you have a key for these,” Seungcheol says once he's caught his breath a few minutes later, still laid on his back across the seats with his eyes closed.

“No.” You snigger at the pissed off look he gives you once he lifts his head enough to look at you. “Since when have I needed keys to open locks?”

“Good point.” He drops back down, though immediately lifts his head again when you dance your fingers teasingly over his semi-erect dick. “Don't.”

“Why not?” You pout and wrap your hand around his cock, thumbing at the head a little harshly, but he clearly likes it, judging by the way he gets harder in your hold and hisses, hips pushing up automatically to encourage you.

“Because I'll fucking dislocate my shoulders,” he points out, trying to roll his shoulders but not really doing a good job thanks to his forced position. “And I can't hold you down and fuck you if my arms don't fucking work, can I?”

“You actually want to do that?”

“Always have.” He shrugs, then slumps in relief when you let go of him and shuffle back.

“No, you've never wanted to fuck me.” You frown confusedly at him as he sits up with a few little grunts from the effort and release of pressure against his arms from being laid on them.

“I've always wanted to fuck your insane ass, which I guess makes me insane too. I know you're into some fucked up shit; I've seen the porn you watch.”

“Don't kink shame me.”

“Don't fucking use my computer to watch porn then!”

“But your office chair is big enough that I can spread my legs comfortably on to touch myself.”

“You've masturbated in my office chair?” he deadpans, looking unimpressed. Yet, when you nod in confirmation, you notice the flicker of arousal in his gaze. “Great, now I'm going to be thinking about that when I'm supposed to be working.”

“You can always call me, and I'll happily sit under your desk with your cock in my mouth; keep it warm and ready to sit on when you're done working.”

“This is why I never fucking let you know.” He shuffles towards the still open door, making you back out until you're standing on still slightly trembling legs. “Knew I'd never be able to stop once I had you.” Seungcheol gets out of the car and turns his back to you. “Get these off me so I can bend you over and fuck you until you can't walk.”

“Don't need to tell me twice.” You quickly grab your lock-picking set from your trouser pocket before kneeling down behind Seungcheol to unpick the cuffs.

It takes you longer than it should to pick the lock, purely because you're very distracted by his bare, plump ass right in front of your face. As soon as he moves his just freed hands to roll his shoulders and rub his red-raw wrists, you lean forward and bite his asscheek.

“What the fuck?!” he shrieks, jolting away and turning to face you with wide eyes and red cheeks. “Did you just bite my ass?”

“Yes,” your confirmation is utterly shameless, as you stare up at him from where you’re still on your knees.

Seungcheol stares back at you for a moment, before sliding his hand into your hair and tugging you forward, smirking as your mouth opens wide to accept his cock without question or complaint.

“Good girl,” he breathes out as you immediately start to suck and lick at him, humming and making appreciative noises at finally having his cock in your mouth. It's only taken five years.

Though Seungcheol doesn't let you enjoy him as thoroughly as you'd like. As soon as his tip touches your throat from your attempt to start deepthroating him, he pulls you off and yanks you up to your feet.

You're not given time to even complain or whine or beg for his cock back before he's got you with your hands on the roof of the car, and chest bowing into the open doorway so that he can grind his cock against your still sopping wet pussy.

“You never explained the knocked-up comment,” he informs as he crowds up against your back, one big hand holding your wrists by the edge of the roof and the other gripping your hip tight.

“What?”

“You said about me getting you knocked up.”

“And?”

“We both got done, on the same fucking day, remember? We’re medically infertile.” He nips at your earlobe a little harshly, and grins smugly when your breath catches and you press back against his cock.

“Never heard of a breeding kink, Cheolie?”

“Huh, you're into that?”

“I'm into anything if it's you.”

He pauses his movements, lips parted against your ear for a few seconds, before he suddenly lets go of your hip and pulls his own backwards so that he can grab his cock and lead it to your entrance. He feeds it into you just far enough that he can let go and take your hip back into his hold before he thrusts forward, burying his cock into you in one quick, hard thrust. It jolts you forward and makes you moan loudly.

“Gonna fill you up every fucking day, baby,” he promises, sounding far more affected than he did moments ago. “Gonna fill you with my cum until it sticks. Gonna breed you so fucking good, yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, fuck me full, Cheolie,” you agree, nodding madly, and arching your back to push back against him, while widening your stance to get him deeper— even if it means you have to push up onto your tiptoes to account for the height difference.

“That's my good fucking girl,” he approves, pushing your shirt up and holding it at your waist to give him full view of your ass as he begins to fuck into you harshly.

Honestly, you have no idea if you're truly alone in the warehouse; you know that various gang members use the warehouses for meets and their own trysts, but you do not give a single flying fuck.

You moan loud and shameless as Seungcheol fucks all thoughts from your head. He clearly doesn't care if anyone hears either; he moans and grunts without care, growling dirty words at you— which you can barely babble a response to due to the quickly growing pleasure in your body.

“Never letting anyone touch this pussy again,” he declares in amongst his moans and panting, not slowing down once in his determination to ruin you. “You’re mine, understand?”

You nod rapidly but can’t answer as that ball of pleasure in your belly clenches so tightly at his possessive words. As soon as his palm comes down on your ass with the intention of prompting you to verbally respond, that ball bursts; sending pleasure through your whole body, and making your consistent moans turn higher in pitch, babbling his name repeatedly as your pussy convulses around his still-pistoning cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, fucking into you a few more times before he slows to a gradual stop. You can feel that he’s still hard within you and it makes you whine a little, pushing your hips back against him to try and get him back to work. “You’re shaking,” he points out, pulling out and carefully helping you down onto flat feet, taking some pressure off of your thighs. You melt back against him when he winds his arms around your waist supportively and kisses your head.

The two of you remain like that for a few minutes as you catch your breath back, and your body stops shaking like a fucking leaf.

“You okay?” he asks softly, lips trailing over your cheek and temple. It’s much too tender. You like it, yeah, but you hadn’t been prepared for the care he’s giving you.

He’s always cussed at you and called you names while looking at you with disturbed expressions. You’ve never cared about that; the names and harsh words have truly never bothered you, they amuse you more than anything. Seungcheol has never actually hurt you; even when he’s slapped you away from him or thrown items at you, he’s always purposely near-missed you. His aim is too good to unintentionally miss you all the time.

But this; the fingers trailing over you mindlessly, the lips brushing against your skin, and the words spoken in a fond voice you’ve never even fucking heard the man use, well, that’s a lot to take in.

“No,” you reply.

“Oh, what can I do? Did I hurt–”

“You can go back to fucking me.”

“You’re still shaking.”

“That’s because you were doing a good job! Gold star, Seungcheol!”

“What happened to Cheolie?”

“You don’t even fucking like it!” You groan and wriggle out of his arms with every intention of pushing him away and getting your clothes back on, but he pulls you right back in, chest to chest, and looks at you so devastatingly fucking adoringly that your breath catches in your throat in a giant ball of what the fuck Choi Seungcheol.

“I like it,” he murmurs. “I like it because it’s you. I just…couldn’t let you know that.”

“And now you can? You fucked me and now suddenly everything changes?”

“You wanted things to be the same?” He frowns, hurt trickling onto his expression as his arms fall away from you.

“I thought it was just sex,” you admit.

“Right,” he scoffs, yanking his boxers and jeans up as he steps away from you, dick sadly deflated despite being hard and pressed against your ass a minute ago. “See, this is why I never fucking wanted this!” he exclaims, turning angry now as he reaches down to grab your panties and trousers to toss at you harshly. You wince when the police-issue gun and holster smack into your ribs.

Seungcheol pauses for a split-second, noticing that he hurt you, but then he carries on, throwing your boots at you next. You don’t even bother trying to catch them and let them collide painfully with your thighs then topple down, the hard edges of the soles sending pain through the tops of your feet.

“Why are you just fucking standing there?!” he barks, stalking over to yank the items from your hands and get to his knees to roughly force your feet into the trousers and panties at once.

“Seungcheol–”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps. For the first time, you listen to him.

A few minutes later, you’re in the passenger seat of the car as Seungcheol drives recklessly through the back streets. You don’t even have it in you to tell him to slow down because you both would get arrested, and you don’t think even his lawyers could talk him out of getting locked up for driving a fake police car— with fake licence plates, and a fake cop in the passenger seat— over the speed limits, without either of you wearing seat belts.

He drives to a side street behind his apartment building, and doesn’t even put the car in park, just stops it and gets out, slamming the door behind him before storming off. You take it for the harsh dismissal it is and climb over the centre console to get into the driver’s seat to head off.

For the first time in years, you don’t see Seungcheol for days. You don’t think it’s wise to test him right now. You still don’t think he’d hurt you, but you think your presence would hurt him, and you don’t want that.

Despite what Seungcheol obviously thinks— and with good reason too because you didn’t say anything otherwise—, you do care about the man. A hell of a fucking lot.

It wasn’t instant; there wasn’t a moment where your eyes fatefully locked across the table on that set-up blind date between you and you just knew you were destined to live happily ever after together, that stuff is all bullshit anyway. You met like any other pair on a blind date with nothing spectacularly big and romantic about it. Really, the date was really both of your little groups of criminals and deviants trying to get information on the other group. You had both easily clocked one another, and although it could’ve gone badly, Seungcheol had asked you to team up on a job, and his gang was born shortly after.

Your connection was about work from day one; but spending time with the man— even when he told you to fuck off when you would jokingly hit on him—, it kind of really gave you a giant fucking weak spot in the shape of his stupid, charming face.

The relentless flirting and sexual remarks, although they are all genuine, became your way to hide the truth of your feelings. Lean into lust to hide the love. It just seems that it worked too fucking well.

You had honestly forgotten that the flutter in your stomach when your eyes meet Seungcheol’s isn’t all lust; that it isn’t just horny little demons running rampant and trying to tell you to get his cock in you, but butterflies too. Excited, pretty little butterflies flapping their wings and trying to lift you up into the clouds to where you and Seungcheol can skip merrily through the meadows together hand in hand like that scene in Shrek before the villagers chased the ogres down with pitchforks.

But that isn’t realistic. You can’t skip hand in hand through a meadow, mostly because Seungcheol has damaged his knees from throwing himself around too much to skip anywhere— though it would be funny to watch his hobbling attempt.

Well, at least up until a few days ago you thought it wasn’t realistic. You didn’t think Seungcheol has anything but a respect for you as one of his gang members, and a fucking good one too. He often turns to you to get shit done when others have failed. Or if it’s too risky, too important to send others in, you’re the one he goes to. You thought that’s all your relationship equates to.

But it seems, you haven’t paid enough attention to Seungcheol to have missed the man apparently having feelings for you.

It’s now obvious to you that he holds some kind of candle for you, but you’re not naive or hopeless enough to assume his tender touches— which had turned to hurt then anger— to be love. Choi Seungcheol likes you. Romantically.

Sexually too. That part was great, top marks. Gold star indeed. If that’s all it had been, you’re pretty sure you’d have been spread over his desk every day since; or tucked under it to cockwarm him with your mouth just like you offered. That would’ve been great.

But nope, feelings. And not the touching each other up kind of ones.

All in all, it’s a giant fucking shitshow, and not in the way you purposely orchestrate for your own twisted amusement. You hope things will fix themselves shortly, because you don’t know how much more of this you can handle.

But honestly, you really don’t think they will.

“So,” Minghao starts as he invites himself to join you in the car you’ve borrowed for the fun of it. You look at him with noodles hanging out of your mouth, and wide eyes. “What the fuck did you do to piss Seungcheol off so much?”

“Me?” you garble around the food still hanging out of your mouth and point at your own chest. The look the man gives you is utterly disgusted, and it makes you snigger before you actually chew and swallow your food. “Why do you assume I did something to piss him off?”

“Maybe the fact you haven’t been around in a week and every time I’ve suggested he asks for your help like we need, he pretends to have never heard of you while breaking yet another fucking pen in his fist.”

“Sounds like you need to stop getting cheap pens,” you mutter, reaching for your drink in the cup holder, but he takes it.

You watch as Minghao noisily slurps up the liquid through the straw, defiantly holding eye contact with you. But then he gags and quickly puts the cup in your awaiting hand so that he can turn, open the car door, and spit the drink out onto the parking lot of the restaurant you’ve parked in to enjoy your lunch.

“What the fuck is in that?!” he shrieks when he’s done sputtering, turning to look at you with wide eyes behind his wire-framed glasses.

“Coke.”

“That is not coke.”

“Both kinds. And mint schnapps.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Valid.” You nod and slurp at your unholy concoction.

It wasn’t even your choice; you accidentally dropped a badly sealed baggie of the white powder into your cup when you tipped the contents of the hip flask from the glovebox— where you also found the baggie of illegal drugs— into the cup. You had assumed it was whiskey or vodka or something normal, not fucking mint schnapps of all things. That’s what you get for tipping out the contents of a stolen hip flask from a stolen car into your drink without at least giving it a cursory sniff-test first.

Minghao watches you with something like fear on his features when you don’t even flinch at the truly disgusting flavour that coats your tongue. You’ve had worse things in your mouth, you can say that much.

Mostly thanks to Soonyoung’s own habit of shoving any food and drink into his mouth to consume like some kind of tastebud-less heathen. There’s probably a reason you’ve been friends for so long. One that doesn’t involve a blood pact you made as idiot children that you’re both too stubborn to turn your back on first.

“So, what did you do? Ask to put something questionable in his ass?” Minghao soldiers on as he steals the unopened chocolate bar from the dashboard to open and bite into, looking very relieved to have the haunting taste of your drink covered by the sweet on his tongue. “Ask him to put something questionable in your ass?”

“No,” you scoff, poking at your noodles with your chopsticks.

Minghao pauses in his rapid chewing to watch you consideringly. He’s never seen you like this; like you have actual human emotions beside lust and maniacal joy at making others suffer in various ways borne of your chaotic ideas.

“It’s serious,” he realises in a mutter. You shrug and give up with your lunch, suddenly not hungry for it, and pass it over to him so that you can start the car up. “What happened?”

“What’s the job?” you ask as you drive out of the lot in a way that closes the car door he hadn’t fully closed. The slam of the door makes Minghao jolt, he had forgotten it was even open, and then he rolls his eyes a little at you not asking him to shut it before driving off.

“He’s dealing with it.”

“That’s stupid if you think I should be doing it.”

“Yeah, well, according to him, you don’t exist, so he’s the best chance.”

“If you wanted to send me in, that means it requires a delicate touch–”

“You set a warehouse on fire last month; that’s not a delicate touch,” he reminds in a deadpan tone. You’d think that after these years of knowing you, he’d be used to your habits and hobbies by now, but nope. Minghao never fails to look at you like he has no idea what kind of demonic entity you truly are under your meatsuit. It’s kind of a compliment, really.

“That wasn’t for a job, that was for fun, leave me alone.”

“You…whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand, batting the subject aside before you can divulge further information about your less than moral interests. Which says a lot coming from the second-in-command of such a notorious gang. “He can handle the job; it’s just a different direction than you’d take.”

“Has he gone in fists swinging?”

“No. He’s seducing someone for information.”

“Ah, dick swinging,” you mutter, feeling a sourness growing in your chest and rising up your throat. You’ve not felt this before when you’ve heard of Seungcheol seducing someone to get the job done.

You haven’t even felt it when you’ve literally walked in on him balls-deep in some woman bent over his desk. You always just stand there until he notices you, then annoy him by dragging out whatever it is you’ve turned up for. It’s all fun and games. This burning tickling your throat isn’t.

Jealousy is not something you’re personally familiar with, and you immediately decide you hate it.

“You know he doesn’t…” he trails off, expression twisting as he recalls something, based on his expression. “Well, usually he doesn’t fuck his marks, but–”

“What?!” you exclaim, slamming on the breaks, and looking at Minghao with crazed eyes.

Minghao yells, which only grows when a car audibly swerves behind to not rear-end you. “Fucking drive, you idiot!”

“He’s fucked the mark?” you ask, voice eerily level in a way that makes Minghao look at you and swallow thickly.

For the first time, Minghao is genuinely scared of you. He knows you’re an unhinged, unrelenting mess at the best of times; and in a way, you do always scare him, because he never knows what you’re going to do. You could easily hurt him or anyone, but you haven’t; you’re usually too busy making sexual remarks to Seungcheol. Or to someone about Seungcheol, loudly enough that the man himself can clearly hear.

And Minghao knows you’re a competent fighter, he’s seen proof of it, but he’s never seen you fight yourself. He’s never seen you look so serious and pissed before either.

The carnage he’s seen the aftereffects of; the destruction you’ve caused, yet you’ve always had a grin on your face afterwards as if you’ve just been to an amusement park and had the time of your life splattered with blood. He knows how much damage you can cause in a good mood. So Minghao is genuinely terrified of what hell you can create when you’re in a foul mood, and right now? He thinks you would burn the world down along with anyone who gets in your way.

“He–he hasn’t, but he said he will if he needs to.”

“Where is he?”

The apartment you let yourself into is familiar, and really not where you expected to end up when Minghao had given you his phone to let you use the app he and Seungcheol use to track each other. You hadn’t known about this app, and you can only assume Seungcheol had made sure you didn’t know so that you couldn’t use it to stalk him. Which…valid worry. You definitely would’ve stalked him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you demand as you step into the living room and find Seungcheol slouched on the couch with a glass of whiskey in one hand, the bottle in the other and balanced on his thick thigh.

“This is my home,” he points out. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Where is she?” you ask, peering around before inviting yourself to walk through the apartment, slamming open doors to rooms as you go in search of the woman Seungcheol was seducing for information.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he retorts, following after you once he’s put the glass and bottle down on the coffee table. “Who?”

“The mark; Hao said you were planning to fuck her for information.”

“And you thought I’d bring her here?”

“Well how the fuck should I know?!” You turn to face him. “You don’t fuck your marks, Seungcheol! But you were going to, or have…” You eye him over; a black shirt unbuttoned to his chest and tucked into black trousers that show off his thick thighs and plump ass. Trousers you’ve told him you hope he never stops wearing, and then he promptly did stop, to your disappointment. At least you thought he had.

“I didn’t,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets after they twitch at his sides.

“No?” You lift your gaze up to meet his eyes, or at least try to, but he’s pointedly looking at the wall beside your left shoulder. “Did you get what you needed without fucking her?”

“No,” he admits, and tenses his jaw a few times.

“Then what?”

“I don’t want to fuck her! I thought I could do it, but I can’t.” He huffs and turns to storm back to the living room. Of course, you follow, and watch as he downs the contents of his glass before pouring out more.

“Why did you suddenly think you could when you’ve never wanted to fuck for a job? You said that to me before; that you don’t ever want to fuck for work.”

“Because…it doesn’t fucking matter.”

“Obviously it does.” You walk over and take the glass from him after he’s swallowed down the contents again. “This isn’t you, Seungcheol. I’m the one who drinks at 1pm, not you.”

“Well, maybe I should be allowed to be the fucked-up asshole for once, huh?” He stares down at you darkly. “Why are you allowed to be a fuck up and I can’t?”

“Because you’re better than me, you always have been.” You pick up the bottle and turn to take it to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises as he follows you. “I don’t mean that. You’re not a fuck up.”

“I am. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it, Seungcheol, so–”

“Please stop calling me that,” he breathes out.

You finish putting the lid on the bottle and put it in the liquor cabinet before putting the dirty glass in the dishwasher, and then you turn to look at him while leaning back against the counter behind you with your arms crossed loosely over your chest.

He looks…sad. You hate it.

“That’s your name, that’s what everyone calls you. That’s what you’ve been trying to get me to call you for years.”

“And you never fucking listened. Can’t…can’t we go back to that?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

Seungcheol does nothing but look at you for what feels like more than enough time for him to come to a definite answer hours ago. But he just keeps looking at you with those giant sad fucking eyes, and his fingers gripping the edge of the island counter in front of him as if he needs to hold on to something and what he wants to hold isn’t in reach.

“I can try,” he offers. “Can you?”

“I’m not the one who has been denying the other’s existence.”

“You’re not the one who got their heart broken,” he retorts sharply before taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes. A clear sign of trying to calm himself. “No, I can’t; I can’t do this,” he decides, opening his eyes to land them back on you. “You need to leave.”

“For how long?”

“This is my apartment–”

“That’s not what I meant,” you uncross your arms and walk the few steps to the island in front of you, on Seungcheol’s adjacent right and close enough that either of you could easily reach out and touch. Neither of you do. “I’ll leave your apartment; I won’t argue about leaving now. But I need to know if this is the end of everything, Seungcheol. The past five years of working together; does it end now?”

“Is that all you care about? The fucking gang? Not our relationship? But the fucking gang?”

“That is our relationship.” You give him a bewildered look. “Before last week there’s never been anything but the gang.”

“You’re serious,” he mutters in disbelief.

“Well, yeah.”

“Get out.”

“That doesn’t answer–”

“Are you seriously that fucking stupid?!” he snaps, poking his own head. “You got nothing going on up here past work, huh?”

You just stare at him, not sure how to respond, because admittedly, the things he’s been saying to you today have been hurting. Five years of insults and degrading names hasn’t once bothered you. But he’s never said hurtful things like this before.

“How Soonyoung has put up with you for so fucking long is beyond me.” He scoffs, and steps backwards away from you with a nasty expression on his face, eyes dark and cold in a way he has never looked at you. “He must be as fucking stupid as you.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that,” you warn, your own expression turning hard in defence of your best friend. “Say whatever you want about me but do not say a bad word against him.”

“Why not? Hurt your feelings?” he taunts. “Didn’t know you have those. Sure fucking fooled me.”

“Of course I have feelings, you dick, some of us just know how to keep them to ourselves and not let them rule our mouths.”

“Well you’ve kept yours really fucking close, great fucking job there. Gold fucking star. You’ve kept to yourself so much nobody knows shit about how you feel. I thought I did, but obviously, I was fucking wrong.” He turns to walk off yet turns back around and stalks right back to lean his palms on the counter and stare intently at you. “Just tell me this, did I ever mean fucking anything to you? Did you ever even think of me as a friend? I thought you did, but you’ve dismissed this so fucking easily. You’re so fucking willing to walk away and only ask about the gang that I’m pretty sure I’ve been a naive fucking idiot this whole time.”

“Friends?” you mumble in surprise, because honestly, you’ve never thought of Seungcheol as your friend. You’ve never tried to name what he is to you, but you’re not sure you could if you tried.

Soonyoung is your friend, even Minghao you’d consider a friend. But Seungcheol? Perhaps, at one point, you could’ve thought of him in such a way, but now you’ve been pushing down your true feelings for him for so long that you don’t even know how to classify him. Friend doesn’t feel right.

“Yes, friends, you know, people you like being around, people you can talk to about stuff other than work, get a drink with and have fun with.”

“Have we ever done any of that?” you genuinely wonder quietly.

You watch as the realisation dawns on Seungcheol, and his anger melts into something pained. “No,” he admits quietly. “We haven’t.”

“Well, I guess there’s the answer,” you mumble, chest aching at what you know this means. That you and Seungcheol have never truly had a relationship of any kind outside of work. You’ve never realised that before; never before had to consider what that means. You wish you had, maybe then things now would be different.

“Right,” he huffs a humourless laugh as he backs up, eyes looking anywhere but you even as he turns. “Show yourself out and don’t…don’t come back.”

You can’t be certain, he talks too quietly and moves out of the kitchen and down the hall too quickly, but you think you catch the glint of tears on his cheeks.

Weeks pass as you go about your life. As you try to make a new life without Seungcheol or his gang playing such a pivotal part in it.

You listened to his wishes; you left and didn’t return. You deleted his number and told Minghao it’s probably wise if he tells everyone that you’ve left the gang and won’t return; and then you deleted and blocked all of their numbers too, once they started calling and texting to ask what the fuck happened.

Soonyoung didn’t know what happened at first, but he loyally left the gang too, and then you both decided to just get new numbers to avoid the hassle of blocking everyone you’ve ever known in relation to the gang. And then they started to turn up at your apartments, so you packed up and left the city, and Soonyoung still didn’t ask what happened.

Of course, you did tell him though. You told him everything that happened with you and Seungcheol and had to talk Soonyoung down from driving back to the city to try and beat up Seungcheol for the things he said to you in his apartment. Try being the keyword, because although Soonyoung is more than a competent fighter and plenty strong enough, one of Seungcheol’s biceps is likely bigger than Soonyoung’s head.

But Soonyoung did calm enough to slap you around the head and call you an idiot for not telling Seungcheol the truth about your feelings when the man was clearly trying to start a relationship with you after fucking you dumb. You argue that the man had just fucked you dumb, so your brain wasn’t working. Soonyoung said your brain doesn’t work full stop. Which…is kind of valid, at least where human relationships are involved.

And that leads us to your new life with your best friend in another town a two-hour drive from the city, and where Soonyoung has already made friends with a man who it took Soonyoung a worryingly long time to realise is a hooker.

You quite like his new friend, and you like playing bodyguard with Soonyoung when Junhui dresses up in expensive clothes to bag the expensive clients his pimp sends him to meet. Junhui loves it too; having the two of you dressed up in suits and following behind him to keep him safe. He doesn’t even mind that you both stay at the edge of the room when he gets to work; honestly, you think he likes putting on a show for an audience.

“This guy is a friend of Jeonghan’s,” Junhui explains from the backseat of the fancy car that you can proudly say you didn’t steal. Soonyoung stole it. You’re so proud of him.

“Which is why daddy Hannie is joining,” Soonyoung hums in understanding, nodding his head, and almost hitting a lamppost before swerving at the last second after peering over the top of his dark sunglasses.

“Remove the fucking glasses, Soonyoung,” Jeonghan, Junhui’s pimp, sighs from Junhui’s right, with both hands gripping the leather seats under him. Which is very understandable. “And please stop lying to me that you have your driver’s licence.”

“Told you it’s obvious,” you mutter to your best friend, who slaps your tit as he childishly mocks you. So you backhand him in the dick, making him groan and double over, one hand over his crotch and his other arm hugging the steering wheel he’s leaning his chest against while biting the top of it in pain.

Junhui sniggers at the antics between you and your best friend, as amused as he ever is by the two of you. While Jeonghan, not for the first time, wonders what kind of circus Junhui found the pair of you in and if they’d take you back.

“So, what’s the deal with this dude?” you ask a few minutes later when Soonyoung parks over three spaces in the hotel parking lot and Junhui cheers at Soonyoung remembering to apply the brakes in time for once.

“He’s an old friend in town for business and wants to sweeten the guy he’s meeting tonight, so he asked me to bring my best,” Jeonghan replies while checking he has everything in his pockets by patting his clothing down thoroughly.

“Aw, Junnie, you’re daddy’s best,” Soonyoung coos, grinning over at Junhui, who preens proudly.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to call me daddy, Soonyoung. I said that to her, not you,” the pimp points out as you all get out of the car.

“What’s hers is mine and mine is hers,” your best friend replies airily.

“You’re married?”

“What? Ew, gross, no,” Soonyoung retches, and then stumbles when you shove him. He collides with the wall of the hotel, making you snort a laugh; at least until he turns and you notice that his glasses are broken, and you can see his unimpressed glare through the missing section of the lens. “I just got these!” he exclaims, taking off the sunglasses, and then carelessly tosses them into the bushes you pass by.

“I’ll get you another pair.”

“Better do. I want Gucci ones.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

When Jeonghan looks over at the pair of you in the elevator up to the penthouse suite, he has to do a double take at the Gucci sunglasses perched on Soonyoung’s nose. “Where did you get those?” Soonyoung points at you. Jeonghan gives you a flat look. “Well?”

“They were just sitting there.” You shrug.

“Where?”

You stare back at Jeonghan, making your expression innocent, knowing how much Jeonghan hates it when you pickpocket people for the fun of it. “Some guy’s head.”

“You stole sunglasses while someone was wearing them?”

“It was really impressive.” Soonyoung nods, entirely missing the point of Jeonghan’s gawping. “Jun’s really good at distracting; they make a good team.”

“You fucking helped?” Jeonghan gawps at Junhui, who just smiles sweetly at his pimp. “I’m banning you from hanging out with them.”

“You’re mydaddy, not my father,” Junhui scoffs.

Jeonghan clearly wants to argue more, but the ding echoes in the metal box, signalling that you’ve arrived at the suite; so he just takes a breath, and schools his expression in an impressively short time while the doors open.

The four of you step out into the little lobby before the suite entrance doors, and immediately, you swear, recognising the suited men standing guard outside of the suite.

“Oh, fuck,” Soonyoung whispers.

“You assholes!” one of the men exclaims, stalking over to flying-kick Soonyoung in the back of his thigh. “You fucking ghosted us!”

“Ow, ow, Kwan, stop it!” Soonyoung cries out, trying to stop Seungkwan’s furious kicks and slaps. “I need my legs to protect my slut!”

“Hey!” Junhui exclaims, and slaps Soonyoung too. “I am not yours.”

“Ow, attack her!” Soonyoung tries to shove Seungkwan over to you, but he takes one look at you and shrinks back before going back to hitting Soonyoung while hissing that you scare him too much to try to hit.

“Were you part of the gang?” Jeonghan asks, looking at you.

“You could say that,” you murmur, and look over to the grand double doors, then back to him. “You’re meeting Seungcheol?”

“Yes.”

“We shouldn’t be there, me especially.”

“Do you owe him money?”

“No, nothing like that we just…aren’t on good terms, I guess you could say.”

“Yeah, what happened anyway?” Seungkwan wonders, suddenly at your side and linking his arm with yours. “What’s the gossip?”

“I assume you enjoy having the use of your hands,” you speak, raising an eyebrow at Seungkwan, who backs away with his hands held up in surrender. “Good boy.”

“How much issue would it cause to take you in there?” Jeonghan asks, looking between you, Soonyoung, Junhui, his own expensive watch, and then the doors and back again.

“Oh, a shit ton,” Soonyoung answers with a hum. “We moved two hours away for a reason.” His face falls, and he looks at you with a sad pout. “Do we have to move again now that they know where we live?”

“No!” Junhui whines, wrapping his arms around you. “You have to stay. You’re my bodyguards! I feel so much safer with you watching over me, and I like having you watch too!”

“You can discuss this later; we need to meet Seungcheol before he gets sulky at us for being late,” Jeonghan sighs, tugging Junhui to his side. “You two wait out here. I’ll have to discuss this with Seungcheol to see if he will be against you doing what I fucking pay you for.”

“You pay us?” Soonyoung mutters confusedly, while you just nod at Jeonghan in agreement, so he and Junhui go into the room. “He pays us?”

It all goes a lot better than you expect. You don’t even need to be in the same room as Seungcheol. In fact, you don’t even see him until 3 am the next morning when you’re pulling him off of the man he was supposed to be making a business contract with; but apparently, Seungcheol found it necessary to beat the shit out of him in the hotel lobby.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask once you’ve got Seungcheol outside and around the side of the building. He’s seething, blood smeared over his hands and splattered on his face. “You were supposed to be making an ally, and I thought it was going well! What the fuck happened?!”

“You! It’s always fucking you!” Seungcheol turns to you and puts a hand on your upper chest to roughly pin you against the wall. You let him. “It was going well until he fucking– Why are you even here? You’re not a bodyguard!”

“Yes, I am,” you frown. “I’m here to keep Junhui safe, and I’m good at it.”

“Not in the eyes of assholes like that. You’re just more eye candy bastards like him think they can have. “

“Is that why you beat the shit out of him and ruined the past hours of work? Because he said some remarks about me?” you scoff. “I can handle that, Seungcheol, I–” You cut off when his hand is suddenly at your throat. He’s not squeezing or applying any pressure, but it’s a solid warning that he could.

You should probably be scared, but you’re not; even if the man looks utterly psychotic with blood smeared over him and wide eyes staring down at you. It’s probably really fucked up how hot you find it.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he growls, crowding you further against the wall, getting so close that his thick thigh slots between yours and his left forearm leans on the wall above your head. “What’s my name?” You raise your eyebrow. “Well?”

“Seungcheol,” your defiant response has his fingers curling around your throat and starting to cut off your air flow. It just makes your excitement grow and show in the sparkle of your eyes.

“Try that again,” he warns in a murmur, moving even closer, and pressing his thigh up against your crotch. “Go on.”

“Seungcheol.”

“Bitch.” And then he’s kissing you with the same desperation he first kissed you. His hold is firm around your throat, and his thigh is already rubbing against you in a way that has you grinding down while gripping his waist in one hand, and hip in the other over those fucking trousers that drive you insane. Well, more insane than you already are where Choi Seungcheol is involved. Which really says a lot.

“Uh.” Of course, of fucking course it’s Soonyoung who interrupts you, making you both look at him with matching pissed off expressions. “We should go; that dude is getting taken to the hospital, and the hotel is willing to look the other way thanks to Hannie, provided we all leave and you never show your face again here, Seungcheol. Hannie and Junnie have already gone.”

“She’s coming with me,” Seungcheol informs. “You go.”

“Can’t. Daddy’s banned me from driving.”

“Then fucking walk, Soonyoung.”

“We live so far away,” Soonyoung whines.

“I’m going to break his face if he doesn’t leave right fucking now,” Seungcheol warns as he looks at you.

“Just drive, daddy’s gone,” you point out with a shrug.

“Good point.” Soonyoung nods, then turns and walks off just like that without another word or complaint.

You hope he won’t crash on the way home, or forget that he’s driving a stolen car, meaning that he shouldn’t take it to your shared apartment. But you can never be too sure with Soonyoung. Oh well, he already knows you won’t visit him in jail; just like he wouldn’t you. Your blood pact never said anything about prison, after all.

“This is stupid,” Minghao mutters, glancing over to where Seungcheol has a possessive arm around you in the lift of the hotel they’re staying in for the night— a much less fancy one than the meeting happened in. “You told her to leave, and now you’ve fucking glued yourself to her and lost a lucrative deal to defend her honour or some bullshit.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Seungcheol retorts, giving Minghao a look that his right-hand man just rolls his eyes at.

“Whatever; just don’t expect me to walk on eggshells around you anymore. You’re hurting yourself here and you know it.”

“I’m the one who’s going to get choked,” you point out, earning a disgusted look from Minghao. “What? I know you’re into choking, don’t look at me like that.”

“How do you know what he’s into?” Seungcheol asks, looking between you.

“How do you not know?” you scoff, looking at Seungcheol as if he’s the weird one.

“Because I’ve never had sex with him.”

“Neither have I.”

“Or watched him have sex.”

“I haven’t…okay once or twice…maybe thrice…” Your expression twists thoughtfully as you try to recall every instance where you’ve watched Minghao have sex, intentionally or not.

“What the fuck?!” Seungcheol glares at Minghao, who holds up his hands placatingly.

“She’s a voyeur and I’m an exhibitionist; it just made sense when it happened. She usually walked in anyway. You know she has no sense of personal boundaries and invites herself wherever the fuck she wants to go.”

“You should’ve stopped!”

“You never did,” you point out, and push away from the wall when the doors open and let the three of you enter the corridor. “You never stopped when I walked in on you.”

“That’s different.”

“How? Sex is sex.”

“Right.”

“And I’m leaving, quickly,” Minghao informs, and then all but runs down the hallway ahead of you two to get to his room.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything until you’re both in his hotel room ensuite and he’s leaning back against the sink counter while you clean his split knuckles for him. “Is sex really just sex to you?”

“What else would it be?”

“It means nothing?”

“Is it supposed to?” You raise an eyebrow at him when you lift your head to meet his gaze. He’s got that sad puppy look again, the one that twists your heart painfully. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” You sigh and focus back on his hand. “Why did you kiss me, Seungcheol?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you and I don’t want you to leave.”

“And that means choking and kissing me?”

“That’s what you want from me, right? Sex? Just meaningless fucking.”

“No.”

“Oh.” You don’t need to be looking at Seungcheol to know his expression has fallen further into depths that will drag painful claws across your pitiful little heart if you witness it. “You don’t want me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what are you saying? I don’t know how to fucking read you, you know? I need you to talk to me. Every time I try to have an honest fucking conversation with you about this, you just stare at me and break my heart without even saying a word; at least have the fucking balls to do it verbally this time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. It hurts me too; seeing you with that fucking kicked puppy dog look.” You give up cleaning his hand and toss the blood stained cloth into the sink to step back with your hands on your hips. “And I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say. I’m fucking…emotionally incompetent!”

“What?”

“I don’t know, that’s what Soonyoung called me when I explained all this to him.”

“Emotionally incompetent?” You nod. “Why did he call you that? I mean, he’s probably right, but he’s usually the first to defend you, so for him to call you that means you fucked up.”

“I hurt you, of course I fucked up.”

“Not returning my feelings doesn’t mean–”

“Cheol.” He immediately cuts off, eyes rounding out at the nickname you haven’t called him in so long. Granted, you haven’t seen him to call him anything in so long, but the point still stands. “When did I actually say I don’t have feelings for you?”

“You said we’re not even friends.”

“We’re not; we might’ve been at one point years ago but…I can’t think of you like that. You…” You sigh and drop your arms to your sides. “You mean too much to me. I don’t know how to put any of it into words, and I was too shocked that day at the warehouse to say anything. And then you got pissed off and threw shit at me, and I just didn’t know how to navigate that. It was a lot.”

“You didn’t even show your face after,” he pretty much whispers, hands gripping the counter either side of his hips to try and ground himself. It reminds you of the day in his kitchen, the last day you saw him; when he was holding the island so tightly to stop himself from reaching for you. “You could’ve come to me and explained, and then we could’ve…things would be different.”

“I thought giving you space would be best. I didn’t want to make you worse. I thought that space would help, but Hao found me and said you were denying my fucking existence and planning to fuck a mark, and obviously you weren’t any better with the space.”

“I was a fucking wreck. I can’t do this; I can’t not have you there turning up to make remarks about my thighs or ass or whatever. I need you there by my side, so come back, please.”

“Just like that? I come back and things go back to how they were?”

“No. You come back and we figure out what works for us.”

“Sex works great; that was good.”

He chuckles and nods a little in agreement. “It was, and I’d really fucking love to do that more; I’m sure you’ve probably got an endless list of fucked up shit you want to do to me.”

“Oh, hell yeah I do,” you confirm, eyes widening as you think of your endless fantasies involving the man in front of you. “How do you feel about taxidermy?”

“We’re not involving taxidermy into our sex life, no fucking way,” he replies firmly. “That’s a hard fucking no; you keep that in your freaky head.”

“Noted. What about anal?”

“You went from taxidermy to anal how exactly?”

“Stuffing.”

Seungcheol tries not to laugh but breaks into an amused smile and motions for you to get closer. “You’re seriously insane, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we discovered this years ago, Cheolie.”

“Mm.” He slides his hands onto your hips as he smiles at you in a soft kind of way that makes your heart race.

“Cheol?” He hums. “Is…I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise before they soften back out, and he takes a gentle hold of your face and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips. “I love you too.”

“Oh, really?” He nods, and you grin happily at him. “That’s cool. We should get married or something.”

“Fucking hell, you can’t just spring that on me,” he groans, hiding his blushing face into your neck as his arms wind around your waist to hold you close.

“But we’re in love; we love each other, why should we wait?” You’re genuinely confused, and it makes him chuckle a little. “I’m serious, Cheol! Why should we wait to get married if that’s what’s going to happen anyway?”

“Alright, baby, let’s get married,” he agrees, straightening up and beaming at you so happily that you can’t help but smile back at him. “We’ll start arranging it as soon as we’re home, hm? But for now–”

“Sex, lots of sex,” you finish for him.

“I was going to say let’s sleep, but you’re right, who even needs sleep?” He hoists you up with a cheeky grin, while you giggle and wrap your arms and legs around him to make it easier for him to take you into the bedroom.

“You didn’t answer me about anal.”

“I don’t have anal lube, babe,” he chuckles, laying you down onto the bed and climbing between your thighs while removing his shirt.

“I don’t have a dildo or strap either,” you pout at the reminder.

“Wait, you meant my ass?”

“Yeah, I really want to fuck your ass; it’s made to be fucked.”

“Uh, I’ll consider it.”

“Okay.” You reach out to pull him back down and slot your lips together shortly. “Now, you owe me.”

“What, why?”

“You said you were going to fuck me until I can’t walk, and that never happened.”

“Because you let me think you don’t want me for more than just sex!”

“All I’m hearing is excuses and not enough action to put your cock in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, get naked.” He slaps your thigh a few times in encouragement while leaning back on his knees to unbuckle his belt. You make zero effort to move at all, except to prop yourself up on your elbows and watch intently as he slowly unfastens his belt. “Are you seriously just going to watch me strip?” he asks while teasingly dragging his fingers across the skin along the edge of his waistband with a cocky smirk once his belt is open.

“Dance for me, pretty boy.”

Seungcheol puts his hands on his hips and waits until you’ve dragged your gaze up from staring at the outline of his cock, over his bare torso, and to his face. He’s raising an eyebrow at you. “Did you just call me pretty boy?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking crazy,” he huffs a short laugh.

“Hey!” You lean up just enough to slap his thigh scoldingly, then sit up fully so that you can grope at his thighs with both hands— while he just watches with an amused, fond little smile at your utterly shameless actions. “You are pretty, my pretty boy.”

“Mm, I can accept that,” he agrees, holding your jaw with one hand firmly to tilt you up as he leans in to brush his lips over yours teasingly. “So long as I’m your pretty boy, I don’t mind being called that. So long as I’m yours, you can call me anything.”

“Okay, sugarplum.” You cackle at the world-weary sigh that Seungcheol lets out against your lips before he leans back to look at you unimpressed. “What’s the matter, pookie?”

“Why did you have to ruin the mood?”

“I ruined the mood?” You smirk and slide one hand up his thigh to grip his cock firmly, making him hiss through his teeth at the sudden, tight pressure. “Feels like you’re still in the mood to me, pretty boy.”

“I really must be insane.”

“We match well then, huh?”

“Mm.” He leans down to kiss you shortly. “Good thing we’re never having kids; they’d be sectioned before they reach adulthood.”

“Our house would be so fucking loud and chaotic, our neighbours would hate us.”

“They would,” he chuckles. “We’ll find somewhere new to live together once we’re married; away from noisy ass neighbours, and with a garden so I can fuck you outside and see how gorgeous you’ll look with the sun shining on you when you’re covered in my cum.”

“There’s a park down the road.”

“No,” he scoffs, and shoves you back to make you lay down before his hands move to roughly yank his belt free. “You’re mine, I’m not letting anyone else see you like that.”

“Even knowing they can look but not touch?”

“Maybe once I’ve covered you in marks and made up for the past five years of not being able to fuck you.”

“Sounds like a party.” You grin and then wiggle excitedly as he taps the folded middle of his leather belt against your inner thigh. “That’d leave pretty marks.”

“Mm, it would. You need to be naked for that though, baby.”

“You need to dance for me first,” you remind matter-of-factly before lacing your fingers together behind your head comfortably.

“You really want me to dance for you?”

“I’ve dreamed about you giving me a strip tease, don’t kill my boner, Cheolie.”

“You’re going to kill my boner if you keep saying shit like this.”

“Guess we need to invest in some gags.”

“Guess we do,” he murmurs, and licks his lips automatically at the thought of your lips stretched around a gag and drool running down your chin as you moan for him. “I’ll give you a strip tease another day; I need to fuck you too much right now.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, baby.”

“Okay.” You sit up and get to work, quickly stripping off your clothes, so Seungcheol climbs off of the bed to force his fitted trousers off his body along with his boxers.

When he kneels back on the bed naked, he finds you already laid there utterly nude with legs spread in wait for him to join you.

“How the fuck did you strip so fast?” he gawps, running his hands reverently over your thighs as he settles between them on his knees.

“Years of practise.”

“Stripping?”

“Had to be prepared for the day you give in to my seduction.”

“Well…good job.” He leans down over you, hands propping himself on the mattress so that he can kiss you.

“Thank you,” you preen, and run your hands up his sides to take the chance to touch as much of his strong torso as you can for the first time. You can’t fucking wait to spend the rest of your life touching him up. It’s going to be great. “Now, cock please.”

Seungcheol chokes on a short laugh at your words. “Good use of manners, sweetheart.”

“I thought so too. Definitely deserves a reward.”

“Mm.” He shuffles down a little, so that he can wrap his full lips around your left nipple and suck harshly, intent on starting his plan to cover you in hickies and handprints to mark his property.

“That’ll work,” you mutter, lacing fingers in his hair to encourage his mouth against your breast. “Not cock, but it’ll do for now.”

“Shut up,” he laughs against your skin.

“Make me.”

“Brat.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” he sighs before moving one hand over your chest and throat until he can press against your parted lips. There’s no resistance at all; your jaw drops enough to allow his middle and ring finger to slide into your mouth. “Good fucking girl,” Seungcheol praises in a low, rough voice as you instantly start to suck at his fingers, swirling your tongue around and between them with happy little moans.

Seungcheol keeps his mouth against your body, sucking and biting violent looking marks into your skin until he’s satisfied with his artwork. He moves down, dragging the fingers from your mouth as he does, smearing your own saliva in a trail all the way until he’s laid on his stomach between your thighs and attaching his mouth to your clit in the same moment he pushes those two wet fingers into you.

“Cheol,” you breathe out, pushing down against his fingers so that he doesn’t even dare think of waiting. He hums against your clit, making your thighs tighten momentarily, before he starts to work his fingers in rapid movements that make your eyes flutter, and fingers grip at him.

As your nails drag over his shoulder lightly, Seungcheol moans and arches up towards your hand, urging you on, encouraging you to grasp at him. Dig your nails in until he hisses and fucks his fingers into you harder and faster.

“H–how much can you take?” he asks, leaning up on his free hand, mouth and chin smeared with your arousal.

“Anything,” you promise, feeling as desperate as the wild darkness in his eyes tells you he feels.

Seungcheol nods and pulls his fingers from you as he moves up onto his knees. He doesn’t even ask you to move, just grabs you and manhandles you onto your front, chest against the mattress, and hips up just enough to give him a better angle to begin sliding his thick cock into you.

Maybe you hadn’t been quite as ready as you could’ve been. As you perhaps should’ve been. It’s been a while since you put anything but your fingers in your pussy for a quick session since moving away from the city. Living with your nosey ass best friend doesn’t give you the freedom to get your toys out; Soonyoung seems to have the uncanny ability of popping up and making a big deal out of it. Lots of screaming and acting like he’s been visually assaulted. You do the same to him. Your relationship is full of a lot of love and mutual, mature respect, clearly.

It’s a tight fit, and Seungcheol grips your hips tight as he painstakingly splits you open, with his mouth parted and eyebrows furrowed as if in pain. Not that you can see. Or have the mental capacity to do anything but grip the pillow and almost suffocate yourself in it with the way you press your open mouth against the material.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he pants when he stops before he’s even buried his entire length in you. “Baby, I don’t–I don’t know if this is a good idea, fuck.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you warn, turning your head to glare over your shoulder at him while reaching back to grab his ass and stop him from pulling out as he starts to.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then I’ll do it,” you huff and push yourself up onto your hands. Admittedly shaky hands, but you’re too focused on your task to care. Too stubborn and desperate to get obliterated by his cock.

“Babe–”

“Shut the fuck up, Choi Seungcheol,” you demand, pushing yourself back harsh enough that he flails and drops down onto his haunches as he swears, hands still gripping you though. His mouth says one thing and his body another.

It’s a task getting your body upright until you’re on your knees, hands free to hold onto his forearm and thigh, but when you do, you only take a moment to stop the spinning of your mind before you start to bounce on his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, spreading his thighs a little wider, and rolling his hips in time with your bouncing. He’s not thrusting, but his minute movements help to open you up a little more with every slap of your skin against his.

This position isn’t very practical for you, not with Seungcheol. Not when it makes his cock feel even bigger than it actually is, and your entire body trembles as it presses and drags against your walls in ways that feel like utter sin. You’re dripping all over him, ruining the bed, and you don’t even care. Neither does he.

“Your turn,” you murmur, falling still on his lap as you lean back against his chest to catch your breath at least a little, and give your burning thighs a break. It’s a lot more work to ride him like this than you expected. You’ll have to take up a new workout routine so that you can do it for longer next time. You’re determined.

Seungcheol takes the moment of calm stillness to brush his lips over your shoulder and let his hands explore over your chest and spread thighs.

One of his hands trails between your legs to feel at where your pussy is spread around his cock. He makes a low, pleased sound before abruptly rubbing quick, harsh circles over your clit. You shriek in surprise, body tensing at the sudden attack, and nails digging into the skin of his thighs under your own.

“You gotta cum first,” he informs, stopping his circles for only a second to bring his hand back then down, landing a firm slap to your clit, and making your body jerk as you moan brokenly. “That’s my dirty girl, fucking knew you’d like this,” his tone is nothing but aroused and approving as he slaps your clit again, while holding you in place with his other arm wrapped securely around your waist and his hand on your chest. “You’re gonna cum like this, understand?”

“Cheol–”

“I said, do you understand?” Another slap: this one harsher in a toe-curling way, before he drags his palm and fingers over your clit in a way that could be considered almost soothing if he wasn’t pressing as firmly as he is.

“Fuck, y–yeah. Don’t stop,” you agree, nodding where your head is tilted back against his shoulder. “But…”

“What?” You don’t answer verbally and instead grip his left wrist to pull his hand up from your chest and to your throat. “I fucking love you,” he declares, before squeezing your throat at the same time as he sucks on the side of your neck to create a new claim, his right hand moving to slap your clit in rapid succession.

It’s only a few seconds of the combination; the intense pleasure from all ministrations melding together and sending a sharp orgasm through your body. Your body moves naturally as if trying to fight it and get away as you gasp for air you can’t get yet. Your nails drag deep red marks over his skin, which only encourages him to fuck up into your convulsing walls.

“Good, good,” he breathes against your neck, and drops his palm from your throat back to your chest, both so that you can breathe clearly, and so that he can hold you to him. He doesn’t stop playing with your clit though, his hips humping up into you and barely moving his cock, but it’s still almost too much stimulation.

The first orgasm is barely even over before another rocks through your body.

This time, Seungcheol removes his hand from your clit, giving you some respite, and murmurs praise against your shoulder the entire time it takes you to come down from the combination of both climaxes.

“You okay?” he asks gently when you turn your head to blink your eyes open and peer at him. You hum and nod, giving him a dopey, sated smile that makes him laugh. “Can you take more?”

“Whatever you’ve got,” comes your confident response.

“That’s my girl,” he smirks, looking nothing but proud of you and your pussy for being able to handle his thick cock. You’d puff like a peacock if, you know, you weren’t human.

Seungcheol takes a moment to just kiss you, lips and tongue meeting languidly as best as you both can considering the angle. You personally think it works very well, and you’d give you both top marks.

And then, he pushes you down against the mattress, one hand on the back of your neck to keep your cheek smushed against the pillow, and his other hand holding your hip firmly to fuck into you in a brutal manner.

The headboard knocks harshly against the wall with every powerful stroke of his hips. The back of your thighs and ass are already starting to sting with the strength of his thrusts. His fingers bruise marks into your hip and neck as he hold you securely in place and forces you to just fucking take it.

And you’re in heaven.

If you weren’t in love with the man before, you sure as fuck are now.

Nobody has ever fucked you like this. Nobody has handled you so well in every way. And you just know with everything in you, that nobody else ever will. You’re definitely gonna marry the fuck out of Choi Seungcheol.

It doesn’t last much longer really; not that you can really blame Seungcheol considering he sat there and felt your pussy squeeze and cream over his cock twice already. And now he’s battering your walls so perfectly in a way that borders on painful in the most delicious of ways, so you’re squeezing him all over again in minutes, and almost screaming into the pillow as he forces another strong climax from your body.

You don’t even have the mental clarity to realise he’s stopped, his hips juddering against you as he cums as deep in you as possible with a string of low, rough moans with your name sprinkled in.

“Oh, fuck,” you grunt when he lowers your hips to the mattress without pulling out, just so that he can almost flatten you under his own body weight. You know he’s not entirely laid on you; you can feel the bulge of his biceps against your upper arms as he holds himself up just enough to not squish you.

“Shut up; you said you can take anything I give you,” he reminds in between pressing sweet, lingering kisses to your neck.

“Meant your giant cock, not giant ass.”

“You love my giant ass.”

“Mm. So, can I peg you?”

“Can’t we just enjoy the post-sex bliss without you ruining it?”

“No.” You wiggle your ass, making him groan, and then bite your shoulder in retaliation.

“Don’t get me hard again; I’ll pass out if we go again before I sleep.”

“That’s not a problem, unless you squish me, or go soft.”

“Are you implying you’d carry on fucking even if I pass out?”

“What? Because you wimp out, I have to suffer?” You scoff and then wiggle again. “Got a problem with me using your body when you’re unconscious?”

Seungcheol is silent for a moment in thought. “Just don’t stick anything in my ass.”

“Mm, I can accept that. I want you to be awake when I ruin you anyway.”

“I really don’t know what I’ve got myself into with you, do I?”

“Nope.” You grin over your shoulder at him. “You said you’ll marry me; you’re stuck with me forever.”

“I think I’m okay with that.” There’s a smile on his face as he moves off of you so that he can turn you enough to comfortably kiss you in a way that feels something like a promise.

A promise to be okay with your endless depravities. A promise to marry you as soon as possible and buy a house together. A promise to spend the rest of his life loving you; his utterly bat-shit crazy troublemaker.

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"I think we should... take a break," Jeonghan says, his voice muffled by his hands. "We can't keep doing this. We can't keep going round in circles, arguing about the same things over and over. You're tired of it, and frankly... so am I. I'm really, really tired."

You barely recognise your own voice when you reply, "I...I didn't..."

"I know," Jeonghan replies, although he doesn't actually know what either of you mean. "I know. But I'm also allowed to be upset at this. At you. I can't keep coming home and fighting a new war each time. We can't do this and then pretend everything's fine five minutes later. You're stressed, I'm never available enough... we're not the same people we fell in love with. We're not the same people we used to know."

It all sounds very transactional, you almost say out loud. But all that comes out of you is a gentle nod. A nod more gentle than anything you'd said or done to him these few months. "Right."

Above all, you were sorry. Sorry that you'd driven the both of you to this bitter, bitter end. Sorry that you couldn't even apologise for it. Sorry that you were the reason why this man, this beautiful man who had always loved to smile, couldn't even look you in the eye right now.

He looks up, as if he can't believe your easy agreement himself.

You swallow so hard that the lump in your throat actually hurts. "Okay. Um... I'll go."

He looks alarmed at your words. "No, you don't have to--"

"I can't stay, Ha-- Jeonghan," You mumble, looking around the house. A roof, and four walls containing so many fond memories. Way too many than what's good for you. Of him lying in your lap, of singing completely off-key to Katy Perry, of drunken giggling and inside jokes and dancing in the dark. "This place is yours. You bought it. I'll...I have to go. I'll go now."

"Not now," He replies, standing up. "It's late, and it's cold. Don't just go now because we're taking a break--"

"It's--it's really nice of you," You mumble, wiping your nose. "Really. I'm not leaving because I don't want to see you. It's just that if I continue to see you, I think I might not want to leave anymore. Take this as me trying to give you the peace you -- we need. I... I really have to go."

He shakes his head. "Stay for the night, at least. We've... we've loved each other too much to let this just be the end of it. And I really don't feel great about you leaving right now."

Loved. The word rings through you. And it takes all the fight out of you. So all you do is nod. "I'll take the couch."

Jeonghan still looks uncomfortable at the idea. But you, too, shake your head. "Please don't try to convince me."

After a few moments, he finally relents. "Alright, then."

You pack quickly in (what used to be) your shared bedroom, spend one exceedingly awkward night on the couch, and by eleven the next morning, you're closing the front door and stepping away from the apartment you called home. You don't even know if Jeonghan wakes up to see you leave. By eleven, you've bid goodbye to the life you once knew, and to the man you'd given your entire heart to.

It's summer, and you're alone.

The months have truthfully flown by. You don't see Jeonghan at all, and you make no move to contact him. Work is the same as it always is, only now you throw in a hundred and ten percent just to make sure you're well and truly exhausted by the time you get home. You don't want to leave any space in your time, or your head, to think about him.

A nice, long drink before bed is your alternative. But alcohol, as you know it, has always been a fine line, and it only takes a teensy step, a "just one more" to turn everything upside down and cross it to the point of no return.

And so you find yourself dialing his number one warm night, intoxicated and barely seeing straight. The half-empty tequila bottle reflects all the mistakes you're about to make. He picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

Some part of your consciousness is screaming no, no, no!!! And yet, you can't bring yourself to hang up just yet. So you just stay silent and hear his voice.

"Hello?" He repeats. "Are you there? What's happening? Are you okay--"

"I'm okay," You reply, lips curving into a smile. "Aaaalll good."

There's a pause. You can almost hear the click in his brain when he makes the connection, because he's Jeonghan, your boyfriend of four years -- well, was, and he knows you so well, you could say he knew you inside out, and--

"Are you drunk?"

"No!" You insist. "Mm... I drank a little, but you know me, I have an iron liver--"

"The tolerance of a fruit fly," He interrupts, deadpan. "Are you drinking at home or outside--"

"Oh, home," You reply airily. "Home, home. Although I don't know where that is."

"Do you need me to pick you up--" He sounds alarmed. "Are you lost? Send me your location."

"No, no," You sigh. "I'm saying that just 'cos... I'm not used to it, you know?"

"Used to what?" He asks softly.

"Just... this!" You gesture around your kitchen, as if he can see it from wherever he is. "A great big apartment, and plates for so many people, but no one at home. Just me and my four walls. And this Jose Cuervo."

He stays silent.

"Oooh, plates." You say, opening a cabinet and promptly bumping the door into your head. "Oh, ow."

"Baby-- I mean--"

"Yeah, there's baby ducks on this one," You say happily, pulling one out. "I bought it because I thought you'd like how their beaks are lopsided."

"Hey," He says. "Look, I know you're drunk, but you can't just do this in the middle of the night."

"Riiight." You reply, face flushing red. "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing myself, aren't I?"

When he doesn't reply, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. This isn't the Jeonghan you know -- the one you love would always reply, always talk, always play along with the bit, because you'd laugh, and he'd smile because you were laughing.

"I'm sorry you had to pick up... bye--"

"Wait. You're sure you're safe? Do you need me to come and find you?"

"No, no," You say. "Don't come near me. Don't come and find me."

"What?"

"If you come, I might not let you leave," You mumble, a little more incoherently. "I can't get used to... I'm gonna go now."

"Well, finish your thought before you go," He says sternly. "You can't get used to what?"

"I just got used to not being at home," You reply, the phone beginning to slip from your jelly fingers. "My home doesn't feel like one right now."

"Yeah?" He asks, quieter now. "What does home usually feel like, then?"

"Like you," You say sleepily, the phone falling, seconds from clattering on the table. "I think it always felt like you."

And then you fall asleep, the tequila finally taking over.

It's almost autumn, and Jeonghan spots you first in the grocery store in the central district. You're focused on picking out the perfect apple.

You almost turn on your feet and bolt when he calls your name, but you force yourself to slowly turn around and face him. "Oh. Jeonghan. Um... hi."

Jeonghan looks at you. You don't look like you want to be here at all. You're looking everywhere but at him, you're shifting on your feet, and you look jittery -- something he'd only seen the night before you'd surprised him with a watch he'd been eyeing for months.

So, instead of firing off questions, he glances at a nearby diner. "Want to grab something to eat? They serve good shakes."

--

"How are you?"

"Oh, uh, fine." You fidget with the edge of the menu. "As per normal."

"Where did you go to stay?" He asks again. "I couldn't get a hold of you after... everything. I wondered where you went."

"Just further away," You shrug. "Found a studio apartment closer to work, and, well, it's just me. I don't need a space that big."

He nods once.

It takes a few more bites before he takes a deep breath and tells you, "I'm sorry. For how I... ended things. I -- I don't..."

"Jeonghan, you don't need to apologise," You interrupt, putting your fork down. "Honestly, it was mostly my fault. We were just trying to survive on our own, and I made you feel horrible for doing it differently than I was. You didn't deserve that."

He nods silently, raising an eyebrow. "That's... really nice of you to say."

"And I should have realised..." You clasp your hands and look down at them. "That you five years ago wouldn't be the same as you now. I loved you because of your kindness, and gentleness, but now I know... being in love with you didn't mean finding you only in what I thought you were."

Jeonghan stares hard at you, as if he hasn't quite seen you properly before. "What does loving me mean, then?"

"I think it means finding you in every version, even when you're worn down by life and rebuilt by growth, because it's all the real you," You look down at your own plate. "And choosing to love all of it, and every version of you still to come. I know that now."

"I'm not going to ask you for another chance," You continue, swallowing hard. "I know we're way past that. I just wanted you to know that... I'm trying to become better. I'm trying to learn how to stop controlling something that I should've let run its course."

And it's really good to see you again, you almost say, but hold your tongue.

The remainder of the meal passes in silence, and when you can see the bottom of your glass and Jeonghan has taken his last bite, you offer a small smile. "It was nice to talk about this. Really. Thanks for staying to eat."

He doesn't say anything, just continues to watch you silently as you gather your things.

You bid him goodbye, and leave the small diner. You're about to step on the crosswalk when you hear rapid footsteps. You turn and Jeonghan's standing right behind you, looking as though he can't quite believe himself either.

"Um... are you okay?"

"No."

"Oh," You reply. "Did... did I say something hurtful again? Look, I'm really sorry--"

"No, you didn't."

"What is it, then?"

He shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this."

"What?"

"There's just one tiny, really important flaw in your otherwise stunning reflection," He mutters.

"What do you mean?"

"You really weren't going to ask for another chance?"

"No...?"

"And that's where you went wrong," He declares firmly. At your incredulous expression, he shakes his head. "You're right that 23-year-old me won't be the same as I am now. But every version of me, whether I'm 23, 28, or 90, will always want you."

"Jeonghan--"

"I wasn't perfect either," He tells you ruefully, shutting his eyes as if he can't face you. "I shut down and stopped talking. I didn't tell you what I really wanted. You're not a mind reader. I shouldn't have assumed you'd just know."

"Still. I had the nastiest mouth. I recognise that now."

"And you're learning from it," He counters. "I'm not making excuses for your mistake. If you haven't noticed, you're more at peace. You seem.. calmer, less on edge. I had lessons of my own that I needed to learn, too. I can't let you take all the credit for this one." A wry smile finds its way onto his face.

You huff a laugh. "So what now?"

"What now?" Jeonghan repeats, taking one timid step closer. "We sit down. You call me out on my shit, and I'll call you out on yours. We'll talk about everything huge and small, even if we think it won't matter later on. We won't be stupid and try to start over as friends. I know I said I was tired, but frankly, I'm even more tired having to go through my day waiting for you to call while sober, or wishing that I could call."

"I would've picked up if you did," You admit.

He smiles. "I know. So would I, drunk or not."

It's winter, and you've never been happier.

He catches you being more aware on what you're saying, and how you're saying it. You notice him trying to vocalise his thoughts, when he's struggling and when he needs comfort. And suddenly, your words make a hundred times more sense, even to you.

To fall in love with Jeonghan had always been easy. To love him over and over, during the easy and the hard, was the part where you could never stop trying. Luckily for you, you had someone who was just as willing to choose you, over and over again.

thank you for reading! 🪽

Every morning was the same.

He would wake first, crawl out of bed and drift to the kitchen with barely a glance. He would stare blankly at its shelves after opened, mentally conjuring up breakfast ingredients from the meager remains.

Behind him, his wife would stand by the electric kettle, waiting for it to boil so she could make her coffee.

Neither of them would speak, only the low whirring of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of a spoon against a ceramic mug.

It wasn't awkward, not anymore, it had just become normal, so normal that he had stopped thinking about it.

The rest of the day passed much the same.

In the evenings, he would sink into one end of the sofa, scrolling through his phone, videos flickering on the screen without registering.

His wife would settle on the other sofa, the light from the television painting shifting hues across her face as she watched a drama he no longer invited her to share.

The space between them wasn't large, just a few feet, but it seemed an impassible expanse. Neither of them dared cross it—they shared the same roof, the same meals, the same bed, but not the same life.

The television flickered off with a soft beep.

Dokyeom barely glanced up. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as she rose, then the front door opened, and closed.

The apartment was quiet.

He scrolled for a minute, then another. And then, he noticed.

The silence, it wasn't the usual one he'd grown accustomed to. This one felt… heavy, colder, too quiet.

He lowered his phone, and almost unconsciously, he stood up. His feet carried him towards the door before his mind had time to process. Past apartment buildings, past the glow of convenience stores, past hurried strangers under a twilight sky.

He didn't know where he was going, his feet just led him on.

Eventually, they brought him to the entrance of an underground train station. He stepped onto the escalator descending into the earth, absentmindedly unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking a long drink.

The city stretched out below him, a carpet of light and movement. Then-

"Sorry!"

A person hurried past him on the escalator, and before he could even flinch, their shoulder bumped hard into his, water in his water bottle sloshed onto his shirt, tumbled from his grasp, and so did his wedding ring. It clattered once on the metal step before vanishing into the shadows below.

His eyes widened in surprise, but his gaze didn't fall to search for his lost ring. It lifted to follow the retreating figure of the person who'd bumped into him.

They didn't look back. They just continued their hasty retreat, disappearing into the throngs of commuters, a receding silhouette.

He felt a tightening in his chest.

Her back… it looked achingly familiar, so like his wife's.

Always just a few steps ahead, always drifting further away, always leaving him behind.

And for the first time in months, maybe even years, Dokyeom finally understood. Their marriage wasn't shattering because of a single explosive argument, it was slowly disintegrating in the quiet spaces between them, day by silent day.

He swallowed hard.

... Is it too late?

The escalator hissed to a halt at the bottom, and he stepped off and turned a corner, but stopped.

"...Huh?"

His brow furrowed.

Why… why was he here?

He looked around the crowded station, searching for an answer that remained elusive.

He couldn't remember why he had left home, he couldn't remember what had been troubling him. The only thing he felt with unwavering certainty was this: He love someone.

A small smile tugged at his lips without him noticing.

He'd been dating his girlfriend for years.

A nervous laugh bubbled out.

He reached into his pocket, almost feeling the small velvet box that he was so sure should be there.

"I should propose soon."

The words left him with calm conviction. As if they had always been part of the plan, as if marriage hadn't already happened.

The strange feeling lingered for only a second before disappearing completely.

Dokyeom smiled to himself.

He had been planning one for weeks.

He checked the time on his phone before hurrying out of the station, his heart beating faster with every step. A small florist sat just outside the exit, and after spending far too long debating between colors, he settled on a bouquet of white and pale pink roses.

"They're for someone special?" the florist asked with a knowing smile.

Dokyeom laughed sheepishly.

"...Hopefully my future wife."

The florist grinned.

"Then I wish you good luck."

With flowers in one hand and a ring box tucked safely inside his coat pocket, Dokyeom made his way to the riverside park where he'd asked Y/N to meet him, and she was already there, standing beneath the warm glow of a streetlamp, absentmindedly watching the river shimmer beneath the evening sky.

The moment she noticed him, her face lit up.

"You made it."

"I almost didn't."

She laughed.

"You were the one who picked the place."

"I know."

Dokyeom rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly forgetting every speech he'd rehearsed.

His palms were sweating, his heartbeat pounded against his ribs.

Y/N tilted her head.

"Dokyeom?"

"...Can I ask you something?"

She nodded.

He slowly lowered himself onto one knee, and the world seemed to quiet around them. People walked past, cars crossed the bridge overhead, the river continued flowing as though nothing extraordinary was happening.

Yet for Dokyeom, time had stopped.

He opened the small velvet box, inside rested a simple silver ring.

"I don't think I'll ever find the perfect words," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "but I know I want to spend every ordinary day with you."

His eyes never left hers.

"I want to laugh with you. I want to cry with you. I want to grow old with you. And when things get difficult..."

His voice grew softer.

"I promise we'll talk. No silent treatment, no pretending everything's okay. If something hurts, we'll say it. If something feels lonely, we'll tell each other. I don't ever want us to become strangers living in the same home."

He swallowed.

"And..." A bashful smile tugged at his lips. "I'll keep dating you, even after we're married. I'll surprise you with flowers. Little gifts, random notes—I'll never stop trying."

His eyes glistened.

"So..." He took a shaky breath. "Will you marry me?"

Y/N was already crying before he'd finished asking. She laughed through her tears, nodding over and over again.

"Yes… yes, of course I'll marry you."

The ring slid perfectly onto her finger. And for the first time that evening, neither of them cared about the people watching. They simply held each other, as though they'd already found home.

It wasn't a perfect marriage life, no marriage life ever was. There were forgotten anniversaries, burnt dinners, stress from work, exhausting weeks where they barely saw each other.

But every time life threatened to bury their affection beneath routine, one of them reached first.

Sometimes Dokyeom came home carrying a single sunflower because he'd passed a flower shop and thought of her. Sometimes he left handwritten notes inside her books.

"Don't skip lunch."

"Proud of you."

"See you tonight. Love you."

Sometimes Y/N surprised him with homemade desserts after difficult workdays. Sometimes she bought matching mugs simply because they made her think of him.

Neither waited for a special occasion.

Love became something they practiced. And years passed.

The gifts became less extravagant.

A favorite drink, a warm meal waiting on the table, a scarf wrapped around the other's neck before leaving the house, a forehead kiss before work.

A whispered "Drive safely.", a sincere "Tell me what's wrong."

The gestures were small, but they were never absent, because neither of them ever stopped dating the person they had married.

Their love did not survive because it stayed exciting forever, it survived because they kept choosing each other after the excitement faded.

Because somewhere in another life, Dokyeom had stopped.

The flowers became yearly, then forgotten. The handwritten notes disappeared. Conversations became one-word replies. He came home and scrolled through his phone, she watched television alone.

They convinced themselves that comfort meant effort was no longer necessary, but by the time either of them realized love had grown quiet, silence had already settled into every room.

They stood on the edge of divorce, wondering where the years had gone.

But love had never disappeared overnight, it had simply been left unattended, like a fire without another log to keep it burning.

Love dies quickly when it is only expected to exist. It lasts when two people choose, every single day, to kneel beside the fading embers, and gently start the fire again.