#wonwooxyou

photophile

you meet the most beautiful boy you have ever seen while shooting a concert, but his cocky attitude turns you away from him. That is until you run into him a day later at your favorite coffee shop, then everything shifts. His demeanor, his emotions, and seemingly his intentions with you. His attitude swings leave you confused as to how he really feels about you. Does he even like you... or does he like you too much.

WC:14.7k TAGS: enemies to lovers, strangers to enemies to lovers, fluff, wonwoo is secretly whipped, wonwoo is relentless CW: fem!reader, wonwoo is an asshole at first, reader is blind to how he feels, thats about it lol WARNINGS: No smut! Heavy making out, heavy tension scenes but no smut :), a teeeeeeny tiny bit of angst A/N: i hope you guys love this fic, its my first time in probably like 7 years writing something that i am super proud of and i had a lot of fun putting this one together! please enjoy :D

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This man could be the love of my life. Like seriously look at hi-

“Y/n?... Y/n!” A new voice snaps you out of your internal dialogue. Your head turns to meet the other concert photographer you had just met. “Something really has you thinking huh? You nervous?” The boy asks with a kind smile. You shrug at him, trying to pretend like you aren’t absolutely so nervous.

His name is Joshua, apparently friends call him Josh. You recall to 10 minutes ago where he pronounced both of you best friends so you can “officially” call him Josh. You learned he had just moved from California into the city, has been doing concert photography for about a year now, has a really close friend named Jeonghan who he won’t shut up about and is very nervous about tonight. 

“It’s kind of funny!” You hear Joshua start again fiddling with his camera lens. “That guy over there actually shot a show with me in California a few months ago! He’s from around here but I guess was in the area visiting a friend and decided to work while he was there. Funny to see him here!” 

You look towards the wall Joshua was facing and are met with the same man you were daydreaming about approximately 30 seconds ago, before you were dragged out of your thoughts by your new friend. 

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge anyone around him, is totally by himself, playing around with the settings on his camera. You watch as he messes with the buttons and the lens, shortly after pushing up his glasses that were slowly making his way down the bridge of his nose from looking down. He looks about your age, very beautiful long-ish black hair, and you want to talk to him. 

Someone walks towards him and greets him with a friendly smile. They shake hands and continue the conversation. You watch how his eyes squint closed when he smiles, he really does have the most beautiful smile you have ever seen. 

You turn back to Joshua full of new curiosity about this man. “What else do you know about him?”

“Not much, we only talked for a short time and besides, I haven’t seen him since.” Joshua seems slightly confused by your question. “His name is Wonwoo if that helps!” He adds cheerfully. 

“Wonwoo…” You say quietly to yourself trailing off looking back at him. As you look back over, his conversation with the other photographer has concluded and he is still fiddling with his camera, all by himself. 

He quickly looks up, as if he could feel you looking at him, even from a distance. Right as you lock eyes, Joshua grabs your arm and pulls you out of your second trance of the day. “Y/n! Come on, we are going in!” He says cheerfully.

You spend the walk from the backstage area of the venue to the floor wondering if you will get the chance to speak to Wonwoo tonight, or if you just let it go, and have him be one of those “passing by crushes” that you would see in the hallways in high school. 

Joshua talks your ear off the whole walk and you let him. It’s always nice to have someone with you in high pressure instances like these. 

After what felt like forever, you find yourself on the floor of the venue right in front of the barricade. The place is packed floor to ceiling and full of energy. It was moments like these that made you love what you do, made it feel worth all the time and effort you put into your photos. 

After quick exchanges with Joshua about how cool the venue is and how packed it is, you see Wonwoo approach Joshua from behind. Joshua turns around and seems delighted to see the familiar face he informed you about prior. 

The chatter of the venue was so loud it drowns out any semblance of the conversation Joshua and Wonwoo were having until both of their attention was turned to you, though you didn’t notice at first because you were messing with your camera settings to make sure it was perfect. Everything needed to be perfect.

“This is y/n!” You hear Joshua say lightheartedly. Your attention snaps up to the two boys in front of you, one of them being your new friend, the other being the most beautiful man you have ever laid eyes on. 

“Is your camera alright?” Wonwoo asks, with a very sarcastic undertone in his voice. Your face twists into a confused look full of wonder as to why he said that.

“Yes, it is. Why?” You ask curiously.

“You just have been playing with it forever. I make sure to figure out my settings before I go into venues.” He remarks back. 

None of this felt right to you. Yes he was absolutely beautiful, but his attitude was far from it. You didn’t need this right now. You shoot him another confused glare and look back down at your camera, still adjusting it.

“Nice to meet you too.” You say with a bite to it, cold. He looks at you with the most blank expression through his glasses. You hear Joshua laugh uncomfortably to ease the now heavy weight of tension in the air as he exchanges some last remarks with Wonwoo as he walks away. 

“I am so sorry, y/n. I have no clue what his deal is! He was completely fine to me when we first met.” Joshua turns to you, extremely sorry.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” You reply, “Besides, I don’t have the time for people who make remarks like that without knowing anything about me.”

Joshua gives you a sad smile and a nod right as the lights begin to dim. 

The intro music is loud. It fills you with so much adrenaline. The photographers around you shuffle around to find spots that work for them. Joshua moves more towards stage right as you stay planted stage left, towards the middle. That always works for you. 

You pick up your camera, pointer finger on the shutter button, when you feel a slight nudge to your left shoulder. You look over and lock eyes with the same as before.

“Wonwoo.” He introduces himself, voice raised over the loud music.

“Not the time, Wonwoo.” You retort, getting ready for the headliner to come on stage.

“Well, good luck. You're gonna need it with that camera. A Nikon? Seriously?” He replies, more sarcastic than ever. 

It was right then that you realized his snarky, sarcastic attitude fueled your fire. You need to be better than him, in every single aspect.

________________________________________________________________

You wake up the next morning in a daze, unbelieving that last night ever happened. The banging on your door is loud, obnoxiously loud. 

“What do you want!” You yell through the door in a post-waking up haze.

“Seokmin made breakfast and it tastes like shit but if you want some there is extra!” You hear the voice of your roommate Seungkwan yell back at you. 

“Im just going to get coffee later!” You reply.

“Why do you both hate my cooking!!” You hear Seokmin yell over both of you as the footsteps of Seungkwan fade down the hall.

You rub your eyes, recalling the events of the night. You grab your camera bag and rummage through it for your SD card and card reader. Right as you grab what you need, you see your phone light up with an Instagram dm notification.

“Hey y/n! Here's my number, I totally forgot to give it to you last night. Do you think the coloring on this photo looks good? I can't tell. Can’t wait to see how the photos come out, let's hang out soon!” 

You respond to Joshua swiftly, answering his questions about his photo and accepting his phone number to contact him easier. 

After an hour of editing your own photos very precisely, you end up with 75 photos from the night that you absolutely adore. That is well more than how many you needed to submit. 

You feel your cheeks rise smiling at your hard work and pick out a handful to upload to your own instagram. After sending the selected few to Joshua he replies with an ecstatic response. “Y/N! You have outdone yourself! Those are INCREDIBLE! Post them NOW!!!!!” You have never met someone who texts with such emotion but you couldn’t help but laugh at his response. 

You upload the photos to your Instagram account, submit the needed ones to the magazine company you contribute for and lay back in bed, waiting to see the engagement.

After one quick refresh of your screen you see one new like, one new follower and one new comment. You don’t think much of it. Until you do. 

“@wonwoosnaps?” You whisper to yourself in disbelief rolling your eyes. Clicking on the profile, it is exactly who you thought it was. You shut off your phone and drop it face down on your bed, put your head in your hands and let out an exasperating groan. 

Forcing yourself out of bed the day after shooting a show was always an exhausting task but you never wanted to sleep the day away. After swiftly going through your morning routine and getting dressed, you grab your bag and keys and make your way to the front door of your apartment when your roommates stop you.

“How was last night?” Seokmin asks looking up from his phone.

“It was great, I made a new friend, and met someone I didn’t like. It was great.” You reply.

“What was their name?” Seungkwan adds. He always adds onto Seokmin’s statements like they are a married couple. 

“Well the new friend is Joshua”

“And the one you didn’t like?”

“Wonwoo.” You reply with an annoyed tone in your voice. 

“Instagram handle @wonwoosnaps? Nice comment he left” Seokmin butts in giggling to himself while still looking at his phone.

“I’m going now.” Your hand touches the door handle.

“Awfully quiet about Mr. Wonwoo huh?” Seokmin adds teasing.

“Bye!” You yell already opening the door and walking into the hallway of your apartment building, closing your door almost too hard behind you. 

While walking to the coffee shop, you notice your photos are getting a lot of attention from not only people on social media but from the magazine you contribute for. Raving reviews in the comments from friends, family and strangers met with the one comment that sticks out like a sore thumb. A comment from @wonwoosnaps that is a simple thumbs up emoji.  

You feel absolutely crazy. But why do you care so much? 

Oh my god y/n snap out of it.

The smell of the coffee hits you in the face right as you walk in. You hear the familiar jingle of the bell above the door as you b-line for the front register. 

“Your usual?” The barista smiles at you. It is one of the busier days here. People constantly in and out, the bell constantly ringing.

“Yes please.” You reach into your bag after a short conversation with the barista to grab your card when you hear the ‘payment accepted’ ring of the cash register. 

Your head snaps to the taller frame reaching his arm around you to the right. Your eyes widen as he flashes a very charming smile your way after pulling his card out of the machine. 

You look back at the barista, say thank you in the most shocked tone and swiftly walk away from the register not looking back until you reach your normal table sitting with your back facing the wall and eyes facing the register. 

“Wonwoo.” You whisper to yourself immediately putting your head into your hands in disbelief. 

“What are the odds?” Wonwoo’s deep voice sends a shiver down your spine as he walks over to the table you are at. You look up from your hands to meet eyes with the boy. He politely asks the woman at the table next to you if she is using one of her chairs. She shakes her head no, smiles as he takes the chair and sets it across from you, sitting down. “You tired?”

“No, actually a quad shot of straight espresso is completely normal for me.” You say coldly.

“I can’t tell if you are being sarcastic or not. Normally sarcasm is my thing.” “Well I don’t know you do I?” You snap at him looking the boy with the glasses dead in the eyes. His hair was slightly messy and ruffled with the black tint of his hair matching his plain black t-shirt and jeans. He was ridiculously charming. 

“Well I know that my name is Wonwoo, and your name is y/n.” He replies with a goofy smile, clearly trying to get a raise out of you. His deep voice rings in your ears. 

“I know that, you told me last night.” You don’t want any part of this conversation but your body keeps making you talk. “Why did you pay for my coffee?”

“Well it seemed like you didn’t have experience with your photos last night so I assume you aren’t getting paid for the gigs you do. Felt like it was good for me to help you out.” 

“Bold of you to assume I would need help, I do get paid for my gigs and I would love it if you stood up from that chair across from me and walked out the front door.” You smile at him sarcastically hoping he gets the point. But something about his company is comforting, you don’t want him to leave. You just love to push his buttons.

“How about a ‘thank you Wonwoo!’” 

“I don’t owe you anything.” 

“How about next time you get me coffee?” He places both of his hands on the table with a questionable look on his face. You are completely silent, attempting to dodge whatever he is doing right now. He reads your face and puts on a little pout. “What? Do you not want to be friends?”

 You scoff in his face.

“You don’t want to be my friend, you just like to annoy the shit out of me.” You reply not making eye contact with the boy across from you. 

“Correct and clearly it's working” He shuffles in his pocket and pulls out a pen. Quickly after, he grabs one of your arms off of where it was holding up your head on the table and scribbles something down in black ink on the back of your hand. “Easier to contact me this way. See ya Nikon!” He stands up from his seat, heads back to the register, grabs his coffee and yours, and turns back to your table. “Coffee for the lady who knows nothing about cameras.” He places your coffee on the table with a wink and a smile before heading towards the door with his own.

You hold the warm coffee in your hands and look down at the hand he took. His phone number in black ink.

How fucking cliche. 

You stare at the wall across from you, totally zoned out. Blank. What is happening?

________________________________________________________________

You walk back into your apartment after attempting to get work done over coffee, though that didn’t happen. Your mind was just on Wonwoo. He was annoying, intoxicatingly so. He likes to get a raise out of you, he likes to frustrate you. 

It’s interesting…

“You look tired.” Seungkwan says when he sees you step through the door to your apartment.

“I’m overly tired.”

“What's that on your hand?” He points at the black ink on the back of your hand, holding your coffee cup. A gasp leaves his mouth when he squints his eyes, focuses and realizes it’s a phone number. “Y/n!!! A phone number? Who is the lucky guy?” He is beaming.

“You just reminded me, I need to scrub this off!” Your feet take off towards the bathroom before you even think to walk until you walk straight into a 5’ 10” light brown haired wall.

“You got someone's phone number?!” Seokmin practically picks you up by the shoulders and pulls you to meet his eyes. “A real person?!” “Why is this so shocking? I meet people all the time. Kinda.” You hesitate. Seungkwan stifles a laugh from behind you as Seokmin shoots him a glare and pretends to swat him away. 

“So whose number is it?” Seokmin asks.

“I ran into Wonwoo at the coffee shop. He said it was easier to contact him this way. For…” you hesitate. “For work stuff.”

“Ahh yes, photography nerds.” Seokmin giggles to himself. He runs to the big couch in the living room and sits himself next to Seungkwan all cuddled up looking like a married couple, once again.

“What? Do you not believe me?” You shoot him a menacing glare. 

“Thats for you to find out!” Seokmin punches Seungkwan in the shoulder with a groan escaping Seungkwan's mouth.

You roll your eyes and walk down the hallway to your room, kicking off your shoes in the process. After throwing your bag on the floor, taking out your computer and tossing it on your bed, you look down at your hand. 

I need to wash this off.

The thin black ink sits on the back of your hand looking you right in the eye. Wonwoo’s phone number. You want to text him. Why would you text him? The way he left you at the coffee shop irked you. He wants to be better than you, and you want to be better than him. 

You pull out your phone, open messages and type in his phone number. 

I will regret this

y/n: hey it's y/n.

You hit send immediately and throw your phone face down on the bed.

He responds in less than a minute.

Wonwoo: I knew you would text me

Y/n: What makes you think that?

Wonwoo: Because I am the best for buying your coffee today and you want editing tips.

Y/n: I will not be taking editing tips from you, thanks.

Even cocky over text. You sit on your bed staring at your phone waiting for his response. It’s a game of cat and mouse. 

Wonwoo: I know you want to talk to me. You would’ve washed off my number by now.

Y/n: Oh so you buy me coffee and magically you know me “so well”. I just got home, I haven’t had time to wash it off. 

Wonwoo: So the first thing you did when you got home was text me? I must be on your mind right?

You roll your eyes at the text as a small smile forms on your lips. What is his deal? Is he flirting? Or just being downright annoying. He loves to get a raise out of you.

Why am I smiling?

After a minute of not responding, another text comes through.

Wonwoo: Meet me tomorrow, Thayer’s Park, 2:00, bring your camera.

Is he asking me out?

Y/n: How do you know I'm not busy?

I'm not busy.

Wonwoo: I don’t know. See you tomorrow… maybe. It’s a date!

You shut your phone off and place it face up on your nightstand, almost like you are waiting for another text from him. You stare at the ceiling, wondering if you are going go or not. You hop out of bed and walk into the living room for a change of scenery. 

You sit down on the couch next to Seungkwan and cuddle up next to him.

“You only do this when you are stressed. What’s up?” He looks at you while putting his arm around your shoulder.

“I am feeling many feelings. I am feeling conflicted.” You look up at him. “Wonwoo is driving me fucking crazy.” 

“Y/n you met him last night.” Seungkwan says concerned.

“And he is driving me absolutely fucking nuts.” You reply, voice raising a bit higher than normal.

“Y/n! Can I steal your card reader?” You hear Seokmin yell from across the hall.

You pause your conversation with Seungkwan, “Yeah it’s on my nightstand!”

You hear the door to your room open, Seokmin going in. “Seungkwan I just- I don’t know. He is so rude. He is so cocky. He honestly is miserable to be around. But I ran into him at the coffee shop today, he bought my coffee without even saying hello, sat across from me, wrote his number on the back of my hand and just left!”

Seungkwan’s eyes look as if they are going to pop out of his head. All he can get out is “Oh.”

You hear footsteps running down the hallway, “Y/N!” Seokmin runs into the living room out of breath. He has the craziest grin on his face. Your eyes go from his face to his hand where he is holding your phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I know I will.” Seokmin reads the text off the lockscreen of your phone “You are seeing Wonwoo tomorrow?”

________________________________________________________________

After a lot of bickering and explaining to Seokmin and Seungkwan as to where you stand with Wonwoo, you decided to call it a night with all the Wonwoo talk. You spent the night like you normally do. Sandwiched between your two roommates on the couch in the living room watching awful reality TV. Seungkwan gets angry at the cast members for being “stupid and annoying” while Seokmin always rebuttals with “They have backstories you just don’t get it.”

You let the text messages from Wonwoo sit on your phone, unopened, unanswered. Though you decided to call it quits on the Wonwoo talk, your thoughts about him have not subsided. You can’t stop thinking about him. Is it envy? Is it annoyance? or is it just pure attraction? Nonetheless, you know he is attractive, perfectly your type and the glasses, just the icing on the cake. Something about his attitude infuriates you but you can’t pinpoint if he is teasing you out of spite, or flirting. 

After spending well needed quality time with your roommates you call it a night and head to your room. Right when your head hits the pillow you get the urge to read the texts. You know it wouldn’t be smart. Would you even meet him tomorrow? You needed to sleep on this, it would definitely be a last minute decision. 

You wake up the next morning like any other day, more energized than yesterday. Head down the block to the coffee shop, same time as always, order a quad shot like normal, paid for it like you would’ve yesterday and sat at your normal table back facing the wall. 

The taste of the straight espresso isn’t ideal, but it is what you are used to. A human of habit you call yourself when Seungkwan gets frustrated by your daily rituals. You catch yourself looking at the door whenever it rings, almost hoping Wonwoo would walk in. 

But why do I care so much.

You spend your walk back to your apartment listening to your usual playlist, walking your usual route, a human of habit. The only thing that was slightly off today was that you had plans. Supposedly. At 2pm. With Wonwoo. Your head is full of thoughts.

Do I even want to go?

Why do I care so much?

I want to see him… but why?

I’m going.

You think it is your urge to be better than him that pushes you forward as you approach your apartment complex. After entering your empty apartment you rush to your room to get ready. It’s so much easier to get ready when Seungkwan and Seokmin are home, they always give you good advice on what to wear, how to do your hair and how to approach any situation. 

You put on an outfit you like, something casual, normal, comfortable but still you. You grab your purse and camera bag before heading out the door. 

The walk to the park was longer than anticipated. 20 minutes from your apartment complex to Thayer’s Park. You figured the fresh air would be enough to clear your head before approaching whatever this “date” was. 

You enter the park taking in a deep breath. You look across the way and see exactly who you were looking for. Long black hair, glasses perched on his nose, bangs slightly swept in his face from the wind. His camera was around his neck, he wasn’t looking down, he wasn’t looking standoff-ish. He looked normal. Comfortable. 

You walk over to him and his attention is immediately on you. His eyes blink as if he didn’t expect to see you here, slight shock on his face. 

“Funny to see you here!” He chirps, sliding over the park bench, allowing room for you to sit. You sit down next to him, leaving enough room between the two of you. “Nice day out, huh?” His eye contact could burn a hole through the frames of his glasses.

It is a nice day out. Perfectly sunny, nice 70 degrees. Perfect day. 

“You are relentless” You match his stare.

“You say that like you don't enjoy it.”

“Who said I enjoyed it?” “Well you met me here didn’t you?” He inches closer towards you on the bench. Tension rises in the air. You stare at each other. You can’t tell if the tension is rivalry or something else. You decide not to look into it.

“I was curious as to what this meeting might entail.” You unzip your camera bag and pull out your camera. 

“Why are you calling this a meeting?” He looks almost disappointed. “What else would you call it?”

He looks lost. He doesn’t know how to answer that question. He looks nervous as he fiddles with his camera strap. Wandering eyes, now looking everywhere but at your own.

“I have always loved this park. The flowers in the late spring and early summer are really great to photograph.” He smiles, a real smile. You look out in front of you, taking in all of the new, late-spring growth. It really is beautiful. You can’t help but look at the roses.

You turn back to look at Wonwoo.

“Roses are my favorite.” You both say in unison. 

“Didn’t pin you to be a roses kinda guy.” 

“Well you don’t know me yet do you?” He inches even closer. Your legs brush, tension in the air thicker than before. 

“You make no sense. It drives me crazy.” You stand up, camera now assembled and hanging around your neck. 

“Oh, so I drive you crazy?” Wonwoo smirks in your direction. You look down at the boy who is still sitting. His eyes looking up at you, same smile as before on his face. He is really so beautiful. 

“Get up, let’s shoot the flowers.” Before you knew it, you were reaching out your hand for him to grab to stand up. You see him hesitate, his hand trembling to grab your own. You feel your hand in his as he stands up, bodies a lot closer than intended once he is on his feet. 

You lock eyes, past tension lingering in the air. He forms a small smile as he openly looks you up and down. 

“I hate Nikon cameras.” He says blankly, dropping the smile on his face as he leaves you behind and starts making his way towards the roses. You stand by the bench confused as ever watching the boy approach the flowers. He crouches down and picks up his camera focusing in on the roses in front of him. The sunlight hits his black hair making a golden outline on his tall frame. “You coming or what Nikon?”

“Don’t call me that!” You yell at him as you pick up your pace, making your way towards him.

You admire his camera,

Almost as beautiful as him…

What am I thinking?

“You want to try my camera?” He snaps you out of your daydreaming. You walk up to him and crouch beside him, admiring the way he moves the camera lens to focus on the details of the roses.

“Why do you have such a problem with my camera?” 

“I just don’t like Nikons.” Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m a Canon guy myself.”

“So you hate my camera so much it makes you hate me, when you haven’t made an effort to know me.” You stand up from crouching down next to him.

“Wait!” He yells, pausing you in your tracks. You look at him, confused. “Don’t move.” He adjusts himself from crouching to sitting on the grass below you. The sun is warming up your back, now highlighting your frame. He picks up his camera and immediately clicks the shutter button. “The sun made you look so bright. It looked really cool.” He flashed his goofy smile towards you again standing up to show you the raw image on the screen of his camera.

“That’s an awful photo.” You reply, locking eyes with him once again.

“Hey, I specialize in portraits. Besides… I think you look really pretty y/n.” He pauses, hesitant to see how you will react.

Your heart drops. 

He thinks I'm pretty.

“Sure.” Deflecting, you roll your eyes and walk back towards the main path of the park. Shortly after you turn around to see if he is behind you. He is standing right in front of the roses you both were at moments before. He just looks at you, smiling, it looked almost… pure. He lets out a small laugh to himself. You pull up your camera to look through the viewfinder, focusing on the boy in front of the beautiful roses. You click the shutter button taking a few photos of him in front of the flowers, walking towards you.

He meets your eye as he walks up to you, still laughing.

“What was that about?” He smiles, awfully close to you. His eyes are beautiful, his smile is beautiful, he has the prettiest features. You decide to hit him with what he hit you with just moments before.

“I think you look really pretty Wonwoo.” You smirk in his direction as his cheeks visibly blush a bright pink. He is flustered. 

You turn around and begin to walk the path back to the entrance of the park, Wonwoo following shortly behind. The walk is awkward, quiet. He eventually catches up to you.

“So coffee soon?” He asks winded from trying to catch up to your speed walking.

“You are relentless for someone who apparently hates me.” 

“I think we got along pretty okay today.” Wonwoo shrugs quietly giggling 

“You were definitely less of an asshole today, than you were when I met you, that's for sure.”

“You like when I mess with you.” 

This has to be flirting.

“You like messing with me.” You pause in your steps. He has the same smirk on his face as he did earlier. 

“So, you didn’t answer my question. Coffee soon?” He has a look of hope, you can see it in the way his eyes crinkle shut when he smiles.

“Depends. Send me the raw and edited photos of me and I’ll get back to you.” You take your camera bag off your back and begin to put your camera away. 

“I thought you said they were awful photos?” Wonwoo crosses his arms putting on a fake pout. It’s devastatingly charming. 

He’s so annoying.

“Depends on how you edit them. If I like it, coffee it is.” You respond matter-of-factly. “Goodbye Wonwoo.” You put out your hand to shake his, like an agreement has been made. He hesitates before uncrossing his arms and grabbing your hand like he did before. The same tension as before came back stronger than ever. He flashes you a very content smile.

“Goodbye y/n.” Wonwoo pulls his hand away first, letting you turn around and walk away. You begin walking confused about the tension you both undoubtedly feel. You turn around to look at him while walking backwards now.

“Shocker, you didn’t call me Nikon.” 

“Well we are friends now aren’t we?” He yells back to you now at a distance.

“I wouldn’t say that. Acquaintances maybe!” You respond with a giggle in your voice. Even from a distance you can see his eyes squint matching his smile. He runs a hand through his windswept hair as he laughs to himself.

The walk home was quiet. You didn’t listen to music, you didn’t do much of anything. Just following where your feet were leading you back to your apartment complex. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. The air was different today but you convince yourself it was just the weather. He was different, he was friendly. 

The banter wasn’t as aggressive as it was when you first met. You acknowledge the tension in the air, not letting it bother you. You walk, recalling the sun hitting his frame in a way that made him look unreal. How the wind moved his hair in his face and he would brush it to the side, how he would push up his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose when he was looking down at the photos he took on his camera.

You remember he now has a photo of you, on his Canon, that he will be editing and giving back to you. Maybe for his editing time you owe him coffee. Besides, he bought coffee for you yesterday, you owe him… Right?

So many thoughts flooding your brain on your walk back. You occasionally pick up your phone to look at your lockscreen, almost like you are waiting for something. Waiting for a text from him, from Wonwoo. 

When you arrived back at your apartment Seungkwan and Seokmin were still at work, and you went immediately into your room. You take your camera out of your bag, remove the SD card and upload the photos to Lightroom. Multiple photos of flowers that Wonwoo swore you would love to shoot mixed with the last few photos you took of him in front of the roses.

You feel your cheeks warm, smiling without even meaning to. You have truly never seen someone who looks like him. Little comments he made today that would have annoyed you initially didn’t bother you as much. Maybe you were understanding him a bit more. 

You start editing the photos of Wonwoo in front of the roses, making the sunlight less harsh, making the red in the roses pop. Adjusting the red in the roses emphasized the tint of red in his cheeks. He was blushing.

After a few hours of editing the photos from the day you transferred them from your laptop to your phone, ready to send them to Wonwoo. You pick up your phone and notice three notifications:

Wonwoo: *one image attached*

I told you I specialize in portraits.

It came out pretty good, did it not?

You look at the portrait of yourself that Wonwoo took. He has a different editing style than you. More vintage based with warmer colors, really touching on earthy color palettes. Not your style particularly, but it made the photo look truly beautiful. You didn’t want to tell him that, you couldn’t stand boosting his ego. 

Wonwoo: So… is the picture worthy of a coffee date?

Wonwoo: I mean

Wonwoo: Not date

Wonwoo: Just getting coffee

Wonwoo: Is it worth getting coffee?

Y/n: Calm down, why are you texting like you are nervous.

You are taken aback by his multiple texts. He is relentless but this time he seems frantic. Like he messed up by calling it a date?

Wonwoo: Do you like the picture y/n.

A very straightforward question from a man who likes to dance around whatever situation he is in. The fact that he was so adamant about getting coffee filled you with curiosity. You didn’t know exactly how to respond. 

Y/n: Joshua I need your help

Joshua: I am always here to help!

Y/n: I think Wonwoo asked me on a date? At least he called it that and immediately back tracked and just called it “getting coffee”

Y/n: I met up with him today at the park, once again he asked me

Joshua: But you still went?

Y/n: I felt bad if I didn’t!!!

Joshua: No, you were curious about it

Y/n: And what if I was!

Joshua: Like I said, Wonwoo was super nice the first time we met, he was quiet and reserved but friendly. Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot 

Maybe Joshua was right. Maybe you just got off on the wrong foot or he got a weird vibe from you. Unsure if it is the underlying lust, telling you to do so or if you want to give him a few more chances but you want to text him back. 

Coffee can’t hurt right? And besides, I owe him coffee anyway.

Y/n: Coffee. Thursday. 11:00am. I will be in my normal spot, I will get YOUR coffee this time. 

You can’t believe you said yes. Something was deterring you from him, but it also was luring you to him, wanting to spend time with him.

Immediately you get a text back, like he was waiting in the messages for your response. 

Wonwoo: It’s a date!

Y/n: No it’s not.

Wonwoo: You are relentless

Y/n: Says the boy who was blowing up my phone just minutes ago

Wonwoo: I'm only relentless until I get my way.

Y/n: I should’ve said no to coffee then.

Wonwoo: Too late, see you then. 

__________________________________________________________

Thursday couldn’t have come sooner. The week was full of editing photos, coffee shop runs at the same time, same location, spending time with Seokmin and Seungkwan in the apartment, and responding to the plethora of texts from Joshua along with the few from Wonwoo. 

The messages from Wonwoo were short, sweet. Him asking for editing advice after he nagged you, saying you would be the one to ask for help. He would send a photo and ask if you liked it. You responded with a dry “yes” every time and he would get annoyed with the dry response. 

You liked feeling his frustration through text, it felt like you were finally peeling back all the layers of Wonwoo, getting your way in the end. Part of you felt guilty though, maybe you did just get off on the wrong foot like Joshua said. Perhaps the coffee “date” as he was calling it would be a better chance to read him since he was finally starting to budge. 

This week was slow, a burden, just daily tasks and making sure Seokmin didn’t burn down the apartment, testing multiple different cake recipes for Seungkwan’s job promotion celebration party that Seokmin begged you both to host. Seungkwan did not want the party to happen, you were partial to the idea. Maybe Wonwoo would want to come? You wondered how His week was. You are snapped out of your thoughts when you look towards the door of the coffee shop as the welcome bell rings as it opens. 

You meet Wonwoo’s eyes, he looks slightly different but you can’t pinpoint it. He walks over to you, tall stature making its way through the sea of people getting their coffee. He sits down across from you at your normal table, flashing you a kind smile. When he smiles you register the difference.

“No glasses today?” You asked, making burning eye contact with him.

“I was feeling contacts, why? Do you like me better with them?” He jokes.

“I don’t like you at all.” 

He giggles at your response, knowing it isn’t the truth. He decides not to acknowledge your statement. 

“Iced americano. Get your espresso too.” He says putting his card flat on the table across from you. “I said I was buying your coffee today.” You snap back.

“No, you said you would ‘get’ my coffee, to me that just sounds like ordering. You never said you were ‘buying’ my coffee.” He urges.

The tension in the air forms like a cloud over your head, you are frustrated. You lock eyes with him, brows furrowed. 

“Y/n. Please. Take my card.” He looks at you in a way no one has ever looked at you before, almost… pleading? He looks beautiful. 

Without saying anything you stand up from the table, leaving his card there. You head towards the register with your own card in hand, feeling Wonwoo’s eyes burning in the back of your head upset that he wasn’t buying coffee today. He is relentless. You flip him off behind your back while walking to the register. You hear a small chuckle come from him behind you. 

You return to the table, two coffees in hand, paid with your own card. He smiles and nods at you letting out a small breathy thank you, almost like you snapped him out of his own thoughts without warning. 

You sit down across from him and take off your sweater beginning the not so awkward small talk. Conversing with Wonwoo about your weeks, what you both were up to. He said he visited family, saw his brother for a day, shot for a wedding, a lot more of a productive week than yours. You nagged on him for not texting you about the wedding or sending the photos. He replied assuming that you didn’t care enough to look at them if he were to send them. 

Friendly banter that was once painful to experience felt fulfilling. It felt nice to hear him speak, his demeanor quieter than yours but still full of emotion and interest for what you had to say. You learned he has two roommates named Mingyu and Vernon, Vernon doesn’t talk much, Mingyu talks too much, he considers himself the ‘happy medium’ as he calls it. 

He also mentioned his past relationships, asking you if you had been in any before.

Let's not overthink this one.

He just recently got out of a relationship. Lasted a little under a year, some girl he met shooting at a concert. 

That’s ironic.

She lives in the area, somewhere around here. She broke his heart, cheated on him. Left him through text. He got very serious talking about it, it seemed hard for him to talk about, or like he had never spoken about it out loud before.

You mentioned you had been in a long term relationship for two and a half years that ended about a year ago. He broke up with you for moving to the city, for being too ambitious. You had been on a few random dates here and there since then but nothing has stuck. 

“I think your ambition is admirable!” He gets defensive, frustrated that you were dumped for that reason. You laugh.

That was cute.

You continued to talk about your life. Mentioned things you hadn’t told him in the past. You love other types of coffee not just straight espresso shots, you love your two roommates Seokmin and Seungkwan even though they drive you absolutely crazy sometimes, you also went as deep as telling him you love the smell of baby powder.

“Is that weird to say?” You ask hesitantly 

“I feel like people liking the smell of baby powder is like… a general consensus? At least I like it!” He chirps back positively, not pulling you down whatsoever. 

All of this lighthearted conversation made you gain a soft spot for him. Maybe Wonwoo is peeling back your layers like you felt you were doing with him. 

After a good two hours of conversation light and deep inside of the coffee shop, you figured it was time to go home. Seokmin requested that you come home to help him plan Seungkwan’s promotion party since he didn’t want any part in it but to be celebrated.

“Let me walk you back to your apartment! I think it’s on the way back to my place anyway.” Wonwoo flashes you a smile, grabbing your now empty espresso glass placing it in the dish return bucket. 

Before you have the option to say yes or no to him walking you home, he is back at the table holding out his hand to help you up from your chair flashing you a very charming smile. You take his hand, feeling his in yours. You look up at Wonwoo’s face, blush creeping on his cheeks. You chose to spare him this time, deciding not to tease him about it. Maybe you really are warming up to him. 

You leave the coffee shop walking side by side, hands accidentally brushing a few times by accident, or so you think. 

“So, Seokmin is throwing a party for Seungkwan because he got a new promotion at work and Seokmin will use any excuse to have people over.” You roll your eyes clearly not showing interest in this party.

“Is this your way of inviting me?” Wonwoo’s head turns towards yours flashing that same beautiful smile that he likes to show you. You refuse eye contact as you feel blush creep onto your cheeks. “You are blushing”

Damn. He called me out.

“It’s warm out” You turn your head to look at him, still dodging his eyes denying the blush on your face.

“It’s actually not.” He laughs to himself. “Am I making you blush?” 

Oh he IS flirting.

You feed into it. “Whatever. Yes Wonwoo. Would you like to come to the party?” You finally lock eyes with him. You can tell his breath hitches when you take his gaze in. It’s easier to read his emotions without his glasses.

 His eyes pull away from yours, looking out at the street ahead of you when his face drops. You look in his line of vision to see he is looking at a girl, walking hand in hand with a random guy. Sadness stretches over his face. “Wonwoo are you okay?” The couple, though still a ways away, are walking towards your general area.

“Y/n, I need-” He stops mid sentence, and turns his body to face yours, halting your steps. “Y/n I need to kiss you.” 

“I’m sorry?” You are baffled. Was he always this bold?

“I- I need to kiss you. Now.” His eye contact breaks from yours for a brief second, looking to his right. He turns his head back, stepping closer and bringing both of his hands to both sides of your face. You feel your cheeks burn up. “I just need you to say yes.”

“I- uh.” You stammer, completely thrown off.

Wonwoo’s hands are like magnets on the sides of your face, a little too firm. His eyes flash past you again—and this time you catch it.

His ex. You can just tell by the way his body tensed just at the sight of her.

Oh.

It was like he spoke her into existence by talking about her just moments before.

Before you can react, he leans in just enough for only you to hear him.

“Just… go with it,” he mutters under his breath. “Please.” He begs

Your brows furrow. So that’s what this is. Not a confession, a performance. You should push him away. You almost do.

But something in Wonwoo’s expression stops you—you can tell it's not his normal confident front he’s used to putting on, but there's something deeper. He’s nervous. Wanting. It seems real, even if he’s trying to hide it.

“Fine,” you whisper, still unsure.

That was all Wonwoo needed. 

He closes the distance quickly, like he’s committing before either of you can think too hard about it. His lips meet yours—meant to look convincing, meant to send a message over your shoulder.

At least, that’s what it’s supposed to be.

But the second your lips crash together, something happens, something shifts.

His grip softens. Your hands move up, around his neck, hands brushing the ends of his long black hair. 

One of his thumbs brushes your cheek, almost unknowingly. 

He doesn’t pull away, he deepens the kiss in a way that is more intimate. For a moment, it doesn’t feel fake at all.  

Your breath catches. Thoughts rushing through your head.

This isn’t just for her. It can’t be even if he’ll never admit it.

After a moment, he finally pulls back—just enough to make it look casual, like it didn’t mean anything more than it was supposed to.

He dropped his hands like the contact burned him. When he speaks, his voice is shaky, nervous, scared to look you in the eyes.

He steps back, nervously brushing a hand through his somewhat messy and windswept black hair.

“Thanks,” he says. Wonwoo briefly looks over your shoulder to see if his ex saw. “Oh my god, I owe you big time.”

So that’s all it was.

There's no way his heart isn’t still racing.

But also, yours is too.

You look at him, shock filling your eyes. You don’t know how to respond. He can tell you are confused, flustered. He decided to quickly change the conversation to what you were talking about previously.

“So… Party, your apartment, for Seungkwan’s promotion, can I bring Vernon and Mingyu?” He says shyly, quiet.

You blink once, then twice, forcing your expression into something neutral. Like nothing just happened.

“Yes… yeah,” you say, a little too quickly. You clear your throat, slowing yourself down. “Yeah, that’s fine. The more the merrier, right?”

Your voice sounds steady. You’re proud of that. Inside, though, you are burning up.

Wonwoo nods, relief flashing across his face, grateful for the semi-normalcy. “Cool. Yeah. They’ll be excited.”

There’s a pause. It’s awkward.

You shift your weight, hugging your arms loosely around yourself. He notices, of course he does. He always notices. He would never say anything about it.

Instead, he gestures down the sidewalk. “Let’s keep walking?”

You hesitate for half a second.

“Okay.”

The two of you continue to walk beside each other, not quite as close as before. Not touching. Not even brushing shoulders.

Your apartment building isn’t far, but somehow the walk feels longer now, the tension of what you both didn’t say hanging over your heads like a raincloud.

You glance at him once.

Big mistake.

He’s already looking at you.

And just as quickly, he looks away.

Your stomach flips.

You let out a small breath, pretending to be thoughtful instead of completely thrown off. “So why is Seokmin adamant about throwing a party again?”

“We just never have people over. Sometimes I think Seokmin gets sick of us and needs more socialization” You chuckle awkwardly to yourself.

“How could someone get sick of you- you guys.” Wonwoo studders. 

A small smile tugs at your lips, and for a moment, things feel normal again.

But it doesn’t last.

Because every few seconds, your mind drifts right back to it.

The way he didn’t hesitate.

The way it didn’t feel like pretending.

You try to refresh your brain, try to reset the memory.

It doesn’t work.

By the time you reach your building, neither of you are quite ready to acknowledge it.

“Well,” you say, gesturing lightly behind you “This is my apartment.”

“Yeah.” He nods, hands slipping into his pockets. “I figured.” He locks eyes with you.

“Thanks for walking me.”

“Of course.”

Neither of you move.

For a second—just a second—you think he might say something. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he rocks back on his heels, glancing briefly at the door, then back at you. “I’ll… see you at the party?”

You hesitate. “Yeah, I kinda have no choice. It is my house.” 

He chuckles to himself.

The air between you both is so heavy.

“Goodnight, Wonwoo.”

“Goodnight.”

You step into your apartment building before you can overthink it.

And as the door closes behind you, your heart is still racing—

because no matter how normal you acted…

that didn’t feel fake to you.

Not even a little.

________________________________________________________________

The minute you shut the stairwell door behind you, your feet holding you up give out as you slide down the backside of the door. You rest your head in your hands letting out a frustrated sigh. You pull your phone out of your bag and open messages.

Y/n: He kissed me.

Joshua: Y/N WHAAAAAT????

THAT’S A BIT FORWARD DON’T YOU THINK?

Y/n: His ex was walking by Josh. 

He wanted to kiss me to make her jealous.

Joshua: Oh.

Did it feel real.

Y/n: To me or to him?

Joshua: Both I guess?

You reflect on the kiss. How your lips pieced together perfectly, your hands resting on the back of his neck playing with his hair as he kissed you deeper. 

Y/n: He just wanted to make her jealous, Josh.

You swiped out of your messages and placed your phone in your lap. Everything felt like it was crushing down on you. You throw your head back against the door in frustration, tears beginning to form in your eyes. You felt stupid for reacting like this. 

Frustrating because you liked him. Frustrating because he kissed you, to get back at his cheating ex. Just when you started to see eye to eye, you said yes to the stupidest decision you could’ve made, kissing him. 

You pick up your phone to check the time. 2:34. Joshua hadn’t texted back yet. Tears fall from your eyes as you are choking for breath. This was insufferable, Wonwoo was insufferable, yet all you could do was replay kissing him and wonder if it was really all fake.

The door behind you swings open, making you fall backwards through the opening. 

A familiar shriek sounds from behind you.

“Y/N WHAT THE FUCK! YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!” Seokmin yells at you, leaning over to look your now laying down body in the eyes. He notices the red flush all over your face. “Oh y/n.” He sighs, frowning. "What happened?”

You said nothing, Seokmin helped you up off the ground and up the stairs as you cried. He let you cry.

Seokmin was always a silent listener, he was one of the most attentive people you knew. 

He opened your apartment door letting you in first, hand resting gently on your back. You blink your tearful eyes at Seungkwan who is sitting on the couch playing some game on his ipad.

Seungkwan looks up from his screen and meets your eyes with a smile that immediately drops when he sees your tear stained face, moving to the side allowing room for you on the couch. 

You sit down in your normal spot, sandwiched between your two roommates and the tears begin to flood again. 

“He kissed me.” The room goes quiet.

Seokmin and Seungkwan look at you, clearly trying to mask the pure shock on their faces. 

You explain the whole story, Seokmin attempting to soak up your tears with tissues. 

“He is coming to the party.” You choke on tears. “I don’t want to see him.”

“Tell him not to come.” Seokmin’s face is more serious than ever.

“What?”

“He’s not coming.” He turns to you looking visibly upset. “Text him and tell him he's not coming.”

“Seokmin… Maybe it would be good if he came?” Seungkwan urges. “Besides it will give y/n the time she needs to think about things and maybe then, they can have a conversation about it? At the party?” 

“I am not having someone in our humble abode that made y/n cry so hard I found her sitting in the stairwell.” Seokmin fights back. 

I’ve never seen him this angry. 

“I need to lay down.” You stand up and b-line for your bedroom door hearing the small bickers between Seokmin and Seungkwan about the situation you now have yourself in. 

The rest of the day was spent laying in bed, scrolling on pinterest, with the occasional knock on the door checking on you from Seokmin and Seungkwan in shifts. 

You pick up your phone often to check and see if Wonwoo texted you. Acknowledging what happened earlier. Apologizing. Even just a hi. 

Nothing.

It really was just to make her jealous.

Right when you finally calmed down, the tears started again. You wanted to call him. You couldn’t do that. 

Y/n: Seungkwan

Can you come here?

Two minutes later you hear a knock on your bedroom door. You slowly get out of bed and open the door, greeted by Seungkwan.

He sits on your bed, and listens to you.

“I need you to take my phone for the night.” You hold it out in his direction. Seungkwan hesitates to grab it from you. “I want to talk to him, but I shouldn’t.” 

Seungkwan nods, grabs your phone and puts it in his pocket. His arms wrap around you tightly giving you a long, silent hug. 

The night ends like that. You are in your bed, staring at the ceiling, with no access to your phone. You can’t help but still wonder if he has texted. Seungkwan wouldn’t tell you. Or so you thought.

A quiet knock on your door at midnight. Seungkwan is in the doorway, your phone in his hand. 

“Y/n. You should see this.”

You look at your lockscreen. A few texts from Joshua analyzing your day, memes sent from Seokmin to try to make you feel better, and one text… from Wonwoo. The notification was from 11:56 PM.

Wonwoo: Can you call?

__________________________________________________________

You don’t call him. You don’t respond to his text.

You fell asleep that night without responding to him, or Joshua. You did however feel it was right to respond to Seokmin, he would be upset if you didn’t.

Days felt like weeks, and the week leading up to the party felt like months. Wonwoo waited a few days after his first text to send you another. 

Wonwoo: How are you?

Y/n: I am okay, how are you?

This opened the conversation again. It had been a few days of wondering if the kiss meant anything to him. 

Days went by with casual conversation, he was clearly full of energy to talk to you again, and all you gave him were half assed responses with no meaning behind him. You didn’t want to speak to him. Not now.

The days leading up to the party however, went by in the blink of an eye. You went out with Seokmin to go shopping for decorations. 

Ever since kissing Wonwoo he had been more protective over you. 

After bickering with him in the dollar store party aisle, you decided on which decorations to get for the house. Seokmin finally figured out the ‘perfect’ cake recipe for Seungkwan that he swears he will love. You sent out the final texts to party attendees. 

A few of Seokmin’s college friends, Seungkwan’s colleagues and best friends, you even got to invite your two friends from your hometown, Jun and Minghao since they were in the area. 

And Wonwoo.

You text Wonwoo briefly just to double check and see if he is coming.

Y/n: You coming tonight?

A pit forms in your stomach at the thought of seeing him for the first time in a week or so, though it felt like months.

Wonwoo: Wouldn’t miss it.

Is it still okay if Vernon and Mingyu come?

Y/n: Like I said, the more the merrier.

Wonwoo: See you tonight :D 

You let out a deep sigh, anxiety stirring in your body. 

You run and grab coffee as fast as you can before Seokmin gets on your ass for being late to decorating the apartment. 

The rest of the day was spent bickering with Seokmin about where to put decorations. Seungkwan would be home from work any minute and the place was nowhere near ready. 

Seungkwan walks through the doorway to you and Seokmin yelling in each other's faces about where to hang the streamers. Seungkwan helps deescalate the situation by ripping the streamers out of Seokmin’s hands and hanging them where he wants.

Seokmin eventually gave up and slouched on the couch while you took the liberty to finish decorating. He said that ‘working on the cake made him tired’. 

Once you finished decorating, you went into your room to get ready. 

You walk over to your closet, staring at your clothes like they might magically decide for you. Your hands hover over a few options before you finally pull something out—simple, but nice. Not like you’re trying too hard.

Even though you definitely are. You want to impress him, whether you realize it or not. 

This is the first time in days your thoughts lingered on the kiss. The way he looked at you after.

You shake your head slightly, trying to snap out of it.

“It didn’t mean anything,” you mumble to yourself, even though it doesn’t sound convincing.

You fix your hair, smoothing it down, then adjusting it again… and again. Your hands feel restless, your stomach tight with nerves.

Because tonight, you’re going to see him along with new familiar faces.

And you don’t know what’s worse—

 the idea that he’ll act like it never happened…

or that he won’t.

Slowly people start arriving at the party. Joshua was the first one to show up, since you asked him to get there early to keep you company while you got ready. 

People flooded into your apartment including the friends of Seokmin and colleagues and close friends of Seungkwan.

“This is the most people we have ever had in here.” Seokmin says leaning against the kitchen counter, a red cup in his hand full of some rubbing alcohol tasting beverage. 

“Maybe it’s nice to socialize?” You hit his arm playfully, taking a sip from the cup that he mixed for you as well. “This tastes like shit man.”

Seokmin laughs while taking another swig from his cup. You look out into the living room from the kitchen, seeing Seungkwan happier than ever, surrounded by the people who love him the most. 

You and Seokmin smile at each other, clinking your cups together in a cheers, celebrating your friend was such an easy task.

Seokmin walks into the living room and begins socializing with Minghao and Jun, getting to know about them and their childhood with you, leaving you alone leaning against the cold granite countertop of your kitchen. 

A knock on the door leads Seungkwan to answer. You look over to the door to see not only Seungkwan looking and pointing at you, but three heads peeking through the doorway. 

One of them is quick to introduce himself to Seungkwan, immediately immersing himself into the vibe of the party. The other one slowly follows behind saying a nice hello to Seungkwan as well. 

And then there’s Wonwoo.

He pauses just inside the doorway and doesn’t follow his friends inside, not yet..

For a second, it feels like everything slows down.

Your breath catches.

The two other boys approached you, they knew exactly who you were, Wonwoo following shortly behind.

“You must be y/n!” One of the boys exclaims, he is seriously a beautiful man. “We have heard so much about y-” The shorter boy slaps him on the arm.

“Dude,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

Mingyu winces, rubbing his arm. “What? I was just—”

“—about to say too much,” Vernon cuts in calmly, glancing at him before looking back at you. His expression is neutral, but there’s something knowing in it. “Hi. I’m Vernon.”

You let out a small laugh, a bit nervous but amused. “Hi.”

“Mingyu,” the taller one adds quickly, recovering like nothing happened, flashing you another grin. “And I promise whatever you’ve ‘heard’ about me from him is probably exaggerated.”

“That’s not reassuring at all,” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s fine,” Vernon says, like he didn’t just interrupt a whole situation. “He talks a lot.”

“I do not—” Mingyu starts, then stops, realizing he’s proving the point. “…okay, sometimes.”

You laugh again, the tension easing just a little.

Mingyu grabs Vernon’s arm, dragging him into the sea of the party, forcing him to mingle with people they just met. 

Wonwoo watches as they disappear in the crowd and looks at you, like he has been craving seeing you.

You want to look away from him, but now he’s standing right in front of you— and whatever you were trying to leave in the past is suddenly right in front of you again.

You lock eyes with him through his frames. Wonwoo is wearing something similar to what he wore the first time you saw him after shooting the concert. Black shirt, slightly cut at the sleeves and at the bottom of the shirt making it a tad shorter and baggier dark blue jeans. 

Your chest tightens, wondering who is going to speak first. 

I need to speak first.

“You wore your glasses today.” 

You kick yourself. The second it leaves your mouth, you almost regret it.

Out of everything you could’ve said… that’s what you went with?

He looks exactly how you knew he would. The glasses, the dark clothes, the way everything sits on him so effortlessly. The way his long black hair is always so perfect yet jossled in a messy way. 

It’s annoying.

You look away first.

He notices.

Wonwoo clears his throat softly. “You… look really nice.”

There it is.

You expected it. Still— your chest tightens anyway.

“Thanks,” you reply, a little too quick, taking a sip from your drink like that’ll give you something to do, still looking at the sea of people ahead of you.

There’s a pause.

You can feel him looking at you, but you don’t meet his eyes right away.

He’s nervous. You can tell.

More than he wants to be.

Because your texts—god, your texts—have been so dry it’s been driving him insane. Short replies, no energy, like you were slowly closing a door he didn’t realize he wanted open. A door he opened the day he kissed you just for the sole purpose of making someone jealous. Did it even work?

“I didn’t know if you’d… want me here,” Wonwoo admits after a second.

You glance at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He hesitates. “You’ve been kinda… hard to talk to.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “Maybe there wasn’t much to talk about.”

That lands exactly how you intended.

He looks down for a second, nodding slowly. “Right.”

There is tension in the air. Not the awkward tension you were used to before, this time it’s heavier, more stressful. 

A long pause.

“So,” you say, tilting your head slightly, eyes flicking back up to him, “do you think it worked?”

He frowns a little. “Did what work?”

You give him a look. “The whole kissing-me-to-make-your-ex-jealous thing.”

His stomach drops, you can tell by the look in his eyes. 

“I—” he starts, running a hand through his hair, clearly thrown off.

Before he can finish—

“Hey.” Seokmin’s voice cuts in sharply from beside you.

You don’t even realize he walked towards you.

Seokmin doesn’t look at you first. He looks at Wonwoo.

Your stomach drops.

And the shift in his expression is immediate.

Seokmin looks at you, frustration written all over his face. “Y/n—” He starts guiding you out of the kitchen, his hand firm around your wrist. He drags you into your bedroom down the hallway, away from the crowds of people. 

He shuts the door quietly behind you.

“He is going to hurt you. I can’t see you like that again.” Seokmin bites.

“I know what he did,” you say, softer now. “And I’m still mad at him. But I also want to talk to him. Even if it’s frustrating, even if it’s risky.”

Seokmin runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “That’s what I don’t get. I just—he kissed you to make someone else jealous. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. And you’re letting him back in.”

“I am not letting him back in. Not really. I know how it looks, Seokmin. But it’s not that simple. I want to talk to him because… clearly something must be up with me if I keep thinking about that kiss every fucking moment of my life.” You accidentally start yelling, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “I need to figure this out, Seokmin, I need to know what this is about. It’s going to kill me if I don’t.”

Seokmin’s features soften. He seems more understanding. 

He studies you for a moment, tension still there, but his shoulders dropping just a fraction. “…Fine. But if he screws up—if he hurts you—you come find me, got it?”

You grin, a little relieved. “Got it.”

He lets out a short laugh, the protective edge fading just enough. “Alright. Go on then. Talk to your… weird boyfriend thing.”

“Seokmin he is not my boyfriend.” You chuckle immediately being enclosed in a hug with your best friend. 

While hugging Seokmin you realize exactly how you feel about Wonwoo, you know why the fake kiss drove you absolutely fucking crazy. You knew you liked him. You thought he was beautiful from the start, so charming. You knew this would kill you. 

________________________________________________________________

After spending a few minutes decompressing in your room with Seokmin, you both returned to the party. Wonwoo spent a lot of the night with Mingyu and Vernon, as you spent a lot of the night with Jun and Minghao. 

You could feel his eyes on you from across the room. 

You are filling another cup for Minghao when you feel a light hand on your shoulder. You turn around greeted with the cutest smile from Mingyu.

Minghao reads the room and walks away cautiously to return to Jun and Seungkwan.

“Oh hello Mingyu!” You say cheerfully, starting to feel your drinks a bit more than before. You are happy to see him.

“Let’s cut to the chase y/n,” He giggles to himself, he is also definitely feeling his drinks as well. Mingyu leans a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, living with Wonwoo, I know that boy inside and out. And I can tell you right now… he’s been talking about you non-stop.”

You blink at him, incredulous. “He… what?”

Mingyu grins, clearly enjoying the effect of his words. “Photography, mostly. Your photos, your style, how you see the world through a lens—he can’t shut up about it. Honestly, it’s kind of cute… and exhausting.”

You raise an eyebrow. “There’s nothing cute about him,” Mingyu can see right through your lies. “Are you sure you’re not just exaggerating because you’re his roommate?”

“Nope,” Mingyu says firmly, shaking his head. “I’d know. He never shuts up about you. I mean, it’s like, every other sentence he says is somehow about you or your photography.” He smirks, nudging you gently. “He’s really into you, y/n.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, trying to hide the flutter in your chest. “That’s… hard to believe, considering he kissed me to make his ex jealous.”

Mingyu’s grin softens, but his eyes lock onto yours, serious now. “Yeah, okay… I get that. But hear me out—what if he actually wanted to kiss you? Like, really wanted to, not just to make her jealous?”

You glance across the room again, at Wonwoo, pretending to be in a casual conversation with Vernon, and then back at Mingyu. The little voice Mingyu’s words planted in your head won’t stop buzzing: maybe… maybe he really did mean it.

Mingyu nudges you lightly with his elbow. “Just saying. You might want to pay attention, because he’s not exactly subtle.”

“There’s nothing subtle about him. Never has been” You laugh back at him.

“And that’s what I love about him.” Mingyu puts his hand lightly on your shoulder before walking back into the living room. You catch him right before he is too far away.

“Hey Mingyu…” You yell out towards the tall boy.

“Yeah?” He glances back at you.

“Can you tell him to meet me in my room, in 5 minutes?” 

That was bold of me.

Mingyu winks at you leaving you with a slight wave. 

You weed through the few people in the hallway to make your way to your bedroom. 

You sit on your bed legs crossed underneath you, twiddling with your fingers. Your body is full of nerves, wondering if Wonwoo will even come.

You barely have time to settle before a soft knock startles you.

“Y/n… can I come in?” You know exactly whose voice that is. It’s deep, meaningful.

The door creaks open, Wonwoo stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside. He doesn’t sit immediately, just hovers there, hands in his pockets, and you can feel the weight of the tension in the room, almost physically pressing down.

Then he moves closer, finally perching on the edge of the bed next to you. You can smell him—subtle, comforting, familiar—and your chest tightens again.

“Mingyu said you wanted to talk to me… in here?” He looks so nervous. You really have never seen him like this before.

You fiddle with the edge of your shirt, trying to muster the courage to break the silence. Finally, you manage it.

“Why…” you start slowly, voice a little shaky, “why did you really kiss me that day?”

Wonwoo exhales softly, staring down at his hands. He shifts closer, the space between you barely a few inches now. “I mean… part of it was—yeah, to make her jealous.” His voice drops, quieter now, more honest. “But…” He hesitates, glancing at you briefly before looking away. “But I also… I wanted an excuse. An excuse to… cut the tension. Between us. To just… kiss you.”

You blink, trying to process what he just said, and the flutter in your stomach makes it hard to think straight. “You… you mean, it wasn’t just… you didn’t just do it to make her jealous?”

He locks eyes with you. He shakes his head. “No. That part… that part was there, I can’t lie. But I really did want to kiss you. I just… I thought it would make things easier. Instead…” He trails off, swallowing. “…it just made everything… more tense.”

You stand up, flustered, pacing back and forth in your bedroom from desk to door. You feel panicked, worried, like this conversation would just make everything worse. Part of you wants to be mad, still hurt over the ex and the game he was playing—but another part… another part is just staring at him, realizing that maybe Mingyu was right.

You don’t respond. Your breath gets heavier, panicked, worried. You refuse to make eye contact with him. You are so confused. 

He stands up and moves closer towards you.

“Y/n… look at me.” His voice is soft, delicate, deep.

You pause in your steps, still not making eye contact.

“Y/n,” He has a pleading tone in his voice. “Y/n please look at me.”

You finally exhale, a little shakily, eyes glued to the floor. “So… it wasn’t all for her?”

“Look at me.” He puts his hand on your cheek, flat and warm, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look him dead in the eyes. He has a light smile on his face, slightly giggling to himself, his eyes crunch together, just like they did the first time you saw him at the cafe.

“No, it wasn't all for her.” he says softly, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes on you. “It was… mostly for me. Mostly because I wanted to. And I still do.”

Your chest tightens again, and you can’t help the small, shaky laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re impossible.” 

You want nothing more than to kiss him right now. 

He smirks faintly, that same calm, effortless look that somehow makes your knees go weak. “Yeah… but you kind of like that about me, don’t you?”

You avert your gaze, hiding the small blush creeping up your neck. “Maybe.”

“Can I kiss you, y/n?”

“For real this time?” You chuckle through your words. 

“Absolutely for real.” 

“So, Mingyu was right?” You playfully push his shoulder.

He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Mingyu’s an asshole.” 

Before you know it, Wonwoo's lips are crashing on yours.

Soft at first.

Nothing like before. But this time, he meant it, you meant it.

It lingers—just enough to make your chest ache in the best way.

Your hand finds his shirt without thinking, gripping it lightly as you kiss him back, a little more sure now.

Wonwoo exhales against your lips, like he’s been holding that in for days, and the kiss deepens just slightly—still careful, but warmer, closer.

Your other hand slides up to the back of his neck, fingers brushing against his hair, and that’s when it shifts—just a little.

Not rushed. Not messy.

Just… perfect.

He pulls you in a fraction closer, like he can’t help it, and you don’t stop him.

For a moment, it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

When you finally pull back, it’s slow, reluctant. Your forehead almost brushes his, your breath uneven as you try to steady yourself, hands now stationed at the back of his neck.

Brushing your fingers through his hair, he smirks against your lips. “Careful… I might start thinking you like this a little too much.” Wonwoo teases you.

“Oh, I definitely like this,” you whisper back against him, voice teasing, earning a low chuckle from him.

He grins, eyes glinting with mischief. “See? Mingyu is always right. I don’t mess around.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, heart still racing. “Yeah, yeah… you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

He smirks, leaning in closer again. “And you like that, don’t you?”

You close the space between the two of you again, just a small kiss. All of the tension dissipated, it is just you and him. 

_______________________________________________________________

Two weeks had passed since the party. Seokmin and Seungkwan finally got the chance to formally meet Wonwoo at your usual coffee shop, usual table. You slid into your normal table, a small smirk tugging at your lips when Wonwoo plopped down next to you.

“You’re never paying for coffee again,” he said confidently, as if it were a law of nature.

You raised an eyebrow at him, stirring your drink slowly. “Did you ever really let me in the first place?” you teased, voice low but playful.

Wonwoo froze for a moment, caught off guard by the jab, and then chuckled softly. “Touché,” he murmured, eyes flicking to yours with a mix of amusement and something softer, something warmer that made your chest flutter.

Seokmin sat across from him, arms crossed at first, brows furrowed. He didn’t say much, clearly unsure what to make of this quiet, dark-haired boy who had managed to rattle you in ways Seokmin didn’t like to see. But Wonwoo had a way of talking about things that made people relax—his eyes lit up when he talked about trying new recipes, experimenting with flavors, and just the general joy he found in food.

Seokmin’s arms slowly uncrossed, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. “So… you like trying new recipes?” he asked, tone a little more curious than before.

“Absolutely,” Wonwoo replied, leaning forward slightly, hands clasped around his cup.

Seokmin lets out a small hum around his cup of coffee. You see a small glint in his eyes. You know he is warming up to Wonwoo.

Seungkwan, who had been quietly sipping his coffee the entire time, let out a small laugh. “He’s not half bad, you know,” he said, nudging Seokmin lightly.

You rolled your eyes, shooting Wonwoo a small grin. “See? You’ve already won over my roommates. Now you just have to win over me I guess!”

Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a half-smile, his eyes warm and teasing back at you. “I think I already have you hooked.” He shrugs, it’s so cute.

“Barf.” Seungkwan jabs towards you two, leaving Seokmin laughing in his chair. 

You caught Wonwoo’s eye, and there was that spark again—the quiet understanding between the two of you that didn’t need words, just shared glances and a little laugh over coffee. For the first time in a while, it felt like things were… exactly where they were supposed to be.

The rest of those two weeks were spent with Wonwoo coming over occasionally to watch sports with Seungkwan, or cook with Seokmin.

“I think you enjoy your ‘playdates’ with Seungkwan and Seokmin more than you like spending time with me.” You tease him, tugging at the hem of his shirt breaking the kiss of the boy above you. 

Wonwoo freezes, lips brushing against yours, and lets out a soft chuckle. “Maybe a little,” he admits, smirking down at you. His hands rest lightly on your waist, but there’s that glint in his eyes—the one that says he’s not really sorry.

You roll your eyes, playful but still pretending to scold him. “A little? That’s it? I’m the one who gets stuck on the couch third wheeling you and Seungkwan’s games and third wheeling, eating the somewhat burnt food you and Seokmin cook?”

Wonwoo grins, leaning down so his forehead rests against yours. “Third wheeling, huh? Sounds like you’ve got a problem with having fun.”

He tilts his head, capturing your lips again, this one a little deeper, softer, teasing, but leaving just enough space between kisses for words. “Maybe you just need to join us! Then you wouldn’t feel so left out.”

You bite your lip, heart fluttering, pressing a hand to his chest as he dips down for another kiss, this one lingering longer, lips moving against yours with a teasing urgency. “Mmm… maybe I like being left out… if it means I get to steal you like this.”

Wonwoo chuckles against your lips, “You’ve got me there. Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes again, tugging him closer. “Oh, so that’s your grand plan? Just distract me with kisses until I forgive you?”

He smirks, letting his hand slide to the small of your back. “Maybe… but you’ll never admit it.”

And with that, he presses another kiss to your lips, and you don’t pull away, letting the playful, flirty tension between you two stretch on.

Small coffee dates, at home movie nights, night outs with friends, everything started to include Wonwoo. 

It felt normal, you loved normal. Including him in your routine became so normal. 

You were editing photos from a recent show you shot when you got a text.

Wonwoo: Meet me, Thayer’s Park, 3:00.

Y/n: Oh we haven’t been there in a bit!

Wonwoo: Since the first time yeah

See you there!

Y/n: Who says?

Wonwoo: You don’t want to make me sad do you… :(

Y/n: Whatever.

You put on a casual outfit, similar to the one you wore the last time you went to the park. 

Your 20 minute walk felt like 5 minutes with the anticipation of seeing him. Nothing made you happier than seeing him. 

The weather was beautiful, just as it was last time. 

You walk through the entrance of the park and see Wonwoo sitting on the same bench as before, camera in his hand. Something looks different.

Your eyes immediately go to the camera. A Nikon. The one he used to tease you mercilessly about when you first met him. You remember the smirk, the teasing comments, the way he’d act like he’d never let you live it down.

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you as you walk closer. “Oh so you got a Nikon?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Wonwoo looks up at you, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. “Saved up. Figured it was time. Can’t let you have all the fun, right?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest. “So now you’re officially a Nikon user huh? Does this mean you’re going to stop teasing me?”

“Not a chance,” he says, but the grin on his face is soft, almost shy.

He pats the bench next to him, and you sit, sliding close. Wonwoo keeps his camera raised, clicking shots almost compulsively, but each photo is of you—your profile, your smile, the way the sunlight catches your hair.

“You’re not going to let me be at peace, are you?” you tease, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“Not when you’re this photogenic,” he says, eyes glinting behind his glasses. 

Wonwoo sets the camera down on the bench beside him and fidgets with the strap of the camera slightly. 

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who asked me to meet you here,” you say, trying to keep your tone playful, though your stomach flips.

Wonwoo swallows, blinking up at you, voice low. “Yeah… I, uh… I just… I like being here with you. I like… this.” He gestures vaguely at the park, the flowers, you, all of it.

You lean a little closer, smiling softly. “You don’t have to overthink it, you know. You can just… enjoy it.”

He chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “I know… it’s just… I like you. A lot. More than I probably should.”

Your heart skips. 

This is it.

He laughs, though it’s still a little tight, and turns to face you fully. “I can’t lie to you. I just… want to be with you.”

You bite your lip, feeling the tension, the nervousness radiating off him, and the flutter in your chest that’s been growing since you arrived. “Oh really?” you murmur, teasing lightly, though your voice wavers slightly. 

“Yeah. I… I want to… I want to date you, y/n,” he finally says, voice soft but direct. He fidgets with the strap of the camera again, unable to meet your eyes for a second before gathering courage. The boy who was once so confident and cocky was showing who he truly was, a shy reserved boy and all he wanted was for you to be happy.

You grin, leaning in slightly to poke his shoulder. “You look way too nervous to be asking that,” you tease, watching him flush.

“I’m not nervous!” he protests, though the tip of his ears turning red betrays him.

“You are asking to date me as if we haven’t been making out every night for the past two weeks!” You laugh, he chuckles back, eyes squinting shut showing his beautiful smile. “You’re adorable,” you whisper, smirking. “Fineeee,” You draw out the end of that word. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Relief floods his expression, and before you can process it, he’s leaning in, kissing you softly, gently at first, then a little more heated, like he’s trying to make up for all the nervous energy.

He pulls back slightly, breathless, eyes wide, and mutters, “I… I love—”

His words catch mid-sentence, and you laugh softly, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Wonwoo… you’re so nervous.”

“I—I didn’t mean to say that!” he stammers, panic and excitement warring in his chest.

You grin, leaning in to kiss him again, slower this time, pressing your forehead against his. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I like that you said it. I love you too.”

He exhales shakily, finally letting himself relax, his hands holding you close. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm, smiling softly.

And then he kisses you once more, deep and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing the moment, while the leaves on the trees sway gently around you. It feels as if it is just the two of you in the park. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull it out to see a text from Seokmin.

Seokmin: Where the fuck is my boyfriend Wonwoo and why is he not at the apartment making food with me right now :(((((

Y/n: He’s my boyfriend now, idiot.

until the world remembers.

You wake up to a city that has completely stopped moving, cars frozen in the middle of the road and streets empty like everyone just disappeared overnight. When you find a newspaper dated yesterday with the headline “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY,” you keep it even though it feels ridiculous, because it’s the only thing that suggests time didn’t break for no reason. You spend weeks living in your own thoughts before you run into a man at the newspaper stand. A real man. As the two of you try to understand what happened, you start to realize the world only holds itself together when you’re together and you both wouldn't want it any other way.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo  x f!Reader  Genre: sci-fi-ish, angst, true love, dystopian-ish world, NO SMUT!, wonwoo is so whipped for her, happy ending!, true love, found lovers, lost souls, right person right time, idiots in love, awwww love love love love Word Count: 11.6k Warnings/Things to make note of!: mention of suicide attempts, mention of abandonment, mention of abuse, heavy topics, use of perscription medication, anxiety, angst, panic attacks, i dont know if im missing anything but let me know LOL A/N: hello!!! This is such a different story for me, i did a lot of unnecssisary scientific research for this story because i wanted to tap into the sci-fi elements in it! This is like loosely kinda sorta based off of the last of us / a quiet place like that kinda vibe. Wonwoo is such a sweetheart in this too like omfg im melting help. Anyway i hope you love it im really proud of it! i also didnt proof read oopsies sorryyyY!

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

Love.

The thing that you gave but never seemed to get back. The thing your mother said she hated you gave too much of, before she left. 

You couldn’t help but blame yourself for her leaving. You were overzealous, ambitious, she wanted no part of the big life you had planned for yourself. 

Abandonment. 

After your mom, your dad cut contact. You never got along with him, he hated you from the start. It was better off this way.

Or at least, that was the story you told yourself.

When there was nothing left to hold you where you were, you packed what little mattered and moved to the city. You told everyone it was for opportunity, for work, for the future. The truth was less inspiring. You left because every street carried a memory, every familiar face knew a version of you that you couldn't stand to look at anymore. The city was loud enough to drown out the echoes. 

Deep down, beneath the ambition and stubborn determination, there was a hatred you never spoke about. Not for your parents. Not for the town. For yourself. You would never admit it out loud, never give it shape with words, because saying it would make it real. So you buried it instead. You carried it quietly through every achievement, every stupid relationship, every sleepless night. It sat inside you like a slow poison burning you inside out, unseen by everyone but you.

There were years when the weight of it nearly won. Years marked by hospital rooms, rehabilitation, concerned voices, and moments you rarely allowed yourself to remember. More than once, you had tried to disappear entirely, convinced the world would keep turning without noticing the absence. Somehow, you survived each attempt, though survival never felt like victory. It felt like being handed another day you weren't sure you wanted.

So you ran.

Not because you believed a new city could heal you, but because distance was the closest thing to mercy you knew. If you couldn't become someone new, maybe you could at least leave the old version behind. The girl who spent her nights wondering why she wasn't enough. The girl who blamed herself for every goodbye. The girl who looked in the mirror and saw someone impossible to love.

You left her there, or at least you tried to.

April 16, 2026. You woke up late.

Sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming the floor beside your bed. Your head throbbed faintly, full of memories from the night you spent alone prior. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Another workday. Another morning spent pretending you were someone who belonged here.

You reached for your phone. Dead. The screen stayed black no matter how many times you pressed the power button.

"Great."

You rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen. Something felt off, quiet.

The neighbors upstairs weren't stomping around. Nobody was arguing in the hallway. No distant sirens drifted through the city air. No music from the apartment next door.

Nothing.

You frowned and walked to the window.

The city beyond the glass stole the breath from your lungs.

Cars sat motionless in the middle of intersections. A city bus was frozen halfway through a turn, blocking multiple lanes at an awkward angle. Near the curb, a discarded coffee cup lay on its side while dark liquid hung suspended in the air beside it, droplets frozen as if time itself had forgotten to let them fall.

The street was empty.

Not early-morning empty.

Not holiday empty.

Empty. No pedestrians. No drivers. No movement anywhere.

And no sound. That was what truly terrified you.

A complete and unnatural silence that pressed against your ears until your own heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.

Within minutes, you were outside. The apartment lobby stood abandoned. The front desk sat unattended. The revolving door groaned beneath your push before releasing you into a city that looked less like reality and more like a photograph.

You started walking. Then jogging. Then running.

"Hello?"

No answer.

You searched block after block. Restaurants stood open with meals left unfinished. Storefronts remained unlocked. Traffic lights cycled endlessly above empty roads. It looked as though the entire world had been interrupted in the middle of a sentence.

Then, finally, you saw someone.

A figure stood at the far end of a crosswalk. Your chest tightened with relief.

A person. An actual person.

"Hey!"

The figure remained still.

You broke into a sprint. "Hey! Wait!"

At the sound of your voice, they turned.

For a moment, you thought you saw their face.

Then reality came apart.

Their features twisted and distorted like a corrupted video file. Their body fragmented into jagged pieces that flickered in and out of existence. The image of them stretched, warped, and collapsed as though something unseen was struggling to render them correctly.

You stumbled to a stop.

The figure glitched once. Twice. Then vanished.

One moment they were standing there.

The next, they simply weren't, as if they had never existed at all.

The crosswalk stood empty, the city remained silent.

And for the first time since waking up, you felt genuine fear.

Because this wasn't an evacuation.

It was something wrong with reality itself.

You ran back to your apartment, panic setting into your chest rapidly.

The empty crosswalk blurred beneath your feet as you sprinted through silent streets. Every reflection in every darkened window made your pulse spike. Every shadow looked wrong. By the time you reached your apartment building, your lungs burned and your hands were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your keys.

"Get it together."

The words came out breathless.

You slammed the apartment door behind you and locked it. Then locked it again.

The panic attack arrived like an old friend. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat accelerated. The room suddenly felt too small.  Too hot. Too loud despite the silence.

"No. No. No."

You knew the routine. You'd learned it years ago. Before the city. Before the new life. Before you'd convinced yourself the past was buried.

You stumbled into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the orange prescription bottle waiting exactly where it always was. The familiar rattle was strangely comforting.

One pill. A glass of water. A shaking hand.

Routine. The same ritual you'd repeated so many times it no longer felt alarming. Just maintenance.

Eventually your breathing slowed.

Your thoughts followed. You sat on the edge of your bed staring at the wall for nearly an hour before making a decision.

Sleep.

This had to be a dream. A breakdown. Some bizarre neurological event.

You pulled the curtains shut, crawled beneath the blankets, and forced your eyes closed.

When you woke up, the sunlight had shifted. Your phone was still dead. The apartment was still silent. And outside the window, the coffee still hung in the air.

Exactly where you had left it when you closed your eyes. Reality hadn't fixed itself.

Whatever had happened was still happening.

The next time you went outside, you moved carefully. You stopped yelling for help. Stopped expecting answers. Instead, you started looking for information.

What day was it? What time was it? What had happened?

The city offered nothing.

Days passed. Or what you assumed were days.

Without working phones, broadcasts, internet, or people, time became slippery. You tracked it with sunrise and sunset and marks scratched into the wall beside your bed.

On what you estimated was the fourth or fifth day, you found the newspaper stand.

Most of the papers had spilled onto the sidewalk.

At first you almost ignored them.

Then something caught your eye.

The date.

August 16, 2026.

You grabbed another copy. Every paper dated August 16, 2026.

For the first time since waking up in the silent city, you'd found something current. Something recent. Something connected to the last normal day on Earth.

You unfolded the nearest copy. The headline stretched across the front page in absurdly large letters.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY

You stared at it.

Then laughed.

The sound startled you. It was the first time you'd heard yourself laugh in days.

"What kind of stupid headline is that?"

It looked like one of those ridiculous human-interest stories newspapers ran when nothing important was happening. The kind of article people skimmed while drinking coffee before forgetting it existed five minutes later.

But your smile faded as your eyes drifted back to the date.

Carefully, you folded the paper and tucked it beneath your arm.

Not because you believed the headline. Not because you thought it meant anything.

But because it was a piece of the last day. A message in a bottle from a world that no longer existed. That night, back in your apartment, you read the article.

Then you read it again. And again. Not searching for truth, just searching for something human. Something alive.

In the weeks that followed, the newspaper never left your side. You carried it through empty streets. Kept it beside your bed while you slept. Read it whenever the silence became unbearable.

The folds softened. The corners bent. The ink slowly faded beneath your fingers.

Yet somehow, it became the closest thing you had to company.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

A month passed.

Somehow.

The first week was panic.

You called your mother despite knowing she wouldn't answer. You called your father despite not speaking to him in years. You left voicemails. Sent texts. Called again. Then again. When that failed, you started driving. You drove through every district of the city, screaming for people through rolled-down windows. You searched hospitals, police stations, subway tunnels, government buildings, office towers, anywhere an explanation might be hiding. You kicked in locked doors. Pulled open emergency exits. Dug through abandoned desks and filing cabinets.

You found nothing.

No notes. No warnings. No evidence anyone understood what had happened. Just absence.

The second week became survival.

The panic burned itself out and practical concerns took over. Food. Water. Electricity.

You started treating grocery stores like your own pantry. The first time you took supplies, you left cash at the register. It felt wrong not to. The second time you did the same thing. The third time too.

Then one afternoon, while setting a twenty-dollar bill beside an abandoned cash register, you stopped.

You stared at the money.

The money stared back.

"Who's taking it?"

Nobody.

Nobody was counting inventory. Nobody was checking security cameras. Nobody was here.

You left the bill there anyway. The next day you didn't. For some reason, that hurt more than breaking into the store.

The third week became experimentation. If there was a cause, there had to be a solution. You spent days trying to force reality to react.

You shut down sections of the power grid and turned them back on. You moved frozen vehicles from intersections. You smashed clocks. Collected watches. Compared timestamps. Stayed awake for nearly forty-eight hours. Slept through entire days. Read scientific journals. Religious texts. Philosophy books. Cached conspiracy forums on dead computers.

Nothing worked. Nothing changed.

The coffee still floated in the street. The city remained silent.

The fourth week was acceptance.

Not peace. Just acceptance.

You stopped expecting answers. Instead, you built routines.

The apartment building across the street became Marley. The abandoned bank became Kim. The bookstore with the shattered front window became Greg.

Every morning, you greeted them. Talking to buildings should have felt insane. 

Instead, it helped.

The silence felt smaller when someone was speaking, even if that someone was you.

Every morning, you visited the same coffee shop. The machines still worked. You made the same drink. Sat at the same table. Stared through the same window. Not because coffee mattered. Because routine mattered. Routine made you feel human.

The newspaper became part of the routine too. Every night before bed, you unfolded it.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

The headline had become burned into your memory. You reread the article so many times you practically knew every sentence by heart. The smiling faces in the photographs. The ridiculous optimism. 

You didn't believe it, but it was the only thing in the world connected to the last normal day.

So you kept reading.

Some nights you searched for hidden meanings. Other nights you laughed at yourself.

"Maybe the answer really is true love."

The joke never landed.

There was nobody around to hear it.

And during that month, strange things kept happening. Every few days, you would see someone. A figure standing at the end of a street. A silhouette reflected in a storefront window. A person waiting at a bus stop. Always distant. Always alone. Your heart would leap into your throat every single time.

At first you ran after them. Always. The result never changed. The figure would disappear before you arrived. Sometimes they vanished around corners. Sometimes they flickered first. Sometimes their bodies distorted like damaged footage before collapsing into nothing.

Once, you watched a man standing beneath a traffic light fragment into static and disappear so completely it felt like your brain had imagined him.

After enough encounters, you stopped running immediately, because disappointment was exhausting.

But deep down, a part of you wondered if someone else was out there.

Someone who hadn't disappeared. Someone who was seeing the same impossible things. Someone who was still surviving. You just hadn't found them yet.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The worst part wasn't the fear anymore. It was the isolation.

You had spent most of your life convincing yourself you preferred being alone. You told yourself people left eventually, so it was safer not to need them too much.

Now you understood the difference between being alone and being the only person in existence. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was suffocating.

You talked to yourself more than you would like to admit. To the non-existent people in the driver’s seats of cars, the humans in the ads in store windows. 

One afternoon you spent nearly twenty minutes telling a mannequin about your childhood before realizing what you were doing.

You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. The line between the two was becoming difficult to find. The thoughts you'd spent years outrunning started catching up.

Old thoughts, old habits, old wounds. The version of yourself you had tried so hard to leave behind when you moved to the city began resurfacing piece by piece.

You remembered hospital rooms. Therapists. Long nights spent fighting your own mind. You remembered what it felt like to hate yourself. Really hate yourself.

Some days the loneliness became so overwhelming you found yourself slipping back into destructive patterns of thinking you hadn't struggled with in years. It scared you how familiar they felt, as though those parts of you had never truly disappeared.

You'd sit on the floor of your apartment staring at nothing for hours hoping you would regret the things you had done. The newspaper resting in your lap. The headline staring back.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

"What does that even fucking mean?" You laugh lightly to yourself, smile on your face tears streaming from your eyes. 

Manic.

That's what the psychiatrist said to you in middle school. You were manic. Destructive. 

And now you were feeling the exact same way. You were being handed another day you knew you didn’t want. 

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

May was warmer than April.

The seasons still changed. Somehow, everything natural kept obeying its rules. Trees filled out with leaves. Light lingered longer in the evenings. The air softened in a way the frozen city never could.

But the city itself never moved.

You were exhausted by now. Not in the way sleep could fix.

Something deeper had worn you down—days of searching every possible place, every office, every station, every building that might hold an answer. There were none. Only silence. Only absence.

So you walked again. Same route. Same habit. Same pull toward the newspaper stand you no longer believed would change.

Not hope. Just routine.

The folded paper was still tucked under your arm. The same headline you’d memorized weeks ago. TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. You didn’t even look at it anymore. You just carried it because it was something that still belonged to the world that used to exist.

The stand came into view at the end of the street.

And you stopped.

Someone was there.

A man stood with his back to you, completely unaware of you. He was reading a newspaper from the stand, holding it casually in both hands. He didn’t flicker. Didn’t distort. He was just… there.

Your breath caught painfully in your chest.

Slowly, carefully, you moved forward. Each step felt louder than it should have in the silence. You didn’t call out. You didn’t risk it. You stopped just behind him.

Your hand lifted. 

You hesitated.

Then you placed it gently on his shoulder.

Warm. Solid. Human.

Under your palm, you could feel him immediately—the weight of muscle, the tension of a living body, the undeniable fact of someone occupying space in the same world as you.

Real.

The moment your hand made contact, he whipped around.

“Hey—!”

It was sharp. Instinctive. Startled.

He stumbled back into you without meaning to, and the sudden movement knocked you off balance. Your feet slipped and you fell hard onto the pavement, breath punching out of your lungs as the impact echoed too loudly in the empty street.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then you looked up.

He was standing over you, breathing fast. Chest rising and falling sharply like he couldn’t decide whether to run or fight. Shaggy black hair slightly messed from the sudden turn. Perfect glasses still somehow sitting straight on his face. A black shirt clinging slightly from tension, dirty jeans scuffed like he’d been living through the same abandoned world for just as long as you had.

His eyes locked onto yours.

And neither of you disappeared.

That realization hit both of you at once.

His voice came first, cautious, broken with disbelief.

“…You’re real.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, still sitting on the ground. “So are you.”

He stared harder, like he was trying to find the trick. “No, that’s not—” He stopped, shaking his head once. “I’ve been alone. For weeks. Months. I don’t even know anymore.”

Your laugh came out uneven. “Yeah. Same.”

A pause.

The silence between you felt different now. Not empty. Just heavy.

He slowly crouched down a little, still not fully trusting what he was seeing. “You touched me.”

“I had to,” you said quietly. “Everything else… disappears.”

His expression tightened at that. “I know.”

That made you freeze slightly. “You’ve seen them too?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking briefly past you down the empty street. “People. Figures. Whatever they are. They don’t stay. They glitch, or vanish, or… I don’t know. Like the world rejects them.”

Your throat tightened. “Same.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke again.

Finally, he shifted his weight, still crouched slightly in front of you. “I thought I was the last one.”

Your voice came softer than you expected. “I thought I was too.” You felt tears prick at your eyes.

Behind him, the newspaper still lay half-unfolded on the stand, pages rustling slightly in a breeze that felt suddenly too real.

Neither of you were alone in it. You knew that now.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

You brought him to the coffee shop without really thinking about it. It was just where you went. Every morning. Same route, same silence, same routine that had started to feel less like comfort and more like something you were trapped inside of. He followed you through the frozen streets without asking questions.

Inside the café, nothing had changed. It never did. You moved behind the counter automatically, muscle memory taking over as you made two coffees. The machine hissed and clicked in a way that felt almost too loud now that there was someone else here to hear it. When you turned around, he was sitting near the counter, posture a little too straight, hands loosely folded, eyes tracking you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

You noticed it immediately. Every time you glanced away, his gaze flicked toward you, quick and careful, like he was still half-expecting you to glitch out of existence the way everything else in this world eventually did. And you hated that you were doing the same thing. Watching him. Checking. Making sure he was still real.

Eventually, you walked over and sat down across from him. Then, after a second of hesitation, you shifted your chair closer instead of staying across the table. The distance suddenly felt unnecessary.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Just looked.

It wasn’t comfortable silence. It was the kind that came from too much disbelief packed into too little time.

Finally, he let out a breath and leaned back slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “This is… actually insane.”

A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded once, like he’d made a decision. “I’m Wonwoo.”

You hesitated for half a second, like saying your name out loud would make this real in a way you weren’t ready for. “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, like he was testing how it sounded in a world that had almost forgotten how to say anything at all.

Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… natural, like this was something he’d been doing for a long time. The notebook looked overused in a way that made you realize he hadn’t just been surviving this alone, he’d been working through it.

He opened it and slid it slightly toward you.

Pages filled with equations, diagrams, timing logs, maps of the city, notes layered over notes. Some pages were carefully structured, almost elegant in their logic. Others were frantic, overwritten, like they belonged to nights where he hadn’t slept in too long.

“I tried to treat it like a system,” he said, tapping a page with the pen, voice calm but tired in a very specific way, like someone who had explained this to himself so many times he could no longer tell where certainty ended and coping began. “At first I thought it was some kind of temporal stasis field or perception lock. Then I tried entropy mapping, then gravitational inconsistency models, then—” he paused briefly, almost embarrassed, “I even tried tracking decay rates of ambient objects to see if anything was still aging normally.”

He glanced up at you quickly, like he was checking if that was too much. Then added, softer, “Nothing worked.”

He flipped a page. More notes. More spirals of logic.

“I kept thinking if I just added one more variable, it would click,” he said. “Like the world was a puzzle I hadn’t assembled correctly yet.” A faint, almost sheepish exhale left him. “At some point I realized I was just… documenting my own breakdown with better handwriting.”

There was a small pause. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair, glasses catching the light as he did. He looked annoyingly put together for someone who was describing the end of the world, like his brain had decided chaos still needed structure.

“I’ve been feeling absolutely fucking insane,” he admitted more honestly now, voice quieter. “Like I was the only person left who didn’t freeze, and maybe I just… wasn’t processing it right.”

His eyes flicked to you again, sharper this time, but not in accusation. More like curiosity mixed with relief he didn’t fully trust yet.

“And then you were just there,” he said. “So I guess either I’m not crazy… or we’re both equally crazy.”

A beat.

Then, almost awkwardly, like he hated how sincere it sounded, he added, “I’m leaning toward the first option.”

You took the notebook more carefully than you meant to, like it might still be tied to the strange rules of the world itself. The paper felt worn in a way that made it obvious he’d been using it constantly—pages softened at the edges, ink layered in different pressures, some sections neat and structured, others messy from long nights of thinking too much.

As you flipped through it, your expression slowly changed. At first it was curiosity, then confusion, then something closer to disbelief. He wasn’t just guessing. He had actually been trying to understand it in a structured way.

You frowned slightly, flipping another page. “This doesn’t make sense,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “How did none of this lead anywhere?”

That was what unsettled you. Not that he was wrong, but that he had been this thorough and still ended up with nothing concrete.

You lowered the notebook and finally looked up.

Wonwoo was already watching you.

His expression had shifted while you were reading. Still cautious, but softer now. Concern threaded through it in a way that felt uncomfortably gentle. His eyes moved over your face like he was trying to figure out whether what you were seeing was helping you or breaking you further.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

It wasn’t intrusive. Just careful.

You closed the notebook a little too quickly and slid it back toward him. “Yeah,” you said too fast, then corrected yourself, forcing it steadier, “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.

You shifted slightly, needing something else to focus on. “I’m from North City,” you said.

That got his attention immediately.

“North City?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He leaned back slightly, processing it. “I’m from South City,” he said after a beat, like he was double-checking it in his head. “Grew up there.”

That landed between you in a strange way. Like geography still mattered even when reality didn’t.

“So…” he added quietly, eyes flicking up to you again, “you weren’t that far.”

You gave a small, uncertain shrug. “Doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.”

“It does to me.” He gives a light, charming smile.

You didn’t argue. He looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, and you realized, uncomfortably, that while you had been reading his work, he had been trying to read you too.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The conversation loosened.

At first it was careful—small questions, fragments of back-and-forth about the city, about routines, about what life had been like before everything stopped. Then it drifted into everything and nothing at once. Random thoughts, shared observations, ridiculous theories that didn’t need to be true just to be said out loud. A few light laughs slipped in without either of you really noticing at first. Then more. It felt strange, almost disorienting, how natural it was to talk to someone again.

There was a point where the exhaustion and loneliness seemed to blur at the edges, replaced by something warmer, almost intoxicating in its own way. Like your brains were overcorrecting for weeks of silence, suddenly flooding you both with noise that wasn’t empty. You both started laughing harder at things that probably weren’t that funny, until it spiraled into genuine fits of laughter neither of you could really control.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, still catching his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You are really funny, you know?” he said, smiling in a way that looked unpracticed but real. “How did I never stumble upon you in the city?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shrugging. “I don’t know. Guess we just missed each other.”

He tilted his head slightly, still looking at you like he was trying to make sure you were actually there. Then, a little softer, a little braver, he added, “And you’re really pretty too.”

You blinked at him for a second, caught completely off guard. The fluster came too fast to hide, creeping into your face before you could stop it. “No one’s ever been that forward with me before,” you admitted, half-laughing as you looked away for a moment like it might reset your brain. Then, quieter but still smiling, you added, “You’re… kind of pretty too, actually.”

That did it.

For a second there was silence, and then both of you broke at the same time, laughter spilling out awkward and genuine, building on itself until it turned into something almost uncontrollable. It felt ridiculous and light in a way neither of you had felt in a very long time, like your bodies had forgotten how to do anything except exist in that moment.

Eventually, it settled, the laughter fading into soft breaths.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, still smiling a little. “Where did you grow up?”

The shift was subtle, but you felt it immediately. Something in your expression changed before you even answered. The air didn’t feel as light anymore.

“About five states over,” you said slowly, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I left because I needed a fresh start.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

You hesitated, then kept going anyway, like once the words started they didn’t really belong to you anymore. “My mom left when I was younger. Said I was… too much, I guess. My dad cut contact after that. I don’t really blame him.” You gave a small, humorless breath. “After that it was just… endless nights. Hospitals. Mental rehab stays. More hospital visits. Trying to get through one day at a time without everything falling apart.”

The words hung in the space between you.

Wonwoo went quiet.

Not awkwardly. Just… still. Like he hadn’t expected you to hand him something that heavy so easily.

You looked down at the table, suddenly aware of how much you’d said. “Sorry,” you added quickly, voice softer. “That was a lot. I just— I don’t know. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head slightly, but it took him a second to speak.

“No,” he said quietly. “No, you didn’t.”

A pause stretched out before he leaned back a little, looking at his hands for a moment like he was organizing his thoughts.

“I get it,” he said finally. “Not exactly the same, but… I’ve had my own stuff.”

You looked up.

He exhaled, slower now. “I didn’t really know how to deal with my head most of the time, so I just… went into math. Science. Anything that had answers. If there was a problem, there was a solution. That made it easier to breathe.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the notebook on the table.

“But when the world stopped like this,” he continued, voice quieter, “it didn’t have a solution anymore. And I kept trying anyway. Kept building models, theories, anything that made it feel like I still had control over something.” A faint, almost tired laugh slipped out of him. “And when none of it worked… I started losing myself in it a bit.”

He glanced up at you then, more honest now.

“I think I was just trying not to feel hopeless but… after meeting you, I don’t feel too hopeless anymore.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The rest of the day didn’t feel like time passing so much as time dissolving.

You talked about everything again, then nothing again, then somehow looped back into things that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. The kind of laughter that came easier the longer you forgot to be alone.

At some point, neither of you noticed when afternoon became evening.

The light outside dimmed slowly, painting the empty street in soft gold and then deeper blue. Shadows stretched across the café floor. The world outside didn’t move, but the sky still changed like it was trying to pretend things were normal.

Eventually, the silence between sentences grew longer. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

And then it was dark.

Wonwoo was the first to stand. You followed a moment later. Neither of you said anything as you stepped out into the street together. The frozen city looked different at night, colder somehow, even though nothing had actually changed.

You walked a few steps in silence before both of you slowed.

Then stopped.

You turned to face each other at the same time.

For a second, neither of you spoke, like you were both waiting for the other to break something that felt too delicate to touch.

Finally, Wonwoo exhaled. “I should probably head back to mine.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same. Mine’s… that way.”

Another pause. It didn’t feel like goodbye. But it felt like something close enough to it that it hurt anyway.

Then Wonwoo stepped forward.

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, immediate, like something in him had decided words weren’t enough anymore. For a second, your entire body locked up in surprise—then it melted, because suddenly there was weight. Real weight. Another person. Another heartbeat against yours. Something warm and solid and undeniable.

And it wrecked both of you instantly.

The silence you’d lived in for so long made the contact feel overwhelming, like your nervous systems didn’t know how to process it anymore. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt before you even realized you were moving.

After a moment, his arms tightened slightly, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. Like letting go would mean going back to being alone again. You could feel his chest rising unevenly against you, breath unsteady in a way he couldn’t hide anymore.

And then he started crying.

Quiet at first. Barely there. Like he hadn’t meant to.

That was what broke you.

You tried to hold it together for half a second longer, but it didn’t last. The soundless weight of everything you’d both been carrying just came out all at once.

You were both shaking slightly by the time it settled into something real.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe. He took off his glasses with one hand, wiping his eyes quickly, awkwardly, like he was trying to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Then he put them back on, exhaling shakily as he looked at you again.

He didn’t let go of your hands when he reached for them.

Both of them, gently held in his.

Facing you properly now, still a little unsteady, he said quietly, “Thank you for finding me.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

You squeezed his hands back. “Thank you for finding me too,” you said, voice breaking just slightly. Then, softer, like it mattered more than anything else in the world right now, you added, “You know where to find me tomorrow. Or… when we wake up.”

A small, shaky breath left him. He nodded once. Neither of you wanted to be the one to let go first.

But eventually, you did.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

it became routine without either of you ever deciding it would.

You started meeting at the café every day when you woke up, and somehow—almost unnervingly—you always arrived at the same time. No matter how irregular sleep had become in a frozen world, your rhythms synced. It was like your days had quietly agreed to align around each other without asking permission. The first thing you’d see each morning was him already there, or you arriving just as he pushed the door open, both of you stopping for a second like it still surprised you.

From there, you stopped staying in one place.

You explored the city together, block by block, building by building, still trying—out of habit more than hope—to understand what had happened. You checked abandoned offices again, revisited frozen intersections, studied the same impossible stillness from different angles like perspective might change the answer. But even as the mystery stayed unsolved, something else started filling the space it left behind.

Being around him felt… easy.

Not because the world made sense, but because he made it quieter inside your head.

There were moments that stayed with you in a way nothing else did. The way his eyes scrunched up when he laughed, soft and unguarded, like a cat reacting to something warm. The way he’d look at you sometimes like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, even after days of proving it. The way he started reaching for you without thinking when you ran through the empty city at night, pulling your hand into his so you could both move faster between buildings, breathless and half-laughing as your footsteps echoed through streets that never changed.

It didn’t fix anything.

The world was still frozen.

The mystery was still there.

But it didn’t feel like drowning anymore.

It felt like two lost souls who had found each other at the worst possible time—and somehow decided to stay anyway.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

It had been a month.

A full month of waking up into the same frozen city and still choosing to meet each other anyway. June 16th arrived like all the other days—silent, suspended, unchanged—but it still felt marked in a way neither of you said out loud.

You met at the café like always, arriving at the same time without ever planning it. Wonwoo reached for the door handle out of habit, but before he could open it, you grabbed his hand. “I’m bringing you to my place,” you said.

He paused, then smiled a little, soft and easy. “Okay.” No questions. Just agreement, like he trusted you more than the world made sense.

The walk back felt different this time. Less like surviving and more like existing alongside someone else. When you got to your apartment, you opened the door and led him in, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to show someone your space after so long of it only belonging to you.

Above your bed hung a slightly crooked paper banner.

HAPPY TWO MONTHS GETTING STUCK-AVERSARY!

Wonwoo stared at it for a second before laughing, genuinely surprised. “You made a banner?”

“It felt important,” you said, defensive but smiling anyway.

He shook his head, still laughing as he sat on the edge of your bed, palms pressing into your comforter like he was checking if it was real. The way he relaxed without thinking made something warm settle in your chest. The bed smelled like you, and he noticed, even if he didn’t say it.

You sat beside him after a moment, picking at the blanket. “I kept the newspaper,” you said suddenly.

He looked over.

“The one with the headline,” you added. “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. I thought it was stupid. Like actually stupid.”

He gave a small nod. “It is kind of stupid.”

That made you laugh quietly, but it faded fast. “I’ve never been in a real relationship,” you said after a pause. “And I don’t think I’ve ever really been… loved. My mom used to say I was unlovable. And I guess I just believed it for a long time without even realizing it.”

The air shifted immediately, not dramatically, just enough to feel heavier. Wonwoo’s expression softened in a way that erased any remaining humor. He took your hand gently and started rubbing slow circles on the back of it, steady and grounding like he was trying to undo years of silence through touch alone.

“That’s not true,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond, just swallowed and looked away for a second.

Then you pulled the folded newspaper out and showed it to him.

He looked at it, then after a beat, reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical copy.

You froze.

He noticed immediately. “I kept it too,” he said quietly. “At first I thought it was just noise. Something my brain clung to because I needed meaning somewhere. But it was the only thing from the last normal day that felt real.”

He turned it slightly in his hands. “Before I met you, it was the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.”

His gaze lifted to yours. Softer now.

“And then you showed up,” he added, “and I didn’t need it the same way anymore.”

The newspaper still sat between you for a moment after that, both copies folded loosely now, no longer feeling like proof of anything—just something you both had carried too long alone.

You traced a finger along the edge of yours before looking at him. “Have you ever been in love?”

The question landed softly, but it changed something in his expression immediately. Not defensive. Just thoughtful, like he was actually sorting through memories he didn’t often open.

“There have been… two times,” Wonwoo said slowly. “Where I think I actually felt it. Love.”

You stayed quiet, letting him take his time.

“The first was in high school,” he continued. “My first girlfriend. It was… real, in that way you only realize later. First everything. First person I ever really let myself care about like that.” A faint, almost nostalgic exhale left him. “But we were different in ways we didn’t know how to fix. It didn’t work out. We let it end before it got worse.”

He glanced down at your hands still loosely held in his, then back up.

“The second time…” He paused, a little longer this time. “Is more recent. So recent I don’t really know what to do with it yet.”

You blinked at him, not fully sure how to hold that answer, your chest tightening in a way you didn’t want to name. But you didn’t push it. Instead, you just nodded slightly, like you were giving him room to leave it there if he needed to.

And then, because silence suddenly felt too heavy, you started talking.

“I really love coffee,” you said, a little too quickly at first, then settling into it. “Like, actually love it. Not just because I need it. The smell, the routine, the way it feels like a start to something even when nothing changes.” You glanced around his apartment absentmindedly, then back at him. “And movies. I love movies. And music, especially physical copies. Like CDs, vinyls, anything you can actually hold. Streaming feels… temporary.”

He was watching you closely now, but not in a way that interrupted. In a way that made space.

You kept going.

“I love poetry too. And songwriting is honestly the coolest shit in the world,” you said, a small laugh slipping out as you leaned back a little. “Like how someone can just… turn a feeling into something you can hear. That’s insane to me.”

As you spoke, Wonwoo didn’t look away once.

Not even for a second.

It wasn’t intense in a way that made you nervous. It was quiet. Anchored. Like every word you said was something he was choosing to keep.

His eyes softened the longer you talked, shoulders relaxed, expression shifting into something almost unguarded. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was seeing you.

Not because you were the only person in the world.

But because, in that moment, that was how he was looking at you.

Like if the city was full again, if time started moving properly again, if everything went back to normal, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was where his attention would always land.

On you.

And you didn’t know it yet, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t change even if they weren’t stuck at all.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

A week passed like that.

The city stayed frozen, the routines stayed familiar, but something between you and Wonwoo started to feel… different. Conversations had a lingering edge to them now, like they didn’t fully end when the words stopped. They hung around in the silence afterward, warm and strange, like unfinished thoughts neither of you wanted to close.

You noticed more things about him without meaning to.

The way he talked faster when he got excited, words slipping out like his brain couldn’t keep up with itself when he was explaining something he cared about. The way his handwriting was ridiculously neat, especially when he was writing out equations in that notebook of his—precise lines, careful spacing, like even his thoughts needed to be organized before they were allowed to exist on paper.

Now you were sitting in his room, watching him.

He was at his desk, slightly hunched over a sheet of paper, sketching something absentmindedly while thinking out loud under his breath. You weren’t really listening to the content anymore. At some point, your attention had shifted without permission.

You were just looking at him.

The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward. The quiet focus in his expression. The small pauses he made when he was thinking too hard. The way even his stillness felt… intentional.

It hit you slowly, like something you weren’t supposed to notice.

He was beautiful.

Not in a loud way. Not in a way that demanded attention. In a way that made you realize you’d been paying attention without realizing it. And kind. Genuinely, quietly kind in a way that didn’t ask for anything back.

You weren’t sure when that realization turned into something heavier.

Something warmer.

Something that made your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t explain yet.

You laughed softly to yourself before you could stop it.

Wonwoo paused mid-line, looking up slightly. “What?”

You blinked like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “Nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced.

You reached into your pocket out of instinct and pulled out the folded newspaper again, like it could anchor you back into something simpler. You unfolded it halfway and glanced at the headline you already knew by heart.

TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.

“I was just thinking about this,” you said casually, trying to smooth out whatever had just happened inside your head.

He watched you for a second, then gave a small, soft smile—one of those ones that didn’t feel like it was fully controlled. A “pretty” smile, unguarded in a way that made your stomach drop slightly.

“Oh?” he said lightly, turning back to his paper, pen moving again. “Still trying to figure out if it’s propaganda or destiny?”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Something like that.”

He hummed, clearly amused, not looking up this time. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”

That made you smile before you even realized it.

And as he went back to his drawing, pen scratching softly against paper, you stayed sitting there a little longer than necessary, pretending you were still thinking about the newspaper when really you were just trying to understand why looking at him felt like that now.

The rest of the night settled into a quiet kind of rhythm. You stayed on his bed with a notebook in your lap, writing poetry in scattered lines and half-finished thoughts, while Wonwoo sat at his desk working through equations and diagrams like he could reason the world back into motion if he just didn’t stop trying. The room wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t empty anymore. It felt shared in a way neither of you had experienced since everything stopped.

Every so often you’d glance up at him without meaning to. He was completely focused, glasses slightly slipping down his nose, pen moving carefully across the page, hair falling forward in soft, messy strands that made him look less like the person trying to solve the impossible and more like someone just trying to hold on. And every time you looked away again, your chest felt strangely full in a way you didn’t want to name yet.

At one point he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward you. “What are you writing?” he asked, already half-standing like he was going to come over.

“Nope,” you said quickly, swatting at him before he got too close. “Don’t even try.”

He leaned in anyway, and you instinctively pushed his head back gently, your fingers catching in his hair for a second longer than you intended. It was softer than you expected, slightly messy in a way that made your heart react faster than your brain could explain. You pulled your hand away too quickly, pretending it meant nothing, and went back to your notebook while he cleared his throat and sat down again like nothing had happened, though the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him.

After that, the room fell into silence again. Not uncomfortable, just steady. You writing. Him thinking. The world outside completely still.

Then, after a few minutes, the silence shifted.

You heard him breathe differently.

You looked up.

Wonwoo wasn’t writing anymore. His shoulders were tense, head slightly bowed, and when he finally lifted a hand to his face you saw it—he was crying, quietly, like it had slipped out of him before he could stop it.

You moved immediately. “Wonwoo?” you said softly, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of him. Moonlight from the window spilled across both of you, catching on his face, on the tear tracks he tried to wipe away too late. Your hands came to rest gently on his legs, grounding him. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

He shook his head at first, like he didn’t want to say it, but then it all came out anyway.

“I can’t do it,” he said, voice breaking. “I keep trying and nothing works. Every model, every equation, every theory—it always ends the same. I can’t fix it. I can’t understand it. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to solve something that doesn’t want to be solved.”

His breath stuttered.

“And I feel like I’m letting you down.”

That hit harder than anything else.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, eyes red and exhausted. “All I want is for you to get out of this,” he said more quietly. “That’s it. If I can’t fix it, then I should at least—”

“Don’t say that,” you interrupted softly, shaking your head.

He paused.

You tightened your grip slightly on his legs. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true,” he said anyway, voice unsteady but honest. “You’ve helped me so much. The least I can do is get you out of this.”

You stared at him for a moment, then leaned in a little closer, your voice softer but firm. “You’re not letting me down.”

He blinked at you like he didn’t know how to believe that.

Wonwoo looked at you through glassy, tear-lined eyes, still breathing unevenly like he was trying to steady himself in real time. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stayed there, hands hovering uncertainly before slowly settling over yours where they rested on his legs, like he needed to anchor himself to you to stay present.

His voice came out quiet, almost unsure of itself. “Can I kiss you?”

The question hit you harder than anything else that night. It didn’t feel like impulse—it felt like something careful, something honest, something he’d thought through even in the middle of everything breaking down inside him. And for a second, you didn’t think at all. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, closing the small space between you.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t uncertain. It was real in a way everything else in this frozen world had stopped being. Like all the silence, all the waiting, all the searching finally collapsed into something simple and undeniable.

It just made sense.

You shifted slightly on your knees to meet him properly, and his hands instinctively found your waist, holding you there like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip. Your fingers moved into his hair without hesitation this time, no second-guessing, just instinct and feeling and warmth where there hadn’t been warmth in too long.

And when you finally parted, it wasn’t distance that remained between you.

It was understanding.

Wonwoo pulled you into a tight hug first, like he couldn’t stand the space between you anymore. His arms wrapped around you firmly, pulling you into his chest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said quietly, voice still rough from everything that had just happened.

That cracked something open in you again. You clung to him, tears slipping down before you could stop them. “Then don’t,” you said, voice breaking. “I don’t want you to leave either. You don’t have to let me go. Not ever.”

For a while, neither of you moved.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to breathe. The night had grown later without either of you noticing, and the exhaustion of everything settled in all at once. “I should go,” you said softly, even though you didn’t want to. “It’s a twenty-minute walk.”

Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He walked you to the door, hands lingering like he was memorizing the moment. Neither of you spoke much—there wasn’t anything that needed to be said right then.

You stepped outside alone.

The city was still frozen, still impossibly quiet, but the air had changed. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead sometime while you weren’t looking. A few minutes into your walk, the first drops of rain started falling, slow at first, then all at once.

Within minutes, you were completely soaked. Hair dripping, clothes clinging, shoes heavy against the pavement. The cold didn’t matter as much as it should have. It just blurred into everything else.

You were about ten minutes in when you heard it.

“Y/N!”

You froze.

The voice cut through the rain like it didn’t belong in this world anymore. You turned around quickly, heart snapping in your chest.

Wonwoo was running toward you.

Soaked completely. Hair damp and clinging to his forehead, glasses streaked with rain, shirt darkened by water, breath uneven as he closed the distance like he couldn’t afford to lose you even for a few minutes.

When he reached you, you grabbed him immediately—hands on his shoulders, then his waist, checking him like he might disappear again. “Are you okay?” you asked quickly, breathless, searching his face.

He was smiling.

Wide. Relieved. Almost breathless with it.

“I figured it out,” he said.

You blinked through the rain. “Figured out what?”

He lifted the folded newspaper in his hand. It was soaked too, edges curling from the water, ink blurring slightly. “This,” he said like it was obvious.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Wonwoo, it’s just a stupid headline.”

He shook his head immediately. “No. Listen.”

You stared at him, rain dripping down your face.

“What if it wasn’t just a headline?” he said, voice rising slightly over the storm. “What if we’re the only two people still here because everything else requires connection to persist? Not in a magical way. In a cognitive way. In a relational way. Reality stabilizes through perception, through emotional anchoring—through people being meaningfully recognized by others.”

You frowned slightly. “I don’t—what?”

He stepped closer, excitement and urgency blending together in his expression, but softer too, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. “I know it sounds insane, but think about it. Everything else is frozen, erased, or collapsing. But we’re not. We only became real when we found each other. When we were seen. When we mattered to someone else.”

You shook your head slightly again, confused but listening.

Then his expression softened completely, the intensity giving way to something simpler, something honest.

“I’m in love with you,” he said.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t hesitate. “I am so in love with you that I can’t think straight anymore. And I think you feel it too. I know you do. I think that’s why this works. That’s why we’re still here. Because we’re connected.”

The rain poured around you, soaking everything, but neither of you moved away.

For a second, you just stared at him.

Then you laughed once, disbelieving, shaking your head—but your eyes were wet for a different reason now.

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

“Probably,” he said immediately, stepping closer again.

He grabs both sides of your face pulling you in tightly like he doesn’t want to let go, crashing your lips together once more. You wrap your hands around his neck playing with the wet strands of hair on the back of his neck. He snakes his arms down from your face to wrap around your back, once again pulling you in closer.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were still smiling like you couldn’t believe any of it was real.

“Come on,” you said breathlessly, grabbing his hand. And together, you ran back toward your apartment through the rain, like the world had finally started moving again just to keep up with you.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

When you got back to your apartment, you both took off your soaking wet shoes, leaving them at your front door. 

You made it back to your apartment soaked through, both of you laughing a little breathlessly as you stumbled inside. The warmth hit immediately, muffled and soft compared to the rain outside. Shoes came off at the door almost in sync, wet footprints left behind on the floor as you kicked them aside.

“Okay,” you said, brushing damp hair out of your face, “you’re gonna be so uncomfortable if you stay in that.”

Wonwoo glanced down at himself like he’d just realized how completely drenched he was. “That’s… fair.”

You gave a small nod toward your bedroom. “I have clothes you can change into. They’ll be big on you, but they’re clean.”

He followed you without hesitation, still a little dazed, like the last half hour hadn’t fully settled into reality yet. You moved to your closet immediately, rifling through it with quick, familiar motions while he stood a few steps back, dripping water onto the floor and trying very hard not to make a mess of anything.

“Found it,” you said, pulling out a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts for yourself, then another set of oversized clothes you didn’t care about as much. You turned and tossed his clothes lightly toward him. “Here.”

He caught them a little awkwardly, nodding. “Thanks.”

You were already halfway out of your wet shirt, switching quickly into the dry hoodie, movements practical and unbothered. Wonwoo immediately turned slightly away out of instinct, giving you space even though the room was already casual and familiar in its own way.

Still, despite looking away, his thoughts betrayed him. He found himself thinking—almost frustratingly simple and clear—that you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Not just right now. Not just in the rain. Just… always. Like it wasn’t something the world had to be frozen for him to notice.

When you finished changing and turned back around, the air between you felt warmer than before.

“Okay,” you said, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “You good?”

Wonwoo nodded, still a little quiet, but softer now. “Yeah. Better.”

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

When you finally settle under the covers, he follows, and somehow you end up tangled into the same space without really discussing it. You end up resting against his chest, and after a second of hesitation, his arm settles around you like it belongs there.

His fingers move into your hair gently, slow and absent-minded, while the other hand traces steady circles on your back. It grounds you more than you expect.

After a while, you ask quietly, “Do you really think you’re right about all of this?”

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “About reality being held together by emotional attachment and us being the center of some cosmic relationship experiment?” He pauses. “I’ve definitely gone insane, so I’m not the most reliable source.”

That makes you smile into his shirt.

But his hand doesn’t stop moving as he continues, softer now. “But I do think something changed when we found each other. Whatever this is… I don’t feel like I’m alone in it anymore.”

You go quiet after that.

You shift slightly so you can look up at him. The dim light from the room softens everything about his face—his eyes, his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re something he still can’t fully believe is real.

“I love you,” you say before you can second-guess it. Your voice doesn’t shake, even though everything inside you does. “I love you in ways I don’t even know how to say properly. More than I’ve ever loved myself. You brought back something in me I thought I lost a long time ago.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

His hand pauses in your hair like he needs a moment to process it. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead—careful, steady, real.

“I love you too,” he says quietly.

You exhale slowly, letting yourself settle back into him as his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he relaxes too much. His hand resumes its slow rhythm on your back, steadier now, calmer.

At some point, you stop thinking about the frozen world outside.

And at some point after that, you fall asleep without meaning to—still held by him, still real enough to stay.

⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･

The next morning doesn’t feel like waking up—it feels like being pulled out of something too deep too fast. You wake to noise. Not silence.

A car horn cuts through the air, sharp and real, followed by another, then overlapping voices rising from outside the window. For a few seconds you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your brain refusing to connect the sound to anything it remembers.

Then you sit up.

You rub your eyes hard, like that might reset the world, but the noise doesn’t go away. It only gets clearer. Louder. More layered.

You move fast.

You run to the window.

And you freeze.

The world outside is moving.

Cars are driving again. People are walking on sidewalks. A couple passes holding hands. A group of friends laughs at a crosswalk. Everything is alive in a way that feels almost overwhelming after so long without it.

Your hands press against the glass.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper.

You stare harder, like it might break if you look at it wrong, but it doesn’t. It stays real.

“Wonwoo,” you say suddenly, spinning around, relief hitting you all at once. “Oh my god—Wonwoo! It worked! You were right it—”

You stop.

The bed is empty.

No movement. No warmth. No trace of him.

Your stomach drops immediately.

“Wonwoo?” you say again, quieter now. Confused.

You rush out of the bedroom, checking the apartment quickly, moving from room to room, your bare feet hitting the floor too loudly in the new world of sound. “Wonwoo?” you call, louder this time. “Hey—are you here?”

Nothing.

The apartment feels wrong without him in it.

You step into the hallway, and suddenly everything is too loud. Neighbors talking. Doors opening. Life spilling back into the building like it had never stopped. It overwhelms you all at once, crashing in after months of silence.

You call his name again, voice breaking as it echoes down the hallway. “Wonwoo!”

Still nothing.

You move faster now, checking stairwells, corridors, every space you can think of, panic rising with every empty second. The world is full again, but he isn’t in it.

“Wonwoo…” you whisper, barely audible now, before it breaks completely.

Your knees weaken as you sink against the wall, sobs finally spilling out while everything around you keeps moving forward.

You stand up too fast.

The second you’re on your feet, you’re already moving, already running out of the building like your body has decided before your mind can catch up. The air outside is full of sound—cars passing, people talking, life everywhere—and you’re yelling his name before you even realize you’re doing it.

“Wonwoo!” you scream, voice cracking as tears blur your vision. “Wonwoo!”

People turn to look at you.

Some slow down. Some stare. A few step out of your path as you push past them, not gently, not carefully—just desperately. Your shoulder bumps into someone, then another, but you don’t stop. You don’t apologize. You don’t care.

“Wonwoo!” you shout again, louder, like volume could force reality to give him back.

But he isn’t there.

He isn’t anywhere.

You keep running anyway, breath tearing in your chest, until your legs carry you back to the only place that ever felt consistent—the newspaper stand.

The stand is still there.

Still absurdly normal.

Still unchanged.

A boy stands behind it now, different from the ones you remember from the frozen time. He looks up immediately when he sees you, startled by how wrecked you look.

“Hey—are you okay?” he asks quickly. “Do you need help? My name’s Chan, I can—”

“What day is it?” you cut him off, breathless, shaking, barely holding yourself up. “Just tell me what day it is.”

Chan hesitates, clearly worried. “Hey, I think you should sit down first, you look—”

“That’s not what I asked,” you say again, voice breaking harder now. “I asked what day it is.”

He pauses, then answers carefully. “June 28th, 2026.”

Something in your chest drops.

You turn without thinking, grabbing a newspaper from the stand. Your hands shake so badly the paper crinkles immediately. The date is clean. New. Real. And the headline stares back at you in bold print:

Researchers Confirm Reality Stabilized Following Reconnection of Isolated Cognitive Nodes.

Your vision blurs instantly.

“No,” you whisper.

Then again, louder, breaking apart completely as tears spill onto the paper. “No—Wonwoo. Wonwoo, no…”

You say his name like it’s something that might still answer you if you repeat it enough times. Like a prayer. Like repetition could rebuild him into the world.

“Wonwoo… Wonwoo…”

Chan watches you helplessly, unsure what to do.

You force yourself to breathe, wiping your face quickly even though it doesn’t help. “Thank you,” you manage, voice barely stable. “I’m sorry.”

He nods slowly, still concerned, but doesn’t stop you as you turn away.

You walk back toward the crosswalk, toward nothing in particular, just trying to figure out where to put yourself now that everything is moving again without him.

And then—

A hand lands on your shoulder.

You freeze so hard it feels like the world stops again.

For a second, you can’t breathe.

You turn.

Slowly.

And the moment you see him, you already know.

Black hair slightly messy. Glasses catching the light. The same quiet expression that looks like he’s just barely holding onto disbelief.

Wonwoo.

Standing there like he never left at all.

And said with that same cat like smile that you thought you had lost,