cloud

Without further ado~

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The chill of the Seoul winter air hits you immediately as you step out of your apartment, sending a chill down your spine as you turn to lock the door. It’s your first winter in Korea, and while you’ve loved the moderate weather of the summer and fall, the winter chill alone is making you reconsider your choice to pack up and live here. Or maybe it would, if you hadn’t finally scored a job.

You smile lightly to yourself at the thought. You moved here 8 months ago, just toward the end of spring, wanting to get far away from your home country to start afresh. On an impulse, you packed up two suitcases, the most you could carry on your own, and booked a flight to Korea. You found a reasonably priced studio apartment during your first night at a hotel in Seoul, and with the small amount of money you had, you signed the lease the next day. It really all happened too fast for your own good. You were panicked—you didn’t really think ahead. For a month you stayed in your apartment with basically no money and no job, desperately studying Korean and looking for jobs. And for a while, your only source of comfort was your art.

You’ve always loved art. You grew up with nothing much to do except go to school, come home, and draw, not the type to stay around your parents too long. You always stayed away from them, in fact. That’s the reason you’re here in the first place. But regardless, drawing got you through it all. It was your first love, the first time you felt that you could forget about everything else and immerse yourself in a different world entirely. And even when your parents and teachers scolded you for doodling on your papers instead of doing your schoolwork, you continued. It was everything to you, why care about school? Not that you were a bad kid—you did everything you possibly could to make your parents and teachers happy. But you drew the line at abandoning your art, no pun intended.

As you got older, that passion carried into makeup. Considering your artistic background, it came as no surprise to you that you had a knack for makeup, and in that month trying your best to survive in Korea, that’s all you did. Makeup, different styles and different techniques, over and over, just to pass the time.

Mastering the Korean idol makeup style was easy. As was mastering pretty much any style, all around the world, you name it. But particularly, maybe because you now live in Korea, you loved the modern Korean idol makeup styles. Truthfully, you knew nothing about Kpop aside from the music you had heard in passing through the streets of Seoul. Your knowledge ended there. But that didn’t stop you from practicing and mastering the makeup, putting your own spin on it based on techniques you had learned from practicing other styles.

Regardless, you weren’t any less surprised when two women approached you during your weekly trip to the grocery store, speaking in rapid Korean and smiling excitedly, pointing to your face. With your limited knowledge of Korean, you managed to pick up a few things: “Your makeup—I like it!” Unsure of what to do, you smiled politely and thanked them, turning to leave. But they quickly shook their heads, stopping you and typing something into a translating app.

‘Are you a makeup artist?’

You shook your head and smiled awkwardly. “No, sorry.” You responded in what you hoped was an understandable Korean accent. They continued typing, seeming more excited now.

‘We work for a K-pop entertainment company called KQ Entertainment. We would like you to train with us and show the company your skills so we could hire you as a makeup artist.’

It seemed too good to be true. You accepted their business cards, typed back to them in whatever app they had that you would give them a call, and went home. It took you a while to confirm that the whole thing wasn’t a scam, but when you did, you were ecstatic. You had just received the opportunity of a lifetime.

The next few months went by fast. You were given what you compared to a scholarship—a free pass to attend a small class on makeup techniques. All for free under their eyes, you learned how to adjust different styles to different face shapes, how to do hair, learned what products to use on different skin types, how to utilize colors to make features pop. You studied Korean and were immersed enough in the language to be able to communicate effectively, which was a plus. You studied color theory, something you knew from experience but were interested to learn technically. And you had fun. So much fun. You didn’t think it could get any better, even if you weren’t getting paid.

But six months later, during an observation from one of the higher ups in the stylist and makeup department, it did get better. They complimented you on your hard work and your abilities, saying that your work was some of the best they had ever seen. And on the spot, they gave you a job offer to work at KQ Entertainment as a personal makeup artist for one of their boy groups, Ateez. It seemed too good to be true. You? Really? You accepted the offer without hesitation, thanking them profusely for their opportunity, and you were sent home. That was two weeks ago. In the meantime, you researched as much as you could about this group, Ateez.

You learned that there are eight members: Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong, Kang Yeosang, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Choi San, Jung Wooyoung, and Choi Jongho. And all eight of them are possibly the most stunning men you have ever laid our eyes on. The perfect canvases. You were giddy at the thought. Your job description noted that you would be the personal makeup artist for Jung Wooyoung and Choi Jongho, the two youngest members. Jung Wooyoung is an incredible dancer, apparently known to be more energetic and lighthearted in nature. He has the visuals of a black cat, incredibly elegant and colder in appearance, though his personality is anything but. Choi Jongho is the youngest member and the lead singer of the group, and his voice is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. You silently wished to yourself that you would get to hear him sing in person. He’s visually like a teddy bear, an adorable face with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. But it seems that his style is cool and simple, which you kept in mind.

Over the two weeks waiting for your paperwork to go through and finishing up interviews with their managers, you spent your time practicing. You drew models of their face shapes, testing out different styles on your drawing tablet and getting to know the curves and geometry of their faces while keeping in mind personal style and their group concept. All things considered, you would think that now, as you walk down the street in the freezing cold toward their makeup studio, that you would feel at least a little bit prepared.

False.

You’ve never been more nervous in your life.

While maybe you didn’t fangirl over the members like much of their fan base, this was your first proper job ever. Your Korean is nothing better than understandable at best, and while you’ve practiced with drawings, you’ve never actually done makeup on these two before. So even though what you’re doing today is nothing more than just a consultation with the two, you can’t stop the shaking in your hands, glad that you will be able to blame it on the cold. You need to do well today. Whether or not you really get the job depends on it.

No pressure.

It’s still dark out when you make it to the address the company sent you, an obscure studio in Seoul supposedly nearby to the Ateez dorms but still hidden from the public’s prying eyes. You check your phone. 6:45am. Perfect, 15 minutes early. You go to your contacts, calling Bae Hyerin, the agent you had been working with during this whole process.

“Good morning Hyerin-unnie! I’ve just arrived at the studio.” You call out into the phone, hoping your usually cheery tone overrides the shakiness in your voice.

“Ah, you’re early! One moment, I’ll let you in!” She hangs up, and you smile to yourself. Hyerin has been a lifeline since this whole ordeal began, possibly one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. She’s two years older than you, and even though you haven’t known her long, she’s helped you like an older sister, standing up for you when others undermined your abilities or made snarky comments about your Korean, and always praising you for your hard work. You can’t help but feel some of your nervousness dissipate when she greets you at the door with an excited smile.

“Y/N-ah! Welcome!” She says happily, gently pulling you inside. “It’s freezing out, please come in!”

You obey, familiarly holding her arm while she gives you a brief tour of the studio. There’s a large space inside past the entrance with two spaces—one with a couch, some seating, a small fridge, and a TV, presumably an area for the members to relax or sleep while they wait. But you’re more interested in the other side, a slightly smaller space with clean tile floors and four neat stations, three of which are clearly occupied with various products and tools. The fourth is completely empty, with nothing but the vanity, a chair, one staple hair tools, and a large lit mirror. You nearly drool at the sight. Assuming all goes well, this station would be all yours. Hyerin seems to notice, and she ruffles your hair lovingly with a laugh. She lets you set your large makeup bag on the empty vanity, getting a few things set up before they arrive for their consultation.

You blow hot air onto your freezing hands, relieved to finally have a bit of time to yourself to prepare. Unpacking a few things onto the vanity, you count once again to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Their respective foundations and concealers—check. Clean brushes for each of them—check. Palettes—check. Respective lip products—check. Everything is still unopened.

Phew.

Ater reassuring yourself that, yes, you brought all of their hair products too, you relax a bit, taking a seat on the couch in the other side of the studio. Now there’s nothing to do but wait.

——————

It’s still quiet in the Ateez dorms when Wooyoung begrudgingly wakes up to his alarm. 6:00am. Gross. He sighs and manages to get himself out of bed, cringing as the cold air hits his torso while he desperately searches for a hoodie. He struggles to get it on as he trudges over to find Jongho, knowing the younger member probably snoozed his alarm.

Entering his room, he smiles affectionately at the younger man still laying comfortable in bed, his squishy face pressed against the pillow and his blankets pulled all of way up to his chin. The serene moment is interrupted quickly, however, as Wooyoung climbs onto Jongho’s bed, effectively laying on top of him and wriggling around in an affectionate attempt to wake him up. Jongho groans and turns onto his back, sending Wooyoung rolling of to the other side of the bed. Puffing his lips out in a pout, Wooyoung shakes Jongho’s shoulders in another attempt to wake him up, making him grumble outa string of curses before opening his eyes. “What?” He asks, annoyed.

Wooyoung sighs. “We have to get ready to leave. Another makeup artist consultation.” Jongho reciprocates a sigh. Last month, the makeup artist responsible for taking care of the two men’s hair and makeup quit unexpectedly, leaving the company in a desperate search for somebody to fill the position. Over the last few weeks, Jongho and Wooyoung had to wake up early countless times in order to meet with potential candidates for consultations, the company wanting only the best for their prized members. Unfortunately for the two men, their company is picky. Jongho has lost count of how many artists they’ve consulted with over the last few weeks, and he’s tired of waking up earlier than everybody else everyday just to meet with another candidate that ultimately gets rejected. He has no doubt that today wont be any different.

Wooyoung seems to be thinking the same thing, because he nods sympathetically while he slides off of the younger members bed. “I know. But we have no other choice. Get up and get ready, we have to leave in 45 minutes. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a good candidate soon and we won’t have to do this shit anymore.”

Jongho sighs, but complies, forcing himself awake.

Now showered and clean shaven, the two men meet with their manager outside of the dorms, greeting him and climbing in the back of his car with less than eager expressions.

“Who’s the candidate this time?” Wooyoung asks, not doing much to hide the bitterness in his tone.

Manager-nim buckles up and starts the familiar drive to the makeup studio, looking at the tired men in his rear-view mirror with a sympathetic expression. “It’s somebody new, no experience. She’s foreign, moved here less than a year ago from what I gathered, so she speaks little Korean.”

The two men sigh, tired. Out of respect they say nothing, but their thoughts are clear. Why are we wasting our time doing this again? Manager-nim seems to take notice, and he adds quietly, “Hyerin-ssi recommended her.”

Jongho’s eyebrows raise slightly, though his face is still skeptical. Hyerin is known for being rather harsh when it comes to perfecting makeup—its part of what makes her such a good leader. So if she were to recommend somebody so unqualified to even consult with the members… she must see potential there. Still skeptical, the two opt for saying nothing.

Wooyoung nudges Jongho’s shoulder, waking the poor, tired boy as the car pulls into the lot of the studio. Wooyoung, deciding to be optimistic, smiles as he exits the car, hissing through his teeth at the cold but giggling regardless. No point in making yourself any more miserable, is there? Jongho couldn’t care less about looking towards the bright side of things. He’s tired, cold, and pissed off, and quite frankly he doesn’t want to be here. His face only prolongs Wooyoung’s fit of giggles.

Entering the studio, Bae Hyerin greets the three at the door, taking their coats.

“Good morning! Thank you two for coming in so early.”

Wooyoung nods, less grumpy now that he’s woken up a bit. “Of course! We’re excited~” It isn’t a complete lie, he justifies to himself. Jongho says nothing.

Hyerin isn’t blind to the air of annoyance eminating from the two youngest members, but she decides not to mention it. “I’m excited for you guys to meet her, too! She worked as a student under the studio for a few months, but honestly there wasn’t much we could teach her that she didn’t know already. She’s amazing.”

The two blink, a bit surprised. It’s the first time they’ve ever heard Hyerin speak so highly about anybody. Wooyoung smiles, looking forward to this visit a little more now. “What’s her name?”

Hyerin smiles fondly. “Y/N. She’s foreign, but I’ve had no difficulty communicating with her. She’s really cute, I hope you guys like her. I sincerely want her on our team.”

Wooyoung laughs softly, a bit entertained by how fondly their usually strict coworker is speaking about this new candidate. “Are you sure you don’t just have a crush on her?” He asks teasingly, making Hyerin roll her eyes and playfully smack his shoulder.

”Hush.”

Jongho opens his mouth to speak, but is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a new voice calling out from the doorway.

“Unnie, I’m sorry but is there any water I can- …uhm…” You blink with your wide doe eyes as you meet the gaze of two stunning men standing in the entrance speaking with Hyerin, confused. Hyerin turns around and smiles sweetly at you, walking over and gently pulling you toward the two men. Unable to do anything else, you let her.

“Good timing, Y/N, our members just got here! Wooyoung, Jongho, this is Y/N, the makeup artist you will be consulting with today.”

——————

A bit flustered to be meeting them so unexpectedly, you just blink for a second with your pretty, flustered eyes, before remembering yourself. You bow deeply.

“I’m sorry, you surprised me. My name’s Y/N, I’ll be taking care of you two today.”

Wooyoung giggles softly, finding the whole situation rather endearing, and Jongho can’t help himself as he, too, smiles at the scene. You’re nothing short of adorable, with deer-like features and a welcoming closed-lipped smile. Your hair falls short around your shoulders, fluffy as it frames your face, though it doesn’t appear to be particularly styled. Your face is adorned in a subtle, natural makeup, not appearing to be much more than a simply base, natural eye makeup, and some pretty pink lip gloss, but Jongho notes to himself that it suits your face perfectly. Your outfit is also simple, a cream colored, tight-fit turtleneck sweater tucked into light-wash baggy jeans topped off with a simple brown leather belt. Nothing about your appearance is necessarily astounding, but your girl-nextdoor vibe leaves the two finding themselves admiring how pretty you are.

Nervous as you feel their eyes on you, you instinctively reach to hold Hyerin’s hand, making Wooyoung press his lips tight together in an attempt to suppress his sudden cuteness aggression. Jongho smiles after only a few seconds since your introduction, bowing in return. “Good morning, Y/N, my name is Jongho Choi.” He responds in English. You blush from the cute gesture, giggling in slight surprise. Picking up on it, Wooyoung does the same. “I’m Jung Wooyung. Or… Wooyoung Jung. Nice to meet you!”

You laugh softly, giving the two the opportunity to admire your smile, which they find equally as endearing as the rest of you. “Nice to meet you too. Jongho, Wooyoung.” You nod in each of their directions, making them laugh. You feel Hyerin squeeze your hand happily, and you return the squeeze. “Which of you would like to work with me first? I can give you two some time to relax before we start while I get set up. I know it’s early.” You say politely, this time in Korean. You take your time with each sentence, wanting to pronounce everything correctly.

“Me first!” Wooyoung replies eagerly, interrupting Jongho snaps his head to look at Wooyoung in protest. Wooyoung shut him down quickly, stating simply, “I’m older.”

You laugh lightheartedly, enjoying the scene. “Alright then, Wooyoung-ssi first. I’ll give you a few minutes to eat something and get settled in while I set up, yeah? Just let me know whenever you’re ready.” Both men nod and thank you politely as you turn to leave, silent for a moment.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Wooyoung whispers excitedly, laughing in spite of himself. “She is cute!’

Hyerin laughs. “I know, right?”

——————

You hum to yourself as you get Wooyoung’s makeup ready on the vacant vanity, looking over your drawings one more time for good measure while Wooyoung and Jongho laugh over a small breakfast in the other room. Convincing yourself that you know his daily makeup by heart, you turn to rehearsing different hairstyles in your head, knowing it’s your weak spot. Wooyoung usually uses this mouse… or was it the other one? No, he likes the coconut one, right. And he recently got his hair bleached, so use an extra strength heat protectant for good measure. You jump as Wooyoung suddenly appears behind you, tapping your shoulder with a bottle of water. You wince as your jaw clamps down and you bite the inside of your cheek, but smile as you turn around.

“You okay?” Wooyoung laughs, sorry to have scared you. “Here, you were asking for water earlier.”

“Ah, thank you!” You feel a bit relieved, suddenly remembering how dry your mouth is. “Sorry, I was in my own world for a moment. Ready?”

Wooyoung nods, and you smile up at him, pulling the chair out for him and gesturing for him to take a seat. He obliges, sitting down and letting you drape a light cape over his front to protect his clothes. You pump the chair up a few inches, steeling yourself with a few breaths. God, I’m dramatic. You think, exhaling in slight annoyance at how nervous you are. It’s really not that serious.

“Any specific styles you want for today?” You ask, unable to bear staying alone with your thoughts any longer.

Wooyoung thinks, blinking. “Mmm… cool… sexy style.” He replies with a hint of bravado, making you smile. He lifts his hands, pushing one side of his hair back. ”Maybe half slicked back hair like vintage American TV actors, you know? And for makeup just… simple. Handsome..”

You nod, relieved to know exactly the style he’s referring to. You smile, and, unable to handle feeling awkward, you mock a salute. “Aye aye, captain.”

Wooyoung laughs, his eyes a bit surprised, but he quickly shakes his head through fits of giggles. “No, I’m not the captain! That title is only for Hongjoong-hyung.”

You blink, a bit confused for a moment. Hongjoong. As in Kim Hongjoong, the leader of Ateez? Probably. Thank goodness you did at least a little research. “Ah, your leader is the captain? Apologies.” You reply smoothly, your doe eyes sparkling with humor.

Wooyoung nods, clasping his hands in his lap and smiling with intrigue. “Do you know anything about Ateez?” He asks, watching as you squeeze some sun cream onto the back of your hand.

You laugh awkwardly. “Only what I researched when I found out I would be consulting with you two today.” You admit, gently applying some of the sun cream onto his face with the pad of your ring finger. “Eight handsome members with a pirate concept working hard to bring badass stages all around the world.” You say simply, summing up what you know.

Wooyoung laughs, endeared by your description. “You think we’re handsome?” He finds himself asking, wanting to tease you.

You nod, humming affirmatively without hesitation as you blend the cream on his face. You make brief eye contact and smile cheekily before refocusing on his makeup, making him blush.

Well, that backfired, he thinks, cursing himself internally for his failed attempt at flustering you. “How old are you?” He asks suddenly, almost without thinking.

You smile. “I was born 1999.”

He blinks, suddenly excited. “Oh, we’re the same age! Shall we drop the honorifics?”

You meet eyes with him, equally surprised, before nodding eagerly. “Ah, I would like that.”

Conversation comes easy with Wooyoung from that moment onward, as you introduce yourselves and get more comfortable with joking around. Jongho observes with slight surprise from the lounge portion of the large space, taking note of every laugh and blush from Wooyoung at your occasional remarks. He smirks, capturing a picture of the moment and sending it in the Ateez group chat, wanting to tease his hyung. But as he looks closer at the photo, he gasps slightly, catching a glimpse of his completed makeup while you finish up his hair. It’s nothing special, just what appears to Wooyoung’s normal, daily makeup. But something about the harmony of his features looked different… it was the closest thing to perfection he’d ever seen. He looks up from his phone, squinting to try and see him from across the room as if to confirm what he’s seeing. Unfortunately for him, you turn the chair around almost as soon as he does so, done with Wooyoung’s hair and eagerly showing him the finished look in the mirror.

Wooyoung’s reaction is equally as surprised.

He gasps as he sees the job you’ve done, taken aback as he leans forward to look closer at his makeup. The base is so flawless it may as well be his skin, and he reaches up to poke his cheek as if to make sure it isn’t a filter. His eye makeup is minimal, but the product is placed perfectly to accentuate the sharpness of his eyes rather than change the shape, something makeup artists have done commonly in the past. His lips are done in a perfect color for his skin tone, with gloss placed subtly in places where it can only be seen when the light hits it at certain angles, sculpting his plump lips beautifully. Even his nose, one of his proudest features, is perfectly carved out, again accentuating the feature just enough for it to harmonize with everything else. It’s shocking, frankly.

You knot your hands together, fidgeting nervously. Mistakenly taking his silence for dissatisfaction, you bite the inside of your cheek and shuffle on your feet.] “Ah.. is there anything you would like me to change…?” You ask tentatively, worried you might cry if he doesn’t say something soon. He seems to notice, because he pries his eyes away from the mirror and turns to face you, excitedly grasping your hands.

“No… this is amazing. How did you even do this?” He asks, no sign of his usual teasing smile on his face—only sincere shock.

You blush, suddenly looking away, feeling shy and…relieved. “Ah, really? I’m glad you like it.” You say quietly, hoping he can’t feel the nervous tremble of your hands. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

He lets go, turning back to look at the makeup in the mirror again. “Jongho-yah, come here. Look.”

Jongho stands up, also eager to get a closer look. He gasps in the same way as Wooyoung, gripping Wooyoung’s chin and tilting his head side to side in admiration. “Handsome…”

Wooyoung nods, meeting Jongho’s gaze with wide eyes as he communicates silently what he’s thinking. Jongho’s eyes say the same thing.

You clear your throat nervously, checking the time. “I’m sorry, if you don’t mind, can I get started with Jongho-ssi? We only have 45 minutes before you have to leave to get ready for your next schedule.”

“Ah, sorry.” Wooyoung says, removing his cape and handing it to Jongho while he swaps positions with the younger man. “Go ahead~”

You nod in thanks, and get to work with Jongho, starting the process all over again.

By the time you’ve finished up with his makeup, turning him around to style his hair, he’s already as energetic as Wooyoung, laughing at almost every silly remark you make and rebutting with ease. Wooyoung notices, noting to himself how easily you manage to adjust to different member’s humor. For reasons unbeknownst to him, that thought makes his cheeks feel warm. You speak comfortably as you style his hair, this styling a bit cuter than Wooyoung’s, per Jongho’s request. It doesn’t take long before you’re done with his hair as well, and you gently pat his shoulder before turning the chair around so he can see the final result.

The two men’s reactions are no different this time. Again, his features are balanced perfectly, with lips a perfect shade of pink, super soft nose contour, and puppy eyes accentuated with bits of subtle sparkles Jongho has never worn before, though he can’t help but like them. It’s perfect.

Wooyoung is quick to run over and admire the work as well, unable to close his jaw as he looks it over. “Jongho-yah, I don’t think you’ve ever looked so good.” He says, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You shake your head, laughing. “His bare face is my favorite. Both of you are perfect canvases to work on, seriously. So handsome. All I do is make that handsomeness pop for the cameras.” You explain, wiping excess makeup off your hands with a wet wipe. “But I’m glad you both like it.”

Both of them blush, unable to say anything in response as you excuse yourself to go wash your hands, struggling with just the wipes. Now along, the boys can finally speak in private.

“Hyung…” Jongho says softly, his voice carrying a tone Wooyoung’s maybe heard only once or twice before. “She’s perfect, seriously.”

Wooyoung nods, agreeing with a hushed, but still undeniably excited tone. “And also she’s so-“

“Cute, right?” Hyerin interjects, walking in the room. The two nods unashamedly. Hyerin steps closer, admiring your work on their faces. “Perfect, as usual. To think she was so nervous she would mess up today…” She shakes her head, smiling proudly as you return. You chirp happily at seeing her and rush over, quick to hug her arm.

“You did a good job, Y/N. You managed to make these two sleepy fools look like idols.” She praises sweetly, making Jongho scoff playfully.

You laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Thank you, Unnie. I’m glad you like it.” You turn as you hear the chime of the front door’s bell, presumably their manager re-enter the building to pick the two members up. You let Hyerin go so she can bring them in, and you’re surprised to see a few new faces instead of their manager. Hyerin clears her throat.

“Y/N, these are the people I was telling you about that would observe your work. No need to be nervous, they’re just going to talk with the members for a bit and make some final decisions.” She winks, but your shoulders still tense slightly at her unspoken words.

They’re going to determine whether or not you get the job.

You feel a sudden poke on your hip and look down to see Jongho smiling. You let out a breath at his sweet thumbs up, smiling slightly in return and bowing your head in silent thanks.

“Y/N, why don’t you go ahead and head out for the day? You did well.” Hyerin interjects, her face sympathetic. You nod, quickly moving to clean up the vanity and pack everything back into your compactable makeup bag. You give a quick bow to Wooyoung and Jongho, grinning sweetly before turning around, quick to leave the building.

Wooyoung and Jongho look at each other and smile, silently crossing their fingers while their hair and makeup is being observed.

They like you.

…

Yeah, they like you a lot.

This fic belongs to @frflyavenue and nobody else—please do not steal this work or any other works by this author <3

She sighed. "Another one."

Her roommate poked her head into the kitchen with a bowl of cereal balanced in one hand. "Who's getting married this time?"

"My cousin, Emma."

"The one that taught us how to make cocktails at Christmas?"

"No. The other one."

"You have another Emma?"

"No, another cousin."

"Oh."

There was a brief pause before her roommate pointed at the envelope. "You're making that face again."

"What face?"

"The one that says you'd rather eat drywall than attend whatever is inside that envelope."

Y/N dropped her forehead onto the cool countertop. "It isn't the wedding."

"No?"

"I actually like weddings."

"So what's the problem?"

"The people."

"The bride and groom?"

"My family."

Her roommate nodded immediately. "Ah."

That single syllable carried enough understanding that Y/N almost laughed. "You know exactly what I mean."

"I do."

Every wedding followed the same pattern.

The ceremony would be beautiful.

The food would be good.

Someone would cry during the speeches. Children would run around covered in cake. Then, somewhere between dinner and dessert, an aunt she barely saw outside of family gatherings would appear with the smile.

"So," they would begin casually, "are you seeing anyone?"

If she answered no, they would exchange sympathetic looks as though she had just announced a terminal illness.

Then came the suggestions.

Have you tried dating apps?

My coworker's son is lovely.

You're too picky.

Maybe you should give Daniel another chance.

Daniel.

Just hearing his name made her eye twitch.

Daniel, who had somehow managed to cheat on her while also insisting he was "technically loyal." Daniel, who had cried harder over losing his gaming account than losing their three year relationship. Daniel, whom half her family still adored because he always remembered birthdays and helped carry groceries.

Apparently infidelity became much easier to overlook when the offender complimented Grandma's potato salad.

Her roommate leaned against the fridge. "You're thinking about him."

"I'm thinking about prison."

"For Daniel?"

"For whichever aunt mentions him first."

"Fair."

Y/N picked up the invitation and read it again.

Emma and Lucas request the pleasure of your company...

She genuinely wanted to celebrate with her cousin. She just wished the celebration didn't include being interrogated about her love life by every relative over forty-five.

"I should fake food poisoning."

"You used that excuse last Easter."

"I'll fake appendicitis."

"You still have the scar from when yours was actually removed."

"...Right."

"You could just tell them to mind their own business."

Y/N looked at her. "They're my family."

"So?"

"You've never met Aunt Sabine."

"No."

"She once cornered me in the bathroom to explain why women should marry before thirty because apparently our eggs start filing for retirement."

Her roommate blinked. "...Seriously?"

"I wish I were joking."

The silence that followed was interrupted by Y/N's phone buzzing.

A new message appeared.

Hongjoong: Friday. Drinks. Everyone's coming.

She smiled despite herself.

Finally. Something to look forward to that didn't involve uncomfortable conversations about her nonexistent boyfriend.

Friday evenings at Woosan's had become something of a tradition.

The small bar tucked away on a quiet street wasn't particularly fancy, but it had warm lighting, good music, and the kind of atmosphere that encouraged people to stay long after they had finished their drinks.

San stood behind the counter polishing glasses while Wooyoung loudly argued with a customer over whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

"It absolutely does," Wooyoung declared.

"It absolutely doesn't," the customer shot back.

San sighed. "I'm surrounded by children."

Hongjoong looked up from his menu as Y/N slid into the booth beside him.

"Perfect timing."

"For what?"

He pointed toward the argument. "They've been at this for seven minutes."

"Eight," Yeosang corrected without looking up from his phone.

Wooyoung noticed her then. "You."

She frowned. "Me?"

"Settle this."

"I refuse."

"Pineapple on pizza."

She didn't even hesitate. "It belongs."

Wooyoung gasped dramatically before pointing at the customer. "See? Vindication."

The poor man looked betrayed. "I thought she'd be reasonable."

"I am reasonable."

"No sane person likes warm pineapple."

She shrugged. "I also dip fries in milkshakes."

Wooyoung clutched his chest. "I've never felt more understood."

Laughter spread around the table.

It felt good.

Exactly what she needed after another exhausting week at work.

"So," Mingi asked once everyone had drinks, "what's new?"

Y/N took one sip before groaning.

"I got another wedding invitation."

The entire table immediately winced in sympathy.

Hongjoong nodded. "My condolences."

"It's one wedding."

"It never is."

She pointed at him. "Exactly."

He knew. They all knew.

Because every single time she returned from a family wedding she arrived with at least three new stories that sounded too ridiculous to be true.

"They're going to ask again?" San asked.

"When do they not?"

Wooyoung tilted his head. "About Daniel?"

She made a face. "Especially about Daniel."

"What is wrong with your family?"

"They liked him."

"He cheated."

"I know."

"On multiple occasions."

"I know."

"He literally flirted with another woman at your birthday dinner."

"I was there, Woo."

"And they still want you two together?"

She lifted her hands helplessly. "My grandmother keeps saying everyone deserves a second chance."

"What about a third?"

"Apparently those too."

Yeosang snorted into his drink.

Wooyoung looked genuinely horrified. "I've never even met this guy properly and I already dislike him."

Hongjoong leaned back. "So what's the strategy this time?"

"I smile."

"Mhm."

"I dodge questions."

"Classic."

"I escape to the bathroom every twenty minutes."

"A fan favorite."

"And then I drive home emotionally exhausted."

Wooyoung frowned. "That sounds terrible."

"It is."

She laughed, but there was something tired about it.

She was only twenty-seven.

She had a job she loved.

Wonderful friends.

A cozy apartment.

She wasn't unhappy.

Yet somehow every family gathering made her feel like she'd failed some invisible exam because she happened to be single.

"I just wish," she admitted quietly, "they'd stop acting like being alone means something is wrong with me."

The table fell silent.

San reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "There isn't."

"Obviously," Mingi agreed.

"You know that," Hongjoong added.

"I do."

She really did. Most days.

It was just difficult to keep believing it after hearing the same comments over and over again.

A few seconds passed before Wooyoung suddenly snapped his fingers. "I have an idea."

Hongjoong immediately groaned. "That's never good."

"I resent that."

"You should."

Wooyoung ignored him completely. "You need a boyfriend."

The table burst into laughter.

"Brilliant," Y/N deadpanned. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"A fake one."

She blinked. "...What?"

"I mean it."

"What?."

"You should."

Hongjoong slowly looked at Wooyoung. "...Didn't you actually do that once?"

Wooyoung froze. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Hongjoong grinned.

Mingi's eyes widened. "Wait."

San started laughing before anyone had even explained. "No way."

Y/N looked between them.

"What am I missing?"

Hongjoong rested his elbows on the table. "Tell her."

"There is nothing to tell."

"There absolutely is."

Yeosang finally looked up from his phone.

"You might as well. They're not letting this go."

Wooyoung sighed the sigh of a man about to have his embarrassing past exposed.

"...University was expensive."

Everyone waited.

"My acting major wasn't exactly paying for itself. Thats why I also changed to marketing." He muttered the last part.

"And?"

"And someone asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend for a family reunion."

Y/N stared. "You what?"

"It paid five hundred thousand won."

Her mouth fell open. "For one day?"

He nodded. "I was a broke student."

Hongjoong grinned. "So naturally he kept doing it."

"I had rent!"

"How many fake girlfriends did you have?" Mingi asked.

Wooyoung looked almost offended. "I was very selective."

"That's not an answer."

"...Seven."

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. "Seven?"

"Spread over four years!"

San was laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

"It wasn't weird," Wooyoung defended.

"I had contracts."

"You had contracts?"

"I am a professional."

That only made everyone laugh harder.

Y/N looked at him in complete disbelief. "You seriously pretended to date people?"

"I was excellent at it."

"You actually got paid?"

"I even had repeat clients."

She covered her face. "I cannot believe this."

"It funded my degree." He sounded absurdly proud of himself.

"And," Hongjoong added with a smirk, "he was apparently terrifyingly convincing."

Wooyoung straightened in his seat. "I researched family trees."

Y/N laughed. "You researched what?"

"I memorized relatives, anniversaries, favorite foods. I even learned how to ballroom dance because one client's grandmother loved dancing."

The entire table stared at him. "What?"

"It improved customer satisfaction."

Y/N couldn't stop laughing. "You're insane."

"Maybe."

He shrugged before taking another sip of his drink.

"But your family would never mention Daniel again."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Sure."

"I'm serious."

Their eyes met across the table.

For the first time that evening, Wooyoung wasn't joking.

"I'm serious," he repeated. "If it'll get your family off your back, I'll come with you."

The laughter around the table slowly faded.

Y/N searched his face for the punchline.

It never came.

The offer should have sounded ridiculous.

Instead, it refused to leave her mind.

Y/N spent the entire weekend replaying the conversation in her head while simultaneously trying to convince herself that it had been a joke.

Surely it had been.

Wooyoung joked about everything.

He joked when he was happy.

He joked when he was annoyed.

He had once convinced an entire café that he was allergic to Tuesdays simply because the barista had asked how his week was going.

There was no way he had been serious.

„…Right?“ she muttered to herself.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

Wooyoung: Morning.

Another message appeared almost immediately.

Wooyoung: Have you decided?

She frowned.

You: Decided what?

The typing bubble appeared.

Wooyoung: Whether you’re letting me save you from your aunt.

She stared at the screen.

So… he had been serious.

A smile tugged at her lips before she quickly suppressed it.

You: Woo, I’m not making you spend your Saturday pretending to be my boyfriend.

His reply came within seconds.

Wooyoung: Why not?

You: Because it’s weird.

Wooyoung: I used to get paid for weirder.

She laughed out loud in the middle of the office.

A few heads turned in her direction.

She cleared her throat and looked back at her monitor.

You: I’m serious.

Wooyoung: Me too.

Another message.

Wooyoung: Besides, you helped me move.

She rolled her eyes.

You: You have to stop bringing that up.

Wooyoung: Never. You carried three boxes. Heavy boxes.

You: They contained pillows.

Wooyoung: Really heavy pillows

She bit back another laugh.

How was he this impossible through text?

After a moment she typed again.

You: I still couldn’t ask you to do that.

There was a longer pause this time.

When his answer came, it was surprisingly simple.

Wooyoung: You’re not asking. I’m offering.

That should have made saying no easier.

Instead, it somehow made it harder.

Wednesday evening found her standing in front of Hongjoong’s apartment with two grocery bags digging into her fingers.

Movie night.

A tradition that mostly consisted of everyone claiming they were going to watch a film before talking over it for three hours.

She barely had time to knock before Mingi opened the door. „You’re late.“

„I am three minutes late.“

„We were worried.“

„No, you weren’t.“

„We finished the chips.“

„…Now I understand the emergency.“

Laughter echoed from the living room.

She slipped off her shoes and walked inside.

San and Yeosang were arguing over which blanket belonged to whom.

Hongjoong was trying to untangle an HDMI cable.

Wooyoung looked up from the couch. „Hey.“

„Hi.“

It felt strangely… awkward.

Not because anything had happened.

Because now she knew he was apparently willing to accompany her to a family wedding.

He patted the empty seat beside him.

She hesitated for exactly one second before sitting down.

„You ignored my last message,“ he whispered.

„I was working.“

„You left me on read.“

„I was working.“

„You wounded me.“

She snorted. „You’ll survive.“

„I don’t know. It still hurts.“

He pressed a dramatic hand against his heart.

She elbowed him. „Oh.“

He looked delighted. „Physical violence already? That’s believable.“

„What?“

„If we’re pretending to date, you’ve already mastered the ‚annoyed girlfriend‘ part.“

She rolled her eyes. „We’re not pretending anything.“

„So that’s a yes?“

„No.“

„So… maybe?“

„No.“

„Hm.“

He nodded thoughtfully. „I hear uncertainty.“

„I hear selective hearing.“

Halfway through the movie, which absolutely nobody was paying attention to, Hongjoong muted the television.

„I have a question.“

„No,“ Wooyoung answered immediately.

„I haven’t asked it.“

„It’s probably about me.“

„It is.“

Wooyoung groaned.

Hongjoong looked at Y/N.

„So…“

She immediately knew where this was going.

„No.“

„You don’t even know the question.“

„I do.“

„You probably do.“

Mingi grinned. „I think she should let Woo do it.“

„Traitor,“ she muttered.

San nodded. „I agree.“

„You all agree?“

Yeosang looked up from his phone. „I mostly just want to watch him meet your family.“

Everyone laughed.

„It would be entertaining.“

„It would be a disaster.“

„It would be both,“ Hongjoong corrected.

Wooyoung folded his arms. „I’d do great.“

„You’d get us caught in five minutes.“

„I would not.“

„You don’t even know my birthday.“

He answered without missing a beat. „September seventeenth.“

Her mouth fell open. „…How do you know that?“

„You posted birthday cake pictures.“

„You remember that?“

„I remember everything.“

Hongjoong slowly pointed at him. „See? That’s what I’m talking about.“

Wooyoung shrugged. „I pay attention.“

Y/N looked at him for a moment longer than she meant to.

He wasn’t showing off.

He genuinely remembered little things about people.

She thought back to the countless times he had shown up to game nights with everyone’s favorite snacks.

The way he always asked San about his parents.

The fact that he somehow knew Mingi’s coffee order despite never drinking coffee himself.

Maybe that was why everyone liked him so quickly.

He made people feel seen.

„…Stop looking at me like that,“ Wooyoung said.

„Like what?“

„Like you’re realizing I’m secretly wonderful.“

She burst out laughing.

„There it is again.“

„There what is?“

„Your annoying ego.“

„My ego is perfectly reasonable.“

„It barely fits through doors.“

„It has excellent posture.“

By the end of the evening, everyone had somehow migrated into the kitchen.

Hongjoong was washing dishes.

San dried them.

Mingi had been banned from helping after dropping a glass.

Wooyoung leaned against the counter eating grapes directly from the bowl.

Without thinking, Y/N reached for one at the exact same time.

Their fingers bumped.

She looked up.

He looked down.

For half a second neither of them moved.

Then Wooyoung smiled. „You can have it.“

„It’s your grape.“

„I’ve got more.“

He placed it in her hand with exaggerated care.

„There.“

„So generous.“

„I know.“

She popped it into her mouth.

„…It was sour.“

His face lit up. „Oh, that’s hilarious.“

„You knew?“

„I absolutely did.“

„You gave me the bad grape!“

„I sacrificed it for science.“

She laughed despite herself and shoved his shoulder.

He stumbled dramatically into the counter. „I’ve been attacked!“

„No jury would convict me.“

„I was only trying to feed you.“

„You poisoned me.“

„It was one grape.“

„It betrayed me.“

Their bickering continued all the way back into the living room, drawing increasingly amused looks from the others.

Hongjoong watched them disappear down the hallway before quietly nudging San.

„…How long do you think it’ll take?“

San smiled to himself. „They’re hopeless.“

Neither Y/N nor Wooyoung heard him.

They were still arguing over whether a sour grape counted as an act of friendship or attempted murder. Neither of them noticed how naturally they walked side by side. Neither of them noticed that, without thinking, Wooyoung slowed his pace to match hers.

And neither of them realized that everyone else in the apartment had already started treating the fake relationship like it was only a matter of time.

The first thing Y/N saw Monday morning was the wedding invitation pinned beneath a magnet on her refrigerator.

The second thing she saw was her own reflection in the microwave, looking as thrilled as someone about to attend a tax seminar.

She sighed. „You’re being dramatic.“

Her reflection offered no counterargument.

The invitation had been sitting there for over a week now, mocking her every time she walked into the kitchen.

Emma and Lucas.

Saturday, four o’clock.

Formal attire.

Plus one invited.

That last line felt almost personal.

She poured herself a cup of coffee, hoping caffeine would somehow produce a solution that didn’t involve spending the entire reception hiding from her extended family.

It didn’t.

Instead, her mind wandered back to Friday.

I’ll come with you.

Wooyoung had said it so casually.

Like he had offered to help carry groceries.

Not pretend to be her boyfriend in front of nearly a hundred strangers.

Well, family.

Which, in her opinion, was somehow worse.

Her phone buzzed against the counter.

As if summoned by her thoughts.

Wooyoung: Morning.

She smiled despite herself.

You: Morning.

Wooyoung: Have you made your decision yet?

She stared at the message for several seconds before typing.

You: No.

His reply came almost instantly.

Wooyoung: Need a PowerPoint presentation?

You: You’d make one?

Wooyoung: Already started.

She laughed.

You: You’re kidding.

Wooyoung: Slide 12 has statistics.

You: Statistics about what?

Wooyoung: How much less annoying weddings become when I’m there.

You: That sounds made up.

Wooyoung: It is.

Another message followed.

Wooyoung: But the charts are beautiful.

She shook her head, smiling into her coffee.

He was unbelievable.

By lunchtime, she’d managed to convince herself that saying no was the responsible thing to do.

By three in the afternoon, her mother had called.

„Hi, sweetheart!“

„Hi, Mom.“

„Did Emma tell you where you’re sitting?“

„No?“

„Oh! You’re at Table Six.“

„Okay.“

„With your Aunt Sabine.“

Y/N closed her eyes.

„…Wonderful.“

„And your Uncle Michael.“

„Mhm.“

„And Daniel’s parents.“

Silence.

„…Mom.“

„What?“

„Why?“

„They’re close with Emma’s family.“

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

„Please tell me Daniel isn’t coming.“

„I don’t think so.“

„You don’t think so?“

„I haven’t seen the seating chart.“

„Mom.“

„I’m sure it’ll be fine.“

Famous last words.

Her mother hesitated before speaking again.

„So…“

There it was.

She knew that tone.

„What?“

„Will you be bringing anyone?“

Y/N looked out the office window.

„No.“

„Oh.“

Just one syllable.

Not disappointed.

Not judgmental.

Just… hopeful.

Which somehow made it worse.

„You know,“ her mother continued carefully, „your grandmother keeps asking.“

„I know.“

„I told her to leave you alone.“

„I know.“

„But you know how she is.“

Unfortunately, she did.

„She still thinks…“

„That Daniel made one mistake?“

„…Yes.“

„It wasn’t one.“

„I know.“

„He cheated on me.“

„I know.“

„Twice.“

„I know.“

„So why does everyone keep acting like I should forgive him?“

Her mother was quiet for a moment.

„I don’t think you should.“

„Then why doesn’t anyone say that?“

Another pause.

„Because your grandmother loved him.“

Y/N laughed humorlessly.

„Apparently more than she loves me.“

„Don’t say that.“

„But that’s what it feels like.“

Her mother sighed softly.

„I know this weekend won’t be easy.“

„No.“

„But try to enjoy yourself anyway.“

„I’ll try.“

After they hung up, Y/N rested her forehead against her desk.

She loved her family.

She really did.

But sometimes they made loving them incredibly exhausting.

Wednesday evening, the friend group met at their usual café.

The moment Y/N walked in, Wooyoung looked up from his iced americano.

„So?“

She blinked.

„So?“

He pointed at the empty chair across from him.

„Sit.“

„…That sounded like an order.“

„It was.“

She laughed and slid into the seat.

The others hadn’t arrived yet.

It was just the two of them.

„I’ve been thinking,“ she admitted.

„I know.“

„How?“

„You get this wrinkle.“ He pointed between his own eyebrows. „Right here.“

„I do not.“

„You absolutely do.“

She instinctively touched her forehead.

His grin widened.

„See?“

„Oh, you’re annoying.“

„I’ve heard that before.“

She narrowed her eyes.

„I still haven’t said yes.“

„I know.“

„I probably shouldn’t.“

„I know.“

„You’ll spend your entire Saturday surrounded by people you’ve never met.“

„Mhm.“

„They’ll ask you uncomfortable questions.“

„I’ll survive.“

„My grandmother pinches cheeks.“

„I’ve survived worse.“

„My Aunt Sabine doesn’t believe in personal boundaries.“

„I’m faster than she is.“

She couldn’t help smiling.

„You’re taking this far too lightly.“

Wooyoung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

„I’m really not.“

His expression softened.

„Y/N.“

She looked at him.

„I hate seeing you dread something that’s supposed to be fun.“

She opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

„It’s one day.“

„I know.“

„If I can make that one day easier…“ He shrugged. „Why wouldn’t I?“

There wasn’t a hint of teasing in his voice.

No exaggerated confidence.

Just sincerity.

It caught her completely off guard.

„You really don’t mind?“

„Not even a little.“

„You’ll have to wear a suit.“

„I look fantastic in a suit.“

She rolled her eyes.

„I walked right into that.“

„You did.“

„And my family is…“

„A lot?“

„A lot.“

„I’ve met Mingi after two energy drinks.“

„…Fair point.“

„They can’t be worse.“

She laughed. „You have no idea.“

„I’ll find out.“

Silence settled between them.

Comfortable.

Easy.

She tapped her fingers against her coffee cup.

„You really used to do this?“

„Mhm.“

„Were you actually any good?“

He looked genuinely offended.

„I was exceptional.“

„Oh?“

„I told you I repeat customers.“

„That’s still such a weird sentence.“

„I know.“

She laughed again.

Then she looked down at her drink.

„…Okay.“

He blinked.

„…Okay?“

She nodded slowly.

„Okay.“

His eyebrows shot up.

„Wait.“

„You’ve convinced me.“

„You mean…“

„I mean yes.“

For a second, Wooyoung simply stared at her.

Then a slow grin spread across his face.

„I knew my imaginary PowerPoint would work.“

„It absolutely did not.“

„It was the charts.“

„There were no charts.“

„They were very convincing.“

She shook her head, laughing.

„I cannot believe I’m agreeing to this.“

„You won’t regret it.“

„I feel like I definitely will.“

„You have so little faith in me.“

„I have exactly the appropriate amount.“

He held a hand over his heart.

„That hurts.“

„I’m sure you’ll recover.“

„I don’t know.“

„I’ll buy you cake.“

He gasped dramatically.

„…I accept your apology.“

She laughed so hard that people at the next table turned to look at them.

When she finally caught her breath, Wooyoung was already pulling out his phone.

„So.“

„So?“

„We have work to do.“

Her smile faltered.

„…Work?“

„The relationship.“

She stared.

„The fake relationship.“

„Oh.“

He opened his notes app.

„If we’re going to fool your family, we need details.“

„You’re serious.“

„Completely.“

He cracked his knuckles.

„Question one.“

She laughed.

„You’re unbelievable.“

„What day did we start dating?“

„Woo…“

„I’m waiting.“

She looked at the ceiling.

„…I already regret this.“

He beamed.

„Excellent.“

Somewhere deep down, beneath the teasing and laughter, Y/N realized something.

For the first time since Emma’s invitation had arrived, she wasn’t dreading the wedding anymore.

She was actually looking forward to it.

That should have worried her.

Instead, she found herself wondering just how ridiculous this fake relationship was about to become.

Wooyoung had worn a suit hundreds of times before.

For weddings.

Graduations.

Fancy dinners.

The occasional event where jeans somehow weren’t considered appropriate.

So why, exactly, was he standing in front of the bathroom mirror for the fourth time in ten minutes, adjusting a tie that had already been perfectly straight?

„You know,“ San called from somewhere behind him, „if you keep staring at yourself, it isn’t going to become more symmetrical.“

Wooyoung didn’t look away from the mirror.

„It was crooked.“

„It wasn’t.“

„It absolutely was.“

„It wasn’t.“

Wooyoung sighed dramatically before stepping out of the bathroom.

Their apartment was unusually lively for a Saturday morning.

San was sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee, looking far too awake for someone who had gone to bed after two.

Mingi occupied most of the couch, despite there being enough room for three people.

Hongjoong leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone.

Yeosang was peacefully stealing strawberries from a bowl on the table as though he’d lived there his entire life.

All four of them looked up at the exact same moment.

Silence.

Then Mingi blinked.

„…Wow.“

Wooyoung frowned.

„What?“

„You Actually look good.“

„I always look good.“

„You look expensive,“ Hongjoong added.

„There.“

Wooyoung pointed at him.

„That’s the compliment I was looking for.“

San snorted into his coffee.

„You’ve said that six times already.“

„Because it’s true.“

He smoothed down the sleeves of his charcoal suit before checking the cuffs.

„I do look expensive.“

„You also look nervous,“ Yeosang said casually.

Wooyoung laughed.

„I’m not nervous.“

„You’ve changed ties three times.“

„They all looked different.“

„They were all black.“

„They had different textures.“

Nobody answered.

Instead, four pairs of eyes continued watching him.

„What?“

Hongjoong slipped his phone into his pocket.

„Can I ask you something?“

„You just did.“

„Do you think this is actually a good idea?“

Wooyoung frowned.

„What?“

„The fake dating thing.“

„What about it?“

Hongjoong shrugged.

„I don’t know.“

San spoke next.

„You and Y/N have known each other for years.“

„Mhm.“

„You get along.“

„Mhm.“

„You already spend quite a bit of time together.“

„Mhm.“

„And now you’re going to pretend to date.“

„…Yes?“

Mingi leaned forward.

„You really don’t think anything could happen?“

Wooyoung stared at him.

„What do you mean?“

„I mean…“

Mingi gestured vaguely between his hands.

„Feelings.“

Wooyoung actually laughed.

„Oh, come on.“

„What?“

„It isn’t like that.“

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow.

„Isn’t it?“

„No.“

„You’ve never thought about it?“

Wooyoung looked genuinely confused.

„About dating Y/N?“

„Yeah.“

He shrugged.

„Not really.“

That wasn’t meant to sound dismissive.

It was simply… true.

Y/N had always been part of the group.

She came to movie nights.

Game nights.

Birthday dinners.

She always brought desserts because she insisted bakery cakes tasted „too corporate.“

She laughed at his terrible jokes.

Rolled her eyes at his dramatic ones.

Called him unbearable at least once every time they met.

She was…

Y/N.

Cute?

Sure.

Funny?

Obviously.

Easy to be around?

Definitely.

But he’d never actually stopped to think about her in any other way.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

„I’ve always just… seen her as a friend.“

San studied him over the rim of his mug.

„You say that like you’ve never considered the alternative.“

„I haven’t.“

Hongjoong hummed.

„Interesting.“

„What is?“

„Nothing.“

„There was definitely something behind that ‚interesting.‘“

„There wasn’t.“

„There absolutely was.“

Hongjoong only smiled.

Wooyoung narrowed his eyes.

„I don’t know what conspiracy you’re trying to start, but this is literally me helping a friend.“

„We know,“ San said.

„And that’s sweet.“

„But?“

„But just… be careful.“

Wooyoung frowned.

„Careful of what?“

Hongjoong answered this time.

„Sometimes pretending becomes easier than admitting you aren’t pretending anymore.“

Wooyoung groaned loudly.

„You’ve all watched too many romantic comedies.“

Mingi grinned.

„They’re educational.“

„They’re fictional.“

„So is your relationship.“

„Exactly.“

Wooyoung grabbed his car keys from the counter.

„I’m leaving before one of you starts betting on when we’ll kiss.“

Hongjoong called after him.

„I give it three weddings.“

San laughed.

„I’ll say two.“

Yeosang looked up from another strawberry.

„I’m just here for the inevitable chaos.“

Wooyoung pointed accusingly at all of them.

„You’re all impossible.“

Then he left before they could continue.

The drive to Y/N’s apartment wasn’t long.

Long enough, however, for Hongjoong’s words to replay in his head.

Sometimes pretending becomes easier than admitting you aren’t pretending anymore.

Ridiculous.

This wasn’t some cheesy romance movie.

Y/N needed someone to survive her family’s interrogation.

He happened to own a suit and possess an alarming amount of experience pretending to be someone’s boyfriend.

That was all.

He parked outside her apartment building and checked the time.

Two minutes early.

Perfect.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat.

Then immediately sat up again.

Why was he suddenly…

No.

Not nervous.

Just…

Making sure everything went smoothly.

Right.

Exactly that.

His phone buzzed.

Y/N: Coming down.

He smiled.

Take your time.

Less than a minute later, the apartment door opened.

Wooyoung looked up absentmindedly.

Then forgot how to blink.

She wasn’t wearing anything extravagant.

No glittering ball gown.

No dramatic train.

Just a soft floral dress that reached her calves, the light fabric moving gently in the summer breeze.

Tiny flowers were embroidered across it, delicate enough that they almost disappeared unless the sunlight caught them.

A pair of nude heels clicked softly against the pavement as she walked toward the car.

Her hair, usually tied back in a messy ponytail whenever he saw her, fell loosely over her shoulders in soft waves.

Simple earrings caught the light every time she moved.

She smiled when she spotted him.

He remained frozen.

„…Woo?“

Oh.

Right.

Words.

He was supposed to have those.

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head.

„Is something wrong?“

„No.“

His answer came far too quickly.

„You just…“

He cleared his throat.

„You look pretty.“

She laughed. „That’s it?“

„What?“

„I thought from your face that I’d somehow ripped my dress.“

„No.“

He looked at her again.

Big mistake.

Because she looked…

Really pretty.

Not just objectively.

Actually…

Pretty.

He swallowed.

„You look nice.“

The smile she gave him was warm enough to make something strange happen somewhere around his ribs.

„Thank you.“

She looked him up and down.

„You don’t look too bad yourself.“

He immediately grinned.

„I know.“

„There he is again.“

„Who?“

„My overly confident friend. I was worried he’d stayed home.“

Relief washed over him.

There it was.

Their normal rhythm.

Teasing.

Bickering.

Much better.

He hurried around the car to open the passenger door with an exaggerated flourish.

„M’lady.“

She snorted.

„If you say that in front of my grandmother, she’ll love you forever.“

„Perfect.“

„No.“

„Too late.“

She rolled her eyes as she climbed into the car.

Even in heels…

He noticed she barely reached his shoulder.

Actually…No.

She was still noticeably shorter than him.

He blinked.

Why had he never realized that before?

He closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side.

As he got in, he caught himself glancing at her again.

She was smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress.

Nervous.

He’d never really seen Y/N nervous before.

Not like this.

„You okay?“ he asked.

She looked over.

„My family.“

„Right.“

„They’re… a lot.“

„I remember.“

„I wasn’t exaggerating.“

„I know.“

She gave him a skeptical look.

„I really don’t think you do.“

He laughed as he started the car.

„We’ll survive.“

„We?“

„I told you.“

He pulled out onto the road.

„We’re a team today.“

Something in her expression softened.

„Thanks.“

He smiled without looking away from the road.

„Don’t thank me yet.“

„Oh?“

„I haven’t even impressed your grandmother.“

She groaned dramatically.

„You really think you can?“

„I’ve won over tougher audiences.“

„You don’t know my grandmother.“

„I’ll compliment her cooking.“

„She didn’t cook.“

„I’ll compliment her outfit.“

„She bought it yesterday.“

„I’ll compliment her grandchildren.“

She pointed at herself.

„That’s me.“

„I know.“

She laughed.

„There.“

He smiled.

„That’s the sound we’re aiming for today.“

She looked out the window, still smiling to herself.

Wooyoung glanced at her again before turning his eyes back to the road.

Maybe…

Maybe Hongjoong had been right about one thing.

He’d known Y/N for years.

Yet as she sat beside him, sunlight dancing across the tiny flowers embroidered on her dress while she absentmindedly played with the strap of her purse, he found himself noticing details he couldn’t remember ever paying attention to before.

He frowned almost imperceptibly.

Huh.

Maybe…

Maybe he’d simply never really looked.

Main Masterlist | Wooyoungs Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The booth felt smaller with every pause.

You stood behind the glass, headphones snug over your ears, mic perfectly positioned, everything should have been fine. You nailed the verse the first time. You knew you had. Your voice was steady, controlled, and emotional right where it needed to be.

And yet

“Let’s stop there,” Eden’s voice cut in through the headphones. “Again. Same line.”

Your jaw tightened.

You reset, took a breath, and sang it again. Cleaner. Sharper. You even leaned into the emotion a little more, letting it rasp just enough at the end.

Silence.

Then: click.

“Mm. One more time,” Eden said. “It’s good, but... less push. More restraint.”

Irritation curled low in your chest.

You did it again. And again. Each take blurred into the next, your throat starting to burn, frustration buzzing louder than the instrumental in your ears. You could feel the boys watching through the glass.

Hongjoong leaned forward in his chair, instinctively tightening his hold on your baby girl as she shifted on his lap, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. His eyes never left you through the glass, sharp, worried, far too familiar with the way you pushed yourself past your limits.

Yunho frowned beside him, arms crossed, jaw set like he was already replaying every late night and skipped break in his head. Wooyoung didn’t bother hiding it. He was half out of his seat, shoulders tense, like one wrong word would have him marching straight into the booth.

The track ended. Silence followed.

Eden clicked the talkback on, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Take the rest of the day off,” he said, irritation still threading his voice. “It’s clear you’re tired.”

You huffed, arms crossed as you waited until Eden finally disappeared down the hall. The moment the door shut, you stepped out of the booth, irritation still buzzing hot under your skin, shoulders tight like you were bracing for another argument.

But there wasn’t one waiting for you.

Hongjoong stood a few feet away, Arin tucked securely in his arm, her cheek pressed against his chest as she blinked sleepily around the room. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t speak right away. He just waited, patient, steady, like he always was when he knew you were holding yourself together by a thread.

“Let the boys and i handle Arin, okay?” he said softly. “Take the day to yourself, mama’s.”

The nickname alone nearly undid you.

Wooyoung, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, nodded in agreement. “We can handle our daughter,” he added firmly, like there was no debate to be had. “You’ve been doing everything. It’s our turn.”

Yunho stepped closer too, voice warm but resolute. “Go home. Sleep. Get some rest, we'll order you some food.”

Arin chose that moment to squirm, tiny hands reaching for you, a quiet whine leaving her throat. Hongjoong adjusted his hold easily, murmuring to her under his breath until she settled again, gaze never leaving you.

You swallowed hard, the anger finally slipping as guilt threatened to take its place. Reaching for Arin, you couldn’t help the small smile that broke through when she squealed, arms flailing in pure excitement, the second she was closer to you.

Hongjoong’s hand settled on your hip, grounding, familiar. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make your shoulders drop, the fight draining out of you and leaving only exhaustion behind.

You exhaled shakily.

“but, Arin—”

Hongjoong smiled softly, forehead resting against your temple. “Baby,” he murmured, voice warm and sure, “think of it as an opportunity for us, her dads, to spoil her.”

Wooyoung snorted from behind him. “Severely. Unapologetically.”

Yunho nodded. “She’s already got a full schedule planned. Walks, naps, snacks, probably a toy she doesn’t need.”

Arin babbled happily, like she approved of every word, tiny hands grabbing at Hongjoong’s necklace when he took her back from you with practiced ease. She didn’t fuss, just settled right in, content and safe.

Hongjoong brushed his thumb over your knuckles before letting go. “Go home,” he said gently. “Sleep in the middle of the bed. Order food. Do something that isn’t for anyone else.”

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling where anger used to be.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

He smiled, soft, relieved and nudged you toward the door.

“We’ll see you later, mama’s.”

And as you walked away, tired but lighter, Arin’s laughter echoed behind you, proof that, just for today, it was safe to let yourself rest.

Arin was settled gently onto her play mat, her little hands immediately reaching for the unusually large number of toys scattered around her. She grabbed one, dropped it, then kicked excitedly as something else caught her eye, a happy babble filling the room.

All eyes stayed on her.

Hongjoong sat forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “We should hire a nanny,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, thumbs moving as he opened his messages to text his manager.

On the floor, Yeosang and Jongho were fully committed to the task at hand, wiggling toys in front of Arin like their lives depended on it.

“This one squeaks,” Jongho announced seriously.

Yeosang switched toys immediately. “Too loud. This one crinkles. Developmentally superior.”

Arin squealed, clearly delighted by both.

In the kitchen, Seonghwa leaned against the counter while Wooyoung hovered nearby, stealing glances toward the living room.

“She’s been running herself into the ground,” Seonghwa said quietly.

Wooyoung nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah. And she’ll say she’s fine even when she’s not.”

Mingi and Yunho sat on either side of Hongjoong, watching Arin with matching soft expressions.

“We don’t tell her yet,” Yunho said. “If she knows, she’ll overthink it.”

Mingi hummed. “So it’s a surprise. A good one.”

San moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, preparing Arin’s food, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder and smile when she let out another excited noise.

Hongjoong finally looked up from his phone, decision settled. “I’ll have my manager send options. Background-checked. Professional. We take our time.”

No one argued.

On the mat, Arin kicked her feet, surrounded by laughter, movement, and more love than she could ever understand, completely unaware that her dads were quietly planning something meant to make her mom’s world just a little lighter.

But no one expected the sudden busyness to hit all at once.

Hongjoong’s phone started ringing.

once.

twice.

Then, it didn’t stop. He frowned, glancing down at the screen before answering, his shoulders tensing as he listened. A quiet “Yeah… okay… we’ll be there” left his lips before he hung up.

He didn’t even have time to explain before it rang again.

And again.

“More lines,” he muttered after the third call, rubbing a hand over his face. “They want adjustments before the final mix.”

Mingi groaned softly. “Right now?”

“And wardrobe,” Hongjoong added, already standing. “Measurements. Today.”

The room that had been calm and domestic only minutes ago shifted into controlled chaos.

San paused mid prep, brows knitting. “They said today was clear.”

“They said tentatively,” Yunho corrected, already reaching for his jacket.

Wooyoung scoffed. “Of course they did.”

On the floor, Yeosang froze his toy wiggling when Arin let out a confused little sound, sensing the sudden change in energy. Jongho leaned in closer, keeping his voice playful as he shook the rattle again, grounding her despite everything.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured to her. “They’re just dramatic.”

Hongjoong glanced back at Arin, guilt flickering across his face as his phone buzzed again. He silenced it this time, jaw tight.

His eyes drifted toward the corner of the room and he couldn’t help the quiet sigh of relief that slipped past his lips.

Arin’s emergency bag sat by the door, already packed. Diapers are neatly stocked. Formula measured and sealed. Extra clothes folded with care, a tiny blanket tucked into the side pocket like an afterthought that still mattered.

Of course it was ready.

You never left anything to chance.

The knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. At least this, this, was one less thing to worry about.

Hongjoong carefully settled Arin into the playpen Mingi had just finished setting up, double checking the latch out of habit before straightening. The soft padding crinkled under her as she shifted, tiny hands gripping the mesh while she looked around, then her eyes found him.

Big. Curious. Trusting.

She tilted her head up at Hongjoong, dark orbs locked onto his face, and babbled softly, like she was trying to tell him something important.

His chest tightened.

“Hey,” he murmured, crouching despite the hurried footsteps echoing around them. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles through the mesh. “Daddy’s right here.”

Before he could linger, a stylist appeared at his side, already tugging lightly at his sleeve, irritation clear on their face. “Hongjoong, we’re late. Wardrobe now.”

He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, eyes flicking back to Arin.

She squealed again, completely unbothered, a tiny smile breaking across her face when he smiled back.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

The stylist didn’t wait. He was whisked away down the hall, footsteps pulling him farther from the corner of the dressing room.

No one could have prepared for the way the air shifted the moment you walked into the room.

At first, it was subtle.

Your eyes scan out of habit, a soft smile already forming as you expected to see Arin’s playpen tucked into a corner, one of the boys crouched beside it, making ridiculous noises.

But she wasn’t there.

Your steps slowed. The smile faded.

“Hey...” you started, glancing toward a cluster of staff moving equipment. “Sorry, um… where’s my daughter?”

The conversation around you stuttered.

Someone blinked. Another exchanged a look with the person beside them. No one answered right away, and that pause, barely a second, was enough to make your chest tighten.

“I mean Arin,” you clarified quickly, heat creeping up your neck. “The boys said they’d have her today while I rested.”

The guilt hit hard, sharp, and immediate. You shouldn’t even be asking. You were supposed to know. A good mother wouldn’t need to check. A good mother wouldn’t have left her baby behind while she slept.

You asked again, softer this time, the words tasting wrong on your tongue. Each time you did, the shame grew heavier, settling deep in your stomach as you caught the flickers of surprise, confusion, and what you thought was judgment in their eyes.

Your eyes kept moving, too fast, too frantic, scanning the room for any sign of a baby. A carrier. A playpen. Someone swaying gently the way people do when they’re holding a child.

Nothing.

Your breath grew shallow as your gaze shifted again, this time searching for the boys instead.

And then you saw him.

Jongho stood near the far wall, arms crossed, irritation written plainly across his face as he listened to a stylist talk at him. His jaw was tight, brows drawn together, frustration practically rolling off him.

Then his eyes lifted.

The moment he noticed you, everything changed.

The tension melted from his expression, shoulders loosening as concern immediately replaced the irritation. He excused himself without a word, already moving toward you.

“Hey,” he said gently when he reached you, voice low so no one else could hear. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out right away. Your throat felt too tight, panic still buzzing under your skin.

“I...I can’t find Arin,” you admitted quietly. “They said the boys had her, and I just...”

Jongho didn’t hesitate.

“She’s okay,” he said firmly, one hand coming to rest on your arm, grounding. “I promise. She was with Hongjoong earlier. Things got hectic and they moved her to a quieter room.”

Your shoulders sagged a little, relief mixing with the lingering guilt.

“I shouldn’t have left her,” you whispered, shame crawling up your spine. “I should’ve been here.”

Jongho opened his mouth, ready, eager, to argue, to shut that thought down immediately, but before he could get a word out, a staff member called his name. He hesitated, gave you an apologetic smile that promised I’ll be right back, and was gently but firmly pulled away.

Your chest tightened.

You swallowed hard, eyes darting through the room again, searching now for Yeosang. Anyone. Someone familiar. The noise felt louder, the space suddenly too big.

And then Seonghwa was there.

He stepped into your line of sight like he always did, calm, grounding, a quiet presence that immediately slowed your breathing just a fraction.

“Yn,” he said softly, concern etched into his features, “sweetheart… you’re supposed to be resting.”

Your finger rose to your lips without you realizing it, nails pressing lightly against your skin as your nerves gnawed at you. You shook your head, eyes already shining.

“Arin,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Hwa… where is she?”

Seonghwa’s expression shifted instantly.

The gentle smile faded, not into panic, but into focus. Protective. Serious.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hands came up to your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly like he was anchoring you to the floor.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Breathe with me first, okay?”

Your chest hitched, but you nodded, forcing a shaky breath in and then out.

“She’s safe,” he said firmly, eyes never leaving yours. “I saw her not long ago. Hongjoong had her, and then staff moved her to a quieter room because things got crowded.”

Your shoulders sagged a fraction, but the worry didn’t fully leave.

“Where?” you asked, voice trembling despite yourself. “I just need to see her.”

Seonghwa didn’t hesitate.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Then we’ll go together.”

You barely had time to nod before a hand closed around Seonghwa’s wrist.

“Seonghwa, we need you now,” a stylist said sharply, already pulling him back toward the hallway.

“Hwa—” you gasped, fingers instinctively tightening in his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, eyes full of regret as he was tugged away. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

But the words barely registered.

The room tilted.

Your chest tightened, breath catching as tears welled up faster than you could stop them. The noise around you blurred, voices overlapping into something unintelligible. All you could think was I can’t find her. I can’t find my baby.

The ache in your chest grew tighter, sharper panic clawing its way up your throat.

“Hey—hey, hey.”

San was suddenly there, like he’d sensed it before you even made a sound. His hands came up immediately, gentle but firm, steadying you before your knees could give.

“Yn,” he said softly, eyes searching your face. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to speak, but your voice broke. “A-Arin,” you managed, tears finally spilling over. “I can’t—no one’s telling me where she is.”

San’s jaw set instantly, not in anger, but in resolve.

“Okay,” he said, grounding, his voice low and calm despite the storm building behind his eyes. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

He positioned himself fully in front of you now, one hand at your back, the other gently cupping your face to bring your gaze to his.

“Look at me,” he murmured. “Breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. She’s okay. We’re going to find her, together.”

Your breathing stuttered, chest tight, but you followed him, one shaky inhale, then another. San’s hands closed around yours, fingers interlocking firmly, deliberately, like he was anchoring you to something solid.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.

He didn’t wait for permission.

San turned, gently but decisively leading you out of the room. The noise faded a little with each step, your focus narrowing to the warmth of his hand, the steady pace he set.

“San—” a stylist called, reaching out and grabbing his arm.

He stopped just long enough to look back, jaw set. He shrugged them off without raising his voice, without anger, just certainty. “Just five minutes,” he said. “All I need.”

The stylist hesitated, clearly annoyed, but something in San’s expression made them step back.

He guided you down the hallway, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles as if to remind you to keep breathing. “Talk to me,” he said softly. “Tell me what you saw. What you didn’t.”

“I—there was no playpen,” you whispered. “No stroller. Everyone just kept saying she was moved and I—” Your voice cracked. “I should’ve stayed.”

San stopped walking.

He turned fully toward you, hands coming up to frame your face. “Hey. No,” he said firmly, eyes locked onto yours. “You trusted us. That’s not a mistake. That’s family.”

He rested his forehead briefly against yours, grounding you before pulling back. “We’re close. I saw her earlier too. We’ll find her, and you’re going to hold her, and this panic is going to pass.”

He squeezed your hands once more. “One step at a time. Stay with me.”

And with that, he started forward again—calm on the outside, fiercely focused beneath it—guiding you closer to the answers you desperately needed, unaware that this frantic search was only the beginning of how fragile the day truly was.

San reached the door the staff had pointed out. He didn’t hesitate. He opened it.

The room was empty.

No playpen. No bag. No familiar blanket draped over a chair.

No staff.

The silence hit harder than noise ever could.

Your breath left you in a broken sound, your grip tightening painfully around San’s hand as your eyes darted wildly across the room, searching for anything. a bottle, a toy, proof that Arin had ever been here at all.

“Wait,” you whispered. “She-she was supposed to be—”

San stepped fully inside, his body subtly shifting in front of yours without you even realizing it. His eyes swept the room once. Twice. Fast. Sharp. Calculating.

“This isn’t right,” he said quietly.

Your chest began to cave in on itself, panic roaring back tenfold. “San,” you breathed, voice shaking, “where is my baby?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and that scared you more than anything.

The sound that tore out of you wasn’t human.

It was raw. Shattered. A mother’s scream ripped straight from her chest the moment the truth settled in heavy, undeniable, impossible to outrun.

Your legs gave out beneath you.

You collapsed to the floor, hands clawing uselessly at your chest as sobs wracked your body, loud and uncontrollable, echoing down the hallway and bleeding into every corner of the building.

“She’s gone.” you cried, voice breaking completely. “She’s gone!my baby!”

San dropped with you instantly, one arm locking around your shoulders, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you together as you came apart.

“Hey…hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, voice tight, panic cracking through the calm he’d been forcing. “Yn, look at me. Please look at me.”

But you couldn’t. All you could see was an empty room. All you could hear was silence where Arin’s babbles should have been.

The hallway erupted.

“Move! move!” “Excuse me, sorry—”

Hongjoong was the first to reach you, shoving past staff without hesitation, his face draining of color the second he saw you on the floor. He dropped to his knees so hard it hurt, hands shaking as he reached for you.

“What happened?” he demanded, fear raw and naked in his voice. “Where’s Arin?”

Behind him, Wooyoung looked feral, eyes wild as he scanned the area like he might tear the building apart brick by brick. Yunho was already barking into his phone, voice sharp, commanding. Seonghwa stood frozen for half a second then moved, positioning himself in front of you like a shield.

“She’s not there,” San said hoarsely, tightening his hold as you sobbed. “The room’s empty. No staff. No baby.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched violently.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no….”

He gathered you into his arms without thinking, pulling you against his chest as your cries broke again, louder, more desperate.

“I should’ve stayed,” you choked. “I shouldn’t have rested. shouldn’t have trusted anyone,I—”

“Stop,” Hongjoong said, voice cracking as tears filled his own eyes. He held your face gently, desperately, forcing you to look at him. “This is not on you. Do you hear me? This is not on you.”

Wooyoung’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. “Lock the building,” he snapped at no one in particular. “Now.”

Yunho nodded grimly. “Security’s on it. No one leaves.”

San kept one hand firm at your back, the other gripping Hongjoong’s shoulder like he was the only thing keeping himself standing.

“We will find her,” Seonghwa said quietly, voice steady but lethal beneath the calm. “Every second from now on is about Arin.”

Your sobs shook your entire body, grief and terror tearing through you as the boys closed ranks around you desperate, furious, united by the same horrifying truth.

Your daughter was missing.

You couldn't stop sobbing. Your entire body trembled with each shaky breath, guilt and fear twisting together until you could barely tell them apart. Every thought in your head was cruel.

You shouldn't have taken the rest the boys insisted on. You shouldn't have left Arin. You should have trusted your instincts and kept her right beside you. The thoughts repeated over and over, each one cutting deeper than the last.

Across from you, Hongjoong looked absolutely devastated. Not just him though, all of them did. The guilt on their faces was unmistakable.

They were Arin's fathers. The moment the schedules became chaotic, the moment stylists started pulling them in different directions, they should have done more. They should have made sure someone always had eyes on her.

What hurt the most was that they were only now realizing something you had been doing all along.

Even when you were drowning in schedules. When you were surrounded by staff, or when you were exhausted beyond belief. You always knew exactly where Arin was. Always.

"Honey..." San's voice was gentle, breaking through the storm in your head as he brushed a strand of hair away from your tear-stained face. "We'll find her, okay?"

You let out a broken hiccup and looked up at him.

The sight nearly shattered him. Your lips trembled uncontrollably as tears continued to stream down your face, your eyes swollen and red from crying.

Without a word, Jongho and Mingi rushed to grab tissues from a nearby desk. Wooyoung wasn't far behind, gathering anything he thought might bring you even a fraction of comfort; a blanket, a bottle of water, anything.

None of it felt like enough though.

"I should've trusted my gut," you cried, voice cracking. "I knew something felt wrong. I should've stayed with her."

The words barely left your mouth before Seonghwa was kneeling beside you.

"Baby," he said firmly.

The tone alone made you look at him. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but there was nothing uncertain about the way he held your gaze.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself. Do you hear me?"

You shook your head immediately, another sob escaping. "But—"

"No."

For once, Seonghwa didn't let you continue. His voice cracked, emotion finally bleeding through.

"No. You trusted us."

The room fell silent.

"You trusted her fathers." His jaw tightened as he fought to keep himself composed. "You trusted the people who love her more than anything in this world."

Hongjoong lowered his head, guilt written across every feature. Seonghwa swallowed hard before continuing.

"If anyone should be questioning what they could've done differently, it's us."

The words hung heavily in the room. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Hongjoong moved. He dropped to his knees in front of you, uncaring of the security office, the people watching, the cameras still flickering across the walls. All he could focus on was you.

His trembling hand came up to your face. Using the sleeve of his sweater, he carefully wiped away the tears that refused to stop falling.

The gesture only made him break more. Because every tear he brushed away was replaced by another. His own vision blurred, a few tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.

"Baby..." His voice cracked.

You looked up at him through watery eyes. The devastation on his face was almost as painful as the fear in your own chest.

"I am so sorry." The words came out broken, raw and honest.

Hongjoong shook his head, struggling to breathe around the guilt lodged in his throat. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Another tear slid down his face.

"I wanted to make sure you were resting."

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears still flowing down your cheek.

"You've been exhausted for months." His voice grew quieter.

"Taking care of Arin. Taking care of us. Working. Being everything for everyone."

His shoulders shook as a sob escaped him, choking on the words that left his lips next. "And I hated watching you run yourself into the ground."

The sight alone nearly shattered the rest of the boys. Mingi having to look away, hiding his face onto Yunho shoulder. Wooyoung trying his best to hold in his tears but failing as Jongho was just staring at his feet.

"I thought..." He swallowed hard. "I thought if we handled everything for one day, you could finally breathe."

His forehead pressed against yours. Instead of finding comfort, all he felt was crushing guilt. "I should've been watching her."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "I should've known where she was every second."

You immediately shook your head despite your tears. "Hongjoong-"

"No."

He closed his eyes, the word coming out shaky.

"If I hadn't insisted on it..." His voice cracked again. "You would've had her with you."

Around the room, the rest finally looked away, unable to watch without feeling their own guilt rise. Because they had all agreed. They had thought it was a good idea. They just wanted to give you a break, and now the outcome just felt unbearable.

Hongjoong took your hands in his, pressing them tightly against his chest as though he could somehow hold the pieces of both of you together.

"We're going to bring her home."

His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be, the determination behind it was enough. His tear-filled eyes met yours.

"We are going to find our daughter."

It wasn't a if, maybe, hopefully or when.

We are going to find her.

And despite the terror consuming him, despite the guilt threatening to drown him, that was the one thing Hongjoong refused to doubt. The certainty in his voice broke something inside of you. Because for the first time since this nightmare began, someone wasn't speaking in reassurances or possibilities.

He was making a promise. as Arin's father, your lover. And he fully intends to keep that promise. A sob escaped you.

Before you could think, before doubt or fear could stop you, you threw your arms around Hongjoong.

He caught you instantly. Like he always did.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you into his chest as if he could shield you from everything happening around you. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other locked around your waist, holding you so tightly you could feel the tremble running through him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair, tears slipping freely now. "I'm so sorry, baby."

You buried your face against his shoulder, fingers clutching desperately at the back of his sweater.

Yeosang gently pulled the blanket higher over your sleeping form, making sure it covered your shoulders. Your face was swollen from hours of crying, tear tracks still faintly visible against your skin even in sleep.

Seonghwa sat beside you, your head resting in his lap as his fingers slowly combed through your hair. The repetitive motion seemed to soothe him as much as it did you. Every now and then, his gaze would drift down to your sleeping face, his heart aching at how exhausted you looked.

Hongjoong had stepped out not long ago to speak with the police who had arrived.

The door creaked open, Yunho and Mingi walked in carrying bags of takeout, the smell of warm food immediately filling the security office. It should have been comforting. Instead, it only reminded them of how long it had been since any of them had eaten.

San followed shortly after, eyes red and swollen from a crying session he'd hidden away from the others. No one mentioned it. They all understood. Without a word, he began setting up a small makeshift table in the corner, unpacking containers and drinks with quiet efficiency.

Soon, everyone was eating or at least pretending to. Silence settled heavily over the room. The only sounds were the rustle of takeout containers and the soft hum of the monitors lining the walls.

Every few minutes, someone's eyes would drift toward your sleeping form. Making sure you were still resting. That you were still there.

Jongho finally let out a long sigh, setting his food down untouched. The movement immediately drew everyone's attention.

His jaw tightened. "We should go over what we all saw."

The room fell still. Jongho glanced around at each of them before continuing. "Like who saw Arin last."

"And which staff members were around her."

Silence lingered for a moment, heavy and suffocating, before someone finally broke it.

"The last time I saw Arin was when Mingi finished setting up the playpen," San said quietly, picking at his food rather than actually eating it. His eyes remained fixed on the container in front of him. "That was... almost two hours ago now."

The realization made the room feel even colder.

Mingi nodded slowly. "I kissed her on the head before I left," he murmured, his voice rough around the edges.

"Then I got dragged away for measurements." His jaw tightened.

"I thought one of you guys was staying with her."

Yeosang frowned immediately, confusion crossing his face. "That's what's weird."

Everyone looked at him. His brows pulled together as he tried to remember. "We were all supposed to have the day off."

The room went quiet again...Because he was right.

Wooyoung shook his head. "Not all of us." His fingers tightened around his drink.

"Yn, Yunho, Hongjoong, and I had a few lines scheduled today."

Yunho nodded. "I remember."

His stomach twisted as his thoughts drifted back to earlier that afternoon. You standing in the recording booth, the frustration written all over your face as take after take was stopped. Then Eden sending you home. The boys insisting you finally take a break. Everything after that felt like a blur. Yunho slowly set his chopsticks down.

"But that's it," he said. "Those sessions were already scheduled."

His gaze lifted toward the others. "The measurements weren't."

A tense silence immediately settled over the room. Mingi looked up, " then why was Hongjoong hyung getting called for a sudden wardrobe measurements."

Wooyoung expression darkening, as if suddenly something clicked in his mind. "Every time one of us got close to finishing something, they suddenly needed us somewhere else."

San's head snapped up. "You're saying someone created the schedule chaos?"

No one answered right away. Because the more they talked, the more impossible it became to ignore. The day hadn't felt busy. It had felt orchestrated. And suddenly, the interruptions, the rushed calls, and the irritated staff didn't feel like unfortunate timing anymore.

They felt deliberate.

A heavy silence settled over the room as everyone turned the pieces over in their minds, each new detail making the picture look worse.

"Now that you mention it..." Seonghwa began slowly, confusion and frustration written all over his face. His fingers paused in your hair.

"When Yn came in looking frantic, the staff seemed adamant about separating us from her."

Several heads immediately lifted. Seonghwa frowned as he replayed the memory.

"Every time one of us tried to help her, someone suddenly needed us somewhere else." His jaw tightened.

"They kept pulling us away."

Jongho nodded immediately. "So did San and I."

San let out a humorless laugh. "I practically had to shrug off a stylist just to get five minutes with her."

The memory still made his blood boil.

"She was crying. Panicking. Looking for Arin."

His voice cracked slightly at the last part.

"And they were acting like whatever they needed was more important."

Wooyoung's grip tightened around his drink.

"They basically dismissed her." The words came out sharper than intended. The room went quiet once again.

Jongho's expression darkened.

"It was so frustrating."

His gaze drifted toward your sleeping form.

"The way they kept brushing her off."

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

"She was clearly terrified."

San nodded. "And every time she asked where Arin was, they gave a different answer."

The realization made everyone sit up straighter. Hongjoong's empty chair suddenly felt far too noticeable. Because he would have caught that immediately.

Yunho frowned. "One person said Arin was with Hongjoong."

"Another said she was moved to a quieter room," Mingi added.

"And someone else said she'd been there earlier."

The room fell silent, nobody liked where this was going. Seonghwa's eyes narrowed.

"They weren't confused."

The words were quiet, dangerously quiet.

"They were stalling."

You woke slowly, a yawn escaping before you could stop it. Your body felt heavy, stiff from sleeping in the same position for hours.

For a brief, blissful second, everything felt normal. Your eyes fluttered open. You stretched. And instinctively, you opened your mouth.

"Can someone pass me Ari-"

The words died in your throat. The memory hit all at once. The panic, the crying. Your daughter was missing. The color drained from your face.

"Hi, baby."

San's voice was soft as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You blinked back tears immediately.

"Where's everyone else?" you asked, wincing as a headache began pounding behind your eyes. San sat beside you.

"Hongjoong hyung is talking with the police right now." His voice remained calm. "The others left a little while ago."

You frowned. "Left?"

"They're starting a search party. Following up on anything they can."

He reached for your hand. "I wanted to stay with you."

The guilt hit you like a truck. You sat up immediately, a little too fast. The room spun.San was on his feet just as quickly.

"Baby—"

"No." You pushed yourself upright despite the dizziness.

"We should be out there." Your voice cracked.

"I should be out there looking for her."

The desperation in your voice made San's chest ache. Because he knew exactly what was happening. You were turning the blame inward. And he hated it more than anything.

"That's what the boys are doing, baby."

His hand found yours. "I promise."

But it wasn't enough. Fresh tears gathered in your eyes.

"What kind of mother am I if I'm not out there looking for my own child?"

The words shattered him. Immediately.

"Hey."

San stepped closer. His hands gently cupped your face.

"Don't."

His voice was firmer now. Not in anger. Just desperate for you to hear him.

"Don't do that to yourself."

Your lip trembled.

"She's out there and I'm sitting here sleeping—"

"Because your body literally gave out."

The words came out sharper than intended. San took a breath, his thumbs brushed away the tears already falling.

"You collapsed from exhaustion."

His own eyes began to shine.

"You cried until you couldn't stay awake anymore."

His voice cracked.

"Do you think Arin would want her mom making herself sick?"

Another sob escaped you. San pulled you against him immediately. His arms wrapped around you tightly.

"You know what kind of mother you are?"

He rested his cheek against the top of your head.

"The kind who knew something was wrong before anyone else."

You froze.

"The kind who walked into that building and immediately noticed she wasn't there."

His grip tightened.

"The kind who memorizes every bottle, every diaper, every nap schedule."

Tears streamed down your face.

"The kind of mother who loves her daughter so much that every person in this building knows her name."

San swallowed hard.

"You are the best mother I've ever seen."

The room fell silent.

"You don't have to prove how much you love her."

His voice broke completely.

"Because nobody in this room doubts it for a second."

Your hands clenched in the back of San's shirt, his words settling somewhere deep inside your chest.

Not enough to erase the fear or the ache. But enough to let you breathe for a moment.

You snuggled closer to him, allowing yourself to lean on someone else for once. San immediately tightened his arms around you, pressing a kiss into your hair.

"Thank you," you mumbled, your voice hoarse from hours of crying.

Eventually, San guided you from the where you were at. His hand never left yours. Not for a second, fear that he too would lose you.

The hallways felt different now. Crowded and tense. Staff members spoke in hushed voices. Security guards stood at every entrance. Police officers moved between rooms carrying folders, radios, and tablets.

Your eyes immediately began searching for one person: Hongjoong. Because if anyone had answers, even the smallest ones, it would be him. The closer you got to the crowd gathered near the conference room, the worse your nerves became.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Your palms felt clammy. Your stomach twisted. Every terrible possibility tried to force its way into your mind.

San squeezed your hand once, trying his best to reassure you.

"Hongjoong hyung should be right around the corner, baby," he whispered into your ear.

You gave a quick nod. It was the best you could manage. Because suddenly you weren't sure if you wanted answers. The fear of getting bad news, you just werent to sure how you'll be able to handle it.

The crowd parted slightly as San guided you forward. Then you saw him. Hongjoong stood at the center of the room surrounded by police officers, security personnel, and your ceo.

He looked exhausted. His hair was a mess from running his hands through it countless times. His eyes were red rimmed, the tear stains on his cheek was noticeable. But the second he spotted you, everything else disappeared. The conversation stopped, the papers in his hand lowered.

And for a moment, he simply stared. Relief flashed across his face. That you were awake and not alone. Relief that he could finally see you.

"Baby."

The word left him instantly. He was already moving before anyone could stop him. Crossing the room in seconds. The moment he reached you, his hands found your face. So careful and gentle, causing you to melt into his touch.

"You should've stayed resting," he whispered, though there wasn't a single trace of annoyance in his voice.

Only concern and love. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. Searching your face, checking that you were okay.

Or as okay as anyone could be.

Your lips trembled. "What did they find?"

The question was barely audible.

Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted. The room behind him seemed to hold its breath. There was finally something to tell you.

Without saying a word, Hongjoong motioned for you and San to follow him. His hand found the small of your back, guiding you away from the cluster of officers, security staff, and managers.

Away from prying ears. Away from anyone who didn't need to hear this.

The corner he chose was quiet, tucked behind a row of filing cabinets and away from the constant hum of conversation. Your heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

Hongjoong looked over his shoulder once to make sure no one was listening before turning back to you. He reached for your hand immediately.

"The stylists set this up."

Your breath hitched.

"What?"

The word escaped as barely a whisper.

Hongjoong's jaw tightened.

"We don't know how many were involved yet," Hongjoong clarified quickly. "But the police finished interviewing several staff members."

San stiffened beside you.

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion and anger evident in every movement. For a moment, he looked away, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

"While you were resting, we were at the main dorm."

Your stomach twisted.

Hongjoong swallowed hard.

"Arin was playing with Yeosang and Jongho." A faint smile flickered across his face at the memory before disappearing just as quickly.

"She was laughing." His voice cracked slightly.

"Trying to grab one of Jongho's fingers while Yeosang kept shaking toys in front of her."

Your chest ached because you could picture it perfectly. Arin's giggles. Her chubby hands reaching for whoever had her attention. Completely unaware of what was coming.

"Then my phone started going off."

Hongjoong's jaw tightened.

"It was the lead stylist."

His eyes darkened.

"Said our comeback outfits needed to be remeasured."

San frowned immediately. "Which doesn't make sense."

"Exactly."

Hongjoong nodded.

"At the time, none of us questioned it."

Why would they? It was normal for them. The sudden schedules changes. Wardrobe needing to be slightly adjusted.

"So we went."

The guilt that flashed across his face was immediate.

"All of us."

The words hung heavily between you.

"Mingi set up the playpen and then it was just a blur."

His expression hardened.

"Different staff. Different requests."

The realization still made him sick. "They made sure we never stopped moving."

San's jaw clenched.

"They kept us distracted."

Hongjoong nodded once.

"That's what the police think."

Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

"And Arin?"

The question came out shaky. Hongjoong immediately squeezed your hand.

"The last confirmed sighting was when she was in the playpen."

Your breath caught.

"After that, everyone assumed someone else had her."

The room was suffocating. No windows. No cameras. Just four walls, a flickering overhead light, and the relentless sound of a baby crying herself hoarse.

Arin's tiny face was bright red, tears soaking her cheeks as she screamed. Her little hands opened and closed helplessly, searching for someone familiar.

Searching for her parents. The sound grated on everyone's nerves.

"You were supposed to make sure Yn saw the baby before we took her!" one of the girls snapped, pacing the room.

Another scoffed.

"Well, she wasn't there, now was she?"

The first girl's scowl deepened. The entire operation had been planned around one simple assumption: Yn would be there.

The moment she wasn't, everything started falling apart.

"Will she ever shut up?" the third girl groaned. "Holy fuck."

With a frustrated sigh, she bent down and picked Arin up. The baby immediately latched onto the front of her shirt, still sobbing.

"No, no, no..." she muttered awkwardly, bouncing her slightly. "Come on."

It didn't work. If anything, Arin cried harder. The sound echoed around the room.

"Mira," the first girl hissed, spinning toward her. "The plan was so fucking simple."

Her voice rose with every word.

"Have Yn see the baby."

She pointed toward Yuna.

"Then Yuna and I take her."

Another pointed finger.

"We would've been gone by now!"

Mira's face immediately flushed red.

"Oh, yeah?" she snapped. Her patience was long gone.

"Well whose fucking fault is it that she didn't show up?"

"Not mine!"

"You were supposed to keep track of her schedule!"

"And you were supposed to keep the fathers occupied!"

The argument exploded again.

"Okay, first of all," Liz snapped, adjusting Arin on her hip as the baby continued to cry, "you were the one who decided kidnapping a fucking baby was a good idea because you got jealous when Yn and Hongjoong announced her."

Yuna's face immediately flushed red.

Whether from embarrassment or anger, nobody could tell.

"That's not—"

"No?" Liz laughed harshly. "Then what is it?"

Arin let out another wail. The sound echoed around the cramped room. Liz bounced her gently, trying to soothe her despite herself.

Yuna looked away.

"She's a fucking whore," she spat. "And for all we know, Hongjoong might not even be Arin's dad."

The room went silent. Mira stared at her. Then rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive. "You're so fucking stupid."

"What did you just say?"

"I said you're stupid."

Mira threw her hands into the air. "Do you even hear yourself?"

Yuna shot to her feet.

"Excuse me?"

The sudden movement startled Arin, and another loud wail filled the room.

"Jesus Christ," Liz muttered, bouncing the baby slightly. "Can you two stop yelling for five seconds?"

Neither of them listened.

Yuna's face was flushed with anger.

"Don't act so fucking innocent either."

Mira's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Yuna pointed between the two women.

"You want Mingi all to yourself, Mira."

Mira's expression immediately soured.

"And you want Yeosang, Liz."

Liz looked up sharply.

"Don't drag me into your bullshit."

Yuna laughed bitterly.

"No. Absolutely not."

Her voice rose.

"If I go down, so are you two."

The room fell silent.

Even Arin's cries seemed quieter for a moment.

Yuna let out a frustrated huff before stepping forward and taking Arin from Liz's arms. The baby immediately began fussing again, tiny fists bunching against the front of Yuna's shirt.

"We keep going with the fucking plan," Yuna snapped.

She adjusted Arin awkwardly on her hip.

"I'll handle Arin."

Mira's stomach immediately dropped.

"Yuna-"

"Keep the cops off us for an hour and I'll be right back."

The room went still. Liz and Mira exchanged a look before both turning back toward her.

"What are you doing?" Liz asked carefully.

Yuna didn't answer immediately. Instead, grabbing the diaper bag sitting near the door and slung it over her shoulder. The sight only made Mira and Liz even more nervous.

"What are you doing?" she repeated, more firmly this time.

A dangerous look crossed Yuna's face. "The original plan."

"The original plan fell apart hours ago."

"Not completely."

Mira took a step forward. "No."

Her voice was firm. "No, you're not leaving with her."

Yuna laughed. "And why not?"

"Because you're acting crazy."

The words slipped out before Mira could stop them. Yuna's expression darkened instantly. "Watch it."

"I'm serious."

Liz ripped the diaper bag from Yuna's shoulder, her patience finally snapping. A furious look crossed her face as she slammed it onto the nearby table. "I'm so fucking done."

The room went quiet. "Give me Arin back."

Yuna immediately took a step backward, clutching the baby tighter against her chest. "Fuck no."

"Yuna-"

"No." Her voice cracked with frustration. "I'm doing this with or without you two."

Mira's eyes widened. "Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Yuna ignored her. Instead, adjusting Arin on her hip and turned toward the door. Panic flashed across Liz's face. Yuna reached for the handle.

"Don't do this."

Mira moved first. She lunged forward, trying to take Arin before Yuna could leave. The reaction was immediate. Yuna shoved her away.

"Fuck off!"

Mira stumbled backward into a chair, nearly falling.

"The both of you!"

Arin let out another frightened cry at the sudden movement. The sound echoed through the room, mixing with the tension that had been building for hours.

"Stop!" Liz shouted.

That's when they heard it.

Bzzzt.

Every muscle in the room locked. The buzzing came from the table. From the diaper bag. All three women stared at it, their hearts sinking as the realization hit them simultaneously.

Liz moved first. Her breathing caught in her throat as she slowly approached the bag and pulled out a phone. The screen illuminated her face.

Mira and Yuna immediately leaned forward. Then both of them went pale.

"Are you serious?" Yuna cried. "You didn't check the phone?!"

"I thought you did!" Liz snapped back.

The screen continued glowing.

"Oh my god."

Mira grabbed at her hair. "Oh my god, we're so screwed."

Liz immediately dropped the phone back into the bag as if it had burned her. Without another word, she shoved past both women and lunged for the door.

"We need to go."

The second she yanked it open, she froze. Everything stopped.

Her breath left her lungs. A line of police officers stood in the hallway.

Weapons raised. Flashlights cutting through the darkness. Behind them, more officers filled the corridor.

"Police!" one officer shouted. "Don't move!"

You nearly dropped to the floor if it wasn't for Yeosang's quick reaction. His arms wrapped around you immediately, steadying you as your knees threatened to give out beneath you.

"Easy, baby," he whispered, though his own voice was shaking.

You clung to him for only a moment before pulling away, tears already streaming freely down your face. Relief. Just, pure, overwhelming relief.

Hongjoong found your hand instantly. His grip was tight. Like he needed the physical reminder that you were both still here. Without a word, he guided you toward the front entrance of the building. The moment the doors opened, noise erupted.

Police officers, detectives, reporters being held back behind barricades.

The camera flashes, and questions being shouted from every direction. You didn't hear any of it. You actually didn't care, even if it ruined your idol image.

Your eyes were searching for one thing. One person.The person holding your daughter.

Then you saw her. The tiny outfit you'd dressed Arin in that morning. The pale yellow one with the little embroidered flowers on the collar.

Your breath caught. Your heart felt like it stopped. Then started again all at once. "There—"

The word barely left your mouth before you were moving. A broken cry escaped your lips. The woman holding Arin turned at the sound. A gentle smile spread across her face. And then your daughter saw you.

"Oh my, Arin, honey."

Your voice shattered completely. You reached her in seconds. The second Arin was placed into your arms, the world disappeared. A babble immediately left her lips. Tiny hands grabbed at your shirt. Your daughter's face buried itself into your neck as if she never wanted to let go again.

A sob ripped through your chest.

"Oh, baby." You held her impossibly close. Kissing her forehead. Her cheeks.mThe top of her head. Anywhere you could reach.

"I'm here."

More tears fell. "I'm here, sweetheart."

Arin let out another babble before nuzzling further into your neck, little fingers clutching desperately at your jacket. The familiar weight of her in your arms nearly made you collapse all over again.

She was warm. She was safe. She was home.

Hongjoong finally reached you. The moment he saw Arin clinging to you, the composure he'd been forcing all day completely crumbled. A choked sound left him. His hand came up to cup the back of Arin's head.

"Daddy's here."

His voice broke. "Daddy's here, princess."

Arin immediately turned toward him at the sound of his voice. A happy squeal escaped her. A tiny hand reaching toward him.

That was all it took. Hongjoong started crying. The kind of crying that came from relief so overwhelming it hurt. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Oh my god." His shoulders shook.

Around you, the boys finally caught up. San covered his mouth. Seonghwa wiped furiously at his eyes. Mingi openly cried. Wooyoung was already reaching for Arin's little hand. Yeosang looked like he might collapse from relief. Jongho simply lowered his head, emotion finally catching up to him. Yunho had his hands covering his mouth as his shoulder shook.

Because after hours of fear and panic. Hours of imagining the worst.

Arin was back. Right where she belonged. Safe in your arms and you'll be damned if you were to let her out your sight ever again.

taglist: @soso59love-blog | @yeosionist | @bbokarismeow | @moonlitcelestial | @sunnysidesins | @hoeforalbedo | @majáaxx | @fandom-freak-geek | @Vix3e | @xh01bri | @lveegsoi | @puppyminnie | @tournesol155 | @xuchiya | @asesinas | @kyukyustar | @akreacja | @fran0407 | @flambychan | @sparda1234 | @elorabean | @hyxciinth1206 | @lizzstark | @addi-3 | @faeriehwa | @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 | @riri53 | @cromerstudios | @Lowkeni | @roryy95 | @zayn-210 | @pompomaa | @ayayaeyato | @life-is-a-game-of-thrones | @crimsonbubble | @hoeforatz | @spenceatiny18 | @1itatchi-lover | @Addi-3 | @brihaley213 | @awkward-fucking-thing | @Soulphoenix1618 | @brihaley213 | @strawberryshelbert

|| SYNOPSIS: The Black Fever is not a gentle legend, nor a tavern song: it is a name that runs across the waves like a curse, a shadow that cuts through the mist and leaves behind the silence of those who never returned. And when you find yourself dragged away from your orderly life, from your family name, from the certainties that have always kept you fixed in the proper place, you understand that there is no longer a “before” to cling to. They are not heroes. They are not saviors. And they have no intention of making you feel safe. The problem is that when the sea chooses, it demands.

|| WARNINGS! n$fw, smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT eventual smut, slow burn, lots of teasing, mentions of assassination, thievery, pirate stuff, violence, alcohol, fembodied reader, polyamory, fluff, relationships, pirate of the carribbean fanfiction inspo, pirate!Hongjoong, pirate!Seonghwa, pirate!Yeosang, pirate!San, pirate!Wooyoung, pirate!Mingi, pirate!Jongho, pirate!Yunho

|| REMINDER: my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.

0. Will you be my friend?

1. Beginning of the End.

2. Shadows in the Fog.

3. Hello, princess!

4. Surgical Attention.

5. A Tide of Superstitions.

6. The Rematch.

7. Good Luck with your Boredom.

8. Ashore, Not Free.

9. Fresh Air and Bad Omens.

10. Rukhar.

11. Goodbye cell!

12. The Messenger.

13. Feathers and Blood.

14. Chances.

15. Legends will be Legends. (01.07.26)

16. The princess, the thief and the cabin boys.

17. No Mercy.

"You are to marry that king; this is not up for discussion." Your father's voice echoed all around the large office, his words piercing right through your heart.

"Father…" You breathe out, hands gripping the skirt of your dress so tight that it begins to color your knuckles a ghostly shade of white. Sure, you had never been the most favored out of all of your siblings, nor were you in line for the throne—never had been. Yet you never thought your father would stoop as low as to marry you off to another nation just for money, which he had plenty of.

"This is for the better of the kingdom, y/n." Your mother cut in from her spot just behind your father, her hands folded in front of her body, just like you had been taught before you could even remember.

You couldn't even think of anything to say, nor was there anything to be said. There was no way you were getting out of this. So as tears brimmed in your eyes, you tried to muster up a smile, one that felt like it was tearing into your skin. Quietly lowering yourself into a curtsy, you agreed to your father's proposition.

"They will arrive in two days' time. You are to be prepared in advance." Your father continued, his gaze scrutinizing you. Then he was looking behind you, right at his royal advisor, "Jisung, show the Princess back to her room."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jisung's quiet voice flows through your ringing ears, and he bows his head before his gaze shifts over to you, "this way, Your Highness."

The walls of the room seemed to be closing in on you as you turned slowly on your heel, and the tears that stung the back of your eyes seemed to grow. Your heart was thumping violently against the sturdy bones of your ribs, threatening to break free. Yet you could only will yourself to follow the raven-haired male out of the office, hands still clutching your dress skirt, the fabric nearly tearing under your fingernails.

Not a word was spoken as you both walked down the hall, your heels clicking on the marble floors. A few maids were walking down the hall, bowing to you in greeting before going on about their day. You tried to smile at them, trying to be the nice princess that they all knew you as, but as you thought about how your life was about to take a turn for the possibly worst, you just couldn't.

"We've arrived, Your Highness," Jisung announced, motioning towards your bedroom as he held the heavy door open for you.

You thanked him quietly, walking into the luxurious bedroom, and as soon as you walked past the threshold, your knees became weak.

"Your maids have already packed everything, you'll be fetched when their caravan arrives." You look over your shoulder at him, nodding your head before watching him walk out of the room, and the door closes.

As soon as the latch clicked behind him, your knees gave out, falling to the ground, and sobs tore through your lips. Your cries bounced off the walls, the pain that had been sitting idly in your chest finally coming free.

—

Two days later, just like Jisung and your father had said, the water kingdom's men arrived at your castle. Not a word was uttered from your lips as you were escorted to the carriage, the tears in your eyes long since dried up, leaving behind an empty numbness.

"Think of the people, my dear sister," Your brother, who had your arms hooked through his, as he walked you through the palace gates.

The sound of your inexpensive heeled boots echoed off the pavement; they were given to you just this morning by your mother's maids. They were to keep the water from seeping through to your feet. They were a parting gift, one that your mother couldn't be bothered to give you herself. Just like she couldn't be bothered to be here to see you off as you were whisked away to an unknown kingdom.

"What people, brother? We've never had any affiliation with the Water Nation, so why now?" Your words came out hoarse from having not spoken for days, throat rubbed raw from endless hours of crying.

"Don't worry yourself about the little things, just do as you're told, and you'll be happy." Those were the last words that your dear brother had spoken to you before you were ushered into the carriage, the unfamiliar maids fixing your gown inside.

Maybe your brother was right. Maybe this was for the best of the people, for a reason you don't even fully understand. Maybe if you just played the role of a dutiful wife, you could live comfortably.

Those were the types of thoughts that ran through your head during the ride, the world outside you blurring past. You hadn't even registered that someone was speaking to you until you felt an impatient tap to your arm. Blinking a few times to try and clear your mind, you looked over, finding one of the maids looking at you expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Your voice was merely above a whisper, and the woman let out a sigh, her face relaxing slightly before she spoke.

"The king does not want to wait for a ceremony. He's asked to officiate the marriage as soon as we arrive at the palace." She explained to you, and you felt your heart seize in your chest, your breath hitched, words stalling on your tongue.

You had believed that you would have a little time to fully understand the predicament you had been placed in. A few days at least to become comfortable in your home before you are dragged to the man's chambers. At least to have some time to grieve the life you once believed you'd live.

But in just a short amount of time, that small flame of hope had been snuffed out.

"We'll take you to your chambers to change into a new gown fit for the Water Nation, then you're to meet with the king in the grand halls." She continued to explain, but her words all but fell on deaf ears as you began to realize the severity of what you were to do.

Out. Get out. You needed to get out.

Your brain kept repeating that mantra, the sounds drowning out anything around you. Tears brimmed along your waterline, but never fell. Not until the carriage came to a stop and the door swung open.

"We've arrived, Your Highness," The maid motioned towards the open door, waiting for you to move, and with your breath caught in your throat, you moved, stepping out of the carriage with shaky knees.

Stepping onto the pavement below the carriage, you looked up at the palace before you. The glittering blue stones reflected the setting sun beautifully. It gave the illusion that you were standing below the ocean's surface. It was beautiful, but it was also your prison.

"Right this way, Your Highness," A butler motioned towards the palace gates with a bow, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. Your eyes flickered to your surroundings, taking note of how lively everything here looked compared to the Fire Nation that you called your home.

Birds chirped above you in an almost sing-song way, and your head snapped in their direction, having only heard tales of the creatures. A part of you felt like a child exploring a new land and learning new things, but as you heard the heavy palace doors open, that small child inside you cowered into the furthest depths of your soul.

Your jaw clenched tightly as you stepped inside, heart raging against your chest, and as soon as your heeled boot met the smooth marble flooring, you felt a wave of chilled air wash over you. Goosebumps littering your naturally warm skin. Then the doors behind you slammed shut, the loud sound causing you to jump as it reverberated off the walls. Looking behind you, you only found one of the maids behind you, while the butler stayed a few steps ahead.

Get out, now. You're not safe here.

There it was again. That same little voice in the back of your mind, pleading with you to go. Warning you of the dangers that lurked in the walls of this palace. You were no fool; you knew how cruel the king of the Water Nation was. How he has gone through at least a dozen wives, all having died due to either childbirth or mysterious reasons.

Was that the same fate that awaited you? Were you going to become merely another wife who met a bitter, bitter end? Would it be the labor of childbirth or the abuse you may face? A part of you hopes for the earlier option, at least you'd leave this world with an offering for a peaceful passage.

No.

No, you mustn't let yourself think like that. You would be the one who survives. The one that makes it out alive. The one who escapes that fate that awaits her.

The one that got away.

You weren't sure how long you had been walking, nor how far you had traveled into the palace. Just that when you finally pulled yourself from your thoughts, you were standing before a luxurious bedroom. The inside, much like the rest of the palace, was decorated in ocean blues and turquoise.

"The maids inside will help you dress, then you'll be escorted to the main hall." The butler explained before motioning you into the room, and you gave him a curt nod, eyes downcast as you walked inside.

The heavy door latched shut behind you, and your stomach twists violently as your one escape route has been closed off. Walking further into the room, you unfolded your hands that had been neatly placed in front of you, taking in the sight of the nearly translucent blue gown that was displayed. Bile crept up the lining of your throat, knowing that this gown would do just about anything but protect your modesty.

A small gasp fell from your lips when someone grabbed a hold of your arm. Head snapping over you found a young girl, her hands gentle on your thinly covered skin as she urged you towards a side room. That's when you realized that it was only her and one other maid who was fidgeting next to a vanity.

Not a word was spoken as she guided you towards a steaming bath, the area closed off from the rest of the room by a thin curtain. You wanted to speak as she helped you shrug off the complicated layers of your current gown, but the words glued themselves to your tongue.

"Why have you come here?" Her sudden voice startles you, and you look over at her with wide eyes. No maid has ever spoken so freely to you, let alone hold your gaze as she does. "I don't mean to come off brazen, but this place is not for you; you will only find misery here, Princess."

"I—" The words once again stuck themselves to the lining of your throat as you stood before her in nothing but your undergarments.

But you didn't have to speak for her to see it in your eyes. The hard edges of her face softened, and she carefully reached for your hand, her skin unnaturally cold to the touch. "You must leave at once."

"I… I can't." You started, the tears you had tried so hard to keep at bay began to drip from your lashes, "I wouldn't even know where to go."

"You won't have much time, but the drop from the balcony isn't very high. From there, you go north, you'll find the sea, and I'm sure there will be boats." She explained to you in a hushed, hurried tone as her grip tightened around your shaking hands, "If there are no boats, then you shall find a cavern, find refuge in there, you'll be safe, I can assure you."

You looked at her with wide, teary eyes, completely unsure if you could trust her word, but the sincerity that gleamed in her eyes gave you back that shred of hope you thought snuffed out. It took you a few long moments before you were nodding, and she offered you a small, pitiful smile.

"We must bathe you first, only after we redress you can you go." She explained, furthering her words by telling you that the other maid will leave once she is dressed.

So that's what you did, you let yourself sink into the steaming waters of your bath. As you washed away the grime from the trip, you couldn't help but let your gaze drift to the girl who had turned to gather a towel for you. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun that you were sure was hurting her scalp, but what intrigued you was the color. What you had believed to be black was actually a deep midnight blue, only noticeable when the setting sun beamed through the small windows.

Then you swore you saw what looked like scales on her collarbone when she bent down, the hem of her dress dropping just a hair. Though you chalked it up to a trick of the eye when she stood, holding a towel in her hand as she helped you stand.

You wrapped the soft cotton around your body before allowing her to lead you back into the main chambers. Her demeanor shifted back into the meek girl you had met the first time you walked into the room, and the other maid walked over, none the wiser to the conversation that had just transpired, and grabbed your other arm.

Once again, the room fell into a still silence, not a word spoken, and the only sounds were the rustling of fabric as both maids worked together to fit you into the gown. Your eyes flickered over to the balcony door that sat ajar on the far left side of the room. The cool breeze from outside washes over you every so often.

"Maid Yang, please finish prepping the princess while I go make sure everything in the grand hall is settled." The older maid spoke softly as she finished fastening your corset, and you felt your heart leap into your throat.

"Yes, ma'am." The younger girl bows before turning to lead you to the vanity, her gaze shifting over her shoulder as she watches the other woman walk out of the room.

The two of you stopped moving as she slipped out, the heavy doors shutting behind her, and a long beat of silence passed between you and the younger girl. Then, once she was sure that no one would venture into the room once more, she grabbed your arm in a hurried manner, ushering you towards the open balcony door.

"Go. Now." Her voice was stern as she peeked over her shoulder when you neared the edge of the balcony, nothing but plush green grass a few feet below. The drop wasn't deadly, but you would definitely gain a few scratches and bruises if you were lucky to avoid any broken bones.

"Thank you." You breathed out with a smile as you turned to look at the younger girl, a pang of guilt hitting your chest. You knew that if you left, you would only be leaving her to take the punishment of letting you escape, but right now, all you could do was make sure that her efforts to help you wouldn't be in vain.

"Go live a better life, Princess," She offered you a sweet smile as she helped you over the ledge of the balcony, your bare feet nearly slipping on the smooth marble.

Then, with one last nod of appreciation, you jump from the balcony, tucking your body to try and minimize as much damage as you could. A sharp gasp fell from your lips as your body collided and rolled on the grass; the ache alone was enough to tell you that you'd definitely have bruises within the next few hours. Without sparing another second, you leaped to your feet, glancing back just in time to see the girl disappear back into the palace, and that's when you realized.

You never got her name.

But you didn't have time to dwell on the trivial things; you needed to get as far away as you could before they sent guards after you. So you ran without looking back, hands gripping the skirt of your dress as your bare feet trudged through the grass. You could feel the thin edges of the grass blades slicing through your bare skin, but the pain was in the back of your mind, pushed even further as you heard shouting in the distance behind you.

Your heart rang in your ears, legs burning as you continued to push yourself closer and closer to the beach. And you couldn't help but cry out when it came into view, tears blurring your vision. As soon as your feet touched the warm sand, you looked around for any signs of a boat.

With heavy breaths, you rushed towards a small fishing boat you saw tied to the pier closest to shore. Your hands trembled as you fought with the rope knot, and sobs tore through your throat. Then the voices grew closer, and your head whipped around.

"There she is!" The head guard shouted as he pointed at you, and your eyes grew wide.

"No, no, no." You weren't going to be able to get that knot undone in time. No, you needed to run before they caught up fully. So, remembering the cavern that the maid had mentioned to you, you ran, kicking sand up in your wake.

"After her!" The kingsmen shouted again, and you barely heard him over the sound of the waves crashing over the rigid rocks near the shore. They only seemed to get angrier the further you ran, as if they were warning you about something unknown or angry about the horde of men that were on your heels.

As you neared the rocky formation on the far side of the beach, your gaze swept all over, trying to find an entrance. Pain shot through the soles of your feet as the jagged rocks sliced your skin wide open, leaving behind trails of crimson blood in your wake. But the pain didn't deter you, no, if anything, it only spurred you on.

Then you finally spotted the entrance as you rounded the corner, and the gaping hole loomed over you as you stopped dead in your tracks. However, the sound of the nearing kingsmen had you pushing your fear to the side and rushing inside just as one managed to grab your arm.

"Let me go!" You screamed, clawing at his hand, and whether it be the pain of your nails in his skin or the silk of your sleeve, you slipped from his grasp and stumbled into the dark cavern. You tried to regain your balance, but your body seemed to be working against you, and you fell to the ground.

"There's nowhere else to run, Princess." The guard's gruff voice sent a shiver down your spine, and tears blurred your vision as you crawled back.

Sobs tore through your lips as they started to surround you in the dark space, and you knew that there was no escaping. You never should have thought about running, knowing that the fate that awaited you was far worse than before. Tears spilled from your eyes as you squeezed them shut, waiting for them to grab you and drag you back to the palace.

A deep growl echoed around the cavern. The sound came from behind you, and your body went rigid. A newfound fear encased your entire being. Not only had the kingsmen caught up to you, but you ran right into a beast's home. At least this outcome would be far sweeter than what the king would do to you once he had his hands on you.

The ground beneath you began to rumble as whatever was behind you shifted; that same growl was heard once more, louder this time. You didn't dare look back, knowing by the sound and the shift in the ground that whatever it was behind you was huge.

"Beast!" One of the guards shouted, drawing their swords, and the man, before he reached towards you. However, before his hand could make contact with you, a large claw swung, throwing the man across the cavern. Even in the dim lighting, you could make out the glittering blue scales on the claw that now sat beside your body.

Despite the fear that held your body captive, you allowed your head to tilt back, tears silently flowing from the corner of your eyes. Your mouth parted, breath catching on the inhale as you saw the head of the beast looming over you.

The head of a beast that you had only seen skulls of in your father's study. One that the people believed to have gone extinct after the war over two decades ago. The scales and horns are a distinct mark of a reptile that you've heard countless tales about, even the tales of people who could shift into these beasts. They were believed to be of dragon descent.

Though you never thought you'd live to see a dragon.

"Kill it and grab the princess." Another guard growled as he charged with his men, and your head snapped back down at the rushed footsteps.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to move away, but your limbs felt like jelly and refused to work with you. A choked gasp fell from your lips when you felt something coil around your waist. Before you could look, your body was lifted from the ground, pulled back until your back met the smooth stone of the cavern wall.

Everything happened way too fast, the shouting. The growls. The cries of pain. Then the low rumble of something building, and your eyes grew wide as you watched the scales on the creature's neck begin to glow a bright blue hue. It slowly rose up its neck, and you didn't even catch the guards screaming to run before a loud roar echoed around you. The sound was loud enough for your ears to ring even after you covered them with your skinned palms.

The once-dim cavern lit up blue as the dragon spewed something that closely resembled water, but it glowed. An almost unbearable heat filled the cavern as the boiling water landed on the guards around the dragon.

Then it was silent.

No more screaming or yelling. No more growling. No more roaring. Just… silence.

A pained cry ripped from your lips when the water spread across the cavern floors, pooling around your feet and burning the bare skin. Tears escaped your lips as you tried to scramble away, but accidentally placed your hand in the burning liquid.

The sound of a low, guttural growl has you stopping dead in your tracks despite the pain that coursed through your veins. Looking up, you found a pair of glowing blue eyes staring down at you, the sight shocking you straight to your core. You watched with hitched breath as it stepped towards you, tail flicking behind it and all but throwing the unmoving bodies from your sight.

"Y-You…" You tried to speak, but the words stuck themselves to the roof of your mouth when its tail moved towards you once more. You didn't move an inch as it wrapped around you, but unlike the fear that you had felt moments ago, there was something comforting about the way it tightened around you. Never enough to stop you from breathing, but just enough to make sure you wouldn't slip from its grasp.

You held your breath as it lifted you from the ground, moving your body further into the cavern, but you couldn't see anything. Then your body was being sat down, and you expected more stone, but were met with the cool sensation of water. The chill instantly soothes the searing pain in the soles of your feet, and you nearly cry out in relief.

When its tail released its grip, your body dropped into the shallow water, soaking your gown and sending a chill through you. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to get up; instead, you stayed on your knees, letting the water cool the burns and blisters that had begun to form on your soles and palms.

The sound of movement caught your attention, and you turned your head to find those glowing blue eyes staring down at you. Swallowing thickly, you rose up on your knees, pulse throbbing at the base of your throat.

"T-Thank you." You stumble over the simple thanks, voice hoarse due to all the crying, and you could feel your body begin to grow weak as the adrenaline wore off. You weren't sure why the dragon had helped you; maybe it thought you'd make a good meal, and the others were just in the way. Or it was just saving you for last. Whichever it was would be a better outcome than before, so you were willing to accept it as your vision swam, your mind shutting off, and your body swaying before crashing into the water.

The creature let out a grunt before moving closer to the water, its form shimmering and shifting until a man stood where the dragon once did. His blue eyes never left your limp form, a curiosity bubbling in his chest the longer he watched you, and a familiar warmth spread through his body. Stepping into the water, he grabbed your lax body, pulling you into his arms, and as soon as your shallow breath met the skin of his chest, he knew.

You were the mate he had been waiting for.

His key to going back home.

—

You stirred with a groan, joints aching and protesting with every move as you tried to sit up. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, burning slightly. The area around you was bathed in a warm glow, nothing like the darkness you seemed to recall. Then you remembered where you were and your head whipped around.

What you had expected to find was the same dragon that you had seen before. The one who had protected you from the kingsmen and helped with your burns. However, what you were met with instead was a man, his sharp features illuminated by the orange hues of the fire that he sat next to. But what caused your breath to hitch was the horns that sat upon his head and the familiar blue hues that stared right at you.

"You're awake." His deep voice echoes in your ears, and you blink at him, "The burns were pretty severe, so I put a salve on them; they shouldn't hurt for much longer."

Looking down, you saw that your left hand and both feet had been wrapped with bandages. Curiosity seemed to defeat the fear at that moment. You wondered where the large beast had gone, but as you met the man's eyes once more, you seemed to already know your answer.

"Who are you?" You asked, voice meek as you carefully moved to face him fully, and his eyes shifted down for a few seconds before meeting your eyes once more.

"I should be asking you that," He cocked an eyebrow, setting the stick he had been using to poke the fire off to the side. "The people of this Nation know better than to travel into these caverns, but you? You rushed right in as if you didn't know what lies inside."

"I'm…" Your words caught around the lump that had formed in your throat, and you quickly swallowed it back down, "I'm not from this Nation."

Your answer seemed to intrigue the male before you, and his blue eyes searched your face with a curious gaze. "Where are you from?"

"The Fire Nation." You tell him, placing your hands into your lap, eyes following when his intense gaze becomes too much. It was then that you realized that you were still wearing the gown the king had picked out, and heat rushed up your neck.

"Well, Princess," His words and tone cause your head to snap up. You hadn't told him that you were the princess, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out when the guards had been screaming it. "Why did you come here?"

"My father wanted to marry me off to the Water Nation's King." You weren't sure why you were telling this strange man something so easily, but the words just flowed out naturally. Inhaling deeply, you fully introduce yourself, and Mingi just watches with an unreadable expression, annoyance flickering in his blue orbs when you mention the source of the dress you are wearing.

Once your voice trailed off, the cavern fell into an eerie silence, one that left the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall. Then the man was standing, moving towards you, and you felt your pulse quicken with every step until he was kneeling before you. His dark blue hair framed his face, sharp eyes boring into your own, but you didn't see any sign of hostility.

"My name is Song Mingi," He introduced himself, and your eyes grew wide. You had heard that name in tales since you were a mere teen; he was a dragon descendant duke who was loved by his people and feared by other nations. It was believed that he had died in the war, but as you studied his face, you knew that hadn't been true. It also confirmed your earlier suspicion that he was, in fact, the dragon that had been lurking in this cavern.

"Why have you hidden here? You're a duke." You stated in shock, eyes growing wide as he reached forward and took your injured hand into his. His skin was cool against yours, but it didn't stop the warmth spreading through your body. It felt as if there were a magnetic pull towards him, one you couldn't fight.

"My uncle, he's taken over the estate while I was gone, and I haven't had the strength to return." He began explaining, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your knuckles. Mingi's eyes never once left yours, and you couldn't find it in you to look away even when his next words shocked you: "I need your help, princess."

You couldn't disconcert if he was calling you by your title or a petname, either way it had your heart jumping. His gentle touch had your muscles relaxing, and you blinked slowly as his request settled in your mind.

"My help? What could I possibly do to help you?" You asked, fingers flexing in his grasp when his thumb brushed over the bandage, but the lingering pain was nothing compared to your confusion and curiosity.

"The only reason my uncle's heirs have kept the estate is simply that they believe me to be dead," He tells you, his eyes flittering down to your hand when he felt your pulse jump.

"So why don't you return? They could giv—"

"Yet they will not. They have had it in their grasp for far too long. I need to secure my spot, and to do so, I need to prove I can further my lineage." He explains further, gaze moving up to meet yours with expectant eyes, and it didn't take but a moment for you to realize what he was asking.

"You want me to be your bride?" You asked, voice but a whisper, scared that if you spoke any louder, you'd bring your earlier panic back.

Mingi hummed, fingers tightening around yours firmly when you tried to pull away, "Just for a while, then once I have the estate back, you'll be free to leave and go as you please."

You wanted to tell him that he was crazy, that he had no right to ask this of you when you had just run from a marriage. Yet as you met his blue eyes, you could hear that little voice in the back of your mind again, but this time it wasn't telling you to run. Rather, it was telling you that you were safe.

That you were home.

It only confused you, and you wished you could ask what in the great heavens it meant, but alas, you couldn't. However, as you looked into the man's eyes, you couldn't help but feel that the voice was right. So despite your earlier reservations, you found yourself nodding, eyes scanning his face and lingering on the smooth patches of scales that sat underneath his eyes.

"What about the king?" You asked, eyes returning to his, and your heart leapt at the sight of the smile that tugged on his plump lips.

"Even the king wouldn't dare defy a dragon descendant, let alone a shifter," Mingi reassured you, and his warm smile mixed with his gentle presence was enough to have you relax.

"When would we leave?" Your question was answer enough for the dragon, and he hummed softly, eyes gazing back down at your hand.

"Let's get these healed first, then we can deal with other things after." He told you, bringing your hand to his face, and your eyes grew wide as heat flushed your face when he pressed his lips over the bandage. "Need you healed for a proper return."

The first few days were awkward, unsure what you were to do in such a confined space or what to say to the man who never left your eyesight. You tried to make small talk, but it always fizzled out after a few sentences, and you were left with your eyes downcast, the tips of your ears burning red.

However, the following days seemed to go by more easily; Mingi always made sure that you were fed and that your bandages were taken care of, even going as far as to bring you a change of clothes. He was nothing like the stories had described him to be. The cold and ruthless man you had read about was nowhere to be found; only the gentle giant who treated you as if you were a doll.

By the end of the second week, you had grown comfortable around the man; the earlier awkwardness was nowhere in sight. You found yourself talking to him about your life in the fire palace while he told you stories from the war, even about his own family.

You found yourself growing close to the blue-haired male, his kind ocean eyes all but pulling you further in. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself drawn to him, fingers itching to reach out and touch him, brain begging you to do so, but you kept your restraint. You chalked it up to it being that he had been your only companion for the past few weeks.

Then by the middle of the third week, Mingi was walking back into the cavern with a beautiful gown in his arms, and you knew that it was time. You stood from the log you had been sitting on, dusting your hands off on the skirt of your current dress, eyes flickering from his smiling face to the blue gown in his arms.

"For you, Princess." He walked up to you, his larger frame towering over you, and your breath caught in your throat as you smelled the sea salt on his skin. You swallowed thickly before reaching out to take the gown, ignoring the emotions that bubbled in your gut.

"It's beautiful, Mingi, thank you." You murmured as you blinked up at him, and he gave you a lopsided smile.

"Go ahead and put it on, we'll leave in the evening." He nodded down at you, and your eyes went wide.

"But the estate is at least a three-day trek from here."

The blue-haired dragon chuckled as he placed his large hand upon your head, "Who says we're walking?"

You wanted to ask him what in the world he could possibly mean, but he was already moving around you, fingers reaching for the buttons of his tunic. Your eyes went wide as he began removing his tunic. Heat enveloped your body the longer you watched him undress. A soft gasp fell from your lips when he reached for the button of his trousers, hands bringing your new gown to your face, and the sound of Mingi's chuckles filled the air.

You didn't dare to move the cloth, unsure as to what the man was doing or if he was still indecent. Then you felt a large huff of air wash over you, and your breath hitched. Slowly bringing the gown away from your face, your eyes went wide at the sight of the large dragon that was now standing before you, his glowing blue eyes looking down at you.

This time, you couldn't help but stare at his blue scales, glittering under the orange firelight. Nothing but wander filled your eyes as he brought his head down, your hand instinctively reaching up and allowing him to nuzzle into your now-healed palm. His scales were cool to the touch, much like his skin was. Your hand didn't hold a candle to the sheer size of his snout, and when his mouth opened with a hum, you couldn't help but smile at the soft noise.

He then moved his tail towards you, poking the dress in your arms with the tip. Understanding what was meant, you dropped your hand and took a step back. He moved towards the entrance before sitting down, giving you one last glance before averting his attention elsewhere and giving you some privacy.

You didn't waste any time in undressing yourself, holding back a shiver as the cool air of the cavern washed over you. The dress was a beautiful ocean blue, one that closely resembled the scale on Mingi's body. It was a floor-length gown with a sweetheart neckline, and the sheer sleeves flowed past your hands, nearly touching the ground by your feet. You struggled with the bodice for a few moments but managed to set it before flattening out the layered skirt with your hands, fingers catching on the dangling jewels.

"It's beautiful." You spoke in awe as you looked down, twirling slightly, and you heard a high-pitched chirp, causing you to look over. Mingi had turned his head and his gaze focused solely on you, and you looked at him with a bashful gaze.

Swallowing thickly, you thanked the large reptile before grabbing his discarded messenger bag and stuffing his clothes inside, knowing he'd need them once you arrived at your destination. Once you were sure you had everything, you grabbed the heels that Mingi had brought with the gown and moved towards his larger form.

"Let's get this show on the road, Duke Song." You smiled up at him, and he bowed his head slightly before rising back to his full height. He moved out of the large mouth of the cavern, and you followed closely behind, careful of his swaying tail.

Once you were both outside, you could see the remnants of the setting sun, the sky painted in beautiful hues of oranges and purples. You took a moment to look, eyes tracing every curve until you felt a small nudge against your back, and you looked over your shoulder at the large blue-scaled dragon who had lowered his body to the ground. Your heart races at the thought of what he was insinuating, but you knew that this was all part of the plan, nothing more, nothing less.

So you slipped your heels onto your feet before carefully pulling yourself onto the dragon's back, careful of the spines that jutted out. You fix his bag around your body before wrapping one hand around the spine in front of you and tapping his side with the other, letting him know that you are ready.

You held your breath when he began to move, his wings spreading wide as he neared the cliff edge. The colors of his scales were even more beautiful under the setting sun; the mixture of dark ocean blues and vibrant turquoise was mesmerizing.

A sharp gasp then fell from your lips when he took off, the speed enough to knock the air from your lungs as you clung tightly to his back. Tears started to sting in the corner of your eyes due to the harsh winds, and your chest felt tight because of the lack of proper oxygen. You weren't sure how long this went on for, but before long, his body evened out, and the rush of air lessened, allowing you to finally breathe properly.

"My goodness…" You breathed out as you let your teary eyes flutter open, gaze falling on the city below you before flickering to the glittering sea on the other side. It was beautiful.

Though the high altitude made it difficult to breathe, Mingi made sure to stay low enough that it wouldn't harm you. The last thing he wanted or needed was for you to pass out mid-flight, where he would risk hurting you as he caught you.

You couldn't help the child-like laughter that bubbled out of your chest as you looked around. The sight was something that you would etch into every crevice of your mind, knowing that you wouldn't get the chance to see it again.

Then the sky darkened, and stars began to appear one by one, and your eyes widened. You never got the chance to see the stars aside from trips to the Earth region when you were younger. The smoke from the ever-burning forests in the Fire Nation clouded the sky, blocking your view of the stars. So you soaked in the sight, connecting the consolations you had read about so many times in books from the old shelves of the library.

Mingi's head turned just enough so he could see your wander-filled gaze, and he felt his heart thump against his strong ribs. His blue hues studied your face, making note to bring you out more in the future and hoping that you stayed long enough for you to let him.

It was the dead of the night by the time the Duke's estate came into view as Mingi descended towards the ground. Your grip tightened on the spine in front of you as the harsh winds returned and your breath caught in your throat when he landed, the vibration of the rumble shot through your body nearly making you lightheaded.

The sound was enough to bring the attention of the people residing in the estate. You could hear gasps and shouts as Mingi lowered his body, allowing you to slide from his scaly back. Moving around his large body, you came face-to-face with two men who were dressed peckishly as well as a woman with a child on her hip, then a crowd of what you could only guess were their maids and servants behind them.

"H-How is this possible?" The older man in the front spoke, his voice showing his age as he stumbled forward. Disbelief etched into his features, and you felt movement behind you.

"Greetings, uncle, it has been a long time, hasn't it?" Mingi's voice flowed into your ears, and you turned your head just enough to catch sight of his half-turned form, his horns still sitting perfectly in his azure locks. A blush formed on your cheeks as you realized that he was standing before his family without any proper clothing, and you quickly handed him the messenger bag. "Thank you, my love."

Your heart leapt at the petname, mouth going dry, and all you could do was muster up a smile. The feeling of eyes boring into your side made you acutely aware of the nobility that stood before you, but you had to remind yourself that you were a princess—royalty.

"Cousin, you should know you aren't welcome here." The other man spoke, and your eyes flickered over to him, a sudden rush of annoyance ripping through your body, and you couldn't stop the scoff that escaped your lips.

"If anyone isn't welcome here, it's the likes of you. You all are nothing but illegitimate blood hoarding something that was never yours to begin with." You seethed, eyes narrowing as you glared at the man, and Mingi stopped mid-button to look at you in shock before a ghost of a smirk spread on his lips.

"You wrench! Who gave you the right to speak to me like that?" The man seethed, stepping closer to you, but stopped dead in his tracks when a low growl reverberated from deep within Mingi's chest, his eyes glowing in warning.

"That is my wife, so you are to watch your tone when speaking to her," Mingi growled, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you behind him. You looked up at Mingi's taller figure with semi-wide eyes, your heart beating furiously under your ribs as heat crept up your neck.

"W-Wife?" Mingi's uncle was the next to speak as he moved closer to his song, grabbing his arm, knowing very well what Mingi was capable of.

"Yes. Meet Princess Y/n of the Fire Nation, my wife." Mingi introduced you as he allowed you to move back to his side once he deemed it safe to do so. At his introduction, hushed whispers fell over the crowd, and you could see the fear swimming in the old man's eyes, knowing that his title was slipping from his fingers. "Now, shall we move this conversation inside where my wife can be comfortable, or do I need to make a path?"

Your lips parted, breath catching on the inhale at his tone. The power that seeped from his words alone was enough to leave anyone trembling in their shoes. Yet you could only look at him in nothing but astonishment. Not only was he going to get what he wanted while he was here, but he was also making sure you were comfortable along the way. At least you thought that until you remembered that this was only a deal, you weren't actually his wife, and he was just here to gain his title back.

"Quickly, make space for Her Highness and the Duke." The woman with the child told the maids behind her, the child resting her head against the woman's shoulder with a sleepy gaze.

"Thank you, Clara." Mingi gave the woman a smile, and had you not known any better, you would've thought that it was kind. But you saw the hatred and anger simmering deep in his blue eyes.

Mingi wraps his arm loosely around your waist, guiding you towards the estate but also keeping you close to his body in a protective manner. You kept your head held tall like you had been taught since you were a child, not letting their judging gazes get to you.

The inside of the estate was bathed in a warm hue, and the scent of vanilla and bourbon filled your senses. Glancing over, you noticed Mingi's nose scrunched, and the sight has you smiling softly. You move your body just enough for his arm to slip from your waist, allowing you to hook your arm around his.

"Right this way, Your Grace." One of the maids pointed both of you towards the stairs, but Mingi didn't move an inch, his eyes trained on his uncle and cousin, who had just walked into the foyer.

"I think it's best we talk first, we have a lot to catch up on, don't you think?" Mingi asked, eyebrow cocking as he turned to fully face the two men. His stature would have any normal person cowering away, and you could tell it was taking a lot for the two men to keep their composure.

"You want the estate." His uncle stated, and Mingi's lips curve into a wolfish smirk.

"Yes,"

"I'm afraid that's not possible; this belongs to my father." Mingi's cousin spoke up once more with a glare; however, his father grabbed his arm.

"See my dearest cousin, that's where you're wrong." Mingi stepped towards the man, letting his arm slip from your grasp, and said, "This entire land belonged to me before you measly rats came and made yourselves at home."

"How dare yo—"

"I thought I warned you about your tone," Mingi growled, his claws extending and pressing right against the younger male's throat, breaking skin. "It seems your father failed to teach you proper manners. Now, I suggest we talk like men because it would be a shame for your wife and child to watch as you bleed out at their feet."

Your chest tightened at the threat, and you knew you should be scared that he would so easily take another man's life. But you weren't. No, if anything, the tone he used had a wave of heat washing over you, and you folded your hands in front of your body to keep the trembling at bay.

"Mingi, think of your father." His uncle's words seemed to flip a switch in the blue-haired male, and the room fell into a chilling temperature. Mingi's blue eyes glowed brightly as he glared at the older male, hand encasing his cousin's throat and pulling a choked gasp out of him.

"You have no right to speak of my father," Mingi growled, fingers tightening around the man's throat, and you were sure that if he added just a bit more pressure, he would snap his neck.

Then the sound of the child's cries caught your attention. Your head snaps over to the mother and child who were watching the scene before them in horror. Your heart ached for them, and as much as you wished you could spare the man for their sake, you knew Mingi wouldn't allow it, so you did the next best thing. Walking over to the woman you grabbed her arm gently and caught her attention, she looked at you with teary eyes, a mixture of emotions swimming in her eyes.

"Spare yourself and your daughter from this nightmare. Go, now." You urged her and the crying child towards the stairs, and with a quick glance at the maid who stood nearby, she understood. With a nod, she grabbed the woman's arm and ushered her up the stairs and away from the gruesome scene that was awaiting down below.

"Last chance, uncle," Mingi's voice echoes around the room, causing a shiver to run down your spine, and the older man looks at his nephew in shock. His eyes flickered from Mingi to his dying son, whose lips began to turn blue due to lack of oxygen.

"W-We'll return the estate. Just release him." His uncle begged, panic written all over his face, the moment he noticed his son's movements dying down.

"Not just the estate. Everything. And you lot are to leave without a coin." Mingi growled, his grip growing even tighter, and you feared that he would actually snap the man's neck, so you moved closer to him carefully.

"Yes! We'll return everything!" The old man trembled in his spot as his son's life hung by a thread, and a sinister smirk spread on Mingi's lips. He then released the man, letting him drop to the floor before bringing that same hand to his uncle's face, patting his cheek roughly.

"Good choice," Mingi chuckled as he took a step back, right into your awaiting arms, where his gaze flickered for a moment before the smirk dropped into a snarl, "now get out."

"Clara!" The older man began to shout, but Mingi shook his head, stopping the maid who went to fetch the woman with a pointed glare.

"The woman and child can stay. You two are to leave this instant." Mingi brought his heated gaze back to the two men. His uncle didn't spare another second before hauling his coughing son from the floor and lugging him towards the main doors, ignoring his choked protests.

The foyer then fell into a lingering silence; no one dared to move for fear of being under the dragon's wrath next. However, as your hands wrapped around Mingi's bicep, he could feel his anger and annoyance begin to simmer away.

"You must be tired, my love." Mingi's tone came out sweet, the sound leaving you weak in the knees, even more so when his soft gaze fell upon you, "Show my wife to our chambers, I'm sure you know which one that is."

He told the maids that still stood behind you, and they quickly nodded, showing you towards the stairs, but you cast one last glance at the blue-haired dragon. Mingi offered you a smile with a slight nod of his head, and you felt your shoulders relax before allowing the maids to show you to the master chambers, where they helped you get dressed for bed, and you fell onto the soft mattress, sleep quickly overtaking your body as the events of the day finally caught up to you.

—

You weren't sure what time it was when you woke the next day, but what you did know was that all hell had broken loose downstairs. Without even bothering to change, just grabbing a robe, you shrugged it over your shoulders and rushed down the stairs, where the yelling seemed to rise even louder.

"This isn't your home anymore. How dare you try to take it away!" The woman's voice rang loudly in your ears as you rounded the corner into the main living space.

"This has always been my home, Clara. I'm simply taking back what belongs to me." Mingi stated coolly, eyes darkening as the woman before him huffed in frustration, tears flooding down her cheeks.

"Min—"

"You!" Mingi's name barely fell from your lips as Clara turned towards you with adulterated rage, and you felt your heart seize as she stomped towards you.

"Clara." The tone in which her name fell from Mingi's lips had your body going rigid, as well as Clara's, as she looked at you with a tear-filled gaze. However, under her anger, you could see something deeper—heavier.

Guilt and worry.

"Why? Why must you take this away from my child?" She choked through a sob, and you felt your heart squeeze in your chest. You took a tentative step towards her despite Mingi's warning gaze, hands carefully taking her and pulling her attention to you.

"Clara, you and your child can still live happily. Go explore the world or live peacefully. You have that freedom now." You spoke in a gentle tone, a stark contrast to the tone that Mingi had been using for the better half of the morning, and you could see her resolve crumble.

"W-Where are we to go? My family would rather be caught dead than bring their widowed daughter home." She cried and your eyebrows furrowed, what did she mean 'widowed'? Her husband was still alive…

At least you thought so until you glanced over at Mingi, who had sat back on the sofa, his azure eyes trained on you, and you knew that you had missed something. Inhaling deeply, you turn your attention back to the weeping woman who began to slump in your hold.

"I have an estate in my name on the borders of the Fire Nation. You and your child are free to live there until you please. No one would dare to bother you, and if they do, just send them my way." You tell her and her eyes grow wide, completely baffled that you would offer such a thing, but you didn't give her a breath to protest, instead you waved a maid over. "Please help Miss Clara pack her and her daughters' belongings while I draw up the directions,"

"Why are you helping me?" She asked, her voice cracking as she let her hands fall to the crook of your elbows, gripping the skin as if she thought this would be some cruel nightmare the moment she let go.

"Because I know what it's like to be trapped within an unwanted marriage. However, I was lucky to be taken away before it was set in stone. Now I want to help someone else escape that same fate." You told her, and the truth in your words made more tears drip from her long lashes: "Go live the life you have always wished for, raise your daughter with love, and show her the true wonders of the world."

"Thank you, Princess." She bowed deeply, and you fumbled to pull her back up, telling her that it wasn't necessary.

"This way, miss." The maid you had motioned over to the teary-eyed woman, who thanked you one last time before allowing herself to be escorted out of the room.

You stood there for a moment, watching as she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs before turning your attention to another maid, telling them to bring you a quill and paper. Then you finally let yourself meet the dragon's gaze, and your breath hitched at the intensity. Swallowing thickly, you moved towards him, his eyes tracking your every move even after you sat down.

There was an unspoken tension in the air as you waited, hands folded in your lap, and you wished Mingi would say something. Yet he never did, not even when the maid stepped up to the table, holding out the material you had asked for.

"Go fetch Her Grace a blanket." Mingi's voice was low when he spoke, the sound sending a shiver coursing through your body. The cushion next to you shifted as he sat up, his large hand finding the small of your back, and the weight made you swallow thickly. "You sure have a kind heart, Princess."

"Kindness is a virtue that very few have in this cruel world; it's only right to lend it to those who need it." You told him without meeting his gaze, heat creeping up your neck and burning the tips of your ears when you felt his breath against your neck.

"Should I be honored that you've lent me your kindness?" He asked, his voice right next to your ear, and your body froze in the middle of a sentence. Mingi could hear your heartbeat speed up, the sound causing the dragon to smirk; however, before he could push further, the maid walked back into the room.

"Your Grace." She bowed her head before handing the blue-haired male the fur blanket, which he took and unfolded instantly.

"Thank you, you're free to go." He spoke blandly before turning his focus back onto you, only to find you staring at him with scrunched eyebrows.

"It wouldn't hurt for you to lend out that same kindness sometimes, Your Grace." You told him pointedly before turning back to finish up the directions.

"Kindness for me will only lead me to my grave," He told you honestly, wrapping the soft fur around your body and tugging you towards him until his lips were merely inches away from yours as you turned your head in surprise, "you hand out the kindness for the both of us."

"M-Mingi…" You breathed out, eyes flickering to his plush lips that were just out of reach, and he knew, but he couldn't let himself fall into the temptation. Not now, not yet.

"But be careful who you hand it to, not everyone will treat you the same." The blue-eyed man warned you before releasing his grasp and moving back. You watched him with wide eyes as he stood, fixing his navy vest that hugged his torso just right before looking back at you, "I've got stuff to attend to. If you need anything, call for one of the maids."

Then, with that, he was walking out of the room, and you were left staring at his retreating form in confusion. Where had that kind and gentle man from the cavern gone to?

However, you decided not to let yourself get carried away with the thought; you knew that he was only using you to gain control of his estate. He would only send you away once he's accomplished his goal. So you decided that you would use the time you have here to do some good, and you would start with finishing these directions.

As the day went on, you found yourself going back to the blue-haired dragon, wondering what he was doing and if he had eaten. Though every time you asked the maids, they reassured you that they had delivered him food.

You tried to hold on to the reassurance as you helped Clara and her daughter climb into the carriage, wishing them a safe journey and to write if they ever needed anything. A soft gasp fell from your lips when the mother wrapped her arms around you, hugging you tightly and murmuring one last thank you before the carriage door was shut. You waved at the little girl as she beamed at you from the carriage window, the sight making your heart swell in happiness.

But as you watched the carriage disappear over the slopes, you couldn't help the lingering anxiety that came barreling into you. The feeling wound your chest tightly, and you rushed back into the estate and towards the kitchen.

"Your Grace," The maids bowed as they acknowledged your presence, and you waved them off before asking about Mingi's dinner. "We were just getting ready to deliver it to His Grace in the study."

"Let me," You grabbed the skirt of your dress and stepped further into the room despite their protests. However, you didn't leave much room for discussion, and they reluctantly handed you the tray after prepping it.

You thanked them before making your way back out of the kitchen and towards the study that you knew the blue-haired male would be hiding away in. The maid at the end of the hall quickly walked over, knocking on the door for you. When you heard the man's gruff voice saying to come in, she opened the door before letting you walk in and shutting it right behind you to offer some privacy.

"You can leave it over there." Mingi waved to the side, not bothering to look up from his papers, and you looked over to see the untouched trays that sat on a table to the side. Huffing softly, you stepped towards him, and as soon as your scent invaded the dragon's senses, his head snapped up, azure eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression. "What are you doing?"

"Coming to make you, you've been eating, and good thing I did," You rolled your eyes before stepping closer to the desk despite the low growl that rumbled from the man's chest. Moving around the oak desk you didn't bother to even look at what he had been reading, instead you sat the tray down on an empty spot before looking at him expectantly, "stop being such a brute and eat something."

"I'll eat after I'm finished," He exhaled sharply before letting his gaze fall back to the papers before him, and that had a surge of annoyance rushing through you.

Biting your lip, you propped your hands on your hips and watched him, your burning gaze causing his scales to tingle, and before long, he couldn't take it any longer. Dropping the pages once more, he turned to look at you with a cocked eyebrow.

"Eat." You told him pointedly and motioned to the food that was sitting, ignored on his desk. He began to open his mouth, and you already knew it was some kind of excuse, "Mingi, eat or I will tie you to that chair and shove it down your throat."

Your words took the man by surprise, his eyes growing wide by just a fraction, and his pulse thumped at the base of his throat. He hadn't expected to hear those words fall from your lips, but as he stared into your narrowed eyes, he could see the worry swimming beneath the annoyance. Reluctantly, he pushed his chair back and turned towards you, a cocky smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

"Why doesn't my beautiful wife feed it to me?" He teased, and his choice of words has your heart leaping into your throat, your cheeks warmed fast, color rising before you could stop it. Mingi could see it on your face, and it only spurred him on, "You said you'd tie me to the chair and shove it down my throat, so keep good on your promise, princess."

"You're insufferable," You grumbled, but reached for the spoon nonetheless, gathering some of the food before moving towards the large dragon. Mingi looked up at you with nothing but mischief, and your jaw clenched tightly, "Mingi." Your tone was nothing short of warning, your patience wearing thinner by the second, but Mingi was enjoying it, maybe a little too much. When he didn't open his mouth, you felt that thread snap, and you exhaled slowly. "Fine, you want me to force feed you, then I'll force feed you."

In the next second, you had your knee pressing into his thigh while your free hand grabbed one of his horns, tugging his head back and eliciting a deep groan, and finally, his mouth fell open. Taking the chance, you shove the spoonful of food into his mouth, eyes boring into his, and Mingi felt heat envelope his body.

"Chew." You demanded, letting your hand fall to your side while your other one gripped his horn tighter. Mingi's hand instinctively flew to the back of your thigh, fingers gripping the soft flesh through the fabric of your gown.

You watched as he chewed before swallowing, and his azure eyes darkened into a deep blue, his gaze making your stomach flip. Heat pooled in your gut, and you could feel that pull once more, brain begging for you to give in to the temptation. Mingi wasn't too far behind you, fingers itching to grab and grope at any part of your body he could possibly reach. But before he could, you were slipping away from him, stumbling back and averting your gaze elsewhere as your cheeks and ears burned a bright red.

"Make sure you eat." You breathed out almost breathlessly before setting the spoon down and scurrying out of the room, leaving Mingi there to watch in amusement.

However, as his gaze flickered back to the papers before him, he knew he didn't have time for the trivial things right now. He could worry about it all once he made sure he had a secure place for you to stay—happy and healthy.

—

The game of push and pull seemed to go on for weeks; one of you would push the other's buttons to the point of their patience snapping, only for them to pull away when things got heated. It was starting to drive you insane, your mind swimming with the possibility that Mingi actually wanted you. But you quickly pushed that thought out of your head when you watched him sort through all the years of finances and deeds.

"Your Grace, your bath is ready." One of the maids spoke, startling you from where you sat at your vanity, mindlessly combing through your locks. Setting down the gemmed comb, you turned your attention to the girl, thanking her before making your way into the washroom.

The dim lighting of the moon reflected off the rippling water, and you couldn't help but be reminded of the azure dragon that sat just downstairs. Hidden away in his study once more.

Letting out a soft sigh, you sat on the ledge of the tub, running your fingers through the warm water. Then you heard a thump—quiet, but there. The sound had you leaping to your feet, eyes trained on the door as you looked around for any possible escape if it were to be an intruder. Then you heard heavy boots on the floors, and you knew it wasn't any of the maids, and it sure as hell wasn't Mingi.

Swallowing thickly, you moved further back into the room, searching for something—anything to protect yourself. Except you couldn't find a thing before the door was slamming open, a man standing in the doorway and blocking the main chamber's light.

"There you are, Princess," His voice sent a chill down your spine, more so when a smirk spread across his lips, "the king has been waiting very patiently for your return."

"I-I'm not going back." You told him, voice shaking as tears brimmed in your eyes, and you were brought back to that fear you had believed to be gone. Your eyes darted all over the room, for a weapon, for an escape, for anything.

"I'm afraid that's not up for discussion." He growled, moving towards you in quick strides, and you did the one thing you thought could possibly get you out of this.

"Mingi!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, the lining of your throat rubbing raw at the sheer force.

"Stupid wrench!" The man hissed, grabbing a fistful of your hair before slamming your head into the wall next to you.

The impact draws a sharp cry from your lips, your vision swimming, and black spots clouding the edges. No, you couldn't pass out. You had to fight. You had to get out. You couldn't go back to that king. Tears of fear and pain mixed as they flowed down your cheeks, nails clawing at the man's wrist as he dragged you towards the door.

Safe. You're safe. He's here.

That little voice in the back of your mind spoke over the deafening ringing in your ears, and you could feel the fear start to dissipate. A comfort fell over you, and as soon as you lifted your blurry gaze, you met the glowing blue eyes of your fated dragon.

"Release her." Mingi's voice was low, but the growl in his tone bounced off the walls of the luxurious washroom, and the man stopped dead in his tracks. His narrow eyes found the male, but his face quickly morphed into one of fear as he realized who it was that stood before him. The man all but threw your body towards the blue-haired male witless scrambling back and Mingi was quick to catch you in his arms.

"Y-Y-You—" The man choked on his words as he stepped further into the bathroom, and Mingi felt nothing but unfiltered rage when he smelled the blood that had begun to seep from the gash on your forehead.

"Who sent you?" The dragon demanded as he tugged your weakening body closer to his, fingers grasping your side.

"T-The Water Nation king!" He exclaimed, pleading for Mingi to spare his life, and the taller male's eyes only grew brighter as he stared down at the cowering man.

Mingi's jaw tightened at the mention of the king you had fled from mere months ago. Glancing back at one of the maids, he motioned for her to take your dazed form, telling her to call the doctor after getting the bleeding under control.

He watched for a moment as the pair of women worked together to help your stumbling form out of the bedroom, incoherent murmurs fell from your lips. Once the door closed, he turned his attention back to the man before him.

"Now, I could kill you…" Mingi spoke coolly as he stepped towards the man, who shook his head violently, "But that would only be a waste, so here's what we shall do." The large dragon stopped in front of the man and crouched down, his arms resting on his knees as he watched the man cower into the corner, "First, you put your hands on my wife, my mate." Mingi growled, and in the blink of an eye, his large hand grasped the back of the man's head, slamming it into the wall much like he had done to you.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Weak pathetic pleas fell from the man's lips as he tried to focus his swimming vision.

"Second," Mingi's hand moved his hand from the man's head to his collar, tugging his body closer until his face was mere inches away from Mingi's. "You tell your king that if he dares to lay another finger on her, he'll have the wrath of the dragon descendant duke brought down upon this kingdom."

"Ye— Yes, Your Grace!" The perp nodded his head, trembling hands rubbing together in another pathetic attempt at a plea.

Mingi clicked his tongue before rising to his feet, pulling the man's body up as well and ignoring his pleas and jumbled words as he escorted him towards the front door, roughly. Once the front doors were open, Mingi all but threw the man outside, watching as his body slid against the jagged gravel.

"You fail your task, and I will hunt you down and skin you alive," Mingi growls, eyes widening just a hair as the blue burned brighter and the man scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply, "get out of my sights."

Then the man was tucking tail and running. Before long, his form was merely a speck in the night, and Mingi stepped back inside. The anger that radiated off the dragon had all of the staff cowering away; his gaze was enough to pierce through anyone's soul.

"Where is she?" He asked no one in particular, and one maid swallowed her nerves and motioned towards the stairs.

"This way, Your Grace." Her voice was meek, heart jumping when the Duke's fiery gaze fell upon her. But he didn't say a word as he allowed her to lead him back up the stairs and towards another chamber door.

Once the door was open, he was waving her away and stepping inside, where he found your motionless body lying beneath the covers. His heart skipped in his chest, and for the first time in many, many years, the dragon felt fear course through his veins. The lingering scent of your blood surrounded the man, and he swallowed thickly as he moved towards the bed where the doctor had just finished up.

"How is she?" Mingi's voice came out softer, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form, and the doctor bowed before rising.

"The blow was pretty hard, and the gash needed stitches," As the doctor explained. Mingi could feel his rage begin to surface once more, his upper lip pulling back into a snarl, the sharp point of his fangs gleaming in the dim lighting.

"I should've just killed that bastard." He growled lowly, fingers tightening around the wood of the bed frame, the wood creaking under his palms.

"She will probably be out for a while, but she should wake up within the next few days." The doctor continued his explanation, paying no mind to the large dragon, and moved towards the bedroom door after Mingi dismissed him.

Once the door closed, Mingi finally released his grip from the creaking wood and moved towards your pale body. He grabbed the armchair that stood nearby and sat down, taking your smaller hand into his. The room fell into a still silence, neither comfortable nor unbearable; just… still.

"I'm sorry, my love," The dragon whispers, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. His lips lingered there for a few long moments as he studied your face, and had it not been for the bloodied bandage that was wrapped around your head, he would've thought you were just sleeping. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

And he spent the rest of that night as well as the many following nights at your bedside. He barely let the maids near you, a threatening growl emitting from his throat when one got a little too close for his liking.

Then, it was early morning on the sixth day, and the sound of birds chirping outside the window was the first sound you heard. Your head pounded as you slowly opened your eyes, only to close them again due to the harsh sun rays. You tried to bring your hand up to shield your eyes from the light, but were stopped by a weight in your palm. Sitting up carefully, you blinked slowly, allowing your eyes to get used to the new brightness before you glanced over.

Your breath caught in your throat when you found none other than Mingi slumped over at your bedside. The evident eye bags under his eyes and the dull shimmer of his once bright scales told you that he hadn't slept in days. A soft smile curves on your lips as you bring your free hand over, brushing his hair from his face, careful not to touch his horns, knowing it'd wake him up.

The sound of the door opening had your shoulders going stiff, head snapping in the direction, only to find one of the maids walking into the room. A gasp fell from her lips when she saw that you were awake, but you quickly hushed her, pressing your index finger to your lips. She quickly covered her lips, eyes flickering from you to the sleeping beast beside you.

"How long have I been asleep?" You asked quietly, and she stepped closer to the bed, a weary gaze shifting from Mingi back to you.

"Today would've been the sixth day, Your Grace." She told you, bowing her head softly, and you nodded before letting your gaze fall back to the blue-haired male. "He hasn't left your side a single day; he refused to eat despite our worries and reminders that you would want him to eat."

You looked at her for a moment before softly pinching the male's cheek, "brat."

"Would you like me to bring you some food, Your Grace?" She asked, and you nodded, giving her a gentle smile before watching as she quietly slipped out of the room.

Then the room was shrouded in silence once more, the only sounds coming from the birds outside and the soft snores that slipped past Mingi's lips. You watched him sleep, eyes studying his face, and for the first time, you were able to really take in his beauty. Your fingers carefully trace every curve, blemish, mole, and scar that you could reach before he was stirring under your touch.

You pulled your hand away from his face when his eyes fluttered open, azure hues focusing on you the moment he woke. Your smile only spread wider as he sat up, eyes wide as if he weren't sure if this were a dream or not.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." You teased, and Mingi felt as if a ton of bricks had been lifted from his shoulders.

"You're awake." His voice was heavy with sleep, and it sent a flurry of butterflies through your stomach, a soft heat settled across your face, giving you away. Then he was moving towards you, large hands cupping your jaw carefully, and before you could register it, his lips were on yours.

It only took seconds before you were melting into his touch, eyes fluttering closed and fingers gripping the untucked hem of his tunic. Your head tilted just enough to deepen the kiss, easily finding yourself getting lost in his taste.

The way his lips melded with your left your craving for more, fingers pawing at his shirt. Your brain quickly started to fuzz, a warmth seeping throughout your body and begging for more. Mingi sense it—smell it and a deep groan reverberated through his chest and right into your mouth causing you to whine softly.

"We can't. Not now, you need to heal." He murmurs against your lips, and you wanted to cry out in desperation, but he silenced you with another soft kiss against the corner of your lips. "Once we are legally able to marry, you can have me. All of me."

His words made your stomach twist, the feelings between you finally becoming clear, but there still stood one last obstacle. "What about the king?"

"You are not to worry about him no more," He told you firmly, his gaze hardening, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. Then they were softening once more, "just a little bit longer, princess, then you'll be free. I promise."

Despite the anxiety that ate at every nerve in your body, you nodded, hands finding Mingi's larger one. You knew that he would keep his word, that you would soon be free of your binds. Free to be his. Fully and wholeheartedly.

And just like he promised, a week's time had passed, and there came a sharp knock at the chamber doors where you were resting. Mingi lay by your side with a book in his hand and glasses perched upon the perfect bridge of his nose.

"Come in,"

The maid on the other side opened the door before standing in the doorway to bow, "Your Grace, there is a messenger at the door looking for you and Her Grace."

You felt your heart leap, a smile spreading on your lips as you thought of what it could possibly be, and the hope that it was one thing in particular bloomed. Mingi glanced over at you as he shut his book, pulling the glasses off his face before setting both to the side. Leaning over, he placed a gentle kiss upon your forehead, lips lingering for just a moment before he pulled away.

"Stay here, love, I'll go chat with our guest." He told you before he was clambering off the bed and following the maid out of the room.

You waited with bated breath, heart thumping heavily against your ribs, and you felt as if you could feel the second tick by. Then, finally, you could hear the heavy steps of Mingi's feet, and you sat up on the mattress, the blanket falling to your lap just as the door opened. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you watched the blue-haired male walk into the room.

Mingi allowed the door to shut before he stepped closer to you, his hand hidden behind his back. The anticipation was starting to gnaw at you, and you started to climb off the bed, but Mingi stepped in front of you, stopping your movements.

"It's arrived." He told you, pulling his hand from his back with a flourish and revealing the scroll in his hand. Your eyes widened as he placed it in your hands, the weight heavy in your palms as your thumb brushed over the expensive paper, knowing that it was from a royal.

Swallowing thickly, you slowly unraveled the scroll, eyes scanning every inch of the page, and tears brimmed in your eyes. You looked up at the dragon that stood before you with misty eyes. Mingi reached forward, cupping your face in his larger hands and crouching down to press his forehead against yours.

"You are now officially my wife." His tone was filled with nothing but love, and your heart leaped into your throat.

Tears began to drip from your damp lashes as you brought a shaky hand to wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, "and you, my husband."

Weeks upon weeks of preparations had begun, Mingi wanting everything to be perfect for you because in his eyes, you deserved nothing less. You found a gown as well as a bouquet of flowers that suited the overall theme, while Mingi made sure everything was in order for the ceremony.

People came and went in the estate, many new faces greeted you, much to Mingi's distaste, but he knew it was only for the preparation. All of the old dainty decorations and furniture had been whisked away, replaced by newer, classier furniture. The decorations a mixture of blues, turquoise and gold, all of which screamed of your soon-to-be husbands knack for picking the sparkly things—his dragon side peaking out just a bit. But you never teased—at least not too much—instead you found it endearing, something that cracked his cold shell.

"Duchess? The tailor has arrived with the veils; you are to pick one today." Your personal maid, Jaeyoung, spoke as she followed behind you through the estate.

You stopped for just a moment as you inspected the new mirror that had been hung in the hall at the top of the staircase. A soft hum vibrated from your chest as your fingers brushed the petals of the flowers that sat in the azure vase, the color reminding you of Mingi's scales.

"Hm, we shall not keep her waiting any longer." You finally turned to give the young girl a sweet smile, and the glimmer in your eyes caused a smile of her own to spread on Jaeyoung's face.

Following Jaeyoung down the stairs, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall, the feeling of eyes on your body. However, instead of feeling uneasy, you felt happiness swell in your chest, eyes flickering over to meet the deep azure eyes of the man you were to call your husband in just a few short hours.

Though you could only spare him a passing glance before both of you were whisked away for your own tasks. You were to choose the perfect veil to match your wedding gown while Mingi finished setting up the guest list for the grand banquet that was to be held tomorrow after your wedding night. At first, you hadn't been sure what Mingi had meant when he explained it, but then his vulgar words echoed in your ears, and you became flustered all over again.

'It's a celebration for the bride after we've consummated our marriage and you've been properly bred.'

"We're here, Your Grace." Jaeyoung's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you looked at her with wide doe eyes, as if you were a child who had just been caught sticking their hand in the cookie jar. However, if she noticed, she didn't say a word; instead, she held the door to the indoor garden open, where you found your taller waiting inside.

Yes, just a few more preparations before the ceremony tonight, and the thought left your heart racing with excitement and glee.

—

The ceremony was held in the back of the estate, in the center of the hedge canopy. It was absolutely magnificent and utterly stunning. Something that you had only seen in the pages of your fairy tale books. Your beautiful gown flowed behind you, the soft gusts of wind helping to keep the skirt splayed out as the petals from the flower girls' baskets fluttered down onto it. A mixture of different emotions passed through you, happiness, nervousness, disbelief, you name it, and you were probably feeling it for a small increment of time before it moved on to the next.

Bird chirps in song above you, and you couldn't help but look up to watch them hop along the tree branches. Your veil was obscuring your vision just enough that you had to look down to clearly see the ground beneath you.

Then you came to the entrance of the canopy, music fading, and you felt your pulse thumping against the base of your throat, all sounds dying on your tongue the moment you saw him.

There Mingi was, standing upon the stage before all the townsfolk and other guests, his blue hair styled in a way that showed his forehead while it still framed his face marvelously. His white suit was a near match to your gown, the silver embroidery done with such precision that it looked as if it had been handcrafted by the gods above. And when the wind blew, the tail of his coat flowed behind him, taking your breath along with it. He had become the embodiment of the prince charming you've read about in fairytales.

But by the gods, he looked at you as if you had just hung the stars in the very sky above you, azure eyes glowing softly the closer you approached. Nothing but love and adoration brimmed in his gaze, and had you asked him in this moment, he would say that he thought you were an angel that had been left to walk this earth.

As you neared the stage, you felt your breath catch in your throat, the intensity of his gaze knocking the air from you. One of the noblewomen who had been perched on your side of the stage helped you up the steps, careful of the white lace on your skirt, fixing it so it stayed beautifully spread behind you. Then you were meeting Mingi's gaze once more as he took your shaky hands into his, and for the first time in the nearly eight months you've spent with the dragon, you saw his eyes glassy with tears.

Even during the officiant's speech, neither of you could seem to tear your attention away from the other, smiles matching. Your fingers tightened around Mingi's larger hand as you tried your best to keep your own tears at bay, and thankfully, no one paid any mind to the two of you being lost in your own worlds.

Then, when the time came to exchange vows, Mingi was pulling the veil from your face, having had enough of the obstruction. The action pulled a soft giggle from you before you were tilting your head to meet his gaze once more, this time without the veil, and your heart skipped a beat. Seeing him with the barrier didn't hold a candle to seeing him without it, and by the looks of it, the blue-haired male was thinking the same thing.

"You are absolutely breathtaking, princess." His voice was barely above a whisper, scared that he would break entirely if he spoke any louder. You bit your tongue as you realized then and there that the name was never merely just your title to him; you were and would always remain his princess, regardless of whether that was your official title or not. He then began to recite his vows, his tears finally breaking free with the emotions he was laying before you. Releasing one of his hands, you lifted your gloved hand, cupping his jaw and brushing some of the azure tears that pooled under his eye.

By the time he had finished, you both were crying, tears of pure, unfiltered happiness flowing down your reddening cheeks. Next was your turn, and you spoke freely, never being able to write your words out, but rather speaking from your heart. Each word falling from your lips like an unspoken promise, and love laced every word.

Everyone could feel the love and adoration that was seeping from the two of you, tears of their own pooling in their eyes as they watched Mingi slip the ring onto your left hand. The dazzling diamond had an almost blue hue to it as the setting sun reflected off the gem. It was the most beautiful thing you've seen, save for the man who was standing before you. Once you had slipped his ring onto his own finger, his hand was cradling the back of your head as he brought his lips down to yours.

The kiss was oh-so-similar to the one you've shared countless times, except this time, the emotions you both couldn't put into words were conveyed as your lips melded together. Your gloved fingers grasped at the lapels of his coat, pulling him as close as you could, completely forgetting the audience that sat before you.

Only when your lungs were begging for oxygen did you part, chests heaving with heavy breaths and a smile adorning your faces despite the lingering embarrassment. The crowd around you broke out into cheers as the ceremony concluded, and they wished you the best, while others prayed for your future heirs. Their words made your body warm as you remembered what awaited you once you and Mingi were back behind the closed doors of the estate, while everyone else partied the night away.

Even the maids and other staff were dismissed for the night, ordered to take care of everyone who remained outside.

"Now…" Mingi murmurs into your ear before he sweeps you off your feet, causing you to gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his broad shoulders. "Shall we consummate our marriage, my sweet little wife?"

Your ears turned red first, trailing up until your whole expression shifted, flustered by the blue-haired male's words. You buried your face in his neck, the soft rumble of his laughter vibrating through your body and making your stomach flutter.

The trek back to the estate passed in a blur, and before you knew it, Mingi was setting you on your feet before the door to the washroom. You glanced over at him with furrowed brows, and he just offered you a smile before opening the door with a flourish. A soft sound fell from your lips when you saw the candles that were placed methodically around the room, petals as blue as sapphires and as white as snow laid on the ground. Then the sweet scent of roses mixed with vanilla wafted around you, nearly taking your breath away.

Mingi slips past you, stepping further into the room until he stands just beside the tub that is filled, the same flower petals floating on top. You began to wonder whether this was what he had been planning so meticulously, and he wouldn't utter a word to you.

"Come here." His voice was low, quiet, almost. Not a command, but not a request, something in between. Something that has heat pooling in your core.

You take a step into the room, then another, the petals on the ground catching on the ends of your dress. Mingi holds his hand out to you, pulling your body closer to his once your smaller hand is placed in his.

His lips leave a searing kiss against your skin as he tugs your gloves off your hands, each kiss warming your body further. Once the gloves were off, he let his hands fall to your waist, leaning down until his lips were ghosting over yours. You bit back a small whine when he kissed your cheek, his fingers undoing your corset with ease.

"Mingi…" You breathed out as he undressed you, his lips trailing over all the newly exposed skin until you were standing bare before him.

"So beautiful," He breathed out, tracing his fingertips over every curve he could reach before sealing his lips over yours. The kiss was nothing like the sweet one you shared merely half an hour ago; no, this one felt as if you were trying to consume each other, and maybe you were, but neither of you cared.

Your fingers gripped his coat lapels, pushing them off his shoulders, and he pulled the sleeves off until the fabric joined yours on the ground. Then, without so much as breaking the kiss, you undo the buttons of his tunic. Before long, his clothes had joined yours, and you felt a lump form in your throat as you broke apart, eyes falling to his cock that stood proudly against his lower abdomen. You knew he wasn't going to be normal; he wasn't even human, but the sheer size made your stomach churn in both need and fear.

Mingi's fingers hooked under your chin, pulling your attention back to him, pressing his lips gently against the corner of your lips. "Don't stare, my love, it's already hard enough to restrain myself as it is."

Then he was stepping into the tub, hands on your waist, tightening before he was pulling you in with him. Goosebumps littered your skin as the warm water enveloped your body, relaxing the muscles that had been straining all day with the stress of the ceremony.

Mingi's arms wrapped around your smaller frame, pulling you back into his chest, your head falling back onto his shoulder. The washroom was quiet, save for the rippling sounds of the water and the distant sounds of the townsfolk celebrating. All while the two of you sat in the tub, soaking in each other's warmth, and Mingi's hands roamed your body, his fingers pressing into the plush skin every so often, working out the knots that had formed. He bit back a soft growl as he listened to the sounds of your sighs and quiet moans that would slip past your lips unintentionally.

"You did so good today, princess," His smooth voice sent a wave of heat throughout your body, your thighs subconsciously rubbing together. Noticing the shift of your movements, he moved his hands from your biceps down your waist before squeezing your hips, eliciting another soft moan.

"Mingi." You sighed, head lolling to the side when his lips latched onto the soft skin of your neck, placing a flurry of open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of your skin. The soft scrape of his fangs had a shiver running down your spine, head already spinning. His hands moved from your hips to your thighs, squeezing the plush fat before pulling them apart.

"Just relax, sweetheart," He cooed into your neck, and you moved your hand to cup the back of his neck as his fingers moved to your bare core.

A soft moan slipped past your lips when he found your aching clit with ease, moving in slow circles. His movements weren't rushed or harsh; they were gentle, making sure you felt everything. Your fingers tightened around his neck when he moved away from your bundle of nerves to slip a finger into your tight walls.

"God, Mingi." You whined, back arching as he stretched you open, the foreign sensation had your toes curling, more so when the rough pads of his fingers found the spongy spot deep in your walls.

Chuckling softly, Mingi used his other hand to push your hips back down and kept you in place as you let out another whine. When he slipped in another finger, your eyes rolled back at the stretch, your other hand gripping his thigh to ground yourself, but when his thumb found your clit it was all pointless.

"Cum for me, pretty girl, let me feel you around my fingers." His fingers coaxed you closer to your high, heat flushing your body, making you lightheaded, and with just a few more strokes of his skilled fingers, you were toppling over the edge.

"M-Mingi." You moaned out, nails digging into Mingi's skin as stars danced across your vision.

Mingi continued to work you through your high, relishing in the sweet sounds that left your parted lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek as he pulled his fingers from your still twitching cunt.

"Mingi…" You whined, opening your eyes to look up at him, need still pooling in your blown-out pupils.

"Don't worry, love, I'm not done with you yet." Mingi's lips twitched into a smirk as he cupped your jaw, bringing his face closer to yours. Another whine fell from your lips but was quickly muffled by his as he kissed you deeply, the sharp points of his fangs nipping at your bottom lip, threatening to draw blood.

Then his hands were on your hips once more, flipping your body around so you were facing him. The speed makes your head spin, and your hand flies to his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Every nerve ending in your body felt as if it were set aflame, a choked moan falling from your parted lips when you felt his heavy cock against your bare cunt.

"Bloody hell, princess," Mingi groans, fingers tightening like a vice on your body when you started rolling your hips against him. You let out another moan when the rough ridges on his cock caught your aching clit.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi was pulling your body from the now lukewarm water, a gasp tearing from your lungs at the sudden movement. Your legs wrapped around his slender waist, arms tightening around his neck.

Walking back into the main room, he dropped you onto the bed, a small huff leaving your lips as your damp body fell onto the sheets. Mingi was back on you in a matter of seconds, body slotted over yours as he brought his lips back down to yours in a heated kiss. Your brain started to go fuzzy as his lips trailed from yours down your jaw before finding purchase on the sensitive skin of your neck.

"M-Mingi." You choked out as he started to leave hot, wet, open-mouth kisses along your jugular, nipping every now and then, causing your body to shiver. His eager hands moved to the soft skin of your breasts, squeezing the mounds and pulling a pitched whine from your kiss-swollen lips.

"You smell so sweet," He growls against your marked skin before his lips pressed a firm kiss over your perk nipple, then wrapping his lips around it, sucking gently, eliciting a soft moan of his name from your lips.

Once the skin on your breast was slick with his saliva and covered in his marks, he moved down the valley of your breasts. His lips traveled down your tummy, pressing a gentle kiss to each scar, blemish, and mark that he passed, and you watched him with teary eyes. Your heart swelled as he whispered praises against your skin, telling you how much he loved you.

You gasped when he parted your legs, resting them over his shoulders so he could see your glistening cunt. He starts to press gentle kisses along the inside of your thighs, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second. Your eyes stayed locked on him as he neared your warm center, then he pressed a kiss against your clit, causing your whole body to tremble.

"You’re dripping, princess,” He teased as he spread your folds, taking in the way your hole clenched around nothing. A gasp fell from your lips when he buried his face in your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he inhaled your scent, a low growl vibrating from the back of his throat. His hands wrap around your thighs to keep them in place as you start to squirm. A sharp whine falls from your lips, head falling back when he licked up your slit.

Then his lips were wrapping around your aching clit, sucking harshly, causing you to moan loudly, hand flying down, fingers grasping one of his dark blue horns. A deep groan reverberates from the back of his throat when you tug, and another moan escapes your lips, back arching off the bed and pushing your hips further into his face. Mingi was quick to move one hand from your thigh to press it flat down on your stomach, keeping you in place.

"Min— ooh god!" You cried out when he easily slips two fingers into your wet walls, curling them right against your sweet spot. The sounds of your whimpers and whines only cause the man to grin against you.

"You tasted so much sweeter than I thought, princess," He groans, lapping at your cunt and slowly thrusting his fingers into you. Your fingers tugged on his dark horn, the rough ridges digging into your skin as he buried his face in your cunt, groaning against you, eliciting a series of pants and moans.

Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears as your mouth gaped open, head falling back. Stars danced across your vision, your whole body shaking underneath Mingi’s hold. The pace of his fingers was relentless as he easily found the spongy spot inside your pussy, making you cry out his name. Your whole body tingled as all of your senses became overwhelmed, thighs trembling, threatening to close. Noticing this, Mingi took his hand from your stomach to grip one of your thighs tightly.

You weren’t able to give him a warning as you came around his fingers. He continued to suck on your clit in time with his fingers. Feeling you squeeze around his fingers as you cried out his name left Mingi groaning against you.

"M-Min—" You choked out a gasp, head falling back as he worked you through your orgasm and kissed his way back up your body. He swallowed all of your cute little whines as he kissed you deeply, tongue brushing against the back of your teeth. Your brain nearly short-circuited at the taste of yourself on his tongue, your hands falling to his shoulders.

"Still so tight, love," He chuckled darkly as your eyes rolled slightly when he curled his fingers against your sweet spot. There was no way he was going to be able to hold much longer before he lost it; each moan and whimper you let out wore at his restraint. So he sped up his fingers, his thumb pressing harsh circles against your twitching clit.

"Please!" You cried out, back arching off the bed and against his firm chest. Your mind was starting to short-circuit when he added a third finger, stretching you further. A broken whine fell from your lips, but was quickly swallowed by Mingi's eager lips, stealing all the air from your lungs.

Your hand wrapped around his neck, nails biting the skin when he added a fourth finger, the stretch borderline painful, but as he brushed over your sweet spot, stars danced across your vision. You held him close as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you, and he bit at your bottom lip, enough to draw blood this time. Then he was pulling it into his mouth, sucking on it; the mixture of pain and pleasure pushing you right over the edge with a strangled cry of his name.

"Mingi!" You cried out as he continued to work his fingers into your fluttering walls, prolonging your orgasm for a few moments. He lapped at the tears that had spilled from your eyes, whispering dirty praises against your skin before he was finally pulling his soaking digits from your twitching cunt.

You watched with hooded eyes as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence off of his digits. The sight was enough to make your need grow all over again, especially with the way his eyes bore into you. Once he was sure he had licked every last drop of your sweet nectar off of his fingers, he leaned back down over you, pressing his lips against yours again. You mewled at the taste of yourself on his tongue mixed with the tangy, metallic taste of your blood from your lip.

"Mingi…" You whined, body growing even warmer as you felt his heavy cock sitting on your lower tummy, the warmth sending goosebumps littering your skin. Your fingers tugged at the hairs on the nape of his neck, lips parting with a gasp when he nipped at your jaw, "Need you… need you so bad, Mingi, please."

The sound of your pleas has the dragon growling against your skin, the last bit of his restraint wearing thin, "I need you too, sweetheart, but I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." You shook your head violently, tears splashing onto the sheets beside your head. "I trust you, Min, please."

And just like that, his restraint snapped, his hands moving to spread your thighs further and lining his ribbed cock with your leaking entrance. The feeling made your body jolt, a moan falling from your lips, and Mingi's grip on your hip tightened. Your whole body seemed like it had been set aflame.

"If it's too much, just tell me, princess." He whispered against your skin, then he was pushing into your tight heat. The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. “Ah, focus on me, love,” Mingi whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. “Good girl.”

"H-Hurts." You whine, back arching against him as more tears spill from your eyes, only to be caught by Mingi's lips, teeth nipping at your cheek, causing you to shiver.

"I know, sweetheart, just a little more, I promise." He cooed against your skin, gritting his teeth as your walls squeezed around him. Then, when he bottomed out, you gasped, eyes rolling back at the full feeling, and you swore his tip was pressing past your cervix.

"Feels good." You breathed out, tilting your head to look at him, and you felt like you were starting to go delirious. The lack of movement was starting to make your thighs shake, your need started to grow tenfold, and Mingi could tell by the way your hips started to roll against his.

A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. He grabs your hips when you give him the green light to move, and stars dance across your vision as he pulls out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Look at you, princess.” He groaned as he continued his rough pace; it was almost animalistic, if you will. His eyes then fell down to where his cock disappeared into your sopping cunt, and he felt himself grow harder at the sight of the small bulge that formed in your lower tummy every time he pushed into you.

You cried out as he pushed down on your stomach, making you feel him even more as he fucked into you. Your body felt like it was on fire, your mind clouded with so much pleasure that you no longer had any proper words or thoughts forming. Drool spilled past the corner of your lips, trickling down your cheek, and incoherent babbles fell from your lips. The pleasure was so overbearing that your legs began to tremble around Mingi's waist, hips fighting against his hold to rut up into his thrusts. You could feel that coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter at an alarming rate with every drag of his cock in your walls.

Leaning down, Mingi's tongue lolled out of his mouth as he lapped at the spit that spilled from your kiss-swollen lips, your hand finding the back of his neck, nails biting at the skin. A loud pornographic moan tore from your lips when one of his hands slid between your bodies, pressing against your clit.

“Cum for me, love, please.” He pleaded like he was the one more desperate for your orgasm, but with a few more strokes, you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and your release gushed out all over his length.

A mixture of his name and broken moans fell from your lips as he continued his fast pace, never slowing down and throwing your body into overstimulation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling, pushing more tears out, but Mingi was quick to kiss them away.

“God.” He groaned as he felt his high nearing, and his hips snapped wildly into yours, making your vision turn white, nails digging into his neck. A mixture of a groan and a whimper fell from his lips as he completely buried himself to the hilt once more as he came, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

The room was filled with heavy breathing as you came down from your high, but the soft sound of Mingi's low, feral growls against your neck made your body tingle. You brought your hand from his neck to the top of his head, fingers brushing over his horns.

All of the air was knocked out of your lungs when he lifted his head from your neck, his blown out pupils and the intensity of his gaze making you shiver. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was pulling his still hard cock from your weeping walls and flipping your body with ease. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.

"We're not done yet, princess. I've still gotta make sure you've been bred properly," He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.

Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.

“Such a good little princess, hmm,” He cooed, leaning down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. “Taking everything, I give you like a good girl.” The mixture of his deep voice and his soft lips on your skin made your body melt, and if it wasn’t for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.

"Min— Mingi!" You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. “Cumming! ‘M cumming!” Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.

White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Then his hand was moving from your hip, pressing against your sternum, and pulling your upper body off the bed. A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my babies.” Mingi licked a stripe up the back of your neck, “Such a perfect mommy.” He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.

“M-Mingi…” You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. You cried out when you felt something stretching you even more, and it sent your body over the edge once more, this time a weaker orgasm rushing through your bones. Mingi pressed his face into the side of your head, whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you both came down from your high.

"Mingi?" Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, head falling back onto his shoulder, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek as he hummed, "What is that?"

“It’s a knot, sweetheart. It’ll go down in a bit, but for now, try not to move too much.” He explained to you, and you let out a sigh, moving a shaky hand to the bottom of your tummy where you could still feel him pressing against your cervix.

"It's so warm," You babble mindlessly, causing Mingi to chuckle, anchoring your body to his as he kisses your shoulder.

"That just means it's taking," He murmurs against your skin, and you lift your head, brows furrowed, and he explains how different mating with a dragon descendant would be. Then once the knot wore down, he was slipping from your aching walls, laying your body on the bed before crawling over you, lips sealing yours in a sweet kiss that quickly turned heated. "And if we're lucky, you'll be with child by the end of the week."

You smiled up at him, the mere thought of carrying his child making a warmth bloom in your chest, and you pulled him down for another kiss. The two of you get lost in the heat of each other once more, marking the start of a very long night.

—

Neither you nor Mingi left your chambers until the next night, dressed lavishly as you walked into the main dining hall of the estate. Everyone greeted you warmly as you walked further into the room, arm hooked around Mingi's. To others, here it would seem like you were simply clinging to your husband as a newlywed wife might, but while that might also be the case, you were using his strong body as support. Your body is still not fully recovered from the strenuous activities that kept you and Mingi up most of the night.

"Welcome, Duke and Duchess Song." Someone announced as you and Mingi took your seats at the head of the table, Mingi's larger hand resting comfortably on your thigh.

"We wish you and the Duke nothing but luck and prosperity." A noblewoman and her young daughter walked up to you, bowing deeply before offering you a gift that your maid took to join the multitude of others.

This went on for the better half of the night, and before long, you felt a churning in your gut. Swallowing thickly, you move your hand to your stomach, and Mingi was quick to notice. Without breaking the conversation he was holding with another nobleman, he moved his hand from your thigh to cover your smaller hand that lay on your stomach.

You knew that pregnancy with a dragon descendant would be different, and Mingi warned you that if done correctly, you would be with child before the end of the week. Though as you felt something bubble in your gut, you were sure that you wouldn't need the rest of the week, and that alone brought a soft smile to your lips.

Lying your other hand over Mingi's, the cool metal of his ring chilling your skin in a comforting way, and you began to wonder how this came to be your life. Yet as you sat here, overlooking all of your people with your husband by your side, you knew that if given the chance, you'd relive this lifetime and time again.

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

Wooyoung fully turned around at that, brows knitted together, kitchen sink still running, the titanium holding three more dishes he still had to wash. “While she was driving? Or did she pull over?”

His son looked at him with such an incredulous look it made Wooyoung feel a little stupid for asking the question. With a little giggle, Kyungmin answered, “She pulled over, duh.”

“Okay, attitude,” Wooyoung is always amused whenever he sees you in your son, even if he thinks Kyungmin is all him. Sitting in the same clothes he wore to school today, a tee shirt, loose jeans that Wooyoung bought him, his favorite Elsa and Anna socks, his eyes went right back to his tablet, the case bright green against the deep granite countertop. “Did she go to the doctor?”

His kid shrugged. 

“Kyungmin,” Wooyoung’s tone was stronger, beckoning for his son’s attention. The boy lifted his eyes away from his screen as Wooyoung asked, “Has she said anything about it?”

“Just said she’s sick,” Kyungmin shrugged again, sounding irritated that Wooyoung was taking him away from his screen time, “she told me not to tell you.”

Wooyoung’s smirk was anything but involuntary. His son, indeed. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“It’s stinky,” he uttered, crinkling his nose as he said it. A little quieter, a little smaller, he mumbled, “And it’s scary.”

“Don’t be scared,” Wooyoung soothed, turning off the kitchen sink before leaning his elbows on the granite, leaning over the countertop so he can be eye-to-eye with his son. “Mommy’s okay, I promise.”

Kyungmin lifted his eyes, a twinkle of fear swirling in whiskey, eyes that were identical to his own. He whispered, “How do you know?”

It made sense then, why he hasn’t been served papers. Even if it fills him with hope, he knows there’s a long fucking way to go before actual progress is made, although it’s already been over two months since that dreadful night on your living room floor. He expected to be served within two weeks, maybe three, but nine have passed and nothing, not a whisper about his least favorite word that starts with D. 

God knows he hasn’t brought it up. 

“Because daddy’s always right,” Wooyoung gleamed, and the smile made the corner of Kyungmin’s lips curve upward. Wooyoung’s head tilted, “Aren’t I?”

Kyungmin shook his head, “No.”

“Boo,” Wooyoung’s lip lifted, dragging out the word in a sneer. “Come on, I was right this morning when I said making bunny ears with your shoe laces is easier, right?” Kyungmin’s lips pursed like he was trying to fight his smile from growing. Wooyoung made his way around the kitchen counter, coming up behind Kyungmin, “And I was right earlier when I said you’re still ticklish, wasn’t I?”

His hands jumped for Kyungmin’s sides, and his heart sang listening to his son’s loud, wild giggles. He stopped tickling to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, planting a kiss to the top of his head. “Daddy’s always right, and I said mommy’s gonna be just fine, so trust me, okay?”

Just fine. Nine weeks of pick-ups and drop-offs damn near silent, everything was so fucking far from fine he’s barely slept in weeks. He finally came clean with his therapist, who he hoped and prayed had something legally binding her from reporting his lawyer in some way, which might be the result of leftover anxiety from doing such a thing in the first place. 

He should have waited. He probably shouldn’t have done it at all, but he did, and he should have fucking waited to tell you. If you’re pregnant, which he’d place a million dollar bet on if you’re throwing up–if this pregnancy was anything like your pregnancy with Kyungmin–he could have waited until you were farther along. Hell, he could have waited until the baby was born. 

Any time would have been better than the time he chose. When you two were on better terms, smoother terms, he should have told you then. When it might’ve felt like everything was falling into place. Instead he ripped things apart all over again, and now they’re worse than they were to begin with and fuck he was back to square one or even something before that. Square negative ten. 

His therapist wouldn’t agree with any of that, but whatever. He’s losing his mind. But the little boy in his arms is keeping that singular thread of rationality stronger than steel. 

“Come on, stinky, shower time.”

“I’m not stinky,” Kyungmin huffs, “you’re stinky. You smell like… you smell like my butt.”

Wooyoung raises his brows at the little’s head tipped backward into his stomach, “So your butt is stinky?”

Kyungmin smiles, “No.”

“Okay, so maybe we’ll go to bed early tonight, since you forgot how to make sense,” he lifts his son by his armpits onto the floor, and the tablet dangles from his right hand, which Wooyoung scoops up with his own. “This screen is frying your stinky brain.”

“You have a stinky brain,” Kyungmin points, then turns on his heel, giggling just as wild and just as loud all the way to the bathroom. 

“This stinky brain created you,” Wooyoung calls after him. “If I’m stinky, you’re stinky!”

“You’re the stinky one!” 

Wooyoung can’t help the snort that rips from his nose as he throws the tablet onto his couch, making his way towards the bathroom in the middle of the singular hallway in his entire apartment. Almost-bachelor-pad, Yunho and Aurora had called it. “Then I’ll take a shower after you, stinky boy. Do you need help with the faucet?”

“Yes, please!”

His smile doesn’t leave the entire time he’s in the bathroom. Turning on the faucet to the right temperature, helping Kyungmin with his shirt that got stuck going over his head, even smelling Kyungmin’s stinky socks that really were fucking stinky. Hearing his son laugh again, his favorite sound in the world, he remembers the days he could hold the boy over one forearm like it was yesterday.

Fuck, and he might have another? Another shot at creating a life? Hearing his baby laugh for the first time? Take their first steps? Hear their first word? Another child to see himself in, to see you in, a life created by both of you, by the time he’s spread out on the couch half-listening to Kyungmin singing a song from Kpop Demon Hunters, somehow he mindlessly got his phone out, your contact information on the screen. 

Somehow. 

You don’t pick up on his first try. So he calls again. 

“Is Kyungmin okay?”

You sound like summertime. Even if your voice is ebbed in panic, burnt at the edges like you’re trying to contain the flame, you sound like the morning of August twenty-third, the morning he met you, fifteen years ago.

“He’s fine–”

“What do you want?”

The flame burns freely once more. 

He didn’t really think this far. Tongue-tied, he sputters over his next words, “I- um, just- uh–”

“Wooyoung,” your voice is stern, a warning. It doesn’t help how each one of his limbs has seemed to lock up. “What do you want?”

“You.” Fuck his brain and his vocal chords for not working as a team. He lets the following pause settle, hoping you’d take it as a joke, at least. If this was a month ago you would’ve hung up as soon as he said Kyungmin’s fine. 

“Well you fucked that up,” you say matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know it down to his very fucking soul. Closing his eyes, bringing his palm to his forehead, he sighs. “Is there anything in particular that requires you calling my phone at six o’clock on a Tuesday?”

“Am I allowed to talk to you?”

“No.”

“What?” There’s a part of him that feels like throwing the same tantrum Kyungmin threw yesterday. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a deceitful, selfish asshole, and a pain in my fucking ass.”

His lips thin, face going flat. Can he blame any of this on pregnancy hormones yet?

“Look–”

“No.”

“Please–”

“No.”

“Holy shit can I please just fucking–”

“No.”

And the line runs dead. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, throwing his phone on the couch beside him. He groans after watching it bounce to the floor, sinking deeper into the tough, barely broken-in cushions, knees spreading, he’s really fucking close to throwing that tantrum. 

“About nine weeks.”

“Nine?!” Your eyes blow wide, staring at your doctor who’s brown hair curls deliciously around his ears. The word came out no prettier than a loud shriek of terror. “Jesus fucking Christ, I didn’t realize I was that far along.”

“You don’t sound particularly joyful,” Yeosang’s smile doesn’t quite reach his assessing eyes, your doctor but also one of your closest friends. “Which brings my next question, where’s your husband?”

Your eyes thin, “Where’s your wife?”

He lifts the probe from your stomach, popping a brow. He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, despite the spark of curiosity in the smooth rasp of his voice, “Got it, won’t ask any more questions in that department. She’s at home with the girls, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, happily married and whatever the fuck,” you huff, the paper beneath your head crinkling as it falls back onto the examination seat, chair, table, whatever it is that’s abhorrently uncomfortable beneath your body. “Please wipe the jelly off me before I flip shit.”

Yeosang laughs at that, a tiny giggle under his breath, “Does he even know you’re pregnant?”

“Hell no,” you respond, cringing as he takes a towel to your lower belly, wiping softly. 

Yeosang’s head snaps to yours, “Is it his?”

You pull your shirt over your stomach, tugging the paper towels out of the waistband of your leggings, threatening to throw them at him by crumpling them up and holding them over your shoulder. “Whose else would it be, motherfucker?”

“Damn,” Yeosang mumbles, taking a step back, “you’re a bundle of sunshine right now.”

“I’m irritated,” you grind out. “I’m pregnant and still fucking married to my stupid fucking husband.”

“You don’t have to be pregnant,” Yeosang sits back on his stool, a small, blue cushion on wheels. He rolls toward the counter across the room, grabbing his clipboard, “You don’t have to be married, either.”

You sit up on the table, arms planted behind you, knees spread, head tilted. “I know.”

“I’m not gonna ask for details,” he looks up at you over his clipboard, eyes deep, comforting, radiating intelligence. Doctor’s eyes. “But you have options, and support. Obviously you have my silence, too.”

“Thanks,” you shoot him a grim smile before running your fingers through your hair. “Do you and Keni ever think about having more?”

“Two girls is enough,” Yeosang laughs a little. “Winnie is bad as hell. Nina’s good, though, she sleeps like a fuckin’ tank.”

“Kyungmin slept, too,” your smile is a little more genuine at the mention of Kyungmin, but knowing there’s more to discuss brings the frown right back. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I guess I should tell him first.”

Yeosang stands again, “You have some time, do whatever feels right. He doesn’t have to know, either, it’s your choice. Call me and I’ll write you a script if you need it, okay?”

“Thanks, Yeo,” your smile is so close so being real it almost surprises you–the amount of real smiles have been few and far between for the past nine weeks. “Do you need anything from me? Am I good to go?”

“Call me with a decision and then we’ll have the baby talk,” he nods, so sure of himself, so unlike the guy who’s lawn you used to loose your guts on after hazy nights at the bar. Anything before Wooyoung feels like nothing but a fever dream now, any life you had, any experiences. 

You sure as hell haven’t gotten any more after him, if after him ever even existed. 

With a few waves to some nurses and technicians in goodbye, you trudged your pregnant ass back to your car. An SUV, one big as shit and black, the interior was a sauna after forty-five minutes inside Yeosang’s practice. You were lucky to have him, your friend of a decade now; you met him when he was still studying to get his PhD, when his wife was still his girlfriend, and the two were just happy to be out of their university and settled into something small while Yeosang finished out his schooling. Nights out at the local bars when you were still on the prowl for a man, before you ended up stuck with stupid fucking Wooyoung the moment you walked into corporate city. 

It didn’t feel good, knowing there was a life forming inside you, and he wasn’t there to hold your hand through it all. That was easy to admit, but to get over the breach of trust, to ruin all the growth you thought you made with three words, we’re still married. You still spent a year alone, taking care of Kyungmin without any help from him, but you thought you were alone. No ties. 

Just to find out you were still married the entire time. 

Call me with a decision. 

You sighed, feeling the sweat forming at the base of your neck, taking it as a sign to flip the engine and get out of Yeosang’s parking lot. A dim hum of music pours through the speakers, a stupid love song playing, you bare your teeth as a low curse sneaks from between your lips. Even the universe wanted you to call him. 

He answers on the first ring. 

On speaker, his already loud voice is amplified in your car, filling the cabin of the SUV. “Are you okay?”

You make a face, brows twisted, lips curled, not that he could see you. “Yes? I’m fine. What are you doing?”

“I’m working.” You could almost see him, making the same confused expression that you wore. “Why?”

You glance at the time at the top left corner of the screen before asking, “Can you meet me for an early lunch?”

“Ofcourseareyoukiddingme–”

You try to scowl, but your lips lift at the corners without you allowing them to. “‘Kay. You know where.”

“You know I do.”

It took every single second of your twenty-two minute drive from Yeosang’s practice to Genesis to calm your heart rate, to get all of your thoughts in order. You haven’t spoken to Wooyoung other than a few small arguments over the past nine weeks, all resulting in you hanging up the phone before he could get more than six words out. You didn’t want to hear his explanation, whatever reasoning he’s made up in his brain that’s convinced him any of this is okay. 

He’s waiting in the same booth you always shared. And for a second, maybe less, he looks like he did fifteen years ago. Face smoothed out, not a line or a wrinkle to be seen, his hair is longer, his eyes are brighter– but the illusion is gone as soon as it's created. 

Because he’s there, he’s smiling, he’s waiting for you. And fuck your heart for picking up speed, for the trickle of sweat at the back of your neck, fuck your brain for remembering that shred of hope you had nine weeks ago. For thinking everything would fall into place, that you could be normal again, that your divorce might’ve been a mistake. 

“Hi, wifey.”

He’s surrounded by brown leather and sunshine, the worn, wrinkled booth making his two-piece suit look out of place. Tall windows douse him in warmth, whiskey eyes glowing amber where the sun catches, his skin so glossy it's almost wet. Fuck him, most of all, for being this fucking beautiful, for becoming impossibly more gorgeous with age.

Your top lip curls, “It’s not funny or cute anymore, Wooyoung.”

“There was a time when it was?” He wears a pretty smile, one corner of his mouth lifted in that sinful fucking smirk, showcasing his pointed teeth. 

You slip into the other side of the booth and you wish the movement was more graceful, but after years of use the leather isn’t as flexible as it once was, and neither are you. You can remember coming here when you’d just started working three doors down, seeing Wooyoung morning after morning, you can still remember his coffee order, not that it's changed.

If the walls only knew what they created, what would become of the two of you. Maybe they would’ve whispered a secret to you, maybe they’d say don’t let the pretty boy buy you a coffee. Not that you would’ve listened. 

“I’m not here to catch up,” you huff a breath, throwing your purse into the space beside you. He’s watching you intently, taking in every detail, every expression, every movement like he’s waiting for something. 

“Okay.” It’s an absent-minded word, his eyes dancing around your face, your body, distracted. 

Your brows knit together, “Hello?”

His eyes find yours, and like you’d pushed the on button, his smile returns. “Hi, beautiful.”

“We need to talk,” you cross your arms over the table in front of you, back slouched. He nods, face blank of any expression, ready for whatever you’d throw at him. Ball in hand, prepared to pitch, a waitress cuts you off before you even had the chance to speak, placing two plates between you. 

Then you notice the water placed just to your left, the coffee already half-drank before Wooyoung. Your brows furrowed so fucking far together they might as well be considered a unibrow. 

Thanking the waitress, Wooyoung looks at you warily for a second before he speaks. “I didn’t know if you… wanted coffee, so I just got you water. And what you always used to order when we came here for lunch.”

“The same trick won’t work twice,” your eyes thin, remembering the dinner you shared nine weeks ago. “But thank you.”

His smile is small, his lips mostly flat, pulled up ever so slightly at the edges. “Figured you needed a bite to eat, but I know you’re just here to talk. Go ahead.”

A meal you’ve eaten a thousand times, one that’s always smelled so fucking good your mouth watered, now smelled… wrong. Different, gross. You feel the familiar curling in your stomach, the same one you’ve felt four times a fucking day for the past two weeks, you grab the glass of water and bring it to your lips before your body forces you to gag. 

Wooyoung, two hands already curled around his sandwich, halts his movement entirely, like someone pressed pause. “You okay?” You nodded mid-sip, swallowing down the water like it’d fix the issue. Slowly, Wooyoung lowers the sandwich back to his plate, “Are you sure?”

All you can get out is a measly “Yeah.” It wasn’t convincing. 

The smell hit your nose again– worse, your stomach flipped, skin going hot, blood sizzling. Panic floods you, heartbeat picking up, you look over your shoulder, finding the bathroom where it’s always been, stored in the corner. 

You can hear ceramic sliding against wood, Wooyoung sliding your plate toward himself. He juts his chin in the direction of the bathroom, “Go. It'll be gone when you come back out.”

You find his eye, being met with understanding so fucking clear you wonder if Yeosang called him. You know he didn’t, he wouldn’t break your trust– there was no time to think about it, you sprinted to the fucking corner with one thought on repeat in your mind: Hold it until you reach the bathroom.

You can barely feel your knees crunch against tile for the entire six minutes you’re in the clean, air-conditioned space. When the wave of nausea washes away and all that’s left is the lingering, mild dizziness and slight embarrassment from emptying your guts in a public bathroom, you wash your hands, cup some water into your mouth to wash out the taste of stomach acid, then take a few steadying breaths before walking outside again. 

It feels brighter, somehow. Loud, music playing, people dressed in business casual keeping the place buzzing, servers running around, yelling orders over the counter. It eases you further, knowing that no one knows, that no one heard. 

When you get back to the booth, he’s quick to let you know that one person knows. He knows. 

With full confidence, he says it like he was the one telling you, “You’re pregnant.”

“Surprise” is all you can say, it’s flat, void of warmth or joy. You fall into the booth, bones heavy, forehead still sweaty. You reach for the water again, sucking down more of the ice-cold liquid, willing it to flush out the disgusting feeling that refuses to leave just yet. 

“Holy shit,” he says under his breath, eyes widening as he sinks into the booth, drowning in brown leather. “How long have you known? How far along?”

You smack your teeth, “I’ve known for two weeks, but I’m nine weeks along.”

“Nine?!” His eyes nearly fall out of his head, leaning forward again, his upper half hanging over the now cleared-off wood. “Have you seen Yeosang yet?”

“I just left.” You prop an elbow onto the table, leaning your temple into your fist, your tone coming out casual. 

Wooyoung’s breath catches, his voice shrinking. “You went without me?”

You nod, “We didn’t really talk about the baby, just that I’m pregnant with one. He told me to call him back with a decision and then we’d discuss.”

“A decision?” Wooyoung’s perfectly maintained brows furrow. “What kind of decision?”

“Whether I’m having my liar husband’s baby or not,” you answer quick, sharp. Your words land like a blow, you watch his face bend, softening into something less excited, less shocked. 

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes finding the table, processing your words, letting them sink in. There's a beat of silence and you can hear the room again, the music, the chatter, dress shoes against the floor, servers yelling orders. You let him sit in the silence, in the thought. 

He looks up again, voice small, nervous, curious, “Are you leaning a certain way, or…?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what the fuck to do, Wooyoung. I don’t want to have a baby alone, but I don’t want anything to do with you, either.”

“I know.” His elbows find the table, rubbing his face with his palms, heaving a rough breath into his hands. Finally sinking back into the booth, he takes another pause before he says, “I fucked up bad, and again, I’m sorry. I’ll be here for you no matter what you decide.”

Your face morphs into surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he nods, but he doesn’t smile. “Whatever you want, I want.”

“Damn, fuck you for being a good guy,” you smack your teeth, and his brows furrow, a smile daring to curl his lips. “You’re fucking stupid, but you’re like, morally good. And you’re not helping with my decision-making.”

A laugh pushes through his lips, one relieved and confused all at once. “Did you expect me to flip the table and demand you keep it?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” you shrug, shaking your head. “Not that, but I don’t know, maybe a little push back, I guess. Not that I want that, please don’t do that–”

“I had a friend,” he cuts himself off, “Aurora went through that, I went through it with her–”

“You went through it with her–?”

“No!” It comes out loud, sudden. “No, it was Yunho’s–”

“Yunho’s?” 

“Jesus Christ let me get one sentence out.” He waits for your sheepish nod before he continues, “Yunho got her pregnant before she was ready to have a kid, we were still in school and really close at that time, I helped her through it, the whole thing. Decision-making, actually doing it, I was in the room with her, I was present for the whole process, start to finish. The choice is very much yours.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “How was she… after?”

“Not pregnant.”

“Wooyoung,” you warn.

He sighs, “Not good, but she didn’t regret it.”

You sit back in the booth, sweaty back hitting the cool leather. Your lips scrunch to one side, “It’s too heavy, all of it. I don’t know if I can forgive you for lying to me, Wooyoung.”

“I can’t blame you,” he answers simply with a shrug, like he knows he’s made in his bed and he’s willing to die in it. “I wouldn’t forgive me, either. But please just… don’t forget I didn’t have any bad intentions. I love you and Kyungmin so fucking much.”

Your face finds your palms, elbows propped up on the table, fingers sliding back into your hair. “I know you didn’t, I know, that makes everything so much more confusing. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Take your time, jagi,” he leans forward onto the table, one arm laying across the wood, fingers landing beside one of your elbows, ghosting your skin like he was scared to touch you. “You don’t have to make a decision today. Sleep on it, sleep on it for a few days, for as long as you can.”

Your eyes land on his palm laid open, wanting so badly to put your hand in his own, to feel the comfort only he can give you. You cross your arms over the table instead. 

Throat feeling tight, you will your emotions to stay deep below the surface as you whisper, “I’m tired of making decisions by myself, Wooyoung.”

“I can’t help you with this one, baby,” he frowns, head tilting, keeping his open hand as close to you as he can without touching you. “You know where I stand, how I feel, and you know I’ll be beside you every step of the way with whatever you choose.” 

Your face scrunches ever so slightly, “Will you? Because you not being beside me is what got us here in the first place, Woo.”

He pulls his arm back into himself and you can feel the loss of heat even if he hasn’t touched you. “I have a lot to make up for,” he sounds solemn, but not apprehensive. Confident like he knows he’ll have the opportunity to do it. “I meant everything I said when we went out to dinner that night, every single word. I still mean it, I still want to do everything I can to fix us.”

You swallow down your tears, but they still fill your waterline, heavy and hot and salty. “I don’t know if you can fix us, Woo. I don’t think… I don’t think you can.”

As if he wasn’t going back to work in less than a half hour, tears fill his waterline, too. He tightens his mouth to stop his bottom lip from quivering, but you catch it, and you understand the feeling so fucking deeply it makes your own tears fall. 

You sit in silence, the world resuming around you all over again. Shouts and shoes and bass, filling the space between you, the wooden table feeling a mile long. Too far away, too much space, too much time spent in grief to come back together. Two people with a past and nothing more.

“Alright,” he says after a few minutes, voice distraught. Swallowing down his tears, ignoring the red that’s bloomed across his cheeks, his neck, he acts like you can’t see that you just shattered his entire world. “If you need anything, if you need me to take Kyungmin, whatever you need, I’m a phone call away.”

Guilt swirls, heavy and leaden and too similar to the nausea you’re nearly used to at this point. Immediately you want to take your words back, even if they’re true, even if you mean them, your heart fucking aches, everything aches. He gets up from his side of the booth, walking around to your side, leaning in with one knee digging into brown leather just to press a kiss on the top of your head.

It feels too much like goodbye. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, small enough that you aren’t sure you were supposed to hear it.

Looking up at him, you can’t bring yourself to say it back. He waits for it, lingering just long enough, but he nods with the silence, with the finality of it all, and then he’s gone. Just like that. 

Wooyoung stares at the stack of papers on his desk.

On the first read, his heart was so deep in his ass it almost emptied out on the desk chair beneath him. On the second read, tears fell, so many fucking tears he had to reschedule his one o’clock and his two o’clock meeting. On the third read, he decided you’re creative, serving him divorce papers with the same exact disclosures and framing of the fake-divorce Wooyoung curated over a year ago. 

An hour later, he’s just pissed off that you served him. That you had some random fuck drop off legal documents at his job, where forty other people work in very close capacity. They can all go fuck themselves if they had anything to say about him, about his marriage, but for you to do that to him? You couldn’t have just handed them to him when he picked up Kyungmin yesterday? This must be why you hid from him, why you’ve been fucking hiding from him, sending Kyungmin out to his car before he had the chance to get out of the driver’s seat. It feels petty, childish. Maybe he deserves it.

His jaw clenches harder the longer he stares, molars grinding to the point of near-injury. His fists curl over his thighs, the rest of his body so locked up he isn’t sure if he can even move right now. He has thirty days to respond. Thirty days to process the fact that he’s no longer a married man. Thirty days to try and fix what he uprooted at his job almost four months ago, with the idea that all of his newfound spare time would be going to you. Thirty days to process that he ruined the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him.

His anger’s gone straight to his head by the time he picks up his phone. Holding it up to his ear, he waits for it to go through before he says, “Can I ask a favor?”

There’s noise in the background, a baby crying, fabric or something rough bristling against the speaker. After a moment of nothing but noise, Aurora’s voice comes through, out of breath as she says, “What’s up?”

“Can you take Kyungmin home with you when you pick up Aden from school today? I’ll pick him up later.”

There’s a pause before she carefully responds, “Yo’s picking him up, but yeah, I’ll tell him. Can I ask why?”

“She served me papers. She’s divorcing me.”

Aurora gasps, “You’re fucking lying.”

Wooyoung runs his free hand over his face, groaning out his frustration, “I need to go over there and talk to her. I haven’t seen her, haven’t talked to her other than a few texts, I don’t even know if she’s still fucking pregnant, Ro.”

“Yes, absolutely, go over there.” Wooyoung can hear her nodding, her voice reassuring as ever, already in plan-mode, search and rescue. “I’m so sorry, Wooyo.”

His heart still laying heavy in the pit of his stomach, he sighs, sitting back in his chair, the tips of his fingers meeting his eyes. “I should’ve seen this coming, but it’s only been two weeks since I met with her at Genesis. Two weeks, and it’s been almost three months since the night I told her we were still married.”

“You said it felt like the end, though, didn’t it?”

Wooyoung deflates in his rickety office chair. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“It’s either you fight for it, or let it end, Woo.” She sounds as sad as he feels, even if he can hear the thirteen other things she’s doing while talking to him. “But you should definitely talk to her before you do anything.”

He sits with the notion for a second: fight it, or let it end. He’s been fighting it, discreetly for over a year, he only got a chance to do it loud and proud for what, six weeks? Not long enough. There’s so much fight left in him that he nearly gets up from the chair and walks to your office building. Letting it end isn’t even a fucking option.

“I don’t want it to end,” he says, twirling the chair around, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of his office. Eyes landing on the building across the street, he stares at the tiny square that’s yours, wishing he could see you in the room behind the tinted window. 

“I know.” She sighs, then mumbles something cheery to Sunnie before adding, “It might be what’s best for the two of you. Especially if she isn’t having the baby, you’ve already been co-parenting with Kyungmin for over a year, maybe this is best, Woo.”

“No,” the word comes out harsher than he intended. “It’s not about the baby or Kyung, it’s about us, and I’m not letting her go. I’m not giving up.”

Wooyoung can see her frown, her lips pinned to one side, knowing exactly where the giving up part came from. “Talk to her,” she keeps her voice light, positive before her mom-voice comes out, “but don’t go in there with guns blazing, Jung Wooyoung. Fill me in later when you pick up Kyungmin.”

“Thanks, Ro.”

“I mean it, Woo,” she warns. “Don’t flip out.”

“Got it.”

Easier to say than do, when the stack of papers on his desk was as thick as two of his fingers. His teeth grind again, jaw clenching, he decides he’s done with work today, he can finish whatever the fuck he didn’t do today, tomorrow. Work will be here tomorrow, but he won’t have a wife tomorrow if he doesn’t do something. 

He’s already in your driveway when you get home from work. Pulling your car onto the blacktop, your heart pounds in your chest as you kill the engine, legs already shaky as you hop down from the lifted seat. You hear him before you see him, and not one word out of his mouth sounds happy. 

“What is this?”

Comfortable clothes, basketball shorts on his legs, a hoodie over his chest, he holds up the thick file you sent directly to his office. His hair was already blowing in the breeze, long strands flipping over to the other side of his head, framing his face that’s angled in frustration. 

“Papers,” you answer simply, walking around to the other side of your car, opening up the passenger side door for your purse. At least he hasn’t noticed yet. 

“You’re divorcing me?” He follows, standing behind you, voice strained, edged in stress, anger. 

You close the passenger side door behind you, “We’re already divorced, Wooyoung, I’m just making it official this time.”

He follows you up the side of your driveway, through the path leading up to your small porch, speaking with each step. “You couldn’t have just told me? Why the fuck did you serve me at my job?”

You’re the epitome of patience as you unlock your front door, walking inside like he wasn’t steaming behind you. “I didn’t want to speak to you, just like I haven’t wanted to speak to you for the past two months. Nothing new.”

He follows, you don’t stop him. “You could have talked to me about this. You didn’t need to make a spectacle out of me, you know how many people work in my building.”

You spin on your heel, spitting every single word, “You could have told me we weren’t really divorced. You could have told me Aurora named her kid after you and made you the godfather. You could have just been here in the first place and I never would have had to fucking divorce you!”

His jaw clenches, fist curling around the stack of papers at his side. “This could have been as amicable as it was the first time.”

“The first time wasn’t fucking real!” You turn again, heading toward your kitchen. “Leave, Wooyoung. Actually, sign the papers and leave them here.”

He stops on one side of the island, you on the other. He throws the stack on the marble countertop, “I’m not signing them.”

You put your purse down on the counter, staring at him over the space of the counter. “What do you mean, you’re not signing them?”

“I don’t want a divorce,” he says so simply it makes you laugh in disbelief.

“You don’t want one?” Your brows raise, the smile on your lips anything but amused, “Too fucking bad, I do. If you don’t sign then it’ll default and you can’t fight anything.”

“Then I’ll fight it,” he shrugs, whiskey eyes wide and wild, “I’ll fight all of it.”

You sigh, grabbing your water bottle, turning around to empty it into your sink behind you. With your free hand holding your back, one leg holding all your weight, you hear his shoes against the hardwood as he walks around the island. 

“You’re fucking pregnant,” he says it like he can’t believe it. Looking over your shoulder, his eyes are glued to your middle, impossibly wider now, filled with shock, disbelief. He meets your gaze again, repeating himself, “You’re fucking pregnant.”

You look down, frowning as you realize the dress you put on this morning wasn’t the tiny, almost invisible bump from your insane fucking husband. Of course he noticed. “No shit,” you say as you flip your empty water bottle on the rack to let it dry, completely unphased. Turning to face him, you hold the fabric tight to your belly as you admit, “Eleven weeks now.”

Slowly, one of his hands covers his mouth, his brows furrowing as he stares at the tiny bump that could be confused with constipation beneath your dress. It’s only seconds before his eyes turn glossy, then he takes a step forward hesitantly, waiting for you to stop him.

He stops himself instead, voice shallow as he asks, “You’re keeping it?”

“Kyungmin wants a sibling,” you shrug. “He said he wants someone to play Fashion Runway with at home.”

Wooyoung’s smile is slow as it takes over his entire face. His eyes meet yours, still glossy, full of tears that you aren’t sure are fully happy. “Thank you,” he whispers before his voice gets louder, more sure, his hand still wrapped around his jaw in awe. “Thank you so fucking much. Thank you.”

“Touch,” you say as your arms find your lower back again, a smile threatening to creep across your cheeks. “I know you want to.”

He closes the distance between you, hands out as he takes two steps forward, softly laying them over your belly. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.”

“I’m doing this,” you remind him, voice firm, full of indignation, “by myself.” You point your chin towards the paper on the counter, “The papers are waiting for you.”

“You think I’m signing them now?” He pops his brows. “Can we at least talk about it? Especially now, you’re– that’s my kid inside you.”

Your face falls flat, his hands still on your belly. You swat him away as you snap, “There’s nothing to talk about, everything I want is in the packet. I think I’m being pretty fair.”

“You’re being a copier.” His top lip lifts. “Everything in that packet is what I decreed in the first place. At least be original.”

“Stop being funny.” You cross your arms. “Sign the papers.”

“No,” he responds, crossing his arms back. “Now what?”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” you huff, turning around, walking towards the living room. 

He follows, “Can we wait? Put a pin in it or something? Come back to it later?”

“Wait for what?” You ask, plopping down on the couch casually, a relieved breath escaping you as you settle in the plush. “Wait for me to push the thing out?”

“It’s not a thing,” he argues as he sits on the opposite side, one leg bent up, his arm stretched along the back. “That’s my daughter in there. I don’t think you should do all of this alone.”

“Well that’s not really up to you, is it?” Your elbow meets the back of the couch, holding up your head. “How do you know it’s a girl? I haven't done the test to find out the gender yet.”

“Stop seeing Yeosang without me,” he frowns, “I want to come, I want to be there.”

“You had your chance to be here.”

“I was there for every appointment with Kyungmin and you know it,” Wooyoung argues, sitting a little straighter. “I’m serious. That’s my baby, too, and I want to be there.”

You groan, head falling back into the cushions. “Fine, Wooyoung. My next appointment is on Monday at nine.”

“Thank you,” he nods, “I’ll pick you up.” After a pause, a moment of silence from you, he adds, “I still don’t think you should do this alone.”

You pick your head up just to snap, “I’d rather do it alone then do it with you.”

“Ouch,” he winces, “I was good to you when you were pregnant with Kyungmin, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, followed by a tired groan, letting your head fall back into the cushions again, he’s right. “I know, I remember. I think all the meetings with my lawyer are getting to my head.”

“Why now?” He asks, voice softer, all the anger, amusement from earlier, reshaped into vulnerability. “You’ve had time to divorce me, why do it now?”

You turn your head to see him, what part of his face you could see over the cushion. “I thought we were in agreement the last time we spoke. I thought that was it, and we were moving on.”

“That was only two weeks ago, jagi,” his voice is still soft, comforting as he moves a little closer, inching himself toward you, using one hand to push the cushion down where it blocked your vision. His eyes are clear now, his expression level, serious. “Do you really want to do this by yourself?”

The slightest pout bends your bottom lip. “No,” you answer honestly, “I wish you never told me that we were still married. I could’ve gotten over the Aurora thing, you broke my trust, but that’s doable, y’know? I can get past that. Keeping our marital status a secret is… detrimental. I wish you never said anything. I want you here. I want to do this with you, Wooyoung.”

He’s shaking his head before you finish speaking, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it, and I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t.” His voice cracks as he says, “Please let me fix this. Please let me at least try.”

You stare at him for a second, seeing the determination behind his eyes, the heartache, the love he always wears like a loud accessory when he’s looking at you. Something that’s never changed in the fifteen years his eyes have spent on you. You have every intention of going through with the divorce, every fucking intention to be done with it. Be done with him. 

You don’t know what part of you sighs and looks away. “I spent a lot of fucking money on that attorney, Wooyoung.”

He’s quick to answer, giddiness threaded in his words, “I’ll pay for it.”

Your palms meet your face, rubbing at your tired eyes. It’s so frustrating, him coming here and jumbling up everything you’ve been so confident about. Two weeks of meetings, of phone calls, of paperwork, of finally landing on the track of being actually divorced. Again. Hearing the seriousness in his voice, the confidence, knowing he meant everything he’s said in the past few months, all of that combined with the hormones swarming your body and the baby fucking growing inside you.

You groan out, “Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening again. You’re impossible to divorce.”

“You won’t regret it,” his words are excited, all jumbled together, “I swear to god you won’t regret it, I’ll be so good to you and Kyungmin and the baby oh my god we’re having another kid–”

Your hands leave your face, paused in mid-air, brows furrowed as you glance at the man who’s still your fucking husband, “Where is Kyungmin?”

“Aden’s,” he shrugs, “I needed to talk to you and he couldn’t be here for it, not when I didn’t know how it was going to go.”

“Good,” you say through a relieved breath. “He has fun there.”

“They’re good to him,” Wooyoung’s voice is smaller, apprehensive, “Yunho and Aurora.”

“I know,” you agree, “I don’t hate them, Wooyoung. I was pissed at you, big fat liar, not them. Your college girlfriend doesn’t make me jealous, either.”

He stifles a snort, looking down to his lap, “Sounds like something a jealous person would say.”

“Don’t piss me off,” you argue, but a smile tugs at your lips, “my hormones are raging and you’re the only person here to take it out on.”

He laughs at that, a genuine belly laugh, his body sinking into the cushions as he physically relaxes. “I missed you.”

You raise your brows, “Yeah? I don’t think I’ve said one nice thing to you in weeks. Months, maybe.”

He turns his head to you, a lazy grin on his cheeks, “You can say something nice now.”

You look up to the ceiling, lips scrunching in thought, “Hm, weird. Nothing’s coming to mind.”

“You’ll think of something eventually,” his smile doesn’t leave, his tone finally settling into something comfortable, casual as his gaze lands on the details of your living room across from him. After a moment of silence, his head turns to you again, “Are you actually gonna file to dismiss the divorce?”

It’s your turn to smile again, one as mischievous as his signature smirk, “You think it’s that easy? That I’m not gonna make you work for it?” You watch his face morph into something like fear before adding, “You have thirty days, Woo.”

The smell of coffee and food wakes you up.

And the sound of a tiny voice that’s suspiciously far away.

Fear surges through you, jumping out of your bed, racing out of your bedroom and down the main staircase of your house like you were still your high school’s track star. Calling your son’s name, panic searing through your tone, you come to a hard stop in the entryway to your kitchen at the sight before you. 

“Morning, mommy,” Kyungmin grins, sitting in his Minecraft pajamas at your kitchen island, a full fucking breakfast half-eaten on the plate in front of him. Beside him is your husband, dressed for work, suit on his body, hair styled back, ready for the day like he’d gotten ready upstairs. 

Your hand lands over your heart, adrenaline winding down, are you dreaming? Is this a dream? 

“Morning, wifey,” Wooyoung grins, and all you can do is blink. He slides the mug of coffee in his hand over the kitchen island, toward where you stood, “Sorry for breaking in, but at least I made coffee. I brought over some stuff.”

Your brows furrow, slowly stepping closer until your hands wrap around the mug, assessing if you can feel the warmth. “I can’t tell if I’m awake right now.”

Wooyoung laughs, turning on his heel, grabbing the reusable grocery store bag you didn’t even notice sitting on your counter. “You’re very much awake.”

“Why are you here?” You ask before bringing the mug up to your lips, blinking away the crust in your eyes. Before taking a sip, you ask again, “What time is it?”

“Six forty-five,” Wooyoung says casually, so casually you feel confused like this was normal and you’re forgetting something so regular. He turns again, placing the bag between you. 

“Daddy said he brought you gifts,” Kyungmin sounds too awake for it to be so early. He usually didn’t wake up for another fifteen minutes, and usually your alarm goes off at six-thirty. He made your coffee, even if he was drinking it already, it’s your coffee, how you make it, how you order it. 

“Gifts?” You ask again, meeting Wooyoung’s warning eye, popping a brow. 

“Gifts,” Wooyoung repeats with a roll of his eyes like they aren’t really gifts at all, that’s just what he told Kyungmin. “Groceries,” he says, wrapping his hands around the handle of the grocery bag, “I figured I’d come over and make dinner for you guys a few times this week, if that’s okay. Oh, and flowers.” He turns, grabbing the vase you didn’t even notice sitting beside the kitchen sink, an arrangement of all your favorite flowers, your favorite colors. “Spring is nearing, so… flowers.”

Lips parted, eyes wide and blinking, you don’t know what to say, there’s not a single word that comes to mind other than a very unconvincing, “Thank… you?” 

Wooyoung looks like he’s trying to hide his grin, lips folded inward, cheeks straining not to show his giddiness. “Small stuff, nothing crazy. Effort.” 

“Effort,” you repeat, paired with a slow nod. “Groceries.”

God, why was this like pulling teeth?

“Thirty days,” he points toward you to remind you of your deal before starting to pull groceries out of the bag, as if you’d forgotten. Part of you did, even if it happened three days ago.

“What to expect when you’re expecting,” you sing through a contented sigh, mindless as you pull out a stool to sit on, forgetting who else is in the room. 

Kyungmin quickly reminds you he’s very much present by asking you, “What’s expecting?” He glances at Wooyoung, “What are we getting? Are we getting a dog?”

“No,” you respond quickly, “no dog. We’re getting…” You glance at Wooyoung with a look that says help. 

You asked Kyungmin how he felt about having another sibling, not that he was getting one. It was too early in the morning to drop a bomb that huge, especially if he didn’t take it well. 

Wooyoung’s forearms meet the counter, leaned over the island, eye to eye with your son who’s still glancing back and forth between you with curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “Want me to come over later? I’ll make dinner and help you with vocabulary homework. We can play the multiplication game again.”

“Yes!” Kyungmin shouts, piercing your still-asleep years. “Will you make my favorite?”

“Duh,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes with a smile, like he was already planning it. “Don’t tell mommy,” he whispers, “but there’s ice cream in the bag with your name on it.” 

Your smile grows watching Kyungmin’s eyes light up, flaring with excitement and sheer fucking joy before he whispers his agreement. Heart wrenching at the sight of the two together, Wooyoung and his miniature twin, you have to look away to not fall into the rabbit hole of what it would’ve been like if you never separated. 

A spiral you’ve been down too many times before. 

You sip your coffee while watching Wooyoung maneuver around your kitchen like it was still his. Putting groceries away where they belonged, keeping conversation with you and Kyungmin about your day ahead, you tried to let yourself exist in the same space without feeling completely confused and slightly weirded out about the normalcy of it all. 

Coming unannounced, bringing groceries, flowers, telling Kyungmin he’ll be here later without asking you but instead expecting you to be okay with it… as much as the rabbit hole of what-ifs calls to you, you have an eight year old son who doesn't need to be confused. 

“Time to go get dressed,” you say to your son with a small smile that you know Wooyoung is seeing right through. Slowing his movements, coming to a standstill on the other side of the island in preparation for the conversation he knows is coming, he nods toward Kyungmin who looks at him like he’d keep him home from school. 

After quickly realizing this wasn’t a special day and his father was just here for no apparent reason, he scoots off his stool and makes for the staircase with a gruff. He definitely thought you were going to keep him home, and the three of you were doing something today. The thought makes your chest feel heavier.

When he’s out of earshot, you quirk a brow at your husband, “What are you doing?” 

He’s quick to respond, “You gave me thirty days. Today’s day one.” 

“So you break into my house?” You whisper-shout.

“I still have a key,” he points to the hallway leading to the front of your house, where you know his key is sitting on the table beside the front door. “And technically it’s still my house, too.” 

“Don’t give me technicality bullshit,” you huff, “it’s seven in the fucking morning and you woke up our son for breakfast completely unannounced. You don’t think that’ll confuse him?”

“Confused? I'm his dad,” he argues, “and he woke up on his own, I didn’t wake him up. My plan was to have you wake up first and be all excited that I was bringing you goodies.” 

“Goodies,” you quirk a brow, “flowers and food?” 

He smacks his lips. “I thought it was cute.” 

The snort that escapes you is completely involuntary. Voice half-amused, the fight isn’t quite gone from your soul as you say, “You can’t just come here unannounced, Wooyoung.” 

“You gave me thirty days,” he says, dumbfounded. “Are we gonna repeat last time? Fuck until you consider seeing me in daylight?” You scowl, but he doesn’t let up. “This is asking a lot, but just go with it, please. I know what I’m doing.” 

“You know what you’re doing,” you repeat, mocking him, “my ass.”

“I thought the flowers would butter you up at least a little,” he turns, grabbing the vase, then places it in front of him, lowering his body so just his pouting face was visible on top of the colorful, blooming petals. “They’re pretty, just like you.” 

That pulls a laugh straight from your chest, shaking your head, “You’re beyond helping, Jung Wooyoung. Down to your soul you’re batshit insane.” 

“Only for you,” he’s grinning now. “Wouldn’t do this shit for anyone else and you know it.” 

And you do know it, as much as part of you wishes he was bothering someone else at seven in the goddamn morning. Rolling your eyes, you turn, “I’m going to get ready for work.” 

“Can I come watch?” 

“No, but you can take Kyungmin to school.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Monday at nine came and went with surprising ease. Not that you thought Wooyoung would act ridiculous at your doctor’s appointment, but you didn’t think he’d be as normal as he was. A blood test, an NT scan, he stood by your side through the whole thing, nodding and joking with Yeosang as if the doctor didn’t know about anything going on between you. And technically, he didn’t– not the details, at least, the only surprise he showed was the glimmer of shock in his deep chocolate eyes upon opening the door and catching Wooyoung looking through his cabinets. 

“Beautiful Monday,” Wooyoung sighs with nothing but unadulterated joy, grinning ear to fucking ear with his eyes closed, standing still on the sidewalk in front of his SUV as he lets the sunshine beat down on his skin. “Your levels are even, I’m gonna be a girl dad, I just found out I’m psychic, everything is good in the world.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “Everything?”

He cracks one eye open, “Am I missing something?”

“An open civil case,” your lips are tied up on one side with an evil smirk. 

Wooyoung opens his eyes to scowl, then pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. Before he moves to the driver’s side, he asks, “Do you need help getting in?”

“I’m only twelve weeks.” You roll your eyes again, something you’ve done so many times in the past week you think your eye muscles are now made of steel. “She’s gonna be big, though, I can smell the back pain from here.”

You and Wooyoung climb into his car at the same time and you grimace when the stale heat engulfs you whole. “Holy shit, turn on the AC.”

“What’s the back pain feel like?” He asks, turning on the car, hands immediately shooting for the knobs to put the air conditioning on full blast. “Similar to standing on your feet all day?”

You pull your seatbelt over your chest, clicking it into place. “It’s usually in my lower back, kinda like boob-carrying back pain, but worse. Like having a watermelon strapped to your front all day, you’re in a constant arch, it burns and you can’t really do anything for it if you’re out and about.”

He winces like he can feel phantom pain in his back. Turning to you, face solemn, he asks, “Do you think it’ll be better or worse since it’s your second time?”

You shrug, “Give me a month or two and I’ll have the answer for you.”

The air finally turns somewhat cold and you sink into the seat like it was a blessing from the heavens, it starts washing the heat off you, dusting away the idle air. Eyes closed, head lolling towards your husband who starts pulling out of the parking spot, you ask, “What are you making for dinner tonight?”

Wooyoung snorts, “That’s all you care about? We aren’t gonna debrief how we’re having a girl and the fact that I was right?”

“First time being right in your life, you must be excited,” you peek an eye open to tease, and he looks at you with his face bent up in offense. 

“Rude,” he scoffs in response, but it doesn’t hide the amusement in his tone. “I never even said I was coming over tonight. Should we tell Kyungminnie he’s gonna have a sister?”

You can feel the heat of shame crawling to the tips of your ears for assuming he’d be over tonight. He came over twice last week, and did just as he promised, made dinner, let Kyungmin have his ice cream, then helped him with homework and played the multiplication game that you found yourself inadequate at playing. It’s been a long time since you’ve done third grade math– Kyungmin multiplied the numbers faster than you did.

Wooyoung’s been… strangely aware. First and foremost, with what he’s been cooking the three of you for dinner. Balanced meals, healthy but still delicious, things you enjoy eating now that the wave of constant nausea has let up. Careful with what he says to Kyungmin, never hinting towards there being more to the picture than you’re letting on, reminding Kyungmin he was coming over for him and him only. In a kind way. In an unsuspecting way. A way that kind of made you feel sour, even if you knew the reason behind it, even if you didn’t want him to say anything else. Hormones. 

It’s been too easy to slip into routine, to find comfort in him being around. Having eyes watching over you, your son, to feel safe in a way you haven’t felt in so long. It’s different than the weeks you spent sleeping with him, you haven’t so much as kissed him in the past week, you haven’t given him eyes, not a single sexual remark or joke has been made from either of you. It’s been strictly domestic, a husband coming home from work, a husband cooking dinner for his wife, a father doing homework with his son. You hate that you’ve been loving every goddamn second of it.

“Sure,” you respond with only half of your consciousness attached to it, too in your head to give him your full attention. 

He side-eyes you, popping a brow. “Sure? You’re about to tell your son he’s gonna have a sibling, and all you can say is sure?”

“Well, are you even gonna come over?” It slips out before you can think about it, sounding impatient. Almost desperate. Irritable in the way that means you’re hopeful. 

Coming to a stop at a red light, Wooyoung glances at you in the passenger seat with the quickest-spreaking smirk he’s ever worn. Like an accusation, all too proudly he says, “You want me to come over.”

There’s heat on the apples of your cheeks. Unconvincingly, you defend yourself, “No.”

“Yes,” he argues, his smile mischievous. “You like having me there. Admit it, you miss me.”

“No!” You sit a little straighter, brows furrowing, voice pitched and so obviously lying your entire body fills with embarrassment. “I just like not having to cook.”

“Sure,” he doesn’t sound like he agrees. Turning back to the road, to the light that turns green, he cruises forward with two hands on the wheel.

“You clean my kitchen.” You sound too defensive. “And you’re helping Kyungmin with his homework. And you did my laundry last night. Three things I no longer have to do if you’re there.”

“Right,” he nods, brows furrowing, bottom lip bending over, looking like he agrees but you both know it’s pretend. Sarcastic, even. Leaning his head towards you but not looking at you, he says, “Just say you miss me, baby. I won’t make fun of you for it. I miss you too.”

You swear under your breath, arms crossing, head turning to look out the window. You do miss him, you’ve missed this part of him for so long, the part you didn’t get to see the last time you were trying the whole Wooyoung-comes-around-again thing out. Maybe you should have started here last time, instead of getting caught up in the way it felt to have him inside of you again. 

You might miss that most of all. 

You shake off the thoughts, eyeing Wooyoung in the barely-there reflection in the window, his smirk still present. Still incriminating. Still proof that he knows you better than you know yourself. 

“It’s still not enough to call it off,” you mumble, so quietly you aren’t sure if he’ll be able to hear you. But he does, with how his smirk falters, his lips settling into a line. It didn’t feel as good as you thought it would to say the words. 

“I know,” he responds, voice softer now, all amusement gone. “Trust me.”

You frown, guilt settling into cracks you didn’t know were there. He lied to you, kept things from you, then threw them at you like a fucking bomb and expected you to come out of the other side unharmed. You shouldn’t feel guilty.

But you do. To soften the blow, you turn again, arms uncurling from your chest, hands landing in your lap with a sigh, toying with your fingers. Voice coming out uneasy, you ask, “So… you wanna tell Kyungmin?”

“If you’re ready for it,” he fakes a smile, a bending press of his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can wait a couple weeks, ‘til we’re out of the danger zone. You’ll be in your second trimester next week.”

Your cheeks heat at the awkwardness you created when there’s never fucking been awkwardness between you, like, ever. “That’s smart,” you say, not at all convincing, pulling your lips together. “Will you still come over tonight?”

His head turns to the left, arms crossing over one another as he makes a turn, and even though you know he’s driving the both of you to work, it still feels intentional. “To make you dinner, clean your kitchen and do your laundry?”

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. You deserved that one.

“To spend time with your son,” you try, turning your head to face him, sounding optimistic. “And your daughter… And your wife.”

His demeanor cracks with that, a smile blooming across his cheeks, and it settles something in your chest. Smiling back, you lean a little closer, “You can brag to everyone at work about your psychic abilities.”

“I hand-picked that fucking sperm,” he says, full of conviction, picking back up the discussion you’ve had twice now like you never put it down. “I knew exactly which one was fertilizing that egg, jagi. I knew it.”

And you really can’t stop–nor do you want to stop–the easygoing laugh that spills from your lips, nodding along, agreeing with him. “I know you did, I believe you.”

“I’m at the store.” 

“What store?” You ask into your phone, twirling your hair around one finger, knees bent up to your chest on the couch.

“The store,” he responds like it was the only answer, his voice clipped through the speaker of your phone. “I’ll be there soon, let me check out.” 

“What are you getting?” You ask again, lowering your hand in front of you, examining your nonexistent manicure. You need one. 

“Things,” he answers, voice tight. Your top lip curls, eyes finding the ceiling. “I’m literally checking out now, I’ll be home in ten minutes.” 

You sit up a little, sly grin curving your lips, “Well what if I need things from the store?”

He swears under his breath, “Baby, why do you think I’m here? I already know what you need.”

You watch Kyungmin on the living room floor, belly pressed flat to the rug, feet dangling in the air as his little fingers work his tablet better than you ever could. 

Your cheeks heat, smile growing, “You have no idea what I need, Jung Wooyoung.” 

Kyungmin whips his head around, “You’re talking to daddy? Is he coming over?”

“Yes, he’s coming over,” you answer Kyungmin just as Wooyoung barks into your ear, “You’re a fucking pervert.”

You laugh, picking up the same piece of hair to twirl around your finger again. “See you soon.” 

“When I get there you better—”

You hang up the phone, sly smirk still warm, etched into your cheeks. All week it’s felt like you have an itch you can’t fucking scratch, an itch you want Wooyoung to scratch, but he won’t even try to reach it. 

You think the hormones might be blinding you, maybe taking over your entire nervous system. Maybe your hormones were in charge of your brain entirely at this point.

Texts, phone calls, other than the three times he’s been over this week already, it’s like dangling a treat in front of a dog who doesn’t fucking want it. Close proximity is driving you insane, you think, or maybe it’s just the effect of having Wooyoung around, acting so normal and so domestic it’s sinking you deeper into the fantasy of what could be. What could’ve been this whole time. What you miss so badly. 

You pick yourself up off the couch to the kitchen, needing something to do with your hands to get your mind out of the gutter, where it’s seemed to have taken permanent residence. Why doesn’t he want you? It’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since Monday night, like as soon as you noticed the lack of sexual tension, it showed itself like it’s been waiting in hiding.

Ten minutes of washing the dishes, all from Kyungmin’s school lunch and the lunch you brought to work, Wooyoung was walking through your front door as promised. You heard Kyungmin yell, Wooyoung’s excited greeting, and then your son’s following giggle that you’re convinced could cure anything. 

It’s only seconds before he makes his way to the kitchen, you look over your shoulder as he sets two reusable grocery bags on the marble island, a soft smile already on his sculpted, bronzy cheeks. 

“Wow,” he starts, already amused, “not leaving the dishes for me?” 

You turn off the faucet, grabbing a dish towel to dry your hands on before turning around, your coy smile tucked to the side. “Thought you might want a break from scrubbing my Tupperware.” 

Dressed in business casual, clothes a little wrinkled, hair disheveled like he ran his fingers through it forty five times today, you don’t hide the fact that your eyes are scanning every single inch of him. With the way his smile spreads, how his eyes lower, you know he can see right through you. It’s not like you’ve hidden it well— or tried to. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were buttering me up now,” his thick brows wiggle over his mismatched eyes. 

A small sound of amusement is all you can conjure before taking a step towards the island, pressing your forearms against the marble, leaning over your crossed arms. “What’s in the bags?”

“Things,” he answers, eyes sparkling with mischief. You thin your eyes, moving like you’d start opening them yourself, but he stops you with a palm facing you. “Stay away from my things, I know what you need and where they go. Go sit down or something.”

You stand up straight, crossing your arms over your chest, scowling. “No, I’m bored and I want to know what things are in the bags.” 

He laughs under his breath, “You’re bored?”

“I’ve been waiting,” you huff, “you took a long time at the store.” 

“Look at you,” he muses, “you’re pouting.” 

“So?” Your head tilts. “Maybe I am pouting.” 

His brows raise before he starts digging into the first bag, pulling out produce while he shakes his head, “Look how the turn tables.”

You’d laugh at the joke he’s made a thousand times if you didn’t know just how true it was. He’s supposed to be the one proving himself to you and with every passing day you’re losing the ability to hold onto your certainty, your hormones driving you to near insanity, your will as strong as thread at this point. There’s a tiny voice inside you that reminds you you’re not above begging for it. 

And yet he gives you nothing. 

“For you,” he says casually, pushing a bag towards you and two bottles. Quirking a brow, your hands find the things, holding them up to read the labels. 

“You said you were running low on prenatals,” he explains as he continues emptying the bags, not even looking at you. “Plus epsom salts for a bath, I read online somewhere that the soap is good for pregnancy, there’s herbs in it that soothe aches and make you sleepy or something. Figured it could help the back pain before it really starts.” 

Your eyes flicker upward, watching him as he empties the bags like it was no big deal. Thick, focused brows, veiny hands moving fluidly, a singular strand of hair thickened by product laying over his face, you can feel your heart beating. When your silence hits him, he glances upward, meeting your stare, and he pauses his movement to ask, “What?”

You shake your head, just once, barely anything more than a small movement. “Nothing, I just… I’m lucky. And I appreciate you.”

One brow raises, smirk rising on the same side of his face, “Now you’re really buttering me up.”

You laugh because it’s funny, but your heart throbs in your chest like it knows that Wooyoung is in front of you, like it beats only for him and it’s waiting for your mind to catch up. 

Your mind is far past catching up. You walk around the counter, steady feet bringing you to his side, and you force yourself between him and the counter to wrap your arms around his middle. Your arms squeeze tight, burying your head in his chest, forehead meeting right where his shirt is unbuttoned, your skin pressed against his. 

Spicy, woodsy, a hint of outside… sweaty, just a little. In the way that makes you want to eat him. But you don’t let your mind drift just yet, savoring the smell of him, the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, how he feels in your arms. 

It takes him a second to process, but his arms wrap around your back, engulfing you in his hold as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head in the same exact spot he did three weeks ago. When you thought it was over. 

How the fuck could you ever think it was over?

Mumbling into his chest, coming out muffled, you say, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” He doesn’t need a second to process that, the words coming out before he could think about them, he doesn’t need to think about them. Never once did he have to think about them, not with you. 

Your grip loosens a little, but you don’t let go. He seems perfectly content holding you to him, flat palms sliding up and down your back, a smile you can’t see quickly crawling across his cheeks.

Finally looking up, into his whiskey eyes burnt by the dim lighting of the kitchen, you whisper, “Thank you.”

He’s looking at you like you’re his entire world. Like nothing before this moment has ever mattered, and nothing after it will matter either, because right now it’s you and him and that’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“Anything for you.” He leans down to press a small kiss to your forehead. “You know that.” 

A smile tugs at your lips, “Anything?”

He smacks his lips, “Don’t ruin the moment, that was sweet.” 

Your grin spreads, head dropping until your forehead meets his chest again, hands falling from around his back to drop down to his hips. “Why is it always me?” You look up again, lashes fluttering, “It’s always me who’s begging to get in your pants.”

His face morphs into cockiness, his shoulders shrugging casually, “Guess I’m that good.” 

You try to scoff, but it comes out like a laugh as you smack your palm against his hip, “I’m serious, Wooyoung. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

His amused smile falls, hands sliding down to your hips, pushing your back against the counter. He keeps himself close, eyes scanning your face, gaze dropping down to your lips. Small, quiet yet full of lust, he asks, “You think I don’t want you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening. Your hands fly up between you, pressed against his chest as you stutter over your thoughts, “A- um, a little, kinda.”

His head drops down to your neck, the curve of his nose ghosting against the shell of your ear and your whole body shivers in response, back arching against the counter. 

He keeps his voice low, “You don’t realize that I think about fucking you every time we’re in this kitchen?”

Your heart picks up speed, breath going heavy and ragged, body twitching as he speaks like he’s fucking touching you. All you can mumble is his name, soft but drenched in arousal, fingers clutching onto his shirt.

“Lifting you up on this counter,” he drawls, voice like honey, hands reaching for the marble, arms caging you in. “Just like I did a few months ago, except I think about taking it slow this time, teasing you until you’re begging. Touching you until you’re crying for it.”

Your skin touches, his lip against the spot below your neck; his breath warm and inviting, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand, goosebumps raise on your skin. The smallest noise escapes you, pitched and needy, you’d be embarrassed by it if the arousal wasn’t intoxicating.

He brings his face back to yours, so close your foreheads are almost touching.

“Look at me.”

You do, eyes full of anticipation, his lips so close you could taste them. He grins.

Then he’s pressing a kiss to your cheek and moving off of you like nothing ever happened. Sliding the bags down the counter so he can keep unloading groceries, you blink at him, dumbfounded, terrorized. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper-yell. 

He looks at you casually over his shoulder, “What?” 

“You’re an asshole,” you spit, “you’re such a fucking asshole.” 

He cracks a smile at that, going back to his groceries, "Didn't I tell you to go sit down ten minutes ago?” 

All you can do is scowl, all the way back to the fucking couch where you tuck your knees up to your chest.

Kyungmin looks over his shoulder from the floor, wearing raised, curious brows as he asks, “Wanna play with me?” 

Friday has been your favorite day of the week since you could remember. In college, it meant classes were over, you had your weekends free to drink your bodyweight in liquor and party anywhere and everywhere without the looming dread of classes in the morning sitting on your shoulders. When you started working, Friday’s clockout time called to you at a mere seven in the morning, reminding you that when you go home, you get to change into a cocktail dress and your clubbing pumps and go out with the girls from your office. When you met Wooyoung, Friday meant that you got to spend your weekend with him, partying, fucking, learning each other down to the bone.

When you got pregnant the first time, Friday meant you got to go home and sleep.

Now you’re pregnant a second time, and Friday no longer means you get to go home and sleep.

You get to listen to your eight year old with a chronic case of the zoomies, especially after an abnormally warm day full of sunshine that radiates upcoming spring, instead of being tired, he’s ready to share all the adrenaline he’s felt all day with you. And you love it– every single second of him racing around your backyard with a widespread grin, shouting giggles that could cure any foul mood you’ve ever been in, but you’re especially tired today, and you don’t have it in you to do anything but sit in your patio chair and watch.

“Mommy, play with me!” He shouts across the lawn, the sound piercing your eardrums even if there’s yards of breeze intercepting it. “Let’s play Runway,” he starts, feet bringing him closer to you, dropping the bat he was just swinging against the tee you still owned because he aged out of tee ball just one year ago. “It’s like Fashion Runway, but instead of Fashion, we walk.”

You can’t help yourself, the snort that rips from your nose is inevitable. “You wanna walk with me?”

“Runway, mommy,” he corrects you, a hand on his denim-clad hip. Jeans and a tee shirt, one you realized an hour ago is stained with the condiments you put on the sandwich from his school lunch. “You have to walk like you’re walking down a runway, and I’ll judge it. One is bad, ten is good.” 

Your brows raise over the sunglasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, amused and actually interested, “Oh, is it a competition?”

Kyungmin smirks, “Yeah, and I’m gonna win. You go first.”

“Excuse me, mister runway model,” you say, pushing yourself off the patio chair by the armrests. You think you’re nearing popping, your belly definitely… protruding now. Not big by any means, at your fourteen weeks of pregnancy, but you think you’re almost visible. Obvious. Maybe. You wonder how Kyungmin hasn’t said anything yet, when he usually asks a thousand questions if you style your hair differently. 

Kyungmin sits in the patio chair after you’ve stood up, and claps his hands together as you walk through the lawn, standing facing him just a few feet away. “Okay mommy!” He yells from the chair, “You can walk now.”

Damn, impatient, too. You flip your hair over your shoulder, one hand on your hip, and conjure up the sassiest walk, imagining yourself on a runway, putting in effort for the sake of your kid. The same kid who loses his fucking shit, clapping and giggling like it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. 

When you walk up to the edge of the stone patio, Kyungmin is still giggling, but he says, “It’s good that you’re not a model, mommy.”

You scoff, standing straight, but the laughter that comes from your back door sliding open steals both of your attention before you have the chance to talk back to your son. 

“Daddy!” Kyungmin squeals.

Wooyoung walks onto the patio, grinning like he knows he wasn’t supposed to see that but he loved every second of it. “What do you mean? That was the best model walk I’ve ever seen.” He’s eyeing up Kyungmin now as he says, “Tell mommy she could be a model before you hurt her feelings.”

You try to interject, “He didn’t–”

“You’re a good model, mommy,” Kyungmin says, and he almost sounds like he means it. “You should see Aden do it,” he pushes himself up off the patio chair, “he does it like this.”

You’re shaking your head as you walk towards Wooyoung, ready to greet him, but Kyungmin’s screech of “Look!” has you turning right back around. 

Your jaw drops as your son puts his hand on his hip and sways his hips as he walks toward the patio. You scoff, “You just did exactly what I did!”

Wooyoung snorts from beside you, “He might’ve done it better than you, jagi.”

“What number?” Kyungmin asks, grin as wide as his eyes, his arms wrapping around your middle when his quick moving feet bring him right to you. “Judge time.”

You bend down and press a kiss to his sweaty hair, “Ten. What’s my number?”

Kyungmin’s eyes slide to Wooyoung, and out of your peripherals you can see Wooyoung holding up ten fingers. Your son giggles, looking back at you, “Nine.”

“Y’know what?” You bring your palms to his cheeks, squeezing, “I’ll take it.”

“Let’s play again,” Kyungmin squeezes you a little tighter, making you choke out a noise. “Daddy has to walk this time, too.”

“I think that’s a beautiful idea,” you smirk, side-eyeing your husband from beneath your shades. Expecting pushback, his grin turns feline. Your brows raise.

“Scared of a lil’ competition?” He wiggles his own brows, “I’m about to win, just so you know. Kyungmin, you’re going down.”

“I’m gonna win,” Kyungmin fights back. “Mommy’s gonna lose, though.”

“Damn, was my walk really that bad?” You ask, brows coming together as you turn to Wooyoung. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He leans closer when Kyungmin runs off into the lawn, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I thought it was perfect. Hi, by the way.”

“Hi,” you’re smiling already, and you know the flush on your cheeks isn’t from the afternoon sun anymore. It’s his fourth time here this week and it’s only Friday, by this point there’s not a bone in your body that isn’t okay with it. The opposite, actually, staring at him in his business-casual clothes, dress pants loose and elongating his strong legs, dress shirt unbuttoned and untucked on one side, sleeves folded up to his elbows. His pants black, his shirt a deep gray color, the silhouette, the colors, it all contrasts against his build and his sickeningly sweet-looking skin, making you salivate. 

This is the third day in a fucking row that just looking at him has made you weak in the knees. You’ve been curbing your cravings well enough since last week against your kitchen island, you’ve kept a safe distance since, not looking at him for too long, you don’t want to risk the rejection that you still aren’t sure was rejection, again. But the more insatiable your thirst grows, the more it feels fucking impossible, especially when he looks like that, when he’s doing tasks for you around the house, when he’s making dinner and eating it with you, when he’s showing up at your house right after work with his belt already off and his shirt halfway untucked.

You’re still not above begging. He’s still not giving you an inch. 

Kyungmin walks first, as attitudey and sass-filled as you imagined it would be, and both you and Wooyoung shout ten. You walk next without an ounce of embarrassment, and Wooyoung shouts ten, but Kyungmin shouts eight. Then Wooyoung walks, using his hips like he had a rope attached through his belt loops pulling him forward, like a real fucking high-fashion model. 

With your jaw pressed to the stone of the patio, you yell, “You motherfucker, why are you good at this?”

“Mommy!” Kyungmin shouts, disapproving of your swear.

A belly laugh leaves Wooyoung, head dipping down, palms clutching his stomach before they land on his knees in a doubled-over crouch. You scoff, “I’m serious, what the hell is going on? Do you have a history in modeling that I should know about? Something else you’re hiding?”

“I think… nine,” Kyungmin says from your side, ignoring you with his hands on his hips, brows slanted, hiding his smile like he knows Wooyoung’s walk was perfect but refuses to outright admit it. 

You snort, “That was a ten if I’ve ever seen a fucking ten.”

Kyungmin shouts again, “Mommy!”

“Stop swearing, you’re bothering the boy,” Wooyoung ushers a hand in Kyungmin’s direction, face still bent up in laughter, tight from trying to hide his smile. Just a moment passes of his lips tucked between his teeth before he laughs again, “I’m sorry– I’m sorry, that was so fucking funny.”

Kyungmin’s voice is stern as he warns, “Daddy.”

“I’m sorry!” Wooyoung shouts, his palms flying up in defense, laughter still laced in his words. “Come on, let’s go inside.” 

Kyungmin makes for the door first, mumbling like he didn’t think you’d hear, “I told you mommy would lose.” 

Wooyoung catches up to you in a light jog, one hand pressed to the small of your back as you cross the threshold to walk inside your kitchen. Your head snaps sideways at the touch and he looks blissfully unaware at how the heat from his palm shoots electricity up your spine, reminding you of just short of a week ago, his arms on the counter behind you, caging you in, whispering nasty shit in your ear…

There’s happiness in the air, bleeding between you and him and your son, even the girl growing steadily in your belly. You don’t want to ruin it by sinking your mind to the gutter, where it was a week ago, how you sulked the entire night and yet he still left your house with a kiss to your cheek and a smirk on his lips. He won’t fucking give in and your body is reacting to every look, every touch like a livewire. 

He meets your eye, mischief twinkling in chocolate, he knows. You take a quick step forward, too fast for his hand to stay on your body, it’s purposeful.

“Homework, dinner, showers, bedtime,” you mumble under your breath as if you needed to remind yourself of the schedule, using it like a bucket of cool water, the words ice in your veins.

And that schedule you continued to repeat to yourself all night. Homework was swift with Wooyoung’s quick-working mind helping Kyungmin, and other than making dinner, having him here to help with math was something you desperately needed and never even thought of. Third-grade math was a nuisance to you, mortifyingly irritating, and sometimes you remember that it's just going to get worse. More complicated. It’s been a long time since you’ve attempted long-division and you’ll avoid it at all costs if you can.

You ended up ordering takeout, the three of you sat on the floor of your living room, eating from containers on the coffee table, watching the movie playing on the TV across the room. Frozen, again, for the thirteen-millionth time, more than once Kyungmin began singing along, and you instinctively sang along with him, then Wooyoung, too. You think the three of you might know this movie word for word. 

By the time the end credits were rolling onto your screen, your back was pressed to the edge of the couch, your head lolled onto the cushions, eyes half open. You supposed singing along to the movie took the last bit of energy right out of you, exhaustion sitting heavy on your chest, your shoulders. 

Kyungmin was still wide awake, bouncing from watching his favorite movie yet another time. Sitting beside Wooyoung on the floor, his legs thrown over Wooyoung’s lap, his head turned sideways, towards the screen across the room, you could barely hear his fast-moving mouth about how much he loves Elsa. How he wanted to be her, have her magic, ice powers, how he wanted a sister like Anna– all things you’ve heard a thousand times before, but they landed differently this time, and as Wooyoung’s head turned sideways to look at you, you know you were both thinking that you hope to give him a sister like Anna.

His gaze lingered, though, taking in your half-awake state, low-lidded eyes, slouched body that you’re sure did not look comfortable. It was, at least, as comfortable as it could be for movie watching on the floor.

“Shower time,” Wooyoung rips his gaze from you to look at Kyungmin. Your son whines, pulling his legs from Wooyoung’s lap to roll over on the floor. Wooyoung’s face stays straight, an unmovable force, “Come on, you’ll feel better when you’re clean.”

“I already feel good,” Kyungmin whines, “I’m clean. I showered last night.”

“Are we gonna have the stinky conversation again?” Wooyoung asks, amusement playing in the line of his lips. “Mommy’s gonna cry if she gets a whiff of you.”

You crack a grin at that, even if Kyungmin refuses to take the bait. He sits up, arms stretched out behind him, brows slanted downward as he asks, “Can’t I shower in the morning?”

“No,” you interject, “you already don’t want to wake up in the morning, I’m not fighting you to shower.”

“I won’t fight!” Kyungmin counters. “I’ll get up, mommy, I promise.”

“I don’t even believe that,” Wooyoung reaches forward, grabbing him by his ankles and tugging the boy towards him. “Go shower.”

Kyungmin giggles as his butt slides against the floor, toward his father. “Can I eat ice cream after?” 

“Sure,” Wooyoung nods. “But only if you smell clean. Remember to wash your hair twice, with shampoo.”

Kyungmin stands from the floor just to scowl at his father, “I know how to wash my hair.”

Wooyoung just raises his brows like this was an argument they’ve had before, one you have no knowledge of. He doesn’t respond, though, and Kyungmin doesn’t argue as he turns for the staircase, running two steps at a time so he can get to his dessert as fast as humanly possible.

Wooyoung wastes no time as soon as the shower turns on. He slides closer to you, eyes zeroed in on your tired expression as he asks, “Why don’t you go take a bath?” 

You pop a brow, “Are you saying I smell, too?”

“I’m saying you look like you need to relax,” he says smoothly, easing you with a soft smile. “I’ll get him ready for bed, ice cream and all.”

Like it was meant to be or something, you yawn. Your back arches, arms stretching over your head, neck turning away from Wooyoung. “I don’t feel like walking all the way up there.”

“I’ll carry you?” You turn back to see him grinning, playful, eyes flaring amusement. You can see his collarbones beneath the collar of his shirt, fully untucked now, his pants that were once pressed now wrinkled and littered with tiny balls of fuzz. “I’ll even start running the water for you. Use the new soaps I got you, see if you like ‘em.”

“I’ll wait until Kyungie goes to bed–”

“I’ll put him to bed,” Wooyoung cuts you off. “And by put him to bed I mean I’m gonna close the door and let him fall asleep on his own, like a big boy.”

You roll your eyes, smile growing, “Are you gonna drill that into me forever?”

“I’m not drilling anything else into you,” he responds, too quick for him not to have been waiting to use that response. 

Your face falls, lips bending into a frown. “I know,” you respond, a bite to the words, sounding like that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. “Why not?”

“Because we tried it the other way already,” he slides down on the floor, head lolling backward, mimicking the way you’re sitting. “That didn’t work, so I’m using my thirty days wisely. No sex until you have a ring on your finger again.”

“They’re upstairs, on my dresser,” you say, jutting your chin towards the staircase. “Go get them, I’ll put them on.”

He side-eyes you. “You know what I mean, asshole.”

“Oh, now I’m the asshole?” You sit up a little. “You’re the one who won’t fuck your wife.”

“Because you’re only my wife legally,” he mumbles, voice quieter. “I want to have sex when you want your husband, because I’m your husband, not because you just want to have sex. Does that make sense? I think I confused myself.”

Your palms find the floor on either side of you, pushing upward until your legs are under you before you stand up straight. Tilting your head, ignoring his rambling, you ask, “Has your lawyer called you?”

“No,” his brows furrow as he lifts his head. “Why?”

You shrug, “Just wondering.”

He was right, you did need to fucking relax.

The smell of lavender and chamomile fills your bathroom, steam fogging the white gold-lined mirror on your marble vanity, turning the once crystal-clear glass shower door cloudy. Bubbles surround you, popping every few seconds, swirling with each slight movement of your body. Your neck stretches over the back end, eyes closed, body submerged beneath the water that teeters on the edge of hot. You’ve already drained some water and refilled the white, ceramic tub once, not wanting to escape serenity just yet. It’s been too long since you’ve properly relaxed without worrying about work, your husband, your son, anything. Everything. 

You were content on staying here, letting your body soak in the water, in the sweet smells, for as long as you possibly could. The first your eyes have opened is when you hear a hand on the door handle, pushing it open quickly and then closing it even quicker. Wooyoung walks in, eyes on you as soon as you’re in view, silently crossing the bathroom in a few long strides before crouching beside the tub. 

“Care to join?” You ask, head turned toward him. 

He cracks a smile, head dropping down to huff a laugh under his breath. It’s empty, like he had something on his mind. His hands reach over the side of the tub, bronzy fingers playing in the warm water, “Do you like the soaps? The salts?”

You nod, “Mhm, ‘m very relaxed.”

“Good,” he nods, lips scrunching to one side. He had more to say.

“What’s up?” You ask, searching his face for the answer before he had a chance to verbalize it.

He takes a beat. “We haven’t talked about it,” he finally says, eyes meeting yours, pupils big and dilated. “Us. At all, not once during these past few weeks.”

“Okay,” you say assuredly, then readjust. Sitting up a little taller, using your hands pushing against the bottom of the tub, the water covers just above the apex of your breasts. “Let’s talk.”

He swallows, eyes dancing across your face, your shoulders, like he’s fighting for his life to not let his gaze drop past your collarbones. You smile. 

“Where’s your head at?” he asks, forcing his gaze upward. “Do you wanna do this?”

You lean over the side, throwing an arm along the edge of the tub, laying your cheek on your forearm to look up at him. “Do I wanna do what?”

He shifts, sitting on the floor, legs bent, criss-crossed. He keeps his face close to yours, just slightly below you. “Be with me,” he wonders, “have another baby with me.”

You crack another smile, one so genuine it takes over your entire face. “I’ve wanted to the whole time, dummy.”

“Don’t toy with me, jagi,” his lips fall to a line. “Be serious. Are we doing this or are we not?”

You sigh. “You know,” you start, twisting your legs, the fluid noise of water sloshing following. “That day you brought me the soaps, the gummies, things I didn’t ask for but you know I needed…” Wooyoung nods, eyes twinkling with optimism. “It reminded me what kind of man you are. Who you used to be, before your priority became work–”

“I told you–”

“Let me finish,” you cut him off, eyes stern. He nods. “Even though you weren’t here, I know it was for Kyung, for me. I knew it, and even though I divorced you–the first time–I hoped you’d fight it. That you’d fix everything as soon as I brought up divorce, admit your wrongs and fucking grovel or something.” He frowns, but you don’t give him a second to respond. “I’ve missed this part of you. I’ve missed the part that’s present, that supports me as a partner and not just a checkbook. That’s what matters to me.” His frown deepens, eyes glazing over. You lift your head, reaching for humor, “Crybaby.”

“You’re the crybaby,” he counters, but a smile tugs at his lips. He wipes two thumbs under his eyes as he says, “Don’t forget we have to send two kids to college.”

You bark out a laugh, a genuine laugh. “We’ll figure it out. I just want— all I’ve ever wanted is you here, Wooyoung.”

He leans forward, pressing a short, sweet kiss to your lips. Keeping himself close, barely a millimeter between your faces, he whispers, “I will be.”

“Good,” your smile grows, “because I called my lawyer like, two days ago. I think we need your signature before the judge can sign off on the motion.”

He snaps his head backward, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Why would I lie?” You laugh a little, leaning your chin on your forearm again. “Are you really that surprised? I thought I’ve been making it pretty clear.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly in disbelief as he stutters, “I don’t– I guess, I don’t know. You’re pregnant.”

Your eyes droop in a scowl, “Are you about to call me horny and hormonal?”

His lips tighten, trapping his smile, “No.”

You laugh again, leaning back into the tub, letting your head lay against the ceramic. “I love you, idiot. I don’t want to do this without you, you’re my best friend.”

“You’re my best friend, too,” his bottom lip bends over in a pout, eyes glossy all over again. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through, baby. I swear to God I never had bad intentions with any of it.”

“I know,” you mumble, reaching your hand over the side of the tub. He tangles his fingers with yours, squeezing your wet palm, reveling in the silence, the shifting, the togetherness both of you fucking ached for. You smile, eyes twinkling with the idea, “Do you wanna go get my rings?”

He beams, muttering an excited yes before he pushes himself upward. It takes him all of seven seconds to run out to your bedroom, connected to your bathroom, to grab your wedding band and your engagement ring from the ceramic box atop your dresser and to run back into the bathroom. The movement was so Kyungmin you couldn’t help but laugh when he knelt beside the tub again. 

Wordlessly, you hold your left hand out, and he slides your wedding band on your ring finger first, a silver ring encrusted with diamonds. Then your engagement ring, a simple silver band, at the center a recently polished diamond set with four prongs. You hold it up to the dim light of the bathroom, admiring how the diamonds catch the amber hue, sparkling, shining, immediately regretting ever taking them off. 

“You really did a good job,” your head tilts in admiration. “I’ve missed this fuckin’ rock.”

He snorts, lifting himself up and over you, planting both hands on either side of the tub as his upper half stretches over the side, pressing his lips against yours. Your other hand leaves the water to cup his cheek, savoring the taste of him, home. Knowing it was real this time, knowing you were choosing this. Him, all over again. You deepen the kiss as the feeling blooms, pushing your tongue between his lips, using your hand on his cheek to bring him closer. 

“I love you,” he says into your mouth, voice cushioned by the remnants of relief.

You moan the softest sound of pleasure into his parted lips, “I love you.”

You feel him smile against you, one mischievous and him. “Should we consummate our renewed marital status?”

Keeping your hand on his cheek, you push him away a singular inch, popping a brow. “You really have to ask me that?”

“Mm, I know,” he leans forward to kiss you again, his outstretched arm leaving the ceramic to hold your cheek, running a thumb over your skin. “All that blood pumping down there, I’ve been so mean, denying my pregnant wife.”

His hand falls to your neck and you gasp, legs twitching in the water. You don’t have it in you to respond, already lost in the way his touch feels, just a few months without him should be nothing compared to the year you spent apart. But you weren’t pregnant then.

“Come to bed,” he purrs against your lips. “As much as I’d love to fuck my wife in the bath, I’d rather spread your legs as wide as I can get ‘em.”

The idea makes you snort, “How flexible do you think I am?”

He plants another kiss to your lips before responding. “Doesn’t matter. I’m stretching you out anyway, aren’t I?”

You pull the plug from the drain with a roll of your eyes before Wooyoung helps you up by your arms, then grabs the white towel that sat folded on the toilet lid. Holding it open for you, he wraps you in white cotton until your back is pressed to his chest, his arms snug around your front, fingers still holding the towel closed. 

Leaning into him, his scent, his warmth, even if you’re already standing in your home, it’s never felt more like it. Quietly, you mutter, “I missed you.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head instead of responding. You tilt it to the side, looking up at him, his beautiful, sculpted face you’ve spent fifteen years loving. Clear skin, soft and smooth, whiskey eyes, the freckle perfectly centered beneath one of them, there’s a wrench in your gut and it hurts. You love him so much it aches.

Wordlessly, you press your lips against his, and it relives the ache ever so slightly. Til’ death do you part, he’s yours, he always has been, he always will be. And like he’s confirming it, his tongue slips into your mouth, his hands leaving the towel to turn you by your hips, the cotton falling to the floor. Your arms reach over his shoulders, back arching into him, your bare front pressing into his clothed one, you didn’t care.

“Easy,” he mumbles into your mouth. “Let me get you on the bed first.”

You respond by kissing him harder. Your mouths move melodically, your fingers finding the soft, ebony locks on his head, his palms leaving your hips just to start undoing the buttons on his shirt. You help him push it off his shoulders, panting into his mouth as your fingers dart for the button at the hem of his slacks, fingers sliding the zipper down. 

He grunts when your palm meets his clothed length. “Jagi,” he grits out, chest heaving. “Baby, fuck– wait.”

“No,” you huff, kissing him again. Fingers meeting the elastic of his briefs, you push them over his hips, gripping the base of his length and tugging.

He groans, breaking away just to suck in a harsh breath, his abdomen flexing.

“Fuck me.” You’re staring up at him, and you’re positive you look crazed; eyes wide, unblinking, lips swollen and wet, chest heaving.

He doesn’t seem to care. He pulls your wrist from his cock, bending at his knees to scoop his other arm under your legs, lifting you in one quick motion. You stop yourself from yelping, arms swinging around his neck, holding on for dear fucking life as he opens the door with the hand that was supposed to be cradling your back.

So strong, the realization shoots straight to your throbbing clit. He lays you down on the bed, wet body soaking the comforter, neither of you care as he gets his pants, his briefs off his body, crawling over you. He keeps his voice quiet, barely above a whisper as he says, “What do you want?”

“You,” you quip, breathless. “Inside, inside, please.”

He studies you for a millisecond before he moves. Palms splayed over the underside of your thighs, he pushes them upward as he leans down between them, tongue poking out to lick a stripe through your folds. Hissing quietly, you watch his mouth bend, angled cheeks sucking in before he parts his lips in the smallest O to land a glob of spit on your core.

Grip loosening on your thighs, he sits on his calves, taking one hand to the base of his cock, smearing the spit along your folds. You release a breath, eyes screwing shut, fingers curling into the sheets, reminding yourself you need to be silent.

“Take a breath,” his voice is damn near silent, too. You obey, sucking in deep as he prods at your entrance, releasing the breath as he pushes in, agonizingly slow. You open your eyes to see his face twisted up in pleasure, jaw slack, muscles flexed, veins protruding in his sculpted arms.

You curse under your breath and he opens his eyes. “So good,” he whispers, sheathing himself fully, cock buried to the hilt. “Nothing fuckin’ feels like you.”

Your head tilts a singular degree, “You have much to compare me to?”

His lips flatten, eyes following suit. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Your lips bend in a smirk, legs spreading further. “Move.”

“Be nice,” he mutters, cock twitching inside you. “Been awhile.”

“Gonna cum if I’m mean?”

He bends at the hips, elbows landing on either side of your head, arms close enough that you might as well be scooped beneath his elbows. His forehead pressed against yours, he whispers, “Gonna cum if you’re nice, too.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Lay there,” he smiles, then presses a short kiss to your lips. “Let me take care of you.”

When he starts moving, it takes everything in you not to moan. Not to squeal, not to squeak, not to cry. Jaw falling open, brows furrowing, your fingers fly to his arms, nails cutting crescents into his skin. 

“Oh my god,” his voice is low, quiet and ragged, his head dipping into the pocket of your shoulder. Your legs wrap around him, the smallest whimper escaping your mouth, in chorus to the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out. Instead of the loud slapping of skin against skin, it was raw, a quiet, creamy noise filling the quiet room, each grind of his hips to the same beat as your breathing. 

It’s almost worse than being fucked mercilessly. Caged beneath him, body a livewire, arching and jerking just for every movement to be stopped, forced into stillness, it’s almost worse. You’re panting, hips fucking back into him, toes curling over the expanse of his back, the pit of pleasure in the base of your gut spreads heat through each limb.

“Woo,” you pant, “I need, I need– oh my god.”

His lips find your neck, but he doesn’t pick up speed. Cock curving upward, massaging against your walls, his tongue spreads flat against the curve of your neck, lips closing over the stripe of spit. Mumbling, so quiet it’s a murmur, he says, “You need me.”

“Yes,” you whisper, eyes screwing shut, fingers clawing into his arms harder. Your body tightens, muscles strained, but he rocks into you with the same rhythm, unbothered by your body clenching. “I need you– I, I love you.”

His teeth find your skin, a rumble of a groan melting into your neck. “I love you.”

“No,” you urge through a hiss. “I love you.”

His hips rock a little harsher, a twitch in his rhythm. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you’re whimpering, “I love you, I love you.”

He picks up speed, cock still brushing the spot on the inside of your walls. “Say you’re mine, jagi, ‘h my god.”

Your hips tilt, breath turning ragged, voice rising in pitch as your pleasure blooms. “I’m y-yours, I’m yours. Always will be.”

He lifts his head to press his lips against yours messily, tongue slipping into your mouth, hips grinding into you, pulling you closer to the line he drew for you. The one he made for you, because you’ve always been his, and he’ll always be yours.

His hands cup your cheeks, pulling his lips from yours, hips never once breaking their rhythm. His cheeks cave again, lips pursing, and you open your mouth in waiting. A droplet of spit dribbles slowly from his mouth and you catch it on your tongue, never once taking your eyes off of him, unblinking, letting him see that you’d take anything he gave. He watches your throat bob as you swallow.

“Mine.” He sounds on the brink, his voice a quiet, hardened thing. “Cum for me.”

It doesn’t take long, not when your feet hit the mattress, pushing your hips upward, allowing him to hit that spot in perfect rhythm. After a week or two of denial, you’ve been on the cusp since he’d walked inside the bathroom.

“So perfect,” he says. It’s primal, how he stares at you coming undone around his cock, jaw pried open and eyebrows knitted together. “I fucking love you.”

You can feel him twitching as you clench around the width of him, nails slicing into his skin, hips jerking wildlessly under his own. He keeps you pinned as he reaches down, picking up a thigh to push it upward, knees spreading to fuck into you harder without slapping his hips against you. 

You whimper, overstimulation looming, pleasure unending and all-consuming. “Wooyoung– Wooyoung.”

“Close,” he grinds his teeth. “Fuck, need to fill you up, jagi. Need to fill you up.”

His words make your hips rise to meet his, small squeaks escaping as his other hand finds your hair, knuckles finding purchase in your roots. Not hard, but enough, claim in another form; he needed it, needed you, in any way he could get you. Any way he could have you. 

“Cum,” you cry. “Please, please please. I need it.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you!” Your fingers find the duvet beneath you, curling into the plush, nerves beyond fried. Rambling, your voice a winded whine, “I love you, please fill me up, cum inside me until I’m leaking, made me feel so good, Woo. Need it inside.”

He moans, and it’s small, but it’s verbal. Cock twitching, hips losing rhythm, his abdomen clenches as he finally unravels, painting your insides with ropes of white-hot heavy warmth. You sigh in relief, in the warmth, the comfort of his release like an embrace. 

He lets go of your thigh to reach for your cheek, pressing his lips against yours. Whispering into each other’s mouths, mumbles of I love you and thank you and I missed you, over and over and over, all between kisses and tastes of each other’s tongues.

It feels like forever that you stay like that, far past his cock softening inside you, his release leaking out, ignoring the tickle as it races for the duvet beneath. You didn’t care, not with his lips on yours, your hands in his hair, his scent in your nose, the world could end around you and you still wouldn’t fucking care. Like stitching time back together, seam by seam, when you’re both wearing flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you finally part with lazy grins and cheeks aching from giggling. He kisses down your chest, two of his palms splayed over your tummy, peppering a hundred, a thousand kisses to the skin circling your belly-button.

“I’m so excited,” he says, like he’d been waiting to say it. “I can’t wait to see you bursting, belly all full ‘n round. I can’t wait to have another.”

He lays his head on your stomach, body stretched out on the bed. Your hand finds his hair, scratching at his scalp as an easy sigh falls from your lips. “Me too,” you smile, and you mean it. “And I’m excited for you to be here. Normalcy.” 

His fingers dance over your skin, featherlight, his cheek pressed to your tummy. “Can I move back in tomorrow?”

A quiet laugh tumbles off your lips. “We’ll take it slow, we have an eight year old who notices things, Wooyoung.”

“He literally wants me to live here,” his eyes slide upward. “He’ll be happy.”

“We’ll talk to him,” you nod in confirmation, fingers continuing to scratch in his hair.

He purrs, the vibration tickling your belly, making you twitch. “I love you,” he says softly, a pause before he adds, “wifey.”

Your grin spreads at the nickname. “I love you too.”

It wasn’t always like this. Harsh thoughts, even harsher stares. Whispers of curiosity and sly disgust. Questioning how you had a in that most girls would be fighting tooth and nail for.

There were moments, mostly when you were young, when life was simple, peaceful even. But now, as you ran through the crowded halls, no club, no place, no status to help you, you slowly started to come to a sense of acceptance that you were going to be invisible forever… a bookworm amongst the elite.

“Come on, one night.” You groan as you hear your best friend since childhood, Jongho, grumble through your phone. You were currently lying on your comforter, textbook after textbook scattering across the tops of your desk and bed. As you prep for… well, nothing really. Exams are over for the season. ‘I’m just getting prepared for next term,' you’d say, more to yourself than your friend… 'Can't be too ready…' Okay, now you were pushing it…

“Come on, it’ll be fun. The guys love having you around… No overly loud party. Just us all celebrating the end of exam week.” Jongho’s buttery voice made your insides turn. ‘Love having you around' the words replied in your head a thousand times. They probably only “like” you because they have to put up with you for Jongho's sake.

You hated how right your thoughts sounded right. You hated how you fell for their sirened words every time.

“Fine.” You sighed, knowing you wouldn’t win a fight with your teddy bear of a friend.

“Yes! Also…” His voice vibrated your ringing ears. “Seonghwa got you something.”

“Seong—” Your voice cuts off into a choking fit, saliva betraying you as you try to breathe. “H-hwa.. got..why would he..—Shit can't talk now. I'm about to go on, I'll see you later.”

And just like that, his goodbye was quicker than his hello, and you were stuck in the silence once more. Only this time you were stuck with the looming thoughts, Why did Seonghwa get you something and more importantly… You thought he hated you.

The walk over to the frat house was long and cold. The campus felt like a ghost town now that everyone had cleared out from the game earlier. The last play of the season, with some of the boys from ATZ frat house coming out on top. You've only ever been to one. When Jongho finally convinced you to show up for it to cheer him, Mingi, and Yunho on. But that soon led to you being cornered behind the bleachers by a group of popular girls that were determined to know how you were so close to all the ATZ boys.

How you… could possibly have anything they don't. They were all drop-dead gorgeous, tall with long thin legs, and had perfect faces that matched their perfect styles. They were the object of everyone's desire. People either wanted to be them or be with them… except you. You were nothing.

You didn't wear heavy, flawless makeup. You didn't wear tightly formed clothes. You weren't the it girl or the talented cheerleader… You were just… you.

The sidewalks that are normally filled to the brim with caffeinated, no-sleep, most likely on some sort of medication students were now mere echoes of your footsteps right up until the scuffs of your boots at the base of the frat house steps. You stared at the door for what felt like an eternity, questioning if you should just ditch and go back to the safety of your dorm surrounded by text books and fantasy novels…at least they wouldn’t judge you.

“You gonna stay out here all night, sweetheart. Or are you gonna come in.” The deep, almost sultry voice catches you off guard. It was only when you refocused your eyes that you noticed San leaning against the small porch fence with a lit cigarette in hand. His eyes were piercing and his smile subtle—being here for performing arts and a modeling/Image consultant program—he most certainly fits his major. "Well, are you?”

Heat flushed as you realised you had been staring at him for a little too long for your liking. “Y-yes. I’m coming.” … His smirk grew intensely.

Wrong choice of words idiot.

You huffed out a breath before walking straight for the front door, leaving Mr Perv outside to tend to his smoke. Upon walking in, you took in the strong stench of weed and liqour.. The gathering, as Jongho put it, must have started early. "Aye, there's the sweetest sweetheart!!" Mingi hollers from the couch as you rounded the corner.

“Hey.” You whisper out, holding your sides while your arms stay firmly crossed together.

“You need a drink. Let me get you a drink!” Mingi tries to sit up, but he stumbles, already half drunk. Hearing a crash, both Yeosang and Wooyoung come rushing out of the adjoining kitchen, one firmly holding a pot lid while the other holds a spoon.

"What's the damage?” Wooyoung shouted, thinking something was broken… Again. You couldn't help but crack a smile, watching the boys fumble and flail to get Mingi back on the couch.

“Only Mingi’s pride…” A smooth, roaring presence shifted behind you. His voice almost as dark as his slight smile. You knew it was him before you saw him. Shifting your head slowly, your gaze drags up, long elegant legs draped with loose black sweats, matching compression-T on the slickest waist before landing on piercing eyes. Eyes that made you hot. Eyes that made you go mad.

“H-hi Hwa.” You mentally cringe at yourself for using the nickname you always hear the boys use. It wasn’t something you called him. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Seonghwa seemed to notice your uncomfortability instantly, his pupils expanding at the idea of watching you squirm. So like normal Hwa fashion, he digs for more.

"Hey, Sweetheart.” That nickname... One that all the boys adopted for you and one you’ve grown accustomed to hearing. But when it slipped from Seonghwa’s lips, it was different. You knew it was because he wanted something. He only used it when he wanted something. He would rather use your name than slip into the sweetness of a pet name, and last time he called you that, you spent hours after helping him study. Or the time before that, you went with him to the library because he didn't want to go alone. As he put it. He knew he made you melt and he knew he could get anything he wanted if that one little innocent name slipped off his tongue.

“Y-you have something for me?” You hesitated while the taller man's eyes studied you. Only for a moment, never long enough to warrant warning. But just enough to have you redder than Wooyoung’s freshly dyed hair.

He leant down slowly, his lips barely scraping your ear. “Come with me.”

And just like that he was off, heading towards the staircase. You quickly followed behind, noting each door you passed. Yunho’s and Mingi's shared room, Jongho’s and Yeosang's…a bathroom. San and woos… He stops suddenly, almost making you bump into his broad back. You couldn't help but let out a quiet yelp, making Seonghwa turn his head slightly over his shoulder. "S-sorry..."

Your murmur was not unheard by Seonghwa, but he didn’t respond, instead, he smirked to himself slyly before slipping into the room he stopped abruptly at. You followed suit, trying to rub off the embarrassment off your face, but before you could shed away the redness, it only grew darker as your eyes landed upon the perfectly made grey bed in the centre of the small but cosy bedroom…

Seonghwa’s bedroom.

You’ve never been in his room before, heck, you were well aware of how much he hated others in here. Always saying others would make it messy. And from the last time San came into it, having his way with ruining the cosy sheets, Seonghwa officially made it clear that no one goes into his room unless he permits it.

"So... What was…” Before you could finish your sentence, Seonghwa quickly opens and closes a jewellery box that sat nicely tucked away on his desk. The voice made you silence yourself as you watched him turn around to finally fully face you.

“The guys and I have been wanting to get you a gift.” He rubs the soft velvet bag between his fingers while his eyes never left yours. “Something to show our appreciation. And we… Well, I came up with the idea to get you this.”

He pulled out a thin necklace with an unfamiliar-looking symbol hanging off it. The pendant was dark red, the gems in it gleaming in the small orange lighting of Seonghwa’s bedroom… it almost looked like a compass?

“It would mean a lot if you wore this.” You've never heard Hwa sound so soft before. His natural brooding nature always made him sound cold to everyone other than his brothers. But now, in his moment, he sounded like liquid sin. Honey mixing with all roses. He held the necklace, silently asking if he could put it on for you.

Of course, you listened. You always listened if Seonghwa asked. Holding your hair up, you turned around, giving Seonghwa access to your neck. His long arms wrapped around you as he unclasped the necklace, letting it lie coolly on your collarbone.

“I knew you'd say yes.” Seonghwa's voice was a whisper now, the feeling of his hot breath against your neck making you shiver. You had no idea how long you stood like that, just feeling him closely behind you. But when a booming voice echoed from downstairs, you knew it was probably a little too long for comfort.

“Dinner’s ready!” San’s shout cut through the quiet. You turned to face Seonghwa, and of course, his expression was anything but readable. Unlike yours, which you were sure was covered in pink, with wide eyes and a shallow breath.

“I—LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!” Mingi’s enthusiastic bellow cuts off your words before you could even speak them. A wave of sound crashing against the moment you and Seonghwa were experiencing.

Seonghwa stepped aside, gesturing towards the door. “Go on. I'll be down soon.”

You walked past him for the door, taking in the lingering scent of his cologne. A mixture of sweet vanilla, coffee and something faintly spicy. He smelled intoxicating. But you shook your thoughts, heading for the stairs, your fingers naturally gravitated towards the foreign object around your neck, feeling the cool metal settled snuggly against your collarbone.

I knew you’d like it.

His soft words played on loop in your head. The way he stood closer, the way you swore you could hear his heart beat quicken along with your own. The words swirled in your mind, a deciphering puzzle you couldn’t quite place. Yet, a warmth bloomed in your chest, a quiet satisfaction that the boys had thought of you, that Seonghwa had thought of you and felt the need to give you a gift personally… Maybe he wasn’t such a brooding bad boy like everyone lets out to be.

The night unfolded in a blur of loud chatter, liquor and food everywhere and a rhythmic thump of music that sits in your chest like it was born to be there. This wasn’t an average frat party by any means, there wasn’t a crowd of drunk people, minus Mingi, and an overwhelming amount of mistakes being made that many people would either regret or not remember by the morning. No, tonight was… intimate, filled with board games, competitive video games and casual conversations ending in bursts of laughter.

It almost felt domestic in a way.

Having Hongjoong lean against you, shoulder to shoulder on the couples' couch. Or helping Yeosang and Wooyoung finish up dinner before serving it to the hungry beasts known as your friends. The initial awkwardness melted away from this morning, having been replaced by a comfortable camaraderie. You’d never admit it, but Jongho was right.

“Alright, who’s ready for a real game?” Wooyoung’s voice sliced through the relaxed atmosphere, a mischievous glint in his foxy eyes. He held up a strange, circular board, adorned with colourful squares and cryptic symbols. You couldn't help but tilt your head in confusion. “Truth, Dare, or Strike.”

“What's strike?” The thought slipped from your tongue before you could think. And oh how the smile only grew wider on Wooyoung’s face as he picked up the dice.

“So, you roll,” he explained devilishly. “Move your piece. Land on truth or dare, you pick a card from each pile.” He gestured to the purple and green stacks, letting you watch as Yunho and Yeosang shuffle them. “But if you land on strike…” He taps the board, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“You pick a black card…” Seonghwa’s voice made you jump as you turned slightly to see him and Hongjoong come back from the kitchen after clearing the table. His voice was buttery and suggestive, sending shivers down your spine. But before you could loom with any unnecessary thoughts, Jongho picked up the dice and rolled, letting the game finally begin.

Jongho landed on truth, admitting he had a secret drawer of sex toys that the card had suggested. San, on a dare, did a surprisingly and gracefully tame handstand... Most cards you found weren’t all ‘bad’ or ‘raunchy’ but more classical truths and dares. Well, what would you even class as basic truth or dare? You don’t know. But Mingi was the first to pull a strike card, having to make out with the person next to him. Yunho to be exact… which he did a little too eagerly. You squirmed when you watched the two giants fight for whose tongue went in whose mouth… it shouldn’t have been that erotic, watching your two friends go at it… But…

“Your turn.” Jongho nudged you a little, making you snap out of your thoughts. Your eyes widened as you looked next to you, god you were staring, and you didn’t notice. You felt yourself grow pinker than Hongjoong’s pretty drink as you gulped.

“I uh… Let me just refill my drink. I’ll be right back.” You stood a little too quickly and fled to the kitchen a little too promptly, but you didn’t think too far as you slipped away from prying eyes. Once in the kitchen, you spotted San leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of something dark as he waited for something in the microwave. You ignored him at first, looking in the fridge for something stronger than your normal stuff. Just something to take off the edge, you know, something a little more…

“Having fun?” San’s voice was a deep whisper that you only barely heard over the music that still played in the empty lounge room on the forgotten TV.

“Uh yeah.. Yeah I’m having fun..” Your eyes never left the shelves in front of you, looking at all the rows of liquor.

“More than you expected, hmm?” San poured something into a glass before walking over to the fridge, his chest grazing your back slightly. This made you stiffen as he moved you aside, reaching for the freezer door and opening it. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Just simply watched as the man dropped a few ice cubes into the crimson drink. “Here.”

You took the drink in hand, ignoring San’s knowing look. How he was able to read people's minds still beats you. But nonetheless, you took it. “Don't tell Jongho. But yes, he was right.”

The sly smirk on San’s features beamed as he took a sip of his own drink. His eyes never left yours as he watched you take a gulp of your own, noticing you grimace slightly at the strong taste. “What the actual fuck is this?!”

"Damn, sweetheart, didn't think you'd react like that.” San laughed, a full belly laugh. It was deep in his throat as he covered his mouth with his hand. “You wanted something stronger, right? Doesn't mean it'll taste better.”

“Fuck me.” You choked, looking for some water in the fridge to wash it down. But San stopped you, reaching for a pink bottle of alcohol, he wiggled it in your face. “What now?”

Your groan made San's smile grow as his eyebrow cocked. His head tilting to the side slightly like a cat, “Shot this, and if you do…” he leant down to your ear, his lips grazing your lobe, “I'll tell you a very important secret.”

Your interest suddenly peaked as you eyed the bottle. “One shot?"

“Just one.” He clarified.

You thought for a moment, watching his dark expression twist with a hint of something you couldn't quite pick out. “Hmmm… Deal.” Nodding your head, you eyed him as he grabbed two shot glasses from the cabinet. This was gonna be interesting…

While San is perfectly distracting you, Hongjoong, on the other hand—with a devilish smile playing on his lips—swiftly flicked through the cards on the table in front of him. Yunho and Jongho joined him as Yun grabbed the truth and Jong the dare pile. Their fingers were nimble and quick, shuffling all the piles, replacing a few at the top with very specific cards. Hongjoong exchanged a knowing glance with Seonghwa, a silent understanding passing between them. The boy's plan was simple really… They had this idea for months now, long night discussions and other nights filled with a little more heated activities led to all the men here wanting one thing…

You.

It was only going to be a little push, a nudge even, that’s all they needed. Just to see if you'd actually break. See if you were on the same level as all of them. To see if you truly would be theirs. "Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Wooyoung’s voice was cheeky as he gazed at the cards Yunho and Jongho picked. The boys knew where you were standing on the board, you'd most likely land on Dare or Strike with your roll. But just in case you roll a really low number, Yunho took the liberty to look for a perfect truth card.

All three men were quick at finding what they wanted before placing the decks back as if they were never touched. Ironically, this was just as you finally walked back into the dining room, the clinking of your cup against the glass bowl filled with popcorn announcing your presence. San was close behind, and his stare was caught quickly by the two older men. Hongjoong nodded slightly, not enough for you to notice but enough for San to know the plan was going perfectly.

You sat down next to Seonghwa, not noticing he swapped spots with Jongho. Picking up the dice, you note the almost complete silence, like there was anticipation in the air for what you might roll. “Are you all holding your breath, or has the alcohol finally hit me?” You tried to give a little cheek, but you could have sworn all the boys were darker, more… predatory than normal…

“We are just curious what you might land on, sweetheart.” Mingi suddenly sounded way too sober for your liking. Your hand didn’t stop the shaking motion as your eyes narrowed at Mingi, but you chose to let the dice fly despite the odd feeling brewing in your stomach. They tumbled across the board, clattering to a stop…

"Six," Jongho casually announced, his expression never changing. But there was something, like the room let out the breath she thought it was holding, and as her little pawn landed on the square, she swore she heard a groan.

“Dare…”

A collective gasp—as if they didn’t just plan all this—quickly followed by a chorus of excited chatters filled the room. But your stomach only lurched, suddenly nervous at what the card might suggest. And if it was anything like the previous two cards… you were most likely done for. Reaching for the pile, your fingers trembled slightly. The card felt too cool, too smooth, too… heavy. You flipped it over away from prying eyes.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the card. “Nope. Absolutely not. I am not doing that.”

The group chuckled, half of them saying it can't be that bad while the others were curious what the card said. Jongho took the card from you, and what he read made his ears turn red. “Strip in front of the crowd.”

“Oh fuck yeah.” Mingi couldn’t help but hiccup out. Making your face deepen in the crimson that already pained it.

“No! I’m not getting naked!” You huffed with a slight twang of laughter. You loved your boys, yes. But getting bare in front of eight very hot men was not on your list tonight.

“Alright. You can pass, Sweetheart.” The crowd went quiet as Hongjoong spoke. “But that means you gotta pick up two strike cards this time.” It was like Hongjong's prayers had been answered, given he put the more... Harsher cards on top of the strike pile.

You go to grab the two cards, but the orange-haired male stops you. “But once you take these two, you can't undo it. You’ll have to do these cards.”

For a moment you questioned if getting naked in front of the boys for a moment was better than what these two cards could entail… but after another breath left your lungs, you knew you were willing to risk it. “I’m good.”

Picking up both cards, you stared at them. And in bold, stark letters it read. “Spit take and…Seven minutes in hell.” Your breath hitched.

A sly murmur bubbled under Wooyoung's breath as he whispered out, "Oh, these ones..”

Yeosang had to kick his foot slightly to get him to shut up. Luckily your shaky sigh covered up the young man's words, making him go unnoticed by you. You already knew what the first card was asking you, and that required you to roll to see how many people would participate. But it was the second card that had you more intrigued… “Go to a secluded room with the person to your left. And for seven minutes, they can do whatever they want to you.” with a little note on the corner, a smiley face with a speech bubble that says ‘remember consent is key’... as if that was the problem at hand right now.

Your shaky gaze suddenly snapped to Seonghwa, seeing him seated calmly beside you. And even though his expression was unreadable… His eyes were a different story. They were intense, dark and as they met your own, you noticed the lust dripping from them. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, almost like a silent promise. And in that moment, you knew. This man, with his quiet intensity and unsettling charm, was about to completely ruin you.

“Roll.” Was all Seonghwa said as he stood, picking up his beer to take a swing of it as he walked to the archway of the dining room. You froze for a moment, not really registering what was going on. It wasn’t until Jongho’s soft, warm hand squeezed your thigh that you finally focused your eyes and looked around the room.

“You okay?” His voice was whispered, but you simply nodded your head, standing up abruptly before snatching the dice off the table.

“I’m good.” You gave your best friend a smile before rolling the red dice, letting them skate across the table, but as they came to a halt, the numbers they landed on were almost too good to be true.

Five and three….

Everything passed like a blur as Seonghwa extended his hand out for you to take. You didn’t even hear the hollers and chants from the other men as your fingers intertwined with Hwa’s soft ones. San had whispered something into the older man’s ear as he passed, and you vaguely heard Jongho say they’ll do the rest of your challenge when you come back…

But all you could think about right now was how you let Seonghwa pull you through the house. Your legs felt strangely heavy as he guided you towards the studio just opposite the kitchen and dining room. He stepped inside first, holding the door open so you could slip in besides him. The soft lamplight cast his features in shadow, making him appear even more mysterious in the reddish, purplish lighting. The studio wasn’t small by any means, supporting a large desk, couch and even a mini fridge. Hongjoong spent most of his time here, the others rarely entertaining themselves with all the electronics that Hongjoong had set up meticulously. But now the room was going to be used for something other than soundboard production. It was going to be used for something far more… erotic.

You hesitated at the threshold, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you… anticipation, a hint of nervousness, and a strange, undeniable thrill of what-ifs and maybes. What could the Park Seonghwa possibly do in seven minutes?

“Come on,” he urged, his voice a low invitation. “Time starts now...”

You crossed the threshold, the door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. And for a split second you thought you heard the lock. But you paid no mind as you felt the air thicken in your lungs, making it harder to breathe as you took in every detail of the room around you. All the while, Seonghwa never took his gaze off of you. Taking a swig of his beer, and his back facing the door, his burning presence filled the cramped space so much your body, soul and mind felt like they were oozing him… You could hear the way his throat worked as he swallowed more of his drink until he was empty, setting the bottle down on the edge of the deck with an anticipatory thump.

“You seem nervous…” He whispered, stepping closer until his chest grazed your back. “Why are you shaking, hmm?”

"I'm not shaking." You lied through your teeth, your voice trembling slightly. "It’s just… cold in here."

“Ah.” Seonghwa said softly, reaching out with his fingers to brush his knuckles gently across your neck. The contact felt like a jolt of electricity had suddenly coursed through your veins. “You know… Liars get punished in this room.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you whispered, not taking your eyes off the blank wall in front of you. Not daring to look back. To look at him.

Seonghwa stepped closer, his feet pushing yours apart so he could almost put his knee between your legs as his chest became snug to your shoulder blades. He leant down, his lips only just ghosting over the shell of your ear, and then you felt the hotness of his breath as he spoke, “Don’t play dumb now, sweet bunny.”

Oh, that was new…

The pet name sent shivers down your spine as his voice turned sweet, almost melodic. “I see the way you look at me. The way you clench your perfect fucking thighs whenever you're around here. You act all shy, but I bet there's a slut somewhere inside begging for relief. Did you think that necklace only meant we were friends?"

“I…I thought.”

“What? You were in some sort of safe zone? You aren’t what we want because you’re Jong’s best friend.” Seonghwa interrupted your words as you felt his hand move to the nape of your neck, his thumb pressing gently on your windpipe. "There’s nothing safe about the way we think about you. I’ve spent weeks imagining exactly what I’m going to do to you in this very room. And now, the rules say I can do anything."

Did he just say we?

“S-seonghwa what… Ah!” You gasped before you could even protest any thought or feelings, letting yourself feel his teeth latched onto your shoulder and hand tighten around your neck. He began to kiss you, slow and agonisingly soft, his tongue tracing the line of your ear, to your jaw, down to the patches of skin on your neck his hand was not covering.

"I’ve been so patient…” He practically moaned your name in your ear. “We’ve watched you walk around this house in those cute little outfits. Pastels, cotton. Argh… “ He groaned, rutting his hips against your ass. “You always look so soft, such a pretty bunny. You knew exactly what you were doing to us. Did it make you feel powerful, hmm? Knowing we’re all starving for you?"

Your brain was no longer processing what he was saying, no, all you could think about was how he held you. How he was touching you. How you could feel the outline of his straining cock on your backside and how he growled and begged behind you. “S-seonghwa, please.”

"Please, what?" he asked, stepping a little away, letting you feel slightly empty. His hand loosened on your windpipe before swinging you around until you were facing him. And oh, did his expression make you want to melt. His eyes blown out, his jaw clenched as he awaited you to finally answer him… finally give him something. Anything!!

“Do. Not. Stop.” You punctuated every word, letting him read each one from your lips. His mouth crashed onto your feverishly.. It wasn't a gentle kiss. No, it was an invasion. He tasted like a devilish mixture of bitter hops and lust. His tongue pushing past your lips to claim you with a desperate hunger. Holding you steady by your jaw, he tilted your head as he stood up straight, making you fight to keep your lips latched. He wanted you to feel what he had been feeling for months. Being so close to touch… but not close enough to call you his.

Any sweetness you thought might come out of the usually calm man vanished, leaving a new version of Seonghwa that made your skin burn for more. And just like that he pulled completely away from you, breathing hard. “Couch. Now.”

"What?"

"I said get on the couch. Legs open. Now." Gone was the cheeky darkness in his tone, now being replaced with something almost sadistic. A shiver of fear and excitement trickled down your spine.

You obeyed.

Your movements, ever clumsy as you scrambled onto the leather. The material was freezing against your fiery skin, but the heat radiating from Seonghwa was far more overwhelming. He did not wait as he moved into action. No, warning, not words. The thud was deafening over the music beyond the door as he fell to his knees. He was acting like a starved man on a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way with his reward.

Moving between your knees, his hands grabbed a hand full of your thighs, forcing them wide without a second thought. You felt his fingers dig into flesh and nails threaten to draw blood. Maybe starved wasn’t the word for the way Seonghwa acted in this moment… No, he was more like,

Insane. Drunk. Fanatical and fixated.

"Oh, look at you," he hissed, his gaze fixed on the dampness already staining your underwear that hid so prettily beneath your skirt. "So ready for me. After all that acting, all this being shy… you’re dripping like a whore."

He didn't waste time with more words. Not leaving any room for even a little yelp as he yanked your soft cotton panties to the side, exposing your aching cunt to the cool air of the room. He didn’t use his fingers first. He didn’t tease or linger. No, your head fell back as soon as you felt his thick nose push against your clit, letting him bury his face into your heat. The first lick was a long, broad stroke that made your back arch almost right off the couch. You’ve never felt such a feeling, something as delicious as someone's tongue lapping you up like it was their favourite meal. And you were his. As you let out a strangled cry, your fingers knotting in his hair, Seonghwa knew he was done for. He would eat you out every day for breakfast, lunch and dinner if you let him.

"You’re so sweet," Seonghwa mumbled against your skin, his voice muffled. "I’m going to eat every drop of you. I want to taste how much you’ve been wanting this, sweetheart." He became a man possessed. His tongue was relentless, flicking over your clit with a precision that was borderline cruel. Sucking on you intensely, his soft hums created the perfect vibration that made your toes curl and vision spot. The tension in the room changed with each jagged breath. The wet, rhythmic sloppy sounds of his tongue against your folds, the sharp gasps you couldn't suppress, and the heavy thud of your hearts against each chest were enough to make you both spiral.

"Open wider," he growled, pulling back for a second to slap your inner thigh as you tried to close them around his head, the sound echoing in the small room. "Keep them open for me, bunny. I want to see everything."

"I-It's too much," you gulped air in as you spoke, your head tossing back and forth as your eyes screwed themselves shut. “Seonghwa, I can’t.”

"Yes, you can," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that made your cunt clench. And that's when you felt it, the sudden intrusion making you yelp. He shoved two fingers tightly inside your wet hole as he began pumping them hard and fast, his thumb never leaving your clit. Your hips bucked without a second thought, almost having a mind of their own, chasing pleasure your body was so desperately desiring. "I want you to squirt for me, sweetheart. I want to see you lose control completely.”

"I... I’ve never done that," you panted, your voice breaking as you took in each thrust of his long digits. "I don't think I can."

Seonghwa’s gaze snapped up at you, a predatory smirk painting his features as his fingers seemingly became more frantic inside you. “Never?.. Oh, bunny. What am I going to do with you?”

He sat up straighter, his whole body towering your bent one. His lips grazed your ear, letting you hear the soft panting from him over the squelch sound. “I guess I'll have to be the first one to make that happen, huh? I'm not letting you off this couch until you're dripping all over me. Got it."

You couldn’t help but nod, letting him have his way, as he went back to his couched position. His tongue licked a strip up your cunt before settling on your clit. His fingers hooked deep, finding the spot that made your hip jerk and high pitch higher. He was relentless, abusing your sensitive flesh with a focus that was terrifying and utterly arousing. You could quickly feel the foreign tension build, a pressure in your lower abdomen that felt like a dam about to burst. Trying your best to settle your breathing, you glanced over his broad shoulders, and that's when you noticed the digital clock on the desk. The numbers glowing crimson in your spotted vision.

“H-hwa.” You choked out, your voice barely above a whisper as moans filled the void. “The time… Time. Fuck. Seven minutes is over.”

Seonghwa didn't even look up. He just growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing your inner thigh before he went back to devouring you. "Do I have to be blunt with you too, bunny?" His voice thick with lust, it sent a shiver down your spine. "And here I thought you were smart.”

Your eyes widened in shock when he looked up at you, his mouth and nose already glistening from your juices. You wanted to feel embarrassed, but Seonghwa’s tone was quick to distract you. “The clock doesn't matter. I decide when we’re done. And we are nowhere near done."

He sped up. His fingers were a blur, the sound of air being pushed out of your soaked pussy with every thrust creating a wet, slapping noise. He was punishing you now, his movements rough and demanding. He wanted… Needed you to let go. To feel everything all at once. To feel nothing but him.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me," he commanded. "Squirt for me, you little slut. Show me how much you want the rest of us. Want me."

The unfamiliar sensation brewing in your gut finally snapped, leaving a white-spotted explosion to cloud your vision. Your body convulsed, your legs locking around his head as a torrent of fluid erupted from you, splashing across his face, his chest, and the leather of the couch. You sobbed, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as a long, high-pitched sound erupted from your chest.

Seonghwa didn't move. He stayed there for a long moment, letting your tremors subside while his face still pressed against your core. When he finally did pull back, though, he was covered in you. Your scent was heavy in the air, musky, sweet, and metallic. He wiped a stray drop from his lip and licked it off his finger, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He looked hypnotised, completely consumed with the idea of you.

"Look at that bunny," he whispered, his voice dark as he massaged your thighs. "Look what you did for me."

Feeling accomplished, Seonghwa stood abruptly. You went to follow him without a thought, but he quickly reached out, landing a playful but sharp slap on your clenching cunt. The sting of it brought you crashing back to reality… Only slight. Watching him step away, leaving you shivering and vulnerable on the couch.

"Stay." Was all he said as he walked over to the desk.

Picking up his beer bottle, he took a long, slow swing of the last of his beer, eyes tracking the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He looked down at the bottle, then back at you, a slow, cruel idea forming in his expression.

Your eyes never left him as he watched you. It made you feel hot, feel… seen. From always being the one to never be looked at. You not having a good enough status in school. Being the forgotten kid. Or the nerd, the outcast. The list goes on, from what you've been called in your life… but right now. All of Seonghwa's attention was on you. The Park Seonghwa. It made you feel desirable. Made you feel powerful.

"You like being watched, don't you?" he asked as if he were reading your mind, walking back towards you painfully slow. "You like the idea of being wanted, hmm? Want by me… by us?”

There it was again, the hinting of the other boys, only just a few feet away from this very room. It made you remember what San had said in the kitchen only twenty minutes ago.

"What kind of game, San?" You leant against the countertop with your arms crossed, still feeling the burn of the shot you just took. “If this is some kinda of floor shot again. I told Wooyoung a million times. No.”

San laughed, the sound vibrating against you while he stayed standing so close to you that your elbows were touching. "No, no… nothing like that….Without trying to freak you out."

“You're already freaking me out."

"Okay, okay.” San’s tone suddenly became serious. “There's a reason for that.” He points to the necklace on your neck. “And Seonghwa is gonna teach you later what the reason is. I just want you to know…”

San moves before you could think, hands on either side of you, caging you between his large body and the tabletop. “We all care for you. And we all want something. But trying to tell you has been difficult. We don't want to scare you away.”

You suddenly felt completely sober as you stared up at the man in front of you. Was he trying to say what you think he was? Did you just drink too much and now you're misinterpreting his words? "San… what are you trying to say?”

"Just be open-minded… Know that we all love you.” San leant down to your ear, whispering the last bit of his sentence, letting you smell the bourbon on his hot breath. "And the studio is soundproofed. No one hears a thing once that door locks.”

“I…” Your mouth became tacky while your mind drew a blank. This was what San was talking about. What he meant by all of them loving you…

“Tell me the truth, baby. Did you ever think about me while you fuck yourself on those pathetic pieces of plastic? Or maybe more than just me? What about the others? Ever thought about your best friend, huh? Dreamed of Jongho’s cock in you just as much as I dreamt of tasting this perfect pussy?"

You turned your head away, your face flushing a deep crimson. "I... What…."

Seonghwa has gone mad, not liking your answer. Gipping the neck of the beer bottle, he chuckled… a cruel, dark vibration from the pit of his chest. “I asked you a question, Sweetheart.”

This time the pet name that rolled off his tongue wasn't filled with any hint of sweetness. No, this time it was filled with nothing but mockery. He wanted to get under your skin just like you have him. Without a word, he took two large steps towards you before nudging your legs further apart with his legs.

“Answer me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he began ripping at your clothes until your lower half was completely bare and your shirt was discarded, leaving you in your soft pink cotton bra. His free hand gripped your ankle, spreading your legs open further to let him press the cold, rounded rim of the bottle against your wet entrance.

"Seonghwa, w-what are you doing?" You asked, your eyes widening as you felt the cold glass begin to slide inside you.

"I'm making sure you're paying attention," he replied bluntly. Pushing the bottle deeper, you could feel the cold sensation of the glass contrasting sharply with the heat of your overworked wall. "Does that feel good? Or is it too cold? Maybe you’d prefer something warmer. Something human, hmm?”

He began to move the bottle in and out, the glass creating a suction that made a distinct, wet popping sound every time it almost slipped out. The feeling was… bizarre, invasive and oh so fucking erotic. You were too focused on the sensation of the bottle to speak. It was stretching you the way you needed, filling you in a way that felt foreign and overwhelming in the best way. You let out a soft moan, your eyes fluttering shut. Seonghwa's expression darkened. Letting go of your ankle, he ripped your bra down, letting your breasts spill free. He watched them move as his pace quickened before giving them a harsh slap, the impact making you yelp in surprise and pain.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” Your lips finally fell loose as your legs hugged tightly around Seonghwa’s firm hips. Leaning down, Seonghwa's teeth were bared on your neck, making sure he marked you anyway he could. Whether it was teeth marks, hickeys, or blood being drawn, he needed it all.

“So tight, filthy little bunny.” He hissed as he quickened his pace, his wrist growing almost tired at the odd angle of how he was holding the foreign object. “I bet you’re imagining it’s my cock, huh? Or maybe someone else's? Do you want all our cocks, baby? Come on, you can tell me. Don’t be shy now. Be a good girl.”

“H-Hwa… I.” Tears stained your face, stinging your red cheeks. You didn’t want to admit anything, your heart ached while your mind felt dizzy. The push and pull Seonghwa gave you was almost strong enough to give you whiplash.

“You can do it, bunny. Scream it out, let the others know exactly how you feel.”

And even though you shook your head no as he sank the top of the beer bottle deeper, pressing his thumb to your clit for firmer, you felt a fire brew in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew, he knew your answer. Like he could read your every thought. You weren’t just interested in the broody frat boy…. You were interested in his whole fraternity.

"YES!" You finally screamed as he gave your tits another love tap. The confession burst out of you like a physical weight as you squirted all over the beer bottle and Seonghwa’s hand. "I think about all of you! I want all of you! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Seonghwa froze—the bottle still buried deep inside your abused cunt—a slow, terrifying grin spreading across his perfect features. There was a hint of warmth to it. Maybe even a slight show of sympathy. But over all that, he looked like an animal who had finally trapped his prey where he wanted.

"All of us," he repeated, his voice like velvet over gravel. "Good. That’s what I like to hear… But there is now one little problem...” He pulled the bottle out of you, throwing it somewhere in the room. If you weren’t so focused on Hwa your eyes would have checked to see if the glass would break, but luckily it landed on the carpet and no shatter followed. “You’ve been keeping a secret since we’ve been here…"

"What secrets?" you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.

"San," Seonghwa said, his eyes narrowing. "He told you something, did he. Fucker can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

You couldn’t help but bite your lip, the guilt written clearly on your face. "San told me, you wanted to… teach me... About the necklace. But what was it, I promise.” The silence in the room was absolute. The only sound was the faint hum of the equipment and the distant, muffled beat of the music from outside. You could see the way Seonghwa tensed slightly… he didn’t believe you. Not entirely anyway. His eyes were ice cold, focused with rage that made you want to shrink into the leather beneath you.

“Did you know I’d fuck you tonight?” He said so bluntly that it almost gave you whiplash. “Did he tell you we all like you?” The words came out slowly and dangerously. “What about that we rigged the cards so one of us could break you enough that you’d finally understand you are ours…”

He stood up, his breathing ragged, his chest heaving with fury. “Did he think this was a game? We had a plan.” Seonghwa passed for a moment, leaving you to worry. But before you could say anything, he grabbed you by the arm, his grip bruising as he hauled you off the couch, shoving you toward the mahogany desk.

“I…No..” Your mouth went dry as you tried to speak, but Seonghwa cut you off anyway.

"Hands on the desk," he commanded. "Now."

"Seonghwa, wait, what I—"

"I said hands on the desk!" he roared. You obeyed, your palms slapping against the cold, polished wood. You were trembling violently now, the reality of his anger settling over you. You heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of fabric and something like ripping plastic... Then the heat of him was behind you, pressing against your backside intensely. “I’m gonna have words with him later. But right now…”

His lips grazed the shell of your ear. “I need you to take a deep breath.” He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need to, grabbing your hips, with his fingers digging into the bones, he drove himself into you with one single brutal thrust that had your vision blurring. You let out a sharp cry, tears already staining your puffy cheeks as your head leaned back onto his shoulder. Seonghwa was so thick compared to the beer bottle. He seemed to stretch you beyond your limits. Well, that's what it felt like. He didn't give you time to adjust as he began to fuck you with a primal aggression. His body slamming into your pussy with a rhythmic, meat-on-meat thud that if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be embarrassed.

“You are even more perfect than I imagined,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. I'm going to mark you so everyone down the hall knows who got you first.”

His declaration made your head spin. The knowledge that this was not just a one-time thing. That this was just the beginning of something you couldn’t even explain… and that everyone down the hall was just dying to join in. He was relentless. Every thrust felt like a challenge, a violent reassertion of dominance, of possession, that even though there was an agreement, he was going to show off what he could do for you. The desk creaked under the weight of your bodies, and the sound of your skin slapping together and panting breath filled the room. You could feel the friction building in the pit of your stomach, the raw, unpolished sensation of his cock deep inside you, driving you towards the edge. But something was missing… You needed something else... Something more.

"Please," you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the wood of the desk, leaving scratch marks in the varnish. "More. Seonghwa, please, give me more… I need..."

"What do you need, baby. Tell me what you want?" His voice was so soft compared to before, there was a caring tone lacing each word, and it only made you melt more.

“I want to feel you… I need to feel you when you cum in me.” You had no idea how you were speaking so freely, stocking it up to alcohol and the blindness of sex that made you throw your filter out the window. But it was the truth, you were craving to have him use you completely.

He reached back and slapped your ass, the sound sharp and echoing as he chuckled. The sting only fueled your desire more. And he did it again, harder this time, leaving the red imprint of his hand on your skin before pulling out for a moment. "Is this what you wanted? Be claimed. Be filled with me…"

He tore off the condom, showing it somewhere in the room, before completely trapping you against the desk, pushing off items he did not even bother to note, so he could make a perfect clearing just for your perfect body. “I told you there was a slut deep down somewhere. She just needed the motivation to come out.”

He didn't hold back this time. He increased the pace until he was a blur of motion on top of you, his cock slid in and out with a wet, squelching sound that filled the room as he hit right where you needed every time. You felt your vision spot and your throat itch from the screaming. But it was when he reached around and gripped your neck, pulling your head up so he could see your face as he destroyed you, that you swore you saw stars.

“Look at you, sweetheart.” He growled, “I want to see you. I want you to know exactly who’s doing this to you. Not San. Not any of the others yet… just me and me alone."

His mouth latched onto you, biting into your shoulder hard. His teeth sank deep into the skin, leaving a jagged, purple bruise. He moved to your neck, avoiding his hand as he sucked and bit until you were completely covered in hickeys that would take weeks to fade and be a bitch to cover. He was marking his territory, claiming every inch of you with a violence that was as much about possession as it was about pleasure. You felt his free hand leave your hip and snake between your legs before landing on your oversensitve bud. The friction was becoming intense, the heat between you nearly unbearable. And as Seonghwa felt your walls flutter around his aching cock, he knew you were done for.

“Come on, bunny. Be a good girl and come on my cock…” His tongue licked a strip of sweaty skin on your neck, “I’ll only empty my load into this cunt once you cum.”

"Seonghwa!" you aren’t even sure if you screamed, cried, or whispered. Your mind was so far gone as you felt your orgasm take hold. It was more intense than the first few ones this evening, a rolling wave of pleasure and pain that made your legs give out entirely. He followed you a second later. He delivered a final blow of his hips, stilling himself deep inside you as his body vibrated with the effort. Letting out a low, guttural moan as he filled you with hot, thick pulses of cum. You felt it all, the way it settled in you, the way it began to drip around his cock and down your dangling legs. It felt heavenly. He held you there for a moment, pinned against the desk, his weight crushing you as you both struggled to breathe.

The room fell silent again, but this time it was soft. Calm. and gentle, only leaving space for the sound of ragged breathing and the distant, ever-present bass from across the hall. Seonghwa didn't pull out immediately. He stayed buried inside you just a little longer, his head resting on your shoulder, his sweat dripping onto your back as he slowly kissed your shoulder blades, then your spine, and neck. When he finally did move, it was slow and deliberate. He withdrew with the sound of his cock popping out of your soaked pussy. He eyed the way his cum dripped out of you and the way you lay on the desk limp, your muscles twitching and your skin covered in his marks.

To him, you looked absolutely perfect.

Seonghwa stood over you, adjusting his clothes, while letting you take a moment to breathe. And then he looked down at you again, once he was done collecting your clothes he had thrown around the room, his eyes still dark, but the burning rage had been replaced by a quiet, smug satisfaction.

He had you, and he couldn’t wait to see the looks on the others' faces when they saw you completely and utterly ruined.

©Ja3hwa. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.

You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.

But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.

You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.

Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.

Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”

You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”

He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.

“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”

You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you. 

By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.

You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.

Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.

A shoulder bumps into his.

“What’s with that look on your face?”

Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”

Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”

Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.

══════════════════

Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.

Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.

He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.

“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.

You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”

The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway? 

“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”

He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”

“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”

“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”

Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.

“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”

The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”

He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.

“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”

You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”

A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.

“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”

The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.

“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”

“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”

Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.

“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”

“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”

Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”

Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.

“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”

You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.

══════════════════

True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.

At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.

You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.

It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.

“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.

You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”

You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”

“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”

Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”

You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”

“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”

Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”

Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”

The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.

“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.

“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”

You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.

“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”

Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”

“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”

“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”

“I’m serious, Mingi.”

“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”

You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”

The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.

As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.

Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?

══════════════════

You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.

At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”

You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”

He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”

The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.

“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”

For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for. 

“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”

“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”

He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”

You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”

A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”

“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.

“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”

“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”

“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.

“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”

You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”

As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.

“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.

Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.

“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”

His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.

“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.

You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”

Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.

“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.

“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”

He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”

The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.

“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”

Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”

You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.

“You don’t have practice on Friday?”

“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”

As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”

You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.

“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”

“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”

He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”

You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”

“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”

“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.

His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.

You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.

As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.

Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”

“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”

Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”

You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.

“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.

As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.

══════════════════

The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.

“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.

You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”

“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.

“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”

Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”

You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”

His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”

The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.

Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.

“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.

His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“

“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.

The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.

“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”

He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”