(★ࡇ♡) ?!

Choi Yeonjun had been raised with love.

It lingered in the gentle squeeze of his grandparents’ hands as they watched their favorite soap opera together. It lingered in his parents’ quiet promise: no one goes to bed angry. It lingered in his cousins’ laughter, always followed by apologies and hugs—even when they still swiped the last piece of Yeonjun’s candy.

By the time he reached middle school, Yeonjun had seen nearly every kind of romantic gesture—on screens, in books, and, truth be told, in real life too. He had gotten so good at it that he quietly became the go-to helper for anyone navigating love. Desperate boyfriends? He planned dates they couldn’t mess up. Panicking girlfriends? He steered them toward gifts that wouldn’t end in heartbreak. He was there for all of it—and not just competent, but practically a master. Beyond good.

His cousins joked that he should turn it into a business. But Yeonjun didn’t care about money; all he wanted was for the world to feel as loved as he had.

And yet… the “cupid himself” remained inexplicably single. It was almost poetic, in a frustrating sort of way. The boy who could orchestrate love for everyone else couldn’t seem to catch it for himself.

When asked by his parents, his friends, and his classmates, Yeonjun always had the same answer: “I’m waiting for the right one for me.”

In high school, that was fine—he was young, and no one expected him to have it all figured out. But by his second year of university, his parents had shifted from “patient” to “concerned.”

“Jjun-ah,” his mom said one Saturday, squinting at two tomatoes as if they held the secrets of the universe, “are you sure you’re not into men?”

Yeonjun nearly died right there in the produce aisle. He choked on his own saliva—eyes watering, throat burning, the whole scene. He had not come home expecting a surprise cross-examination of his love life—and definitely not while sandwiched between the tomatoes and cucumbers.

“Excuse me?” he sputtered, still recovering from the saliva attack. “Eomma, what are you even saying?”

He trailed after her, determined to figure out what seed had planted this theory in her head. It wasn’t that he had anything against it—he just… wasn’t. Plus, he’d never exactly given off signs of being into men (unless you counted calling them handsome or gushing over actors, which he insisted was just being a boy).

“I’m just wondering,” his mom hummed, already moving on to the bell peppers. “You haven’t brought a girl home in your twenty years of life.” She extended a hand for a produce bag without looking, leaving Yeonjun scrambling to pass her one.

“Are you with Soobin by any chance?” she asked casually, dropping peppers into the bag like she wasn’t detonating Yeonjun’s entire sense of self.

“Your father and I think the two of you would look quite cute together.”

Yeonjun nearly face-planted into the bell peppers.

“Eomma,” he groaned, struggling to breathe, “Soobin is just my friend.” He paused, incredulous that he even had to say it out loud. “And I am not into him. Or any man, for that matter.”

His mom only nodded, unfazed. “If you say so. Just know that we love you either way, Jjunie.”

Yeonjun couldn’t help but smile at her words, despite himself.

He knew it.

He was so loved.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

Yeonjun wasn’t looking for love.

That was the line he always gave when asked why he wasn’t in a relationship. It wasn’t to brush off hopeful girls, nor to save their boyfriends’ dignity. He simply wasn’t looking for love because he believed good things came to those who waited.

That didn’t mean he had never dated—he had. Dinners, walks, polite goodbyes. But he had never fully committed. To every girl who asked, he would gently say the same thing: I’m not looking for a relationship right now.

The truth was, Yeonjun believed in finding the one. The one you see forever with. The one you can’t imagine living without. The one you want standing beside you through every moment of your life.

He always thought he’d find her later—when he was older, maybe more mature, maybe settled in a stable life, or maybe while traveling the world.

What he didn’t expect was to find her in you.

He didn’t expect to be absolutely enamored, lovestruck, and hopelessly smitten the moment Beomgyu introduced you as his lab partner. It didn’t matter what the assignment was or what role Beomgyu played in it. What mattered was that Yeonjun knew, right then and there, that you were the one.

From the way you talked to the way you smiled. From your frustrated rants to your I’m-too-tired-to-socialize face—Yeonjun adored it all.

And he never tried to hide it, either.

Armed with every ounce of “romantic expertise” he’d gathered from K-dramas and early 2000s romcoms, Yeonjun set out to pull every trick in the book. If love was a game, he was determined to play it well—just to make sure you fell for him too.

It had taken multiple attempts, questionable planning sessions with Soobin, and roping in Hueningkai, Taehyun, and Beomgyu to help set up his schemes. But somehow, all the chaos led to this moment: a picnic spread under the night sky, fairy lights strung between tree branches, and the cool grass beneath your legs.

Yeonjun’s heart hammered against his ribs, louder than the quiet hum of crickets around you. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times—rehearsed it in the mirror, whispered it into his pillow—but none of those versions came close to the way you looked now, bathed in moonlight.

“Y/N,” he started, voice low but steady. His fingers toyed nervously with the hem of the blanket. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

You turned to him, curious, and that simple motion nearly knocked the words right out of his chest. Still, he pressed on.

“I like you. Actually…” He swallowed, gaze flicking from the stars back to you. “I think I love you. More than there are stars in the sky. And if the stars ever run out, I swear I’d find a way to make new ones—just for you.”

The air stilled. Even the night seemed to hold its breath.

You looked at him, eyes wide, heart pounding with an ache you hadn’t dared to name until now. This boy—this hopeless, dazzling boy—had just put his heart in your hands.

“Yeonjun,” you whispered, lips curving into a smile that reached your eyes. “If you love me more than the stars in the sky, then I love you more than there are books ever written about love.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just silence, and the quiet thrum of everything unsaid settling between you.

And then, slowly—hesitantly—you both leaned in. The first kiss was soft, almost uncertain. The second came with a laugh, a brush of noses, like you were both still convincing yourselves this was real. By the third, the world had melted away. There was only the two of you, tangled up in moonlight and stars, and the certainty that this—this—was love.

It was magical.

And every day with you afterward felt like proof that the wait had been worth it. Every laugh, every quiet moment, every ordinary day—Yeonjun was simply, irrevocably overjoyed.

He was in love.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

In the five and a half years you’d been with Choi Yeonjun, you’d learned a lot about your boyfriend.

You learned that he loved watching romance K-dramas and movies—and yes, he absolutely cried every time the main couple made up.

You learned that he was very much like a cat, prone to sudden bursts of energy—his “zoomies”—that left him restless but also made him the most fun to giggle with.

You learned that he was a powerhouse of gossip, always knowing things you didn’t even realize were worth knowing.

You learned that he always gave the most genuine advice.

You learned that after he ate spicy ramen, his lips somehow became the most kissable thing on earth.

You learned that his hugs could mend any bad day, no matter how heavy it had been.

You learned that whatever Yeonjun did, he gave it his all—heart, soul, and every ounce of himself.

There were countless things you had learned about Yeonjun.

But your favorite, above all, was simple: he loved flowers.

You realized it on your very first date, just a week after that night under the stars. He showed up at your door with a bouquet in hand, grinning wide, eyes shining like he’d just discovered the secret to happiness. For twenty whole minutes, he explained the meaning behind each bloom, weaving stories out of petals and colors with an enthusiasm that felt endless.

You weren’t exactly following every word—half lost between lilac symbolism and rose petal significance—but you couldn’t look away from him. From the way he lit up, from how alive he became when sharing something he loved. To this day, you’d never seen him shine quite like that.

Since then, flowers had become a quiet language between you two. A daisy left on your desk after a long day, a wildflower tucked into your notebook, a single bloom in your favorite color—it wasn’t just a gesture. It was Yeonjun saying, without words, I see you. I care. I want to make you happy.

Even in ordinary moments, flowers marked his love. On birthdays, on lazy Sundays, on random Tuesday mornings, he’d find a way to bring a little bloom into your life—always thoughtful, always personal. The flowers weren’t just beautiful—they were him, in miniature form: careful, bright, alive, and full of heart.

And in that way, you realized something else: loving Yeonjun was like receiving a bouquet every day. Every small, thoughtful gesture, every laugh, every quiet moment was a new petal added to something that only grew more beautiful with time.

You decided it was time to repay Yeonjun in his own love language—in the language of flowers.

As his birthday approached, you dedicated yourself to researching local florists, diving down rabbit holes on Reddit about how to confess your love through blooms, and planning every tiny detail with care.

Weeks of tiptoeing around the love of your life later, you finally had everything prepared.

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

September 13th was one of the most important days of the year.

It was National Bald is Beautiful Day and National Positive Thinking Day—both notable in their own right.

But above all, September 13th was Yeonjun’s birthday.

It had taken you weeks of planning, scrolling through florist websites, and reading every guide on the secret language of flowers. Every detail had to be perfect—because this wasn’t just a birthday gift. This was a love letter in bloom, your way of showing him just how deeply you cherished every facet of him.

The plan was simple in theory, ambitious in execution: recreate your first confession under the stars. You’d picked a secluded corner of the park, your favorite little hideaway, and enlisted help to make it happen.

Soobin and Taehyun had been bribed into cooking and setting up the spread. Beomgyu and Hueningkai—after much negotiating—agreed to handle decorations. By some miracle, everything was falling into place.

Now, all that was left was the most important part: bringing the birthday boy himself to his surprise.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of it as you pushed open the door to your shared apartment, calling his name.

There he was—lounging on the couch, phone in hand, a faint pout resting on his lips as his thumb lazily scrolled. His arms were folded across his chest, his posture casual but striking in its own way.

He was dressed in the blue shirt you had given him on Valentine’s Day, paired with matching pants that only made the color pop more against his warm skin.

For a moment, you simply stood there, heart stuttering at the sight. Relaxed, unguarded, and impossibly radiant, he looked every bit the same as he always did—yet in that quiet moment, he looked beautifully, unmistakably yours.

You leaned against the doorway, trying (and failing) to hide your grin.

 “Are you just going to pout your way through your whole birthday?”

Yeonjun looked up, brows lifting. “I’m not pouting.” His lips pushed out even more, betraying him.

You laughed, crossing the room to plop down beside him. “Sure. Totally convincing.”

He turned his phone off and tossed it onto the cushion. “Well, what else am I supposed to do? My partner didn’t even plan a birthday date for me.” His voice was teasing, but there was the slightest dramatic whine tucked in, the kind only Yeonjun could pull off.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder. “Maybe I did. Maybe you’re just too impatient to find out.”

That caught his attention—his eyes narrowing, a spark of curiosity lighting them up. “...What are you scheming?”

“Nothing illegal,” you said quickly, trying not to laugh. “Come on. Get up. Put your shoes on.”

He didn’t move, arms crossing again. “And why would I do that?”

You leaned in close, lowering your voice like you were letting him in on a secret. “Because it’s your birthday, and if you don’t listen, you’ll ruin my master plan. And then you’ll never know how amazing it was.”

Yeonjun blinked, suspicious but smiling now, lips twitching like he was fighting a grin. “Fine. But if this involves clowns, karaoke, or anything embarrassing, I’m breaking up with you.”

You gasped, clutching your chest in mock offense. “Do you really think I’d subject you to karaoke?”

 “…Yes.”

You smacked his arm, laughing, before tugging at his hand. “Trust me, Junnie. Just this once.”

And with that, he sighed dramatically, but let you pull him to his feet anyway—still muttering about how he was probably being kidnapped.

That didn’t stop him from giggling at your small attempts at jokes.

Or him asking about how your day was, despite it being his special day.

He let you drag him all through the familiar streets of the city you call home, because he believed that anywhere with you is home.

After the twelve minute walk of giggles, small kisses, and continuous hand holding, you had brought Yeonjun to his birthday surprise. 

The park was quiet, the kind of hush that only settled once the city’s noise had softened into the background. Ahead, the faint twinkle of fairy lights peeked through the trees, glowing like stars that had descended to earth.

Yeonjun slowed, his brows knitting. “Wait… what’s that?”

You bit your lip, trying not to grin too soon, but the sparkle in your eyes betrayed you. With one last tug on his hand, you pulled him forward until the surprise came into full view: a blanket spread across the grass, dishes he loved—some homemade, some recipes you’d begged from his mom—and at the very center, a rich chocolate cake. It was decorated with blooms of every color and crowned with Yeonjun’s signature little fox doodle, as if the dessert itself had been made just for him.

You looked at him, determined not to miss his reaction. His smile stretched so wide it crinkled his eyes until they disappeared completely, joy spilling over in every line of his face.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you nudged softly.

He turned toward you, eyes glittering, and for a moment you thought your heart might burst from how much you adored him.

He pointed at the picnic, childlike wonder lacing his voice. “For me?”

A laugh bubbled out of you as you sank onto the blanket. “Who else would it be for?”

Yeonjun eased down beside you, careful not to disturb a single detail you’d set up. Even as he settled, he couldn’t contain the soft giggles slipping from him.

“I love you,” he murmured, eyes still drinking in the scene.

Your chest swelled, your grin impossibly wide. “I love you so much.”

His gaze roamed over the spread again, pausing at dishes that were unmistakably his mom’s. “You… did all this by yourself?”

You hummed. “Well, I had a little help from your friends.” You gestured toward the decorations.

“And they agreed?” he asked, skeptical, a smile tugging at his lips.

You giggled. “Nope. I bribed them with a week of free access to my cooking. They’re coming around nine for a ‘bros only’ birthday bash.”

Yeonjun let out a knowing hum. “Sounds about right.”

“And,” you added proudly, “I also asked your mom if she could send me the recipes for your favorites.”

His eyes softened as he turned back to the food, voice thick with sincerity. “I know I already said this, but… I really do love you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you nudged him playfully. “Shut up and dig in before it gets cold.”

And so, the two of you ate.

You silently thanked past-Yeonjun for getting you that polaroid camera on your last birthday—because now, you had physical proof of how ridiculously adorable he looked with his cheeks stuffed full of food.

Click. Whir. The photo slid out, and you waved it in front of him, snickering. “You look like a hamster,” you teased, holding the picture up for him to see.

Yeonjun tried to mumble a defense, but with his mouth still full, it only came out as nonsense. You doubled over laughing, and even he cracked up when he realized how hopelessly unthreatening he looked.

When you finally caught your breath, you tucked the photo safely beside you. “Okay, hamster boy,” you said, voice softening, “time for the best part.”

Yeonjun blinked at you in confusion until you carefully turned the cake box around and lifted the lid. The chocolate cake stood proudly in the center, decorated with delicate flowers—and right at the top, Yeonjun’s own fox doodle recreated in icing.

You didn’t even need to look at him to know his eyes were wide, his smile already stretching.

“Happy birthday, Jjunie,” you whispered.

He leaned in without hesitation and planted a loud, exaggerated smooch on your cheek.

You laughed and pushed at his shoulder. “Not in front of the cake I spent so long making with Taehyun.”

Yeonjun only leaned closer, resisting the push with that mischievous grin of his. “But I need to show my amazing girlfriend how much she means to me. How am I supposed to do that if she won’t let me?” He punctuated the plea with a dramatic pout, bottom lip sticking out like a kid denied candy.

Rolling your eyes, you tapped the cake knife against the plate. “You can show your amazing girlfriend by simply eating the cake.”

His pout broke instantly, replaced by the brightest smile. “Now that,” he said, sitting up straighter, “I can definitely do.”

You cut the first slice and slid it onto his plate. He didn’t even wait for the fork—he took a bite so big it left frosting on the corner of his mouth.

You giggled, reaching over with your thumb to wipe it away. “You’re impossible.”

“Mhm,” he hummed through another mouthful, “but I’m your impossible.”

“That you are,” you responded, admiring him in his happy state.

After feeding you cake, and you feeding him cake, everything was wrapped up.

Leaving the two of you laying down on the blanket.

You stared at the picnic basket you had set aside, the one that wasn’t just there for decoration.

You reached over to bring it closer, your sudden movement causing Yeonjun to perk up from his relaxed state. 

You don’t know why, but you were feeling shy.

Gift giving was more of his area of expertise, not yours. You simply hoped he would cherish your gift as long as he could.

You put the basket in front of the now sitting Yeonjun and gestured to it.

“Open it.”

Yeonjun looked at you, taking a polaroid of your embarrassed self.

“You didn’t have to,” he started.

“At least look at it before saying anything” you responded back.

He reached for your hands, and you gave them to him, just how you would give him anything.

“Thank you, for everything,” he said, looking into your eyes.

You just nodded, cheeks turning red. 

“Just open it,” you asked, “Please”

With that, Yeonjun opened the basket, and was instantly in love with what he saw.

Inside lay a bouquet—not glossy, not store-bought, but lovingly hand-arranged by you. The stems were tied with a ribbon in his favorite shade of blue, and each flower had been chosen with care.

He blinked, stunned, before gently lifting the bouquet out. “You—” his voice cracked, “you made this?”

You fidgeted, cheeks on fire, hands twisting in your lap. “I-I, um… yeah. I wanted to… to try speaking your language, you know? The flower one.”

His eyes softened instantly, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you.

You swallowed hard, then pointed shakily at the first bloom. “S-So, the white camellia means… it means admiration. Because I really do admire you. A lot.” Your voice wavered as you moved on. “And, um, the red tulip… that’s supposed to mean true love. Because that’s… that’s what this is for me.”

Yeonjun’s grip on the bouquet tightened, knuckles pale, but his expression was nothing short of radiant.

You took a shaky breath, moving on to the yellow freesia. “T-This one means trust, because… you’re the person I trust most in the world.” Your eyes darted up to meet his, only to quickly fall back down to the flowers. “A-And the blue hydrangea… it means gratitude. For you. For everything.”

By the time you finished, your face was burning, and you mumbled, “T-There’s more, but, um… it’s embarrassing.”

Yeonjun laughed softly, setting the bouquet down just long enough to cup your face in his hands. “Embarrassing?” he whispered, leaning closer, “Y/N, this is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

And before you could stutter another word, he kissed you—flowers crushed gently between you, your nervousness melting into his warmth.

When you finally pulled apart, you opened your eyes to find him staring down at the bouquet, handling it with a tenderness you’d never seen before. Like the blooms were sacred, like they held the entire world.

You nudged him softly. “There’s… there’s one more thing inside the basket.”

He looked up, brows furrowed in surprise.

“The flowers were enough, you know,” he whispered.

You shushed him quickly, cheeks warm. “The flowers were one thing. Just… look at the other thing.”

His gaze flicked back into the basket—and then froze. Nestled inside was a small velvet box.

A ring box.

He looked at you, disbelief and unshed tears pooling in his eyes.

You reached for the box before he could say anything. “It’s not… it’s not exactly what you think,” you rushed out, fumbling it open with shaky fingers.

Inside lay two silver rings, delicate and simple, each carved with a tiny orchid—the symbol of forever love.

Your throat tightened, but you turned the box toward him, sitting so close you could feel every shaky breath he took.

“This isn’t a proposal,” you said quickly, blinking back tears. “We both know we’re too young. But these rings…” your voice cracked, “they’re my promise to you. That I’ll be with you. Always. No matter what happens, no matter where life takes us—I’ll be there. Not only in this life but… hopefully the next. And the one after that.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled, hot on your cheeks. “I love you,” you whispered, voice trembling, “more than there are ways to describe.”

With trembling hands, you lifted his ring from the box. His fingers had gone limp in awe, but you held his hand steady as you slipped the silver band onto his ring finger. Looking into his teary eyes, you whispered, “More than there are books written about love.”

That was when Yeonjun broke. He was freely crying now, breath shaky as he grabbed the other ring with desperate hands. He clutched your palm, slipping the silver onto your finger with the gentleness of someone holding their whole world.

“And I love you,” he whispered, voice thick, “more than there are stars in the sky.”

The two of you smiled through the tears, cheeks wet, hearts aching with joy.

“Happy birthday, Yeonjun,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer with words—just wrapped you in a hug so tight it felt like forever.

You didn’t know it yet, but to him, this would always be the birthday worth retelling. The story he’d share with your grandkids one day. The reason he’d later ask his mom for the family ring.

The day that became the best birthday of his life.

"I'm guessing you heard that we're having our last mission this year together, darling?" You look up to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe of your office.

You let out a sigh, closing the folder containing your mission that you had just scanned through. You stood up from your chair, pushing it to your desk. "Though I wish they would've let us have the day off seeing that it's New Year's Eve."

"You know they'll never let us off." Yeonjun smiled, stepping towards you. His arms slide around your waist before he leans closer to your face, pecking your lips.

You pull away and lay your forehead onto Yeonjun’s shoulder. “Still, a break would be nice.”

“After the mission, I have a surprise for you.” Yeonjun strokes a hand through your hair and plays with the ends as you hum in amusement.

“Really? And what’s that?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, baby.” Yeonjun chuckled. “Let’s just get ready for the mission now, hm?”

You grumble into his chest but let go of him to oblige.

♡

You and Yeonjun stand in front of a large building, guns strapped to both of your waists. The sun had just set, leaving a navy sky above them and the street lamps being their only source of light.

Cicadas chirp in the night as a chilly breeze drifts past them. Your hair dances in the wind, along with the trees and bushes nearby.

“Ready?” Yeonjun grins at you reassuringly.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” You let out a small breath, turning into a puff of smoke in the winter weather, and smile back. Yeonjun nods and looks up at the building towering over them. It was the headquarters of your secret agent organization’s enemy.

The mission was simple. Sneak into the building, destroy any information that they have on your agent organization, and get out.

Simple, but not easy.

Being the head building of the organization, there was bound to be a lot of bodyguards. Plus, it was New Year’s Eve, which likely meant double the security. It wasn’t a surprise that you and Yeonjun were chosen, being the aces of your organization.

“Let’s go.” Yeonjun suggests. You follow him as he opens the window at the back of the building and slips inside. He signals you to come in as well after making sure the coast was clear.

The whole way to the floor of information on your organization was too easy. There were barely guards in sight, just a few here and there, but nothing you and Yeonjun couldn’t take care of or sneak past.

You decided to shake the weird feeling off, guessing that even the agents were celebrating with their families and friends.

Yeonjun led the way up, and back down after you had destroyed all the information and evidence of your presence. The two of you easily snuck out of the building without being seen and quickly let your boss know about your success.

Yeonjun takes your hand as the two of you slowly walk away from the building, “That was easier than expected, huh?”

“Guess everyone’s out for the holidays.” You lean your head against his shoulder. Yeonjun chuckles and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

Unexpectedly, you hear a muffled shouting from behind you. The two of you whip your heads around. It’s a man, specifically one of the bodyguards.

One hand presses onto the wound the two of you gave him earlier, assuming he was dead, and the other holds a gun. A explosive, chilling noise rings in your ears, the undeniable screech of a bullet shooting towards you.

“Shit- Y/n, get back!” Yeonjun’s eyes widen as he shoves you out of the way.

The rest unfolds in a blink of an eye and you can’t even process what happened until after it did.

Yeonjun rips out his gun, firing bullets back at the bodyguard. The bullet the guard had fired sinks into Yeonjun’s abdomen and pierces his skin, making him stumble to the ground and wince.

“YEONJUN!” You cry, sprinting to your boyfriend after checking to see if the security guard threat was clear.

Yeonjun coughs out blood as he holds the wound. Red stains his shirt and trickles to the ground. You curse under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut to force incoming tears back in, and apply pressure onto his wound.

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” You scold, avoiding Yeonjun’s gaze. That gaze filled with sadness and warmth and pain and so many more feelings that all mix together, yet he felt more concern for you than anything else.

“Y/n..” Yeonjun smiled, placing a hand on yours, “love you.”

“What..?” You whisper and look into his eyes, and his smile makes your voice start to break. “Don’t- don’t say that.. you’re not going to die. You are not leaving me.”

“He shot my abdominal aorta. You know I’m not going to make it.” His blood doesn’t stop flowing and it dirties your hands as you press harder onto his wound.

“Yeonjun, shit- don’t-“

Yeonjun slowly reaches his free hand into his pocket, “Remember that surprise I had? I want to tell you before going.”

You follow his gaze as he pulls out a small case. It opens and you let out a small gasp.

“Love, I’m sorry to do this to you.. but I wanted to let you know. You make me happiest when I’m with you. I’m glad you came into my life.. I couldn’t have found anyone better. Thank you for being with me all this time.” Yeonjun looks up at you. “So I have to ask.. will you marry me?”

“Yeonjun, I-“ Your breath catches in your throat, staring at Yeonjun’s injured state and the diamond ring he holds in front of you. Tears spill from your eyes, turning your eyes blurry so you can’t even see clearly anymore when you nod furiously.

You hear Yeonjun let out a small chuckle and he slips the ring onto your finger. He wipes a tear away from your eyes and places it back onto your hand.

“You better not die on me now.” You say sternly with a sniffle. You know you can’t stop the god-forsaken bleeding, you know that you’re just being selfish, and you curse yourself for it. For not having the ability to save Yeonjun, and for having to rely on him to hold on.

“I love you..” He whispers with his eyes closed so that only you can hear.

In the far distance, you can hear the crackle of fireworks as they bloom above you in multiple colors. Into the midnight sky, speckled with twinkling stars.

okay so it’s clear my pinterest does NOT know me that well. the only relevant ones are sawako n cole (what even is that pic of him hello AND HE ISNT EVEN A MOVIE CHARACTER LIKE WHAT)

watched the sonic movies but i do not have it anywhere on my pinterest boards. i don’t remember anything that happened in rapunzel. i do not watch anything w emma or listen to taylor at all.

so offended i didn’t even get an idol 💔💔 pinterest do better???

in hogwarts, the air is always thick with intention. the castle breathes. doors sigh when opened, portraits murmur, staircases shift as though following some secret rhythm of their own. you have learned to move through it with the kind of precision that looks, from the outside, like grace, but from within feels like survival. everything in its place. every spell recited in measured tones. every emotion catalogued, filed, softened.

riki is the only thing that refuses to stay in its designated category.

he is the sort of person the castle seems to enjoy — quick to laugh, too clever to stay bored, endlessly in motion. professors tolerate his distractions because his work, when he chooses to show it, is brilliant. you, on the other hand, find his unpredictability intolerable. where you prefer control, he prefers chaos. where you calculate, he improvises. he has a way of turning every interaction into something unpredictable. something alive.

you are not friends. you are not even rivals in any noble sense. you are two opposite inclinations sharing too much space.

the divination tower is too warm the day it happens. the windows are fogged with incense smoke, light caught in floating dust. trelawney drifts between tables, a cascade of scarves and bangles and certainties no one asked for. she announces the day’s exercise with the enthusiasm of an oracle convinced she has already been proven right.

“today,” she says, eyes bright behind her lenses, “we divine fate through scrying partnership. your energies will reveal their harmony — or discord.”

your quill freezes halfway through your notes when she pairs you with him. your name leaves her mouth, then his, and somewhere in the space between you, destiny seems to grin.

he takes the seat opposite yours, lazy, unbothered. “looks like we’re doomed,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting. you say nothing. silence is safer. you straighten your posture, as though composure could be armor.

the scrying bowl glimmers between you — a perfect sphere of water trembling in the light. trelawney instructs you both to focus, to clear your thoughts, to open yourselves to what is unseen. the words sound absurd. you obey anyway.

for a moment, there is only the hum of the tower — the creak of wood, the soft clink of crystals, the whisper of students pretending belief. then, as you look into the water, the surface ripples and folds. it shows you the faint outline of two threads, gold and silver, twisting toward each other, resisting, tangling. the reflection pulses. your chest tightens.

“oh,” trelawney breathes. “entwined.” you almost laugh — almost. but her gaze is serious, awed. “fate binds your paths, my dears. thrice shall the world conspire to prove your connection, until you learn what it means.”

riki snorts. “or maybe your crystal’s broken, professor.” laughter scatters across the room like marbles. trelawney merely hums, her bangles chiming. “fate is not so easily mocked.”

you tell yourself it’s nonsense. you spend the next week proving it.

you time your walks to meals so precisely that it feels like choreography. you take alternate staircases, alternate corridors, alternate excuses. still, somehow, he appears — in the library aisle you’ve chosen for quiet, in the courtyard you thought was empty, in the same bloody seat in the same elective you switched into at the last minute. every time, he looks faintly amused. as if he knows something you don’t.

the first “conspiracy,” as trelawney might call it, comes in charms. a simple levitation spell — feathers, laughter, repetition. your wand hums; his hums at the same instant. the spells collide midair and explode in a gentle storm of feathers that fill the room like snow. you cough through the down, blinking, and he’s laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. the professor sighs; you glower. somewhere, the universe seems to smirk.

the second comes in potions. a mixing assignment gone wrong. your cauldron bubbles in an unexpected shade of violet. his, beside yours, smokes green. then, impossibly, they spill into each other — liquids colliding, fusing, blooming into a luminous pink fog that fills the room and clings to your robes. detention follows. together. of course.

you spend the evening scrubbing flasks in silence. he hums under his breath, off-key. the sound crawls under your skin. after a while, he says, “you really think we can outrun a prophecy?” you do not look at him. “prophecies aren’t real.” “sure,” he says. “then why are we always in the same room?”

you do not have an answer for that.

the third is worse — a miscast summoning charm during practice. your quills, books, parchment, and his all shoot toward each other like magnets, a violent flurry of paper and ink. one of the books hits your head; his hand catches it before it falls. your fingers brush. the contact is brief, but it leaves an echo. you pull back as if burned. he watches you for a moment longer than he should. you tell yourself it means nothing. but the air feels charged, as if the castle itself is holding its breath.

after that, avoidance becomes exhausting. the school seems to fold its corridors around the two of you. professors pair you by coincidence. partners for dueling. partners for essays. partners for astronomy observation, which leaves you standing together under the ink-black sky, stars bleeding light into your hair.

somewhere between all the enforced proximity, something shifts. he stops teasing and starts listening. you start replying instead of retreating. he learns you study late because quiet makes you feel safe. you learn he skips breakfast because mornings make him anxious. neither of you say these things out loud, but the knowing hums between you like an unfinished spell.

by winter, even the ghosts seem to have opinions. sir nicholas winks when he sees you together. the fat friar whispers something about “intertwined fates” and laughs until he drifts through a wall.

you begin to notice the small details: the way riki’s hair falls into his eyes when he reads, the way his hands tremble slightly before he casts. he notices that you trace the rim of your teacup when nervous. he starts leaving the last sugar cube for you. small things. almost nothing. except that they begin to fill the empty spaces where irritation used to live.

one night, trelawney’s tower calls you both again. she has summoned you for an “update,” though her tone suggests amusement more than instruction. the tower smells of rain and smoke. “have you learned what the knot instructs?” she asks, eyes shining. neither of you answer. the crystal ball gleams softly on her table, as if waiting.

you glance at riki. he looks back, expression unreadable. there is a pause, long and deliberate. the kind of pause that feels like a spell.

you don’t untie anything that night. but when you leave, you find yourselves walking the same way down the same staircase, and neither of you tries to change direction.

after that, the prophecy stops feeling like a curse. you stop mapping detours. he stops pretending not to wait for you after class. something unnamed and tender hums beneath the surface of your days — not love, not yet, but the unmistakable geometry of its arrival.

back masterlist next

NOTES ~ hahaha i’m so funny guys totally 😇 proud of the part with yn… but let’s not talk about the chat in the lovely txt group chat. that.. came out of brain straight without a thinking process and i definitely had no other ideas for rewriting it so. IT’LL GET BETTER TRUST 😔

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