sara

Wryly, you pick up the paper cup to inspect it. There’s nothing to indicate who the drink might be from.

A part of you wants to not look a gift horse in the mouth. A free drink is a free drink, after all. You’ve frequented this café enough to qualify as a regular, so any of the other frequent patrons are prime suspects. 

When you turn to the barista to ask, he’s already shaking his head. 

“No clue,” he says. 

“You make the drinks,” you respond accusingly. 

He flashes you a dimpled smile but offers nothing more. “I can at least assure you there’s no poison in it,” he says, drawing a light huff from you. 

“I’d give you a one-star rating if it did.”

“Oh, how ever will I live.” 

The bell over the entrance dings. Your good-natured bickering is cut short. When you take a sip, it’s just as he said. No poison, and exactly how you like it. 

This becomes a thing. At least twice a week, your drink is already waiting for you. Sometimes, it comes with a croissant. A chocolate chip cookie. A slice of cake, even. 

You let this drag on for about three months before deciding enough is enough. 

“I know it’s you, you know.” 

He looks up at you, one eyebrow arched upward. 

“Me?” he asks innocently. 

There’s no one else around. You had timed this, waited for the last of the customers to filter out before striking. 

“I know it’s you,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. 

He gives a noncommittal hum in response. He’s already wrapping up for the day, folding his apron and packing away his name tag. 

Seungcheol, it says. 

“And yet you only decided to bring it up now?” he teases. 

You raise your shoulders in a shrug. There’s a small smile tugging at your face— the confirmation of his identity, sweeter than any of the pastries you’ve been gifted so far. 

“I liked getting free stuff,” you answer cheekily. 

Seungcheol’s eyes turn into crescents as he laughs. He’s obviously amused at your feigned ignorance. Perhaps even endeared by it. You can tell in the way he leans across the counter, trying to get a little closer to you; the way the corners of his lips tilt upward as he speaks. 

“And I like you,” he finally, finally confesses. “In case that hasn’t been made clear yet.” 

Something akin to a snort of laughter slides past your lips. “Could’ve told me earlier.” 

“I thought you liked the free stuff.” 

“Yeah, well, I would’ve liked a date much more.” 

And, oh, the way his smile breaks, then. It lights up his whole face. 

“Are you only saying that because I make good coffee?” he asks as he packs away his things, seemingly readying to leave with you. 

You realize that you wouldn’t mind.

“The coffee could be better—” you’re saying, but Seungcheol’s smile drops into a pout. 

“Yah!”

“Let me finish!” You clear your throat. “But the barista’s kind of cute.” 

Seungcheol’s lip is still jut out, though it twitches ever so slightly. When the two of you step out of his café, he hurriedly locks up before glancing down at you. 

“What’s it going to take to get a five-star rating from you?” His tone is half-joking, but you have some idea that he’s not referring only to his café. 

The two of you fall into step. Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Let’s start with that date,” you say, trying to maintain some semblance of coolness as Seungcheol seems to lead you to your destination for the night. “And then we can talk about your rating.” 

You’re playing it coy, playing it safe, but it’s hard to act nonchalant when Seungcheol is practically vibrating with excitement at your side. 

He grins down at you, all bright and warm and fond, and to hell with it. You smile back at him.

S.Coups sheds his leader identity and steps into Seungcheol the moment your arms wrap around his waist. 

He practically melts into your hold, smoothing down your hair as he listens to you jabber about updates from the morning. It’s only been a few hours since he left your shared bed, pressing a light kiss on your forehead as he got up to get ready. The nearby staff members hide smiles as they work, already used to the lovesick seventeen leader and his bride-to-be. Seungcheol all but latches onto you as he walks you both out, nodding along as you tell him about the cafe you found online. 

Seungcheol knows you prefer sitting on the outside instead of in the booth, so it’s second nature when he pulls the chair open for you to sit. Sliding into the booth, he watches fondly as you situate yourself until you’re comfortable, handing both your jacket and your bag over to him. 

Seungcheol pesters you to order more. He’s pointing at everything appetizing on the menu (which is basically everything) urging you to order it so you guys can share. He firmly states that he doesn’t mind taking the leftovers back to work, knowing the boys would happily finish whatever you guys couldn’t. 

Seungcheol has learned to pace himself as he eats, unconsciously matching your pace as the two of you converse, knowing how much you hate being the only one still eating. He pretends not to notice each time your fork makes its way into his plate, swiping bits of his food as discreetly as possible. He finds it endearing how you still sneak your stealing habits when he so openly shares his meals. 

Seungcheol also pretends not to notice the staring fans outside the cafe window. Although he usually books your meals in advance and requests it be made private, he cannot control what goes on outside. He’s cool with it as long as you are, giving fans a polite smile as you exit the cafe. They’ve long since learned to give some distance, ever since Seungcheol lightly scolded fans online for hounding you.

Seungcheol, who whips out his card like you guys didn’t just order the whole store. He doesn’t bother looking at the receipt, flashing you a warm smile as he offers you your jacket, chiding you about how cold it was and how you weren’t wearing enough. Your purse finds its home on his arm as you both walk out, rejuvenated and ready to get back to work.

Seungcheol, who walks extra, extra slowly on the way back to the company. He’s mentally trying to savour each second, taking extra care in each of his footsteps as he listens to you speak. He pauses at every storefront, every pretty flower, every passing dog, trying to delay the inevitable end of your lunch date. 

Seungcheol, who suffocates you in a hug by the company elevator, murmuring into your hair how fucking lucky he is to have you and how thankful he is that you came all this way to grab lunch with him. 

Seungcheol, who gives you the deadliest puppy eyes that make you marvel at how this man is almost 30 years old. He somehow ushers you into the elevator with him, despite promising to say goodbye at the lobby. He whines something about wanting more time, asking the dreaded question: do you hate me? He shoots you a teasing smile as he opens the door to their practice room, gently pushing you in.

Seungcheol, who watches from the side as his found family welcomes the love of his life in. He’s got a sappy smile on his face as he watches you interact with them all, giggling with Seokmin and trading stories with Joshua. It’s in those moments does he finally allow himself to just feel. To let the happiness of the moment sink deep into his bones, knowing it would keep him going throughout his most difficult times. 

Seungcheol, whose self control wanes, ending up leaving practice early to drive you both home. All it really takes is a knowing nudge from Jeonghan, who understands the love sickness and sheer want in his eyes, telling him silently that it’s okay to go home. 

he tends to keep a low profile and doesn't have any other servants in his house despite the size. he doesn't eat much now that he's a god, and he doesn't have guests over ever, so there isn't much to do around anyways.

at first he had you cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry, but you weren't very good at it on account of being a crow demon who lived their whole life in a forest before he came to take you

so now he just has you mopping the floors and venturing out into the mortal world for occasional errands.

(you remember the day he came to take you-- you were eighteen, living with your grandmother in your little village in the woods. it had been years since your mother died, and your father left when you were a baby, but you always knew that he had signed you away as part of a contract with the celestial realm. the day the blue dragon appeared at your grandmother's door, you knew-- your father must be dead.

you're not sad about him. but you are sad to leave your grandmother. she's tearful, the saddest you had ever seen her be in your short life, as she hands you bundles of cloth that she had spent the past few months weaving. almost like a dowry.

and then she pulls you close, and when she pushes you away, her necklace is around your neck-- the silver, glittery thing heavy with gems that you had admired for as long as you could see. crows love shiny things, and for her to give this to you. it was like she was saying goodbye forever.

the blue dragon, to his credit, looked uncomfortable. but a deal was a deal, and the unraveling of fate is out of his hands. so he takes you away.)

and now, almost 200 years later, the two of you make a strange but somehow functional household

it's not all great, being stuck in the house of the blue dragon of the east, though. he's always working, either closed away in his office or off on some god of mercy duties. and you're bored. all the time.

one day, after being particularly annoying, he decides to take you along with him on an errand.

("woozi-- i mean, lord dragon," you're laying on the floor, looking up at him as he reads at his dais. from your vantage point, he's upside down, and you giggle for a moment before remembering your plight. "master lord dragon, i'm booooored."

he raises his eyebrows "did you mop?"

you huff. "i mopped the entire house," (and you complained the whole time while doing it), "and also the guest house and the kitchen house. and i also did the washing, and i reorganized your library by subject. and i polished all the jewelry in the house. three times."

"fine," he says, snapping his book shut. "i need to discuss something with wonwoo. you can come with me, if you 'd like.")

the black tortoise seems nice, but he's a little creepy (being the arbiter of death will do that to you), so you tend to avoid him. the rest of his house, however, despite being dark and cold, is right up your alley-- despite his strange mannerisms and light-sensitive eyes, wonwoo keeps his house lavishly furnished and stuffed with treasures.

and even though you're not dumb enough to steal from a god, you're still a crow. it's just in your nature to love shiny things,

so when you and woozi arrive, you peel off pretty quickly. after some wandering, you find yourself in a library. it's not the lavish main library, though. this library is darker and larger, seemingly endless. you walk up to a shelf and take out a book and flip through it, not expecting anything. but instead, as you read up and down a few pages, you realize, with horror, that you're reading someone's fate.

the next book is the same. when he was born, when he will die, everything in between. for a moment, you wonder if your fate is here. the shelves are seemingly endless, though, and you'd have a hard time if you ever decided to look for it. and anyways, it must be against a rule of some sort to read your own fate.

you're ready to just turn around and leave, when you hear a soft thud. it's the sound of a book falling off a shelf and hitting the floor behind you.

you turn around. there's nobody else in this room, so you crouch down and pick up the book off the floor. and like the universe had read your mind, that's your name on the cover. so you open it.

the text inside is written in ancient script that you've seen before on some of woozi's books. it's weird that your fate is written this way, and not in standard script like the others. you flip aimlessly. there's a lot, but there are a few things you can pick out. there are glimpses of villages you've never visited, names you don't recognize. this must be a past life. you flip forward until you see the name of the village you grew up in, and your parents' names. you flip forward a bit more. there's the blue dragon-- but you don't see woozi's name. instead you see lee jihoon. that must be woozi's birth name, the name he had when he was still a mortal, but it's also achingly familiar. it's a name that hurts when you read it. you frown and flip forward a bit more. it's more stuff you can't read, so you open to the last page and you see it again. lee jihoon. and then another word that you barely recognize-- ascend. ascend to.... immortality? you flip back a few pages. you see the phrase lover. oh. oh no. you stare down at the pages in front of you. lover. lover? if only you could read the rest of this damn page--

the book is ripped from your hands and floats in front of your face. "what are you doing," woozi says, standing at the door. you half expect to see him red-faced with rage, but instead, he stands there as pale as ever. he looks... anxious? "how much did you see," he demands.

your mind races for a moment. should you tell him? are you breaking a rule right now? are you in trouble? "it fell off the shelf," you begin to explain. "and i picked it up and it had my name on it." and then you tell him, "i can't read a thing, though."

and woozi, ever the terrible liar, breathes a sigh in relief. "okay," he says. "that's fine." with invisible hands, he closes the book neatly and places it back in its spot on the shelf, so high up you can't see it in the darkness.

"why? have you read it?" you scurry forward to take your customary position next to him. "can you read it for me?"

"no," he scowls. "wonwoo will tell me off if i do. you're not supposed to know your own fate."

"is that a law of the universe or something?"

"no, it's just a law of the wonwoo. he doesn't like it when people mess with the deterministic nature of the universe. knowing your own fate changes it, in a sense, but at the same time it's also impossible to change your fate. so wonwoo just prefers if people don't know."

"aw. okay. you didn't answer my first question, though. have you read my fate? do you know what happens?"

he turns away from you as he begins to walk back towards the front gate. he's lying, you know because his ears are pink. "no," he says, and then he scoffs. "why would i want to read your fate anyways? i have better things to do."

you laugh. so he knows. maybe he knew all along. "just curious. it's in my nature, after all."

He doesn't want to see Mingyu's jealousy laid out on the kitchen table. If he does, he has to acknowledge that your not-husband is in love with you, and that probably means Jihoon has already lost.

Not that you're a prize or whatever, Jihoon doesn't think of you like that, it's just... He grabs the nondescript mug of coffee Mingyu made him from under the Keurig -- the same place he's left him one every morning for reasons unclear to them both -- and peeks at your roommate over the rim as he takes a sip. Mingyu meets his eyes, so Jihoon stops himself from wincing at the acrid taste of pure black coffee. Blegh.

It's not like this is a competition where you're on standby to be handed out like some object, but every time Jihoon picks up a morning mug while Mingyu watches, it screams of a challenge. While he knows drinking some dumb coffee without grimacing (much) doesn't make him any more or less of a man or deserving of your affection, he can't help but feel like just the act of challenging him means Mingyu has entered the arena.

And fuck...

Jihoon glances at Mingyu's tan arms, once again left unfettered from his tired eyes by another white fucking tank top that looks better on him than any shirt has any right to.

...how is he supposed to compete with that?

Mingyu smirks when his gaze lingers just a little too long, which has Jihoon snapping out of it in a millisecond. He sets the mug back on the counter with an awkwardly loud clunk and turns to hide himself in the fridge as he looks for something to eat. Mingyu always makes him coffee for some dumbfuck pissing contest Jihoon can't stop himself from participating in, but he never springs for breakfast.

"Morning," Mingyu says like it's nothing. Jihoon can hear the damn smirk still on his lips.

"Yeah," Jihoon mumbles in return, only responding because staying silent would be even worse somehow. He finds a plate of something you must have made before you left for work, a sticky note with his name and 'eat or your my mom will kill me' written on it in your hasty scribble that he's always liked. He breathes easy again. "Morning."

He doesn't see how Mingyu looks up at the sound of his smile.

--

Mingyu's fingers hover over his keyboard, unable to press down on anything that will actually fit into the spreadsheet he's been staring at for the last half hour.

He understands, he gets it, he really does, that Jihoon has to stay at his and your apartment. The poor guy had nowhere to go, you told him, he had nowhere to go and no one he knew in the city other than you and for some reason unknown to you, he couldn't tell you what he was doing here in the first place. Not yet.

Mingyu knows why Jihoon is here, but it's not his problem.

And the fact that you're letting Jihoon sleep in your room, on your bed, isn't his problem either.

So why on earth can't he concentrate?

It's not like anything unsavoury is going on in that room of yours. The apartment may be nice, but it's not soundproof. Mingyu's heard you laughing at your phone and crying over sad movies enough times to know that. Nothing he really wouldn't want to hear drifts through the walls at night, it's just...

You always wake up earlier than him, and when Mingyu met you in the kitchen that first morning, crabby because the little shit couldn't just take the couch and a throw blanket like a normal guest, you smiled and patted his head. "He always sleeps well into the morning," you explained like Mingyu didn't already know more about Jihoon than he wanted to, but he didn't care because your hand was oh so warm, and he practically melted under your touch. "Thank you." Your fingers rubbed soothingly at the back of his neck. Mingyu contained himself. "For letting him stay the night."

Except that it's now been well over one night of Your Friend Jihoon.

It's like he's everywhere. He gets out of bed a few minutes after you leave for work, swaying like he's hungover from the sheer closeness he gets all night long. You're making three portions of breakfast because of him now, or asking Mingyu if he could please do the same when he offers to make you something. He's sitting at the kitchen table with you when Mingyu gets home, by your side because before he came here with his black cat attitude and fluffy hair and sudden codependency, Mingyu and you always sat and ate across from each other.

When Mingyu sits on the other side of the table from you both, though, he wonders why it was ever that way. He should be next to you too.

Just him, actually, is what he means.

"Mingyuuuu." The voice of his coworker jolts him out of whatever that was, and he hopes he at least looked like he was making progress on the spreadsheet.

"Youngjo," he acknowledges up at him where he leans against the cubicle wall.

"You're bringing your spouse to the reunion tonight, right?"

"Yes." You've already chosen your outfit and laid it out on the couch (because your bed was occupied) because you're going to go straight home after your work dinner, change, and then show up for the agreed hour or so of the reunion. "...I already told you I was."

"I know, I know," Youngjo chuckles, "but Aeri keeps asking me to make sure-- you know how curious she is."

Mingyu stops himself from frowning. Despite coming from the same year, he didn't know Aeri all that well since she was in a different class than him. There was a period of time, however, that he did get a taste of her "curiosity". It was something like her friend had a crush on him and she was... sussing him out or something. Asked him a bunch of questions about if he had a girlfriend or what his type was. Nothing ever came from that, who knows why, but it was such a random blip in his life that he practically forgot about it.

"...Right," Mingyu says just to say something. "Well. We'll be there, but my spouse is actually pretty busy with--"

"You always say that!"

"--work, so they will show up a bit later. I always say that because it's true." And it is; even though the whole fake-married-couple plan only includes you picking him up from time to time or making an appearance for a few minutes, it's not like you'd have time to do more if that wasn't the case. Sometimes your odd hours make Mingyu's nine to five brain spin. "Anyway, they're going to come, have some nice food, then we'll probably both go home. It's been a long week."

In more ways than Youngjo needs to know.

"Alright, alright, I won't force you guys to stick around or anything," Youngjo says with an easy laugh, genuine in the way he puts his hands up. "But I'll warn you now, Aeri's probably gonna bombard you with questions. Might even bring flash cards."

Mingyu realized a bit too late after saying you'd be at the reunion that more people than just his coworker's partner would be asking questions. He never really was a social media guy, but surely people will wonder why they never even heard he got married...

He sighs. This is getting far bigger than he originally meant it to be. Even though he admits he enjoys the time this whole thing has had you both spending together, he never wanted to make you lie for him to a larger extent. He can only hope the questions at the reunion don't drive you to divorce him on the spot.

At Mingyu's lack of response, Youngjo pushes himself off the wall and slides his hands into his slacks' pockets. "Okayy, well I'm on coffee run duty again. Americano, right?"

Nodding, Mingyu returns his hands over his keyboard because that's just how conversations go in an office.

Youngjo shakes his head, and as he walks off, jokes, "I don't know how you drink that stuff."

Suddenly, the spreadsheet is impossible again. Why didn't Jihoon say something like that when he found his mug of coffee?

Mingyu's crabbiness had returned as soon as you left for work that first morning, only growing more sour as he thought about your friend Jihoon sleeping soundly in your bed that he helped pick out the sheets for. He'd brewed the coffee out of spite, as much as he would never admit that out loud.

My old friend Jihoon loves sweet stuff. Can't stand bitter coffee like what you drink.

Fine, Mingyu had thought, he could play host. That didn't mean he had to play nice. It's not like you or Jihoon would know or realize how much Mingyu really knew about him.

But then Jihoon picked up the mug Mingyu nodded his chin at, took one look at the mug in Mingyu's hand, and took the gulp of a rum-parched pirate. He drank it like he knew Mingyu was trying something, and that just ticked off Mingyu more.

He didn't want to know how Jihoon liked his coffee or that he never woke before ten if he could help it. He didn't want to know that poetry can make him cry or that just a little genuine praise can bring his mood up like -- you snapped your fingers when you told Mingyu this -- that. He certainly didn't want all the Jihoon intel that would make him able to treat him like a damn princess.

Jihoon was annoying and short and not princess-carry-able because despite his wet kitten morning face and pokeable cheeks and the weird high pitched noises he lets out when you make him happy, he's also got muscles for days for some godawful reason.

Mingyu has more information on some other guy in your life than is probably healthy for his stupid lovesick brain, and he knows it has to be only a fraction of the Encyclopedia of Jihoon you have to yourself.

Fuck...how is he supposed to compete with that?

--

"You don't have to do this for him, you know," Jihoon mutters, following you through the high school parking lot. Why he came along, he has no idea. He's not dressed for the occasion at all, wearing one of your old band tees and the same pants he showed up at your door in.

"I know," you say as you fiddle with the ring on your left hand. It glints under the hanging fairy lights that lead you both around the school, almost mocking him. "But I'm in too deep now." You grin, the smile reaching your eyes with a playful sparkle. He smiles back with just his lips. Doing it for the love of the game has always been enticing to you, hasn't it?

The issue is that it might not just be for the love of the game anymore. For Mingyu it certainly isn't.

The lights bring you around a corner to the field next to the school building, where several plastic tables have been set out on the grass, while there seems to be a barbecue running on the concrete nearby. There are people in various groups all over, some with drinks in their hands, or plates, some just chatting, some dancing to 2010's top hits.

"You didn't have to walk me all the way here, you know," you tease him with his own words, hovering with him just far enough away that no one has noticed either of you yet. "But thanks for offering to drive. I could really use a drink after this week, to be honest."

He could too.

"Don't overdo it," he warns , but he already knows you won't. Tonight is about Mingyu and his whole husband fiasco; you're committed to that first.

Jihoon's about to turn around and go, he really is, but when he looks at the crowd again, it's so easy to spot Mingyu. Not just because he's tall, although that is a factor, but because Mingyu spots you at the exact same time, and his face lights up like you're the sun after a harsh winter. Like you're water in an unending desert. Like you're the fucking love of his life come to save him from the awkwardness of reuniting with high school people you sort of are friends with.

His stomach churns.

"Wait," he blurts as soon as your eyes land on Mingyu. He gently grasps your wrist before you can wave at your fake husband and turns around with you in tow. "C'mere for a second," he whispers despite no one being close enough to hear him anyway. "I need to tell you something."

You follow with zero resistance in your body, although with a hesitant, "...Jihoon?" that goes unanswered as he leads you back around the corner and past the parking lot to a random spot with a couple trees. It's enough cover, he thinks, because if he brings you any farther and takes any longer he might lose the sudden courage that's flowing through him.

He says your name, breathless for every reason except the walk here, and you look at him with the concern of a longtime friend.

"What is it?" you ask directly now, putting one hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You look like you're about to give me bad news. Is everything okay?"

"It's not bad news." The words spew out of them and god, he hopes they're true in the end. "But-- but everything's not okay. Not everything is okay, I mean."

"...What?"

"It's... I..."

"You?"

He runs out of air. Breathes in again. Out. With both hands, he gently cups your face. Your eyebrows furrow.

"If you want me to stop, I will. Just say it. I'll stop."

The corners of your lips rise ever so slightly, and his heart soars. "Stop what?"

"This."

His lips crash into yours, and maybe, fuck-- maybe he should have a bit more decorum, do his middle school self justice and make his innocent dreams of your first kiss come true; a sweet peck on the lips, a hesitant retreat with shy smiles before you both lean into each other again, but...

But your hands are on him, the one that was on his shoulder climbing up the back of his neck to twist your fingers in his hair that he only keeps long because he knows you like it that way. Your other hand clutches at your own t-shirt -- which now smells like the both of you combined, a scent that's as addicting as anything -- near his waist. You're not kissing him back with the same hunger your hands convey, but you move with him, your breath music against the wind, your lips so soft and warm and his and yes and more and--

"Jihoon," you speak upon his mouth, but you don't pull away. He drops a hand to your waist and wraps his arm around you. Your body heat warms his front, a balm to the night breeze that surrounds him. "There's..."

He kisses you again with a sharp inhale. "I know," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief moment between the high of what he's finally able to do. "I know there's so much I haven't said yet. Just..." His lips brush the spot between your brows. "...right now..." Then the arch of your nose. "...for a little longer..." Your warm cheek. "...let me show you instead."

Finding your lips again, Jihoon tightens his arm behind you, and he relishes in the way you seem to melt for a second against him.

But then you tense. "Stop. Jihoon, stop."

Before the second utterance leaves your mouth, Jihoon is off you, cold like he's been plunged in ice water. Oh, god, he's fucked up. Over twenty years of friendship down the drain because he couldn't fucking wait, couldn't speak instead of letting his stupid heart take the lead. He opens his mouth, ready to let out a million and one apologies for kissing you without asking, for touching you in ways a friend can't, for even daring to allow his feelings to show, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks this time because you have always known him better than he knows himself.

"Don't panic, not because of me," you tell him, reading his eyes so perfectly he can't believe you never realized he loves you. "I'm okay. It's okay. We're okay. I said stop because--"

Hastily, you turn Jihoon's head toward the school, where it seems the entire goddamn graduating class has come around the corner for a peek, and a very tall, very buff, very determined looking Mingyu is stomping straight for him.

Oh. Okay. It's fine. You didn't tell Jihoon to stop because you hate him. You told him to stop because he's about to die.

--

Mingyu didn't expect being married to be this easy. Some of his old buddies would ask how you manage to live with each other without wanting to claw each other's eyes out, and while silently judging them and hoping their wives are okay, he just tells them exactly what you do in real life. Some would ask about the honeymoon, and he'd just describe that one time you took him to Nowhere, Canada to teach him how to snowboard, leaving out the details which were assumed to be naughty by his old classmates, but were really just nothing special other than the way he felt when you were proud of the progress he made. Some joked and asked if you two were looking for a third, to which he playfully not-so-playfully punched them in the shoulders. "Just try it," he warned. "We have standards, you know."

Turns out talking about being married to you was easy, but that didn't mean the questions didn't get tiring after a while. Which is why, when he saw you, he felt the weight he didn't even realize was starting to drag him down lifted entirely, and even his old friends noticed his shift in mood.

He was so elated for a second that he didn't even notice Jihoon until the guy was dragging you out of sight.

"What's up?" one of his friends asked, craning his neck to look past Mingyu, but you were already gone. "Did your spouse show up?"

Another chimes in. "Really? Where are they-- I wanna introduce myself first, make a good impression."

"Dude." One sips his beer. "That's his spouse you're talking about."

"Hey, I want a good impression with everyone I meet, okay?"

"Where'd they go?"

"Maybe they're shy."

"Maybe they saw you and ran away screaming."

"Now that's a first impression."

"Shut up!"

God, Mingyu forgot how much these guys could talk. "Um, yeah, that was them, but..." But what was Jihoon doing there with you? "...they're a bit shy, so I'll go check on them first, okay? I promise to bring them here after. If they're up for it."

With only a bit more banter, Mingyu manages to escape, but just as he rounds the corner, another person stops him.

"Mingyu," Aeri says smoothly, and somehow, he can already smell trouble. "I heard your married."

Obviously. Aeri was the whole reason Mingyu had to bring you here in the first place.

"I am," he says as he straightens his jacket.

"Youngjo said he thought you were faking it at first."

"I'm--" Mingyu curses inwardly at his own stutter. "I'm not."

Stepping closer, Aeri brings one side of her hair over her shoulder, toying with a few strands as she looks up at him through her lashes. "That's a shame. I was hoping to have some fun tonight."

He staggers back. "What the hell?"

"Don't tell me you've never thought about it," she says through a smirk.

"Thought about what-- you?!" His mouth gapes when she shrugs. "Wait, what about Youngjo?"

Another shrug, like it's nothing. "I get bored. Sometimes you gotta spice it up. Don't you ever get bored?"

"Not enough to--" Despite her brazenness, Mingyu isn't the type to air out the type of nonsense she's spitting. He hisses lowly through his teeth, "--cheat on my fucking partner!"

Aeri just huffs out a smug laugh. "Well your partner, if they even are your partner, doesn't seem to have the same hang-up, do they?"

"What are you implying?" Mingyu's had enough of her euphemisms.

"Oh, I don't have to imply anything." With that, she turns and looks down the parking lot towards the trees, where in the dark, Mingyu finally sees you.

And Jihoon.

Kissing like the world's about to end.

Fuck.

Voices rise from around the corner. Of course he couldn't trust any of those guys to wait patiently.

"Hey, what's the hold up?"

"Yeah, where's your-- oh."

Mingyu's already on the move as the guys behind him realize what they're looking at. Walking, yes. Thinking, yes; way too much.

What does he do when he reaches you? Deck Jihoon across the face? That's probably what the audience would vote for because they love the drama, but that wouldn't be fair at all. You're not Mingyu's actual spouse. You're not even together. Technically, Jihoon can kiss you all he wants as long as you're into it too. And okay, sure, kissing you in almost plain sight at the event where you're pretending to be married to someone else is a dick move, but it's not punch worthy.

If this were a real marriage, he would probably yell at you for kissing another man, for cheating and all that bullshit, but that's not fair either. You're not cheating on anybody. And to be honest, Mingyu doesn't know if he could yell at you if he tried. It'd probably make him cry before you would.

So that leaves... what? He's five fucking feet away and he's got nothing. Nothing except that now you two are separated, sort of -- your hands are on Jihoon's shoulders and Jihoon's hand is on your hip -- and your lips are kiss-bitten under the moonlight, your eyes are blown wide but not wider than Jihoon's, who pants like oxygen is new to him. And wait, Jihoon's lips are so red compared to his stupid pale skin, and his hair is all messed up at the back from the way your hand was running through it, and Mingyu is in front of you both.

And he's putting one hand on the backs of each of your necks.

And he pulls him in first.

Jihoon freezes when Mingyu smushes their faces together, one hand already up against his chest like he tried to stop him but couldn't. Mingyu's eyes are screwed shut, but he feels the way Jihoon tenses under him. He doesn't let anything linger, keeping it short and pulling away after only a second because holy fuck, what? He lets go of Jihoon entirely and realizes that the world kind of disappeared when he kissed the guy he's been sizing himself up against for the past week, and he finally hears all the gasps coming from far away behind him.

He pays them (as well as Jihoon's light shove and "What the hell are you--") no mind as he uses both hands to pull you in, too.

Maybe he shows a little too much favouritism when he kisses you, but to be fair, this is your first kiss not just as a married couple, but ever. He's not going to let it be just for show. You're caught off guard, he can tell, but you let him in, humming at first in confusion and then with an almost-giggle and then with sweet, sweet satisfaction. It becomes harder to kiss you as he struggles to contain his smile. Drifting downwards, his hands try to find yours, and while his left hand interlaces easily with your right, he finds that your other hand is held tightly by none other than your friend Lee Jihoon.

Mingyu pauses, then, leaving one last kiss on your lips before pulling away to look at Jihoon. Your friend -- or whatever he has to call him now -- his face is flushed to his ears, pink in the cutest way possible with his lips pressed firmly into a thin line, like he doesn't trust his face to make the right expression. He doesn't lift his head, but he looks up at Mingyu through his lashes, something burning in his eyes. Mingyu holds his gaze, almost unable to break it, but the demands of his ever-expanding marriage ruse call out to him in the form of a growing crowd. He clears his throat.

Facing the throng of people that have now gathered, he shields the both of you behind him as best he can and shouts, "I hope you all enjoyed the show because we're going now."

Quietly, you giggle, and Mingyu smiles when he hears Jihoon scolding you under his breath.

"And just so you know," Mingyu adds for good measure while Jihoon points out where the car is, "we're not looking for a fourth!"

boo! surprise poly! [no one was surprised] lol this is for all the readers in the comments of the first two parts who said why not both... ur so right for that. this has been edited to make jihoon ~slightly~ less accepting of what happened LOL I think it opens up for more fun tension should I expand more on this random series of blurbs <3

WONWOO: he's actually really good at schooling his expression into one of nonchalance in front of you. if seokmin comes over and tries to be annoying, wonwoo is a pro at grabbing his ear and turning him away without breaking conversation with you. you have no idea what's going on, but seokmin seems to be taking it in stride, so you do, too. it's only when you walk away that wonwoo's mask fades and he's left burying his face in his hands, his bright pink ears giving him away. he's a fun one to tease because unlike with seungcheol, there's not really any repercussions, though it does take some practice to know exactly how to push his buttons. what gets to him is persistence. some people get bored with how he doesn't react, but it's because he learned that if he bites his tongue, they'll eventually stop and leave him alone. and so far, it's worked...but not with his members. seokmin has nothing but patience when it comes to dumb things, which is why he promptly plops into your seat when you're gone and rests his cheek on a fist. he peers up at wonwoo with wide, innocent eyes and mocks everything wonwoo's been saying with a baby voice, speaking even with wonwoo's hand over his mouth.

MINGYU: you'd think that he'd be used to all the teasing since he's literally been the victim of seventeen's bullying loving for a decade, but he still remains susceptible to the psychological damage. does that mean he has a strong mentality or a weak one? it could really be argued either way, but he doesn't have the brain capacity to think about that right now; he's too focused on listening to you vent and the way your hands are flying everywhere as you describe the asshole that cut you off in traffic today. "man, that sucks." seungkwan nods in sympathy before elbowing mingyu. "I know someone who would love to be a personal chauffeur if that meant helping out and seeing you everyday." he loves seungkwan. he also wants to strangle seungkwan. luckily, you don't notice the way he freezes. he supposes that he has to count his lucky stars that you're way too oblivious to catch onto his feelings. if that's how his friends act in front of you, imagine how they act in private. whenever he's video calling with you, he tries his best to ignore how his members make kissy faces behind his phone. he literally pulls his phone in close, crowding the screen with his forehead, just in case you see their actions in a reflective surface. but who can blame them? he's such a good sport about it, and his reactions are funny.