Rae 💕

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you’ve met kim mingyu four times.

the first: when your bosses scheduled two meetings at the exact same time in the same conference room and you both had to play rock-paper-scissors in front of the ceo to decide who got it. (he won. with scissors. a rookie mistake. you never forgave yourself.)

the second: in the elevator. he spilled half a latte on your shoes and said “at least they’re not suede...” like that was helpful.

the third: when you accidentally replied-all to an internal memo about performance evaluations, calling your boss “a capitalist goblin with a caffeine addiction.” he just replied "bold of you to speak truth in this economy. solidarity."

the fourth: now. every day. too often. always.

the thing is: you don’t work together. not really. you work adjacent. which is worse.

he’s the assistant to ms. seo, who runs strategy like she’s planning war. sharp heels, sharper tone, and a calendar color-coded within an inch of its life. mingyu walks two steps behind her like a loyal retriever, clipboard in one hand, existential dread in the other. he smiles too much for someone who gets cc’d on every meltdown in the building.

you, on the other hand, work for mr. yoon. a man with a god complex, a phobia of silence, and a diet that consists almost exclusively of espresso and the souls of junior staff. he once called your lunch “visually distracting” because it had “too much sauce”. you haven’t forgiven him either.

and because the two of them (ms. seo and mr. yoon) are in constant, competitive collaboration, it means you and mingyu are stuck in a never-ending tug-of-war of email threads, late-night reschedules, and passive-aggressive calendar invites.

the dynamic?

you’re the ghostwriter of your boss’s bad ideas. he’s the translator of his boss’s mood swings.

you text each other more than you text your actual friends. and you’re not sure if you hate him or if he just reminds you of your own job too much.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] your boss just moved lunch to 1 mine is fasting for "clarity of mind" so i'll be dying quietly in the corner

you clarity of mind is wild for someone who screamed at a stapler last tuesday

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] she said it was "threatening her aura"

you i'm scared it might've been right

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] justice for the stapler

by week three of back-to-back “urgent” requests, you’ve memorized the way he sighs through his nose when ms. seo cancels a meeting thirty seconds before it starts. you’ve also learned that he eats lunch in exactly four minutes and always forgets a fork. you’ve stopped offering him one. mostly out of principle.

“you’re not a real person.” you tell him one thursday. “you’re like a mirage. a corporate hallucination.”

he blinks. “thanks?”

“not a compliment.”

but he’s already scrolling through his phone, completely unfazed.

“you realize we’ve been yelled at by our bosses for the exact same meeting reschedule like, four times now.” he says. “at some point they’re gonna think we’re doing this on purpose.”

you sigh. “i wish we were. at least then it’d be satisfying.”

he throws his head back dramatically, groaning. “i’m too pretty to get fired.”

"you’re too clumsy,” you correct. “and you owe me a new pair of shoes.”

the idea comes after the fifth minor disaster of the week: a double-booked call, a vegan lunch delivery sent to a man who once called kale “a scam”, and a particularly pointed all-caps message from ms. seo.

you’re both slumped in the break room. the vending machine, as usual, has betrayed him. again.

he’s chewing your emergency chocolate like it’s keeping him alive.

“i’m just saying...” he starts, mouth half full. “if they were hooking up, maybe they’d stop using us as pawns in their weird power game.”

you blink at him.

“you’re not saying that.” you say. “you’re not actually suggesting this.”

“yoon and seo.” he says, nodding. “they have tension. it’s weird. disgusting. undeniable.”

“no.”

“hear me out.”

“no!” you repeat, louder this time. “are you insane? what part of this place makes you think romance is the solution?”

he blinks, caught off guard.

“do you even understand where we work?“ you go on. “we work for emotionally repressed narcissists with god complexes and matching calendars. this isn’t a rom-com, mingyu. this is hell.”

he opens his mouth, but you cut him off again.

“and you...” you say, jabbing a finger in his direction, “you think you're clever because you smile through the misery, but you’re just as trapped as me. stop pretending this is some cute little team-up.”

he’s quiet for a moment. you expect him to bite back, but he just tilts his head a little, watching you with something unreadable in his face.

“okay.” he says softly. “message received.”

you leave before you say something worse.

twelve minutes later, your phone rings. your boss's name lights up your screen.

“my office. now.”

you barely have time to close your tabs before you're in his doorway, arms crossed.

he doesn't look up from his monitor.

"you sent this?” he asks, pointing to a printed email. yes. printed.

“yes, sir.”

he reads a sentence aloud like it personally offended him. “‘apologies for the mix-up — i’ve reattached the correct file for your convenience.’”

“yes,” you say again. “because the original pdf had a broken...”

“this.” he interrupts, stabbing the paper with his finger. “is passive-aggressive.”

you blink. “it’s standard wording.”

“your tone” he says, “undermines my authority. and by extension, yours. if you ever want to be taken seriously in this industry, you need to learn how to communicate without sounding like you’re rolling your eyes.”

he leans back in his chair.

“do you think you’re indispensable?”

you don’t answer.

“because you’re not. you’re efficient, but so is every other assistant here. i could replace you by monday.”

he lets that sit for a beat.

then gestures to the door. “that’s all.”

you walk out of the office with a tight jaw and something sharp curling in your chest.

you sit back at your desk. your screen is full of open tabs, blinking messages, a reminder to pick up dry cleaning you can’t afford and a google search for “can stress cause actual brain damage.”

your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] so the plan's back on, yeah? just checking.

you don’t look up. not right away. you type slowly.

you if i say yes it's not because i believe in it it's because i want peace

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] peace is valid so is revenge

you i still think it's a terrible idea

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] perfect now it feels balanced again

the plan doesn’t take shape immediately. it starts as a joke.

you’re both in the supply closet, pretending to look for toner while avoiding being assigned yet another last-minute revision to the joint quarterly review deck.

he leans against the shelf like it’s a bar counter.

“okay, hypothetically...” he starts, “if we were to interfere with the romantic fates of our bosses, how would we do it?”

you snort. “we wouldn’t.”

“but if.”

you sigh, and, against your better judgment, answer.

“it’d have to feel natural. like a coincidence. accidental. you know. a narrative beat.”

he raises an eyebrow. “you’re disturbingly good at this.”

you ignore him. “it can’t be too obvious. no weird setups. no ‘i booked the same table for two’ bullshit.”

“agreed.” he says. “they’d see through that.”

there’s a pause.

then, you both say it at the same time:

“coffee.”

you blink.

“no way.”

“you said coffee too.” he says, pointing.

you groan. “i hate this...”

he’s already typing into his phone. “they both get coffee, right?”

“dude, we can’t make them run into each other...” you say. “it has to be a cliché.”

he grins like that’s the best thing he’s heard all week. “a cliché.”

you nod. “every great romance starts with one.”

“so what?” he says. “we drop a folder? one of them bends down to pick it up? brushes hands? instant chemistry?”

“too forced.”

“they reach for the same croissant?”

“getting warmer.”

“they both complain about us at the same time in the same line and bond over how ungrateful we are?”

you raise your eyebrows. “you think they’d do that?”

“they already do…” he mutters.

you roll your eyes. “okay. listen. we know their orders. their schedules. their routes. if we can time it just right…”

he finishes your sentence: “...they’ll think it’s fate.”

later that day, you’re back at your desk, scrolling through mr. yoon’s calendar like a bored private investigator.

he’s consistent. pathologically so.

coffee at 10:15. always the same place. same corner seat. same cappuccino. sometimes with extra foam. depending on his mood.

you open the app and look up ms. seo’s location history. mingyu already gave you access. you're not sure how. you don’t ask.

“they’ve been in the same place five times in the last two weeks” he whispers from behind your chair.

you jump. “jesus. do you materialize now?”

“only for dramatic effect.”

you look back at the screen. “five times.”

“and they didn’t notice each other once.”

“so what we’re saying is... we know them better than they know themselves.”

“yup.”

“that’s bleak.”

“deeply.”

he leans over your shoulder. “so. next tuesday. 10:15. table near the window.”

“you handle ms. seo.”

“you handle yoon.”

“if this backfires...”

“we were never here.”

you shake your head and open a new tab.

you’re not proud of it.

but you google “best pastries for accidental eye contact.”

tuesday arrives like a slow-moving disaster. you wake up late, spill coffee on your shirt, and have to switch to your “i’m pretending to be calm” blouse. the one that’s too stiff at the collar and makes you look like a very tired lawyer. 

but none of that matters, because today is operation cliché. 

phase one: coffee collision. 

the location? a minimalistic café on the first floor of the neighboring building, where all the tables are identical and everything smells like lavender and oat milk. it’s the kind of place that sells banana bread for twelve dollars and calls it “seasonal.”

you arrive at the café twelve minutes early. mingyu's already there, sitting in the corner like he’s a spy. you slide into the seat across from him. “what's the plan again?”

he doesn’t look up right away. just nods once like he’s been waiting for this briefing all his life.

“simple.” he says. “they both come here every tuesday. always between ten and ten fifteen. always order the same thing. they never notice each other because they’re too busy speed-reading emails and being vaguely terrifying.”

you raise an eyebrow. “go on.”

“so,” he continues, “i called ahead. asked the barista to delay both orders until exactly ten seventeen. give or take thirty seconds.”

“and then?”

“and then,” he says, leaning in slightly, “they both get called up at the same time. same tray. same awkward pause. eye contact. emotional disarmament. destiny.”

you blink. “you’ve really thought this through.”

“of course i have” he says. “i’m deeply invested in my own survival.”

“and you think this will work?”

he shrugs. “every great romance starts with an inconvenient beverage.”

you snort into your cup. you hate how much sense that makes.

ms. seo arrives exactly on time. she doesn’t wait in line, she orders like she owns the place and claims her table with one glance. mr. yoon enters two minutes later, slightly out of breath and already annoyed by the background music. he hates piano jazz. you know this. 

you both sink lower in your seats. 

“this is so dumb...” you whisper. “they’re not even-”

“wait for it.” he mutters. 

there’s a pause. 

a blink. 

the barista calls both names at once. 

they reach for the same tray. 

your breath catches. 

and then:

“oh...” mr. yoon says, taking a step back. “didn’t see you there.” 

ms. seo raises an eyebrow. “you never do.” 

and for one moment, the tiniest moment, they smile. 

smile. 

mingyu looks at you like he just saw god. 

“we’re geniuses” he whispers. 

“don’t jinx it.” 

you watch them sit. not together, but closer than usual. angled slightly toward each other. enough to talk, if they want to. enough to notice. 

“they’re talking...” mingyu says. 

“this is happening.” you nod, stunned. 

you don't say it out loud, but it does feel like a movie. you don't believe in fate. but maybe you believe in timing. and coffee. and croissants that carry plot.

they leave separately.

she goes first. phone in hand, shoulders back, the way she always walks when she’s thinking. he waits thirty seconds, then follows, not too close. but closer than usual.

you and mingyu don’t move.

you just sit there, two overcaffeinated employees hiding behind an aggressive fern, watching your bosses walk away like characters from the end of act one.

“okay." you say. “that was... weirdly successful.”

“i’m scared” he says.

“same.”

you finally stand. his drink is empty. your croissant is gone. neither of you remember eating it.

outside, the air smells like too much perfume and half a dozen corporate regrets. you stop at the corner.

“so what now?” you ask.

he grins. “phase two.”

you roll your eyes. “of course there’s a phase two.”

“come on” he says, already walking backward toward the building. “we made them smile. that’s practically engagement.”

“don’t say engagement.”

“too late.”

you don’t see him again until after lunch.

mr. yoon pulls you into three back-to-back meetings, one of which is just him ranting about fonts. you think he’s in a good mood. or at least a neutral one. it’s hard to tell.

by the time you get back to your desk, your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] you owe me a thank you croissant that was art they both reached for the tray like it was scripted

you you ate my croissant i'm the one who deserves a thank you

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] fine i'll meet you halfway supply closet in 15 bring no expectations, only snacks and your most chaotic ideas

you you're unbelievable

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] and yet deeply necessary

you stare at the screen for a beat too long. and then, before you can stop yourself, you type:

you make it 10 minutes i have a very dumb idea

the supply closet is barely a closet.

more of a broom-sized purgatory. it smells like dry erase markers. someone left a sad motivational sticker on the inside of the door that says you’ve got this! and it feels like a threat.

you’re already there when he arrives.

he knocks twice, unnecessarily, before slipping in and closing the door behind him with too much ceremony.

“you’re late” you say.

“you said ten minutes. i gave you eleven. that’s generosity.”

“that’s procrastination.”

he holds up a granola bar like it’s a peace treaty. “i come bearing carbs.”

you take it, mostly because you’re hungry, but also because the wrapper says crunchy with a hint of sea salt and you feel vaguely called out.

“so...” he says, leaning against a shelf of printer paper like he’s hosting a TED talk. “what’s your dumb idea?”

“you go first” you say.

“you told me to come because you had the idea.”

“and now i don’t trust it.”

“why not?”

“because you’re looking at me like you already love it.”

“i do love it. i just don’t know what it is yet.”

you sigh and break the granola bar in half, handing him a piece.

“okay.” you start, mouth full. “we can’t do another run-in. it’ll look too convenient.”

“agreed.” he says, through granola. “we need escalation.”

“we need... a shared cause.”

he blinks. “like... activism?”

“like fake activism” you clarify. “a team-building initiative. professional development. something they can co-lead.”

he nods slowly. “a task that forces prolonged contact. good. close proximity. subtle emotional vulnerability.”

“something high-pressure, low-stakes.”

“something where they think they’re in control.”

you both pause.

and then, at the exact same time:

“leadership retreat.”

you stare at each other in horror.

“that’s...”

“terrible.” he finishes. “dangerous. complicated.”

“they’ll kill us.”

“...we have to do it.”

you groan and slide down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor between two boxes of branded mugs.

he lowers himself beside you.

“okay.” he says. “if we pitch it right... this can work.”

“how do we pitch it?”

he pulls out his phone, opens a notes app already titled 'operation cliché' and starts typing.

you lean in without realizing.

your shoulders brush. neither of you move.

mingyu taps at his phone, brow furrowed in mock concentration.

“okay, proposal: joint leadership off-site to boost collaboration. location… somewhere with bad wifi and strong coffee. schedule: two-hour brainstorm, four-hour tension.”

you tilt your head. “you mean four hours of suppressed resentment disguised as productivity.”

“exactly!” he says, not looking up. “it’s authentic.”

you lean in slightly, peeking at his screen. “add ‘quiet team bonding’ and ‘organic interpersonal growth’. make it sound like we read a book about it.”

he types obediently, nodding. “love that. very linkedin-core.”

then he pauses. “should we make a deck?”

you snap your head toward him.

“if you make a deck” you say, deadly calm, “i’ll kill you.”

he grins, not even pretending to be sorry. “you say the sweetest things.”

you try not to smile. you fail. just a little.

you don’t leave the closet together.

but as you step back into the hallway, you realize your hand still smells like granola and printer ink. and that he didn’t mock your idea. and that, somehow, sitting on a dusty floor with him felt more peaceful than your own desk.

thursday morning.

you’re in the small conference room, the one with flickering lights and a very aggressive print of a lighthouse on the wall, watching mingyu adjust the brightness on his laptop for the sixth time.

“stop it.” you mutter. “it’s fine.”

“it’s washed out.” he says. “the slides have to pop. we’re selling transformation.”

“we’re selling emotional manipulation in a power suit.” you correct. “no one’s buying.”

“not with that attitude.”

he clicks through the deck one last time. every slide is a masterpiece of corporate nonsense: gradient backgrounds, buzzwords in bold, and fake statistics like “teams who bond off-site are 63% less likely to initiate passive-aggressive email chains.”

you sigh. “we’re going to hell for this.”

“it’s fine” he grins. “we’ll carpool.”

the pitch goes disturbingly well.

ms. seo barely blinks. she nods halfway through slide two and says, “this could be efficient.” which, from her, is basically a standing ovation.

mr. yoon interrupts twice to talk about thought leadership and uses the phrase “executive synergy” like it’s a personality trait.

when you finish, there’s a pause.

then:

“you two will run it.” ms. seo says.

“what?” you blink.

“i’ll be in singapore next week,” she says, already opening her phone. “you’ll facilitate on our behalf.”

you turn to mr. yoon, desperate. “sir?”

he waves a hand. “sounds like a perfect opportunity for growth. report back with a summary. keep the receipts.”

you open your mouth.

close it.

then open it again, for good measure.

mingyu says nothing. absolutely nothing.

you both leave the room in silence. outside the conference room, you stop walking.

he stops too.

you stare at him.

“you ruined my life.” you say calmly.

“technically, they approved the plan.”

“technically, you were the one who said leadership retreat like it was a good thing.”

“you said it at the same time!”

“and i regret it.”

he lifts both hands, grinning. “look, it’s fine. we’ll run a few workshops, do some trust falls, eat a buffet dinner, and be back in three days.”

“do not say trust falls like it’s a fun concept.”

“do you want me to start a shared document?”

“i want you to get hit by a metaphorical bus.”

“great” he says. “i’ll add that to the parking lot.”

you walk away before you start laughing.

later that afternoon, your phone buzzes.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] new plan: we fake food poisoning or burn down the lodge or both

you i knew this was a bad idea i KNEW mingyu you've doomed us you've condemned us to team-building hell there will be icebreakers there will be name tags we will be forced to share feelings

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] can’t wait to see you cry during trust circle

you if i disappear tell people i died doing what i hated: corporate bonding

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] should i pack snacks?

you pack dignity you’ll need it

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] never had it to begin with

you close the chat with a groan.

three days to the retreat. no bosses. no escape. just you. him. and four hours of scheduled “guided reflection.”

god help you both.

the corporate retreat center looks exactly like you imagined it would.

a beige lodge in the middle of nowhere, flanked by pine trees and suspiciously cheerful signage. there's a wooden welcome board near the entrance that says “unlock your inner leader!” in three fonts too many.

“i already hate it.” you mutter, dragging your suitcase over a gravel path that definitely wasn’t meant for heels.

“look on the bright side,” mingyu says, way too cheerful for someone carrying a duffel bag that looks like it holds gym trauma. “bad wi-fi. no bosses. and apparently a breakfast buffet.”

“if you make this sound fun one more time i’m leaving you in the woods.”

he grins. “you say that now, but wait till you see the lanyards.”

you check in at the front desk.

the woman behind the counter gives you your room key and a chirpy, “we went ahead and upgraded you two to the executive suite! hope that’s alright!”

you blink. “we’re not...”

“thanks!” mingyu cuts in, snatching the key. “very alright. super alright.”

you narrow your eyes. “what did you do?”

“nothing.” he says. “probably.”

the room is… cozy.

too cozy.

small fireplace. two mugs on a tray. mood lighting that tries too hard. and one large bed in the center of the room.

you stop in the doorway.

mingyu walks in, drops his bag, looks around once, then turns to you.

“what?” he says innocently. “you said it yourself.”

you stare at him.

“every great romance...” he quotes, smug. “starts with a cliché.”

you blink. once. twice.

“i hope you die.”

“listen, it’s fine. we’ll pillow-wall it.”

“we’re not pillow-walling anything.”

he flops onto the bed with too much confidence. “you can have the blanket majority. i’ll sleep on the floor like a gentleman.”

“you’ll sleep on the floor because you brought this on yourself.”

you find a yoga mat in the closet and throw it at his head. he catches it midair like a reflex, then sighs dramatically.

“pray for me.” he says. “i have fragile joints.”

later that night, you sit side by side on the bed, legs barely touching, a bag of overpriced mini bar chips open between you. the room smells like lavender pillow spray and artificial air freshener, and the fireplace crackles in the most suspiciously cozy way imaginable.

mingyu has the printed retreat schedule unfolded across his lap like it’s a classified document.

he clears his throat.

“7 a.m. sunrise meditation,” he reads aloud. “8 a.m. partner walk. 9 a.m. circle of trust. 10 a.m...” he pauses for dramatic effect. “feelings breakout.”

you make a noise of pure disbelief. “are they trying to kill us? circle of trust sounds like a cult.”

“circle of trust is a cult.” he says. “i’ve seen documentaries.”

you take a chip. crunch thoughtfully. 

“do you think if we hold hands and run, we can make it to the road before they catch us?” he says, head tipping toward you just slightly.

“only if you leave the yoga mat behind.” you add. “it’ll slow you down.”

he sighs, deeply. “cruel. but fair.”

the chips rustle between you. somewhere outside, a tree creaks. inside, it’s quiet enough that you can hear the soft shift of his sleeve when he leans back against the headboard.

you don’t say anything for a while. neither does he.

but you don’t move apart, either.

and that, somehow, says enough.

the next day feels like a slow-motion trial.

you wake up to the faint sound of birds and the less-faint sound of mingyu already moving around, getting ready like he’s preparing for some kind of emotional boot camp.

breakfast is painfully organized. you share a table, not by design but because every other seat is taken. he slides you the salt shaker without looking, and you catch his fingers brushing yours for a split second.

the morning starts with the sunrise meditation. you try to focus on your breath, but mingyu is the only one who manages to stay still. mostly because he fell asleep sitting up, chin resting on his chest, looking like an angel who didn’t get the memo.

later, during the partner walk, you find yourselves naturally walking side by side, matching pace without planning it. the trail winds through pines and sun-dappled clearings, the air fresh and cool.

he makes a dumb joke about how this is “nature’s way of making us confess our feelings,” and you pretend not to laugh. but you do.

the circle of trust comes next, exactly as terrifying as it sounds. when it’s your turn, he looks at you like you’re both in on the joke, and you mumble something about “trust falls being a trap.”

he catches your eye and shrugs. “at least we don’t have to actually fall.”

the afternoon is a blur of workshops, icebreakers, and group exercises where everyone is trying (and failing) not to make it awkward.

when the sun starts to set and the temperature drops, mingyu notices you shivering and without a word, pulls his hoodie off and drapes it over your shoulders.

you don’t say anything. you just let it hang there, the fabric warm between you, the silence saying everything.

it’s ridiculous. it’s perfect. and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

the evening settles in with the kind of hush that only happens after a day of mandatory bonding and dried-out protein bars. everyone else has disappeared to their rooms, leaving behind half-finished mugs of herbal tea and the lingering scent of essential oils.

you and mingyu are still awake.

he’s on the floor, stretching like someone who read about mindfulness once and committed to the bit. you’re on the edge of the bed, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, pretending not to watch him try (and fail) to touch his toes.

“you’re gonna pull something.” you say.

“i’m increasing my hip mobility” he replies, completely serious. “for leadership.”

“of course.”

he glances up at you, grinning. “jealous?”

“of your hamstrings? wildly.”

he pushes himself upright with a groan and collapses onto the bed beside you, dramatically boneless.

“okay...” he sighs, “real talk. are we actually gonna sleep at a normal time or…”

you glance at the clock. 10:12 p.m.

“...or what?” you ask.

he shrugs. “i don’t know. talk about our feelings. play two truths and a lie. make a series of increasingly bad decisions.”

“tempting” you say. “but i think i’m out of feelings.”

“you sure?” he asks, turning toward you, head propped on his hand. “because earlier, during the circle of trust, i definitely saw emotion in your eyes.”

“that was rage.”

“i find rage very sexy.”

you roll your eyes. “you find everything sexy.”

he pauses. “not true. powerpoint presentations. deeply unsexy.”

you laugh. a real one, loud and sudden and he looks pleased with himself.

“what?” you say, noticing.

“nothing,” he says. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“how weird it is that we ended up here.”

you raise a brow. “in a romantic cult lodge?”

“in the same room. same bed. same… whatever this is.”

he’s closer now. not enough to crowd you, but enough that you feel the warmth radiating off his skin. your knees bump. neither of you pulls away.

“well, you set this up.”

“yeah, i know. but still...”

you tilt your head. “do you regret it?”

“not even a little.”

he looks at you for a long second, like he’s trying to decide something. then his eyes drop.

“you’re in my hoodie.” he says.

“wow. thank you for the update, captain obvious.”

“no, i mean…” he pauses. “you’re still in my hoodie.”

you glance down at the sleeves, bunched around your hands. “is this a problem?”

he shakes his head. “no. just… you should probably know it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

your mouth opens, ready to hit back with some flirty insult but the words don’t come. instead, you look at him a beat too long.

“you always talk this much when you’re nervous?” you say finally, voice quieter now.

“only when i think i’m about to do something stupid.”

“like?”

he doesn’t answer. just keeps looking at you like the answer’s obvious.

your fingers tighten around the hem of the hoodie. his knee presses into yours again, this time deliberate.

“like kiss you.” he says.

you go still. “are you going to?”

his smile flickers, slower this time. “i’d like to.”

“then maybe stop talking and do it.”

so he does.

it’s not rushed. not urgent. just intentional. like he’s been thinking about this since the first time you told him off in a staff meeting, and now that it’s happening, he wants to get it exactly right.

he kisses like he speaks. confident, a little playful, always testing the edges. his hand finds your waist. yours fists in the front of his sweatshirt. there’s no hesitation in the way your mouths move, just heat and muscle memory that shouldn’t exist, but does.

after a moment, you pull back just enough to look at him, eyes glinting with something playful.

“you know,” you say, voice low and teasing, “i’ve always wanted to do this.”

he grins, a slow, knowing smile. “really? all this time, i thought that cold shoulder, the eye rolls, the ‘i’m-so-over-you’ attitude was just you being tough.”

“oh please...” you scoff, but you’re smiling. “that was all hate.”

“hate?” he raises an eyebrow, mock offended. “i always suspected it was just repressed attraction.”

“yeah, sure.” you say, nudging him with your knee. “keep telling yourself that.”

he leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “honestly? i think you’ve been into me since day one. all that ‘hate’ was just a cover-up for the fact that you thought i was too cool for you.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “too cool for me? i was the one who threw the first punch.”

“exactly” he says, “which is code for ‘i’m interested, but i’m also awkward.’”

you bite your lip, thinking how ridiculous yet kind of cute this all feels.

then your fingers find the hem of his hoodie, tugging gently.

“off” you say, barely a whisper.

he looks down at your hand, then back up at you, a mischievous sparkle lighting his eyes. “was that an order?”

“definitely.”

he smirks, sitting up a bit. “well, then… say please.”

you roll your eyes, but the smile never leaves your face. “please.”

he laughs quietly, pulling the hoodie off over his head like a trophy.

you sit up just enough to look at him in the low firelight. his hair’s a little messy, his chest rising and falling, eyes bright.

you touch his chest. lightly, tracing a line from his collarbone to just below his ribs. he twitches under your hand.

“ticklish?” you tease.

“no” he lies. “i’m just emotionally overwhelmed.”

you laugh again, but it catches in your throat when he leans down and kisses your neck. not soft, not featherlight, but with purpose. like he wants to leave a thought behind.

his hands are everywhere. exploring. mapping. learning. he touches you like a puzzle he’s been waiting to solve, like every button undone is a secret, every sigh a new language.

when your shirt’s gone and his jeans are halfway off and you’re both out of breath, you look up at him. flushed, disheveled, ridiculous. and say, “this is a terrible idea.”

“yeah” he breathes, eyes dark. “do you want to stop?”

you pull him down by the front of his waistband.

“that’s what i thought.”

what happens next is messy and slow and fun. it’s not cinematic. it’s not even that graceful. he accidentally knees you in the thigh. you tug his sock off too hard and it hits the wall. at one point he tries to say something sexy and chokes on his own breath.

but it’s good. so good.

he kisses like he’s memorizing you. like he wants to make you laugh and make you beg. your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly, and he shudders. not from pain, but from surprise.

he touches your thigh, then higher, watching your face the whole time. you arch into him, your name falling from his mouth like a promise.

and when it finally happens, when all the ridiculous tension finally snaps, it’s not explosive.

it’s intimate.

his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard, still smiling even as you fall apart together.

after, you lie tangled in the sheets, his hoodie now lost somewhere under the bed, your leg over his hip and his fingers drawing circles on your stomach like he doesn’t want the moment to end.

you stare at the ceiling.

“we are absolutely not talking about this at work” you say.

“agreed.”

“no weird glances across the copy machine.”

“never.”

a pause.

“but” he adds, “we can maybe do it again sometime?”

you glance at him.

he’s grinning.

“i’ll think about it.” you say.

but you’re already smiling too.

day three begins with the kind of awkward optimism only a mandatory leadership retreat can inspire.

you wake up tangled in mingyu’s hoodie, which now smells like campfire and him. it’s too warm, slightly bunched around your hips, but you don’t take it off.

you find him in the kitchenette, making coffee like it’s a lab experiment. precise measurements, silent concentration, a grim kind of determination.

“morning” you say, sliding in beside him, pretending this is normal.

he hands you a mug without looking. “you look like you slept on a bed of spreadsheets.”

“i feel like i did” you mutter, taking a sip. “you?”

“dreamt i was being chased by performance reviews” he says. “woke up in a cold sweat.”

“how corporate trauma of you.”

he snorts into his mug. “don’t diagnose me before coffee.”

you both sip in silence for a few seconds. his arm brushes yours when he lowers the mug, and he doesn’t move away.

you nudge his hip with yours. “so, uh… about last night.”

he raises a brow. “which part? the part where you insulted my hamstrings? or the part where you kissed me first?”

“okay, bold of you to rewrite history like that.”

“what can i say...” he grins. “i’m a storyteller.”

you shake your head, laughing into your coffee.

later, on the partner walk, you fall into step without thinking. the trail winds through pine trees and patches of sunlight, and every now and then he reaches out to steady you. like when you nearly trip on a root, or when a bee flies too close and you squeal louder than you'd like to admit.

“you know” he says, “for someone who claims to be outdoorsy on their dating profile, you’re doing a lot of swatting and stumbling.”

“for someone who can’t touch his toes, you’re awfully smug.”

he grins. “that’s because you find it charming.”

you open your mouth to argue but... fine. maybe you do.

he points at a squirrel making off with someone’s granola bar and mutters, “even the wildlife here is stressed.”

“at least it’s honest,” you say.

he glances over at you, and this time when your shoulders bump, he leans just a little closer. not obviously. just enough that it feels like a secret.

you keep walking.

the workshops in the afternoon feel less painful than usual. maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. maybe it’s mingyu passing you a sticky note with a terrible drawing of your retreat leader mid-lecture. maybe it’s the way you keep catching each other’s eyes and trying not to laugh.

he offers to be your “accountability buddy” during the trust-building activity and then immediately betrays you in a group exercise. you pretend to be outraged. he apologizes with gummy bears and a dramatic bow.

when your hands brush reaching for the same marker, he says, “careful. i bite.”

you roll your eyes and say “noted” but don’t move away.

by the time evening rolls around, it’s cold enough that sharing a blanket on the couch feels justifiable. he drapes it over your laps casually and doesn’t say a word when you lean against his side.

the fire flickers, casting golden shadows over his profile.

“did you know that i can’t actually sing ‘kumbaya’?”

you grin. “i was hoping you couldn’t.”

a pause.

your eyes lock. again.

he kisses you. again.

slower this time. a little longer. like he’s learning the shape of you, one brush of lips at a time.

you smile into it. and when you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“still team-building” he murmurs.

“i’ll allow it.”

on the last day of the retreat, there’s a closing circle.

the room smells like whiteboard markers and lemon disinfectant. someone’s playing a spotify playlist called reflect & renew. the volume is too low to be inspiring, but just loud enough to be annoying.

everyone’s handed a blank feedback form and a final question:

what did you learn about yourself this week?

you write: i can survive on granola bars and passive aggression and turn it in without a second thought.

mingyu doesn’t.

he stays behind, pen tapping against his clipboard, brows furrowed in concentration like the question matters more than it should.

you don’t ask, not right away.

but later, on the shuttle ride home, when the trees blur past and the windows fog with soft breath and leftover heat, he says it.

softly. like he’s not sure he means to say it out loud.

“i wrote your name.”

you turn to him.

he’s looking straight ahead, at the back of the seat in front of him.

“on the form. under what i learned.”

you blink.

your chest does something weird and slow.

you want to say something clever. or funny. or soft. maybe all three. but your throat’s too full of whatever this is.

so instead, you just let your shoulder fall against his. let his hand drift close enough that your pinkies touch.

and leave it there.

returning to the office is like stepping into a parallel universe.

the emails are worse. the coffee is worse. the printer is somehow worse.

but everything’s different.

you see it in the way he lingers by your desk instead of breezing past.

in the way your conversations drift. less complaints, more curiosity.

and when he texts at 12:31 p.m. asking “lunch?”, you don’t even pretend to hesitate.

at first, it’s casual.

shared takeout at the back of the break room. eating out of the same box without acknowledging it. him stealing your last dumpling like it’s tradition. you letting him.

then it becomes routine.

tuesday: curry. thursday: overpriced poke. friday: him remembering you don’t like cilantro. you pretending not to notice that he remembered.

the others don’t question it.

you’re assistants. you’re allowed to coordinate.

no one asks why he walks you out some nights.

or why your lipstick keeps fading around 4 p.m.

the supply closet becomes your shared religion.

there’s something hilariously undignified about kissing someone between boxes of toner and spare lanyards. but that’s where it happens most. tucked into the corner, his clipboard jammed under his arm, your breath catching before you even close the door.

it’s never dramatic.

it’s always sudden.

like gravity just... tips.

his hand finds your jaw. yours fists in his shirt. you both laugh too much after. you both leave with your heart doing that thing it’s not supposed to do during work hours.

sometimes he texts you while you’re ten feet away.

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] your boss just called his 47-slide deck "visionary" thoughts?

you immediate prison

mingyu [work enemy adjacent] same cell or separate?

you supply closet. ten minutes. no witnesses.

your boss seems pleased lately.

“your tone’s changed” he tells you one morning. “you’re more solution-oriented. less... sharp.”

he thinks it’s the retreat. thinks you came back wiser. calmer. aligned.

maybe he’s not wrong.

but he doesn’t know that the thing that changed isn’t you.

it’s that now, when the workday gets unbearable, when the chaos piles up and the caffeine runs out, there’s someone waiting by the copier with a smirk and a post-it that says:

“lunch?” “you look like you need a minute.” “i’m stealing you. don’t argue.”

and maybe that’s all it takes.

maybe the retreat didn’t fix your job. maybe it didn’t fix your boss.

but it gave you something else.

something stupid and ridiculous and kind of beautiful.

DELUSIONAL Y/N FAN

There was a rule in the barracks. Well, an unspoken rule at that. Newbies have been warned, and seasoned soldiers are alert. The rule? If you left your phone unattended and it buzzes, everyone looks.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo didn't bother looking up from the novel in his hands. "Hm?"

"You've got a notification."

Across the room, Mingyu craned his neck dramatically toward Wonwoo's bunk before gasping loud enough for the entire platoon to hear.

"Oh, my god." Mingyu's jaw dropped.

Wonwoo sighed. "What?"

"It's her!" Mingyu exclaimed. That got everyone's attention.

Seungkwan sat up from where he'd been lying on his bed. "Y/N posted?"

Mingyu nodded solemnly. "Yup."

Wonwoo reached over for his phone. The movement was small. Casual, even.

"You have post notifications on?" Chan asked, genuinely horrified.

"...No," Wonwoo muttered.

"You picked up your phone before you even checked who it was." Chan pointed out.

Wonwoo unlocked his screen and opened Instagram. Just as Mingyu had confirmed, Y/N had posted. His thumb lingered over the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Seungkwan saw the smile on his face, and he was amused.

"Oh, he's sick," Seungkwan laughed. "He's actually sick."

Wonwoo ignored him. The first photo was exactly what he expected. Another stadium, another sea of lights, another sold-out show. The second was backstage. The third—his smile grew bigger without realizing it.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung called.

"What?" Wonwoo echoed.

"You smiled." Soonyoung teased. Wonwoo looked at him and said, "...Did I?"

"You did!" Soonyoung chuckled.

"Oh, he smiled," Chan confirmed, pointing accusingly. "I saw his teeth!"

Wonwoo looked back down at his phone. "It was funny."

"What was?"

He hesitated. "...Nothing."

Mingyu lunged across the space between their bunks. Wonwoo tilted the phone away just enough.

"Lemme see," Mingyu said.

"No," Wonwoo replied.

"Why not?" Mingyu pouted. "I just wanna see."

"It's my phone, Mingyu. Check your own phone." Wonwoo scoffed.

Mingyu squinted his eyes, "You're being suspicious."

"It's not suspicious."

"It is when you're guarding Y/N's Instagram like it's classified information." Mingyu rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Wonwoo locked his phone with a quiet click. "I'm going to finish my book."

"Oh, he's embarrassed." Mingyu snickered.

"He definitely left a thirsty comment." Soonyoung chortled. "I didn't know you were that kind of fan, Wonwoo."

"I didn't leave a nasty comment," Wonwoo said, busy reading his book.

"You thought about it," Soonyoung said.

"Nope."

"You've thought about marrying her," Jihoon said from his bed.

Wonwoo blinked. "Probably."

The room fell silent. Then, the room erupted in loud laughter. Chan nearly fell off his bunk laughing. Seungkwan slapped his knee. Even Vernon looked up from the crossword puzzle he'd been pretending to solve. Mingyu wiped imaginary tears from his eyes.

"Our boy is never beating the delusional allegations." Mingyu ruffled Wonwoo's hair.

-

Training that afternoon was merciless. By the time they were dismissed, Wonwoo's shoulders ached, his boots were caked in dirt, and the only thing he wanted was to shower. Unfortunately for him, he found himself cornered outside the barracks by the self-proclaimed biggest Y/N stan, Boo Seungkwan, who had his phone out.

"Look!" Seungkwan said giddily.

Wonwoo glanced over. It was another clip from Y/N's tour. Shaky. Blurry. Someone had clearly filmed it from halfway across the stadium.

"She changed the acoustic section tonight," Seungkwan said. "Nobody saw that coming."

Wonwoo watched the first few seconds. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan frowned. "What?"

"The other song," Wonwoo answered, looking at Seungkwan in the eyes. "She wasn't feeling it."

Seungkwan huffed. "And how do you know that, Jeon?"

Wonwoo shrugged. "She always switches when she's tired."

A pause. Then Seungkwan pursed his lips, "You always say 'she always'."

"What?" Wonwoo tilted his head.

"Like," Seungkwan sighed. "'she always switches songs', 'she always wears that color', 'she always laughs like that'. Bro, you talk like you've known her your whole life."

Wonwoo only shrugged. In fact, he never argued. Arguing never helped, anyway.

That night, after lights out, the barracks settled into silence. Or as close to silence as six grown men could manage. Someone snored. Someone muttered in their sleep. Mingyu rolled over with enough force to make his bunk squeak.

Wonwoo reached beneath his pillow for his phone. One earbud. Volume low. He opened a fan-uploaded video. The quality was terrible. The audio peaked every time the crowd screamed. Still, he watched.

The camera shook violently as Y/N ran across the stage, waving at eighty thousand people like she had enough love for every single one of them. Wonwoo smiled.

"Careful," he whispered to the screen before she jogged down a staircase.

The person filming nearly dropped their phone. The video ended. Suggested clips appeared. He clicked another. Then another. Then another. A knock sounded against the metal frame above him.

"Jeon."

Wonwoo paused the video. "Yeah?"

"Go to sleep," Seokmin said sleepily. "I can see light from your phone."

"In a minute," Wonwoo said quietly.

"You said that an hour ago." Seokmin yawned.

"Mm."

Seokmin sighed and eventually dozed off. Wonwoo stared at the paused frame. She was laughing at something someone off-camera had said.

He wondered what it was. He wondered what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. His thumb hovered over the message icon before stopping. The time difference. She'd be onstage by now. He locked his phone. Rolled onto his back. Closed his eyes.

"Good night, Mrs. Y/L/N Y/N." Mingyu teased while his eyes were closed.

"Good night," Wonwoo said softly.

I SWEAR I'M TELLING THE TRUTH

Military life had a funny way of making days blur together. Wake up. Train. Eat. Train again. Sleep. Repeat. Some days went by so quickly that Wonwoo barely had time to think. Those were the good days.

Then, there were days like today. The kind where his thoughts wandered despite himself, and he moved around half-dead like a zombie.

The cafeteria had run out of coffee that morning. 'She would've complained.' Wonwoo thought.

Training had been pushed back because of the rain. 'She hates getting caught in the rain.' Wonwoo stared out the window.

Seungkwan had nearly slipped face-first into the mud. 'She would've laughed until she cried.'

Wonwoo sighed quietly. It was exhausting. No, loving her is easy. Missing her was exhausting. His brain had become annoyingly predictable over the past year and a half. Everything somehow circled back to her: the weather, a song, coffee, a dumb joke, a bird that looked like one she'd once spent ten minutes trying to photograph.

Aside from turning rotten as days go by, what else could he do but think of her?

"Jeon!"

Wonwoo blinked. "Hm?"

"I've been calling your name." Mingyu frowned.

"Sorry."

"You zoning out again?" Mingyu huffed. Wonwoo shrugged. Mingyu grinned. "Were you thinking about your girlfriend?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Wonwoo didn't even bother correcting him anymore. "Yeah."

Another round of laughter.

"So honest," Chan wheezed. "Bro's embracing the delusion now."

Wonwoo simply shook his head and ate kimchi.

By afternoon, the rain had stopped. The sky was clear. Training had finally ended. Wonwoo had just started untying his boots when someone called his name.

"Private Jeon."

He looked up. A staff sergeant stood outside the barracks holding a medium-sized cardboard box.

"Package for you."

Wonwoo frowned. He definitely wasn't expecting anything. "For me? Are you sure?"

The sergeant nodded. "Sign here."

He did. By the time he turned back around, seven heads were already at him. Mingyu pointed dramatically.

"Who's sending you packages?" Mingyu lifted an eyebrow.

"No idea." Wonwoo shrugged.

"Liar." Mingyu crossed his arms.

"I'm genuinely not," Wonwoo said.

Chan leaned forward. "Your parents?"

"Maybe." Wonwoo sighed as he sat on his bed.

"Open it." Vernon piped up.

"I'm tired," Wonwoo said, putting the box next to him as he continued to untie his boots.

"Open it." Seungkwan clapped.

"I'm showering first."

"OPEN IT!!" Soonyoung exclaimed excitedly. Wonwoo stared at him, then at everyone else, before sighing, "Fine."

Soonyoung, Jihoon, Seokmin, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan gathered around Wonwoo curiously. Wonwoo never received packages before. He barely got any visitors, too.

The tape peeled away with a soft rip. Inside, there was nothing flashy. Just neatly packed things. Coffee, instant ramen, protein bars, a new pair of insoles, and a small tube of hand cream from Yves Rocher that he loved.

Seungkwan tilted his head and pursed his lips, "Your family knows you too well. I mean, even my eomma doesn't know the hand cream I love."

Everyone nodded in agreement with their own anecdotes of how their parents don't know small things about them, too.

Wonwoo reached deeper into the box. His fingers brushed against thick paper. He pulled out a stack of Polaroids. His expression softened. Mingyu noticed.

"Aha!" Mingyu exclaimed.

"What?" Wonwoo asked.

"You did the smile." Mingyu teased.

"What smile?" Wonwoo played dumb.

"You know," Mingyu said. "The smile."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Wonwoo shook his head.

"But you DID." Mingyu huffed.

Wonwoo ignored him. The first Polaroid showed a sunrise over an empty stadium. The second is a blurry picture of a stray cat. The third, a paper coffee cup with her messy handwriting that read: Too bitter. 2/10.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. "She still hates black coffee." He mumbled.

Silence. Wonwoo froze. 'Oops...' Wonwoo thought.

Seungkwan looked up. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"No, you definitely said something." Seungkwan eyed him suspisciously. "You said, 'she still hates black coffee'..."

Jihoon folded his arms, "You talk like you know her."

Wonwoo looked at the Polaroid for another second before placing it gently on his blanket. On a normal day, he'd let those comments slide. Today was different. He was missing Y/N more than usual. All the colors around him are dull, and his tasks are mundane. Against his better judgment, he said, "I do."

The room erupted into laughter. Chan laughed so hard, he had to sit down. Mingyu pointed at Wonwoo while laughing.

"Wow, he actually thinks he knows her!"

"Bro actually committed THAT hard!"

"You know what? Respect."

Seungkwan shook his head, grinning. "You're unbelievable."

Wonwoo didn't argue. He never argued. He simply reached back into the box. At the very bottom, a folded envelope. No sender's name. Just his. He unfolded the letter. The handwriting made his chest ache immediately.

My Dearest, Wonwoo,

Paris was loud. Portugal was louder. I still think Tokyo had the best crowd, but if you were here, you'd probably disagree.

He chuckled lightly.

I'm sending you stuff that I've picked up for you along the way. I hope you like them! I also hope you like the Polaroids :>

The coffee was insanely bad istg. The cat followed me for three blocks. The sunrise reminded me of you. We used to watch them all the time. I miss you so much, my love. I hope giving you this package can ease the pain of missing me too.

His grip tightened on the paper.

I love you, Wonwoo.

P.S. Please, please, please send me anecdotes of ur life in the barracks!! I hope they're feeding you enough bc I'll fight them lol jk. I'll see you soon (hopefully).

P.P.S I'm taking a hiatus after this long-ass tour. I'll travel the world with you... or maybe just chill at home with your buldak addiction. Maybe get married in secret and start a family? I don't know, but the possibilities are endless. I love you!

Yours always,

Y/N, writing from Amsterdam <3

For a moment, the barracks disappeared.

A private terminal. One week before enistment. The engines of her private jet hummed in the distance. She hadn't let go of his hand once.

"You know, I should stay." Y/N said to him. "I mean, I can wait until I send you off to your military service."

Wonwoo smiled. "No."

"I can postpone the first show fr you, love!"

"You won't do that." Wonwoo said softly.

"I would."

"You shouldn't," Wonwoo said, cupping her face with both hands. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I hate this."

"Me, too." Wonwoo smiled sadly.

She laughed weakly. "You're supposed to make this easier."

"I'm trying." Wonwoo chuckled lightly.

"You suck at it."

"Probably."

She hit his arm lightly. Just enough to make him smile. Then, she stepped closer and wrapped both arms around him, held him like she was trying to memorize every part of him. "I'll be back before you know it."

Wonwoo closed his eyes. "I know."

Neither of them believed it. A voice called her name. Five minutes. She looked toward the jet. Then back at him. Then back again. She kissed him. Once, twice. A third time after, she'd already started pulling away. The security staff politely looked everywhere else.

"Okay." She laughed through her tears.

"This time?"

"Yeah."

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning around one last time. Wonwoo lifted his hand. She mirrored the gesture. Then she disappeared inside. He didn't leave, not until the jet became nothing more than a white speck against the sky.

"Jeon?"

Wonwoo blinked. The barracks came back into focus. Mingyu was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Dude, you've been staring at that letter for, like, five minutes," Mingyu said.

"Sorry," Wonwoo said.

"So?" Seungkwan leaned forward. "Who sent it?"

Wonwoo carefully folded the letter. Placed it back inside the envelope, then looked at the six men staring at him.

"She's busy," was all Wonwoo said, completely disregarding Seungkwan's question.

HONORABLY DISCHARGED

The morning of Jeon Wonwoo's discharge was surprisingly... anticlimactic. No dramatic music. No grand farewell. Just paperwork. Sign here, initial there. Return your equipment. The military had a funny way of reducing nearly two years of someone's life into a stack of forms and a firm handshake.

"Congratulations."

Wonwoo bowed politely. "Thank you.

"Dismissed."

Wonwoo bowed one last time before heading back toward the barracks. His duffel bag sat neatly on the edge of his bunk, packed the night before. Wonwoo checked his stuff before he zipped his duffel bag shut and slung it over his shoulder.

"Well," Seokmin said, breaking the silence. "I guess this is it."

"So sentimental," Soonyoung teased, nudging Seokmin with an elbow. "You gonna cry?"

"I might," Seokmin said.

"You absolutely are."

"I'm definitely not crying because I'm gonna miss Wonwoo-hyung." Seokmin huffed.

"Oh, now you call me 'hyung'." Wonwoo laughed. A quiet laugh rippled through the room.

Wonwoo smiled. "Take care of yourselves."

"Look who's acting like a dad now," Mingyu snorted.

Chan crossed his arms. "Don't forget us when Y/N notices your comments."

"She notices," Wonwoo said. "Sometimes, I tell her in person."

The room erupted in laughter.

"There he goes!"

"Last delusion before discharge!"

"Never change, Jeon!"

Wonwoo chuckled. "I won't." He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a small paper bag. "I almost forgot." He handed it to Seungkwan.

"What's this?" Seungkwan eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Snacks." Wonwoo shrugged.

Seungkwan peeked inside. His eyes widened. "Wait... these are imported!"

"They're your favorite," Wonwoo said casually.

"Hyung-" Seungkwan said.

"I wasn't going to finish them."

Seungkwan looked strangely touched. "Thank you."

Wonwoo nodded once. He pulled out another bag. "Mingyu."

The tall man pointed at himself, "For me?"

"You kept stealing my instant coffee."

"Allegedly..." Mingyu said.

"I bought you your own." Wonwoo handed the bag to him. Mingyu opened the bag.

"You actually remembered?"

"Mm."

For a second, nobody joked. They just looked at him.

Jihoon cleared his throat. "You're annoyingly thoughtful."

"So I've been told."

Vernon finally spoke up from the corner. "You know..."

Everyone looked at him.

"If you ever somehow meet Y/N..."

Mingyu laughed. "Here we go."

"...Can you ask her for a video message?"

Seungkwan immediately pointed at Vernon. "You're not even sure if Sofia's a fan!"

"...Who said it was for Sofia?"

The room dissolved into chaos. Wonwoo shook his head, unable to stop smiling. "I'll see what I can do."

"See?" Mingyu sighed dramatically. "He still thinks he's gonna meet her!"

"He really committed to the character."

"So inspiring."

"Screw all of you," Seungkwan said. "I believe he'll meet her, and I'd also like a video. I also want to meet her."

"Seriously though," Mingyu said, "if you somehow meet Y/N... tell her hottest soldier from the military, Kim Mingyu, says hi."

Wonwoo could only stare at him. How could he tell his lovely girlfriend that the 'hottest soldier' says hi? Wonwoo can manage.

"And tell her Boo Seungkwan is her biggest fan, and I can do all the dances."

"Okay..."

"And get us signed albums." Chan chimed in.

"We each want video messages!" Seokmin shouted excitedly.

"Can I get a hug?" Soonyoung asked.

Wonwoo looked at him. "...No, I don't think so, buddy."

Wonwoo simply adjusted the strap of his duffel. "I'll see what I can do as well. Bye, everyone. It was nice knowing all of you."

"Take care, hyung!"

"We love you!"

"Stay healthy!"

"Don't marry Y/N without us."

Wonwoo paused with one hand on the door. "I'll keep that in mind."

The laughter followed him all the way down the hallway. It lingered even after the voices faded into the distance. Wonwoo glanced back only once.

The barracks looked exactly as they had the day he'd first stepped inside—rows of bunks, neatly folded blankets, and seven men who'd somehow turned into family over the course of nearly two years.

He shook his head with a quiet smile. They were loud. Annoying. Unnecessarily invested in his love life. But somewhere between endless drills, sleepless nights, and terrible cafeteria food, they'd made the days a little easier to get through. They just... didn't know it.

Adjusting the strap of his duffel bag, Wonwoo walked toward the front gate. One step. Then another. The weight on his shoulders felt different now. Lighter. Not because the bag weighed any less. Because he no longer had to count down the days. The guard at the gate gave him a polite nod before handing over his identification.

Wonwoo stepped through the gate without looking back. On the other side, his family was already waiting.

His father pulled him into a tight hug before he could even say hello. His brother gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, smiling in that awkward way brothers often did.

"Welcome home, son," he said.

"It's good to be back."

As they walked toward the car, Wonwoo's phone buzzed.

[Y/N my love ♥️] good morning over there, soldier. congratulations ♥️ i'm sorry i couldn't be there, but just know i'm in your heart all the time.

A smile found its way onto his face. After nearly two years, he finally got to type the words he'd been waiting to say.

[my wonwoo ♥️] Good morning, love. Thank you. I love you so much. See you soon :)

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

"So," His father smiled knowingly, "when's your flight?"

"Tomorrow." Wonwoo smiled.

His father nodded once. "Go ahead."

"What? That's it?" His brother blinked. "He just got out!"

"Well, she's waited long enough." His father laughed.

"We both have."

-

The flight felt longer than military service. Not literally. Just emotionally. He barely slept. Watched clouds drift by instead. Every few hours, he'd unlock his phone. Not to text her. Just to check where she was. London.

Tonight's show. The last stop. He smiled. Perfect.

-

Meanwhile, backstage was chaos.

"Five minutes!"

"Mic check!"

"Where's wardrobe?"

"I need someone on stage left!"

Y/N sat quietly in front of the mirror while her stylist adjusted the last few details. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm just tired."

"Sure?"

She laughed weakly. "It's just..." She looked down at the bracelet around her wrist. The one Wonwoo had given her before enlistment. "Today's our anniversary."

Her stylist's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"Eight years and going strong." She smiled. "I miss him so much. He's the reason why I keep going on every show. I keep thinking that the better I do on stage, the quicker I come back to him."

"That's sweet."

"Wonwoo's my everything, Jia." She said softly. "He's amazing. He inspired me to write and perform."

"How did you meet?" Jia asked.

"We were nineteen..." She smiled.

Y/N was already a household name, juggling interviews between college classes, while Wonwoo was just another university student who happened to be paired with her for a group project. He never treated her like a celebrity, and she loved him for it.

What started as shared notes, late-night study sessions, and coffee runs slowly turned into movie nights, bookstore dates, and a friendship neither of them realized had become something more. One evening, after walking her back to her apartment, Wonwoo stopped her before she could head inside.

"I don't think I'll ever stop liking you," he admitted with a nervous laugh. "Would... would you let me be your boyfriend?"

She smiled so brightly that he forgot every word he'd rehearsed. Instead of answering, she stepped forward, kissed him, and whispered, "I thought you'd never ask."

-

The concert was everything the internet expected. Fireworks. Costume changes. Surprise songs from her very first album. A sold-out stadium with fans singing every word. Y/N gave them everything she had because she always did. Then, the final song. The last note echoed through the stadium.

Confetti exploded. She bowed. "Thank you for coming tonight! Thank you for supporting me throughout my career, ever since I was a young teen until now. I'm so blessed and grateful to have fans like you. I love you all and good night!"

The crowd roared. She looked around with the biggest, most genuine grin and gave a final wave before disappearing behind the curtain.

Backstage erupted into cheers.

"You did amazing!"

"Last show!"

"We survived!"

Managers hugged each other. Dancers cheered. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne. Y/N laughed as people congratulated her. Then she saw him standing quietly in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie she'd stolen years ago and never given back. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Wonwoo?"

He smiled and waved.

She didn't think. She ran straight into him, hard enough that he stumbled back a step before catching her. "You idiot."

"Mm." He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"You said you were staying home."

"You are my home," Wonwoo said.

"That's too cheesy, even for you."

"There's a first for everything."

She buried her face against his neck. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I don't." Her voice cracked. She pulled away just enough to cup his face. "Your hair is shorter."

"Military things."

"I like it." She smiled. "But I missed your long hair."

"Me too."

She laughed through fresh tears. "I've cried enough over you."

"Sorry," Wonwoo said sheepishly.

"You better be." She kissed him before he could answer.

The crew, to their credit, became incredibly interested in literally everything else. The floor. The ceiling. A stack of road cases. One lighting technician suddenly discovered a deep passion for checking cables. Nobody interrupted.

-

The hotel room was unusually quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. Because after nearly two years apart, silence no longer felt empty. Y/N lay beside him, lazily tracing circles across his bare arm while the city lights spilled through the curtains. Somewhere below, traffic hummed, people laughed, and life carried on as if nothing monumental had happened. Wonwoo watched her for a long moment.

"What?" she asked, catching him staring.

"You still do that."

"Do what?"

He glanced down at her hand. "The circles."

She smiled. "It's very comforting, and I know you like it."

"True."

Another comfortable silence settled between them. Y/N shifted closer until her head rested against his shoulder. "I still can't believe you're here."

"I'm here." Wonwoo smiled, and kissed the top of her head.

"If this were a dream, I never want to wake up."

"I'd say 'don't', but," Wonwoo said. "I would never want to experience a time when you never wake up."

She looked up at him. "I fucking love you."

"That's intense." Wonwoo grinned. "I fucking love you, darling."

She laughed softly. Wonwoo brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything, my love."

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "There were days when training was so exhausting that I forgot to miss you."

She looked up.

"And there were days when," he smiled to himself. "I'd see coffee, or it would rain, or someone would say something stupid."

A tiny chuckle escaped her.

"And I'd think..." he paused. "'Y/N would've complained about the coffee.' or 'Y/N would've forgotten her umbrella.' or 'Y/N would've laughed at that.' I couldn't stop."

Her expression softened. "Wonwoo..."

"I was going crazy." Wonwoo shook his head as he laughed quietly. "The guys thought I was obsessed with you."

"You kind of are."

"I am." He nodded without shame. He reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "But I had nothing to do except think of you the whole time."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "I had maggots for brains, my love. I was like a zombie out there."

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Y/N laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully him. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "I know."

"You do?"

"I had that feeling, too."

He smiled. "You?"

She nodded. "I'd finish a show and immediately wonder what you would've thought. I'd see a bookstore and think about dragging you inside. I'd order room service and accidentally ask enough for two."

Her voice grew quieter. "I kept forgetting you weren't there."

Wonwoo closed the distance between them, resting his forehead aginst hers. "We're making up for lost time."

"We are."

"No more fan cams." Wonwoo said and she laughed.

"No more grainy livestreams." He added.

"No more letters." She said.

"I liked your letters." Wonwoo said.

"I liked yours better." She smiled.

"I only sent three."

She nodded. "And I re-read all three."

His heart skipped a beat. "You kept them?"

She looked at him as if the answer should've been obvious. "They're in my suitcase."

A beat.

"Your Polaroids are in my suitcase." Wonwoo said, then he laughed—a full, warm laugh she hadn't heard in far too long. "I guess we're both a little crazy."

"No." She cupped his face. "We're just in love."

He kissed her gently. This time, there was no departure gate waiting for them. No boarding call. No countdown. No wondering what city she'd wake up in tomorrow. Tomorrow, when the sun rose, he'd be there to see it with her.

BONUS

The hotel room was still half-asleep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains while the shower ran somewhere in the background. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone when Wonwoo's voice carried out from the bathroom.

"My phone's on the nightstand."

"Mhm?"

"Can you call Seungkwan for me?"

She blinked. "Seungkwan?"

"I promised them a video message."

Y/N grabbed his phone and marched towards the bathroom, not caring about him showering. Hey, they've been together for eight years. They've seen everything.

"Are you serious?"

Wonwoo glanced at her through the foggy glass of the shower. "Yes."

"Okay, okay." She laughed to herself. "What will I say?"

"Just... say hi or something. Oh, and Mingyu says hi. Vernon would also like a video message. Seungkwan is also your biggest fan and he's so bummed that he's not able to go to your show because he's in the military. He's always watching the reels of your surprise songs." Wonwoo said.

"Really? Well, I'll be sure to give them all a special pass when I have my concert in Korea."

"But you don't have a Korean stop."

"I do now." She chuckled before exiting the bathroom.

Meanwhile, back in Korea, it was nearly lights out. Seungkwan had just finished brushing his teeth when his phone lit up.

Wonwoo Hyung is calling...

His eyebrows shot up. "Wonwoo hyung is calling!"

Within seconds, the rest of the guys popped up from around the barracks.

"Put it on speaker!"

"No, it's a video!" Seungkwan said.

"Oh my god. Video?" Seokmin asked.

"Yah, answer it!" Jihoon said impatiently.

Seungkwan accepted the call. "Hyung!"

The screen flickered.

"Hi!"

Seven of them froze. Y/N waved cheerfully from the hotel room somewhere in London.

"So, um," she laughed awkwardly. "I know you guys asked for a video message, but I figured a video call would be more fun and interactive? Maybe even more memorable."

Silence. Complete utter silence. Behind Seungkwan, Mingyu slowly lowered the cup of instant noodles he'd been holding. Chan's jaw physically dropped. Vernon blinked once. Twice.

Soonyoung whispered, "No, way..."

Y/N tilted her head. "Anyway, Wonwoo's in the shower. He told me to call..." she glanced down at the phone. "Seungkwan?"

"That's me!" Seungkwan exclaimed. "I'm Seungkwan."

"Hi!" her face lit up.

Mingyu moved to the side, off-camera, and shouted, "Oh my god, it's actually her!"

Y/N burst into laughter. "You must be Mingyu."

His eyes widened and walked back in frame. "You know my name?"

"Wonwoo may have talked about you guys when he got here." She chuckled.

"So he wasn't lying." Chan said and Vernon nodded.

"So you're..." Soonyoung scratched the back of his neck. "his girlfriend?"

Y/N proudly nodded. "Yes. For eight years."

"Eight years?!" Jihoon shrieked.

She nodded and smiled sweetly. "In fact, it was our eighth anniversary yesterday, and he surprised me here in London."

"You guys are practically married at this point." Vernon said.

She laughed. "Yeah."

Mingyu covered his face with both hands. "We've been bullying Y/N's boyfriend for two years."

"You called him delusional," Jihoon reminded him.

"I know!"

Seungkwan suddenly remembered something. "Wait..." He pointed accusingly at the screen. "So all those times he said, 'she doesn't like black coffee', 'she changes the acoustic set when she's tired', 'she notices my comments'..."

"All true." She confirmed.

The bathroom door opened. Wonwoo stepped out wearing a bathrobe. He smiled and waved at the guys. "Morning."

Y/N turned the phone toward him. "They have questions."

Wonwoo looked at the seven dumbfounded faces on the screen. No one spoke. Finally, Mingyu sighed dramatically. "Hyung..."

"Mm?"

"I owe you the biggest apology of my life."

Wonwoo thought for a moment. "You do."

"So you're really together?" Soonyoung asked again.

"Very much together." Wonwoo nodded, putting on his glasses. "Eight years is no joke."

"I won't be getting that hug, then." Soonyoung said quietly.

"I can still hug you!" Y/N exclaimed. "Wonwoo's not the jealous type, and he's not immature. I really got lucky."

Wonwoo blushed, causing a round of teasing from the guys. Y/N looked completely amused. "I like you guys."

Seungkwan shook his head, "I can't believe we spent two years making fun of your boyfriend."

"Now you know it's real and he's not delusional." She smirked. "Oh, before we hang up, I want to say hi to Mingyu and I want to tell Vernon that I promise to make a video greeting right after."

"Can we all get one?" Seokmin asked shyly. She chuckled and nodded. "Sure."

"Oh, and Seungkwan?" She called.

"Yes?" Seungkwan smiled excitedly.

"I know you know all of my dance steps and Wonwoo may have told me in passing that you do TikTok challenges of my songs. I'll happily do a TikTok with you when I have my concert in Korea." Y/N smiled.

"But... you don't have a concert here. It's done." Seungkwan said.

"I'm Y/L/N Y/N, Seungkwannie. I can make it happen, and I'm giving you all special passes and seats." She smirked as the guys cheered. She glanced at Wonwoo and he only shook his head with a small smile on his face.

The call ended a few minutes later. One by one, the guys climbed back onto their bunks, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

No one spoke. No one really knew what to say. Finally, Mingyu broke the silence. "We've been calling Y/N's boyfriend delusional for two years!"

"We really have," Chan muttered. "I even laughed the loudest, for fuck's sake."

"So..." Seokmin said. "are we terrible people?"

Jihoon didn't even look up from his book. "A little."

"I apologized!" Mingyu pouted as he defended himself.

"After two years." Jihoon answered back.

"I still said I was sorry!" Mingyu frowned. "Doesn't that matter?"

Before anyone could tease him further, a buzz came from Seungkwan's phone. He looked down and his eyes widened.

"Guys..."

No one answered.

"Guys!" Seungkwan said a little louder.

"What?" Vernon said.

"She followed me on Instagram."

Six heads whipped towards him.

"What?" Soonyoung asked.

Seungkwan turned his phone around.

@yn started following you.

"No way..." Soonyoung's jaw dropped. His phone buzzed, too. He quickly checked. True enough, he received the same notification as Seungkwan. "Yah! She followed me, too!"

Chan looked down at his screen. @yn started following you.

Vernon frowned at his own notification. @yn started following you.

Soon, every phone in the barracks buzzed one after another. Mingyu stared at his screen like it had personally offended him. "She's real."

"She's not AI, Mingyu-ya." Jihoon retorted.

Seungkwan scrolled through Instagram and refreshed the app. Y/N posted a few seconds ago. He quickly gave it a like before swiping through the photos.

The first few photos were from the final show. The confetti. The crowd. The dancers.

He swiped again and stopped. It was a more intimate, yet private photo. It was Wonwoo on what he assumed was their date after the call.

Wonwoo was across Y/N, and his face was strategically hidden by the cup he was drinking from. To the rest of the world, that's how Wonwoo was shown on her profile for the past eight years. Always protected, but never hidden.

The caption read: the last concert day was a blast! now, I'll be spending my days with my man. happy 8th anniversary, my love. you're the best surprise I've ever gotten.

Seungkwan bit back a squeal. He was too happy. The other guys had seen the post, too.

"So Wonwoo hyung really wasn't crazy." Mingyu sighed.

"No," Chan smiled as he looked around the room. "He just has someone worth going crazy for."

a/n: i think we all got maggots for brains while wonu's away. pls pls pls lmk what u think of this one! gosh, i'm so nervous abt it. i hope you guys don't mind me switching it up for a bit xo

FIRST SIGHTING

A new cafe has opened down the street from your apartment, and everyone in your apartment building was raving about it. You, of course, have been way behind. You never really went out, and your job is to work from home. You only ever go out if your friends ask you, or when you need to go grocery shopping. Other than that, you were too busy in your own world.

It was safe to say that the new cafe everyone was raving about piqued your interest. Putting on your "I-Won't-See-Anyone-Today-Anyway" clothes, you walked to the quaint and famous cafe.

Upon entering, you can smell the coffee beans, vanilla syrup, and the sweet smell of cinnamon. The steaming wand made a noise as it aerated the milk, the oven hummed, the blenders roared, and the people were chatting.

Thankfully, there were only three people in line. You fell in line and scrolled through your phone until it was your turn. By the time you were next in line, you saw the most gorgeous man you've ever seen. Suddenly, you felt a little ridiculous, a little embarrassed that you wore your lazy clothes.

But his smile was so distracting.

"Hi! What can I get for you?" He asked with a smile on his face.

You snapped out of it and cleared your throat, "Um, I'll have whatever you recommend."

"Really? What if you won't like it?" He asked with a small smirk on his handsome features.

You were absolutely gone for this man whose name you don't even know. You quickly glanced at his nametag before smiling at him, "Lucky for you, Jun, I believe in handsome guys like you."

He grinned, "Can I get your name for the drink?"

"It's Y/N."

"Okay, Y/N. It's on the house." Jun winked.

HELP ME, I'M SPIRALING

Since that day at the cafe, you've been a loyal paying customer. Jun offered you drinks on the house, but you declined. After all, the first drink you had at that cafe, being on the house, was memorable enough.

Not that it meant anything, of course. It's just coffee, after all. It was just a kind gesture from a barista who happened to be very, very attractive.

That's all it was... right?

At least, that's what you told yourself every time your feet carried you down the street and through the cafe doors.

"C'mon, Y/N, have a little more decorum." You sighed to yourself as you shoved your hands in the pocket of your hoodie. "He's just a guy."

You were giving yourself a little pep talk as you walked. It would've worked, but you were on your way to the cafe to see Jun. Sighing to yourself once more, you pushed open the door.

"Hi, Y/N!" Jun greeted from the counter.

"Of course he's working today." You mentally groaned. You've been spiraling over Jun for weeks now, and it's not getting healthy. He was all you ever thought about. How his cologne lingered, how his smile would melt away your problems, how his eyes looked dreamy, how his lips—

"Y/N? You okay?" Jun asked, concerned. "I lost you for a minute. You're lucky the cafe's not busy."

"What?" You stared at him, distracted by how he styled his hair today.

Jun chuckled, "I said, you're lucky the cafe's not busy. It's just you."

"Just me?"

Jun nodded, "Just you."

Somehow, your delusional self thought it meant something deeper, but you digress.

"You keep zoning out on me, Y/N," Jun smirked. "Good thing I know your usual."

With him saying things like that, you couldn't help but be more down bad than ever. After all, it's not every day you encounter a cute guy who knows you so well.

Okay, well, maybe that's a bit of a stretch. He only knows your name, coffee order, and the book you're currently reading because you brought it with you when you stayed at the cafe one time.

A week passed, and you still had the same routine.

Coffee. Work. Jun.

(Un)fortunately for you, there was a little too much Jun in that routine. You saw him more than you saw your friends and family. You liked him, but you saw him way too much. It's bad for your heart, but very good for your eyes. You needed a break from him. Unbeknownst to you, your savior came in the form of a text message from Boo Seungkwan.

[my boo 🍊] party at mingyu's place tonight. you're coming [my boo 🍊] oh, and if you're not here within thirty minutes, i'm dragging your ass out of your dingy apartment!!

"Looks like I'm off to a party." You told yourself.

Seungkwan didn't text you any details, so you decided to dress in something a bit laidback, but still down for partying. Knowing Mingyu, his parties are full of people, party lights, a DJ, and endless drink options.

When you arrived, the party was in full swing. Everyone was drinking and dancing. Mingyu knew how to throw great parties, so you knew what you were in for, but what you did not expect was Jun.

You were either experiencing divine intervention or he's a fucking stalker. You kinda want to know, but you kinda don't. He's a man.

As if things don't get any worse, you heard your name being called... by two different people. You turned and saw Mingyu and Jun walking towards you. They looked at each other, and then at you.

"You two know each other?" Mingyu asked. Being surprised was an understatement.

Jun nodded casually, "Yeah, she's a regular at the cafe." He turned to you and smiled, "Small world, huh?"

Your heart did flips. If water were to make the Wicked Witch melt, Jun's smile was your water.

Quickly, you were joined by the rest of the group. It was then explained to you that you ran in the same circle. To quote Katy Perry, you were experiencing, "information overload, situation lost control. Send out an SOS".

"Jun and Minghao have been friends since, like, forever." Seungkwan scoffed before he sipped his drink. "Haven't you ever paid attention to Hao's Instagram? They're always bonding. Plus, he's in our group chat."

"Jun was at Joshua's birthday slash N.Y.E bash. He's the guy who crowd surfed 5 minutes before midnight." Chan said excitedly. "It was fucking AWESOME!"

"He practically lives in my house, Y/N. He might as well move in with me." Minghao said. "I don't want to be rude, but can you bother someone else? I'm busy DJing."

"Jun? Are you asking me how I know Jun?" Mingyu raised his brows and laughed. "Y/N, he helped me move into this place."

"Y/N, dear, Jun came with us on the camping trip last year," Joshua said softly. "Ugh, I know you must feel so terrible that you weren't able to go, but you were sick, hon... You had severe hives."

"Jun sends me cat videos and cat memes at three in the morning," Vernon said by the snack table. "Wait, why do you have his number?" You asked. Vernon looked at you like you had three heads, "Why wouldn't I? He's in our group chat."

"He gives the BEST birthday gifts." Seokmin grinned. "He got me that expensive air fryer that I've always wanted. He also got me an expensive, decorative plate from when he went home to China."

"He taught me how to use different editing software," Seungcheol said. "He has SKILLS??" You shrieked. Seungcheol gave you a look, "Well, yeah. He's a human being, not a brick. Go get a drink or something. You're freaking me out."

Jihoon was getting another beer when he said, "Jun usually accompanies me everywhere. Now, he's busy with his cafe, which I've yet to visit." Your eyes widened, "He owns the cafe??" Jihoon snickered, "You didn't know?"

"Junnie and I went on vacation in Chongqing," Jeonghan said with crossed arms. "Now, stop making a scene. Everyone thinks you're high or whatever."

What sent you over the edge were throwback photos from college. In almost every single one, Jun was there. He's always been. It was freaky. He's not just the "cute cafe guy" anymore. He's the "cute guy I didn't know was friends with my friends".

"I need to sit down." You said to Jeonghan.

"You should. You're very pale, hon." Jeonghan said as he guided you towards the couch.

"Joshua's vocabulary is rubbing off on you." You said, sitting down on the couch. Jeonghan chuckled, "You guys call us twins for a reason." Then, he walked away. As soon as he did, you turned and saw Jun.

"Oh, fuck."

"Hello again, Y/N."

YOU KISS ME, AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD

You stared at Jun. Jun stared back. You stared harder. Jun tilted his head, "...Are you okay?"

"Nope." You shook your head.

"Should I be worried?"

"Very."

Jun laughed. The sound did absolutely nothing good for your heart. Very unfortunate for you.

"You know, you've been looking at me weird all night," Jun said.

"You've been haunting me all night."

He paused. "...Haunting you? I'm not a ghost, am I?"

You rolled your eyes, "You know everyone." You vaguely gestured around Mingyu's apartment.

Jun blinked. He was confused. Was it bad that he knows everyone? He's definitely overthinking. "Yeah?"

"Apparently, you've always known everyone." You added.

Jun blinked again. He didn't get your point at all. Was it wrong? "You make it sound like I appeared in every major historical event." Jun chuckled.

"Well," You pursed your lips, "you kinda did."

Jun laughed. You were starting to think his laugh should be classified as a controlled substance.

The two of you ended up occupying Mingyu's couch the whole night. You weren't entirely sure why no one else bothered you the whole night, but you were so grateful. You had Jun all to yourself. You were beginning to become selfish.

One second, you were recovering from the revelation that Jun owned the cafe. Then, Jun was walking back to the couch with drinks for both of you. You thanked him as he sat down and handed you one.

"Okay," you said, taking a sip of your drink. "I have questions."

Jun raised a brow, "Questions?"

"So many questions."

"Should I be scared?" Jun chuckled, clearly amused.

"Probably."

It started innocently enough.

"How long have you known Minghao?" "Since we were kids."

"Did you actually crowd surf at Joshua's birthday slash N.Y.E bash?" "I was too drunk to remember, but according to Chan, yes."

"Why are you sending Vernon cat videos and cat memes at three in the morning?" "Because he's awake at three in the morning. Oh, I'd send some to Wonwoo, too, but he's usually busy with his games. So, Vernon, it is."

That was fair; annoyingly fair. The worst part wasn't learning new things about Jun. The worst part was liking every answer. Every story. Every joke. Every smile. Every stupid little thing. You even learned his full name, and you liked that, too.

You were learning that Wen Junhui wasn't just attractive. He was funny, kind, ridiculously easy to talk to, and that felt deeply unfair.

Eventually, Mingyu stole Jun away to help with something. You watched as he disappeared into the crowd. A feeling settled heavily in your chest. You hated it immediately because the night wasn't over. Not yet. You were aware that the night would end soon, and for some reason, you didn't want that. You wanted Jun all to yourself a little longer... Is "forever" a stretch?

A while later, you found yourself waiting in line for the bathroom. The line stretched halfway down the hallway, and you knew it was a sign that everyone was going home and that the party was over.

"This is ridiculous," you sighed.

"Tell me about it."

You froze. Of course, Jun was behind you. Apparently, the universe had decided you hadn't suffered enough.

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder. The line barely moved. You could hear music thumping through the walls. People talking. Laughing. Living their lives. Meanwhile, your entire focus was occupied by the man standing beside you, which felt dramatic, but unfortunately true.

"You've gotten quiet."

You looked up, and Jun was already looking at you. You pointed to yourself, "I've gotten quiet?"

"Mhm." Jun nodded.

"Jun, you've known me outside the cafe for, like, three hours." You chuckled.

"Okay, and?" Jun looked at you like there was nothing wrong.

"And I don't think that's enough time to establish a personality baseline." You said, crossing your arms.

Jun chuckled, "You're so funny. I said that you've gotten quiet because you always zone out when I talk."

"I do not."

"Oh, you absolutely do."

You hated that he was right.

"You know," Jun said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"When I first saw you at the cafe, I thought you hated me." He confessed. You nearly choked in disbelief. It was highly unlikely for you to hate him.

"What?!" You shrieked.

"Well, you kept staring and then looking away. I thought you were doing some kind of curse on me or something." Jun shrugged.

"I wasn't staring."

"You were."

"I'm certain I wasn't."

"You absolutely were," Jun smirked. "You even blushed at some point. Am I handsome, Y/Nie?"

You buried your face in your hands, "Oh my god."

Jun laughed again. It should be illegal.

Eventually, the line ended. The night continued, and somehow the two of you kept finding each other. In the kitchen. Near the drinks. By the balcony. Like magnets... or a curse. You hadn't decided which yet.

The party slowly began to thin out. People started leaving. The music got quieter. The energy softened. And suddenly, Jun was standing beside you again.

"Heading home?" He asked. Tired, you could only nod. He hummed, "Want me to walk with you?"

Your brain stopped functioning. Error 404: Y/N Not Found.

"What?"

"It's late," Jun shrugged. "I was heading that way, anyway."

Lies. Lies. Lies. Liza Minelli lies. You knew where he lived (near Minghao's). He was absolutely not heading that way, but you nodded before your common sense could intervene.

"Okay." You said, trying to act cool. He seemed to buy it because he could only smile and offer you his arm.

The walk home was surprisingly easy. No awkward silences. No pressure. Just conversation. Jun told you about a trip he'd taken years ago. You told him about a book you'd recently finished. He made you laugh. You made him laugh. The entire thing felt dangerously natural.

Before you knew it, your apartment building came into view. You genuinely wished it hadn't.

"Well, this is me." You said softly.

"Well, this is you," Jun said, nodding to himself.

Neither of you moved. Jun smiled. There it was again, the smile. The one responsible for at least seventy percent of your problems.

"I had fun tonight," Jun stated.

Your heart betrayed you immediately. You were sure that you were blushing, but if Jun noticed, he didn't say anything.

"I did, too," You smiled.

A beat passed. Then another.

"Get upstairs safe, okay?" Jun said. You nodded, "Okay."

"Good night, Y/N."

"Good night, Jun."

Jun started walking away, then paused. He turned around and walked back to where you were standing.

"Please tell me I'm not reading it wrong," Jun begged. "My heart's been doing flips all night. I'll go insane."

"Mine, too." You looked at him with a surprised look. "I'm, like, paranoid that I made you up. You're too good to be true, I swear."

Jun chuckled lightly, "I think we make a lot more sense than we should."

Fuck decorums.

"Just kiss me already." The words left your mouth before you could stop them. For a second, neither of you moved. Then, Jun laughed. Not because he was making fun of you, but because he couldn't believe you actually said it.

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

Your face immediately grew warm. "Please don't make me repeat myself."

His smile softened, "I wasn't going to."

"Good." You bit your lip.

Jun stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the tiny details you'd spent months noticing from across cafe counters. The curve of his smile. The way his eyes crinkled when he looked at you. The faint scent of his cologne that seemed permanently attached to him. Your heart did something deeply concerning.

One of his hands found your cheek. Gentle. Careful. Like he was still giving you a chance to change your mind. You didn't. Not even a little. When he finally kissed you, it felt strangely familiar. Not because it happened before. Because you'd imagined it far too many times.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. No music. No traffic. No overthinking. Just Jun. Just this. It felt like a scene from a movie that you'd watch forever.

After the long-awaited kiss, Jun pulled away and rested his forehead on yours. "You know I'm not letting you leave, right?" You said.

"I don't care. I'll stay for as long as you'll have me."

a/n: hope guys like the first installment of this series!! stay tuned for hoshi next :)))