#theamarischapter

All love fairies take pride in who they are—to gift love is a magical and honorable responsibility. But one particular love fairy seems to disagree: Beomgyu. 

Perhaps you’re overthinking it, but it’s hard to ignore the way he actively avoids love. He dodges affection like an arrow gone astray, charming yet distant, admired yet untouched. You, for example, have spent an embarrassing amount of time admiring from afar, which is how you’ve come to notice this odd behavior—the way he dodges using his spells and magic, steering clear of anything love-related. 

But why? 

Well, naturally, it’s now your duty to do the impossible—love the unlovable, and beat the love fairy at his own game. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 1: Befriend him 

It should be a simple task, right? He’s already quite outgoing and friendly—easy to approach, easy to talk to. You’re sure he has plenty of friends, so what’s one more? 

Besides, fate seems to be rooting for you. The dean—Mrs. Elderose—personally requested that you tutor the boy. It’s a perfect opening to get to know him and hang out alone, where he feels less pressured to uphold a facade of upbeat charm. The only problem? He’s already ten minutes late. Your leg bounces incessantly beneath the table, fingers idly fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket. Your eyes periodically glance around the vast school library, where towering bookshelves line the walls and warm lights hang from the domed ceiling, illuminating the golden engravings on each book. Hushed voices blend with the gentle flutter of wings, barely audible beneath the whisper of a calm breeze, which reaches you through the slightly ajar window to your right. Carrying the crisp scent of pine, it drifts in from the endless woodland beyond. Your gaze lingers there, admiring the warm hues of the sunset sky as they color the landscape. Beomgyu still has yet to arrive.You should’ve known he’d skip. With a resigned sigh, your hands move to pack up the scattered pencils and notebooks you had out. Just as you’re haphazardly stuffing your bag with the first notebook, a teasing voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“What’s the rush? Waiting for someone?” Beomgyu’s bright expression comes into view as you turn your head towards his voice. He’s smirking, one corner of his lips tilted upwards as his deep brown eyes, hidden behind light bangs, gleam with mischief. “Honestly, I wasn’t gonna show up—but Mrs. Elderose dragged me here after she saw me trying to leave.”

You offer a laugh, purely out of awkward pity. Honestly, you’re not that amused. He just told you to your face that he doesn’t want to be here. Then again, you can’t really blame him. If the dean forced you to get tutoring, you wouldn’t be very eager either.

“Well…I’m glad you made it.” You smile, and for a moment his expression falters. His smirk falls; he looks almost surprised by how earnest you sound. Subconsciously, he’d assumed you were as unwilling as he was to be here in the library. But it seems you feel the opposite way—you want to be around him.  It shouldn’t be such a revolutionary idea—there are plenty of people who like having him around. So, what’s with the weird warmth spreading through his chest at your comment? Why is he happy that you want him around? He doesn’t even know you yet, but he feels drawn to you in a familiar, unreasonable way—one he refuses to acknowledge... He won’t hurt himself again. 

“You shouldn’t be.” He mutters, huffing out a small laugh in an attempt to regain his composure. Usually, he has more control over himself, but his defenses seem to naturally crumble at your genuine compassion. With a quiet breath, he plops into the seat beside you, slouching. “I’m a waste of time.”

You frown, head tilting to the side. Beneath the layers of playfulness, you sense something genuine in his statement. “I disagree.” You say quietly, opening one of your notebooks. “I mean—I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

“You’ll see soon. I have no intention of improving, anyway.” He replies, looking away from you. There’s a thoughtful expression on his face, his gaze captivated by the smooth, dark wooden table. You’re tempted to outright ask all of your questions, but refrain—there’s no rush. 

Love requires patience. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

Step 2: Carefully get closer; earn his trust 

So far, you’ve barely scratched the surface. Just when you think you’ve made progress, he pulls away—always with a laugh, a joke to distract from any real emotion that leaked out. At the very least, he shows up to every tutoring session and occasionally says hello if he sees you in the halls. You’re friendly, but not quite friends. And he has no intention of changing that. 

“You did it!” You exclaim cheerfully, standing beside him. The gentle breeze flows through your hair, bright strands of grass beneath your leather boots. The outdoors, naturally a suitable place to practice spells. You’ve been focusing on the basics with him—specifically levitation since it’s a simple but useful tool to have. Your eyes admire the pretty rose floating in front of him, its smooth petals matching the faint pink hue of his cheeks. 

“It was luck,” he mutters. He frowns at the sight of his accomplishment, arms crossing as the rose drops to the floor—except, you never even taught him how to undo the spell, he just…did. Perhaps it was just something natural; he didn’t necessarily need your guidance for something as simple as that…right? You shouldn’t overthink it.

“Luck or not, it’s an improvement.” You smile, bending down to pick up the rose. A dumb idea comes to mind, but you don’t bother to stop it. Maybe if you’re straightforward he’ll be more willing to try and open up. You hold the rose to him, looking into his deep, sparkling eyes. “How about we celebrate? Are you hungry?”

His fingers brush yours as he takes the flower, the touch fleeting but warm. It lingers longer than it should, even as he quickly clears his throat, looking away from you. It takes him a second too long to find his words. “I…um, I don’t have money—“

“It’s okay! I can pay.” You reply enthusiastically, collecting your things. His lips part, but no words come out. Instead, he just stares, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. He doesn’t understand what you want, why you’re even here. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it—he’s not allowed to run away this time. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When you stare at him expectantly with those big, pretty eyes, how could he decline? He’d hate to see disappointment in your gaze, so he nods mutely, diverting his attention to the flower cradled delicately between his fingers. Just this once, he’ll allow his heart to win. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

You sit across from him in the school cafe, a dark wooden table between you. Warm light reflects down from the ceiling, casting soft shadows over his smooth, pale skin. His fingers trace his warm cup of cocoa absentmindedly, the warmth spreading through his fingertips. 

“I’m proud of you, Beomgyu. I think you’ll do really well on our next evaluation.” Your voice is gentle, a sincere, soft smile on your lips—which he finds himself staring at. Get it together, Beomgyu. When he finally processes your words, he straightens his posture, ears heating up and wings fluttering—a telltale sign of his apprehension. 

“Um, yeah. Me too.” He mumbles. What’s wrong with him? He’s normally so outgoing, but now the words are all tangling together in his mouth—even in his brain, it’s a jumbled, confusing mess. His heart stutters, a wild, erratic rhythm that refuses to settle. Each breath comes faster, shallower, like his body is betraying him. This isn’t normal. This isn’t fair. He hates this feeling—this infatuation, this longing. It never ends well. “I mean, I'll do better, at least.” 

He laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He takes a deep breath, the rapid thumps of his heart calming. He manages to smile, fingers tapping restlessly against the table even as he huffs out a small laugh. “Maybe my charm will get me a few extra points.” 

You scoff, chuckling and shaking your head. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lift your iced coffee to take a small sip. You hum in thought, leaning over the table, closer to him. “Have more confidence! Mrs. Elderose is keeping you here for a reason. There’s potential.” 

He raises an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. His elbows rest on the table, head leaning on the palm of his hand as he feigns nonchalance. His gaze travels through the space, lingering on the warm cup of cocoa in front of him instead of you. “Tch, yeah—potential failure.” 

“Are you saying I’m a bad teacher?” You joke, gaze carefully observing him. You’re searching beneath the surface, through the cracks of his carefully upheld persona. Behind every smile, every laugh, and every joke, is a quiet, insecure boy—at least, that’s what you’ve deduced thus far. There are always other reasons he may feel the need to downplay his talent. 

“Wh—no! You’re great. But, like, I’m just saying…” He refutes quickly, his pale hair bouncing as he frantically shakes his head. He’s wide-eyed, a small pout forming on his lips, as if he’s upset you would accuse him of something so horrific. You’re not a bad teacher at all; you’re smart, patient, encouraging, pretty…um, wait, never mind that last one. The point is, he’s actually learned a lot from you, and he’d hate to make you feel bad. 

“Right…saying what? That you hate me and you learned nothing?” You ask, teasing him further, even if only to see the flustered expression on his face. It’s also a good tactic for getting him to admit how he feels if he feels anything. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! You’re putting words in my mouth!” He defends, almost whining, before huffing out a short breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, pretty eyes focused on you with a helpless plead to stop this defamation of his character!

“You didn’t deny it? Wow, I’m offended.” You continue, and he sits up straight, hands slamming onto the thick table. Heads turn, all eyes on you both for just a brief moment before the audience loses interest. His ears are a bright shade of pink, his wings twitching. 

“Stop—“ He attempts to defend, but you’re quick to cut in. He can feel butterflies swirling around in his stomach, and he hates it. He hates you for making him feel this way. 

“I mean, really, I thought we got along pretty well. But I guess I was wrong—“ You’re exaggerating, of course, faking a frown as you place a hand over your heart in offense. He’s had enough. 

 “I like you, okay?” His mouth moves faster than his brain, desperate to prove you wrong. For what reason? Because, well, he can’t stomach the thought of you not liking him, of you thinking he doesn’t like you. Once he realizes what he’s said, he freezes, wings twitching so violently behind him that the table shakes just a little. His hands clench into fists in an attempt to comfort himself. Stupid. That was so stupid. His heart beats rapidly against his ribcage, and the heat crawling up his neck makes it impossible to pretend he’s unaffected.

“Geez,” he mutters, slouching, arms crossing over his chest. “Can’t a guy be self-deprecating every once in a while?” His voice is quieter now, more grumbled than spoken. He fixes his gaze on the untouched cup of cocoa in front of him as he contemplates his life choices. He risks a glance at you, just for a second. You’re smiling. It’s small, just a slight curve of your lips, but paired with the faint pink hue on your cheeks, it’s enough to make his chest squeeze uncomfortably tight. 

“N-Not like that!” He blurts, practically whining as he sits up. His wings flutter again—another traitorous giveaway. He swears under his breath. “You know what I meant.”

 “Do I?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. He likes you. Your smile widens at the thought, meanwhile, his pout deepens. He looks cute like that, you think. Maybe you don’t mind upsetting him every once in a while.

✧༺🩷༻✧

Evaluation day arrives fast. Too fast. 

You should be excited—it’s your moment to prove yourself again and make your parents proud. And you are, sort of. But your focus keeps drifting to Beomgyu. He stands a few feet away, looking awfully comfortable. Too comfortable for someone who’s flunked every evaluation before this. He sighs, stretching his arms lazily as if he couldn’t care less about any of this. Everyone else is shifting anxiously in place, wings twitching, fingers fidgeting with their sleeves. Chatter fills the arena, students laughing and joking about how screwed they might be. Your gaze catches his, and for a moment, there’s something, a small glimmer in his eyes—regret. It’s gone in an instant, replaced by his usual, careless smile and a small nod as you part ways. 

The results are posted the next day. Your name is at the top where it always is, but it’s his name that catches your eye. Your stomach knots when you find it. Choi Beomgyu. Dead last. Again. It makes no sense. You trained for hours and rewarded his immense improvement. He should’ve passed—or, at the very least, passed any of the subjects with a grade higher than a D. But this…? Your hands tighten at your sides, your heart sinking into your stomach. There’s only one explanation; he’s been failing all of these things on purpose. The realization hits you like a wave of cold air, stealing the breath from your lungs. You should’ve known. He literally warned you that he was a “waste of time.” He told you he had “no intention of improving.” You just didn’t believe him—you figured he was just insecure. But now, staring at his name at the very bottom of the list, you’re left with only one question: Why?

You manage to speak to a friend of his: Kang Taehyun, a reserved but kind classmate of yours. You catch him as he’s heading to the dormitory. 

“I need to talk to you.” You say, getting straight to the point. 

He frowns, barely reacting to your statement. “About?” 

“Beomgyu. He’s been failing on purpose, right?” You reply. He sighs, taking a step back and crossing his arms. He doesn’t look all too impressed, in fact, he looks tired of the conversation already. It’s not that he’s mean, he just cares about Beomgyu a lot. 

“If you already know, then why are you asking me?” He asks, gaze scrutinizing you, searching for any hint of malicious intent in your posture, expression, or tone.

“Well, I just don’t get why. But, I figured you would know.” He hums in thought, head tilting to the side, expression still unchanging. 

“And why do you need to know?” 

Your mouth opens, then closes—you hadn’t thought that far. Somehow, you figured he might just come out and tell you, for some reason. You thought he’d sense your earnest desire to help. Instead, it almost feels like you’re on trial, as if he’s searching for any reason to withhold the information from you. 

“I want to help.” You finally say. He’s still staring at you, waiting for something more. “Please.” 

He hesitates, mulling it over. There’s a hint of reluctance in his gaze, but it’s not because of you. It’s because of Beomgyu. He knows his friend, and he knows that he’s never going to explain himself. He won’t stop being stubborn, and his self-sabotage is going to get him expelled sooner or later. Taehyun exhales, nodding slowly. 

✧༺🩷༻✧

The story goes something like this: 

Beomgyu was young when he fell in love for the first time—with a girl named Arielle. From the moment he first met her, the feelings surged all at once, like an unrelenting tide swallowing him whole She had an aura that attracted people effortlessly—someone you wanted to be around, hold onto and never let go of. 

She was a natural beauty, her long, sleek hair framing her round, delicate features. Her wide eyes shimmered with warmth, as if she constantly saw the best in everyone. When her eyes fell on him, the world quieted. Beomgyu could breathe. He could exist without effort, without overthinking. Her gaze alone felt like the sun shining down on him. But the deeper he fell, the more suffocating it became—it felt as though he’d been trapped in a self-imposed prison. Someone as great as her, as perfect as her, could never be with someone like him. And sure, he’s a love fairy—he could have used magic to draw her closer. But Beomgyu was stubborn. He wanted love to come naturally. He craved authentic attraction—and, magic was never his strong suit, anyway. So he waited. 

He became her shadow, her anchor. He caught her when she stumbled, offered his heart with both hands—without hesitation, without expecting anything in return. And she took, and took, and took, but never gave. Of course, it’s not like she owed him anything—he did everything willingly, but it still hurt. He devoted himself to her, promised to wait until she was ready, but she couldn’t return the favor. Even as a friend, she couldn’t lend him an ear nor comfort him on his shortcomings. She couldn’t make time for him, couldn’t lend a helping hand. Beomgyu eventually got fed up and finally stood up for himself—and that’s when she crushed everything to pieces. 

She took his heart from his chest, cradled it in her delicate hands, and then trampled it. She turned his fantasy of love into a nightmare, showed him how cruel it could be. To her, he was nothing but a tool to be used. She never really wanted him—no, she wanted someone to fuel her craving for love and attention. And when she got bored? He wasn’t useful anymore, so she discarded him like a piece of trash, told him he was “a waste of time,” even though she was the one who’d failed the relationship.

He hasn’t been the same since. Love became a distorted concept, a reminder of his inadequacy. He hated himself for who he was, who he failed to be. His trust was taken and demolished, so now he hides. He hides from himself, from everything that reminds him of her—everything related to love. He’s a love fairy who’s afraid to love, unable to trust. 

And, most importantly, he imposes failure on himself because he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to hide forever, wants to forget that who he is—a love fairy—is what he hates. And yet, in the quiet corners of his mind, he still feels her warmth, like an old scar that never fully fades.

✧༺🩷 ༻✧

Beomgyu has been a ghost in your life. He’s carefully kept his distance, looking the other way when you’re near, taking the scenic route to class just to avoid crossing shadows. He ignores the pull in his heart, the tightness in his chest that threatens to consume him. The feelings come uninvited—fluttering in his stomach, warmth creeping up his neck, his heart stuttering out of rhythm. And then, just as quickly, the fear swallows him whole. Each sensation is followed by swift dread, nausea, and guilt. He tells himself he shouldn’t feel this way, that he has no right to. But deep down, he knows the truth: he’s just afraid. His heart pounds against his ribcage, breaths quickening at even the thought of surrendering his heart once more. He can’t. He won’t. In the end, the only one he trusts with his heart is himself.

You manage to corner him with the help of Taehyun, who brings him along to the school garden. You sit on the edge of the marble fountain, tracing your fingers along the cool surface. The clear water glistens in the warmth of the sun, birds chirping in the distance as the bushes rustle in the cool breeze. If you focus, you can hear faint footsteps, coming from nearby within the maze of flowers and greenery. A movement catches your eye. From between two towering bushes, Beomgyu steps into view, his presence sending a ripple through the stillness. Taehyun, who’s close behind him, gives a nod of encouragement before nudging Beomgyu toward you. 

Your eyes connect and time stops. His light hair brushes across his face, confusion and apprehension flickering across his face as his eyebrows draw together. His lips part wordlessly, chest rising and falling rapidly with each quick, shallow breath. He’s suffocating once more, his lungs straining against an invisible force. His chest tightens, each heartbeat sharp and unrelenting. He stumbles back, fingers searching for something solid, something real. But nothing feels real—not the warmth of the sun, not the garden around him, not even himself. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face his feelings so head-on. 

“Beomgyu, can we talk?” Your voice pierces the silence, gentle but unwavering. He flinches, his gaze darting anywhere but you, as if doing so will make you disappear. You press onward, calming your own rapid heartbeat. You just need to connect, reach deeper into his fragile heart. “I- I know why you’re…afraid. Why you won’t use your magic.”

You risk a step forward, holding a flower to him. His eyes flicker with suspicion, scanning your expression like a wary animal expecting a trap. He’s looking for deception, for cruelty, for any sign that history is repeating itself. But all he finds is sincerity. He lifts a hand, feet dragging quietly against the stone path. He steals another glance at you—you have the same, patient expression, encouraging him to continue. His hand hovers over the flower, hanging there for a few moments. There’s a lump in his throat, an invisible barrier that prevents him from moving forward. His fingers brush yours, and he pulls his hand back, as though the touch burned. His hand falls limp at his side, chest heaving with a shaky exhale.

“Beomgyu.” You say gently, afraid to scare him away. It’s a miracle he’s still standing in front of you, at least willing to listen. His gaze finds yours, urging you to continue. “You, of all people, should know how precious love is.”

His eyes burn, chest tight and lungs burning. He manages to speak. “It’s not precious. It never ends well—everyone always gets hurt. I’ve seen it.”

Which, is admittedly true. It’s only natural that a love fairy would have seen the most love, and thus the most heartbreak, too. He’s seen the beauty and the raw, ugly flaws. But he focuses on the bad because it’s what has affected him most profoundly. 

“Doesn’t that make it more precious?” You reply, risking a small step closer. “If everyone had it, it wouldn’t be special anymore.” 

Tears pool in his eyes, a few spilling over as his bottom lip trembles. He’s showing you his heart now, no longer suppressing the emotions clashing together in his chest. Gently, you take his hand, and he squeezes, lacing his fingers between yours. 

“Heartbreak is not a downside to love, it is a representation of love. To have loved fully is to grieve deeply. People love—and continue to love—despite knowing the risks. Because love is a gift to yourself and the people around you.” You cup his face gently with your other hand, swiping away the hot tears streaming down his face. He says nothing and everything at the same time. His gaze holds an indecipherable appreciation—perhaps, an admiration of how beautiful you are physically and emotionally. 

“I really, really like you. So give me a chance to love you, Beomgyu. I’ll give you my heart, so long as you trust me with yours in return.” You whisper. He nods, sniffling quietly as he stares into your gentle, caring gaze. The emotions consume him without permission, a surge of warmth flowing through his chest, heat creeping onto his cheeks. 

“I- um, I mean…I like you. Too—a lot.” He mumbles, still struggling to express himself confidently. He squeezes your hand, thumb running absentmindedly over your smooth skin. “I mean, I have for a while I just- well, it wasn’t supposed to come out like that—”

Your lips are on his before he can even recognize what’s happening. When he does, his brain stutters, his body locks up, breath hitching. His mind blanks—static where there should be panic. Idiot, what is he doing? You’re pulling away before he gets a chance to explore this new, exciting feeling. His free hand finds your hip, pulling you closer and kissing you again, allowing himself to melt into it this time. Time comes to a stop, as if it’s just you two. Your lips are soft, careful not to overwhelm him. His brain is quiet for once, the space filled the whisper of a quiet breeze. How could he have deprived himself of this for so long? 

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours. His wings flutter eagerly, like a puppy’s tail after receiving a treat. He brings both arms around you, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt to make sure you’re real. His cheeks are impossibly pink, face burning as he hides it in the crook of your neck. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He mumbles. You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head and pressing your cheek to his silky hair. 

“It’s okay, it made it more interesting.” You whisper. He breathes out an amused huff, his grip around you tightening imperceptibly—as if to claim you. 

Looks like you’ve won this round. The love fairy who feared love—who ran from it, who buried his own heart—has given his heart to you. Your fallen cupid wasn’t unlovable after all. He just needed the right person to believe in him.

It’s uncomfortably humid for a November afternoon. A warm breeze passes through the open campus, carrying a low hum of conversation through the rustling trees. Yunjin sits beside you on the soft grass, legs outstretched as she leans back, resting her weight on her elbows.

“This soulmate stuff is so dumb.” She huffs, a pout settling onto her face. Her eyes skim over the stream of students on their way to class, the library, or maybe the dorms. Finding nothing of interest, she turns her head to you, dyed hair falling away from her shoulders.

“Seriously, if mine isn’t hot or rich—actually, both—I’m suing.” She declares, voice tinged with her usual sass. “I don’t know who, but I am.” 

“Don’t say stuff like that. It’ll get you cursed.” You warn, nudging her with a quiet laugh. Cursed.

A soulmate is a sacred, treasured bond. To be without a soulmate—breaking a bond, or worse, not being given one at all—is truly an unfortunate fate. People look at you differently, wondering what you must’ve done to deserve such a cruel punishment. Deserve, because they can’t fathom the idea that someone with a pure soul would be abandoned by fate. They must have done something, be it in this life or another. They must have gotten cursed.

Yunjin, however, has always been carefree and unbothered. You think, if those little words weren’t engraved onto her wrist as a reminder of what’s to come, she’d be across the country with some unknown lover. She’d enjoy the prospect of casual relationships to pass the time, assuming there’d be anyone else willing to engage in such “unprincipled” acts (as you’ve heard them described before). In fact, she might’ve been better without a bond tying her to fate. Then again, the universe has a way of making things work, so maybe this mystery person might somehow change her completely.

“So what? Soulmates are overrated, anyway—mine’s first words to me are ‘please leave me alone.’ Like, okay. Rude. Maybe I will.” She scoffs quietly, waving her wrist around in front of your face. Your eyes gloss over the words engraved into her skin, neat and pristine. You’re a little jealous. Her soulmate has neat handwriting, but, actually, so does yours.

“You think that’s bad? Look at mine.” You reply, pulling your sleeve up and holding your wrist out. The words sit there, an effortless, elegant scrawl of text across your skin, contrasting the mortifying sentence. 

You remember the night they bloomed carefully across your skin. The night you turned eighteen. You almost thought it was a joke, but fate isn’t a humorous matter. The words remained there, dark and unmoving. Any previous excitement had vanished instantly. Your heart was beating too fast, your wrist shaking as you stared down at it, hoping, vainly, that the words would change.

Needless to say, you’ll have an insult etched onto your skin until the day you finally meet your soulmate. You kind of dread it—you can already feel the humiliation aching in your bones. Which means you’ll continue to avoid telling people about it. It’s embarrassing enough to look at, but Yunjin is an exception, since you know she’s not one to judge. Yunjin laughs in amazement, a hint of something like sympathy in her gaze.

“Omg, I’m so sorry for laughing. It’s not funny.” She continues to laugh, but you don’t mind. It’s weirdly comforting. Maybe a deeper part of you expected a weird look or judgment, but Yunjin doesn’t give you either. She gives a soft smile and kind words. A sense of normalcy. “I guess we both have assholes for soulmates. We should make a support group.”

“You’re stupid.” You huff, laughing alongside her and pulling your sleeve back down. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

“Fine, no support group. But maybe we can abandon our soulmates and date each other instead.” She tilts her head in that curious, almost pleading way, like she always does when she wants you to agree with her. You just scoff fondly, not entertaining her antics any further. She huffs, nudging you again teasingly. “It’s a good offer.” 

“Yeah, okay.” You murmur, sighing as your eyes scan the bright grass dancing in the wind. Your eyes find a little white flower, and it reminds you of a simpler time. Yunjin pulls you from your thoughts with a quiet gasp, eyes wide and trained on something, or someone, in the distance. 

“That one. My soulmate needs to be that, but rich, and they’ll be perfect! Ugh, his soulmate must be some sort of angel. I’m jealous.” She pouts, a faint crease between her brows. You follow her gaze over to an, unfortunately, familiar face. He’s laughing at some joke his friend made, the sound obnoxious and warm. 

Choi Beomgyu. A campus heartthrob, much to your discontent. His hair is messier than it used to be, overgrown and shaggy, but his eyes are the same. Big and round, with that puppy-like innocence you know all too well. Your face scrunches in disgust subconsciously at the thought of Yunjin complimenting him. 

“Yeah, absolutely not. His soulmate must’ve committed some sorta war crime. I feel bad for them.” You mutter, gaze narrowing. For a split second, his gaze finds yours across the wide patch of grass. It’s not the first time, but your heart drops either way, and you look away before he can get any wrong ideas. You’re strangers, now. Yunjin raises an eyebrow, a tinge of confusion in her expression.

“Yikes. What makes you say that?” She asks. Anyone else might think she’s simply curious, but you know that, really, she’s mostly excited about potential gossip. 

You hesitate for a moment, fingers mindlessly running through your hair. Now that you think of it, you’ve never admitted this out loud.

“He’s an ex.” You pause, attempting to read her expression for disgust. Disapproval. But there’s nothing, and you can’t quite tell if that’s good or bad. You attempt to salvage your dignity, even if just a little. 

“From high school.” You shrug, trying to downplay the shame that pools in your stomach. Guilt. You chose to be impatient. You chose to waste your firsts with someone unworthy of you to begin with, and maybe you even betrayed your soulmate in the process. Betrayed fate. Yunjin’s eyes widen a little, and you brace, subconsciously, for impact. It’s dumb, you know that. You know she won’t judge, but your fingers tremble anyway.

“Oh. Makes sense.” She murmurs, almost unimpressed by the revelation, as if to say, ‘that’s it?’ Then, sensing your nerves, her gaze softens, voice quieter. 

“What happened?” She asks, and it may be prying, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You’ve held the story in for a long time, and you think maybe finally talking about it could help you let go. Forget about all the mistakes. You look into her eyes and recognize the opportunity to open up. To share a piece of yourself that’s long been hidden in the deepest parts of your shadows.

It was a given since birth that you’d never have the throne— not unless some horrible tragedy stole your elder brother, Soobin, from the world. Thus, after your parents failed to thrust you into an arranged marriage at age fourteen, you managed to convince them to let you choose just one actually important aspect of your life. So long as you married into nobility, they agreed to let you have your way and choose a husband of your liking.

Things felt a little easier after that day. You could handle the daily routine of mundane tasks that held little value to you. You could accept being told how to behave and act in every situation. You could accept being forced to think a certain way and lie to the townspeople about your feelings on the nation’s rising tension. You could even accept giving up your only passion, art, at the demand of your mother. She considered it childish only because she, ironically, failed to comprehend its inherent sophistication—but you knew better than to argue. You knew better than to dare step out of the carefully drawn box you were expected to fit into. And you were fine with it, with submitting to societal pressures and allowing others to choose your personality for you—

As long as you could choose just one thing. Love.

i know the end - bsf beomgyu x reader angst, unrequited love, childhood friends, high school au

A faint pit-pat echoes throughout your room with each thick raindrop falling against the rectangular window above your desk. The sky outside is painted by blue-grey clouds that lighten as they get further away. Your flimsy desk chair creaks as you slouch, and a faded polaroid slips perfectly between your index finger and thumb. In it is Beomgyu, the dark-haired, puppy-eyed, lanky boy you’d met in kindergarten. He sits on a white couch, drowning in dark layers of clothes with a book in his lap. The corners of his lips are pulled into a pretty smile, his eyes twinkling even through the bangs hiding them. There’s a date messily scribbled underneath. 

December 23rd

You remember that day like it was yesterday. It’s what you consider the start of the end.

-----------

It was a few hours before your family left for your annual Christmas visit to your grandma’s house. As always, you visited the Choi household to give Beomgyu his gift in advance. His parents were out to run some last-minute errands, so the house was quiet. It was just you and him in the living room.

“D’you like it?” You asked hesitantly, staring at the photo album you’d made just for him. It sat sprawled open across his lap as he sat on the puffy white couch with mismatched pillows. Your fingers fiddled with the camera case dangling off your neck, new and pristine, just like the camera inside.

“I love it.” He breathed. His pretty eyes gleamed with joy as he traced his thumb along the pages lined with various photos of you, him, and your other friends. Each picture was dated and each page was decorated with cute stickers, doodles, and little messages. You were glad you’d gone to sleep at 2 am the night before to finish the final touches.

“It’s not as good as your gift.” You laughed, weight swaying from side to side. Your eyes fell to the ground, head drooping, and hair dangling off your shoulders as you carefully peeled your new Polaroid camera out of its case. You’d been rambling about wanting one for weeks after your old one broke. Beomgyu quirked an eyebrow up, scoffing as he glanced at you.

“Really? ‘Cause I’d argue yours is better. Like way better.” He replied. His smile widened as he flipped through a few more pages. Your heart skipped a few beats, a buzz of warmth through your chest upon seeing how genuinely happy he looked. You couldn’t help but raise your new camera to snap a picture of him. He noticed, and you were mildly surprised he didn’t do any goofy faces or poses the way he usually would. You probably could’ve counted the number of normal pictures you had of him on one hand. But, for once, he sat still, smiling with that same smile that always made your heart speed up. There was a faint click before a photo slowly slid out. You put it in your pocket to let it develop before sliding your camera back into its case.

untitled - beomgyu x reader golden retriever/black cat trope, best friends to lovers, mild angst, high school au

You never intended to befriend him. He was weird, eccentric, and overall the complete opposite of you. He was like a bright, fluorescent light that made your eyes burn when you looked up at the ceiling. Honestly, even at the young age of eight, you weren’t too fond of him. His voice annoyed you, and it felt like the only thing you ever heard.

You preferred to be alone—at least, that’s what you told yourself. Maybe you were similar to him in the sense that you were both “outcasts” in your own way. The kids didn’t avoid you, necessarily, but it was obvious how they felt—awkward, maybe a little scared. You never really bothered to hide how much you disliked interacting with others, mostly because you deemed yourself socially unskilled. So, most times, your cold and uninterested persona kept everyone away. Everyone except him.

Choi Beomgyu. 

He approached you one day during recess, a bright smile on his face. His eyes sparkled in the sun, dark brown hair flowing freely over his forehead. He waved enthusiastically, like you were already friends, then decided to take a seat next to you. You thought he was sitting a little too close, but hadn’t bothered to say anything. 

“Hey, watcha doin’?” He asked, head tilting to the side. Your deep gaze held his for a few moments, expression unmoving. It looked almost like you were contemplating whether to acknowledge him or not. You hadn’t necessarily intended to. The silence dragged on for a few painful seconds before he finally decided to take a hint. 

“Uh…am I bothering you? Sorry, I always do that…” He mumbled, looking away as he raised a trembling hand to the back of his head. With a soft sigh, you looked back at the open sketchpad in front of you, nibbling your bottom lip. You risked a glance back at him, finding his smile sadder than before and a pitiful gleam in his eyes. You shook your head gently, voice subdued once you finally replied.

“No, it’s okay,” you spoke softly, pushing your sketchpad over to him. “Um, I was just drawing.”

His eyes lit up, a wide smile expanding across his face. He giggled, eagerly taking the small book into his hands. You cringed internally as he stared at the half-finished drawing on the page, and some odd, hidden part of you feared his criticism. Or, alternatively, your young, lonely heart yearned for acceptance, even if it came from someone like him. Someone like you. 

“You drew this?” He asked, gentle gaze admiring the wobbly lines scribbled to depict your favorite anime character. The drawing was subpar at best, but under his gaze it became something magnificient—something to feel proud of. You found a small smile pulling at your lips despite the urge to remain aloof. 

“Uh, yeah! It’s…it’s whatever, though.” You shrugged, feigning humility despite the ache in your chest that begged for validation. For praise. He gave it to you without hesitation, with an admiration so earnest you may have mistaken it for love. 

Following that day, he never left you alone. Your friendship was something unspoken, something felt in subdued giggles and lingering glances. His voice would call out to you each morning, and he’d skip over happily to greet you with the same, warm smile. There was never a second away from him, whether you wanted one or not. He went wherever you did, most of the time rambling until he had nothing more to say—but he always had something to say. And he was willing to accept your quiet nods and hums as signs of engagement. Maybe sometimes he wished you seemed more interested, but he’d never outright complain. After all, you were the first and only person ever to give him the time of day, and that was enough for him. Your presence was enough. 

̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ i know the end — [c.bg]

loving your best friend had always been easy—until someone else came along and he stopped looking at you the same. you told yourself it was fine. that you'd be fine. but somewhere between the jealousy, the immaturity, and the lies, you were the one who ruined everything. and just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you had to figure out how to tell him that you'd be moving away by the end of summer.

♬⋆.˚ “i’m always pushin’ you away from me, but you come back with gravity.”

genre: angst, unrequited love, childhood friends, jealousy, high school au, heartbreak, maybe bittersweet ending

warnings: cursing, mc is a bad friend, depression (mc)

╰┈➤ 8% complete (2.4k)

── ｡ﾟ☆: rough concepts :☆ﾟ. ──

̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ only one — [c.yj], [c.bg]

your stoner best friend, yeonjun, forces you to go to a party, then cruelly abandons you. you're like a fish out of water, and you somehow manage to find yourself in a game of seven minutes in heaven. after your first kiss (uh, maybe a little more than that), you find yourself infatuated by the town skater-boy, beomgyu... but yeonjun tells you to stay away. what does he know, anyway?

♬⋆.˚ “it started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this?”

genre: unrequited love, jealousy, pining, high school au, mild angst, childhood friends to not-quite lovers (yj endgame!!)

warnings: underage drinking, smoking, some parts a little suggestive (making out), cursing

̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ unsent letters — [c.bg]

all of the words you could never say to him. all the sleepless nights spent crafting the perfect letters, never to be read by any other. yet, still, he managed to slip through your fingers—maybe you should’ve just sent them, after all. (not sure where this one will go yet but i just thought a story told through never-sent letters would be cool)

♬⋆.˚ “you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me.”

genre: angst, misunderstandings, potentially royalty au(?), heartbreak

̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ untitled

bsf beomgyu — golden retriever x black cat

beomgyu, your “best friend”—though in reality it’s kind of one-sided. he sticks around, you tolerate him. you’re his only friend, after all. but your avoidant tendencies finally hurt him, leading you to acknowledge his presence only once he’s finally gone.

genre: mild angst, heartbreak, best friends to lovers, high school au, happy ending, lighthearted

popular boy yeonjun — popular x quiet girl

yeonjun, the popular boy you’ve never liked, only because of your own bias towards people like him. you’re unsure how to act when he’s actually nice to you, though—is he playing you? you feel no guilt rejecting his various advances, even as he gets poutier each time…

genre: fluff, high school au, one-sided pining, pouty yeonjun (muhehe), classmates to lovers

taehyun — academic rivals

taehyun, the new kid who seems determined to steal your position at the top. you’d like to hate him for it, but it’s hard when he’s so naturally chivalrous, even despite his outwardly cold demeanor. maybe you like him—ugh, how annoying. he’s stealing your heart, too?

genre: high school au, mutual pining, academic rivals (ofc), quiet x loud, fluff

warnings: mc is lowkey (highkey) a bitch at first