#tbzwriters

You let out a heavy, tired sigh. You know you were in the wrong the moment he lashed out at you about you not putting any effort into the relationship. The truth is, work tired you out and coming home only meant that you slept the night away and barely spent any time with him. Then, you'd neglect him by spending the rest of your free hours outside the house, laughing away with your friends when Sunwoo was always there, waiting for you. No wonder he's mad at you. You'd be livid if you were in his place.

"Sunwoo," you knock again and again. No answer, "please Sunwoo. We can't fix this if you won't talk to me."

Still, no answer.

But then, the door swivels open and your eyes fall onto his own dark ones, furrowed in silent anger and -- what you hate the most -- disappointment.

Instantly, your eyes fill with tears as you choke out another apology, hating the way his gaze pierces yours in a manner that makes your heart ache in your chest. Sunwoo sighs, before his shoulders relax and he opens his arms, beckoning you to come closer.

You don't hesitate. Flinging yourself into his chest and burrowing intk his warmth, you allow yourself to feel him against you, his scent wrapping you in a secure embrace and causing a sob to bubble up your throat.

"I'm sorry," you croak out, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," his hand smoothes over the side of your head, "it's okay Y/N."

"I didn't realize how horrible it-- how horrible it would be for you," you stumble through your string of explanation that you're not sure makes sense, but Sunwoo seems to be nodding along, "I would've been mad too. I know I fucked up, just-- please--"

That's when your eyes flutter up to meet his, blinking away the tears while murmuring, "don't break up with me."

It takes a few seconds of impending silence where your heart drops to your stomach. Oh no, maybe he really does want to break up with you. Maybe your mistakes is one that can never mend your relationship back together, as stupid as it sounds.

His murmur is so soft you barely hear it, "I'm not going to break up with you, crazy girl."

And then he's holding you a little closer, a little tighter as your relief floods through your body in the form of tears. You feel his lips a few seconds later, imprinting softly on the side of your head.

"I'm sorry I was angry at you," he whispers in your ear.

"No, you had all the right to be," your voice is muffled against his shirt when you reply, "I was being really ignorant. I never meant to hurt--to hurt you."

"It's okay," another kiss lands at your cheekbone, then against each of your eyelids with a softness that leaves you breathless and your heart melting like butter, "I forgive you."

Lifting your face to gaze into his eyes, a soft breathe escapes your lips at the tenderness flickering through his face, "I don't know what I'd do if you break up with me."

"Well you can stop thinking about that," he huffs, "because that's not gonna happen."

Breathing in his soft, masculine scent and burying your face even closer if that's even possible, your eyes flutter closed when he plops another kiss on your cheek.

"Come here," he murmurs, pulling you with him as he sits down onto his bed, with you on his lap while his hand comes around your waist to caress the side of your hip with affection. Warmth pools into your stomach at his touch lingering over your skin and you nuzzle his cheek like a baby, causing him to chuckle.

Your hands don’t hesitate to lace around the back of his neck and your fingers automatically play with the soft strands of hair lingering over his nape. 

"Wanna order pizza and watch a movie later?” Sunwoo tilts his head back so that he can look into your eyes. 

You look up at him, mouth pulling into a soft tender smile at the hope lighting his expression like an excited child, “I’d love that.” 

“Pepperoni and cheese?” 

"What about pineapples?” 

“I tell you, pineapples do not belong on a pizza.”

“Do too,” you stick out your tongue.

“Do not,” he chuckles while pushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. His thumb caresses the edge of your cheekbone, lingering a little bit longer than necessary. Breath hitching slightly at his closeness, your body leans into his touch out of instinct and Sunwoo’s smile widens. 

“Know what?” His mumble comes out half-coherent, dark gaze locked on yours with such intensity that all breath seems to freeze inside your chest, your heart quaking slightly at the intimate affection apparent on his face. 

“What?” your teeth find purchase onto your bottom lip.

“I think pizza can wait,” he murmurs with his mouth practically hovering over yours. He waits for a few beats of silence, in which he hope he can’t hear your heart beating out of your chest. 

And just when you think that he’s going to pull away from you, his mouth lands on yours. A gentle kiss, soft as sunlight cascading over a flower’s petal. You sigh and fully resign yourself into the kiss while your body molds against his. 

"Oh nothing," you chirped back by putting as much energy in your voice as you could, happy to be occupied with the vegetables as the broth on the stove simmered happily in harmony. You tried hard not to squirm and quickly tried diverting his attention, "how was your day? Had a nice time with the boys?" 

It was only when silence answered you that your eyes impulsively glanced up only to notice Sunwoo approaching all too fast. He closed the gap between your bodies, grabbed the chopped up vegetables and slid them into the bubbling broth. 

Then, he swivelled around, arms caging you against the counter with such speed that you gasped at the close proximity and at the scowl that halted the series of protests rising up the back of your throat, suggesting that he wasn't in the mood to dance around problems. Not tonight. 

"Sunwoo, the soup--" 

"--Is simmering," he cut you off, voice grovelling with restrained emotion as he searched your face. You averted your eyes to focus on his shirt -- it was rumpled, probably from having been tossed aside when he ditched it to play basketball earlier -- but it seemed like Sunwoo had expected that, for his fingers found your chin before he tilted your face upwards, so that your eyes had no choice but to clash with his.

"Tell me," he snapped and you winced at the aggressiveness in his tone, "tell me why you're upset."

Impulsively, as though seeking comfort, your teeth found your bottom lip to chew on. Panic rose at the back of your throat and for a minute, you loathed the fact that Sunwoo knew how to read you so well, hated that before his eyes you fell apart like broken china, impossible to piece together no matter how much you tried.

The pot hissed in the background as though in agreement to his statement. 

"I just--" you squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second, before meeting his dark orbs, darker with intent and swimming with a seriousness that made your stomach clench up, "I--I know it happens every once in a while but, I can't help it. I feel shitty about--" the words choke up your throat, "--about me, you know? It's stupid. You tell me that all the time. But--"

At this point, tears brim the corner of your eyes as you struggle to string words together under your boyfriend's watchful gaze, "I see you, always getting praised and complimented, always doing good, doing great actually. You--You're just this amazing person that everyone adores and admires, and I'm just--I'm just me. I'm not special. I'm not like you, made for the camera and born to be loved endlessly like that. I'm average, normal. Just another face in the crowd, another rat running that stupid race. So then I can't help but wonder, why--"

"Don't," Sunwoo's alto sliced through your monologue like a knife that stung the air, an edge held in his voice and reflected in the border of his irises, "don't even say it." 

Despite your attempts to keep your emotions in check, you couldn’t restrain the soft sob falling from your lips. Sunwoo softened at the sound, his thumb stroking the underside of your jaw in comfort.

When he spoke next, his voice was laced with a tenderness that made your heart quiver slightly, “I never wanted anyone else, Y/N. You know why?” 

You shook your head. His other hand went to caress the nape of your neck, “Because, Y/N, you--you’re so much more than what you think. How can you not see that? How can you feel shit about me, when you’re the one holding me together?” He shook his head then, and in his eyes you caught a glimpse of the soft watery glimmer, “I don’t care about all that superficial shit. I really don’t care. Beat yourself up all you want about how imperfect you are, but who says that’s imperfection? Who the fuck called you imperfect? It’s not imperfection, Y/N, it’s just human to be good at things, bad at others. So what? Why do you care? I don’t, because I love you, Y/N.” 

At this point, your lips were trembling and tears were already silently making their way down your cheeks, silver trails glimmering in the light of the kitchen as your hands found their way around his middle to pull him close, burying your face in his chest. Gratefulness blossomed through your chest in a warm haze, spreading through your limbs and causing another sob to echo out of your throat. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, so softly against his chest that you were surprised his ears picked up on the sound. He held you even tighter, lips finding the shell of your ear and sending tingles of electricity down your spine as he whispered back, “stop saying sorry.” 

He tilted your head up once more and before you knew it, dropped a soft, chaste kiss upon your lips. Goosebumps blossomed along the back of your spine at his touch and you couldn’t help but sigh as relief washed through you, wrapped you up in its comfort that belonged to Sunwoo’s arms. 

“I love you,” He said, voice hoarse, before he kissed your cheek.

“I love you too,” you murmured back with your noses touching.

“Where is it, Sangyeon?” 

“I didn’t touch your diary.” 

“You’re the only one who knows I always keep in on my desk. And the only person who has access to our quarters is you,” you cross your arms over your chest, “where is it?” 

At that, he whips his head around to throw you a scowl, “I told you, I didn’t touch it. I don’t even know what it looks like.” 

“That’s a load of bullcrap. You’ve seen it before.” 

"If you haven’t noticed, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about your stuff, nor do I have any interest in reading your personal matters. So no, it’s not me,” he returns back to his horse and you’re tempted to throw a bucket at him when he’s not looking.

What an ass, you think to yourself as you storm away, anger bubbling up inside your stomach. 

Ever since you could remember, your parents had been constantly throwing you into Sangyeon’s arms as a reminder that you were to be his wife someday when you guys were of age to rule over the Kingdom of Gustale. It was your duty as a princess from the neighbouring Kingdom and you wouldn’t have minded it as much, if not for Sangyeon’s constant bitch-ass attitude towards you these past few years.

Growing up had been fun, to say the least. Before everything had turned like sour grapes, you and Sangyeon would spend endless days together, sharing stories from your own and going out on small adventures in the city. That was before responsibility had fallen onto both your shoulders, before summer was replaced by additional royalty lessons about managing the people and the economy of the Kingdom itself. 

You weren’t exactly sure when things started going downhill in your relationship. But it had been sudden; the way Sangyeon had withdrawn from you as distant as the wind, the way his features -- which you were used to seeing so soft and open -- had hardened considerably whenever he was meant to interact with you. You had never had the nerve to ask him about it, but it was clearly not your fault. 

How could it be? It was almost like you had snapped your fingers, and the Sangyeon you knew was gone.

And time is fast in slipping through your fingers, for it’s only a few days until your actual betrothal. 

Another sigh escapes your lips as you think of the bleak future ahead. Before, marrying Sangyeon wouldn’t have bothered you that much. Now though, it seemed like you were readying yourself to walk through the gates of hell.

The preparations for the Royal Engagement ceremony take up most of your time, which successfully steer your thoughts away from the big elephant in the room you have yet to address. You busy yourself organizing the tables, going through the list of decorations, and spending as much free time walking along the docks to greet the merchants going back and forth to the sea like it’s their second home. 

It’s only when night falls that it becomes a challenge. As a way to encourage your intimacy, the Royal family had decided it suitable for you to spend your nights in Sangyeon’s royal quarters. That wouldn’t normally bother you as much. But with Sangyeon’s coldness, you find yourself most of the time slipping away in the middle of the night to curl up in one of the library’s couches.

So it comes as a surprise when you hear Sangyeon’s alto float through the air. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hairbrush in hand, you pause in mid-action. Have you just heard wrong or--?

“Y/N.” 

You blink. Hesitate a few seconds. “What?” 

Another pause.

“Have you--” his voice is gruff, coming from the room itself. You wish you can see him, “have you found it?” 

“My diary?” 

“Yeah.” 

You resume brushing your hair, “no.”

Another awkward silence takes hold of the room and you’re not sure whether you should be filling it with short talk. 

Your heart jolts in your throat when you hear him once more, “I didn’t steal it, Y/N. If that’s what you think.” 

Biting your lip, you nod, before realizing he can’t see you, “I know.” 

“Good.” 

That’s possibly the nicest he’s ever been since...well, ever since. 

You try not to ponder too much over the meaning behind Sangyeon’s gentle demeanour, knowing full well that it only leads to disappointment in the long run. Quickly untangling the knots from your hair before moving towards your bedroom, you’re surprised to find that he’s still sitting up, blinking up at you as though waiting that you’ll join him for the night. 

“What?” You can’t help but ask the moment your eyes meet for a second too long.

His eyes slide away in growing embarrassment, “I--Uhm, are you--are you going to bed for the night?” 

“Yes?” Confusion falls over your face. 

He turns his head away so that you’re graced with his profile, and you can’t help but admire the strong jawline he sports, his plump lips that every girl would die for, “I was just asking, because I know you tend to sleep in the library.”

“Oh,” realization dawns on you, and while the first thing that scratches the back of your tongue is an apology, your mind reels back when you realize that you don’t really owe him anything.

“Well, uhm--” you rack your brains for an answer, “I thought you weren’t comfortable with me sleeping in the same bed as yours.” 

His mutter is so soft you would’ve missed if it you hadn’t been paying attention, “I really don’t mind.” 

That’s how you find yourself, curled up on your side and away from the said prince of Gustale, hands tucked under your head and trying to take up as little space as you possibly can. You can feel the heat of his body radiating from his side of your bed, practically bathing your entire backside, and though Sangyeon’s bed is big enough to accomodate the two of you, it’s quite modest in comparison to what the King and Queen have in their sleeping quarters. One wrong move in his direction will ultimately cause your limbs to brush, no question.

The first night is definitely awkward. You try not to bring it up, and Sangyeon does an amazing job at hiding what’s really going on in his mind. But as more time passes, you start picking up on things that he’s starting to do differently. For starters, he now engages in quiet conversation with you at meal times, asking whether you’re finding your way around the palace, or grudgingly passing you plates of food without so much as a protest. He’d asked the maids to keep tabs on what made you uncomfortable so that he could change what didn’t sit well with you, unknown to your knowledge, and you’d only found out later when one of the guards had accidentally let it slip that the prince seemed to be ‘putting it a lot more effort nowadays’. 

Not that it had helped, since you’re still left empty-handed, with all your thoughts and private feelings probably tucked away in someone else’s desk drawer. 

Sangyeon’s sudden bout of generosity and consideration makes your heart warm. You slowly start softening towards the said man, until you hear a pair of court ladies mumbling amongst themselves on the eve of the Royal Engagement. 

“The Prince and the Princess have been getting quite cozy lately.” 

“No wonder,” the other woman scoffs, causing Y/N to back up against the nearby wall, ears focused on their conversation, “after all, he knows what he’s got to do after their marriage. Maybe he wants to get an early start.” 

“You think so? The prince doesn’t strike me as the type to sway women only for his physical needs.” 

“Well, she will definitely be the bearer of his children. So he surely must get into her good books.” 

At this point, you’re already walking towards his quarters with your heart palpitating in your chest and your legs going numb from the women’s earlier discussion. Is it true? You ask yourself as you absentmindedly open his room door. You close it softly behind you, pressing your back against it while the words slowly digest themselves in your head.

If what the court ladies are saying, then it makes sense why Sangyeon is acting all nice all of a sudden without reason. He merely wants to get the job done as quickly as possible, so that he can be done with you and just throw you into a corner like a used item of clothing he’d outgrew. 

That doesn’t seem to sit well in your stomach. You manage to get yourself to the toilet just in time to throw up your entire dinner.

That is where Sangyeon finds you, a few minutes later, heaving and gasping into the toilet bowl while your hands are gripping the edges for dear life. Your face is dotted with perspiration, your face probably flushed from the effort. You know, without looking at your reflection, that you’ve had better days.

“Did you eat something wrong?” he crouches down beside you, a tentative hand fluttering against your backside. It makes you shiver, the warmth of his palm, still not used to his body being so close.

You manage to shake your head, “no,” you mutter, spitting some remaining saliva before you try moving towards the sink. Sangyeon’s arms are around your shoulders in an instant, helping you up to allow you to wash your hands.

You force your gaze down towards your hand, trying to busy yourself with the task at hand so that you won’t have to see the concerned expression he’s plastered over his face just to convince you that his affection is genuine. 

“What happened?” he follows you into the bedroom, though it’s clear at this point that you want to burrow underneath the covers and hide forever. You do just that, kicking off your shoes and ignoring the prince’s questions that would’ve once made your heart flutter with affection.  Now though, you’re not really sure what you should be feeling towards Sangyeon.

Feeling the bed dip as he sits at your bedside, you can’t help but flinch when his hand pushes a stray strands of hair away from your face, “talk to me, Y/N. Was it something at dinner? Do you feel unwell? Have you caught the stomach flu? It seems to be going around a lot these days. Maybe it’s something you caught when you were out by the docks--” 

“I’m fine,” you cut him off and close your eyes, “leave me alone.” 

There’s a pause and you force your muscles to relax despite feeling the heat of his gaze zeroing on your face.

“Y/N?” he starts, his alto unsure and confused, “did something happen? Was it something I said?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Then what is it?” 

“Nothing. I said leave me alone.” 

“Y/N come on, don’t start playing those games with me,” his hand reaches for your shoulder, only for you to jerk away from his hold. Hurt flashes across Sangyeon’s face, though he is adept at masking it into indifference, hand hanging in mid-air. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he finally says in the silence that prevails, “we can’t be arguing on the eve of your engagement, for christ’s sake.” 

“Is it true?” you blurt out before your mind can stop your heart from rearing in pain, “is it true that you’re only being nice to me because you want to bed me?” 

Silence. A pause. Then, “who told you this?” 

You shrug but decide not to answer. 

Only to be pulled back to face Sangyeon a second later, his arm latched onto your shoulder so that you meet his darkened gaze, coated with restrained anger. His jaw clenches as he repeats, “who told you, Y/N?” 

“Is it true?” your eyes lock on his, “is it true then? Do you just want to get into my pants?” 

“No, it’s not true. But that’s not going to help my case is it?” he sighs, “listen Y/N. People talk a lot, and there’s bound to always be rumours flying around--” 

“So then why?” you cut him off with a scowl, “why are you acting so nice to me when you haven’t been for the past five years?” 

You try to search for any indication on his face, but Sangyeon being Sangyeon, he knows exactly how to close himself off, hide behind a mask of nonchalance so that it’s almost impossible to guess what might be making the cogs in his head turn. 

“Can I tell you something without you shouting at me?” his murmur is so soft, so unlike his usual cold demeanour, that you nod in agreement, willing to at least hear him out.

“I read your diary.” 

Your jaw drops, “You what?! You liar!” You shoot up, slapping him on the shoulder out of pure instinct, “you said you didn’t know where it was!” 

“It’s under the bed, I technically found it there so-- ouch woman!” he rubs his now injured shoulder, “can I continue? You promised you wouldn’t get aggressive.”

You keep glaring at him as he continues. 

“The things you wrote--I didn’t know that you were hurting so much. I thought that keeping my distance was what you wanted,” he bites the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t want you thinking I was being nice just because we’re meant to be married, especially since I liked you so much. So I tried avoiding you, tried to distance myself so that you’d come to me out of your own free will,” he presses his lips together, eyebrows drawn into a frown, “but then...I read your diary and realized that you--that it was hurting you, more than it was doing you good. You know? And that--that hurt me.”

“So it has nothing to do with the fact that you just want to have sex?” 

His ears flush a joyous red, so vividly oblivious that your inner mind screams out at how cute he is. 

“It has nothing to do with that,” he stammers out. “So you don’t want to have sex with me?” Now you know you’re only pulling his leg, but it’s even more precious to see him ducking his head as the flush reaches the tips of his ears, “I--I never--I never said that! I--well, I mean, you--you’re going to be my wife after all so--obviously, you --you know I kinda...” he scratches the back fo his neck, clearly uncomfortable with all the questions you fire at him, “I kinda already...thought about it.” 

You can’t help it. You burst out laughing in his face and revel at how red he becomes as he splutters out, “it’s--it’s not funny.” 

“Oh god,” you clamp a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself, though it’s quite a pathetic attempt, since even Sangyeon’s mouth tugs up into a mirroring grin. 

“So are we good now?” He murmurs while his hand unconsciously lands upon yours. It’s soft, warm from his heat. It feels good, it feels...safe. 

Your heart skips a beat, “yes Sangyeon. We are. We’re good.” 

“Good,” he clears his throat thickly, bites down onto his lower lip as if in thought while his thumb traces soft patterns over your knuckles. It almost feels normal to have him so close, it’s like your body knows that he’s the one you’ll be sharing the rest of your life with.

And then, a memory of his little speech comes floating back before your very eyes. 

“Wait,” your eyes snap up to his own confused ones, “you said you liked me?” 

He opens his mouth, closes it in realization that he indeed had let it slip. 

“Yeah,” he finally mumbles while looking away, ‘Yeah. I like you Y/N. I’ve liked you a lot, for a long time.” 

Your entire body springs up in warmth, “why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper out hoarsely. 

Turning towards you so that there’s only millimetres between you, your eyes fall onto the soft curve of his collarbones underneath his white shirt, quickly snapping away to stop yourself from getting any wild ideas. 

“How could I?” he croaks out, “this whole betrothal thing is planned. I wanted to love someone truly, without titles. I loved you, not because I was betrothed to you. You were just--” his gaze flickers to your lips, “you.”

“Well maybe if you had told me sooner, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 

“Maybe.”

“Sangyeon,” his dark orbs are swirling with warmth, with a tenderness that causes butterflies to shimmer across your chest when your gazes lock, “I really appreciate what you did. These past few days.” 

He chuckles softly, “that’s nothing to thank me for, princess.”

Sitting there with Sangyeon at your side, with his hand resting on yours and your bodies so close you can smell his cologne mixed with the natural scent of wood and summer breeze -- a scent that can only be defined as Sangyeon’s -- it almost feels like you’re part of a family. Your heart swells with emotion at the thought; maybe it’s not so bad after all, to be betrothed to someone like Sangyeon.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s calling your name softly. Looking up into his doe brown orbs gleaming with an open kind of understanding, you find that you can’t possibly look away. The intensity of his gaze is enough to send your heart galloping out of your chest, and when you take a shaky inhale to calm yourself, you realize how close your faces actually are, so close you can see the tiniest freckles spattering across his cheek like galaxies of their own.

You wish to say something. Anything that might save you from staring at him like he’s a piece of art you can’t take your eyes off. But the words get stuck in the back of your throat like sandpaper, a gasp being the only thing that draws out of your mouth when you feel his hand gently cup your chin. 

Sangyeon’s thumb brushes against your lower lip and instantly, you feel your skin explode in goosebumps. He moves a little closer and the gasp that dies in the back of your throat catches his attention fully. 

It seems like ages go by without as much of an exchange. The world slips away, with only you and Sangyeon gazing into each other’s eyes, both trying to play it safe and yet, there’s definitely something in the air, the electricity that tingles along your spine is definitely not fantasy. 

Your hands ball into fists upon impulse. You can barely breathe, hearing your heart slamming against your ribcage. 

He leans a little closer. His mouth brushes against yours. Barely. 

Your breath hitches, body tensing up slightly.

And then he’s kissing your next breath away, arms lacing around your middle to pull you close while his lips slants over yours in the most sensual caresses that leaves you gasping. You melt right into his arms and he doesn’t hesitate to hold you up, his touch leaving searing paths of hot heat like an imprint that kept you reeling and wanting for more.

It’s only when your back hits the mattress that you realize that you’re lying down with Sangyeon hovering over you, breath staggering and muscles bunching up so that he can kiss you some more, a little deeper each time your mouths collide to ignite sparks behind your lids. Your hands slip around his shoulders to wrap around his torso, traveling up to his hair, his beautiful dark hair that slips through your fingers like silk, and the groan that echoes through his chest causes heat to pool inside your stomach.

With a knee pressing down between your own so that another gasp falls from your lips, the prince’s hands trace a sensual path along your stomach, trailing up to ghost over your chest. You breathe out softly, the smallest of whimpers escaping your mouth. That seems to please him, for his tongue darts out to part your lips with the softest of groans. 

It feels so good to have him against you, his heat pooling around yours in a comfortable safe haven that elicits nothing but desire. 

When he pulls away for air, you can’t help but whine at the loss of contact while tugging his neck back down in an attempt to steal another kiss from his lips.

Sangyeon lets out a throaty growl, “Y/N, princess, I don’t think that’s such a--” his words die into a moan the moment your mouth starts nibbling along his collarbone. His grip tightens around your waist, and before you know it, you’re backed up against the headboard of the bed right before his lips take yours in once more in a sinful dance of tongues.

“Y/N,” he groans against your mouth, hips unintentionally bucking up against yours when your soft curves roll in delicious desire, taunting him to take it a step further, “baby, stop...”

it is a surprise that he manages to wrench himself away, chest heaving and lips swollen. Your eyes flutter up to his face with a mixture of desire and affection clouding your gaze. 

“We can’t,” his soft murmur causes you to shiver. He proceeds to caress your cheekbone, “we’re going to lie down and sleep. And we’re not going to ruin this, not tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, though you smile softly “fine.” 

He flashes you another tender smile, then moves towards his side of the bed, tugging you along as he goes. With your head resting on his chest and with one arm wrapped securely around your waist, you allow your ear to be comforted by the soft heartbeats echoing through his chest, a soft reminder that this man’s heart beats for yours, and will beat for yours till the end of time.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You smile sleepily, “good night, Sangyeon.” 

You’re almost falling into the depths of sleep when you feel his mouth press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You tried brushing him off with your arm, to no avail. He was being as annoying as a newborn pup in need of attention.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

"Hyunjae," your tone was laced with warning.

"But I'm bored," he whined and you rolled your eyes. Eyeing the bag of forgotten chips on the counter, you made a grab for it and shoved it in his hands, "here, eat this if you're bored."

"But--"

"I'll be done soon," your hand blindly reached out to ruffle his hair, pushing him away in the process as a soft reminder to shut the fuck up, "just give me a little more time."

Your fingers took a life of their own, losing yourself once more in the rhythm of the keyboard noises as you continued on pursuing your argument about the reasons for the farming of coral reefs in tropical islands. In the back of your mind, you heard some random crackling and some shuffling but quickly dismissed the noises as unecessary. The quicker you wrote this paper out, the more time you'd have to spend with--

"Y/N."

Tingles shot down your spine. Hyunjae's breath bathed the shell of your ear, arms wrapping around you in a loose embrace with his chest pressed against your back.

"Hm?" You mumbled out, eyes scanning the word document.

Crinkle. Crack. Against your ear.

Jostling at the sudden sound, you turned your face to catch your boyfriend's teasing smile, probing you with those dark eyes of his as he munched on the chips you had just given him.

"What?" He threw you the most innocent stare that you replied with a pointed look, "what was that?"

"What? You're going to stop me from eating too?"

Deciding not to play that little game of his, you turned back to your computer and resumed reading your last paragraph.

The implementation of coral farming would inevitably lead to a sustainable marine life that would --

Crunch. Crunch.

His lips were pressed up against your lobe. Arms tight round your waist.

"Hyunjae," you let out a hiss of warning.

"You know," his whisper were just a breath of words that fanned against your inner shell, sending a skittle of sparks through your nerves, "I've always been curious about ASMR."

"Hyun. Jae."

Popping another chip in his mouth, he kept on allowing the sound to echo through your earbud, "seems like it works."

The effect caused you to squirm involubtarily in his hold, "you're not playing fair," you grumbled half-heartedly.

"I never play fair baby," he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

"Stop," your attempts to push him away were rendered useless as he held on tighter, "you're so annoying!"

His tongue darted out to lick your ear.

You gasped, body involuntarily curling into his on reflex and he didn't need much encouragement to start a slow, burning path of kisses along your jaw, much to the protests crawling up your throat.

"Hyun--Hyunjae--" your protests were quickly drowned out by soft whimpers when you felt him suckle onto a patch of skin right under your jawline.

Your hands flew up to his shoulders but he grabbed your wrists, pulled you close to land a kiss smack on your mouth.

When he pulled away, his eyes were shining, crinkled crescents pooling with such joy that it melted your heart slightly, "if I knew how sensitive you'd be I'd do that all the time."

"Oh shut up," your face flamed.

Chuckling, he dove in for another chaste peck, mouth lingering a little longer than necessary and you swore goosebumps broke along the length of your arms.

You hadn't noticed his hands that had slipped underneath your shirt, gently caressing circles upon your middle as his mouth chased your own, "kiss me and I'll leave you alone," he mumbled against your lips.

"For real this time?"

"For real," he pecked your mouth, "now kiss me."

So you did, grumbling softly under your breath as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck, meeting his small fond smile the moment you kissed him.

His reaction was instantaneous; mouth parting underneath your own, he tightened his grip on your waist while his chest rumbled with a satisfied growl. You grinned despite your initial annoyance and kissed him a little deeper, a little longer, mouths fitting together like broken pieces of a puzzle.

Hyunjae was a gasping mess the moment you parted. You grinned, brushing away the strands falling into his eyes, "you gonna be a good boy now or do I need to chain your wrists together?"

"I mean," he wriggled his brows, "not that I mind--" he ducked when you swatted his head, "okay okay, yes I'll be good."

But the moment you turned to resume your work his arms wove around you in an instant. He nestled his chin atop your shoulder as he mumbled, "can I stay here though?"

"As long as you don't distract me again."

Eight years, gone just like that. 

I stare at a spot on my navy blue suitcase, not really focused on what’s before me and more concerned about the memories flickering past  my lids. I can’t help it. Everytime I see luggage, it makes me think of the way I kicked him out of my life. Everytime, a slab of pain will grab my heart between its icy fingers and squeeze it so that I can barely breathe. Everytime, until I feel like I’m drowning inside dark waters without the real desire to swim to the surface. 

My psychiatrist told me that it had been for the better. That it had been an obsessive, unhealthy kind of love in the first place. But was it better now that I couldn’t even feel my heart in the hollow space where it’s supposed to be? 

“Y/N.” 

Still, I remember the messages on his phone, the way his touch would feel strange, eerily hollow for some reason, the way he’d avoid my eyes whenever he’d tell me that he was going out with the guys. I remember smelling his coat and recoiling at the cheap scent of perfume clinging to it like second skin, how he’d constantly tell me how wonderful I was-- too wonderful for him -- and that I should find better, that I didn’t deserve someone like him.

And then, when I’d stumbled into our flat a little earlier than I was meant to -- since my gym class had been cancelled -- and took note of the trail of shoes, followed by a coat, a shirt, a thong, before my ears picked up on the noises echoing from the bedroom doors…

“Y/N?” 

His face when he spotted me, the astounded expression like a dog that had just been caught sneaking into the pantry. And the girl, a prettier woman, a curvy woman, with red lips and with those beautifully deep red wine locks tumbling down her back with the perfect physique that could make any man drool. That girl, who was none other than one of my good friends at work and who had spent most part of the year listening to my rants about him. 

“Y/N!”

“Huh?” My head whips up when I register my name being called out, looking up to see a raven-haired, petite-faced man leaning against the bedroom doorway with raised brows and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Oh, you’re here,” I say, as he crosses the doorway and sits beside me. The bed dips down under his weight as he tilts his head in that knowing manner of his, “daydreaming again?” 

“No,” I mumble, but he sees right through my facade and with a sigh, his arms wrap around my shoulder before pillowing his head against my shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs as I allow myself to lean back against him, against his comfort. His lavender scent wraps around me, a little bed of comfort amidst all the pain. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmur, tears stinging the corner of my eyes, “it hurts, Kev.” 

He only holds me a little closer, a little tighter.

If there is one person that I can trust more than myself, it’s Kevin Moon. I’ve known Kevin ever since high school, having hung out in the same friend group until we had become partners for an art project. It was only then that we’d become closer, and had been close ever since. With his angular features and almond mono lidded eyes and thin lips that were constantly shaped in a pout, the Korean-born man had moved to Canada when he was young, just like I had a few years ago. He had kept me afloat during my university days, I had comforted him through his first break up. He had been present during my final Fine Arts Photography Exhibition, I was up all night coming up with re-branding concepts for his design project. Overall, Kevin had pretty much been a constant in my life, you get the gist of it.

When he found out that my boyfriend had cheated just a few days before our destined trip to attend my cousin’s wedding -- mind you, I had been sobbing waterfalls and it was a miracle he even understood me through my blubbering mess -- he had half a mind to storm up to the guy and rip his throat out. But he did the most surprising thing; booked a ticket for himself and turned up at my flat on the eve of the departure, stating that he was going to accompany me to that wedding, whether I liked it or not.

My cousin, Emma, was getting married right where home was: Mauritius. The memories I once had of the small island nestled right in the Indian Ocean on the right of Madagascar, was of my grandma’s comforting food, the sea scented air that washed along with the too-white sandy beaches, the multitudes of merchants selling all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on the side of the road, and small corner stores that looked like they had come out of a 1960’s movie. People liked to claim that Mauritius was paradise on earth, and in a way, it is.

“Come on,” Kevin had nagged when I shook my head adamantly. He’d wriggled his plane ticket before my nose, “you’re not going to let that loser spoil such a happy event are you? Emma’s waiting for you!” 

In the end, he’d won. Which is why we are here, staying at my cousin, Emma’s, apartment in a village called Moka, located at the foot of a mountain and has an abundance of forestry adorning the sides of the road. It's chilly here, in comparison to the harbourfront, and constantly smells like fresh rain and has a gentle fresh breeze blowing through.

“You know, assholes like him are not worth thinking about,” Kevin says now, his arm a gentle soothing caress up and down my back, “your brain might rot.” 

I can’t help but let out a soft, choked up laugh.

“It’s our first day here, let’s not ruin it by thinking about him, hm?” Kevin continues soothingly and I nod in agreement. He’s right. I’m just wasting time by reliving memories that I should be banishing from my mind. 

“Okay!” he brightens up then, “where shall we go? The sea? The market? Or do you want to go eat?!” 

--------------

The first few days are about meeting up with family and rediscovering Mauritius for what it is. Emma gives me a full-fledged hug the moment I open the door to her house, pressing me close to her with such motherly warmth that it takes everything in me not to break down right then and there. I greet my uncles and engage in small-talk with my aunts, help my grandma out in the kitchen as she continuously asks me why I’ve gotten so thin. While I know the main reason, I decide to smile and spare her the details, as embarrassing as it is. 

No one mentions him, until one of my uncles slips during a conversation with Kevin, “so you’re Y/N’s boyfriend. Such a pleasure to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you that we started thinking she was just making things up.” 

“Er--” Kevin reddens, “I--” 

“So how did you two meet?”

It is at this very instant that my mouth decides to move on its own and I blurt out, “we’re high school friends.” 

“Oh highschool sweethearts! How cute!” 

Kevin doesn’t fail to mention what a mistake I’ve made to lie to my entire family to save face.

“I feel guilty,” he says as we walk out to the car, keys dangling from my wrist. 

I unlock the car, “it’s fine. We’ll be in and out before they know it. They don’t have to know anything.” 

“Hm, sure.” 

After some well-deserved family time, Kevin and I decide to head to the west of the island to catch the sunset, my camera stuffed neatly in the backseat, where Kevin has tossed a few spare towels just in case. We each have donned our swimsuits for the occasion and it doesn’t take an expert to see the excitement thrumming through Kevin’s veins as he sits beside me like an excited child in the passenger seat. 

“I never realized that you guys drive on the left side of the road,” he comments, head whipping back and forth in-between the passage of cars. 

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to, especially if you’re crossing,” it is then that I notice that there is a newly built mall as we turn left at the green light, “hey, that’s new. I’ve never seen this before.” 

“Cas-ca-velle,” he mumbles out with that strong accent of his. He is definitely not one to know French and I’ve been acting as his translator all along, considering that my family speaks French at home, “what does that mean?” 

“Beats me. It’s just a fancy name for a new shopping mall,” I peer into its parking lot, “wanna visit?” 

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’m all in.”

The mall is longer than it is wide, with white archways decked with wooden-style roofs that give way to an open-plan exterior. A wide beige cemented pathway occupies the space, with shops lined on either side. 

“I never realized, but you guys are very multicultural,” comments Kevin as we pass by another family of four chattering quickly in a mixture of French and Creole. 

“We’re similar to Canada that way.” 

“Do you miss it here?” 

My eyes glance over at him, notice the soft empathy in his expression.

“I guess I do sometimes,” I say while I kick at a stray pebble, “It’s like homesickness. But in a way I can’t quite explain,” after a moment, I ask, “do you miss Korea?”

“The food, mostly,” he grins bashfully, “my halmeoni makes a killer gamja tang.” 

“Let’s go visit her one day.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks as I shrug, “if you want it to be.” 

It’s a little past six when we drive up to the Flic En Flac beach and as we gather our things, my eyes light up upon falling on a nearby roti stand. I quickly slap Kevin’s arm in my bout of excitement. 

“Ouch! What? What is it?” 

“Kevin, you’re not going to believe this,” I point at the stand in question, “this roti stand? It’s the best roti in Mauritius. Here, take this,” I don’t wait before shoving my bag and camera in his arms, “I’m gonna buy us some. You go and find us a spot on the beach.” 

“But--” 

I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before taking off, greeting the merchant who is just about to be wrapping up to ask whether I can get two rotis with ‘cari saumon’ (roughly translated into salmon curry mixed with indian spices), local and freshly made. The smell wafts through the folded paper wrappers as I grab them. They smell just like my childhood, where everything had just been as easy as having rotis by the beach without a care about the future that is to come. It’s nostalgic and I can’t help the smile tugging up my mouth at the thought. 

Kevin is already settled atop a pair of spare towels and looks up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I pass him one of the paper wrappers and he takes a peek, confusion flitting across his face. 

“This smells spicy,” he mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “it looks like naan bread.” 

“It is,” I agree, “except it’s flatter and more like a crepe.” 

Throwing me a hesitant glance, he takes a small bite. I watch his face go from confused to impressed in a few seconds, before his eyes whip up to mine, “woah, this is good.” 

“Told you so.” 

“But this is really, really good,” he can’t help but marvel at it and laughing, I proceed to dig into my own roti, allowing my mouth to be filled with that salty fish taste melting along my tastebuds, the curry spices giving it the nice tangy kick you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The roti is soft and practically melts on my tongue and I can’t help but moan at how good it is. 

“God, this is everything I’ve been looking for my whole life,” I find myself telling him, wrapped up in momentary bliss, “this, this is everything.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, so intense that my own flicker up in question. He drops his gaze the moment I do and I frown, confused. 

“What?” I can’t help but ask, wondering why he suddenly seems so meek, so shy and awkward, “what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he replies like he’s trying to be casual, except that it’s anything but. When he gazes back at me, I notice the warmth in his maroon eyes, more the color of caramel in the dim light from the sunset basking his profile in a golden glow, “I think--I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you so happy, since...” 

He doesn’t need to continue, for I know where this is going. Indeed, this is the first time in many months that I haven’t paid any attention to the hole inside my heart. 

And it feels good.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I watch the sun settle on the ocean’s horizon, fire kissing water, “I don’t know, I just feel like this is nice. Like it’s right.” 

I spare him a glance from the corner of my peripheral and watch him shift. His sleeveless shirt slips, allowing me a glimpse of the naked skin underneath. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed at the notion of even thinking of him in such a way. 

“That’s how you should be, Y/N,” Kevin murmurs back just as softly. It’s almost like talking too loudly will break the sudden spell that has settled over our shoulders. He takes a sip of his beer before continuing, “you’ve suffered enough for someone who deserves nothing but shit for what he’s done.” 

There’s a small pause as I digest his words. Then, I manage to murmur out, “thanks, Kevin.” 

“No problem.” 

Another small bout of silence ensues, covered up by the sound of the ocean roaring up the sand, distant birds chirping in the fading light of the sunset drowning into the now orange-flecked waters. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

I glance at him. He’s gorgeous, even more so somehow. Maybe it’s the time of the day, maybe it’s the mood, or maybe it’s the way my heart can’t help but be swallowed in gratefulness whenever I look at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know water has memory?” 

I choke on my beer, “do not-- and I mean this-- do not quote Frozen with me.” 

“Huh, I tried.” 

---------------------------

“So, Kevin huh?” 

My eyes shoot up to meet Emma’s in her crusty-dust-filled mirror, presently lounging on her bed and flipping through a book as I had been trying on my bridesmaid gown. Kevin is downstairs, helping out with the barbeque grill with the rest of the family, and it is only now that I get to have some alone time with the woman I consider my sister. 

She’s the only one that knew the exact details of my breakup, and that Kevin is only a mere replacement to cover my humiliated ass. I remember her trying to calm me down when I had called in a frenzy, practically hyperventilating because of the amount of pain that gripped at my heart and was choking me of all air. 

I revert my eyes back to the dress, a baby blue as bright as a summer sky, and smooth my hands down my sides, “he’s been so good to me, ever since…” I can’t finish the sentence, voice already wobbling at the thought that comes with it.

“Hey,” Emma’s murmur causes me to look up, and in her eyes I see a flicker of understanding, “he’s not worth it.” 

“I know,” I swallow back the tears crawling up my throat, “I know, it’s just--a hard pill to swallow.”

A hand comes to a rest at my elbow, before my cousin tucks her chin atop my shoulder, “it’ll be alright, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve you." 

I nod. Then, just to change the subject so that I don’t break down in her arms, I gesture towards the dress, “so? How does it look?” 

Emma tugs at some pieces here and there, rearranging the fabric as she sees fit, “I think it looks good. You look gorgeous. Kevin will swoon, for sure.” 

“It’s not like that,” I hurriedly say as I strip out of the dress and put it back on its hanger, “we’re just friends.” 

“Mhm,” she throws me a pointed look, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “'just friends' doesn't feel right..” 

“Emma, really? Right after my breakup?” 

“He came to Mauritius just for you Y/N,” she squeezes my shoulders comfortingly, “doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Well, we’ve been friends since high school so…”

“I don’t think just any friend in high school would do such a thing if I asked,” Emma catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze deep and meaningful, “just think about that.” 

I just nod in hopes that she’ll stop yapping away at my nonexistent relationship with Kevin, whatever that means. The hole in my heart is still so raw and filled with pain that I can’t even start thinking about another relationship. The thought alone is enough to drain me of all energy and I decide to brush it off for now as I follow Emma out in the backyard now filled with familiar chatter and the smell of cooked meat wafting through the air, with the sky bruising a soft purple to signal the end of a long summer day. 

Catching sight of Kevin as I bring out one of the many salad bowls that my family has prepared, my lips can’t help but twitch into a slow smile when I see him by the grill, whipping away the multitudes of flies zipping back and forth as my other cousin deftly flips the sausages upside down with a trained rhythm that only years of experience can bring. 

“Kevin! You’re not doing your job right!” my cousin cries playfully. Kevin attempts to flap the newspaper around while screeching, “oh god, my eyes are burning!"

“Someone bring more meat!” My cousin hollers. 

“There’s more?!” 

“He’s doing a great job,” my grandmother’s voice brings my attention back to the salad bowl in my hands, and I quickly bend to kiss her cheek as she continues, “better than any of your other cousins. They never help out.” 

“That’s because you pamper them too much, grandma,” I grin at her and follow her to the dining table where my aunts are already settling down amongst themselves. 

The evening passes by with good food and good company, the sky darkening and dotting with a veil of stars that has Kevin gawking in awe. I'm not surprised, you don't see skies like that anywhere, a sky that isn't so intoxicated with modern chemicals. My uncles take it upon themselves to introduce Kevin to all the types of Mauritian delicacies, such as chickpea fritters we call 'gato pima', small balls of graped choko vegetable and minced pork 'niouk yen', and to top it all off, a plate of cornmeal pudding also known as 'pudine mai' that makes Kevin's eyes go wide with surprise.

"This is dessert?" He holds it up in his hand, "with ...cornmeal?"

"Sure is," one of my aunts chime in with a smile, "made it just this morning."

It's past midnight when we get back to our little apartment with Emma's dress hanging off my arms, which Kevin doesn't hesitate to grab from my hold despite my protests. 

"It's fine dude," he flashes me a quick smile, albeit tired, and my heart does this weird little squeeze in my chest at his thoughtfulness. 

He's kind. Too kind. I really don't deserve someone like him. 

"I'm sorry," I say as we settle onto the small couch, shoulders fitted snugly against each other, "my family is kinda overwhelming."

"No no," Kevin looks over, edges of his lips curled up, "I actually love your family, you know."

My chest warms, "thanks."

There is a moment of silence that we enjoy, the day's events sinking into my bones. 

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hm?"

My eyes slide over to catch his, dark pools glimmering with a certain softness that catches my attention. 

I bite my lip. It suddenly feels a little warm.

"What is it?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Is oreo a sandwich?" 

I sit up so suddenly that I jostle him, "wait--what?"

He grins up at me with that little nose scrunch that I can't help but find endearing, "is oreo a sandwich?" I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it, "is cereal a soup?"

"Stop."

Reclining back to lace his hands at the back of his head, he says, "is ketchup a smoothie?" 

"Stop it."

"What about hotdogs? Are they sandwiches?" He continues in a singsong voice and rolling my eyes, I make a move to punch him once more. But he's faster, hand shooting out to hold my wrists. He pulls me over and I stumble, knee pressing against the side of his leg. 

"Come on. Answer it," he wriggles his eyebrows.

"Nope."

“Don’t be a party pooper.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

"Are you sick of me yet?" His face is so close that I notice the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

"That's an understatement."

"But really, do you think oreo is a sandwich?"

"No! Oreos are just oreos!"

“You’re no fun,” He pouts before finally releasing his hold. I draw back with a roll of my eyes, settling beside him once more and pillowing my head onto his shoulder.

Emma’s right. Kevin had sacrificed so much to be here with me, and he doesn’t even know Emma. Yet, he immediately dropped everything so that he could be my plus one, so that I wouldn’t have to face the music alone. The thought makes my heart swell with emotion and suddenly I’m all too aware of his presence beside me. 

I shift to gaze at him, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the indent above his lips before I whisper, “hey Kevin.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you come?” 

His eyes flicker over to mine then. A heartbeat passes. For a moment, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat suddenly throbbing a little too loudly in my chest. 

“Good question.” 

Another pause. 

“That’s not an answer,” I laugh slightly, to show that it’s all just fun and games.

But when I catch his eyes next, there’s something else brimming in them. They’re tender with emotion and it catches me so off guard that I almost don’t catch his next set of words:

“Because I care about you.” 

My heart gives a quick lurch but I somehow can’t tear my gaze away. I want to say something. Anything. 

But all I can muster is a soft, “oh.” 

“Why do you ask?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I hesitate, “Emma asked why. And...I guess I wanted to know too.” 

“Oh.” 

The air feels heavy, heightened with the things that are threatening to slip off the edge of my tongue. A mixed series of ‘but why’s and ‘can’t you tell me more’ jumbling up my thoughts with so many possibilities that I decide to stay quiet for the sake of not ruining the moment. Because there’s this lingering fear that once I do say something, then it’ll just pull me down a rabbit hole that I can’t crawl out of, that the only escape lies on the other side.

And I don’t know if I want to take that leap yet. My heart is already so fragile with the aftermath of a love that went wrong. I don’t know how much more I can take. 

So I just stay quiet and let out a soft sigh, and though Kevin shifts as if he wants to say something, he doesn’t. The question just hangs there between us, in-between the slithers of moonlight and in the cold Moka air, like a perpetual ghost we ignore as we drift off to sleep.

----------

Something shifts between us after that. It’s unspoken of, but suddenly, I am all too aware of Kevin as a whole. Things that I hadn’t noticed before surface as we spend most of our free time visiting the rest of the island; like how he loves ruffling his hair whenever he feels uncomfortable, or the way his bicep curls as his arm drapes over the wheel with the barest hint of muscle that is enough to be attractive yet subtle, or how he smirks in that attractive way of his whenever he thinks something is undeniably adorable. 

The good thing about having Kevin is that I don’t get to think of him all too much, which is a blessing in itself. It’s been days since I’ve shed another tear and for that, I have to say I’m glad that I’m making progress.

We spent the last few days before the wedding traveling around the island to visit all the touristy spots that I know Kevin will enjoy, like a hike all the way to the top of Le Morne mountain, where I explain that’s where slaves would throw themselves off when their masters would find them. We visited Bois Cheri, a tea-making factory where Kevin had the pleasure of tasting all different kinds of teas cultivated in the fields below, and ate lunch on the Caudan Waterfront as we gazed at the boats lulling along the harbour. 

“Woah, this place makes me feel like I’m in Aladdin somehow,” Kevin’s mouth is wide agape as his eyes try to take in the endless racks of stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables of the day. The Port-Louis Bazaar has always been one of my favourite places to visit, but it’s also one of the busiest. Even now as we attempt to squeeze our way through, people are jostling us here and there, causing me to press my bag to my chest in case any pickpockets are nearby. I prompt Kevin to do the same. 

“Hey Y/N, I wanna check out the bags over there,” Kevin motions towards the hand-woven baskets situated at the far end of the market and I nod as we keep moving forward with the crowd like a pair of salmons trying to swim upstream. But there’s so many people, it’s so suffocating that it gets hard to keep up with Kevin’s figure. Someone elbows my shoulder and I groan, stumbling to the side in irritation, only to get pushed forward by another. 

“Seriously--” I curse under my breath, when a hand suddenly appears before my eyes.

Looking up to see Kevin’s outstretched arm, I am only greeted with his bashful smile and averted eyes. 

“Come on,” he doesn’t even wait for my consent before slipping his palm over my own and tugging me along, his hold firm and strong despite his skinny frame and the action is enough to render a flurry of butterflies soaring over my stomach. 

Stop, I try telling my subconscious. That does nothing, however, to stop my neck from tingling with unfamiliar heat. 

Kevin’s hand feels so warm. It’s comfortable, safe. 

And I’m liking it a little too much.

He doesn’t let go when we reach the desired stand and talk over which bag looks the best and keeps his hand in mine for the entirety of our journey back to the car. Only when I unlock the doors that his palm finally drops from my hold and air rushes over my palm that is now a little too cold without his warmth. But while a multitude of questions are burning the back of my throat, they fall apart halfway through at the thought of his answer, before I decide to drop it altogether. 

Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit affected. 

When the day of the wedding finally rolls around, I drive my car to Emma’s after a quick breakfast that Kevin surprised me with -- to my surprise, he’d managed to make a decent eggs and toast without burning the place down -- so that I can help her get into her gown and more importantly so that she doesn’t run away, lest her mind goes in a frenzy at the thought of tying the knot. 

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, teasing a few of her curls so that they slip down to her chest in a perfect wave. She looks stunningly beautiful, with her strapless white dress that shimmers with diamonds in the light with every movement she makes. 

I reach out to smooth over her veil so that it falls on either side of her face, frames her perfectly, and notice her big brown eyes staring back at me through her vanity mirror. 

“You look beautiful,” I can’t keep the awe from my voice. 

Her face blossoms into a smile, “you too.” 

“Ah come on, you can’t say that to me on your wedding day,” I shove her playfully on the shoulder, “you’re the star of the show. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.” 

“Okay mom,” she rolls her eyes before changing the subject, “So, how have things been? With Kevin?” My hands freeze in mid-action, “It’s good.” 

I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s giving me a pointed look.

I sigh, “well, okay. Maybe you’re right. About the whole…’just friends’ thing not being true.” 

“Why?” she straightens up, turns to me, “what happened? Did you kiss? Did he make a move--” 

“No we didn’t kiss,” I’m quick to answer as my cheeks heat up. And after a few beats of hesitation, I give her a summary; the way he’d looked at me that night with eyes that held so much in them that it had made my chest swell, the way that he’d snitch glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and the fact that he’d grabbed my hand and didn’t let go even long after the crowd wasn’t an issue anymore. 

Emma’s eyes are wide and sparkling with a feeling that I know all too well, I can practically see the cogs turning in her head and quickly shook mine in rapid retaliation, “Emma, no.” 

“But--But he’s perfect for you!” she bellows in protest, “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I can’t go there. Not after,...not now, it’s too soon…” 

She rolls her eyes, “it’s not like he’s asking you to marry him, christ’s sake. He likes you, and I feel like you’re only trying to deprive yourself because you feel like it’s not right.” 

“It’s not right--”

“Who says so?” she cuts me off then, her gaze hardening on mine with such intensity it takes everything in me not to flinch back, “who says it’s not right? It doesn’t matter if it’s after two days, two weeks, two months. You think I don’t know how it feels to be heartbroken? You can’t just keep thinking about the past. You’re going to hurt yourself that way.” 

My teeth sink down onto my lower lip, her words like ice-cold knives aimed straight at my chest. 

“What you can control, right now, is the present, Y/N.” 

“I know,” I mumble out half-heartedly.

“I can see it, you know, the way he looks at you,” she shakes her head, “even if you don’t like him back, you gotta be aware of all that he’s done for you.” 

Her hands find their way to mine, enclosing them in her grasp before squeezing them with such care that I can’t stop the tears crawling up the back of my throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs next, “I don’t want to pressure you if that’s not how you feel. That--That was not my intention,” her eyes latch onto mine, filled with understanding, “I just want you to be happy.” 

Happy. 

That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t you dare cry now,” Emma says while waving her hands around in warning, “you’re going to ruin your makeup and we definitely don’t want that.” 

I sniffle, trying my best to hold in the tears now brimming through my eyes, “you’re right,” I attempt to smile, albeit it’s wobbly, “we don’t.” 

“Come here,” she tugs my arm so that I fall into her embrace. Her head finds her way to my shoulder and she hugs me tight, not caring that her veil is getting all bunched up and wrinkled, “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, one hand stroking my back, “you’ll be just fine, little one.” 

Then, pulling back and pushing a few strands away from my face, she flashes a bright smile, “we should probably head to the church soon.” 

----------

“We now declare you, Vincent and Emma, as husband and wife.” 

The church explodes in a round of applause and I join in the clapping, furiously trying to keep the tears of joy at bay. Vincent has been there for Emma ever since they met at work and it has been the most beautiful love story ever since; filled with the purest kind of love no one can imagine. Beside me, I feel Kevin’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder in a reassuring manner and I feel warm all over despite the rush of emotion in my heart. 

The wedding reception is to take place at a fancy restaurant overlooking the harbourfront. Our family has booked the venue for the evening, and as I enter, I take in the baby blue veils that come down each corner of the restaurant, sprinkles of glitter here and there as we make our way to our assigned tables that each have a baby blue napkin shaped in swans. 

I don’t even have time to place my butt down when I hear a voice call out, “Y/N! Look how big you’ve gotten!” 

Of course, big wedding ceremonies only mean that we get to meet all of our extended family that we haven’t seen since forever, and they’re all too happy to chat with me about living overseas. Soon enough, I’m bustled off to a table and look back over my shoulder to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to Kevin. Bless his soul, for he only smiles and shakes his head, his hand motioning for me to go on.

I manage to catch up with cousins I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, talk over appetizers with excited aunts who want to know all about how it feels like to live away from family for such a long time, and nod along to the old uncles trying to get me to give a concrete answer about when and where will my wedding take place. 

“Come on Y/N! You’re the next one after Emma for sure,” one of my uncles bellow, face flushed red as a result of the glasses of wine he has downed like water. He is Emma’s father, no surprise that he’ll want to get drunk from happiness and pride. It is his daughter’s wedding after all. 

He leans close with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “so tell me,” his eyes glance over to Kevin, currently deep in conversation with another one of my distant aunts. I watch as he says something to make her laugh, and something inside my chest warms at the action, “is he the lucky guy that’s going to ask for your hand?” 

“Do you think he’s the one?” another uncle pipes up. 

I purse my lips and attempt to shrug, “it’s early days,” I try laughing it off although it sounds forced, “who knows what can happen.” 

“He’s a good kid,” an aunt says, “you know how we all have this sixth sense? Well Y/N, I have a good feeling about this young man. Don’t let him go. Something tells me he’s a keeper.” 

A wild imaginative speculation, considering that we’re not even dating. But I nod along and say that yes, I’ll tell them whenever I decide to tie the knot.

It’s only when the dance floor opens and people start pooling onto the dance floor after the first dance -- led by no other than the bride and groom themselves -- that I finally allow myself to breathe. I find my way back to my chair, back to Kevin’s warm smile flashing in my direction as his eyes take in the fatigue lining my face. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” is the first thing he tells me the moment I plop my butt onto my designed seat, the one that’s been kept cold ever since I stepped foot into the dining hall. 

I gratefully accept the glass of wine he offers me, swallowing it down in a few gulps, “thanks,” I sigh with relief, “I needed that.” 

“How was catching up with family?” 

“It couldn’t be as bad as being left behind,” I peer over at him, guilt flooding me at the prospect of having left him all alone, “sorry. It’s just that everyone--” 

“Oh stop that,” Kevin nudges my shoulder with his, “don’t be sorry. It’s totally normal. I’m happy for you. And I wasn’t left behind. I had a wonderful time talking to your aunt. She seemed so happy to tell me what your childhood was like.”

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you?” 

“Hey, it works as blackmail. Why wouldn’t I like that?” 

“Dork.” 

“You’re friends with this dork.” 

“Oh piss off,” I slap his shoulder playfully in retaliation, causing him to laugh softly as we watch couples glide across the dance floor like swans over water. The lights have dimmed, the yellow hues now replaced by soft cool blues and purples that cause Emma’s dress to shimmer every time she turns. She’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and the way she and Vincent are gazing at each other just scream of pure love that wraps around them in a golden mist so enchantingly beautiful that I find myself catching my breath in the back of my throat. 

“She’s so beautiful,” the words fall from my mouth without meaning to, and I feel Kevin’s eyes on my face from the corner of my peripheral.

“You are too.” 

I bite my lip and narrow my eyes at him playfully, “thanks, but why do I have a feeling that this isn’t a compliment?” 

“It isn’t,” he holds my gaze, “it’s just the truth.” 

Emotion lodges at the back of my throat. I stare at him. He stares back, a glimmer of tenderness echoing through the dark pools of black, his whole expression relaxed into a face that appears flooded with affection for--

Me. 

For some reason, no words seem to come to me as I open my mouth and close it. Embarrassment slowly bubbles through my stomach. I look away, unable to contain the goosebumps suddenly exploding across the back of my neck with that same familiar uncomfortable sensation I keep getting around him these days. Like I’m standing atop a cliff and preparing myself to jump.

“Wanna dance?” 

I blink in surprise, before turning to the said young man beside me who has his head cocked to the side with that same expression. My heart can’t help but squeeze inside my chest before I push down the rising protest searing through my brain. 

I nod. And off we go onto the dance floor. His hands settle on my waist, mine atop his shoulders in a casual sling. There’s enough distance between our bodies to show that we’re not together and yet, I can’t deny that electrical tension that keeps on pulling me towards Kevin like a magnet. I wonder if he feels it too, that searing heat that is so palpable I can feel sweat break out from the back of my neck. Asking, though, would mean that I’m aware of what’s happening, asking would imply that I want something to happen.

Maybe I do. 

Maybe I do want to grab life by the reins myself and steer it wherever I want it to go. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blink. Right up into Kevin’s brown orbs, his hair catching the shades of blue from the disco balls. My throat runs dry. 

“Uh--” my mind tries to scramble for a response, any response, “just--uhm, it’s kind of like our last day here.” 

He cocks his head, “sad?” 

“Kinda. I like it here,” my eyes brush over Emma and Vincent’s forms in the vicinity, catch my grandma sitting at one of the tables, little cousins running all over the place. Then, I look back at the said young man gazing at me with that undecipherable look in his eyes that makes my heart sing, and try not to squirm as I continue softly, “it feels like home.” 

“We can always come back,” he uses ‘we’ as though it’s now an adventure kept between the two of us, a secret to our own little neverland that nobody knows about. I can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Do you want to come back?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I want to come back. The views are amazing, the food is out of this world, and your family has been really kind to me.” 

“I’m sorry, they are kind of overbearing when you first get to know them.” 

“I love it,” Kevin says seriously, “I love that they’re overbearing. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

If I had any doubts, the sincerity dripping from his eyes is enough to wipe out any suspicions left from his compliment. The sudden urge to hug him rocks through me and my hands fist on the back of his shirt in response. 

We keep on dancing silently, bobbing from one foot to another for a few minutes more before he speaks up softly. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“I wouldn't mind getting married here.” 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “really now?” 

“Yup,” he grins, “really.” 

“Your future wife will have me to thank for that.” 

“Maybe my future wife won’t have to thank you.” 

There it is. That same borderline flirting that’s been happening for days on end. 

“And why is that?” I probe, partly just to tease him, and partly because I just want to know.

“Maybe she might be right here, in this room.” 

“Didn’t know you were into one of my cousins,” I start looking around the room, only for one of his hands to cup my cheek to turn my face back to his. 

There is none of that teasing glimmer now. His eyes are darker, gazing down at me with such emotion that the breath catches in the back of my throat and the air halts in my lungs. We gaze at each other for a few beats longer, before I feel his thumb graze my cheek. Gently, so gently like he’d stroke a flower petal. 

Swallowing at the heat of his hand cupping the side of my face, my hands unconsciously tighten on the back of his neck. He senses my nervousness, but only pulls me slightly closer so that we are mere millimeters from each other, noses hovering over each other in a space that causes my heart to stutter inside my chest. 

When he opens his mouth next, his alto is hoarse, pent-up with emotion. 

“I wasn’t talking about your cousins.” 

My heart practically jumps to my throat, teeth biting onto my lip. 

I can’t hear the music, nor the people. I can’t hear anything except for my pounding heart and Kevin’s soft breaths washing over my face. 

His eyes search mine and we hold gazes for a moment too long.

“Y/N?” 

I press my lips together, “Y-Yes?” 

He moves even closer then so that his nose brushes mine in the most intimate of ways. 

“I--” 

“Y/N! I was looking all over for you!” 

We spring apart like we just got burnt just in time for one of my cousins to grab onto my arm. He sends an apologetic smile at Kevin, before explaining, “we just need to sort out the takeaways. She’ll be back in a second!” 

And without listening to my protests, he proceeds to drag me away from the said young man on the dancefloor. I look back, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry” once more -- it’s the second time that night!-- and see the raven-haired man laugh good-naturedly before shaking his head and waving me away. That does nothing to keep my heart from cartwheeling out of my chest, swelling up with such affection that I grin back despite the earlier predicament. 

One thing’s for sure: I’m not done talking with Kevin Moon yet. 

----------

I find him sitting alone in the tiny garden that overlooks the decorated pavillon a few hours later. His figure, illuminated by the soft yellow hues of interior light, seems to glow in the dark, the moon bouncing off his hair and catching the strength of his cheekbone when he turns and catches me staring. He only smiles though -- that beautiful tender smile that I keep seeing more and more these days -- before waving me over. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” I ask as I reach his figure. A soft breeze dances along the back of my spine, cool in contrast to the warm stickiness of the air. 

“Your smaller cousin was showing me what she’d learnt in astronomy at her school,” he tilts his head up at the sky, “she’s quite the prodigy at that.” 

“The next woman to land on the moon,” I joke.

“Jeez, I should get her autograph.” 

“Wise idea,” that’s when I feel his hand slip into mine and I look down at him, blinking. He grins a little shyly, before tugging me forward so that I all but stumble right into him, halfway sprawled across his lap. 

Heat explodes through my chest at the proximity of our bodies and I can’t help but avert my gaze from his, partly embarrassed that maybe there might be someone around to see, and partly because it’s only recently that I’ve started seeing Kevin in a new light that being so close makes my heart choke up and my mind to run blank. 

We’re close. So close I feel his breath mingle with mine. My hands settle atop his chest lightly, “Kev,” I breathe out but nothing follows, too scared to verbally voice out what is going on for fear that it might all crumble into nothing. 

I don’t want false hope. I also don’t want his heart -- or mine -- to break. 

This friendship is too precious to let go. I can’t imagine a life without Kevin in it.

“Listen Y/N,” Kevin’s voice is soft, a hushed murmur resonating through his chest as his eyes search mine, “I think we both know what’s happening here.” 

I nod mutely. 

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you. I know it’s been tough and that you’re still healing. I just--I just want to know.” 

As his words wash over me as gently as the forest leaves rustling around us, I feel the warmth of his hand cupping my cheek, holding me like I am fine china and stroking my skin with his thumb so that butterflies suddenly rush along my middle.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood, " I-- well, I think you already know how I feel."

"I know," he breathes, "but I need to hear it from you."

As if it isn't hard enough to come face to face with my own feelings, having Kevin stare me down as though I put the moon in his sky makes me want to squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. 

“I like you,” I blurt out then, “a lot.” 

There is a few seconds delay, before a shit-- eating grin --the biggest I’ve ever seen -- spreads across Kevin’s face like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“Enough for us to go on a date?”

I nod mutely. I don’t trust my voice, not right now when I already feel so pathetic. Kevin’s grin softens into a tender smile, one that I can’t help but return when our eyes meet in the most intimate of ways. Suddenly, the air feels charged and alive with electricity, the heat between our bodies palpable as his hand moves to the back of my neck. 

He tugs. I follow. 

His lips find mine mid-way in a delicate kiss. 

It’s soft. Softer than any kiss I’ve ever had. Kevin’s mouth parts over my own in a gentle caress, before he tilts his head to the side and captures my lower lip between his. 

I gasp slightly at the contact, hands unconsciously tightening around his neck. 

Slowly leaning away, I notice the film of lust like a dull glow at the back of his maroon orbs, just the slightest hint that he wants me as a woman. And that makes my lungs constrict, air suddenly halting in the back of my throat.

My skin is prickling with the aftermath of his touch. I let out a soft breath before he covers my mouth with his once more and all thoughts fly out of my brain the moment he does. 

I don’t really know how long we spend outside, exchanging the softest of kisses underneath the moonlight, until I hear the soft exclamations of my family’s voices suggesting that it is time to head home. So I part from the said man and can’t help but blush at the lack of space between our bodies.

“We should probably head back,” I hate how wanton I sound, like I’ve just sprinted a mile when in truth I’ve been sitting in this very spot for the last hour.

He agrees and I descend from his lap, his hand subtly finding mine as we walk back to the wedding hall. 

Emma is still saying her goodbyes, her hair now dotted with glitter, probably from the decorations that my younger cousins took pleasure in bathing her in. Her face lights up as soon as she spots our entwined hands and I try not to meet her eyes for I know exactly the kind of smug look she'll be giving me. 

"Enjoyed the wedding?" She says as soon as we're within earshot.

"That must've been the best cake I've had in my life," Kevin lets out a dramatic sigh, "and that says something."

"Do I trust your taste buds though?" She teases.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he gasped in mock offense, before they both break into playful chuckles.

As we exchange our goodbyes and Vincent engages Kevin in a conversation, Emma takes this chance to drag me to her side as she whispers, "so you gonna tell me the tea or am I going to have to extract it from you?"

I press my lips together as I try to control the heat searing through the back of my neck, "...we kissed."

She gasps, "No way! OH MY GOD! Are you guys a thing then?!" The answer is as clear as water on my face and she clamps a hand over her mouth, would've jumped up and down if she could've, "OH MY, OH MY GOD. I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen--"

"Shut up!" I hiss, scared that Kevin might overhear and think I'm a big fat tattle tale. My eyes quickly swivel over to his and I'm glad to find his head bent towards Vincent in concentration. 

"You need to tell me everything," Emma's eyes are sparkling, "like--as soon as you have some free time."

"You--" I send her a pointed look, then jerk my head at Vincent, "--need to tell me everything."

"Oh I will, don't worry."

"Anyway, I'll talk to you after your honeymoon."

"Okay," I turn around to find Kevin, not failing to notice the smirk playing on Emma's lips. I slap her arm in response, causing her to laugh before she calls out: 

"Don't forget to use protection!"

-----------

"We'll come back right?"

That's the first thing that Kevin states as soon as we step inside security, away from the tears of my family that I just left behind a few seconds ago. My heart still aches when I think of their faces, all crumpled and blinking at me with tissues in hand and noses as red as traffic lights. But I seek comfort upon feeling Kevin's hand slip through mine as we walk towards our destined gate. 

"Sure," I look at him; at his red-tinted cheeks (probably the aftermath of a sunburn), his newly tanned skin a fresh contrast against his white shirt, and the permanent grin that seems impossible to wipe off his face. My heart instantly flutters.

It's only been a few days since we've confessed our growing romantic interest in each other, but I can already feel the weight of his love pouring out of his heart and into mine the moment he realized that my arms would be there to catch him when he fell.

"I'm not going to wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, am I?" He’d joked when we stumbled, half-asleep, into Emma's flat after the wedding. 

I frowned at him, "Why would you think that?"

"Just in case you think that kissing me was a mistake."

A small pause ensued, in which I realized that despite all my fears and all the pain I had been carrying in my heart ever since we landed on my motherland, I had not once considered how Kevin might be feeling at this very moment. 

My eyes quickly took note of his countenance, sweeping right up to his face only to notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth were tense, cheekbones taught against his skin as he awaited for my answer with baited breath. 

Clearing my throat, I whispered, "it wasn't."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, "good to know."

His answer seemed so genuine, so wholehearted that my chest tightened in a mixture of gratefulness and affection, so much so that my arms automatically reached for him to tug him close. My nose found its rightful place at his neck and I breathed in his comforting  lilac smell that I enjoyed so much.

I felt him take a breath. Then, softly, a hand caressed the back of my head. I buried even closer if that was possible.

"I really want this to work," my words were a muffled mess and I was surprised that he understood.

"Me too," he murmured into my hair, "and it will work. I promise I won't break your heart Y/N."

Looking back now at this tender moment in which we both weren't certain of where we were stepping, I can't help but laugh at the thought, for now the love and attraction is so natural I'm amazed it has taken this long to flourish. 

Maybe I hadn't been looking the right way. Maybe I had been searching so far out and wide that I hadn't noticed that my safe harbour is the one standing right beside me.

"Hey Kevin," I call out.

Kevin turns towards me, where he'd been watching planes take off from the ground into the gorgeously blue sunny sky.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m really glad you came.” 

There's a few beats of silence although his mouth immediately cracks into that gorgeous, crooked grin of his that I adore so much. 

“Me too.” 

These days, you can’t seem to empty your head from the multitudes of thoughts that swarm around you like bees ready to sting. The fear of failure and the dread of not finding work makes its way around your throat in the form of hot, choked back tears as you fumble to find your keys. 

You should’ve known that pursuing an Art degree wouldn’t get you anywhere. Should’ve listened to your father as he berated on the waste of money he’d spend on your education instead of standing your ground like the stubborn mule you are.

But it’s too late now, and while you wish you could turn back time, there’s really no way out of this hellhole you’ve dug yourself into.

Once you manage to get yourself inside, the first thing you see is a mop of dark hair suddenly popping up from the couch and instantly, all the pent-up frustration rushes out of you. 

“Sangyeon,” is the only thing that makes it out of your mouth, barely above a whisper. 

Before you explode into a fit of uncontrollable sobs. 

Arms come to embrace you, a cheek presses against yours while you slide to the ground, unable to keep yourself up any longer from the sudden overload of inner frustration and sadness and self-doubt. You can’t do anything but cry into the soft material of Sangyeon’s sweater, his comforting energy only aiding to intensify your sobs. 

“Hey hey,” Sangyeon’s soft alto echoes through your ear. He rocks you from side to side, and you feel his lips pressing a kiss to your temple, “it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

“I can’t–” your words come out jumbled and messy, coated with hiccups, “I can’t–do this–Sangyeon. This–It’s too…hard. I–I’m–such a,” you let out a whimper,”–a l-loser.”

“No you’re not, Y/N,” Sangyeon replies firmly, “you’re not a loser.” 

The tears won’t stop dribbling down your face no matter how much you try to reign in your emotions and Sangyeon’s arms aren’t helping in the least, acting like a safe haven where you can just bury yourself and let out everything that your heart has been carrying. And so you cry.

And you cry. And you keep crying. 

Until your eyes are red and your nose is stuffed and you can’t even breathe anymore, just taking in air in little gasps. 

It’s at that particular moment that your boyfriend finally pulls back, hands cradling your face even though you were pretty sure you looked disgusting – what with snot dribbling down your chin and your eyes puffing out like a goldfish – before he murmurs out in a cajoling tone: 

“Since when have you been holding this in?” his eyes search yours, as gentle as a doe’s, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you shrug and allow your gaze to wander to his sweater as you know that looking into his eyes will only make you burst into another fit of tears. 

“Y/N,” his thumb caresses your cheek to wipe at the tears before tilting your head up so that you have no other choice but to look at him, look at the concerned furrow of his eyebrows kissing at the centre and the way his lips are pushed into a tense line that seems disapproving. 

You can feel your lower lip tremble. Sangyeon must’ve seen it too, for he brings his lips to your forehead to drop a feather light kiss there.

"It’s totally normal for you to be struggling,” as he speaks, his hands find yours so that he can give them a gentle squeeze, “you’re not a failure, not if you can’t get a job, and not if you get a job that’s not what you originally wanted.” 

 You frown and are about to refute his words when he cuts you off.

“These things, good things like a stable career or just a stable income, these things take time. You can’t compare yourself to your million other friends already working nine to five for Corporates. They’re working like slaves, Y/N. And for what? Well, nobody knows. But you, you’re working towards what you want. Doesn’t matter how long it takes. The thing is, you’re brave, Y/N. You’re brave for walking a path that’s full of thorns.”

His words seem to calm you down somewhat like a pacifier, partnered with the gentle hum of his alto. Your eyes finally flicker up to meet his, only to be faced with admiration and truth, honest sincerity shining from the depth of his dark maroon swirls, and your heart melts inside your chest at the warmth radiating from this human being.

You bite your lip, look away, “I’m not…I’m not brave.” 

Sangyeon’s hand cups your chin, tilts it up to his face, “you need to stop underestimating yourself, Y/N. Just the fact that you decided to pursue something you loved is brave of you.”

“Let’s face it though,” a broken chuckle escapes your lips, “that’s not going to amount to anything.” 

“So what? Do we all have to have successful careers to say that we’re having a successful life? The question is: do you want to be successful in life? Or do you want to have a successful life?” his eyes follow yours, open and understanding, yet firm with affection for you, “that’s the question you should be asking yourself.” 

His words hit a string within your chest that pulls you out of the whirling mess of entangled messy thoughts that has been haunting your mind these past few days. 

There’s no right or wrong in this answer. But it’s definitely not the financial stability that you’re after. 

No, it’s the satisfaction that you’re doing something you love, something that’s worthwhile, and something that completes you even though it doesn’t bring you as much money as you’d want to.

That’s what you want. To live without regret. 

A rush of gratefulness swoops in, warming your heart as your arms instinctively tighten around his waist. You snuggle close to his chest, press a kiss at the underside of his jaw while mumbling out a soft, “thank you,” between small hiccups.

“Don’t thank me, stupid girl,” his hand gently smoothes over the side of your head. Then, cupping your face in his hand and tilting it up so that your eyes met, he broke into a tender smile, “I’m only telling the truth.” 

You don’t say anything, partly because you don’t know what to say really. Instead, you just bury your nose into his chest, taking this chance to inhale in his soft masculine scent. It’s warm, it’s comfortable, it makes you feel like nothing bad can happen to you in this world. 

“Love you,” you mumble.

His chuckle rumbles through his chest. He swoops down to drop a kiss to your forehead, “love you too. Now stop crying okay? I hate it when you cry for nothing.” 

“it’s not for nothing.”

"Just tell me, Y/N. What did I do?" He makes a grab for your arm, almost shaking it out of its exoskeleton.

"Leave me alone," you snap back.

"Not until you tell me why you're mad at me."

"Oh piss off."

"Just tell me!"

"Fine!" You swivel around so quickly that Hyunjae lurches back, wide eyes blinking at you in shock. Probably because you're not usually so aggressive.

But you had good reason to be. Fair enough that Hyunjae was a rising idol star, especially since that damned Road To Kingdom reality show had boosted their fanbase up to the nines. You knew it was only going to get harder the more auccessful he got, that didn't mean that your feelings were so compliant.

So when you stumbled upon an instagram video showing Hyunjae adorably peppering the entire vlive screen with kisses, anger burst through your stomach in a wild spitfire that had you flush red to your toes. It didn't help that the caption mentioned something about him being boyfriend material, when clearly he already had one: you!

"I saw your Vlive the other day," your words are clipped, cold, eyes narrowed threateningly, "you give out a lot of kisses, don't you?"

He stares you down for a whole fives seconds.

Before bursting out in loud laughter.

"You--You're kidding?!" He roars wildly, head thrown back and mouth wide open as he clutches his abdomen, "you're actually serious?!"

Rage flares through you, "Yes I fucking am!"

"Oh my--Oh my god--" he's wiping tears at the corners of his eyes now as he's still trying to stifle his chuckles, "I can't believe you're mad just because you got jealous--"

"I'm leaving," you hiss and don't hesitate to swivel around to walk out in the direction of your room, a still-laughing Hyunjae following you in haste.

`Wait--" his hand latches onto your arm to tug you around. Eyes narrowed into a glare, you hope that it's enough to burn his skull off the moment his brown orbs flit over your face, "hey, it was only fan service. You of all people should know that."

Your own orbs slide to the floor to avoid his gaze filled with concern and open understanding, the kind that makes your heart melt and give in almost instantly, "Whatever."

"Y/N," He tugs you a little close and despite your initial resistance, it soon crumbles as you allow his other hand to cradle the back of your elbow.

Ducking his head to catch your eyes, he murmurs, "look, it's just my job. They're my fans and they give me so much support. It wouldn't be fair that I don't meet them halfway."

You bite the inside of your cheek without saying a word. He tugs you even closer so that your hand brushes his side now.

"Besides, they're not the kind of kisses I give you. They're just friendly kisses," weaving his fingers through yours, he lifts your knuckles up to press a kiss there.

You grumble some more though it's hard to keep such a cold facade when Hyunjae is right there, looking up at you like a kicked puppy in need of a cuddle.

"I just don't like it," you finally say.

"I know you don't," he presses another kiss to the inside of your wrist this time. You shiver as he murmurs, "come here."

And then you're dragged to your room, Hyunjae plopping down on the bed and pulling you into his lap, his arms weaving around your middle and his chin finding its place atop your shoulder. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your cheek while ignoring your protests, peppering a chain of butterfly kisses along the curve of your neck. 

“Am I forgiven?” he breathes, eyelids half-closed as he peeks at your face. A soft smile makes its way to your lips, though you shake your head with a smug look. Hyunjae merely chuckles, before resuming to press another chaste kiss on your ear, then to your cheekbone, then turning your head to peck your nose.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you throw him a poignant stare, “you might have a lot of fans, but you only have one girlfriend. Got it?” 

He smiles up at you, hand cradling your face, “yes ma’am.” 

“Good,” you flash him a smile, “now kiss me.” 

“Bossy,” he remarks, though he barely gets the word out when you peck his lips. Again. And again. And then he’s moulding his lips against yours, harder, pressing into you with growing fashion as his arms tighten around your frame. Your hands tighten around his neck, hand slipping to his jaw and cradling his face as his tongue delves out to meet yours in a sinuous dance. 

“Are you convinced now?” he says, mouth brushing yours. You barely have time to respond before he’s kissing you again and tilting your head to get a better angle, teeth nibbling at your lower lip so that you gasp against his mouth. 

When your lips part, you press your forehead against his while a small smile adorns your lips. His eyes gaze into yours, sparkling with galaxies of affection that causes butterflies to spring through your abdomen and flutter across your ribcage.

“I’m convinced,” you whisper, “but you can keep on kissing if you want.”