ghostly or ghastly?

Your cheeks flush as the table of five stares at you. Or tries to not stare at you and your trembling hand. Why do they all want different things? Why can you not remember how to spell anything? You flip the menu to the penultimate page, scanning the English text for the item before copying down the Korean.

“I’ll be back with your drinks,” you squeak out. One of the few phrases you can reliably say.

You leave the ticket with the others and halfheartedly wave to Felix, who was also tricked into waiting tables. If you and Felix had it your ways, you two wouldn’t be working at a restaurant, but you need to improve your Korean somehow. University-level language courses are hard, and Felix’s middling understanding ensures he can never escape teasing from his family.

“Hey,” you say. “How’s it going?”

“Some ahjumma tried setting me up with her daughter. You’ve got something on your sleeve, by the way.”

He points to your wrist, and you automatically clamp your hand over it. You sloshed soup on it earlier, and now the orangey-red stain is going to remain a part of tonight's uniform. You’re just grateful you didn’t get burned.

“You know,” you say, “when they call you jalsaenggin, they really mean it. I bet she tips well.”

“God, she better. I wanted to die.”

“Wait until after the dinner rush and then you can. Speaking of,” you mutter when you see another server shoot you a dirty look, “gotta go.”

You grab the drinks and return to the table, noting that a party nearby is leaving. When you head to the back to grab a bus tub, you glance at the door. A line is beginning to form outside. The setting sun only promises more people will join. Already, you see a group of six writing their name on the waitlist. Just four more hours.

You take orders, sneak glances at your phone, refill sides, exchange sympathetic looks with Felix, and collect dirty plates. You stumble over names of dishes when you bring food to the tables, and one well-meaning child corrects your pronunciation, much to the mortification of their parents and you. When you carry out the next tray of food, you mumble “kimchi soondubu” and “japchae” like a prayer.

Your prayers don’t reach the gods, or perhaps they do. A customer suddenly slides their chair back, and when you hastily sidestep around them, you lose all balance.

The soup flings upwards like a red wave and the noodles quickly after. Then the bowls and plates start going, too. In a desperate attempt to save them, you drop your tray and try to gather them with your arms. When everything finally drops to the floor, it feels like the entire restaurant goes silent.

You stare at the mess on the floor, the splatters of soup on your sleeve. The perfect cubes of soft tofu have been obliterated. Strangely, the egg yolk is still intact. When you lift your head up, a thin green vegetable slides down your cheek. At least none of the dishes broke.

Instinct takes over. You frantically apologize, babble something about a mess to Mrs. Jeon, and run out the back door so you can cry in peace. Sitting on the stoop beside the dumpster, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand while watery sobs escape your mouth. Your whole body shakes. If the streets were quieter, they would hear you from the parking lot.

“Hey, you all right? Are you hurt?”

You bury your face in your heads. You can’t face Felix like this.

“I’m getting fired,” you wail. “Oh my god, I'm getting fired. I just left!”

You feel Felix sit beside, and you shift to make room.

“No, you’re not,” he assures you. “Are you okay? Everyone’s worried about you. They’re looking for a first aid kit and everything.”

The image of the restaurant staff rummaging through the supply closet and kitchen cabinets for a kit makes you smile a little. You prop your chin on your knees. The night air dries your tears in a near instant, leaving stiff, tacky trails on your cheeks. You stay silent for some time, listening to the cars passing by and Felix's steady breaths. You're keeping him from working. It's a miracle no one has come looking for him.

“I messed up so bad," you finally say.

“It wasn’t your fault. They’ll understand.” He holds out his hand. “Let’s get out of the cold, okay?”

With a sigh, you place your hand in his. It’s cold like yours, but you don’t pull away, letting him guide you to the kitchen where a group of ahjummas are waiting with band-aids and hot water.

They all scold you and Felix for sitting in the chill with no jacket and Felix for not forcing you inside sooner. That’s how Felix explains it to you; you didn't understand a word. You sip on your water, clasping your hands around the cup for warmth. What a mess.

“They’re saying you should go home,” Felix says next. “Get cleaned up. You’re not being fired,” he quickly adds. “You just don’t look... presentable. I’ll walk you out to your car.”

“Okay.”

Five minutes later, you’re in your hoodie, standing by your car with relief. You’re unhurt. You’re going home. You still have a job. Maybe one you don’t want to return to after today's incident but a job nonetheless.

“Thanks for checking up on me earlier,” you quietly say, looking at the door handle and not him.

“It was nothing. I had to make sure you were okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? It’ll be better then.”

“Take it up with the boss,” you repeat.

“You are the boss,” he repeats back.

The usual night shift manager, Nayeon, is sick, which puts you in charge because Jinyoung doesn't trust Jisung or Mark. He’s right, of course, but would it kill you to use your powers for his benefit?

You mechanically count the money in the register and push the drawer in with more force than necessary. The restaurant is empty, which means your customer service persona is off. He likes you so much better when it’s off. That weary aggression is hot.

“I’m gonna grab a snack,” he finally says when it’s clear that you’re not giving in. “You want fries?”

“Yeah. And if you change the music, I’m firing you.”

“You can’t fire me.”

You smirk. “I’m the boss, remember?”

Before Jisung’s body can make the terrible decision to kiss you right here, right now, he forces himself to go into the kitchen. Mark, in an apron splattered with grease, has a vape pen in one hand, his phone is the other. He acknowledges Jisung with a nod before turning back to the TikTok he’s watching. Taylor Swift sings at twice her normal speed. Jisung can’t escape her.

Fuck it.

Once he’s queued up his song, he grabs a burger from under the heat lamp and two cones of fries. When he returns to the counter, there’s two cups of soda waiting.

“Aw, you do care,” he remarks, causing you to roll your eyes. “Cherry coke?”

“Of course. It’s the best.”

You reach for the fries and let out a happy sigh when you taste them. This part of you, Jisung also likes. The sweet serenity hidden underneath all of your cynicism rarely shows, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as you sip on your drink, a subtle smile building on your face.

Then his song comes on. It takes only three seconds for you to recognize his voice.

“You’re fired,” you say, turning around so you can change the music back to Taylor Swift. God, he can’t listen to her anymore, not when every song of hers makes him daydream about you.

“Last song, I swear. Just listen to it. Please,” he says. “I’ll clean the ice cream machine tonight.”

You lean back against the counter and stare at the speakers on the ceiling like the words will materialize from the sound. You don’t realize it, but it’s a kind gesture. Jisung knows his face is red. When the playlist goes back to radio hits, you finally look at him.

“Cute song,” you say.

“It’s about you.”

“I know. Hey, can you take me home tonight? My roommate’s visiting her family, so I don’t have a ride.” Coyly, you add, “Or anyone waiting at home for me.”

Fuck the ice cream machine.

You ask for a strawberry seltzer at the open bar and wince when you notice the tiny words beneath the image on the menu: “Jiyoung’s favorite.” You mill around the edges of the dance floor and sip on your drink, chatting to guests who don't know your history with the groom.

“Hey.”

You freeze. The carbonation from the seltzer travels from your tongue to your nose when you turn to face him. Black suit, pink tie, shiny shoes. Shiny eyes that you pretend are for you.

“Hey, you,” you hear yourself say.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“How could I miss my best friend's wedding?” Careful not to spill your drink on him, you hug Changbin. “Congratulations.”

He hugs you back, and your skin prickles with familiarity. Stop, you’ve hugged him thousands of times before. Your heart rattles in its cage, protesting against your head.

“I'm glad everything at work cleared up,” he says. “I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you here. If I knew about that project, I would’ve changed the date. Really, I would’ve! Even Jiyoung agreed to it.”

You laugh. “I’m that special, huh?”

“You’d do the same for me. Hey, I gotta say hi to everyone else, but I’ll see you later? Third dance, don’t forget. Don’t you dare dance with anyone else before me.”

You hold up your pinky, imbued with the memory of you and Changbin’s amicable breakup.

I get the third dance at your wedding. After mom, after partner, it’s me.

Because you’re the third most important person in my life?

Because I’m the third most important person in your life.

“45!”

You step farther to the side to let the person grab their order. They take a straw from the holder, and you do the same.

“46 and 47!”

Another small step to the side. With envy, you watch from your periphery as they easily punch their straw through the covered hole on the lid. Why new tea houses won’t stick with the traditional cheap plastic sealing is beyond you, but you suppose it’s a reason why they charge more.

“48! Hey, do you need help?”

You startle at the voice. The barista, the cute one who didn’t take your order today but did last time, gestures at your cup. You feel your blush traveling down to your neck.

“You’ve been here for a while. I can give you a hand, if you want.”

You shake your head and peel back the paper holder of your fresh straw. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

You smile gratefully and turn your attention back to your drink. Help—you don’t need help. All you need is a good, forceful hit.

One, two, three!

Something pops, and a flood of green rushes down the counter. You instinctively step back to protect your white shoes and finally realize that you’re holding the source of the mess. A black straw pokes out through both ends of your cup.

A good, forceful hit was what you asked for.

“Sorry,” you say, repeating it every single person standing behind you. Miraculously, no one got hurt or stained.

You grab a wad of napkins and try to start cleaning up. Ordering something with matcha was a mistake; it all looks like milky slime or snot. No one tries to help. They couldn’t anyway since there’s barely any room for them to do so. The air conditioning in the shop isn’t enough to cool down your embarrassment.

When you reach to get another stack of napkins, the same barista comes to the counter to ask, “Everything okay?”

You hold up your mangled cup as an explanation. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t worry. I can remake your order,” he says. “What was it?”

“Uh, thanks, but everything spilled. The counter and the floor—it’s all over. I’m really sorry about that. I probably should’ve let you help me.”

He cracks a smile. “I’ll get someone on it. What was your order?”

You tell him and wedge yourself into the nearest corner as another employee comes out the back with a mop and a bright yellow sign. You scroll on your phone, trying to appear invisible. Everyone knows it was your fault. Hell, you even saw someone point in your direction. You keep your head buried as you wait.

“Matcha green tea latte, no ice and 75% sweetness.”

You walk to the second register which has been repurposed as the pick-up counter.

“I already put your straw in for you,” the barista says. “A lot of people struggle with it, too.”

You doubt they do, but it’s sweet that he’s trying to console you. “Thanks. Sorry again about the mess. Do you guys have a tip jar or something? I didn’t see one around.”

“It’s built into the payment system. You can leave us a review and mention me and Jisung, though. Say we did a good job or something. You can keep it vague.”

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Chan. I’ll see you around.”

Throwaway for obvious reasons. I (28M) am married to my partner (28). We dated for six years and got married this year. I’ve met their family many times at parties and gatherings. I used to bring brownies to the events but stopped after my partner’s Aunt Camille made rude comments about them. Before anyone asks, my brownies aren’t bad. I used to work part-time at a bakery in college, so I have some professional experience. The cousins love them, my in-laws love them, everyone but Camille thinks they’re great.

Some backstory about Camille: Camille is not her real name. It’s the name she picked for herself when she studied abroad in France thirty years ago in college. Camille thinks that because she spent three months in France, she’s more cultured about dessert than anyone else. She constantly talks shit about any dessert she didn’t make.

I stopped bringing my brownies because I was fed up with her comments. People were disappointed, but Camille’s so annoying that they understood. I just started dropping off the brownies at their houses instead.

During the last big family party three months ago, one of the cousins brought a homemade black forest cake. Of course, Camille belittled her. She made a sixteen year old girl cry! I usually try to stay out Camille's way, but what the fuck???

Last month, Camille invited us to her birthday party. We weren’t planning to go at first. But last night, Camille posted on Instagram the finished cake. To be honest, it looks ugly. For all her talk, she doesn’t know anything about decorating. So I decided to improve on her cake. After all, it’s her birthday.

Well, the party happened, and I brought a three tiered lemon cake with piped sunflowers. I even made some macarons for it. It was a pain in the ass to make, but it was all worth it to see Camille’s face when I walked in. Some of the family hadn’t seen the actual cake yet since Camille had it hidden away as a surprise, so they thought my cake was the birthday cake. Camille was livid, screaming at me for “upstaging me on her special day” and that she “knew [I] was an asshole from day one.” Her mom tried to calm her down, but she just got more upset. My partner and I left soon after.

I got a few angry texts later saying I shouldn’t have provoked her because I knew how she would react. Cakes are her thing too, so extra salt in the wound. I’ve been feeling a little guilty since other people are dealing with the blowback, not me. My partner doesn’t think I did anything wrong, but they also hate Camille, so I don’t know if I can trust their judgment on this. So Reddit, AITA?

Edit: Just wanted to answer a couple of questions. My partner was completely supportive of me making the cake. In fact, they showed me the post and suggested this was how I could get back at her. Yes, they’re petty, and that’s why I love them.

Partner’s family has always enabled Camille. It’s easier than confronting her, and they don’t want to cut her off because she’ll have no support system if they do. It’s mostly the older generation. The “kids,” aka the younger ones who are sick of her shit, want nothing to do with her but put up with it her for family’s sake.

We left the cake at her party. I don’t know what happened to it.

Edit 2: For privacy, I can’t share any pictures of the cake, but I promise mine was much better.

Update: The cousin who made the black forest cake texted me and said she liked the cake. She asked if I could give her some piping tips. No word from Camille yet, but her brother called to apologize for her behavior.

Update 2: A few people texted their support, and an uncle apologized for his angry texts. Partner thinks I shouldn’t accept it, but the thought still counts. Apparently, my in-laws took the cake home. They said it was delicious.

seo changbin

He’s in charge of the post-workout smoothies, so you think nothing of it when he hands you a pale beverage. When you take a sip, you realize there's absolutely no protein in there; it’s all vanilla ice cream.

hwang hyunjin

He buys himself a full sequin suit. When you two leave the house to run errands, any time he walks into the sun, he pretends he’s Edward Cullen from Twilight, much to your embarrassment.

han jisung

When you’re playing a game at your computer, he comes up to you and announces that he disconnected the router. Of course, you freak out and then soon remember Stardew Valley does not require WiFi. Jisung thinks it's hilarious.

lee felix

He buys you the ugliest skins for your most played character/weapon on League of Legends, Valorant, etc. Free stuff is nice, but now you feel obligated to use them. Your eyes will never recover.

kim seungmin

He will not talk, only sing. At first, it seems fun. However, if he stopped adding so many runs and flourishes to all of his sentences, maybe you could actually have a conversation with him.

yang jeongin

“Hey, you brought it, thanks!" you say, not sounding shy at all. Dusty blue handprints adorn your white shirt, climbing down and around to your back. “You want to come in? It’s pretty messy, but Felix made a cake.”

“Blueberry lemon,” he adds as if that little detail will convince him.

Hyunjin doesn’t need see to Felix’s palms to know they’re blue. Everything besides your kitchen cabinets are probably blue.

“Sorry,” Hyunjin finally says. He sets down the paint can on your doorstep, taking care not to pay attention to the tiny rose he drew on the rubber tip of your sneaker. Even though the tip is crowded with countless doodles, his is still front and center. “I gotta go to the store before they close.”

“You sure? You don’t wanna make sure my painting’s up to code?” you tease.

He squeezes a laugh from his chest. “Nothing you do is ever up to code. Felix, you should be careful.”

“Ruined my favorite hoodie already,” Felix replies, half-smiling. He plucks at his tank top. Of course there’s blue staining the collar. “This one’s probably next. Thanks for the warning though.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

“Bye," you say. You pick up the can, and your eyes flick to his lips for a second. Hyunjin thinks you’re going to plead him to stay a little longer, change your mind about the last two weeks. “Eggs are on sale this week, by the way, so stock up.”

“Good to know.”

He raises his arm the same moment you choose to shut the door. His goodbye hangs limply in the air, unanswered. When he begins walking back to his car, your voice—too loud, too matter-of-fact—drifts through the window.

“Then how come I was the one who got his widow to give up the location?”

“Only ‘cause you put your shotgun to her head.”

Smiling, you stroke the stock of your gun. Pretty as it is, it’s even more deadly under your control. You might be known as Lucky to everyone in the West, but that nickname isn’t about your aim.

“C’mon,” you say. The abandoned house draws closer with each step you take. “Where’d she say it was again? Kitchen?”

He sighs and pushes you aside to enter the building. “Out the way. She said kitchen cellar. Your dumb hide’ll probably mistake the upstairs for the down.”

You want to snap something back at him, but no insults come to mind. He’s a shit drinker and a second-rate shot, but he knows those things better than anyone. Doesn’t matter. You follow him through the faded living room, through the chipped kitchen. Dust motes swirl in the air, and you resist the urge to sneeze. A tiny door, more gaps than planks, is nestled into a corner.

“Greedy,” you mumble as Felix swings it open and descends without a second thought. You press your shotgun to your cheek. Point the muzzle at his back. “Always knew you were.”

At the bottom of the stairs waits a group of men, their guns of choice aimed at Felix. Felix reaches for his own weapon, but the click of someone’s lever makes him pause.

“Sheriff,” you greet. “A thousand in gold coins, don’t you forget. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“You set me up,” Felix says. The despair in his voice might’ve hurt a little more if he hadn't called you an idiot earlier. “You already have the treasure, don't you?”

You shrug. “You walked into it. Gentlemen.”

The Sheriff flicks the brim of his hat up and aims his gun at you. “Now who said you could leave?”

“You said I wouldn’t be a part of it.”

“I lied. And you believed me. Boys.”

You catch a glimpse of Felix’s grinning face before you scramble out of the stairway and slam the tiny door behind you. Between the kitchen and the living room, you hear footsteps thundering, so from the safety of the wall, you fire a shot into the kitchen and pray it hits someone good. Then you continue running.

If they’re smart, they’ll position themselves at the windows and shoot you while you get on your horse. If they’re dumb, they’ll do the same.

You climb onto your horse sidesaddle just as you see the curtains fluttering. Opening a window just wastes time. You ought to help.

The two front windows are easily shattered with a bullet each. As glass explodes, you nudge your horse into a canter. A stray bullet flies through the front door and lands into a fence post. The Sheriff steps out onto the porch, cocks his shotgun, and aims at you once more. Another miss.

You fire back, hitting him squarely in the chest. He cries out, but no one goes to help him. The closest thing he gets is Felix stepping over his fallen body to chase you down.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Nothing personal, Felix. I just wanted the money,” you shout back.

You lift your gun again, and he flinches. But you’re not going for him. His horse whinnies as it buckles down in pain, collapsing into the sand. There, Felix can’t follow you now.

With full confidence, you swing one leg over and urge your own healthy horse into a gallop. Five shots for an escape, not a single reload needed, not a single scratch on your body. Not too bad.

The dust swirls around you, so you tug the bandana around your neck up to your nose and pull your hat lower.

There’s a reason why they call you Lucky.

The guests on the stairs scan you up and down. Sneakers and a warm coat aren’t wrong for this party, but scuffed canvas and loose, fraying threads are. You squeak out a jumble of incoherent words and run up after Chan.

He waits for you by the elevator and graciously gestures for you to head inside first. The doors shut, and the long ride to the topmost floor starts.

“Told you the lobby would be worth it,” he says, smiling as if you were against the idea in the first place.

“Shut up. You sure we can get on the roof?”

He pats his bag, heavy with illegally copied keys and other secrets. His friend used to work at the hotel, or so Chan said. You didn’t bother asking for more detail.

On the highest floor, he leads you down hallways of closed doors before stopping in front of a metal door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in red. He slides in his key, and the lock gives. When he pushes it open, you brace yourself for an alarm, a security guard hurtling through one of the dozens of doors, anything that signals that you and Chan aren’t permitted onto the roof, but there's nothing.

You tentatively step out, and the winter chill saps all of the warmth from your skin. Your breath makes wispy, summer clouds in the winter air as you take in the city below you.

Music and shouts intertwine like a sonata. Faraway windows glow, shining like the stars above, and crowds swell and ripple like a silver snake. There is so much light, it threatens to drown out the night.

“I love it,” you declare, spellbound by the view. You sit beside Chan, close enough to feel his leg shift as he involuntarily leans closer. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, I got a surprise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of pink champagne. “Friend of mine stole it on the last day of work. He said it was expensive, so it’s probably good.”

“Is this the same friend who used to work here?”

“Maybe. Watch out.”

It doesn’t open with a pop and a flying cork but with a light hiss that is barely audible over the sudden thundering of fireworks. You stare in awe as the sky lights with gold and white, so blinding you have to look away. If you reach your hand up, you swear you could catch a spark in your palm.

“Happy New Year,” Chan says. He takes a hearty swig of champagne, exhaling with pleasure as he holds out the bottle to you. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Me too. Happy New Year.”

As you put the bottle to your lips, you think this is what fireworks must taste like.

Several hours later when you’re awake, you stumble into the kitchen to make coffee. Unlike your husband, you have no business trips to go on, but doing freelance work is no easy feat either. Jeongin’s usual mug is in the drying rack, so you grab it in lieu of combing through the expansive souvenir mug collection in the cabinet for today’s choice of drinkware. As you wait for your coffee to brew, your phone vibrates with an incoming video call. Jeongin’s face, lovely albeit worn, fills the screen.

“Hey,” he says. “I’ve landed, and I’m safe. I’m just waiting for my driver. What are you up to?”

“Coffee,” you answer over the sound of the machine. “And then emails.”

“Did you like the gift I left for you?”

You visualize your bedroom, searching for any object that seems out of place. Then you poke your head out to the living room and find nothing unusual there. “I’d like it better if I knew where it was. Did you hide it somewhere?”

“No. You didn’t pick Mug of the Day yet?”

You hold up his mug, decorated with a watercolor rendition of the Busan skyline. “It’s this one.”

He smiles. “Check the cabinet.”

You open the doors, expecting to rummage through the enormous selection available, but the plush teddy bear makes the search much easier. The mug it sits in is new as well.

“‘I love you bear-y much,’” you read aloud. The cartoon bears hug each other, and a red heart floats above their heads. “This is adorable. I love you bear-y, bear-y much.”

“Love you the bear-y most,” he says, laughing when he notices your slight pout. “Please, just let me win this time. My driver’s here.”

“Okay, fine.” You wave goodbye with the arm of the teddy bear. “Stay safe. Call me when you’ve checked in.”

“I will. See you.”

Seungmin barely recognizes himself in the mirror. He’s always been handsome—that’s how he first caught your attention—but seeing his bare chest instead of a collared shirt is bizarre. His favorite polo is in the hamper now, lying on top of the dirty towels. He never realized how much polos contributed to the look of Kim Seungmin.

He scrubs his hands, watching as foamy water splashes against the porcelain sink. This bathroom is nearly out of soap; he’ll inform the maid of it tomorrow. And maybe he’ll ask her to get a different scent. Vanilla is boring. You said the same of his cologne.

After he dries his hands, he heads back into his room, being mindful of the mess on the floor. Clothes litter the ground, most of his, some of them yours. Your jacket lies in a heap, forgotten just like your backpack.

A part of him still can’t believe you agreed to be his lab partner, let alone his partner-partner. Well, that part’s not official yet, but it will be after today. He knew you liked him. Those glances at lunch weren’t as subtle at all, but he didn’t keep his interest hidden either. The moment he saw your smile, it was over.

He doesn’t say a word when he sits on the edge of his bed, and neither do you. When his fingers ghost over your sharp angle of your elbow, he swears he hears a soft sigh from your lips. Not everything went according to plan—he was so sure he could kiss for at least ten minutes before he felt the urge—but everything mostly turned out right.

“I love you,” he says. It’s embarrassing to say out loud, but he needs you to do it before the moment passes. “I really do.”

In his defense, he’s usually too preoccupied with his hardcore Nuzlocke challenges to flirt with you, and you’re usually too busy pretending to work on your dissertation to pay attention to him. However, today is different since you have opted to take a break from writing. You watch him play Pokémon Emerald, convince him to make bad choices for entertainment, and gloat when your bad choices turn out to be good ones.

Which brings us to his Jisung’s current predicament.

He wants to kiss you because you were right that his Alakazam can take the hit, and now he can sweep the rest of the team.

“See? I knew it!” you say. Chat echoes your sentiments, spamming emotes and “CALCULATED,” as is tradition whenever your decisions pay off.

“Yeah, of course you did.”

“You know what else I know?”

“Everything” is the typical punchline, so Jisung answers accordingly, half sighing as he recalls all of the other times you were right. You’ll never let him forget the run where he accidentally killed his Ralts encounter.

Rather than smugly agreeing, you lean over and kiss him, making sure to block the camera with your hand. When you pull away, he’s bright red.

“What was that?” he stammers. He covers his face with two hands, peeking through his fingers to read the chat. As he does so, he sinks further out of the camera’s view.

You smile and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I know everything, remember?”

lee minho - sir, how are you still here??

➵ more reserved so he gets zero screen time but still manages to squeak by every rose ceremony before being eliminated before hometowns ➵ really didn’t think he was going to make it this far, and he didn’t pack that many suits with them, so he’s wearing borrowed suits in nearly every scene ➵ super close with jisung, they come in a pair and everyone refers to them as “minsung,” cutest friendship in the franchise ➵ is the mvp of the team on the football-themed group date, doesn’t know how it happened because he’s not usually this good at sports ➵ most memorable moment: talking about how much he misses his cats in his itm

seo changbin - here for the right reasons

➵ his sister nominated him to go on the show, and he’s super into the idea, actually willing to trust the process ➵ first one out of the limo, gives the bachelorette a construction paper heart because “you have my heart always” ➵ tries to stay out of the drama but really needs to his piece because they’re pissing him off and cutting into his time with the bachelorette ➵ accidentally breaks the ice cream parlor’s ice cream machine on his one-on-one date (production covered the repair costs, but he was so afraid he would have to fork out the money) ➵ most memorable moment: lip syncing and dancing to oops!... i did it again by britney spears during the swimsuit fashion show

hwang hyunjin - if hot, why villain?

➵ the source of all of the drama, overreacts when something doesn’t go his way (e.g. he didn’t get the one-on-one and complains about it all day) and brags when things do go his way (e.g. when he receives the group date rose, he reminds everyone that he got the rose and that they need to step it up) ➵ is the first person to tell the bachelorette that he’s falling in love with her, later reveals that he said it without thinking about it so he must be have real feelings about her ➵ falls into the pool after running from a bee ➵ cries when he gets eliminated and cries during the men tell all when he rewatches his elimination, audience actually feels bad for him ➵ most memorable moment: when seungmin asks him if he hates jisung, hyunjin says, “no, i don’t hate anyone.” cut to an itm where hyunjin explicitly says, “i hate jisung. fuck that guy.”

han jisung - snitches get stitches to go on paradise

➵ the other person involved in the drama, is not afraid to tell off hyunjin and almost ends up in a fist fight with him (the other contestants intervened before it could go too far) ➵ only lasts as long as he does because he tells the bachelorette everything that’s going on in the house, there's no romantic connection between them ➵ is on every single group date and is always hyped for the event, no matter what it is ➵ the producers mainly cast him so he could be on paradise, but he does try to campaign to be the bachelor for like a week before giving up ➵ most memorable moment: running into the ocean after getting the group date rose and immediately getting knocked over by the tide

lee felix - here to make friends

➵ the bachelorette is cool but the boys?? even cooler; getting eliminated is sad, not because he loves the bachelorette but because he’s going to miss hanging out with his new friends ➵ lowkey has no idea what’s going on with hyunjin and jisung, shit always goes down when he’s not in the room ➵ compliments the bachelorette’s eyes and when she replies that his own eyes are dreamy, he gets flustered ➵ eats during the food during the night portion of his one-on-one even though he’s not supposed to because he’s starving, cue the asmr ➵ most memorable moment: roundhouse kicking jeongin into a pile of plushies during a sleepover-themed group date

kim seungmin - here to make enemies

➵ planned to be villain of the season the minute he got cast, but hyunjin is doing too good of a job, so he settles for being a shit stirrer instead ➵ everyone tells him everything for some reason?? he comes off as a good listener when he’s really saving all of this knowledge for later ➵ serenades the bachelorette during his limo entrance, continues to sing throughout the season because he's trying to get instagram followers and then a record deal ➵ makes up the worst poem in the world during the shakespeare-themed date and wins the contest anyway because he sings his poem and adds unnecessary runs, everyone hates him for it ➵ most memorable moment: smiling and drinking champagne in the background while chan is visibly stressed by the drama

yang jeongin - clout is king

An old movie plays on the TV, the whispers of dialogue the only noise in the apartment. Loud bass thumps from somewhere in the building, and through the open window come raucous screams and chatter. You sip from your mug and wrap the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Despite the solitude, you’ve never felt less lonely.

You remember senior year of high school, pretending you were happy when remorse gnawed your insides clean. The parties you attended with a stranger’s arm around you, the poisoned kisses that graced your lips. That feeling of sinking into your own grave.

Then came freshman year of university. Distance gave you an excuse to leave the dying embers of the relationship in the rain, forgotten in favor of “class” and “studying,” code words for “rediscovery.” Snack runs with your new friends and university games breathed life back into you.

Finally, in the summer before your second year, you broke up with Minho. Over the phone because he didn’t deserve to see you in-person. It was easier than you thought. When he tried to plead, you hung up and started planning a party because if there’s one thing you know how to do, it’s throw a great fucking party, especially when you have a valid reason.

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call from Minho, and you let it ring, let it go to voicemail. You’ll delete it in the morning. Or maybe your voicemail will fill up and you’ll have to delete fifty of them. When you’re forced to listen to the first second of each one, you’ll think back to a time before it all went wrong. There were some genuinely good moments, like when you had a picnic on the roof of his car and watched the sunrise together.

It hurts to think about. Two lovely years, two wasted ones. A zero-sum outcome on paper but a drawn-out tragedy in reality. If he hadn’t ruined everything, you and Minho could have been something beautiful.

But he did, and now one of you is making drunken calls to beg for forgiveness.

The floor above you thunders with footsteps and laughter, and a group of friends walking down the hallway talk amongst themselves, their voices echoing throughout the premises. The saxophone player in the next building over begins practicing their instrument.

You power off your phone and take another sip of rosé. Sweet, just the way you like it.

IF YOU WOULD’VE BEEN THE ONE.

minho and the reader from betty/cardigan did break up before summer. the reason i had in mind is actually based on the lyrics of betty.

Betty, I know where it all went wrong Your favorite song was playing From the far side of the gym I was nowhere to be found I hate the crowds, you know that Plus, I saw you dance with him

during a spring dance during minho and reader's junior year, reader chose to dance with a friend of theirs since minho wasn't around. while reader and friend are dancing, minho sees them and gets so jealous that he decides to break up with reader.

for the ending, whether it's a sad one or not depends on how you view it. minho does get back together with the reader in betty/cardigan, so it's happy in that sense. however, minho majorly fucked over two people and doesn't recognize the damage he's done, so it's infuriating that he still gets a happy ending. from the perspective of the august reader, it's sad because they got played by minho after genuinely being in love with him for so long. with the reader from betty/cardigan, they know that things won't end well if they take minho back, but they still do because they need to know how the relationship will play out, which is tragic.

it's really up to you on how you interpret the stories. for me, this love triangle (if it even counts as one) is tragic and infuriating.

if you read the past asks about this series, you'll notice that i mentioned to an anon that minho would get his comeuppance and that i like how wistful and introspective the song cardigan is. uhhh so neither of those two things happened in the story since the writing process behind cardigan went in a different direction than i planned it. so if you are someone who wanted see minho's downfall, then the ending is sad because i didn't write that lol.

however, i'm considering writing another story with the reader from betty/cardigan when they're older and looking back at their relationship. in that one, i promise minho will get all that he deserves.

No, you do love him. It’s just buried deep under layers of confusion and hurt. You danced with a friend at the spring formal, so he forgot about you for a whole summer. He didn’t text or call or anything. It’s not like you tried either, but it’s not fair that he gets to break your heart and then put it back together. He knows exactly how the pieces fit, so you might escape unscathed, but his fingerprints will still be all over your soul.

“You okay?” You feel his breath on your neck, where he has been preoccupied for the last five minutes. He must have felt your pulse against his lips. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to your jaw. “You’re always thinking. What’s going on in your head? I wanna know.”

“I was wondering if I switch my homeroom back. They probably won’t let me though. It was already hassle for them to find an open spot, so there’s no way they’ll let me change my mind.”

“Then I’ll switch mine to yours.” He takes your hand in his and kisses the tops of your knuckles. “I’m not wasting another minute without you. I missed you so much.”

Here’s another secret: you know that Minho will always come back to you because he doesn’t love anyone like he loves you.

Switching homerooms didn’t change anything because he came to your party. You knew he would, and a wicked part of yourself wanted to gloat when he begged for forgiveness. You felt so smug because you won, but what exactly did you win? A couple of blissful months with Minho and then a fading relationship as you realize you made a mistake? An imaginary rivalry with his summer fling?

What does that say about you?

No, you love him, and you don't care about summer. You’re not the vindicative type anyway. What matters is that Minho is yours again.

Concentrate on what’s right ahead of you. The crown of Minho’s head, the soft tendrils of his hair brushing against your jaw as he returns to your neck. The way his fingers ghost over your skin. The “I love you” he murmurs when you cup his face and stare into his eyes. Eyes so dark brown, they’re almost black.

If you stay here, suspended in the present, then you can’t think about the past or the future. The ending won’t change, but right now, the story is oh-so-sweet.