Blue🦋

williamsburg, new york ⌁ j.ww [m]

synopsis: rendered utterly penniless after the biggest scheme of the decade is uncovered (and apparently, traced right back to the hefty pockets of your father) — you're stuck waiting tables in a frumpy mustard yellow uniform with no one other than wonwoo jeon...who just so happens to be the mastermind behind the perfectly frosted cupcakes in the carousel. genre: 2 broke girls au ; idiots to ??? ; angst, fluff, suggestive/smut. rating: 18+. minors do not interact.

ground zero ⌁ b.sk [m]

synopsis: after four gruesome years, you're officially out of undergrad. however, with graduation comes vacation — unless you're, well, you, and get asked by your best friend to house sit for the summer. a three-month-long staycation can't be that bad — until boo seungkwan is at the door, and making horrid jokes about it turning into a bae-cation. ugh, as if. genre: best friend's brother's best friend (that's a mouthful, isn't it?) au ; suggestive/smut. rating: 18+ minors do not interact.

parachute ⌁ c.sc [m]

synopsis: three years ago, your life changed in many drastic ways. you got married too fast, you quit pursuing your dreams, and you left your life in the bustling city to the too quiet, too serene suburbs. another thing that happened three years ago? you made choi seungcheol a father, and now you're constantly relying on him to save you from your bad decisions. genre: baby daddy!choi seungcheol ; exes to ??? ; angst, suggestive/smut, fluff ; there will be mentions of infidelity. rating: 18+. minors do not interact.

scorpius ⌁ c.sc [m]

synopsis: looking for peace of mind after years of leading a semi-incompetent nightly patrol crew, you venture out into the deep forests that surround your village. not only do you not find peace of mind, but you also find yourself falling down a rabbit hole of identity crisis and the idea of falling in love with the supernatural. genre: vampire au ; strangers to ??? ; angst, suggestive/smut, fluff. there will be darker themes to this: murder, blood, etc. rating: 18+. minors do not interact.

SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.

So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.

The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.

It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.

"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"

You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."

He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.

Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.

The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.

Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.

"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."

"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"

"I don't need to listen."

Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.

Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.

Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.

"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.

"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.

The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.

"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."

His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.

"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.

"What are you reading?"

"Something Wonwoo recommended."

He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"

"It's okay. It's a little slow."

"Do you want company? I can sit with you."

There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.

"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”

He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.

Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.

"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."

You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.

The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.

You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.

So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.

You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.

Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.

"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."

"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.

"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"

"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."

His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."

You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.

You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.

"For what?"

"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."

You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.

He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.

-

The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.

It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.

You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.

"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"

"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.

Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.

"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"

"Right, so it's my fault."

"That isn't what I said-"

"It's what you meant!"

You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.

The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.

Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.

"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down."

There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.

Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.

"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"

"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"

"No. Just want to be here."

"Alright."

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.

Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."

Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.

"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."

He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.

You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.

Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.

Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.

He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.

Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.

Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.

Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.

So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.

-

By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.

It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.

Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.

The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge

He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.

You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.

When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.

Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.

"Mingyu," Soonyoung says, voice clipped. He stops at the edge of the cabana, his eyes locked on Mingyu with something that makes the beta tense. "You left the fridge door open this morning. Again."

Mingyu blinks. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Soonyoung, I made breakfast at seven. It's been hours." Mingyu shields his eyes, looking up at Soonyoung, his tone more bewildered than defensive. "What even is-"

"And yesterday," Soonyoung continues, "You left stuff all over the kitchen counter. It's rude and messy."

You watch as Mingyu's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to exasperation. "I cleaned that up. Wonwoo saw me clean it up."

"Not very well, apparently." Soonyoung's voice is sharp. "And you were making noise in the kitchen at like six in the morning. Some of us were trying to sleep."

"You were literally in the gym at six." Mingyu closes his book deliberately and sets it on the small table next to the cabana. When he looks up at Soonyoung, his expression is guarded, not angry. "What's your actual problem Soonyoung? Spit it out."

"I don't have a problem. I just think it would be nice if people actually thought about the shared spaces instead of just doing whatever they want."

"Nobody's doing whatever they want."

Mingyu stands now so he's facing Soonyoung directly. He's a beta, but he's not small. He towers over Soonyoung, imposing in a way that makes your instincts flare, feeling the shift of tension between the two.

"You're picking a fight," Mingyu says, softer than before.

"I'm not picking a fight."

"Soonyoung, you're-" Mingyu cuts himself off and sighs. You can see him trying to control his temper, trying to figure out what Soonyoung is actually mad about. "You know what, whatever. You're right."

He turns to leave, his movements sharp and frustrated, stepping away from the cabana toward the pool deck. The afternoon sun hits him full-force, turning his skin golden, and for a moment you think maybe that's it. But then Soonyoung's hand darts out, wrapping around Mingyu's arm just above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to dimple Mingyu's skin.

"Don't walk away from me," Soonyoung growls, teeth flashing.

"Okay, enough."

Your voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding in a way that surprises even you. You're on your feet before you've consciously decided to move, a frustrated growling rippling through you at their bickering and Soonyoung's obvious struggle with something.

The effect is immediate and absolute. Soonyoung's hand drops from Mingyu's arm like he's been burned, his eyes going wide as they snap to you. Mingyu takes a step back, his posture immediately shifting from defensive to something closer to chastened. They're both staring at you now, and you can see the moment they register your expression.

"I don't know what's going on with you," you say, your gaze locked on Soonyoung, "but I am tired of watching you pick fights with everyone in this house. And Mingyu, you know it sets him off when you walk away like that."

"I wasn't-" Mingyu starts, but you hold up a hand and he stops immediately, his mouth closing.

"I don't want to hear it. Not from either of you. Soonyoung, put the teeth away."

The afternoon sun is hot on your shoulders, the chlorine smell sharp in your nose as a beat of silence passes. Soonyoung looks like he's been slapped, his expression crumbling from aggressive to something that looks almost like shame. His shoulders drop, his hands unclenching, and you can see the way his whole body seems to deflate.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice smaller than you've ever heard it.

"I know, Soonyoung." Your voice softens a fraction. "But you need to figure out what's going on with you, because this isn't okay. Mingyu didn't deserve that."

Soonyoung glances at Mingyu. "I'm sorry."

Mingyu is rubbing his arm where Soonyoung grabbed him, and you can see the red marks already forming, can see the shape of fingers pressed into his skin. His expression is a mix of anger and hurt, and you can tell he's struggling to not let his temper flare again. He takes a deep breath and nods, the frustration melting out of him in the way that betas are always good at.

"You need to talk to Seungcheol," Mingyu says, his voice much calmer now. "Today."

"I know."

Mingyu doesn't seem convinced. "I'm serious."

"I know. I'm going to."

For a second, Mingyu hesitates. Then he nods and glances at you, tilting his head toward Soonyoung subtly. You nod and Mingyu backs up a few paces, keeping his eyes on you until he's sure that you'll be fine with Soonyoung before he turns, sulky and irritated but knowing that Soonyoung needs space and recently, you're the only one who can reason with him.

Soonyoung looks wrecked, his expression apologetic. He's trembling a little, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but can't or won't, his scent a mess. His pupils are blown wide, somewhere between fighting whatever instinct is making him so cagey and panic that he's upset you - he hates upsetting anyone, but most of all he hates when you're mad.

"Can I…?" He drifts off and gestures vaguely in your direction.

He's asking permission, deferring to you completely, and you can see in his eyes that he'll accept whatever answer you give. That he knows he just got put in his place and he's not going to push.

You let out a breath, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "Yeah. Come here.

He crosses the distance between you in two quick strides, but when he reaches you, he's careful, his arms coming around you slowly enough to give you time to pull away. You don't and instead let him pull you close so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and scenting you enough to make you both dizzy and clinging to one another. Your lashes flutter, a rush going through you as he brushes his nose against the softness of your neck, blood turning molten.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is broken. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."

Your hands come up automatically, one sliding into his hair, the other pressing flat against his back. You can feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt, can feel the way his muscles are locked tight with tension.

"I know you are," you murmur. "But you need to figure out what's wrong. This isn't like you."

You can feel the way he's trying to calm himself down, trying to match his breathing to yours, trying to use your presence to anchor himself. You feel a pang in your chest, hugging him a little tighter. Soonyoung is always hard on himself - harder than he needs to be - and he hates fighting with anyone, especially Mingyu. Especially in front of you.

You guide him back to the loungers, settling onto one and pulling him down beside you. He goes willingly, curling into your side like he's trying to make himself smaller, his head resting on your shoulder. The afternoon sun has shifted, the shade of the cabana stretching longer across the pool deck, and the water has gone still and mirror-smooth in the absence of any breeze.

"You should talk to Cheol," you murmur.

Soonyoung nods against you. "Okay."

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxes incrementally with each pass, the tension in his shoulders easing degree by degree. The strands are soft, slightly damp from the heat and humidity, and you work your fingers through them slowly, deliberately, the way you know he likes. His scent is still sharp underneath, still carrying that acidic edge that speaks to whatever is happening inside his body, but it levels out now, teakwood baked under sun.

"Better?" you ask softly.

He makes a small sound of agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah."

-

Someone knocking on your door pulls you from sleep. You squint at the clock on the nightstand, the blurry numbers telling you it's well past three am. Your bed is warm, blankets tangled around you and the faint smell of Jeonghan lingering from the hoodie of his you have shoved under your pillow. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you get your bearings.

"Come in," you croak.

Before the door even opens, you know who it is. You can smell Soonyoung before the door fully opens, but when it does, it hits you like a physical force. It's his normal warm, woody smell but there's something new now, something hot and thick and almost overwhelming. It makes your mouth water, omega instincts kicking in, warmth pooling low in your belly.

Soonyoung steps into your room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains from the streetlamp outside, you can see that something is very, very wrong. Or right, by the smell of him.

He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose sleep pants that hang low on his hips, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat despite how cold the house is at night. You can see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. His hair is a mess like he's been pulling at it again, and when he looks at you, his eyes are dark and dilated, pupils blown so wide there's barely any iris left.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is rough, wrecked. "I know it's late."

You push the blankets aside and shift to the edge of your bed, feet finding the cool hardwood floor to stand. "What's wrong?"

His entire body reacts to the sound of your voice. He sways slightly toward you, nostril flaring as he scents you, a shiver rippling through him. You take a step toward him and he makes a pitiful sound, looking entirely at war with himself.

"I feel like I'm burning up," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't see you."

"Come here."

It's a command - softly given, but a command none the less. He listens like it's instinctual, crossing the room to you in three strides. You feel the heat radiating off of him when he stops in front of you and you reach up without thinking, pressing your palm to his chest. He's fever-hot under your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You're burning up," you say softly, frowning.

"I know." His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his chest like he needs the contact, needs the pressure. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath. "You smell so good. You always smell good but right now it's maddening."

Something clicks into place in your mind. The aggression. The clinginess. The way his scent has been getting sharper and hotter for days. The fever. The way he's looking at you right now like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"Soonyoung," you say slowly, carefully. "Are you in rut?"

His eyes snap open, meeting yours, and for a long moment he just stares at you. You can see him processing the question, see the moment the realization hits him. His expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something that looks almost like relief.

"Oh. Um. It does feel like that."

"But it's early, isn't it?" You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. "You're not supposed to go into a rut for another few weeks."

"Right." He seems to think about something and he makes a small sound, leaning into your touch. "I've never had an omega in the house though."

"Oh."

"I think having you here made my body kind of freak out and decide it was time even if it wasn't."

You can feel your own body responding to his proximity, to the thick, heady scent of him in rut. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to help, to soothe, to give him what he needs. But more than that, you want to. You want to pull him into your bed, want to feel his fever-hot skin against yours, want to take care of him the way every cell in your body is telling you to.

"Let me help you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended, almost pleading.

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"Let me help you through it." You slide your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, feeling the way he leans into your touch like he can't help himself. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to suffer through it."

"I can't ask you to do that. You haven't been here that long and haven't been through one…"

"It's pretty instinctual. I'll be okay."

He's trembling now, and you can't tell if it's from the fever or from nerves or from the effort of holding himself back. "What if I hurt you? What if I can't control myself?"

"Soonyoung, you won't hurt me."

"You don't know that." But even as he says it, he's leaning closer, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath is hot against your lips, coming in short, uneven pants. "You don't know what it's like. What I'm feeling right now."

"Then take it," you whisper. "Take what you need."

He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a whimper and a growl, and his hands come up to grip your waist. His fingers dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you can feel the desperation in his touch.

"But what if-"

You cut him off by kissing him.

It's soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his to turn off his spinning thoughts, but the moment you make contact, something in him breaks. He makes a desperate sound against your mouth and kisses you back like he's drowning and you're air. His lips are fever-hot and slightly chapped, and he tastes like mint toothpaste and something underneath that's purely him, purely alpha, purely Soonyoung.

His hands tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, eliminating the last few inches of space between you. Your chest presses against his and you can feel the heat of him even through your thin sleep shirt, can feel the way his heart is racing, can feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he holds himself back from taking more than you're offering.

But you want him to take more. You want him to let go.

You part your lips and he groans, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and you can feel the moment his control starts to slip. His hands slide from your waist to your hips to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him harden against your stomach, the way he's already straining against the low slung sweat pants.

Knowing he wants you this much makes your head spin. You omega preens and you shiver, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily, driven by a more powerful want than you have ever felt in your life. He responds in kind, walking you backward toward the bed, feet tangling until you're falling backward and he's caging you in.

For a moment, he just hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, his chest heaving as he stares down at you with those dark, dilated eyes. You reach up and trace his jawline and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering. You've always thought he had the prettiest eyes, dark and hungry and so full of life. Right now they're burning with something hotter than you've ever seen and it makes you sing.

"You're so beautiful," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long."

"Then have me," you whisper. "Take me."

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips moving against you with gentle purpose like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands start to wander, sliding up your sides, pushing your sleep shirt up inch by inch until his palms are pressed against your bare skin.

The contact makes you both gasp. His hands are so hot they're almost burning, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire. He explores slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts.

"Can I?" He asks, twisting a fistfull of your shirt in his hand. You nod and he grins.

He sits back on his heels and helps you pull the shirt over your head, and the moment it's gone, his eyes go even darker. He stares at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."

He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast, then another to your stomach. His lips are hot and soft, and every place he kisses feels like it's been branded. He works his way down slowly, kissing and licking and occasionally scraping his teeth gently against your skin in a way that makes you arch up into him, his name broken and shaky on your lips.

Soonyoung's sounds are equally as needy, groaning low in his throat in a way that makes your thighs close around his waist, the ache between your legs growing despite the way his hips pin yours to the bed. Friction. You need friction but any thoughts of asking for it vanish from your head when he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, the heat and wet slide of his tongue making you cry out.

Your hands fly to his hair, threading through the messy strands, holding him against you as he sucks and licks and occasionally scrapes his teeth gently across the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every pass of his tongue.

"So responsive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So perfect for me."

He gives the same attention to your other breast, his hand coming up to play with the one his mouth just left, and the dual sensation makes your head spin. You're panting now, your hips shifting restlessly against the mattress, seeking friction that you need so badly.

"Soonyoung," you gasp. "Please."

"Please what?" He lifts his head to look at you, and his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark with hunger. "Tell me what you need."

"Touch me. Please touch me."

His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers light and maddening. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he pauses again, waiting for permission. You lift your hips in answer, and he hooks his fingers into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.

Cool air hits your overheated pussy and you whine. Soonyoung growls in response, looking down where your thighs threaten to shut. He keeps you pressed open, his hands firm on your thighs as he makes an appreciative sound low in his chest, almost a purr.

"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you breathe. "All for you."

He stays kneeled there on the bed, his hand tracing down your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your sticky, heated folds. He explores slowly, the drag of his fingers making you tremble, thighs twitching until he presses gently against your clit and you let out a high-pitched sound, the contact sending a bloom of warmth spreading through you.

"There?" He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice, smug.

"Yes. Please."

Soonyoung obeys, circling your clit slowly, increasing the pressure as you buck under him. You feel yourself dripping, a wet mess as he plays with you, making little appreciative sounds as his slick fingers work you higher until you're tangling your hands in the bed and writhing under him.

When he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, your hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. It feels good but you want more, immediately asking him for more, mumbling and messy and lightheaded and overwhelmed with the thick scent of him and the heat of his finger pressing against your front wall.

"Yeah?" He asks. "You can take another?"

"Yes. Please. More."

He adds a second finger and the stretch is delicious, perfect. He curls them inside you, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly sob with relief.

"There," you gasp. "Right there. Oh god, Soonyoung, right there."

He works you with single-minded focus, his fingers curling and stroking while his thumb circles your clit, and you can feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building higher and higher until you're teetering right on the edge.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come."

You turn your head to the side, pressing it into the mattress as your hips roll toward his hand, letting him fuck his fingers into you until you're coming around them, clamping down hard on his fingers. He moans with you, pumping his fingers through it as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, the pleasure so hot you stop breathing for a second.

"Too much," you gasp, and he immediately gentles, his fingers slipping out of you carefully.

He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he hums in delight. You stare at him, panting and sweaty, sheets sticky against your skin as he opens his eyes, the moon reflecting off them.

"Taste so fucking good," he growls. "Bet you taste better from the source, but if I don't fuck you right now I might lose my mind."

"Please," you beg. "Want it so bad."

He makes a desperate sound and reaches for his sleep pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and leaking, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's thick and throbbing, and you watch like you're hypnotized as he grips himself, stroking slowly a few times as he settles on the bed between your legs.

Soonyoung leans forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your wet cunt where he pauses, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. You whine and he grins, clearly loving the effect he has on you.

"You sure?" He asks after a minute, the head of his cock notching on your entrance but not pushing in. "We can stop."

"I want you," you assure him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, alpha."

Your words have an immediate effect. He shivers, a ripple going through him as he growls low in his throat and presses in. You're wet enough that he slides in smoothly, but you can still feel every inch of him, can feel the way your body has to adjust to accommodate his girth. The drag of him against your walls enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck," he breaths, pressing in until he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect." He rolls his hips experimentally, grinding deep, and the pressure against that spot inside you makes you cry out. "Yeah, there it is. I can feel you clenching around me already."

You can feel the fever-heat of his skin, the way his muscles are taut with restraint. His scent wraps around you, that deep teakwood gone sharp and heady with rut, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell is him. It makes your head spin, makes you want to pull him closer, to drown in it.

"Soonyoung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Move. Please move."

"Impatient," he says with a grin, but there's heat in his eyes.

He pulls out so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock, all the way until just the head of him is inside of you before he snaps his hips forward, driving deep in one smooth thrust, and the sudden fullness makes you cry out. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he's pulling out and driving in again, setting a rhythm that's deep and steady and absolutely devastating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Oh fuck," you groan, going tight around him. "Fuck fuck fuck."

The sounds of the wet slide of him fucking into you fills the room backtracked by his breathing, ragged and uneven as he groans everytime you clench around him. You dig your nails in, scraping down his back to his waist where you urge him faster, your fingers sliding against his sweaty skin.

"That's fucking it," he pants. "Taking my cock so well, huh? Were you made to take it?"

You nod, his words making heat flood through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. He feels it and grins, that cocky, confident smile that makes your heart race.

"You like that?" he asks, his pace never faltering. "Like hearing how perfect you are? How good you feel wrapped around me?"

"Yes," you gasp as he thrusts hard, jostling you up the bed. "Fuck. Yes, Soonyoung."

He shifts the angle slightly, pressing deeper, and suddenly every thrust is dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision. The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil of heat low in your belly that winds tighter with each movement. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right speed.

"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "Can feel the way this perfect pussy is clenching. You gonna come for me?"

"Yes!"

You can feel yourself climbing higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your cunt clenching hard, breath hitching as you start to shake. He drives in harder, finger speeding up until you're standing on the edge of your orgasm, breath held, waiting to dive over.

"Come on," he murmurs, leaning down to nip your heard. "Come for me, baby."

You do, the orgasm hitting you hard. It steals your breath and your entire body locks up as you cry out his name, your pussy clamping down on him. His rhythm stutters immediately as he groans, but he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're shaking and feeling like you're going to come apart again, unsure if your orgasm has stopped or if it's another one starting.

"I can't-"

"You can," he urges, breath hot against your ear. "You're going to give me another one, baby."

He pulls out suddenly, and the loss makes you whimper. But before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and pulling them up.

"On your knees," he commands, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

When he slides in from behind, the new angle makes him feel deeper. You can feel him everywhere, the stretch, the fullness, the way he's pressed against every single spot inside of you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to dimple the skin, holding you exactly where he wants you as he fucks you in earnest, hips snapping and bed hitting the wall.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Taking me so deep. You're perfect. So fucking perfect."

One of his hands slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and you let yourself collapse forward onto your forearms. The change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you cry out with the intensity of it.

"Too much?" he asks, but there's a teasing edge to his voice. He knows it's not too much. He knows you can take it.

"No," you gasp. "More. Please, more."

"Greedy," he says with a laugh, but he gives you what you want.

His pace increases, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and you can feel another orgasm building already. It's different this time, deeper and more intense, starting low in your stomach and spreading outward like fire.

His hand slides around to find your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you sob with pleasure. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but you don't want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

"Come on," he urges, his voice strained now. "Give me another one. Want to feel you come apart on my cock again."

The orgasm builds and builds, the pressure almost unbearable, and when it finally breaks you scream into the pillow. Your whole body shakes with it, your inner walls clenching around him so hard you can feel him groan, can feel the way his rhythm falters.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, you feel so good."

His hips stutter, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, can feel the pulse of his cock, and the sensation triggers another small aftershock that makes you whimper.

He collapses over you, his chest pressed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his heart racing against your spine, can feel the way he's trembling slightly, can feel his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder.

For a second, the two of you lay there like that, hearts pounding in sync, the messy slide of your bodies warm and comforting, his scent blooming around you as the mess between your thighs runs down your legs and onto the mattress. You don't care, going near catatonic as Soonyoung presses closer to your scent gland, his tongue darting out to taste you. It makes you moan and push back into him, wanting more and he laughs.

He shifts slightly, starting to pull out, but you make a sound of protest. "Not yet. Stay."

"I'm crushing you," he points out, but he doesn't move.

"Don't care," you say. "Want to feel you."

He makes a soft sound and settles more comfortably against you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He's still inside you, softening but not pulling out, and there's something intimate about it that makes your chest feel tight.

You lie there in the darkness, your bodies cooling, your breathing gradually evening out. You can feel the way his scent is already starting to shift, still hot and thick with rut, but not quite as sharp, not quite as overwhelming.

"How long do ruts usually last?" you ask quietly.

"Three days, usually. Sometimes four." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But I don't know if this one will be normal. Everything about it has been weird so far."

"We'll figure it out," you tell him.

He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "Thank you. For this. For helping me. For not being scared of me."

"I would never be afraid of you."

"Even after the past few days?"

"Especially after the past few days." You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and even in the dim light, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You were in pre-rut and you were still gentle with me. You were still asking permission. You were still you. That tells me everything I need to know."

He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens them again, they're suspiciously bright. "I don't deserve you."

"Shut up," you say, but there's no heat in it. "You deserve everything good. And I'm going to make sure you get it."

He kisses your shoulder, soft and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Round two?" he asks, and you can already feel him starting to harden again inside you.

You laugh, the sound surprised and delighted. "Already?"

"Rut," he says, rolling his hips experimentally and making you gasp. "Told you it was going to be intense. Think you can keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe. Think you can handle it?"

"I can handle anything you give me," you tell him, and you mean it.

"Good," he says, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that makes heat pool in your belly. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."

"Prove it."

"Oh, I will," he promises. "We've got all night. And all day tomorrow. And the day after that."

"Good," you tell him, rolling your hips and feeling the way he's already fully hard again inside you. "Because I'm not letting you go."

- The knock comes around late morning, soft but insistent.

You're half-awake when you hear it, drifting in that comfortable space between sleep and consciousness where everything feels warm and syrupy. Soonyoung is sprawled across your chest, his head tucked under your chin, one arm thrown over your waist. His breathing is deep and even, his body finally relaxed after taking you four more times throughout the night on and off. There's an ache between your legs but it feels good, feels right. Like you're right where you should be, pressed against a member of your pack, scents twisted together.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time.

"Come in," you call quietly, not wanting to startle Soonyoung awake too abruptly.

The door opens and Jeonghan steps inside, cradling bottles of water and bowls of rice and chicken. You realize it's what you both need to sustain yourself through Soonyoung's rut and you're immediately grateful, shooting Jeonghan a tired smile. He smirks in response, trailing toward where you and Soonyoung are tangled on the bed.

Soonyoung senses Jeonghan's presence, eyes snapping open. He's up on his elbows in an instant, his body going rigid, and a low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that's pure territorial aggression, his pupils dilating as he positions himself between you and Jeonghan like a shield.

Jeonghan doesn't even flinch. Instead, he sets the food and water down on the dresser and turns to Soonyoung, face calm and placid before his face shifts, lips pulling back to bare his teeth at Soonyoung in kind. There's no anger in it, but rather a reminder to Soonyoung that Jeonghan is number two in this pack and Soonyoung's senior and he is not intimidated.

Soonyoung's growl falters. You can feel the moment he recognizes the dynamic, the moment his rut-addled brain processes the hierarchy and accepts it. His teeth retract, his lips closing over them, and he settles back down slightly, though his arm never leaves your waist.

"Keep the teeth away," Jeonghan snorts, walking toward the door. "Congrats on finally figuring it out. You cannot imagine the relief I felt seeing you crawl up here last night."

He turns and exits the room without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

For a moment, there's silence. You can feel Soonyoung's heart still racing, but his anger is immediately replaced with a sheepish laugh and him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking at you.

"Sorry," he laughs. "I've never done that before."

"It's okay," you tell him, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "It was cute."

"Cute?" He scoffs. "I'm not cute. I'm tough. I have teeth."

"Uh huh." You lay back on the bed, looking up at him, grinning. "Use those big teeth on me then."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice dropping to something low and hungry. "You want me to?"

"Yes."

That's all the invitation he needs. He moves fast, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress in one fluid motion. His hands find your wrists, pressing them gently but firmly into the pillows on either side of your head. His body settles over yours, his weight pressing you down into the bed, and you can feel him already hardening against your thigh.

His teeth find the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear, and he bites down gently, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that you feel it, hard enough that it sends a spike of heat straight through you. He works his way down your neck, marking you with his teeth, and every bite is followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.

"I'll show you teeth," he mutters, scraping them over the curve of your breast.

THE HOUSE RULES: 1. The omega is never allowed to eat alone unless she asks to - SEUNGCHEOL 2. If she falls asleep on you, carry her to bed. No exceptions - MINGYU 3. Nobody leaves for long amounts of time without scenting her goodbye - JEONGHAN 4. Her nest is neutral territory. Arguments end at the door - JOSHUA 5. If the omega asks anything during heat, the answer is always yes - THE PACK 6. No one is allowed to make her cry and leave the room afterward - WONWOO 7. If she steals your clothes, they belong to her now - MINGYU 8. The omega is not permitted to carry heavy things while alphas are present - MINGHAO 9. Whoever wakes her up is responsible for dealing with the consequences - VERNON 10. Use the omega as you please, but respect is mandatory - THE PACK 11. The omega is not allowed to beg and then act surprised when someone gives in - SEUNGKWAN 12. If she wanders into an alpha’s room after midnight, she knows exactly what she’s doing - SEOKMIN 13. The omega is not allowed to start things in shared spaces and then complain about being watched - JUNHUI 14. If she’s whining, someone should probably handle it - CHAN 15. The omega is not allowed to say “I’m fine” without at least one person investigating immediately - JIHOON 16. Arguments about whose turn it is to use her next must be resolved by rock paper scissors - SOONYOUNG

MEET THE ALPHAS: Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Junhui, Soonyoung, Seokmin, Minghao MEET THE BETAS: Joshua, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, Vernon, Chan

CHAPTER 16: the seven stages of grief

Your tears dried somewhere between Mingyu’s apartment and your dorm-building. You kept your hands wrapped around your torso throughout the walk, like you were holding the heartbreak in, waiting to reach home and let it all spill out. 

You don’t know what hurts more — the fact that he had wanted her first, or the fact that he looked at you now in a way that felt too big to trust. 

Your mind keeps wandering between the perfect morning, all sleepy affection and soft edges, and the afternoon that slipped right off your very fingers, collapsing in increments. 

The harder the sun shines at you, the more surreal everything feels. You feel oddly betrayed by everything in the moment. By the world as it keeps on spinning, like it does not care that you can barely stand still right now. By the wind that flows abundant, crisp and fresh, even though you’re struggling to suck it in. 

An ugly sob keeps on threatening to tear off your throat the closer you get to your room, like the proximity of your safe-haven is triggering its break-out. 

But you somehow manage to gulp it down, keep it all in. Bundle it up under the clothes several sizes too big on you. 

Your fingers fumble into your pockets before you realize that you don’t have your coat on.

That it’s his hoodie that you’re wearing. 

Shit…

You are about to give up on the idea of saving face, the thought of just letting yourself crumble outside your door seems too enticing for your body which is at its limits now. 

But then, your eyes catch it. The key already jammed deep inside the key-hole, the duck shaped keychain dangling like a taunt. 

Chaeyoung’s set of keys. 

Your first instinct is to turn around and run, you don’t think you have it in you to face her. Not right now. 

But run where? 

The house that you saved up to leave? The apartment where everything collapsed? 

You shut your eyes, wrap your fingers around the knob and push. 

You thought that there was some chance of you going undetected, just slithering in your bed as your ever-crackling roommate’s attention is caught up elsewhere. 

But there she is, sitting somberly on her bed, facing the door. Facing you as you open it. 

She’s mid-conversation with someone else in the room as they lean against the table, at your blind spot. 

Heather. 

The girls inspect you almost in tandem, top to bottom. A hoodie too big to belong to you with the name Kim imprinted on its back, sweatpants that have dragged mud, the boots in your hands because you could no longer walk in their ridiculous heels. 

You wish they won’t look closely at your face. 

But they do— Heather grimaces at the mess of your hair while Chaeyoung’s frown deepens at the redness around your eyes and nose. 

“Hey,” you croak, voice impossibly hoarse. 

Heather’s eyes flit from you to your roommate and then back to you guiltily, like she’s been caught. Maybe they were talking about you.

And honestly, although you had once parroted your side of the story that you would present to your roommate when she came back— you just don’t give a fuck anymore. 

“I was here cause I needed to make a call and my phone’s not working,” Heather jumps to explain. 

Chaeyoung’s voice is less hurried when she adds, “yeah, but I couldn’t help because I think I left mine in Seungcheol’s bag.” 

You don’t lift your eyes when you extend your phone towards Heather, the only thing you managed to grab when you left. “Here, use mine.” 

Heather mumbles a quick thanks and hurries out with your phone. 

Once the door shuts with a loud snap behind you, making you flinch, you manage to look into the mirror. You think you look no better than a half-trampled sewer-rat. 

Chaeyoung relaxes, her gaze still glued onto every little movement of yours. She exhales, “you were with Mingyu?” 

You give her a tight nod, take off the hoodie she must’ve recognized, and put your bathrobe on. You pretend that she’s not even there as you begin taking everything off, peeling his clothes off your skin like they have begun twisting around you. 

You know it’s not justified, but there’s a certain, ugly resentment towards her that’s making you feel even worse about yourself. 

She didn’t do anything wrong. She doesn’t deserve it. 

And yet, you scuffle around the room collecting your toiletries like you cannot stand being in the same space as her. Like you don’t care about all that she has to tell about her long, romantic getaway with her boyfriend. 

“How did that happen?” she asks, prompting you to pause. 

“I’m sure Heather filled you in,” you answer, voice clipped. 

“No,” she shrugs, “she just told me you gave her his number like I asked you to but he wasn’t interested.” 

“Then I guess that’s what happened.” you turn to face her, exhausted and disinterested. “I’m sorry for disrupting your master cupid plan. I got too greedy for the money he offered.” 

“That’s not what I mean—”

The door opens behind you and Heather pokes her head in. “Sorry for interrupting,” she gives you an uncomfortable grin, extending your phone back to you, “here. Thanks.” 

When Heather leaves again, Chaeyoung stands up. 

“Look, Chae, I’m not really—”

“I meant how did that happen,” she wiggles her finger wildly at your face, “because I know Mingyu would never make a girl cry like that.” 

“Well he did,” a bitter laugh prickles out of you, “you both did.” 

You know how unfair you’re being to her. But the ache in your heart is so big, so loud, that it is almost tangible. You want to reach for it, tear it off your chest and load its responsibility on someone else. Anyone else. 

Chaeyoung blinks, taken aback. 

“If only you had told me earlier… when you were—when you were going on and on about him.” You can feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate again, “or if he said something about you… I would have never let it get this big. I would have never fallen for him. I—”

She catches you before you slump onto the ground, your bones finally giving up after being weighed down by the worst pain you have ever experienced. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” she calls out, and you let her yourself be embraced by her. “Breathe.” She reminds you, slowly walking you over to her bed. 

“Sweetie,” she says, once you aren’t struggling to breathe anymore. “I need you to drink this water, take a warm shower, eat a banana and then tell me everything that happened, alright?” 

⸻

The room is quiet in the way that makes everything feel heavier than it is. The fresh clothes on your body, the blanket she draped over your legs, the cup of tea she thrust into your hands… your favorite pink plushie that you clutch in your lap for comfort. It all weighs you down, gathered tightly in your lap, feeling less like solace and more like gravity—anchoring you in place, refusing to let you drift away from this moment.  

You sit there, exhausted and unmoving, staring at the flickering string-lights twirled around her bed as they get used to being turned-on after so long. 

Your vision blurs into the halos of their gold, distorting everything—even her. Especially her. 

And you let it. Because you don’t want to see what expression her face has morphed into after everything you’ve told her. 

Not even when you add, voice barely above a breath. “It felt like I was second to you… like I just… came because you said no.” 

Chaeyoung bites her lip, sipping her own tea thoughtfully before asking, “did I ever tell you how when I met him, Seungcheol was four months out of breaking up with someone he had been with for six years?” 

“Six years?” 

“Yeah, that’s middle-school and high-school and the first year of Uni,” she chuckles, “they had their first kiss with each other, went to their first concerts with each other, said ‘I love yous’ and all that shit.”

“Yeah but,” you shrink in yourself further, “they had the opportunity to figure that they weren’t meant for each other. But with Mingyu, what if there’s a part of him that still wonders what could have been if you said yes?”

Chaeyoung’s brow lifts, sharp and immediate, cutting clean through your spiraling thoughts. “You really think he’s thinking about other girls when he’s with you?” she asks. “Did he ever make you feel that way?” 

All your words fail you at that question. 

No matter how much you try to rack through your memories, how much you contort them to validate your fears, you know that there was never a single time when he looked at you like you weren’t everything that ever mattered. Singularity. 

Not when he leaned down each time to hear you better, even in the loudest crowds. Not when he’d follow your movements around with his watchful gaze like he wanted to learn everything about you. Not when he touched you like he was afraid that if he didn’t, he would not be able to believe that you were there, that you were real. Not when he softened his sharpest edges, like he was a stray dog in your house, trying to find his place. 

It devastates you. Pains you. The kind of ache that no amount of suspicion can gloss over. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” you admit, slowly, “that if you were there in the room that night, if you opened the door for him, none of this would have…” You trail off, suddenly too conscious of sounding too pathetic, too insecure.

Chaeyoung rests her chin over her knee. Then exhales, audibly, “if I was here and if I opened the door for him, he would have cussed me out for not having found him a tutor yet and then he would have left.”

You open your mouth to respond, but she shushes you up with a raised finger. 

“And then, the next day, he would have bugged me to hell and back to tell him more about my roommate with a pretty voice who hides behind her tea-mugs and notebooks.” 

Your gaze slips away again, seeking refuge in the dim corners of the room. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” 

“No, I’m just telling you the truth about how things are between me and him.” she shrugs, “how they have been for a long, long time now. Isn’t that exactly what you wanted to know?” 

You finally look at her, brows pulled, eyes pleading. 

“I don’t know about everything else that went wrong for him that year, but I know that I was one of those things that he moved on from. I can see it, I can feel it.” Chaeyoung scoots closer, her face smattered with worry and something much fragile. “You’re punishing him and yourself over something bygone that has no value anymore.” 

Your fingers tremble as you finally let your thoughts tame down for the first time in hours. Not all at once, but enough for your perspective to broaden. 

“I think… I think I was blindsided when I saw that letter.” you whisper, more to yourself than to her, like it is finally making sense now. 

Like now that you can give it a name, it has become more bearable. More solvable. 

Chaeyoung doesn’t give you a warning before she hugs you, taking you in her arms by surprise. “Yeah, and he’s the biggest idiot ever for not telling you earlier. For letting it get this far. And I’m so sorry about that.” 

Your grip over her wrist tightens, mind replaying what has been left unspoken for far too long now. 

“He’s not the only one who took too long to admit, though.” you shift away, not immediately, but like you’re putting some much needed space when you speak. “I think it’s high time I told him something as well… something important.”

Something that might change everything. 

⸻

That doesn’t happen all at once. 

Not on impulse, not immediately. You tell yourself that you’re not stalling, but that you’re giving yourself enough time and space to be coherent. To find words. To address the storm-out on Saturday morning before you confess the only thing that has kept you from fully letting yourself be swept away by him. 

The only truth you’ve ever hidden, the only one that makes you feel so guilty, so selfish. A tormenting regret that dwells on everything you should have said but didn’t—just to keep him near.

Sunday, you sleep until noon on your top bunk. Phone switched off, doors shut for anyone that isn’t your roommate. Every blanket you own is wrapped around you because you refuse to shut the window off. Open windows bring good luck. 

You know he isn’t hopeless or vain. He knows when to show up and when to give you space. 

And yet. 

A part of you, the nonsensical one hoped that he’d show up somehow. Not because you feel entitled to being chased by him, but because you’re scared that if you take a step towards him, you might chicken out. 

Monday, you have three classes. None of the ones you share with him. You linger awkwardly at the coffee-house you spent countless afternoons with him in this past autumn. It’s cozier now, more enriched with the aroma of burnt coffee and buttered pastries piping hot as bigger crowds flock in here, shivering and donning large coats dusted with snow. Yet, it lacks the warmth you once associated with it. 

Maybe because he’s not here. 

Tuesday, you come back to your room after wandering the sections of the library like revisiting those tucked corners, those sterile focus-rooms would somehow rewrite what feels like an unfinished ending of your favorite book. 

Wednesday morning, Chaeyoung watches you with a frown as you get ready to go haunt the campus again, even though you don’t have any classes. And finally—finally, she tells you the reason behind why you haven’t caught the sight of him. ‘The team left Monday for a tournament, you didn’t know?’ 

Of course you didn’t. 

You haven’t looked at your phone in ages. 

When you turn it back on, there are no calls from him. Not a single text. Not even on Saturday after you left him… you were hoping he had at least asked if you reached home safely. 

Something shrinks in your gut, something that was once wrapped safely in surety, in hope, in the reminders of all the ways he had loved you. 

But you keep your head up high. 

And still—still you text him, even when it feels ridiculously humiliating. Because your mind wouldn’t keep still if you didn’t. 

You: i think we should talk. 

It feels too demanding, too serious. So you delete that one and type a fresh text. 

You: all the best for your game this week! can we talk when u come back? 

That just might be the most out of touch text you’ve ever sent, uselessly cheeky and cheerful…like the last five days didn’t happen. That one goes to trash too. 

Finally, after taking a nap that somehow ends up lasting six hours, you sit by the full moon hanging low by your window. The same moon that had been a constant in every night that you lost a bit of yourself to him. The same moon that witnessed every little date he planned for you, laughed along with every dumb joke he said, waned and waxed at every song you sang for him and cried with you the night he kissed all your pains away from every inch of your body. 

You make the moon proofread the text you decide upon sending — because Chaeyoung is busy talking to Seungcheol in hushed tones, thinking that you’re asleep — and when it feels like she shimmers in approval, you hit send. 

You: hey… i didn’t know u had a game this week, i hope it went well. i thought everything through, and was wondering if we could meet to talk when u come back? i need to tell u something important. 

Thursday comes and goes, no response from him. Not even the tick signalling he read it. 

You tell yourself maybe he is busy—playing, winning, traveling, leading. Maybe that’s what captains do on tournaments like these, turn their phones off so there are no distractions. 

By Friday, you can no longer keep your body still. You’re pacing the room like you’re trying to get all your 10k steps right then and there, your hand never leaves your hair—pulling, threading, resting. You have rushed to the bathroom twice now, each time under the false alarm where you felt like you were going to throw up. 

But you can only heave.

Eyes bloodshot and wild, lips quivering at the mere possibilities of things. Maybe he isn’t going to answer you ever. Maybe he doesn’t want to meet you at all. Maybe you killed whatever it was between the two of you. 

“But it’s unfair,” you whisper, wiping your tears, “it’s unfair. I was hurt at that moment. I couldn’t think.” 

“Everyone makes mistakes, but you showed him you don’t trust him when he made one,” your reflection shrugs, reapplying her gloss, “he begged you, cried for you, and you walked away.” 

“He’d understand, he loves me—”

“Loved.” 

By Saturday, you’ve given up hope. 

It’s been more than twenty-four hours since the team came back. You know that, because you saw Chan hurrying towards the staff-room this morning. 

So that was how it was supposed to end. Leaving you with nothing but a set of his clothes and his confession that you never returned. 

Chaeyoung isn’t in the room tonight, so you decide to make use of all the space by pouring your attention towards yourself, pulling back your thoughts that have been running everywhere to focus on the feel of your vanilla body lotion as it glides over your skin after a hot shower. 

You’re in the middle of painting your toe-nails when Chaeyoung comes back, knocking at the door. You don’t usually shut it off when she’s not here, but you’re in nothing but your towel at the moment. 

“Jest a sec, Chae!” you call out, snapping the bright-red pigment off and waddling towards the door, foam-dividers still lodged between your toes.

You don’t think much before twisting the latch open and turning around. 

But the shadow that falls over you is taller. 

The glimpse of the body you caught is much muscular. 

You don’t remember Chaeyoung wearing a grey hoodie and dark-washed jeans when she left… Neither do you remember her switching her cinnamon perfume for the citrus cedar. 

So either Chaeyoung somehow transformed into his body, stole his clothes and perfume tonight. 

Or it is actually him — Kim Mingyu, at your door. 

Your fingers tighten over your towel as you turn back around, cowering behind nothing, like the air might cover you up. You weren’t expecting him, or anyone, not at this hour. Not like this. 

His eyes are unreadable. Not soft, not playful, not angry either. Just a bit stunned as he takes you in, from the soft hair that you just blew-dry, to the unfinished color on your toes, the exposed skin — blush and all. 

And then, they are steady. 

Like it doesn’t matter. 

Like this isn’t the first time in a whole week he’s seeing you, and that he’s seeing you like this. 

You step behind the door, just enough to shield yourself from anyone outside the hallways that’s not him. 

And once the shock wears off, you see it. 

The dark bruise over his cheekbone—so close to his eye, the busted lip. 

You gasp before you can process it full, before you can see the bandages and ointment over the other injuries on his face. 

“Mingyu, what—how…” the exhale splits midway on its way out. 

As if the air around you isn’t already so viscous that you can barely see through it, he shifts a step back, densifying it further. 

For a brief moment, you had thought that he had read your texts, that he was here to talk. 

But his lips are set in a hard line and his face sports that formal expression that exhibits no intention of any communication further. 

He just extends his arm towards you, a clean, paper bag dangling off his fingers. 

“You forgot these at my place.” he says, clipped, serious. Terrifyingly conclusive. 

You don’t say anything—you can’t say anything. Everything feels too unreal. Your throat is so dry that it feels more sand than voice. The same, granular dirt that seeps down and stuffs your chest until it feels too full, too tight. 

You just confusedly accept whatever he’s giving you—literally and metaphorically—with trembling fingers. You almost drop the bag when he lets go. Like this is a dream where you can only reach, but can’t hold onto anything. 

He catches it before it can fall, wrapping his fingers over your lifeless ones like an instinct, as if even just for a moment, he’s rubbing strength into them and steadying you like he always does. Something flickers in his eyes, but he soon covers it up. 

“Be careful.” he comments, like an obligation, like something he’d say after helping a lady who almost tripped before him on a subway. 

His touch reminds you that he’s here. Skin and flesh and bones that weigh down. 

And yet…yet, he isn’t here. 

Not the shape you knew him in. 

Before you can look deeper to see if you can find your Mingyu into whoever this is that showed up, he’s retracing his steps. 

You don’t have a plan, you haven’t braced yourself for an answer when you call out in the loudest voice you can muster. 

“Mingyu—”

He halts, takes a breath, then faces you. The same, bloodied, bruised face that you thought might fix itself up if he just looked at you again. 

“What?” 

“What happened?” you ask, immediately realizing how stupid that sounds. “I mean… who did this?” 

Mingyu blinks at you like he can’t believe you just asked that. As if that is the most nonsensical thing he has heard in a while. 

His eyes squint, assessing you for any signs of intoxication. When he finds none, he laughs. 

Actually laughs. 

Nothing more than a puff of air, but heavy like a snow-storm in the middle of winter. Cold laced with an intent to freeze your blood. 

When he steps closer, the sterile lights of the hallway catch his bruises. Cascading upon them in a way that shows the brown and purples more than the reds and blues. His injuries aren’t fresh. They’ve been there for quite a few days now, some of them already fading around the edges. 

“Who did this?” he repeats, not unkindly but something in his eyes changes. “Really? You’re asking me that?” 

“I don’t…” you swallow, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Are you joking right now or do you really not know?” 

“What are you talking about Mingyu?” you ask, exasperated, even when your intuition tells you not to. 

His jaw tightens. When he speaks, he speaks low, slowing down around every word like he wants you to understand them well. 

“We had a match against NYU on Tuesday.” he says, and your gut immediately sinks, “there’s a guy on that team. Has been on my last nerve since high-school…since I earned a spot here over him. Acts like he has a personal vendetta against me.” 

Your fingers slip off the door, the other palm loses its hold over the bag he came to drop. 

But Mingyu continues, “he comes up to me, in the rink, all crazy eyes and teeth barred. Asks me how long have I been messing with his sister for.” 

“No…” you choke. It’s not possible. 

Ethan doesn’t know. 

There’s no way.

“He caught me off guard.” Mingyu states. 

You’ve gone pale, cold to the touch despite the warmth of the scalding shower. Your heart has been dropping in fragments at every word he spoke, but it crashes down loud and whole—echoing around the deserted hallway— when he tilts his head, watches you like he is taking you in one last time and then his lips twitch around something you can’t name. 

“Take care.” he whispers with a finality you wish you hadn't heard.

CHAPTER 2: trust no man, fear no bitch

You don’t see what clothes you put on. Chaeyoung’s, yours, clean, dirty. All you know is that you’re still in the middle of stretching the jumper over your midriff while running out of your dorm, barefoot. Your vision blurs, your feet stumble over the sharp pebbles, the cold air infiltrates everything — numbing you to a point that you don’t know if you’re even in your body anymore.

Maybe he didn’t bring his car. 

Maybe if you ran just hard enough, you’d be able to catch up with him. 

And you do, he’s halfway across the quad. 

You call out his name with everything warm that is still left in you. You think he’s not going to stop, that he’s going to continue walking away, that there's a chance he didn't even hear you over all the campus noise and blaring horns of cars that are heading out for the weekend.

But his steps slow down. Significantly, obviously. His shoulders slump and he lets his head fall, running his hands over his hair like he has to brace himself before turning around. And when he does, he looks at you like something inside him has finally cracked, something that he doesn’t know how to fix. 

Your breath fogs the air between your bodies as you reach him. 

“I was going to tell you about him…” you speak urgently, like every second that passes without the truth now is punitive, “I sent you the text.”

“What text?” his frown deepens. 

You blink at him, confused and suspended. You fish for your phone inside the pocket of your sweatpants. 

“The one that you didn’t reply to, didn’t even read.” you open the chat and turn the screen to him. 

Even the cicadas hiding behind the trimmed strands of the grass begin to hush down, like everything around the two of you is holding its breath to not interrupt this moment. To not let any words hide anymore. 

Somewhere behind him, a sprinkler is still leaking water, splashing his broad back with a soft mist as he steps in closer to see what you’re showing him. 

And then—

“You have me blocked.” he says flatly, dull eyes flicking up to you. 

“I didn’t block you.” you frantically shake your head. 

He reaches down for his own phone now, “then tell me why after I sent you like… five texts asking if you reached home fine, you texted me not to call you or try to reach out to you—and when I tried to reply to that, none of my texts got through?” 

He shows you his own phone. 

The text history between the two of you on his phone is like a completely different one altogether. 

None of which ever reached you. 

There they are, the frantic texts from him sent to you, mere minutes after you stormed off his place. 

Mingyu: babe, are you okay?

Mingyu: i am so sorry, it is all my fault. I should have told you earlier.

Mingyu: i know you need time… this must’ve been too much for you to process at once, but please tell me when you reach your dorm. Please. 

And then, fifteen minutes later.

Mingyu: hey, did you reach? Why aren’t you answering my calls?

Mingyu: this is it, I’m coming to check, i’ll leave as soon as i know you got to your room just fine. pls don’t get mad. 

Your phone had been silent all the way through, you were so busy breaking down you must have not noticed any of that. 

But what stuns you the most is the fact that all of these texts are delivered and read from his phone to yours. 

And you don’t remember even looking at a single one of them. 

Your breath shortens as you scroll up with shaky fingers. And immediately feel like someone pulled the rug from right under you. 

Because there’s a text you never typed, one that you didn’t even think about. 

You: don’t ever talk to me again, don’t come looking for me. we are done. 

“I… I didn’t—” you take a step back, shaking your head like that would make this all untrue. “I didn’t send any of these.”

Mingyu doesn’t look at you like he doesn’t trust you, but he doesn’t immediately reach forward to hold you either. 

He just stands there, every bit as confused as you. 

“I sent you so many texts that failed to deliver, called you so many times throughout the weekend.” he says, voice impossibly unsteady and low, “they’d ring, and ring. You never answered.”

“I didn’t get any calls!” 

“It’s cause you have me blocked.”

“I would never do that to you…” 

“I don’t know!” Mingyu’s voice rises, not at you, but at whatever this is which keeps on tangling around him, leaving him paralysed with confusion and helplessness. “I don’t know, okay? I thought you truly didn’t want to see me again. That I hurt you so much…” 

His voice dissolves around the last word, thin and frayed, like something stretched too far for too long. The sound of it lodges somewhere deep in your chest, sharp and immovable.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

The mist from the sprinkler keeps drifting, catching in his hair, darkening the cotton of his hoodie in uneven patches. A droplet slides from the edge of his jaw, down his throat, disappearing beneath the collar. He tries to wipe it off with a frustrated brush of his palm, looking at the distance, contemplating, as his breath fogs up. 

You try to suck your tears in, voice getting smaller, tighter. “You could have given whatever that was in that bag to Chaeyoung. Why did you come here if you really thought I never wanted to see you again?” 

He turns his head to look at you. “Because I wanted to see you again.” 

A stunted, unstable silence blankets everything as the two of you just look at each other, eyes glassy, chests heaving. There has never been a day that you didn’t trust him. But you don’t know if you can say the same about him right now… not after everything that happened. 

You don’t miss it though, that slight possibility that maybe, just maybe, he does. Maybe he’s desperately trying to revive it, trying to believe you. 

Hesitantly, your thumb reaches forward to touch the bruises on his face. He lets you, unblinking, unwincing. 

His breath warms the skin of your palm as you brush the sensitive skin, the fading scars. A corrosive bile begins rising up your throat as you count each one of them. 

“I swear I don’t know how he—” your voice chokes, “I never told him.”

“I thought you were so mad at me for the letters, for not telling you that you—that he…” he tries to finish, but his voice drops, like he is explaining it to himself. "I mean I would be angry too if someone hurt my sister."

Then, he shakes his head, a small, humorless smile tugging at his lips like a man making peace with something. 

He steps back from your touch, leaving your hand hovering in the air. 

And then, he says with the same clarity that he had painted his voice with for this night, “I think this was a bad idea…me coming here to see you, I mean. There’s messages on my phone from you, messages that I spent days losing my mind over, messages that you say you didn’t send. And I still don’t know how to feel about everything with your brother.”

Your hand drops— the way all hands do upon ultimate defeat.  

There’s nothing you can say right now that will fix this. Not when you yourself don’t understand how this happened… who did this. 

You try to look away, but you can’t. Not when he’s stepping away from you slowly, tentatively, like there are a million calculations in his mind sucking all his energy out. 

“Go back inside,” he says before turning around, “you’ll get sick.” 

⸻

Misty is the only one out of the three women around you who reacts when you order yet another strawberry slushie, her eyebrows curving up like they intend to touch her hairline. 

It’s your sixth one in the last hour, afterall.

The server looks at you, then at the TV where a woman in a pristine, tanned suit predicts the possibility of the season’s heaviest hailstorm in the next two to three days. 

“Maybe something to eat along with it?” he meekly offers, “or something warm?”

You shake your head slowly, making sure that he sees your eyes as they water at the mere thought of there not being a cup slipping with cold condensation in your hands. 

“Just get her the damn slushie, man.” Misty waves her hand at him, undoing her own scarf and throwing it unceremoniously around you like a last ditch effort to save you from getting sick. 

“But I’m afraid we’ve run out of frozen strawberries—”

Misty whips out a twenty dollar bill, slaps it in his hands secretly, and whispers (like you’re not sitting inches away from her), “bro throw a watermelon in or something, she's too out of it to know the difference.”

The server pockets the change, tucks the tray under his arm that he just brought out your previous identical dessert upon and scurries away.  

You can’t stop yourself from digging into the soft, half-sweet half-sour thickness of indulgence. You suck at the straw like your life depends on it, ironing over the stuffy cold itch in your throat which is used to the gentle care of warm sweet teas so far. 

Misty drags a big inhale out of her vape, eyes wide as she watches you suck the straw hard, meanwhile Jihyo and Chaeyoung exchange a look. 

Finally, Jihyo breaks the silence, looking up towards the ceiling as she speaks, “God, if my homophobic aunt was right about the gays, then please make my pussy-eating lesbian ass burn in hell forever. But never, I repeat, never make me go through a Mingyu withdrawal like this one.” 

You frown at her, lips still wrapped around the straw as you mumble, cheeks full of icy strawberries, “I’m doing just fine.” 

“You watched Survivor for sixteen hours straight yesterday.” Chaeyoung comments, “one only watches Survivor to see someone else suffer more than them.” 

Misty splutters around her vape as she tries to speak too soon. “Imagine how bad it is for him though. I mean, if the girl I loved went through my trash, got mad at me, had her brother beat my ass in front of a crowd and then stole my friends… man she’d have me fucked up cause that’s messy as hell.” 

“She’s not stealing anyone’s friends, she needs us right now.” Chaeyoung says at the same time as you exclaim— “For the last time, I didn’t get him beat up!” 

“My bad, my bad!” Misty raises her arms up in surrender, “it was that bitch that snooped through your phone… what was her name—Harper?”

“Heather.” Jihyo corrects, then turns to Chaeyoung, “yeah did you talk to her? Why in the world did she do something like that?” 

Chaeyoung takes a deep breath, throwing a cautious glance towards you. But you don’t care anymore. Not when your server just brought out another huge tumbler full of strawberry slushie with a hint of mint and lemon in it. 

“I did,” Chaeyoung says, then turns to you, “she told me she only intended to make a call at first, but then she opened your gallery out of curiosity just to look and got carried away. She said there were so many pictures of the two of you together and it made her jealous. She scrolled a bit more and found family pictures, realized Ethan is your brother and anyone who follows college hockey closely knows just how bad things are between Mingyu and Ethan. So she connected two and two together— sent a picture of you and him to Ethan, texted Mingyu in a way that implied that you wanted to break up with him, wiped everything so you wouldn’t know, and then blocked both the boys so they couldn’t reach you for answers.” 

The look of utter shock on Jihyo’s face only intensifies when Chaeyoung adds, “And because she knew that they were gonna be away from the city at the tournament, she figured it’d be too late for things to be solved by the time they returned.”

Still staring into your glass, you murmur, “I didn’t know because I didn't really check my phone. I thought… I thought he was just avoiding me. And Ethan never texts or calls me anyways so I didn’t realize he was blocked as well.” 

Misty lets a dramatic exhale out, her fingers clutching her armrests tightly. “Damn… this is some fiction level shit.” 

Chaeyoung sighs, “Heather seemed remorseful though, cried and hyperventilated and everything. Said she didn’t think it would get to a point of violence and that it was only meant as a prank.”

“Yeah bitch when you pull a prank on someone, you tell them. That’s the point of it.” Misty says, then turns to you, her clay earrings clacking like they want to make a point. “Mingyu and Ethan deserved to know that from you at your own timing, but she took that away from you.”

Jihyo grimaces, “yeah this wasn’t a prank, it was a full blown, menacing scheme where people ended up hurt.” 

Chaeyoung rubs her palms over her face somberly, letting her head fall over the cushioned head-rest and fixing her eyes over the crescent shaped lights over the rustic ceilings. “It is my fault to be honest, I should have never entertained that psycho’s crush like I was cupid or something. I kinda fuelled her obsession.” 

You have only been a passive observer in this commentary of your love-life so far, lazy eyes dragging around from one face to the other as your girls rule out each other’s opinions with sharp criticisms and witty reasonings. 

But when your roommate says that, you reach forward to hold her arm with comfort—your way of telling her not to blame herself. 

Chaeyoung gives you a small, sad smile, patting your hair in return — the hair she forced you to wash this morning by threatening to ban dry-shampoos from the room — as you continue chugging the slushie. 

“What’s worse is that she didn’t even get anything out of it.” Misty shrugs, “she broke these two up but he’s still not interested in her sorry ass so what now, hoe?” 

Chaeyoung’s head shoots up straight, “she did not succeed in making them break up. They just need some time apart to think everything through.” 

“Mingyu has worn his black hoodie everyday since he came back,” Misty argues, “that’s basically a funeral. And take a look at this one eating her feelings away in sugar and ice in the middle of December and tell me with a straight face this is not a break-up.” 

Chaeyoung raises her finger, “no, that’s just coping—”

“That man looks like he has been through a war, I saw him this morning and he was….”

The voices trail off and splice and braid into each other until all you can hear is a static ringing in your ears. 

You look at the six empty glasses with half melted ice and crushed berries in front of you— and continue staring, already slipping away from your friends. 

The bright, artificial red has dulled into something murkier now, melted ice watering it down into a color that looks nothing like strawberries anymore. You drag the straw through it, watching the small whirlpool form and collapse, over and over again, like you’re trying to find something at the bottom of it. Like there might be an answer sitting there, waiting for you to scoop it up.

There isn’t.

There never was.

Your mind wanders off to the little bag he had come to drop off. How you dragged your feet back into your room after he left and saw it lying there on the floor. Something shiny had spilled out of it. Purple. 

You had crouched down to inspect it, and immediately collapsed into a mess of tears and snot and ugly cries. 

Your clothes from the night of the party—the purple top and denim skirts with the butterflies on it— the ones you had shoved in a plastic trash-bag in his bathroom. 

He hadn’t thrown them out, even though you very well remember how you had ruined them while taking them off. Sullied. Torn in places and ripped. 

But he dropped them whole again, clean and stitched, like the damage never happened.  

The buttons you had ripped were sewn tighter in their place with mismatched thread. The crooked butterflies ironed out. The strings that kept the top together at the back—the strings that you had ripped one by one—were replaced with smoother, stronger ones. 

You had spent that entire night hugging the clothes to your chest, running your fingers through the threads he must have used to mend them — even after he thought you had been done with him. Almost like he couldn’t stop caring about you, couldn’t stop trying to retain every beautiful thing back in your life like it was his second nature. 

Your chest feels strangely hollow now, like all the crying has carved something out of you and left it echoing. Debris scattered everywhere. Nothing where it used to be.

You can’t live like this… in these ruins. It chokes you. 

You have to fix this. Rebuild it like you’d always rebuild all your things whenever Ethan would destroy them as a kid. 

There’s a strange, tingling sensation all over your body. Some might call it a sugar crash, you prefer calling it survival revived with an epiphany. Divine intervention even. 

Misty is looking at you, saying something along the lines of, “...if I was you, I would have dragged her by the hair and beaten her bitchass up. And Ethan’s too. Why are you as a grown man bothered about…”

“Misty, please don’t condone violence while you’re on the campus,” Jihyo winces. 

“Jihyo, can I borrow your car?” you interrupt them with more enthusiasm than you intended. 

“Oh shit, she’s gonna run them over.” Misty shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to shrink and avoid responsibility for what she might’ve caused. She turns to Chaeyoung and mouths, "she got the cray-cray eyes."

Jihyo scowls at her, “she won’t.” then turns to you, sliding her keys over, “sure, but only if you promise that you won’t be driving off a cliff.” 

Misty shakes her head at her friends like she is the only one who can see a million things wrong with this. “Man, I don’t trust her.”

Chaeyoung is already grabbing her bag and coat from behind her chair as you clutch Jihyo’s keys until the metal digs into your palm uncomfortably. 

“I’ll come with you wherever you’re going.” she says, shrugging her coat on. 

CHAPTER 18: like they do it in the movies

You grip the steering wheel tight—too tight—as the car begins slowing down outside the sports complex. The boys have off-ice training today, Jihyo informed you. 

“I haven’t thought this through.” you voice out loud, dissociating in the driver’s seat. 

“Don’t chicken out now.” Chaeyoung says, snapping her seatbelt off, “you march in there with your head held high and go get your man.”

“What am I going to say to him?”

“Whatever is the first thing that comes to your mind. Now come on.”

“Chae, I really need to pee.”

“You’re making excuses.” 

“I’m not—” you’re being yanked out of the car by the girl much taller and stronger than you. She wraps a sure arm around your body and makes you walk in with her. You squeeze your eyes shut, relying completely on her to not let you trip down, and pray that whatever’s going to happen is less embarrassing than every possible scenario that has been running in your head. 

He could kiss you in the middle of the field like in the movies. Or he could kick you out while the rest of the hockey team watches, like in most cases real life. 

Or he could—

“Oh fuck!” Chaeyoung mutters under her breath, her arm falling off from around you to grab her phone that won’t stop shrilling in her bag. She takes a quick glance at the caller ID, “I’m sorry but I need to take this one.” 

You catch it, the caller profile flashing with a picture of her in Seungcheol’s arms, laughing into the camera. 

“Sisters before misters.” you hiss at her, barely able to stand straight because of the discomfort in your lower belly. 

“I know!” she seethes, “but I’ve been ignoring his calls for over a week now. Besides, it would be so awkward if I went in there with you like I’m your emotional crutch. Just go and talk to him!” 

“Ugh, fine!” 

Inside, it is chaos. 

There’s sweaty people, half-naked people, red-faced people with flaky skin peeling off their nose, people with too much energy at eleven in the morning—all running around. Some are stretching or laughing or focused with their brows furrowed, counting numbers under each breath as they move with intent. 

And you? 

You’re just there… balled up in a knit cardigan and Misty’s scarf that smells like her peach-flavoured vape. The ballet flats you chose to wear today get soaked as soon as you step into the grass, mud climbing up their pristine pearly-white fabric with a permanent stain before you can do anything to salvage them. 

They were your favorite pair…

You feel like throwing up. 

“Focus,” you tell yourself, “this is more important than ballet flats.”

And so, you march in your soggy shoes that squish, head held high as you cut through the crowd between all the frisbees and balls being passed around without a single sense of direction or spatial awareness in your head. There was a time when you thought you wouldn’t even be found dead in a sports complex…and yet, here you are. 

Mingyu, with all his height and broad shoulders and that irresistible gravity which makes everything orbit around him, should be easy to spot. 

But you can’t see him anywhere. 

You do spot the cluster of faces you recognize at a clear patch of the field, though. Dokyeom, Chan and a freshman you saw with them in the diner—as they stretch their calves. 

You begin walking towards them, shoulders tight, eyes blank, mind on autopilot. 

Your pace quickens in tandem with your breath as it shortens in uneven puffs. You walk and walk and walk until—

“Watch out, watch out, watch out!” 

You shriek when Wonwoo, running at a speed unimaginable to you, nearly crashes into you. 

Nearly. 

Because just when you notice him too late and duck down, head clutched in your hands, you’re being pulled out of his track by the stronghold you’ve come to know very well. Your head falls on his chest, shoulders curled under his arm, skin humming with adrenaline and homecoming all at once. 

Everything around you is suspended. Just you in his arms between everything that fades away inevitably. The air thins out, the noise gets sluggish, like you’ve been dropped underwater with weights around your ankles. 

But you don’t fight it, don’t try to swim out. 

Because you know this feeling.

You would know it anywhere.

The way his hand wraps around your arm — firm, instinctive. The way his chest rises against your temple, uneven, like he forgot how to breathe for a second too. The faint scent of soft detergent and something warmer, something sun-like beneath it, something that is just… him.

You don’t look up immediately.

You’re afraid that if you do, this will disappear. That it’ll turn into another almost, another almost-you, almost-him, almost-together that never quite survives the distance between you.

His grip tightens slightly as he makes you cross the running-tracks to get out of the way of others who are training. 

When he finally lets you go, putting a safe distance between your bodies, the mind-numbing cold returns. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, concern lacing his voice, chased closely down by immense confusion. 

You stare at him dumbfounded. At the scars that have blurred, only visible if you look closely now. At the deep set frown and the brown eyes smattered with flecks of gold under the sunlight. The bead of sweat that rolls down his jaw, disappearing down his neck in the plain black stretch of his t-shirt.

Your mouth opens, then closes. Then drops again in a pathetically failed attempt to form words. 

‘Just say whatever is the first thing that comes to your mind.’

Firsts… it takes you back to the first time you spoke to him, in the diner. And then the night at your dorm, where it all began. 

Mingyu flicks sweat off his forehead with his thumb, then curves his brows up at you, expecting an answer. 

‘You have to tutor me,’ he had said, ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’ 

You shift uncomfortably because that’s the exact moment your bladder decides to cramp again. Those goddamn watery slushies. 

Why were you here again?

There’s almost a crowd forming around the two of you—players impatiently waiting for him to return back to training, Coach Greer stepping in. 

Mingyu looks at them, then at you. He mumbles your name, but you interrupt him right before the last syllable rolls off when you say— 

“You owe me money.” 

Wow, genius. 

That’s all you could think of?

Mingyu blinks at you. “I’m sorry, wha—”

“You need to pay me.” you decide to stand your ground now, committing to the bit. 

Mingyu scans you head to toe, holding his hips. “I—” he pauses to take a breath, before speaking in a hushed tone, like this is none of anybody else’s business. “I paid you for every time we met.” 

You scoff, just a huff and a sound, like you can’t believe he is implying that you could be wrong. 

“For the night at your apartment, you didn’t. I don’t work past ten, and I was there until one… that’s three hours of overtime.” 

Mingyu looks like he’s about to give up and tell you that he will pay you whatever you want but you need to leave the field right now if that’s all you were here for. 

But someone clears their throat beside you. Scratchy, authoritative, and serious in a way that makes you straighten your spine up. 

“Coach.” Mingyu mumbles in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for the—”

“What’s going on here?” Coach Greer demands, cutting him off. 

“He owes me money for my services,” you parrot, almost on an autopilot of spreading false information with your thumb pointed towards the captain of a very confused looking ice-hockey squad. 

“What services?” A horrified freshman asks from somewhere behind. You hear a hushed whisper, “isn’t that illegal on campus?” 

“She’s talking about the time she tutored me,” Mingyu’s voice promptly rules over all the dubious discussions. It flattens when he turns to Greer, “I promise there’s no funny business coach.” 

The old man turns to you, like Mingyu’s statement alone cannot be taken at face-value here. When you nod quickly, relief washes over his stern, wrinkled, old face. 

“Sort your business out with this young lady, Kim,” he orders, “I need you back on the field in five.” 

When he walks away, the crowd dissipates along with him like they know the consequence of not following their instructor—they don’t need to hear a command for that. 

Mingyu exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe away the absurdity of the last five minutes, and failing miserably at that.

“You came all the way here… for that?” he asks, voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier edge, but still guarded.

Your fingers curl sheepishly into the damp fabric of your cardigan, grounding yourself. Your heart is beating so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. 

“I mean, I need to buy groceries.” you nod, convincing yourself.

“You live in a dorm, you don’t need groceries.” 

“Just give me my money and I’ll go.” you blurt out, deciding that you cannot stand this humiliation ritual anymore. 

“I can’t…” he begins, before quickly adding, “I mean, not right now. I don’t even have my phone.” 

You shrug your shoulders at him, feeling like you’d cry if this doesn’t end here right now. That same fucking stage with the bright lights that you’ve been pushed in the middle of—one that Mingyu and Chaeyoung and Ethan and even Misty are good at performing in. 

And you? You still don’t know your lines, or have your cues. 

Mingyu’s eyes flit down to where you’re stretching your cardigan like it personally hurt you, to the legs that you keep crossing and uncrossing with discomfort, then back to the lower lip you’ve been gnawing at between your sharp teeth, almost drawing blood over your maroon gloss. 

He knows you’re spiralling. He knows you’re lying not because you wanna hide something, but because you got overwhelmed with your feelings and couldn't remember what you were actually here for. You always do that. He knows you well enough by now to recognize the signs of your unravelling. 

So he plays along, because he doesn’t want to add further pressure on you. 

“Look,” he offers, “as soon as I get free and access my phone again, I’m gonna pay you first thing. I promise.” 

Your shoulders sag, your face doesn’t feel as heated anymore. 

You nod at the ground, feeling like an utter failure for even thinking you had the guts to pull this off — to confess your love for him and demand a second chance in the middle of the world. 

You feel angry. So, so, so angry. At yourself, at him, at Chaeyoung for not accompanying you. At the server who kept on giving you the slushies without telling you that they were gonna wreak havoc in your bladder. 

So angry that you can taste it bitter and hot at the back of your throat. 

So angry that you reach forward in his collar to fish out the golden Aries pendant that you know is hidden under his t-shirt like a reminder of the last good night of your life, curl your fingers around it and—snatch. 

Mingyu freezes with disbelief, like something in his brain short-circuited the moment the chain snapped. He stares at your face, then at your trembling knuckles turning white around his precious pendant. 

“I’m gonna hold this as collateral until you bring the payment.” you put your entire Economics degree to come up with that one. 

There’s a flicker over his face. That’s all it is—but you catch it. The corner of his mouth almost lifting with recognition. Like he knows exactly what you’re doing, even if you don’t.

“Okay…” he smirks, actually smirks.

God, this is a mess.

Your legs press together again as another sharp wave of discomfort hits your abdomen. Right. That. Still very much a problem.

But you won’t go without claiming the final word, not even when you are on the verge of pissing yourself. 

“Okay!” you repeat, almost cattily, and whirl around. 

You hear him call your name out, but you don’t stop walking. 

You just give him an annoyed look over your shoulder, hair flipping in the air like whips. “What now?” 

“The washroom’s that way,” he cocks his head to the opposite direction from where you’re headed. 

CHAPTER 19: that mathematics textbook will save you

You spend the rest of the day obsessively pouring over your mathematics textbooks for the LSAT. It seems like the only thing in your life that is not rattling the foundation that your very existence is stacked upon. The only constant, tried and tested true for centuries now. 

Mathematics is all accuracy, practice, and hard set structures that never waver, despite the circumstances… despite if there’s a guy knocking at your door with his heart on his sleeve in the middle of a storm. 

You don’t have to consider outliers, you don’t have to refer to other material to seek their opinion on what the solutions should be. There is no Misty’s approach that differs vastly from Chaeyoung’s approach that stands nowhere near Jihyo’s approach. Just a set of steps that have been developed since the dawn of time that always makes you arrive at a root. A resolution. 

How did the problem even come to be? It’s no nonsense… because if Jack wants to eat 87 pineapples while sitting on top of a 120 metres long pole, facing away from a source of light and wants you to calculate how far his shadow falls — you do that, no questions asked. 

You don’t have to think why he climbed the pole? Why does he have all those pineapples? Why does he want to know about the length of his shadow? Why did you ever fall in love with Kim Mingyu? How do you fix a problem where the variables aren’t the usual x’s and y’s but actual, human feelings? How do you even approach it? 

Because unlike life, the world of mathematics does not care about timing, or missed chances, or words said too late. It gives you everything you need—every variable laid bare, every condition clearly stated—and trusts you to arrive at the answer.

And you always do.

That’s the part that almost hurts.

How quickly your mind works here. How effortlessly you move through problem after problem with your brain sharp, decisive, unwavering. No second-guessing. No backtracking. No freezing in the middle of the sports complex. No lingering on what could have been done differently.

It is scary how quickly you solve each mathematical problem in your textbook and then some more over your computer. 

And sometime later, you receive it. 

A loud ping signalling money has been transferred to your phone. More than what was agreed, more than what you needed, like he’s already nipping the possibility of you asking for ‘interest’ on the sum he owed you at the bud. An account settled. 

You don’t linger too much on it. That’s the beauty of spending days after days with Mathematics. It purges you of all the sugar that had once accumulated around your brain, clumping all the logic up. It rids you of the adrenaline that pumped through your nerves as you watched trash TV all week long, hoping that watching someone get cancelled might give your hurt, guilt and embarrassment a companion of their own. 

You feel centred now, no more nerves buzzing with sugar-high as you gulped servings after servings of slushies and sorbets. Returned back to square one. 

And yet, not exactly. 

Because this doesn’t feel like a re-start. There’s something… different about you. 

Something sharper. Something that weighs and doesn't echo.

Something that makes you walk past her when Heather spots you in the dining hall and begins to ask if you can talk. 

Something that makes you shrug at the white dress you’re supposed to doll-up in for your shift at the diner and put on a sweatshirt and jeans instead. Veronica gives you a pointed look when you arrive, you tell her it’s too cold for you to care about her aesthetics as you set your guitar up. 

Something that makes you finally tell your aunt that she needs to start paying you more, not the same wage that you started on as a sophomore because you know your worth now. You know the clientele who flock here only on the days that you sing. 

Something that makes you not stutter in your steps or duck and dive to hide when you eventually spot your twin brother’s car in the parking lot as you come out of your shift. 

He’s leaning against the hood, obviously waiting for you. 

You tighten your shoulders, roll your eyes and make sure he sees it. No longer softening yourself to make room for his harder edges. No longer playing the good, obedient twin who understood the rules so that he could go and break them on your behalf. 

The way he scowls at you is so arrogant, so utterly sure of himself and his standing in the world. Like he gets to pick the stack of cards and deal them. Like he is entitled to divide the Universe between the two of you and punish you if you as much as even show interest in what he thinks he owns. 

He fixes his dark gaze over you, and you turn your skin to steel under it. 

“Get in.” He cocks his head to his car. 

“Why?” you drawl, continuing to walk past him, “you wanna hit me too?” 

Your body stumbles back as he holds you by your upper-arm, pulling you back in front of him and seethes, “I can’t believe you went this far.” you jerk your arm away from him and he lets go, “you’ve always been like this—so fucking hungry for attention, for a reaction. And you’d get so resentful when I got it instead of you. This is why you applied to my dream school and got in. This is why you began singing at gigs after seeing crowds cheer for me hoping that they’d cheer for you too. But this… this is so fucking low.”

“I got in because I am smarter than you and you know what’s actually fucking low? Attacking your opponent on the field.” you spit, “you should be so grateful that Mingyu didn’t press charges. It would have ended your professional career before it even began.” 

He looks away, lips twisting with distaste and fingers trembling into his pockets. He knows it’s true. Everything that he ever worked for—everything that he ever knew—could have been swept away at a blink of an eye just because he couldn’t control the mere thought of his sister being with a guy whose only crime was putting his best foot forward in the game. 

Your voice drops even though you try to hold it still, “you can’t do this anymore Ethan. You can’t dictate whom I can or cannot date simply because you don’t like them—”

“It’s not just about me or my dislike towards him.” your brother retorts, “he’s not good for you. He’s arrogant and loud and pretentious and the things I’ve heard about him…” 

“Things you’ve heard about him,” you scoff, it’s vicious enough to capture his attention. “You of all people should know better than that.” 

“That’s not the point, alright? Quit being so fucking naive, guys like him crush girls like you with their personalities.”

“I was an attention whore two minutes back but now I am naive?” you pretend to nod like you do when you come across some new concept. 

“You know what I mean,” he stares at you with narrowed eyes, “look at yourself—your voice is so low that people can’t even hear you half of the time. You barely have any friends other than Cass who thinks you're still young enough to play dress-up with her and the only job you’ve ever had was at our aunt’s diner. Mom and dad pampered you like crazy.” 

You suck in a shaky breath as your brother lists off everything wrong with you. Gives you every reason why you shouldn’t be with the only person you have ever wanted. 

Some other day, a few months ago, you would have agreed with him. 

But now, there’s only one thought that echoes in your mind—that he’s wrong. That he doesn’t even know you. And what hurts the most is that he doesn’t care to try and look past the box he drew around you since you were kids. 

He only ever saw you in passing like an afterthought, like an inconvenience he had been bound to by birth.  

Unlike Mingyu who… who saw through you. 

“Don’t fool yourself by thinking that you’re looking out for me Ethan because that’s not what this is,” you shake your head, emotionless and detached, “you’re trying to control me because you’re insecure.” 

Your words hang in the air long after you’ve said them. Your brother looks slightly taken aback, not enough for anything within him to let up already, but enough for him to take a step back without meaning to like you just narrated something out loud that he hadn’t wanted to read. 

“I’m done looking after your pride.” you whisper, “I’m done letting you take my love away from me over your vain hatred. And even if you’re right about him… even if you think he’s going to hurt me, then you need to trust me enough to know that I can look after myself.” 

You don't let him see the pearl of moisture hanging off your lashes when you pass him because you don't want to add anything more to his list.

CHAPTER 20: religious psychosis

It is only a soft shower at first. Dewy mist against your cheeks. One that you think you can outrun if you just walk a bit faster. 

But soon, it begins to downpour. 

And even with your trusted umbrella tucked close to your chest as you cower under its flailing cover, you know the strong winds are going to wreck you in the next five minutes. 

In theory, you could handle that — you have walked in rain as much as the next human. But it is December and the cold that begins seeping within you is bone-chilling. One that makes it feel like a million needles are not just prickling you, they're stabbing you with the intent of replacing your blood with ice. 

You cry out under the umbrella as soon as the next gust hits, even though the road is deserted with no one around to help. You know you’re not going to last longer. You know there’s a chance that you might not make it to your dorms from your shift at the diner tonight and they're going to find your body half-frozen and blue when Chaeyoung calls the police by midnight.

You know that even though you are fighting with him, you should have gotten into your brother’s car instead of walking out on him half an hour ago. 

But you have morals, and currently, a resurging will to live that makes your feet carry you to the closest shelter that you know. 

Even when it is a bad idea for you, but seems like an amusing one for the big guy up in the heavens who controls the weather. 

Kim Mingyu’s apartment building is a five minute walk from where you’re standing right now; reaching your dorms—if you live long enough to do so—will take you at least twenty. 

That is the other thing about overdosing on math. It makes you arrive at decisions based on numbers and probabilities, not emotional possibilities. 

Your umbrella breaks the moment you cross the threshold of the property, just past the rusted, iron-gates. Like this is exactly how far the course of its life was supposed to be. From his palms to yours. From the first rain of September outside the library to the hailstorm near his home. 

The security at the entrance is exactly how it is at student residential complexes—lousy. 

The doorman throws you a disinterested glance, asks who are you there to see, and when you manage to huff out Mingyu’s name through teeth that won’t stop chattering, he lets you go ahead without checking in further. Maybe he took pity on your drenched state and the storm raging outside, maybe he recognizes you from all the times you’ve been here before. From the time you stormed out with puffy eyes and baggy clothes. 

The short ride in the chrome elevator is empty and a little warm, allowing you to catch your breath as your body adjusts to not being pelted with ice continuously. 

You don’t have the time to think this through, not when survival is on the line. But the moment your eyes catch your reflection in the smudged mirror of the sliding doors, you stutter. 

Your hair is clinging to your face, to your heavy, damp, dark clothes. Your bag and shoes are full of water. The single lick of mascara you had put over your lashes for the shift is streaking down in faint, dark streams. Not dramatically, but enough to make you look like someone who tried to hold herself together but failed miserably. 

Not broken, or ruined, just… undone around the edges. 

For someone who is keen on always looking put-together, it is truly a surprise how you only sigh, accepting defeat. 

Whatever bad could happen, did happen between the two of you, after all.

What worse can a broken armour do now? 

You close your eyes, take a breath and knock at his door with caution, tsking at the puddle of water as it begins dripping down around your feet.  

When you hear some shuffling behind the door, you straighten your chin, gearing up to look him in the eyes. 

No more stolen glances. No more plays of words in an attempt to conceal secrets. No dramatic walk-ins fuelled by sugar and ice and girl friends. No more cringing away from the feelings that don’t translate into words. 

Just answers and honesty. 

And perhaps a change of clothes. 

⸻

Mingyu opens the door without checking through the peephole. 

The doorman Bartholomew, or Barty—as Mingyu calls him, knows only to let a handful of people in towards his apartment without notifying him first. His parents, his sister, Dokyeom, Jihyo, Chan, Chaeyoung, Misty—the usual culprits. 

And the girl whose picture is on his lockscreen. 

The one he had once told Barty to let in by giving her the spare keys even if Mingyu’s not home. 

The one who is standing in his doorway right now—arms wrapped tight over the clothes that cling like a second skin, every inch of her body soaked to the bone and shivering in a way that one can’t control, even if they try to lock their limbs tight. 

His heart immediately drops at the sight. 

“Can I come in?” her voice comes out more like a wheeze as she struggles to blink. “Please?” 

⸻

Mingyu never rushes. Never panics. At least you’ve never really seen him like that other than the time he abandoned the concert and came straight to you. But even then, you had seen it behind his eyes how he hadn’t just shown up. That there were words clear in his head. His intention stacked around him like armor, keeping him steady as he spoke his heart out to you. 

But right now? 

He’s a mess. 

He shuffles around his apartment like he can physically make it warmer even when the thermostat is cranked up to maximum heat. Your head is still swimming, dizzy amidst the cloudy memories of this place as you succumb deeper and deeper into a corner. Already apologetic for all the water you’ve dragged in. 

He reappears with not one, but three clean towels and stops in his tracks when he sees you still lingering in the hallway. 

“Get in the bathroom,” he almost scolds, like he’s annoyed that you thought you needed his permission for that. 

“Yeah,” you nod, throat constricting, dropping your bag and shoes and the broken umbrella in that corner. 

Your limbs ache as you walk the short distance, weighing down a thousand tonnes heavier than what they actually are. You peel the clothes off, watching in the mirror above his sink how pale your skin has gotten, as he places a neat stack of warm sweaters and worn sweatshirts — whatever you might want to wear — over the counter beside the sink. 

You’re left only in your underwear, ready to step into the shower when he reaches forward from behind you to turn the knob on and places his fist under it to check for the temperature like he doesn’t want anything to touch you right now that might startle you. 

Your back brushes his chest and you let out a sigh without meaning to. This quiet intimacy, one which doesn’t even require any touch, helps your blood to rush faster than any amount of hot water ever could.

“Go on,” he says, softly, once the water runs hot. “I’m gonna go make some soup for you.” 

You nod, your body dwindling instantly at the loss of him. 

⸻

Mingyu watches you scarf down spoonfuls after spoonfuls of the soup he had put together haphazardly. Bundled up in his too big hoodie and sweatpants that dangle way beyond your ankles, with a towel thrown around your shoulders, trembling fingers curled over the giant ceramic bowl. 

He reaches forward to offer you another piece of bread, another ladle of soup like he hasn’t been actively fraying around the edges ever since he accidentally brushed past you in the bathroom and his heart stopped beating for a second because of how cold your skin was. 

It was like his body had sensed something ancient and made him believe — for a split second — that yours was a lifeless one, even when he knew full well that you were there. That you were moving. Breathing. 

And that singular second was the worst one he had ever lived through. 

But he doesn’t say it out loud. 

Not when you’ve only now begun looking like your usual self. Warm features soft around the edges, patches of color dusted all over your skin.

Finally, you push the bowl away. 

“I think,” you murmur, voice steadier now but still carrying the aftershocks of the cold, “if I take another bite, I might actually pass out.”

A breath of something almost like a laugh escapes him, though it doesn’t quite make it all the way. His shoulders drop a fraction, like he’s been holding himself up by sheer will this entire time and is only now remembering how to be human again.

“Good,” he says, head hanging low, “it means you’re not actively dying, at least.” 

“That would have been such an embarrassing way to go.” 

He takes the bowl away when you begin to get up and clean it, and loads it in the dishwasher instead. 

You fiddle with the giant comfy sleeves, feeling utterly useless as he walks around the kitchen, cleaning up. Hesitantly, you begin, “I can… I can text Chae to come get me. But the weather is so bad and I don’t want her to be—”

“You’re staying here tonight.” he says, back turned to you, leaving no room for arguments. “I’ll take the couch.” 

You peel your eyes away from him and towards your surroundings. That was the same living room where everything had begun falling apart, bit by bit. The same lights that cascaded upon him as he stood there in the hallway after confessing to you, lingering like he was waiting for a verdict. 

It seemed like it all happened millennials ago. 

Your breath hitches a bit when you spot the suitcases outside his bedroom, tucked neatly in the corner. 

You know how he had moved in with Dokyeom after…

Was it happening all over again with him? 

Did you cause it… trigger it this time around? 

“Mingyu,” the words slip past your lips, “are you… are you moving out again?” 

Mingyu turns around, brows knit in confusion. He follows your line of gaze and realizes. 

“No, I’m just going home for Christmas.” he explains, gently. 

Your shoulders drop, “oh.” 

“Aren’t you?”

You shake your head and he doesn’t ask further. He doesn’t need to. 

“I thought… I thought you were moving again cause of what happened here—between us, I mean.” 

His hands slow down over the counter that he’s wiping, the guilt brimming your voice weighs down on him without meaning to. 

“I told you, I like it here now. There’s peonies in my garden, good memories packed tight in these walls.”  he says eyes fixed on yours sincerely at first, but then mirth begins taking over, “not to mention, damsels turning up at my doorstep, who’d help them if the knight moved out?” 

You fix him with a glare. He smiles, mouths a small ‘kidding’ with his hands up in mock surrender. 

You don’t say anything after that. Just keep on taking small sips of warm water he had slid to you as he finishes cleaning. Up close, you can see how you’re not the only one grappling with the aftermath of this frigid night. How he seems just as affected as you are—palms gentle as they work over the harshest of stains, like he doesn’t want to make a sound and startle you, eyes that keep flickering up to the bar-stool you’re sat on just to be sure that you’re still there. Real, and not freezing. 

“Why didn’t you come to get your pendant?” you ask out of the blue. 

He wrings his hands over the sink, dabbing them with a clean towel. “I did.” 

Your forehead creases up with confusion. 

“You weren’t home,” he explains, “Chaeyoung told me you had gone for your shift at the diner.”

“Oh…” you shake your head, like someone had erased the last four hours from your brain and he’s just now reminding you. 

“I thought you’d be home by now.” He places his hands over the counter, leaning in. His gaze shifts to the giant analog clock hanging behind you, then back to you, “it’s way past ten.” 

“I would have been, an hour ago.” you nod, “if my brother didn’t ambush me outside the diner.” 

His demeanor immediately changes at that. Arms straining, brows creasing. Like a switch flipped. He takes a step closer, still careful not to crowd you, but close enough for his eyes to take in everything deeper. To look for any signs he must have missed while you were there in the bathroom that could indicate that your brother had been as much of a jerk to you as he had been to him. 

People with anger issues—men, with anger issues—aren’t exactly known for their morals, after all. 

“Did he…” he begins but can’t find it in himself to verbalize the mere thought. 

You shake your head, realizing just what conclusions he must have been arriving on. Especially after everything. 

“No—God no, he didn’t. He just wanted to argue with me,” you quickly clarify, “dad would kill him if he ever raised his hand on me.” 

He nods, relief washing over his face but his shoulders still remain tense, like his body hasn’t caught up with the assurance just yet. 

You bite your lip, hard, your eyes falling down to your twitching fingers when you add. “I’m sorry for not telling you earlier… I was afraid of—of exactly what happened. I tried to prevent it… and I swear I wasn’t the one who sent all those texts.” 

“I know,” comes his low voice, “Chaeyoung told me about Heather.” 

You don’t have to show the utter devastation on your face for him to know that you’re unravelling. He sees that in how hard you’re rubbing your skin with your thumb, like that would ignite some strength for a conversation that is bound to happen. One that has been locked away until it swelled and shattered everything that constricted it. 

You hear his soft footsteps as he comes and sits beside you, yet you still hide yourself behind your hair. He tucks it back, like parting a dark cloud to see the moon better. 

“I had no right to be cross with you for those letters when I was hiding something of this magnitude myself,” you say, voice hoarse. “I am really sorry for doubting you like that… and not giving myself the chance to trust you.” 

The words hang in there like dust settling after a whirlwind. The dishwasher hums in the background in rhythmic waves.

His thumb quivers over your fingers where he’s holding them. Nothing noticeable, just a flutter, like he just let out a breath he had been holding in for too long. 

“I wasn’t upset that you didn’t tell me about him.” he breathes, voice roughened with restraint, “I was upset that you thought you couldn’t tell me about him.” 

You finally look at him, at the hurt, the ruin, the love that still manages to seep through the cracks. 

His hands remain engulfing yours over the marble, just steadier now. 

He continues, “It meant that some part of you thought that I’d react like him if I ever found out. That I’d be mad at you over something that you didn’t choose. When the truth is… I don’t care, I wouldn’t have cared.” 

“It’s just a sport for me and he’s one of the many guys I have to play against, another moment that passes without brushing me. But you? You’re always at the back of my mind like a home I long to return to.”  

You try to blink away the sharp sting in your eyes, your chest caving with utter disbelief at the reverence he still holds for you. At the silent worship behind his eyes. 

“What happens now, Gyu?” you whisper helplessly. 

His voice is strained as he holds something back. “What do you want to happen? Because you know where I am… still in that hallway, waiting for your answer.” 

You turn to look at the spot you had left him at, then back to where he sits right now. 

For a moment, all the noise and the colors of the world fade away until only his eyes remain. There’s an ache that plunges into you the more you stare at them. The brown of them is so deep like the wet Earth that sprouts life, radiant and utterly captivating. 

Before you know it, you’re getting off your seat and walking closer to him. He welcomes you in by keeping his hands over your waist, parting his knees. You close your eyes, letting the weight of his touch ground you. 

And then—

“When I found that letter, this dark, doubtful thing shrouded the memory of the night you had first come to my dorm. I thought that if she was there, we would have never happened.” your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you admit the brief absence of your faith in the two of you, “but the truth is that right before you had knocked, I was… I was praying to the Gods I believe in. There was this ache that I couldn’t name—one that had been with me for as long as I could remember—and I desperately wanted to get rid of it.” 

Your palms come up to hold his face, “and then you were there… and I never felt that ache again. Not when I was with you, not when I was without you. Like even in your absence, something looked after me. Something that you caused.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever spoken anything with such conviction. Always second-guessing your words and your voice, always getting overwhelmed—you never thought the words that are tumbling out of your lips right now were strung by you. 

And yet here you are, in the arms of the boy you love. 

And you just can’t stop speaking. 

You bring your fingers down to tie them together with his own, like you need to be one with him, begin with him and end with him when you finally give him the answer to his confession. 

“I know that us being together means that I might lose someone I’ve cared about for as long as I have known myself.” you nod, “but that is a risk I am willing to take. Because I know whoever wrote me into this world… they wrote you in my blood, too.” your voice becomes one with your breath when you admit, “I love you, Mingyu.” 

Once he knows you’re out of words, Mingyu begins standing up to his full height, fingers still intertwined with yours like a promise. He moves slowly, so slow like he’s holding that fragile confession carefully in his palms, allowing it to seep in, allowing himself to believe that you finally said it out loud. 

You don’t shift away, letting your body press against him as if his is the weight you fall on now, stripped bare of your own. 

His lips brush over yours with such tenderness that for a moment, you forget how to breathe. Like whatever you just said took his own breath away so now he’s borrowing yours. Your fingers fall over his biceps, holding them for your dear life as your knees threaten to buckle and make you fall. As if he would let you… 

His arm snakes around the curve of your waist, just looping you close. And then, he presses his large palm over the small of your back, grounding you here—in the moment that has taken too long to happen. 

You whimper in his mouth, repeating that you love him like you can’t get enough of how those words taste on your tongue. 

And with that subtle sound, something transforms. 

Mingyu’s arms shift from your body down to the curve of your thighs and with an effortless pull, he has your feet off the ground and coiled around his hips instead. 

“I’ve been waiting so long for you to say that,” he angles his mouth, and you melt into the heat of his lips. “So long.” 

“I love you so much,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his jaw, as he carefully carries you. “I’ve never felt this belonged to anyone else.” 

He answers you with a groan, capturing your mouth again and pulling your bottom lip between his teeth. The air changes, warmed with a tantalizing charge, as his bedroom takes shape around you. Your toes curl instinctively behind his back, the memories of what happened the last time you were here binding around you in soft tendrils, intoxicating you beyond belief. 

He lowers you down on his bed so slowly, almost ceremoniously, like along with you, he’s laying his soul down—threadbare. 

All while you keep clinging on to him with your arms, your legs, your lips. One of his palms angles your head in a way so that it is steady when he kisses you harder, deeper. His tongue slides past your lips with ease, plundering everything. He is so close, so deep inside you already that it is almost like you’ve overdosed on him. 

His palms slip from your waist to press flat over your ribs, under his sweatshirt. His fingers spread over the smooth expanse of skin, mapping every inch. When you groan into his mouth, he leans more into the fierce gravity of the moment. The heat behind it is something that builds and builds until you’re burning into the shared flame. 

His lips leave yours with soft, wet sound. "Are we doing this?"

Your heart aches at how fragile it sounds. Heat creeps up your skin, settling somewhere deep and aching as you make the decision—

"Yes." you mumble, "it feels so right."

He slides the fabric over your head in a swift motion. Your hair sprawls over his mattress and a sigh breaks out of your lips like the agony of parting away from his body has been given a sound. 

But he stills at the sight. 

Because there it is, nestled over your chest as it rises and falls softly — his pendant. 

You’re still trembling, but your voice doesn’t fall short of teasing when you hook a finger around the chain, tugging at it just enough that it catches the moody light of his bedroom. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Mingyu’s gaze shifts from the locket to your flirty smile. Something dark clouds it when he leans back in, like rain succumbing to the pull of Earth. 

“She did,” he smirks, skin flushed. “But I’m gonna need it back to put it to better use.” 

The warmth between his skin and yours turns into a full-blown flame when he buries his face into the curve of your neck. You feel his lips at first and the ticklish softness of it almost makes you giggle. But the laugh breaks midway into a gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the delicate skin, breaking it just enough to leave a mark. 

Your hand flies up to his hair instinctively, pulling at the strands, but his warm tongue quickly flattens out over the bruise, leaving you moaning, withering, whimpering for more. 

"I was so scared at how cold your body was earlier," he huffs, "I wanted to hold you close until you were warm again."

"Then do that," you moan, "please touch me until I'm burning hot."

He pulls back just enough to see if you’re alright. To drink in the view of your swollen lips, blown out pupils and skin slick from sweat and saliva while he takes his own shirt off. The sweatpants are the next to go. First his, and then he helps you out of yours with careful fingers. 

When he rejoins you in the bed, there is no rush towards it. Desire hangs heavy in the air, dripping down over your bodies, turning them impossibly slick and pliant. Mingyu kisses whatever spots he can find, making you arch into him like he is coaxing a surrender out of you—one which feels would last a lifetime and then more to come. 

“I missed you,” you confess and begin getting up on your elbows, chasing his lips as he sits upright. “I missed you so much, I hated myself for everything.”

The cold slithers in from the open window behind his bed, cascading down your naked back like a cold shower and you shudder. 

Mingyu’s eyes don’t falter, so full of love and worship and hunger at the same time. His lips are parted, soft pants stumbling out with fragmented restraint as you stare up at him, wide-eyed. 

You don’t know what he intends to do when he takes your hands in his own, but you trust him so much in the moment that you don’t even care to ask. He shifts to sit against the cushioned headboard of the bed, pulling you along with little kisses on your wrists. 

“Don't say that. You’re the love of my life… you’re as much mine as you’re yours,” he says, “so you’re going to treat yourself the way I treat you. With softness, with love, and care.”

Your breath catches when you’re about to straddle his lap but his palms tighten over your waist, making you halt. 

Slowly, he turns you around so you’re sitting against him, back pressed to his chest, legs nestled over his parted ones. 

“That means,” he whispers against your ear, “you’re never going to speak to or about yourself in a way that’s hateful. You’re never going to punish your body when you’re overwhelmed.” 

His fingertips skim over the patch of skin over your hips that seems more irritated and sensitive than the rest. You often do that unconsciously—rub your skin roughly with soap, or lotion or anything in general when you want to feel centred. Only the sharp sting never really helps beyond just a few seconds. 

His voice dips as he nuzzles his nose in the curve of your neck. “You’re going to touch yourself like I touch you... like you’re someone sacred and soft at the same time.” 

You react to his words the same way you react to his touch — with eagerness and utter compliance. You shift your face to capture his lips with yours while one of his palms pauses over the swell of your breasts, squeezing it gently and savoring the moan you let out. 

“Open your legs,” he mumbles right against your mouth, his hot breath brushing against your cheek.  

A deep, scarlet blush blooms from the valley of your core all the way up to your cheeks. You just stare at him, dumbfounded, a breath hitching in your throat. 

When you don't respond immediately, he helps you out.

His hands dip down to your thighs, just smoothing over the smooth skin with warmth. And then, they press over your soft flesh, curious at first, then rather deliberate. You feel the cold air settle against the growing wetness between your folds and your back arches, body dotting with goosebumps. His fingers trace over them, like connecting constellations in the stars. 

“Just feel it,” he says, the hot tip of his tongue grazing your earlobe, “relax for me.” 

Your body follows his command like it was made to do just that. Your toes that had been curling fervently over the sheets begin to loosen up. You rest your thighs against his own, fingers hooking over his forearms while the other arm snakes behind to hold his head. 

His own arm tightens over your chest, holding you close as the fingers of his free palm begin inching closer to what throbs for him. 

“This is gonna feel a bit different than last time,” he murmurs against your temple, “but you’re already soaking wet baby. I think you’re gonna like it.” 

And like it, you do. 

The moment his thumb brushes over your clitoris, your entire body convulses with a new sensation. The rough pads of his fingers are such a stark contrast from the slick, wet heat of his mouth that you remember pressing down there a few weeks ago. He had been so eager with his lips, so hungry and insistent like he couldn’t stop suckling at your taste. But he knows there’s only so much of his large fingers that you can handle. So he starts off heartbreakingly soft, just letting your arousal coat his skin as he brushes your core with tentative knuckles. 

Your hips can’t stop bucking, eager for more as you moan into his mouth. There’s a shadow over his eyes, one that you don’t know the name of but recognize all too well. One that only bunches the knot tighter in your belly. He slips his fingers further down your slick folds, dangerously near your fluttering opening while his thumb rubs tight circles over your clit. 

“Mingyu please,” you mewl, voice breathless and aching. You drag your lips between your teeth while he just feels the bare, sensitive skin around as wetness leaks out. 

“You want more, baby?” he asks, nipping at your chin. 

You nod with all your might. 

“You want me to finger you?” he asks, and your thighs tighten around his hand, “you want your boyfriend to stretch you out?” 

Your fist curls into his hair, slumping down to hit him on the shoulder lightly. “Please…” 

“Needy,” he smiles proudly. “Then let me take care of you.”

He slides his finger into you with such delicate patience while his thumb stays teasing your nub, coaxing you to open. It wrecks you all over again. It is just a finger, slid almost halfway inside you, but you clench around it like the intrusion is too much and too little at the same time. 

“You’re doing so good my love,” he pumps it out before slipping it in further than before and you gasp, “so good.”

There’s a sudden rush in your body, one that settles like a need to open up for him more. You nudge your face under his jaw, hiding away as you shamelessly part more of him. The sounds coming out of you are so desperate, so whiny and unreal as he curls his finger within you with more intent. 

You jerk in surprise when he brushes against a specific spot in your clenching walls. Mingyu, since he hasn’t wavered his molten gaze from you for even a split second, notices it before you do. This time, he deliberately thrusts his finger towards it and you react more fiercely than before—fluttering fingers digging deep into his forearms until your nails draw blood. 

“This spot feels real good, no?” he asks, “you wanna feel that again babe?” 

“I—I don’t know.” you gasp, “I’m gonna…fuck. I—”

“Shh, baby, I know,” his fingers turn more languid now that you are fully moulded around him, soft, wet and clenching. He adds to the pleasure by slipping another finger in. 

And despite your initial premonitions about the sheer size of him and if you’d be able to take it, you don’t pull back, and instead, find yourself giving in to it. 

His fingers are all wet now, slick and warm as they pump in and out of you with a steady pace, readying you up for the inevitable finality of what would follow. You find yourself digging deeper and deeper into him, needing his steady presence as little black stars begin eating up your vision. 

“Mingyu… oh… Gyu.” your ramble, voice fragile and pitchy. Your body stiffens, at a particular thrust of his fingers and you clamp down around him when he’s about to pull out. Your thighs snap shut and a desperate cry escapes your throat. 

The orgasm that hits you is the kind that lingers in its intensity. One that makes you forget who you are, where you are other than a rattling mess in your boyfriend’s lap. One that consumes your body and devoids it of any sensation of heat or cold or sweat or slick. Just pleasure. Pure and raw and one that has you rolling over, along with him, face pressed down into his mattress. 

His grip over you remains firm, even as you fall down from his lap. Fingers working the spent out core, drawing more of what you think is all drained out already. 

Your cries are muffled into his pillows, hair sticking all over your skin.

You’re overwhelmed by just how far he takes you, but when he begins to slow down and draw them out, you find yourself clenching around nothing for more. 

You hear the sound of his approved groan as he brings his fingers to his mouth, and wraps his lips around them, sucking at them for all their worth. Your eyes clasp shut at the mere imagination of what that might look like right now—you, lying on your stomach, legs curled and fists gripping the comforter. A total mess. While he looms over you, tasting you off his fingers like you are the most delicious thing he has ever had on his tongue. 

You lift your head up, looking over your shoulder to find him already staring at you with eyes that burn with intense devotion. Your limbs feel like putty, yet you somehow manage to turn yourself around. 

“I want more of you,” you whisper, voice sober and steady. “I want it all tonight.” 

Your cheeks heat up as soon as you voice your carnal thoughts out loud. But there’s nothing you would do to take them back. You want him to hear it from you… you need him to know that you want this, as desperately as he does. 

Mingyu’s eyes lock with yours and he leans in. His forehead presses against yours, and you open your legs once more, inviting him in. Only this time, when his hips press firmly to yours, sunken over your curves, you feel the big, rock-hard length as it pulses for you in need. You squirm, and end up rolling your heat directly against it. His palm flattens over the pillow with such ferocity when you do that, that you nearly flinch. 

“Sure about that?” he asks, barely holding himself back. It doesn’t feel cocky when he says that, not teasing at all. But like he wants you to know very well just what you’re asking from him and if you think you will be able to take it. 

“I am,” you kiss him sure like you are not actively unravelling. 

“You’re so soft,” he kisses the pendant gathered between your breasts, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.” You shake your head, eyes pleading, “Remember? I was made for you.”

Mingyu’s lips part to let out a sound that is borderline pathetic. You have no idea how he was able to hold himself back until now. Because the moment those words are said out loud, he is scurrying to adjust the pillows around you, gently laying you down upright against them like he has mapped this exact moment several times in his head. He has lived it. He has made it happen. 

You look up at him and instantly flush. He is so much bigger than you—not just in size. But the air of him. The way he looks so ruined and devoted ogling every single detail of you, overdosing on you. And yet, so ready to take more of you. Because when it comes to you, you don’t think Mingyu has a saturation point. If he could, he would hollow himself out just to make more room for you. 

Your fingers trail down over the hard ridges over his abdomen, feeling how they strain and move when he begins taking his boxers off, peeling them away like the last thread of whatever kept you tethered away from him. Not once do his eyes falter from you, watching every small gasp, every pinch of blush, the little creases in your forehead as he bares himself for you. 

Your throat tightens, not with fear, but at the realization of just how much you want this. 

He doesn’t have to ask you to part your legs for him this time, they spread open on their own. There’s waves of heat crashing in your belly, the kind that can only be tamed by his touch and whatever more he gives you. His chest heaves as he begins coating himself up with you, heavy and rigid against your fluttering folds. 

“Breathe,” he asks, and you follow, instantly feeling how your quivering thighs relax. 

He lines himself up against your entrance with great constraint before looping an arm around your waist to station you in place. He brushes your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead, kissing your head once before mumbling. “You’re gonna tell me if anything isn’t right, okay?” 

You nod, gaze fixed upon where your bodies meet. And then you look at his face, and nod again. 

“Good girl.” 

Stars burn behind your eyes, low and slow and bubbling, when he begins sinking inside of you. You feel every single throbbing inch, every bit of control as it slips the deeper he buries himself inside of you, his chest humming as he groans in pleasure at the pressure. Your nose is pressed close to the pulse of his neck which goes wild as he hilts inside of you, letting you get accustomed to the size, to the very feel of something so big and hard buried between your legs, 

The pain laced with pleasure is something that you can breathe through. But you have no idea how to hold the amount of love that seeps out of this moment. Thick and living… you don’t know how to breathe around it. 

“Are you okay baby?” his voice has to cut through the headiness to reach you while he stays inside you, unmoving. 

“Yes… God, yes.” you squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to preserve the feeling of this sacred act forever in your mind as you hug his shoulders. 

“I’m gonna move.” he pants, voice roughened like it has been dragged through gravel. “You feel so good baby, so beautiful like this… so tight and warm.” 

You don’t know the slew of praises isn’t just his heart being laid open, but also a distraction as he slowly begins pulling out only to gently thrust back in. Each time, he halts a little, like he wants to soak in everything before he eventually lets himself burn away by the open flame that takes form in whatever little space is there between the two of you.

You close that gap for him when your pain subsides in dull waves and you coil your arms tighter around his ribs, nails dragging through his skin like you’re carving your name in wet soil. 

Whatever he had been holding back doesn’t snap, it melts away. 

“You’re so perfect,” he grunts, “I could do this forever.”

Your head swims when he says that, because the truth is, you would too. Now that you’ve tasted what this feels like… what being with him, in every sense of those words, means, you don’t want to let go of him ever.

He dips his head to kiss the pendant you’re wearing, and then to taste the sweat on your chest by pressing his tongue flat over your nipples, making you latch onto his hair. 

His movements become slicker between your legs, more fluid and consistent as your tightness loosens up. He doesn’t talk you through it, he carries you. Makes you swim in it. He holds you when you arch your back and whimper at the sting of him colliding with that same spot.  

Your body is putty in his hands—soaked and pulsating, eager to be moulded. When he hooks his palm at the back of your knee, and lifts it to loop it over his hip, the friction begins to build. 

You turn your head just enough to kiss him, to thank him as your body begins to respond to his movements with desperate attempts of its own. Each time he pulls out, you clasp around him like a vice, calling him back. The louder you moan his name, the tighter his grip over your skin gets, leaving imprints like reminders of the night where you lost it all to him and yet you feel victorious. 

There’s hot tears streaming down your face, getting lost in his skin as you hide away into him when his pace quickens unintentionally. He keeps on overstimulating that sensitive spot, his cock only seems to harden and grow heavier with need the more you clench around it, he groans so loud that you feel it right against your chest. It is too much… too much for you to endure any longer without giving him whatever it is that he is after. 

“I can’t believe you’re my first.” you blurt out, head falling back, “you’re so… so big. It is too much.” 

He can’t help the chuckle that breaks out of him, but he does slow down. “Better?” 

“Fuck, no!” you cry out, “why did you… Mingyu, go harder.” 

“But you just said that it was too much—”

“Didn’t tell you to stop,” you keen as he begins picking pace, “I meant you have a huge, fat dick that is splitting me open! But it feels good.” 

“Shit…” his movements falter, getting more erratic, “what has gotten into you?” 

“I don’t know, I can’t stop speaking tonight.” you cry, you actually cry. 

He muffles those cries between his own lips and begins thrusting in you shamelessly harder. Not aiming for his own pleasure but to heighten whatever it is that is making you lose it all like this. 

His fingers snake between your bodies, beginning to imitate what he did earlier by tracing circles over your clitoris and that is all it takes to have you crashing. 

“Fuck baby, yes… just like that. Come on lose it all for me, I’m right here.” he grunts. 

And even though he had not given much thought to his own release, since all his attention had been focused solely on the girl of his dreams moaning and thrashing in his arms, he knows he’s not going to last long. Not when you’re so perfect and tight and clenching as you come around him, soaking him. Not when you keep on repeating his name like a broken record. Not when you still don’t push him away, and instead only hug him close like you need him to come as much as he had starved to see you experience that release. 

An absolute, aching need vibrates through every inch of him as the want builds within him in hot and thick and absolutely unbearable waves. 

“Fuck… baby, I think—I think I’m gonna…” 

You’re still midway through your orgasm, body arching off the sheets to press tight around him, when he jerks into you with a shattered gasp. As if your own release wasn’t gut-wrenching enough, his is the one that sends you absolutely over the edge. 

You forget how to breathe normally, like your body is making room to hold whatever he has given you. He slumps over you, forehead pressed against yours as he trembles. “I’m sorry… I should have warned you.” 

Your thumb feels heavy when it comes up to feel the warm skin of his face. “It’s okay, I wanted it.” 

He blinks his eyes open, they don’t seem as wild anymore. Glazed with reverence and love. He carefully slides himself out of you. The sound of wet skin and the loss of his hardness make you bury your face into your palms. But he tenderly holds them, and removes them one by one until your beautiful, weary face is visible to him again. 

He kisses your lashes, your cheeks, your lips, the marks he has left all over your chest and neck. But this time, they don’t feel like they are leading up to something. Just undoing. Like taking off your clothes after a long, hot day. 

The sensation between your legs is something that you’ve never felt before. It seeps out—the evidence of the moment that just unfurled, like love given a shape—in thick, slow drips. You try to clench around it with shyness, wanting to tuck it away in secret, but Mingyu’s eyes are there, surveying whatever has happened. 

Your own eyes trail down to his hips and the sight devastates you—there’s a glimmer of red slick on his skin… your blood… coating him. 

“Beautiful…” he mumbles, thumbs rubbing warmth over your hips, “everything about you is so beautiful. Even this—especially this.” 

You don’t know what happens now — are you supposed to go take a shower? Are you supposed to stay here and continue to squirm, overstimulated and overwhelmed while he says things that destroy your sanity?

You don’t know, but you choose to believe him to get you through it. 

He kisses your knuckles, promises you that he’ll be right back while you let your body weigh down on his bed, breathless and spent. Heavier than you first laid on it. Fuller with love and all the feelings you didn’t know you’d get addicted to on the very first try.  

You fix your gaze at his ceiling, filing how you never really noticed the colour of it. Like everything just fades into swirls of pinks and reds when he's hovering above you with that charming smile and lovestruck eyes.

Your ears catch the faint sound of running water in his bathroom, the soft open and shut of the wooden door and you wait for it to hit — the notorious, post-sex dread. One that crushes in everyone’s gut, especially the first time. One that almost everyone has told you to prepare well for. 

Only in your case, it doesn’t. 

Not even a sliver of regret. Just gratitude and security. Like this had been the most natural thing to have ever happened. As easy as falling in love, as beautiful as the first ray of sunshine on a cold winter morning. Especially with him. 

He comes back clothed in clean sweatpants, clutching a few things while his lips are set in that soft, assuring smile. One that tells you that he has got you from here. Your lids feel heavy, droopy with sleep and exhaustion. But you don’t let them close fully, worried that if you miss out even a single second of this, it might slip into something that is almost a dream. 

But it’s not. 

It is real. 

He is real. 

His hands, gentle and slow as they help you clean up, are real. His words, full of tenderness and truth about his love for you, are real. The way he presses a kiss into the blood-stained sheet while keeping his charged eyes on you is real. 

You close your eyes and swallow everything that has been thickening in your throat, hoping that'll keep it all in. But it doesn't... and you cry... and cry.... and cry some more into his arms, mumbling confessions, promising eternities until his own eyes well up.

⸻

“You always wear this.” you murmur sometime into the night when he has you lying on his chest, your fingers fiddling with his Aries locket that you had clasped back around his neck while he washed your shoulders. “Can’t believe you let me take it away from you that day.” 

He slots you closer, “I trusted you to take care of it.”

“You did that with your heart too,” you snort, “how did that go?” 

He doesn’t miss a beat when he answers in your air, “Phenomenal. Wouldn’t change a thing about that.” 

The night is so dark, the air full of the kind of cold that makes room for nothing. And yet, not cold or dark enough to crack his words as they sink deep into your skin.

Because that is the thing between the two of you, it always survives through everything that tries to crush it. As though whoever made him for you and you for him stitched the marrow of your ribs to his, threading your two lives together across the long fabric of eternity.

EPILOGUE: elle woods. mother.

A year later. 

You straddle his waist without another thought, the impossibly gossamer night-dress from Cass's latest collection rides up your thighs. You’ve had enough. 

Who the fuck sleeps until two in the afternoon on a beautiful, sunny winter day that is all gold and silver all at once? 

Oh yes, your boyfriend who stumbled in exhausted at midnight, mumbling apologies that weren’t his to make. It’s not entirely his fault that he is so good at the job… being competent doesn’t mean his managers should load all the important projects up on him. 

Your blood boils at the mere thought of such blatant workplace abuse disguised as favouritism and stacked up with praise. 

Mingyu is too naive to see it, you reckon.

But now that you have the means to save him, you best believe you are going to. 

“We have a flight to catch tonight,” you remind him when he begins to stir, “I’m not going to pack your shit, it stresses me out.” 

“Mhmm, five more minutes.” he gruffs, voice thick with sleep. But his hands grab your waist, fully intending to do what he does every morning—take you into his arms and snuggle you close until you’re a breathless heap of sweat covered in his disgusting kisses and mortifying hickies that take twenty minutes to conceal. 

“Don’t turn me around, I have stuff in my hands!” you yelp out and his eyes shoot open. 

Mingyu’s glee is unsuppressable when the first thing he sees this morning, and almost every morning since you moved in together in the city, is your grinning face. 

Only there is… something borderline evil lurking under that grin at the moment. 

You wriggle your eyebrows at him and by the time his attention shifts to what it is that you’re holding in your hand, you’re pinning his hands together above his head. 

Now in theory, this should never work. Because the size and the strength difference between the two of you is something that even a mildly observant pigeon that lives above your AC could clock from across the street. 

Mingyu could bench press your entire existence along with your emotional baggage and still have room left over for a protein shake.

And yet…

He doesn’t move.

Not a twitch. Not a flex. Not even a half-hearted attempt to reclaim his dignity.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a bit terrified. 

“Dolling you up,” you shake the makeup palette you bought after your brunch with Misty earlier during the day. It is full of lilacs and glitters and sticky stars.

Mingyu groans, but does little to remove you from above him or resist when you inevitably begin clicking the box open and dab the clean brush over the pigment that glitters the most. 

“I haven’t even washed my eyes,” he complains. 

“You would have had to wash them again anyways after I tested this out on you.” 

He fakes a gasp, “I’m not your guinea pig.” 

“Nope,” you reply, “you’re my emotional support golden retriever.” 

“Does this mean I don’t have to pack?” 

“You do,” you blow air over the excess product. “You’re gonna have to speedrun that, unfortunately.” 

“Why can’t we just stay here?” his hands come up to hug your waist. 

“Because I was the reason you couldn’t go home for Christmas last year, Gyu. And I feel guilty.” 

The memories of this time, last year, flash across your mind as you continue lathering him up with colors and shimmer. All the slushies and the hailstorm had finally caught up with you and you had woken up in his bed coughing and hot skinned. 

'Looks like you did touch me until I was burning up,' you had joked, referring to what you had said under uncontrolled lust the night before, red nose hidden behind the teas he was serving you like you were the Queen.

You still remember how worried he had gotten, afraid that he did, in fact, made you sick somehow by having sex—making love, as he insists you call it— with you, even after you had assured him it was just the flu. 

And even when you resisted the idea of already upsetting your inevitable in-laws, he had cancelled his flight home at once and had Chaeyoung move your stuff in with him. The stuff that didn’t see its way back to your dorm ever because you moved in with him for the rest of your last term at Uni. 

You had spent Christmas wrapped in a blanket burrito on his couch, giving him instructions on how to play it as he fiddled around with your guitar to sing you your favorite carolls in his raspy voice.

And then, he had given you the gift he got for you. 

A necklace, with a pink pearl pendant, like the one you had stolen the sketch of from his house. But that wasn’t just it, because when you looked at the jewellery closely, at the little charms that hung around the pearl like little guards, you had broken your ‘no-contact-while-sick’ rule and showered him with kisses all night. It was all musical notes and mathematical signs. 

It had been so perfect—he had been so perfect. But you felt so guilty of hoarding all his love for yourself. 

So this time around, after spending a very tense Thanksgiving dinner with your parents at your house where your brother kept on staring daggers at him, you had decided to take a much needed breather for the holidays. 

As you test out the last shade over his lid, you think that Mingyu has fallen back to sleep under you. His hands around you have grown looser, heavier and his chest rises and falls in a relaxed rhythm. 

You let out a deep breath, kissing the little pout that’s always there when he sleeps and slowly get off of him. As you shut the curtains close, to stop the afternoon sun from seeping in and allowing him some more hours of rest, a polaroid strip taped over the wall falls off. 

The pictures of you and your friends from your first night here in this apartment. Friends from Uni who could make it, acquaintances from your job at the non-profit and his architectural firm, your neighbors who always share it with the two of you whenever they cook adobo. Even Betsy and Bartholomew, who kept on giving you both sly smiles like they had predicted the night ages ago.   

You walk over to pick it up, rip a new strip of tape and stick it back where it was—right above the housewarming gift from Seungcheol and Chaeyoung, a slightly crooked wooden frame with pictures of everything that had mattered during Uni. The first game they won as a team. The dorm-room you had shared with Chae, littered with soft, pink blankets and plushies that got so mixed up you had no way of telling which ones were yours and which ones were the ones she’d buy excessively. The night of your final gig at the diner which also was the last game that the team ever played and won under Mingyu’s captaincy. Teaching Misty how to drive as her nails dug into your arms. Jihyo getting ready for the first date with Rosalie, the girl she liked. The dramatic funeral that Mingyu had put together for your broken umbrella.

You had never thought your life would ever feel so full. Not at least until he had knocked at your door. That there would never again be a moment where you’d feel alone. Where you’d feel like you were a misfit trying to slot yourself into a world that was too loud. 

But life has such ways of smoothing itself out.

You don’t know when you began humming it while checking your luggage, but by the time you reach the chorus of ‘there is a light that never goes out’ by the Smiths, Mingyu’s groggy voice joins you to sing, “and if a double decker bus, crashes into us,”

“To die by your side,” you continue, arms locked behind your back as you face him, “is such a heavenly way to die.” 

“And if a ten-tonne truck,”

“You’re a ten-tonne truck!” 

“..kills the both of us...”

“Okay enough singing about death.” you scold. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love hearing you sing?”

“You have, every time you even catch me humming.” you roll your eyes, “enough flattery, now pack your bag.” 

He manages to peel himself off the burrow of sheets, but exhibits no intentions of doing anything further. Not unless you give him his morning kiss. Of course. 

Once you pad closer to him, it’s only a matter of time before he begins clinging on to you again. 

“You look ridiculous,” you say, wiping the makeup off his eyes while actively dodging his grabby palms. “What will they say if you ever show up with me like this?” 

“My family? They’re more liberal than you give them credit for.” 

“No silly,” you rest your palms over his naked shoulders, balancing yourself over the floor which never seems to not give out whenever you say it out loud, “the people at Harvard.” 

Mingyu blinks, like he’s still contemplating if he’s asleep. “The who at what now?” 

You bite your lips, barely containing the giggle in your voice when you tell him, “I got my acceptance letter this morning.” 

Mingyu doesn’t react right away. For a split second, there’s just silence. The kind that stretches so thin it almost snaps. Then, he sits up straighter, eyes finally focusing on you, really focusing this time, like he’s trying to read every micro-expression on your face. 

“You got into Harvard Law.” he states with utter admiration, like he is explaining himself a dream he saw in fragments. 

And then his hands are on your face, your shoulders, your arms—like he needs to confirm you’re real, that this is real—and then he’s pulling you into him so suddenly you squeal, nearly losing your balance as he buries his face into your neck and lifts you up, twirling you around.

"You got into Harvard Law!"

You laugh, a little breathless now, fingers curling into his hair. “What? Like it’s hard?” 

“God this is surreal,” he finally puts you down, tucking your hair behind your ears while keeping his hand cupped around your soft cheeks. “You worked so hard for it… I am so proud of you, baby.”

Your lips quiver a little when you whisper, clenching your fingers behind his head, “Can you imagine me in court? People will have to shut up and listen to me, no matter how slow my voice is.”

He lets out a soft laugh at that, but it isn’t teasing—not really. It’s warm, reverent almost, like he’s already picturing it. “I can… I absolutely can. And you would be so perfect there too.” 

“And I’m gonna pile lawsuits after lawsuits over your firm.” 

He fakes being surprised, “what did they do to deserve that?” 

“Kept my boyfriend away from me?”

“Boyfriend…I’d never get tired of the sound of it.” he lies, knowing full well that he would drop that title for a better one in a heartbeat… that a ring he knows would perfectly fit over your fingers is encased in a purple, velvet box, warming the inner pockets of his coat. 

But it can wait.

He can wait.

For you… forever. 

.

.

fin.

so this was like 70k words of bullshit.

n e ways, ive always wanted to use the word bartholomew in my fic lmfao

yk what time it isssssss....me attaching all the memes and moodboards for this fic ehehehe

serious things first, the moodboard (this does nawt represent how y/n HAS TO look like, i hope i was inclusive in my writing, i've been trying my best to be. i mostly make moodboards that are a bit self insert skjnkerbgke GUILTYYYY)

2. how y/n was moving after that breakup:

3. biblically accurate misty: (its vape girl from euphoria)

thinking about how the girl from my fic normal people would just lie through her teeth whenever she'd get overstimmed meanwhile this one just shuts up stone cold or blurts out bullshit through most of this story lmao i love my girlies with abhorrent communication skills

also, whoever ever hated on my girl from this fic, JUST KNOW THAT HER MOST PLAYED SONG EVERY YEAR UNTIL SHE MET MINGYU WAS LIABILITY BY LORDE I HOPE U FEEL BAD ABOUT YOURSELF NOW I WROTE HER FOR MY OVERSENSITIVE YOUNGER SISTERS ESPECIALLY THE LESSER LOVED TWINS

BYEEEEEE

tags@gyuiebabie @lavendersunfloooooower @fzenn @mmerleu @junniesoleilkth

@woo-wonwoo @meowchella @yoongihan @berry-s-stuff @slut4kwon

@bramos91 @fzenn @haobaobaei @lilylikesthat @eskoupe

@honglynights @vwintershire @mellowamour @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits @J3nnch3ls3a @princessjazzyjazz @livelaughloveseventeen

@sousydive @izzyy-recs @livmarauder @vwintershire @cherrymayz @novalpha

@gyuiebabie @lavendersunfloooooower @gyugyu97 @sadgirlroo @marshmallowywine

@allmyl0ve17 @avchannie @kpxxxp

CHAPTER 14: you were made for me

The smell of smoke and wet grass clings to your skin like the only good memory of the night by the time you come back inside. As promised, Mingyu is standing right by the glass door that separates the house from the yard, talking absent-mindedly to someone from the team. His eyes remain fixed on you as you step closer and closer, like they never left—even through the little meltdown, through the conversation with Jihyo, through the first drag that made you cough. 

He leaves the conversation midway with a tap on the guy’s arm, and crosses the room with long, urgent strides. Like the space between the two of you had been unbearable to him. 

“Hey,” he says, careful and soft, his thumb brushing off a strand of grass from your hair, “you okay now?” 

Up close, you can see it all. The worry, the regret, the restraint as his eyes search for something in your eyes that he’s scared he might miss. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning closer. 

Your fingers slip into his own almost instinctively, like they had been aching to return home. 

It is such a small gesture, but it doesn’t slip past him. His gaze drops to your intertwined arms, then back onto your eyes like watching you reach for his comfort wrecks him like no other. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry this happened.”

Your chest tightens, “Mingyu, it wasn’t our fault.” 

“I know,” he nods, licking his lips, “but I just wanted you to have fun here tonight. You are always so busy and I just… I thought this might ease you up a bit.”

“It did. I loved meeting your friends.” You squeeze his fingers shakily, “I wasn’t here for the party. I was here for you.” 

Mingyu tries to speak, but no words come out. He just stares at you—-the glassy eyes rimming red, the coat engulfing you whole, the glitter that you were so excited about which is nearly all smudged now like the night wiped it off you... and you let it. 

He looks hard to find the girl who had just last week sleepily admitted to him that she didn’t like being alone in the dorms. That she wanted to make newer friends other than her roommate but felt that it was too late and didn’t know where to start. 

He had been perplexed when you said, ‘maybe I’m just a bit boring,’ like you weren’t everything to him. Like he didn’t give his all during all his practices and drills because the idea of coming back to you tired and unguarded was the only thing that kept him going. He had wanted to prove you wrong, wanted to show you just how shallow all this noise was. How these invitations, these appearances—they really didn’t matter. 

But not like this. 

God, never like this. 

So when you ask him, with a voice so small, “can we go home?” he sucks in a shuddering breath and nods eagerly. 

“Of course baby.” 

His hand finds your waist again, guiding you through the crowd that has begun thickening along with the night. He doesn’t cling closer to you like he needs your perfume to breathe, he doesn’t mash you into his side like he did before. This time, he gives you space and ensures everyone else does too. 

The tension in your body dissipates the moment the door to his car shuts. You slump unceremoniously against the plush leather, undoing your boots and pulling your knees up. 

Mingyu doesn’t start the engine right away.

He just lets you be.

The silence in the car isn’t the kind that presses down on you, but one that holds you. One that tells you that you can shut your brain off now. 

“You can lie down if you want to.” he says quietly, glancing at you.

You shake your head. “Just stay like this for a second.”

Without thinking, he lifts his hand from the wheel to rest it over your thigh—warm, grounding, heavy. His thumb moves slowly, absent-mindedly, tracing small circles against your skin like he’s reassuring himself that you’re really here. 

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks. “Or I can cook at home.” 

“I was craving some pizza…” you mutter, a bit embarrassed. 

“Pizza it is,” he gives you a soft smile, brushing your heating cheeks once with his knuckles before finally pushing the engine to start. 

⸻

Mingyu gets the largest slices with your favorite toppings from the campus’s pizzeria just before it is about to close off for the night. You wait behind him as he pays in exact change before loading it up with a generous tip for the freshmen in-charge who had rolled his eyes when you both walked in this late. 

The guy's eyes widen at the bill, flitting across the two of you. It is obvious that he’s only surprised because of what he’s being paid, yet, your mind plays tricks, making you assume that he’s judging you.

And without even intending to, you shrink. 

By now, you are a bit used to the attention that comes along with dating Mingyu. So it is not unnatural when even the weekend partygoers, no matter how drunk they are, do a double take when they spot him and his car.

Yet, tonight, you feel their gazes scraping at your skin instead of gliding over it. 

Not admiration, not curiosity. Just eyes. That’s all that your brain reduces them to at this moment. 

Your fingers shiver around the warm box as you give him a reassuring smile once you’re back in the car. You don’t know after spending so much of them on him and Jihyo, how many more such smiles are left within you. 

Because the truth is, it is hard pretending that you’re not completely unravelling. 

That you’re unaffected by what happened earlier at the party. 

The lewd remark, the insult that landed like hot lava on your skin—it is impossible for you to shut all the memories that they pulled out of the pockets of your mind that you had sealed tight a long time ago. 

You only manage to take a few bites of the pizza before it begins threatening to come up. 

You shove it back down, making some excuse about eating it later at home and dusting the crumbs off his seat. 

“It’s okay baby, I’ll clean it up later.” Mingyu says, watching you rub a napkin aggressively over the seat and the dashboard.

Yet you insist.

“My brother would always get mad if I spilled food in his car.” you explain. 

“You have a brother?” Mingyu gives you a confused laugh, eyes flickering from the road and onto you, “how come I never knew that?” 

You just bite your lip, giving him a half-shrug as the color drains off your face. Your fingers go tight over the hem of your coat. 

“He’s older than me.” you offer the half-hearted truth, hoping that’ll cancel out what you're not telling him. 

Mingyu just nods, like he has made peace with your deflections when it comes to your family. He gets it… not everyone gets along with their folks well, and he knows never to push that boundary—especially with you.

By the time you reach his home, the sky has dissolved into a sea of deep violet.

The hallway lights flicker in slow blinks like even they are tired of just how long this night is. 

Mingyu holds the bag of pizza in one hand, and you in his other, like he is afraid that if he lets you go again, you’ll slip further away from him. He somehow manages to unlock the door without taking his hand away from you. 

You don’t know if he can sense it— all the jagged edges of whatever broke inside you tonight. 

The way he keeps on checking in on you, with pained eyes and careful hands, it feels like he can. 

He flips a switch on and the warm yellow swallows the darkness. Giant cardboard boxes—some open, some taped shut—litter most of his drawing room. He is in the process of moving back in his apartment from Dokyeom’s place. 

The air inside is somehow colder tonight. 

“Shit, I forgot to close the windows before leaving,” he mumbles, carefully moving between the cartons to close it as the curtains flap wild. 

“I…uh, I’ll go take a shower,” you call out from behind him before he can turn around and see you—really see you and the devastation that is slowly beginning to seep out of your chest and onto your face. 

He nods, giving you a small smile over his shoulder, “I’ll get some clean clothes for you.”

⸻

The mirrors in his bathroom mock you more than they reflect you. 

And you see it then—the smudged glitter, the desperation, the too-bright rhinestones trying to hide away the sad, sullen girl with the slowest voice that you actually are. 

You lean your hands over the sink, observing her more carefully. Your eyes drop down to the clothes, and you don’t know if you want to put the coat back on and hide them forever or rip them off. 

Your fingers clench over the marble, knuckles turning white. 

‘I know desperation when I see it.’

You take the clothes off, letting them fall down on the tiled floor with silent swooshes. Maybe if they get wet and ruined, you’ll have a proper excuse to throw them away. 

‘Don’t wanna fuck an obvious whore anyways.’

You turn the shower on, not even waiting for it to run hot before stepping in. 

All the shimmer begins melting off under the scalding shower, slithering down the drain in bright purple streaks like a skin you put on that didn’t fit but maligned you instead. 

Your fingers move up to your throat, the pads brushing the spots that had once bruised after a similar night that happened years ago. Violet. Cold. The winter-formal at your high-school when your date had gotten too aggressive while making out with you in his car, trying to push your head down even when you kept saying no. And when he finally let go of you after you had pushed him with all your might, he said he wasn’t going to force you; he just couldn’t hear your low voice over the music. 

You had worn something similar that night too. Red, shiny, bright. 

‘And if you didn’t want it, then why are you dressed like that?’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Have some self-respect and don’t make me say it.’

Once you’ve scrubbed it all off, only the scent of his soap remains. 

You blink down in the pool that has gathered near your feet. 

You see her then— the girl who had indeed been desperate. Who had searched her closet for the most alluring top she owned, looked for the tiniest skirt that could fit her, browsed the internet to find the tinsel, the glitter, the makeup, the accessories that’d match. 

You had been needy, yes. 

But only for him. 

For his eyes. 

Because tonight… tonight you had thought would be the one where you’d finally give in. 

You had seen how his touch would never stay with possession, it would always linger. The heat curling in his eyes whenever you’d pull apart after kissing him, like he wanted to chase you down and do it all over again. How his fists would tighten like he had to physically restrain himself from grabbing you. 

Or how he’d just look at you… completely ruined and owned like he was witnessing all his prayers being answered whenever you’d as much as even smile at him. 

And though you had never been as open and expressive as him when it came to it, you had thought tonight you’d show him just how much you had desired him too. 

So you had spent so much time getting ready, putting on something that made you look deceptively cute. 

It wasn’t all just for him, at least not initially. 

Since you were a little girl, you always loved things that sparkled and whenever you’d look at the pretty girls on TV, you’d always think how you would do your makeup like them—loud and bold—when you grew up. 

You never had the guts to do that, not until tonight. 

But now, it all feels like a cheap attempt at garnering his attention. 

You wrap a clean towel around yourself, hoping it’ll swallow you whole. You crouch down to look for a garbage bag under his sink and stuff the top and skirt in the opaque, black plastic, leaving it under there to deal with later in the morning. 

Outside, on his bed, Mingyu has laid down the clothes you left when you last hung-out with him here. 

You had excused it off by saying it’s good to have a pair of your clothes here just in case. When in reality, you knew you had been gearing up for the morning after a night that was bound to happen. 

Only now, it embarrasses you. 

Of course Mingyu would have sensed exactly what you were doing, he’s not a fool. 

And it shames you more than it would have excited you. 

You hurriedly put your underwear on but ignore your sweater he has laid out. And instead, you rummage his drawer for one of his worn hoodies. 

When you find the navy one with his initials stitched over the collars, you instantly put it on. 

It smells like him— like worn down citrus and icy cedar and lavender-scented soap. The giant sleeves conceal your trembling fingers and the hem flutters halfway past your thighs. 

You suck in a shuddering breath, wiping your eyes with his sleeves and praying that they’re not swollen red when he knocks at the door. 

“Yeah, you can come in,” you manage to squeak, worrying if he can even hear it. 

The door opens gently, like even the hinges are trying not to startle you.

Mingyu steps in slowly, careful, his presence filling the space without overwhelming it. His eyes find you immediately and then soften, something in his expression loosening the moment he sees you in his hoodie instead of anything else.

“Hey,” he murmurs. It’s quieter than before. Not cautious, just… closer. “I warmed the remaining pizza if you wanna eat it now.” 

You shake your head, not facing him. Instead, you busy yourself with rubbing his warm lotion over your legs with the same aggressiveness you were wiping his seats with. 

“Something to drink then?” 

“No.” you choke.

His gaze lingers for a second too long, taking in the damp strands of your hair as they stick to the raw skin of your cheeks, the way the sleeves swallow your hands, the faint redness around your irises that you tried so hard to hide. Just how sensitive your skin looks, like you rubbed it too harshly under scalding water. 

And he doesn’t call it out. Doesn’t ask questions that would make it worse.

He just walks towards you, sits by your side on the bed and pulls your legs into his lap, not at once, but slowly guiding them there. 

He takes the lotion away from you and squeezes some of it over his own palms, rubbing them together to melt it a bit before massaging it into your calves with gentle, grounding fingers. 

His eyes don’t stray further from your knees— not towards your face to seek some sort of applause, or towards the rest of your much exposed body. 

Just your legs, rubbing warmth in them with his sure palms—even the crevices between your toes, the soles, the ankles. 

The reverence of it all makes you feel like you aren't living in the same world that you were a few moments ago. 

“Mingyu,” you whisper before you can control yourself, “do you think I’m too easy?” 

His fingers stall.

And finally, he looks up at you only to find you looking absolutely wrecked—lips parted, breaths shallow, eyes hollow and pleading. 

It is a sight that pains him like someone broke his ribs one by one and left him to die under the sun. 

“No.” 

That’s all he says, like a question like that can be answered by that singular word alone. 

Like it doesn’t need any frantic explanation and examples. 

You nod, retrieving your legs away from his lap. He lets you go, watching as you pull at your sleeves further and stretch the hoodie until it’s covering your knees. 

He takes a deep breath, his palm resting heavy over the mattress between your bodies. 

“You know what I felt when I saw you tonight?” he asks. 

You lift your chin up, just slightly. 

“I felt happy. Not surprised, not confused. Just happy, and warm. Because you looked,” he pauses, like he’s struggling to put his memories into words, “you looked so excited, nervous and beautiful all at once. Like you were trying something new, and you were trying it with me.”

His palm slides over the smooth expanse of the white sheet. You drop your hand down to let him hold it and shift closer on your knees until you’re curled up on his lap. 

Your fingers hook over the collar of his shirt and you bury your face in his chest, just breathing his scent in more than the air. 

He wraps his arms over your waist, interlocking them over your hip to hold you close. “And baby, I was so proud. Not because of how you looked or what you wore, but because you let yourself do what you wanted to. That’s so brave.” 

“I felt like I made a fool of myself,” you whisper, squirming away because you realise you’re crying, and you don’t want to get his shirt wet. “There were people who laughed when he said that.”

But Mingyu doesn’t let you run away like that because his palm is up in your head, pressing you back close…making you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“You know the deal with guys like that?” he says, lightly kissing your hair, “They’re weak. They have got nothing going on for themselves. Men are so fucking insecure and uncreative. So whenever they see something beautiful that’s not for them or from them, they either want to own it or destroy it.” 

Your breath hitches. 

“Baby, you didn’t let him do any of that… you showed him how worthless he was, which is why he stooped so low. And I know you’ve heard this from Jihyo and you know it for yourself, but I wanna say it again… nothing you did caused it.” 

You blink up at him, only to find him already looking down at you like your gravity had pulled and chained him there forever. 

And for the first time in this entire night, your heart finally decides to settle in its place. 

You pull at his collar, just lightly, but he instantly succumbs and kisses you. Soft, slow, gentle…almost tentative, like he understands the sheer tenderness of this moment and doesn’t want to rush it, doesn’t want to steal your breath away. 

But he does. 

Because right against your lips, he murmurs, “I know you love getting ready, baby. The way your eyes light up when you’re telling me about the things Cass made for you. The efforts that you put in lining your eyes every morning…all the shades of maroon gloss that you carry in your purse. I love seeing it all. Please don’t let a drunk bastard take that away from me.” 

No one has ever seen you like this, no one has gauged your interests with the depth that he does. 

And that alone makes you forget your own name. 

“I won’t,” you promise him with a broken sob, “I swear I won’t.” 

This time, you are the one who initiates the kiss. Hot, hungry, desperate— and no longer ashamed of it. 

He follows your lead with an awed reverence, like it is an honor to have you lose it all like this on his lap right now. 

“I never wanna let you go.” you confess, your fingers tightening over his hair with a claim. 

And you mean it. 

“Good thing,” he exhales, “cause I’m not going anywhere either, babe.” 

He hooks an arm under your thighs and the other over your spine, and flips you both around so you’re lying flat in the middle of his giant bed. He hovers above you for a brief moment, palms pressed on either side of your head as you stare up at him, glassy eyes wide open. 

He is never not completely wrecked by just how beautiful you are. The kind of beauty that only intensifies the more he stares at you. Long lashes fanning over your cheeks, how your brows knit together faintly like your body has finally begun catching up to the idea of safety around you. Your lips, bitten raw and red from all the crying and kissing… he still can’t believe he gets to feel them against his own now. 

You undo him like no other. Thread by thread, bit by bit. And you don’t even have the faintest idea about just how gone he is for you. 

You don’t reach forward to adjust his hoodie that has ridden up your hips. You don’t fuss about how your hair might be getting his pillow wet.

In fact, you don’t do anything at all.

You just lace your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, letting yourself weigh down and be warmed by the warm cotton of his sheets. 

Watching that ease lull you into slow, gentle waves of tranquility pulls a smile out of him. Small, barely there… just a movement in the corner of his lips. 

You don’t miss it though. 

There’s no way you can, especially not when the expanse of his shoulders conceals everything from your view that’s not him. 

His own hand comes to cradle your head with subtle support before he leans down to kiss you again. Your lips immediately respond, like they have been doing so often lately. Like it is second nature to you.

Just following his leads, surrendering to whatever pace he sets. 

When you moan his name under your breath, he angles his face and deepens it, like he wants you to feed it to him right from your very mouth. 

“You slow my blood down,” he whispers, “being with you feels like a dream I never want to wake up from.” 

You cling on to him without really meaning to. Arms confused and latching all over his back, his neck, his hair, his shoulders. Nails biting into his forearms like you can’t get enough of the steady strength of them. Legs parted and inviting him to settle closer between your thighs. 

And when he does, and you feel it— the hard strain in his pants, you break the kiss and let your head fall deeper into his pillow with a stuttered whimper, brain full of fog and steam. 

Your back arches, like you can’t get enough of him, and you accidentally end up grinding your hips against his with more vigour than you intended to. 

He lets out a broken sound when you do that, his lips falling in the curve of your neck and latching onto the delicate skin there like sucking the sweetness of it might make this agonizing pleasure bearable to him. 

The more the two of you tangle yourselves around each other, the heavier the air gets with the possibility of what could happen. 

The sheer realness of it. 

Devastating, but not inevitable. 

Mingyu senses that shift, that charge, too. 

And as much as it pains him to detach himself from your softness, he knows to do the right thing. 

“Baby, hey… look at me,” he says, straightening up just enough so that you’re no longer writhing under the press of him. 

You open your eyes reluctantly. Lips swollen, eyes wild. 

He licks his own lips, realizing his own state might not be much better than your flushed one. “Are you okay?” he asks, “I don’t wanna overwhelm you.” 

You blink up at him, the earnestness of those words making everything soften within you. He is literally crumbling with need above you—-you can see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightness in his throat, the flames in his eyes warming the sudden cold between the two of you. 

And yet… yet, he doesn’t want to go further and drag you along with him to a place you might not be able to fully recognize. 

Except for the fact that you do. 

You have mapped it out several times in the hush of the dark nights where the thoughts of him would plague you until they left you breathless. 

“Mingyu,” you say, sitting up along with him, “what if I told you that this is what I’ve wanted—what I’ve been waiting for all night tonight?” 

His eyes turn into a shade of dark that causes endless shudders to plunder your body. You have to pour molten courage in your nerves to stop yourself from squirming. 

Yet you shift, just a little. 

Not because you’re scared, but because it seems like the right thing to do when sex is on the table. 

You offer him what you know is a cautionary thing to say because you don’t want to be too pushy, “Unless you don’t think it’s the right—”

His hand curls around your waist before you can shift further and in a swift, effortless movement, he pulls you back closer than before. Chest to chest, your hands flying up to his shoulders with a gasp. 

It startles you, but does little to make your eyes avert from his. 

“I want you in ways that’ll make you question my character.” he says, right by your ear like he wants you to heed every single word of that. Your thighs tighten together at the impact, something dangerous begins to catch fire in your belly. 

“I have wanted this for so long,” he confesses, his fingers trailing up under your hoodie—his hoodie—tracing the soft curves of your waist, your ribs, like he is learning every little detail. “I’ve dreamt about it… I’ve played it out like a million times in my head.”

He pauses, his fingers firm over the hem of the sweatshirt now. His brow curves in question. You meekly nod, bringing your own fingers to the edge and helping him take it off in one, swift movement. 

The loss of warmth is instant. 

Your hair falls over your shoulders like a waterfall—languid, dense, dark. 

Your body’s first reflex is to cover up— out of shame, out of the chill piercing at your soft skin… you don’t know. 

But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s drinking everything in after eternities of being parched—it makes you fist your hands over the comforter to keep them from flying up. 

His eyes do not drop from your face to your body, not until your breathing has evened out. 

And when it does, he lets himself see you. 

Truly see you. 

How the silver glow of the moon and the amber of his bedroom glides over your silky skin. How you shiver—half shy, half curious—when he slowly brings his knuckles up to brush over the curve of your shoulder that slides down to the swell of your chest. 

Your breath sharpens at the contact. 

His eyes fly up, “is this okay?”

You bite your lip, nodding. 

“Good.” he mumbles. He holds you again, gently laying you back down and presses small kisses all over your collarbones. “You’re so beautiful, baby… so soft… so perfect.” 

He interlaces his fingers with yours, pressing them down over the pillow but not before kissing your wrists. “You always smell so sweet… it drives me insane.” 

Your chest rises and falls with rapid successions, and for a long time, your ragged breathing and his name uttered like a prayer are the only sounds you can make. 

“God, your voice,” Mingyu kisses the column of your throat, feeling your skin warm up under his lips the more he speaks. “My angel… I could hear you, and only you, forever.” 

His kisses move downwards, not with hurry, but certainly with a heat. 

His presence fills all your senses. He’s there—flushed cheeks and parted lips—when you open your eyes, he’s there when you close them. He’s under the tips of your fingers—solid, real; there’s traces of his blood buried in your nails. His scent is the only air you can breathe… smoky, woody, and something sweet and fresh. His lips are over your sternum, right where your heart beats.

He carefully cups your breast in his palm, his eyes flicking to your face to see your reaction. 

Your expression is unreadable, like you’re still somewhere between wanting this and squashing all your wants. 

He helps you decide by dipping his head low and capturing your nipple between the heat of his mouth. 

You react almost instantly, holding his head but not pulling—like you want to tell him that it feels good. Because with the way he presses his tongue flat over the nub before sucking on it firmly, of course it does. 

“Oh, Mingyu…” you breathe, your stomach flipping with constant combustions of nerves. 

You don’t realize how you’re arching more towards him, like you’re offering yourself for him to lick you, taste you, devour you whole. 

And he does, unapologetically, unabashedly. Like kissing every inch of you is the most natural thing for him. 

His lips move on to your other breast, giving it the same wet, wild attention while the thumb and finger of his other hand keeps rolling your other nipple between them. 

When he does that, holds and pinches the most sensitive parts of you, you realize just how rough his palms are from all the training he does. You never noticed it before— he had always been so gentle whenever he’d hold your hand. 

Your nails dig into his scalp like you want to call him back when he finally lets go. Your sensitive skin is warm, wet, puckered up under his relentless attention. 

When you open your eyes, everything looks muted and blurry. Like the act in itself softened the edges around everything. 

Mingyu is still palming your breasts—not with hunger, not with lust—but with a kind, gentle care… like he wants to elongate that pleasure for as long as he can. 

“Everything alright?” he checks in again, a frown growing between his brows when he notices the stray tear slip off your lashes. 

“Please… please don’t stop.” you beg him, kissing his palm when he brings it up to wipe your tears. “I want you so bad.” 

“I know darling,” he whispers, “I know. And I got you baby, all you have to do is relax.” 

His lips tremble against yours, like they missed you already. Then, they are on the mole over your right breast, the stretch marks over your hips, the soft curve of your belly that still hasn’t stopped fluttering. 

Throughout that slow torture of his mouth on your skin, you keep on clutching the fabric of his shirt like it’s a tether. Fisting and twisting it with all your might until a button pops off. 

Mingyu lifts his head from over your hip, pupils dilated and hair wild. “Want me to take it off?” 

Bashfully, you nod. 

He takes your palms in his own, bringing them to his chest. “Then help me how I helped you, baby.” 

You can’t keep them stable as your fingers work on his buttons. You only manage to get two of the top ones undone in the time he flicks the rest of them off with single, effortless movements of his wrists. 

Your jaw slacks when he takes it off, the muscles of his shoulders and abs flexing smooth under his honey-like skin. He’s all hard lines and defined ridges, tall and strong in a way that doesn’t need some kind of performance. But his hands? Always so kind and gentle when it comes to you—especially to you. 

Something golden on his chest catches the dim light of the room, glinting and catching your attention. 

When he leans back in, you notice it— “An Aries pendant?” you smile, feeling it against your finger-tips, “never pegged you for someone who was into astrology,” then, you give him a teaseful frown, “it’s like I don’t know you at all.”

“You’re the one to say that?” he smirks, letting the pendant fall over your bare skin. Cold, sleek. “You’re the most mysterious person I know.”

“You say it like that’s a bad thing.”  

“Not at all,” he shakes his head, brushing stray hair off your face, “it only makes me more obsessed with you than I already am.” 

Your heart thuds against the confinement of your ribs and you can’t help but just reach forward to hold his face. This stupid, grinning boy who never fails to make you feel so grateful for him. So possessive over him. 

His fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear which you now feel has been growing damp for quite some time. He gives you a crooked grin, biting his lip a bit when he sees the pink lace. 

“Cute.” he mumbles, pushing it off your legs and making you blush. 

You hold on to his biceps—strong, golden—as he glides his fingers up and down your outer thighs. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, not teasing at all. 

“Safe,” you admit. Before carefully adding, “Mingyu… can I ask you something?” 

“Anything, my love.” His fingers halt over your knees. Warm, heavy and definitely there. 

You gulp down the anxiety that you might ruin this worshipful moment. That you might scare him away if you ask that now. 

But you have to… you owe it to yourself, even when you very well know the answer already. 

“You’ll stop if I ask you to… right?” the last word barely comes out.

His gaze burns into yours, his grip over your skin flexes with this earnest sense of protection that is almost heart-breaking. 

“Of course, baby.” he swallows hard.

“Even if my voice is too low?” 

“Even if you flinch too hard,” he says, firm yet gentle, “this goes however you want it to go.”

You blink at him, your voice fragile when you nod. “Okay… okay.” 

Your legs are already slightly parted, but your thighs keep on pressing together the more you look at him and his hungry, deliberate gaze. It is charged with enough worship to make you feel like the most desirable person who ever lived. Like a miracle who somehow ended up raw and exposed for him on his bed. 

He gives you one slow look, like this image of you needs to stay with him forever, before he gently spreads your thighs apart. 

You squirm a little, digging your heels deeper into his mattress as he bares you for his eyes. 

He breathes like it is taking him great effort and grit to do so. 

“God, you’re so pretty,” he says, leaning in like he is being pulled in. 

You whimper when you feel his hot breath, his bitten lips, his slick teeth all over your inner thighs. Each press punctuated by a low compliment, a small thank you. 

His overwhelming presence is everywhere but the place that aches for him the most. 

Just warming your skin, like he’s preparing you for the heat of what’s about to happen. 

“Mingyu…please.” you squeak out. 

His eyes flick up to you, dark and glazed. “You’re mine,” he says, almost out of nowhere, “mine to take care of… mine to love.” 

You don’t know if he realizes the sheer significance of what he just said. He seems too entranced to care. 

Your eyes widen, but before his words can fully dawn down on you, his mouth does. 

That first lick of his tongue over your sensitive, soaked skin is like flames leaping on hot coal. Your back arches off the bed, arms flaying to hold onto something, anything. 

You clutch a pillow in one palm, his hair in the other. 

He lets you ride that first contact out for a moment, pressing his face into the soft flesh of your inner thigh before dipping down again. Your entire body jolts when he groans at the taste of you—a deep, raspy sound that sends shivers into your core. 

His fingers over your waist tighten, anchoring you to himself as he buries his lips over and over between your legs. None of it is rushed, like he thinks he has the entire night to do this. 

And maybe, he intends to. 

His warm, slick tongue slides slowly but deliberately over your already wet folds. For some time, that’s all he does—tasting you…drinking you. Watching what parts are more sensitive than the others while you quiver uncontrollably under his lips. 

Your grip over his hair tightens when he holds your thighs and jerks you closer—if that was even possible—until they’re wrapped around his head. 

And just like that, all your worries, all your shyness flushes down under the press of his heavy hands. 

He opens his mouth with even more greed, now shamelessly eating you out. Not once does he detach his tongue from you, even when the firm pressure of it makes your vision dot with a million bursting stars. 

You don’t know how much you’re squirming, not until he presses one of his palms flat over your stomach, the weight of it calling you back into the room. 

“So sensitive,” he says, his lips and chin and even the tip of his nose gleaming with your arousal, “I love how responsive you are, baby.” 

And then, he goes back in—licking, flicking, teasing, sucking. 

God… the way he wraps his lips around your clitoris and sucks at it. 

Your limbs are so tight around him, around the sheets. And yet, you feel so loose. Like he’s melting something within you with the heat of his mouth. Untying knots you didn’t know existed with his tongue. 

You know you’re dripping—you can feel it. But Mingyu is too quick to lap it all up before the mortification can take form in your mind. It's almost like he doesn’t want you to think of anything that’s not him. Or feel anything other than what he wants you to feel. 

Pleasure. Raw, hot, intense pleasure. 

Your thighs begin quivering around his face like you don’t want to let him go. Your chest heaves faster than before. 

“Mingyu…” you moan, “Mingyu…I—I…”

“I know baby, you’re almost there.” he pants, “I can taste it.” 

Your hips buck towards him as you whimper, “please don’t stop.” 

“Never want to.” His words come out wrecked and muffled against your core, sending vibrations strong enough to set everything ablaze. 

You remove your hand from the pillow to hold onto his palm like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and he’s your sole tether. He grins against you, at your heartbreakingly adorable tendency to reach for him even when he’s doing the most unspeakable things anyone has ever done to you. 

He begins sucking at you harsher, licking you with broader strokes. And before you can grapple with the aftermath of those tricks, you are coming undone from them. Hard. Impossibly quick. 

Your palm flies over your mouth, as you gasp out loudly, like you want to hold at least something in, even if that’s just your sound. 

But Mingyu is more adamant, still kissing you with open-mouthed smooches down there, making you ride out your orgasm right on his eager tongue like he doesn’t want you to stop screaming. He does slow down though, his lips more forgiving and fluid now. 

When he finally lets you go, every inch of you is flushed scarlet. Just a shade deeper than his own skin which blooms red as he straightens up, his breaths staggered and laced with your taste. 

His pupils are blown out and full of awe like he just witnessed something otherworldly. Like he wasn’t the one actively involved in it. Like he didn’t cause it.  

You just keep on breathing, eyes barely open and body buzzing, while he stares at you with an all consuming admiration. 

Your arms are listless, and yet, you extend them towards him, inviting him to your chest. 

“You tasted so sweet,” he says, falling into your hug. “I almost wanted to do it all over again.” 

You brush the strands of hair from over his brows—the ones that you pulled at so roughly—and whisper, “I think I would have passed out if you did.” 

He brushes his nose against your temple, chuckling low and burying his face deeper into the dark mess of your hair over his pillow.

He shifts a bit further so that he’s not crushing you with his body. 

But when he does, you feel it. His hips brush against yours…the hardness… the unmistakable girth poking through the dense fabric of his jeans. 

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath, your eyes flicking up to his, bracing. 

He doesn’t look proud, nor teasing. Just… curious. 

And then—

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”

“But we can…” you try, and fail, to convince him as he begins covering you up with his comforter. “Mingyu, seriously. I’m fine. We can do it…you know? I can take it.” 

“I know you can, because you were made for me and me alone.” he says, tucking your loose hair behind your ear and staring intently at your face, “but baby, let’s just take it one night at a time.” 

He gets off the bed, collecting the clothes that fell off. His shirt, the hoodie, your underwear. But instead of putting it away, he sits by your side, helping you slide it up your body with careful fingers. 

“It’s cold,” he explains, ditching the sweatshirt and buttoning his dark shirt over your chest instead. 

You just keep on looking at him with glassy eyes, swallowing hard like you want to absorb this once ruined night into every fibre of your being now. 

You don’t think he understands just what he has given you. The enormity of what he has done for you, more than to you. 

But of course he does. 

Because that’s just who he is. 

And he makes it evident when he comes back from the bathroom after having changed into sweatpants and curls up behind you, pulling you close like you’re the only thing that matters. 

“What gave it away?” you can’t help but ask. 

“What?” 

“Quit playing cool, Gyu.” you murmur, “what gave it away to you that I’m a virgin?” you swallow around the word like it is something heavy, “you stopped because of that, didn’t you?” 

For a moment, it’s like you didn’t say anything at all. The kind of quiet that suspends everything. Your eyes search for something, anything, into the darkness of his room. 

And then, his fingers tighten over your stomach and he nuzzles closer. 

His voice is so low that it almost gets lost in your hair when he speaks, “the way you looked… so innocent, breathless, almost confused—especially afterwards—like you didn’t know what to do with your own body. Like you wanted to ask me what happens now. I just…sensed it, I guess.” 

He pauses after that, like the confession itself has weight to it—something fragile he’s set between you, careful not to bruise it.

Something in your chest folds in on itself.

The room feels smaller somehow, not suffocating, but intimate, like the walls have drawn closer just to hold this moment in place. The faint hum of the cold night outside seeps in through the window, distant traffic and the occasional whisper of the icy wind brushing against glass. 

Everything else is just him. Solid and steady. His breath, warm at the nape of your neck. The slow rise and fall of his chest against your back, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

You begin to relax, tucked in beside him. His arm draped heavy over you, fingers fiddling with the hem of his cotton shirt. 

And then, you laugh. Almost sleepily. 

“So you’re saying it’s cause I fuck like a virgin?” 

His laughter steeps in the spaces of yours. “No, it’s cause you say shit like that. Because we didn’t even fu—have sex, baby that was just the foreplay.” 

Your cheeks warm up and you try your best to pretend that the thought of the actual thing isn’t making you lose it all. 

“Don’t worry,” he squeezes your fingers like he can sense your anticipation, “we’ll get there.”

“We will.” you mumble, letting yourself believe that you have the time to. 

CHAPTER 15: always the fool with the slowest heart

You wake up pink and boneless, cocooned in his scent, his clothes, his sheets, and him. 

Mingyu is so clingy—something you had observed about him even before you started dating. Always reaching forward for some kind of contact of skins, talking endlessly, asking stupid questions about things that don’t matter. 

But like this, when it’s just the two of you tucked away from the world, it is almost concerning how he just doesn’t want to let you go at all. 

Even in his sleep. 

He hugs you tightly from behind to his chest, his thigh hooked over yours. His jaw rests in the curve of your neck, his sleep-warmed breath brushing in your hair. Sometimes, his lips move around words that you can’t quite hear, and you smile at just how adorable he is. A bit pouty, impossibly unguarded, talking nonsense in his sleep while gluing himself to you like your soft curves against his hard muscles are his one true salvation. 

For a long time, you just lay there unmoving, too scared of disturbing something so precious. 

But then, your eyes fall onto the clock hanging on the wall before you. 

Shit. 

It’s almost noon. 

You wriggle around, trying to free yourself from his hold and hopefully save yourself from spending the entire weekend in his bed while you still can. Because you know that if you don’t act now, you might as well just stay here forever— in the quiet comfort of him seeped with safety. 

Just when you think you’re getting somewhere and his hand lets up, he squashes all your hopes down by whining. Actually whining. 

“Baby… why are you leaving me?” his voice is rough with sleep and disoriented, “come back.” 

He begins reaching for you again, but you jump out of the bed with a yelp. 

He blinks, startled and horrified. 

“You hate me,” he accuses, planting his face deep into the pillow you were resting upon. 

“Gyu, I need to pee.” you deadpan, hoping that’d make him give up. 

“That sounds fake,” he mumbles into the pillow, voice muffled and deeply offended, like you’ve somehow betrayed him. “You were literally fine two seconds ago.”

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Yes, because I was asleep. That’s how bodies work.”

He peeks one eye open, hair a mess, lips slightly swollen, and you hate how unfairly hot he looks even when he’s being ridiculous.

“You’re making excuses to leave me.”

“I am making excuses to not pee on your bed, Mingyu.”

That seems to pause him.

For exactly half a second.

“Then go and come back quickly,” he negotiates, already reaching a hand out toward you again like he’s trying to cast a spell that’ll drag you back into bed. “Five minutes. Maximum.”

You snort. “You’re insane.”

“Three minutes.”

“I’m not speedrunning basic human functions for you.”

He groans, flopping dramatically onto his back now, one arm thrown over his eyes. “This is how it starts,” he mutters. “First you pee, then you check your phone, then suddenly you have ‘things to do,’ and I never see you again.” 

You giggle, not answering his little rant as you shut the bathroom door behind you. You brush your teeth with the extra toothbrush he kept for you in the sink and decide to change out of his shirt into something warmer. 

You steal yet another one of his hoodies, pulling up his giant sweatpants as high as you can. 

By the time you come out, he has gone back to sleep, clutching the pillow like how he was clutching you. His nose is buried into the plushness of it, dragging whatever scent of you remains there. 

You want to flick his forehead, but decide against it, thinking you should enjoy the few minutes of solitude while you can before he eventually wakes up after realizing you didn’t come back and hogs you again. 

Carefully shutting the bedroom door behind you, you pad down into the kitchen and warm the kettle up. He got the tea that you always order and has it lined up in the bottom drawer—the one that you can reach easily on your tiptoes. The faint perfume of hibiscus and cardamom saturates the crisp air as you steep it in his favorite mug, the one with a puppy on its handle. 

You take a seat on the comfortable rug in the drawing room, the same one that you had sat on when you first came here. It was only six weeks ago, and yet it feels so nostalgic, like something that happened decades ago. When he had first held your dress reverently between his fingers right here, you hadn’t known just how fast and how hard you were going to fall for him. How those would be the same fingers that’d soon strip you, bit by bit, piece by piece. How those lips stretched into that knowing, crooked grin would be the ones pulling out the most wanton moans out of you, face buried between your legs as he asked you again and again if he was allowed to do that. 

Your stomach does somersaults at the fragmented memory of last night. It all comes and passes in blurs, tightening your abdomen and making your throat go dry. 

It had almost been one of the worse nights of your life, before he turned it all around with all his tender love and care. 

For the longest time, you had never thought you were one of those people to whom good things just happened. You thought you had to earn them, be good for them. Be the obedient daughter, the careful sister. Sing every night even when your throat hurts. Don’t even dare to wish for things that you are told are not for you. 

But Mingyu… you don’t know just when did he creep in and flipped the script inside your head. 

He makes you feel like good things just exist, because he exists. They don’t have to be struggled for, just felt. In the quiet of the library, in the pointless banters over lunch, in the warmth of his bed and in the home of his embrace. 

You love him. 

You really do. 

So much… that it overflows, it overwhelms. So much that it makes you cry on his rug at eleven in the morning. 

Because what did you ever do to deserve him? 

You quickly wipe your tears away with the back of your hand, not wanting to be the weirdo who sobs over nothing at their boyfriend’s house. You turn your attention outwards, watching the golden slants of light filtering in, carrying with it the fresh smell of morning and the muted sounds of a lazy college-town waking up late on a Saturday. 

The boxes are still piled up in the corner of the drawing room, outside what you know is the narrow studio he sometimes would sketch in before he moved out. 

He had told you he was going to empty out the space, make room for newer projects. 

You don’t intend to spy, but a crooked gold trophy peeking out of a box catches your attention. You pick it up and examine it, the engraving in italics informing you that it was awarded to him for being the most-valuable player in some tournament two years ago.

You’ve never really seen him play on ice, you always kept away from the game thinking that it was for the best. Yet, you can imagine him there. Cold wind catching his hair, his strong arms tossing the puck around with effortless accuracy. How he must reach out for his own team instead of celebrating towards the crowd whenever he’d score. 

You sift through the box finding medals after medals, certificates and plaques containing recognition that somehow feel like an afterthought. You don’t know just why he decided to not go forward with the game anymore—he had just shrugged when you asked him that.

But you can feel it, more than you can see the reason.

Because now, you know him. You know that he doesn’t cook because he wants some reward in return. He just does because it fulfills him. You know that when he takes all his time taking care of you, there are no underlying motives—that’s just who he is. So full of love, and intention. You can see just why when the game began feeling more transactional than emotional and these awards diminished in their meanings, he gave up. 

He told you he wants to build homes now.

That his apprenticeship at an architecture firm last year gave him more purpose than anything else. Talking to families—to the kids—about the kind of place they’d want to spend their lives in.

How his heart would melt whenever someone would request something specific for their significant other… ‘an awning over the backyard because my wife loves to read, but her skin is too sensitive’, ‘please make sure to install giant windows in my office so that he can paint in sufficient natural light while I work.’ 

He told you that making houses was like giving love a shape, a body, a place for it to bloom and thrive in. 

It was so… him. 

He even showed you the sketch of the very first house he had designed. Just a rough sheet of paper out of his mathematics assignment. 

‘I know it’s kinda impractical and lame,’ he had scratched his head as you observed it between careful fingers.‘Wha—it’s not!,’ you exclaimed, ‘I can see myself living in a house like this.’‘You can?’ his eyes lit up. It had hit you then, like alarms ringing hard in your skull, the implication of what you had just said. Panic rose up like smoke in your gut when you attempted to take it back, ‘I mean, it’s not impractical.’ 

You had been so scared of appearing smothering, demanding more than what you were entitled for at the point. 

It all seems so silly now. 

Before you even know it, you are elbows deep into another open-carton labelled ‘trash.’ 

You frown, examining the stack of papers it contains. It is all sketches and handwritten notes on colored pages, all too pretty to be considered trash.

You pick up a sketch of roses dated all the way back to freshman year. Hues of pinks and reds blending into each other, each petal crafted with more care than the one before. 

Then, another one—a pink pearl, encased in a shell. You smile and fold it before pocketing it… you love pearls too much to let the one drawn by your favorite boy go to waste. 

If yours wasn’t a destiny marred by the tendency of everything good ending too soon, you would have stopped there. 

But you don’t. 

Below the sketches, you find a stack of letters. 

A total four of them. Neat, smudged with charcoal fingerprints at the edges, not enveloped still. 

You unfold the first one. 

‘Happy Barf-day Mingoo! :3’ written with bold, glittering blue comes to view. You don’t have to read it full to realize that it’s from Chaeyoung—she has plastered funny pictures of the two of them together all over it with sticky glue and pointy stars. It’s from his nineteenth birthday, you gather, the first one he celebrated with his friends on campus. It is so sweet and full of her wishing him the nicest of things, a little hockey puck-shaped key chain still attached along with it. 

You don’t understand why he would want to throw it away? 

You move on to the other letter. 

Again, from Chaeyoung. Dated to Christmas of the same year. 

It is a bit stained from the smudges of something greasy, like she had stuffed it along with something edible and gave it to him. 

‘Baked the carrot cookies you gave me the recipe for and they taste like ASS, so do me a favor and shove these up yours cause I definitely can’t stomach these, blergh!!!’ 

You chuckle in confusion at that, trying to ignore the prickling, dreadful feeling inside your chest… like a thorn lodged itself there and refuses to move. These are just harmless letters, so on-character to your roommate. You can literally hear her say all that. 

And yet… the fact that he wants to trash them… it just doesn’t sit right with you. 

So you move on to the third one, hoping it would have some answers. 

‘Hey Gyu, heard about your grandma. I hope she’s feeling better now. I know you’re gonna be out of town for longer, taking care of her but I had some free time today and your spare keys so I decided to stop by and clean your apartment. I hope that’s fine? P.S. - Meal prepped a bunch of muffins and veggies for when you come back, it’ll stay fresh for up to a month. Check your freezer :)” 

Something hits you square in the chest, like a precise bullet. Whatever few months you have spent living with her are enough to tell you just how big Chaeyoung’s heart is, especially for the people she cares about. It was one of the reasons why you nearly hated yourself for how you almost ruined her plans of setting Heather and Mingyu up. 

But this… the pureness of the gesture. The abundant care and thought that went behind this, it makes something sit heavy under your ribs. 

It feels so wrong to have it here, among the things that are to be discarded. 

It must be a mistake, has to be. 

Mingyu isn’t heartless like that. 

You decide to keep them aside and ask him if he’s sure about throwing them away when he wakes up. 

But not before reading the final letter. 

Just to see if it’s something similar or actually a scrap. 

Your fingers feel heavy when they fold it open, almost hesitating. The writing is different—no traces of hand-drawn doodles, it is devoid of her signature unfunny jokes or cusswords. 

Because it is not written by Chaeyoung. 

Instead, it is written for her. 

‘Chae, I’m not as good with words written down on paper like you are. But I know that letters are your thing, so I’m writing one for you because that’s what feels the most sincere. I wanna tell you something that I’ve known for quite some time now because not saying it feels weird. And I don’t want there to be anything tense or weird between the two of us — you’re one of my best friends. I think I like you more than just a friend. Maybe, if you’re up for it, we could talk about it… hang out away from the others sometime? —Mingyu’

The paper doesn’t make a sound when it falls. 

Neither does your heart. 

You stare at the letter on the floor for longer than you should, like maybe if you look hard enough, it’ll rearrange into something else. Something that doesn’t feel like a small, dingy room whose walls keep on caving in around you. 

There’s a ringing in your ears, slow, languid, like you’ve been thrust under water and held there until the bubbles stop coming. 

Jihyo’s sitting beside you in the dead of the night at some frat-house you don’t remember the name of. She says, ‘it’s all that PTSD from seeing what happened to Mingyu after rejection-gate last year.’

You blink, giant drops of tears rolling down your cheeks. And she vanishes. 

There’s Mingyu, standing beside you in the kitchen during your first night here in this apartment. 

‘...the truth about why I don’t really live here anymore is because, some time back, I said something stupid to someone here…’ 

You want to ask him who it was. But before you can, the smoke snaking out of the kettle swallows the apparitions whole. 

That first sketch of the house he made, you realize, was a blueprint of someone else. And you— naively, embarrassingly— let yourself believe could be yours. Your hands fall limp off your lap, fingers scattering across the rug like petals torn from something that used to be whole. 

Different patches of your skin still carry the tingles of last night. Especially your core. You ached with the ghost of his touch, only now, it feels like someone sliced open every spot that he had kissed. 

How foolish you had been to believe something so pure, so honest could be yours and yours alone?

Did you forget that you even had to share your mother’s womb, let alone her love and attention, with someone else? 

You could never deserve anything whole. Anything complete. 

Always the remnants, always the fragments. 

A familiar mix of despair and disappointment begins clawing its way up your throat. 

“Baby,” his voice echoes from the hallway. Still carefree, still playful, like your heart isn’t shattered and spread all over the rug of his drawing room. “Where are you? Why didn’t you come back to bed—”

Mingyu freezes, like the air had been sucked out of the room. 

His gaze drops to your pale body, then to the letters on the floor. The letters he didn’t think twice about before stuffing in the box he was going to trash. Something old, silly, worthless and even laughable now. 

But of course, it wouldn’t look like that to you. 

Carefully, he crouches down, “love—”

You instantly recoil like his fingers over your bicep burn you. 

He lets his arm drop, and doesn't try to reach for you again. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” you ask, your voice wavering under the weight of your heart threatening to spill out of your throat. 

You are the one asking questions, demanding answers, and yet, his eyes stay firm on you. Clear and honest. Meanwhile you don’t even have the guts to match his gaze. 

Because the irony of it isn’t lost on you. Not when you know you haven’t revealed everything to him either. 

“I was,” he says, voice firm but gentle at the same time. 

“When?” 

“I don’t know…” he pauses, then licks his lips, “honestly, I couldn’t even remember it anymore. Not when you were near me… it was all insignificant. But you have to trust me baby, I was going to tell you.” 

Mingyu keeps his expressions sincere. Even though inside, he is crumbling, burning, fighting for every breath he takes. Because you are here, the love of his life, looking so small and heartbroken because of him. 

Your voice breaks when you whisper, “you loved her,” like those are the three heaviest words you ever had to speak out loud. 

Mingyu’s eyes widen, he immediately shakes his head like that’ll brush off what you just said. “No,” he huffs out, “No… it was all just a stupid crush— baby, where did I ever say I loved her?” 

“You asked me to sing that song for you—for her—when we first met,” you slump deeper into the floor, your tears falling without a single regard, “how could I miss it all?” 

“That…” he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, “that was just because that’s her favorite song. And my dumb friends thought it was hella funny to have it played right after I asked her out and she said no.” 

“Would you have gone out with her if she said yes?” You know you sound crazy, but you can’t stop speaking whatever comes to your head. 

“That’s irrelevant—”

“It’s a yes or no, Mingyu.” 

His fists tighten over his knees, like there’s no easier way to say it. “At that time? Yes… I would have. Because I hadn’t known you… because I was stupid. Because I thought we were compatible when we absolutely were not. But I didn’t, because she was smarter than me and knew better.”

You let out a bitter laugh, not even a single word of what he said filters in through the wall of pain in your mind. 

“So you settled for the stupid girl who opened the door for you when you came looking for her instead. The desperate, lonely, loser who would give you everything you wanted if you just asked nicely.”

His face falls under the weight of that accusation. Like it is the heaviest thing that has ever fallen upon him.

“You know that’s not true,” he croaks, “and you’re being very unfair to me… to us.” 

“You still have her letters with you!” 

“Because I wasn’t even living here until now.” he desperately explains, “I moved in with Dokyeom shortly after everything happened. You know that, I told you. And before that I was… I was a walking corpse in my own home baby. It wasn’t just because of her, but because everything was changing. My friends were mad at me, I was in the talks of being made captain to a team that disliked me, I had just ruined a good friendship—and I was scared. I didn’t have the time or energy to come back here and sort this all out. I only came back here because you gave me the strength to.” 

Your voice cracks as you begin scrambling up, “I need to go home.”

“Baby, no. Don’t.” He follows you, “please don’t do this. I can burn those letters right fucking now. That’s what they are to me. Scraps.”

You stubbornly pull at your boots. You don’t hear him—you can’t hear him. 

Until—

“I love you,” he says. Broken, small… still lingering in the hallway like a lost child. He sucks in a shuddering breath, his fingers clutching his hips like that’s the only thing keeping him in balance. Like his world isn’t tilting and tumbling towards where you’re standing. Like he isn’t yearning to crawl to you and beg. 

When he finally looks up, his voice breaks around your name. “I love you… and only you. I can trash everything. I can leave this apartment, this place, walk away from anything that reminds me of her or the life I had before I met you—before I saw you. I can burn it all down if you tell me to. But how am I—” 

He halts, catching his breath. Allowing his eyes to close for a split second. 

“How am I supposed to look at everything soft in my life and not think of you?” he breathes, “I love you to a point where I want to strip everything that makes me not good enough for you. I love you enough to pick up a thousand broken versions of myself and fix them back up for you.” 

A tear falls off his lashes, he quickly wipes it away. “You ask me if I would have gone out with her. Baby, even if I did… I know it would have never worked out and I would have found my way to you somehow. Because just as much as you were made for me, every part of me was carved with your name etched on it.”

“Don’t.” you shake your head, eyebrows pulling together with utter agony. “Please don’t say anything more.” 

“Why?” he asks, pleading, and steps forward. 

You take two steps back. Shivering, chest spilling open. 

“Because you will make me stay… again.”

// the fmc for this fic just might be the most pisces-cancer hybrid character ive ever written, lol. 

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@bramos91 @fzenn @haobaobaei @lilylikesthat @eskoupe

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@gyuiebabie @lavendersunfloooooower @gyugyu97 @sadgirlroo @marshmallowywine

CHAPTER 7: run, run, run cleopatra

Because he was born twenty minutes before you, Ethan claimed all the words in the world before you could even see its light. 

As a result, most family dinners often look like this — him talking in lengthy details about whatever is going on in his life while allowing you just enough window of time to discuss any significant news that your family should be made aware of. 

So far, in this dinner at Aunt Sylvie’s diner, that window hasn’t been granted to you. Thus, it does leave your parents a bit concerned when Aunt Sylvie comes to your table briefly to greet them and while hugging you, casually comments, “How have you been sweetheart? I’m seeing you here after a whole week.” 

Three pairs of questioning eyes turn to you. 

You flush, “Yeah, I’ve been cutting my shifts here because I began tutoring at Uni.”

“Tutoring?” Ethan questions, silently demanding you to elaborate.

“Unofficially…someone in class needed a little extra help.” You shrug, but your voice trembles under the doubt that somehow something will give away just whom you are tutoring. 

And if that happens, Ethan probably wouldn’t be the most pleased. 

“Why are you doing the TA’s job?” Ethan prods. 

But at the same time, your mother’s voice drowns him out. “We are proud of you honey, it’s very sweet that you are helping someone out.” 

“Helping your classmates out is indeed a very noble cause,” your aunt nods, her voice pinned under her very polished accent. “But I have to be selfish and tell you that it’s hurting my clientele. People miss you around here.” 

You know her intentions are feather-light, yet you feel guilty of not doing as much for her anymore. 

“Well good news, I’m gonna be staying back after dinner for my shift, Aunt Sylvie.”

“That makes me very happy.” she says, pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek before departing with a nod towards your parents. 

You keep your gaze lowered for the rest of the meal as Ethan recounts his last few matches. At some point, he turns to you when he’s narrating just how hard he’s training for the game against your University and you can feel all the food you have pushed down threatening to come up for some reason.

He describes it as not just a game, but a final battle of a cold war that has been brewing for the past half-decade almost. 

Even though he is all set to play pro for the first team that offered to sign him during his junior year, Ethan seems still dead set on competing with the polar opposite trajectory of Mingyu's career who, by the looks of it so far, seems to have no intentions of continuing playing after college. 

“What a waste,” he says at some point, “I guess he knows his game is worn out by now. It’s not high school anymore.”

By the time you are done with the meal, you feel more exhausted than fulfilled. The same, one-sided complaints settle under your skin like an itch that never departs. Before he can pivot to some other tangent that only your parents have the tolerance to follow, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. 

“I need to freshen up for my shift. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.” you tell your mother as your father insists on settling the bill that Betsy keeps on refusing to bring. 

Inside the muggy bathroom, you ironically feel your breathing return.

A ripple of ease threads through your nerves as you splash handfuls of cold water over your face. You seal that ease back into yourself by painting your lips with the thick, cherry-maroon gloss that you carry in your purse and trace the outline of your big eyes with kohl. 

Under your jacket, you already have the ivory dress which upon Veronica’s insistence, you began wearing a few weeks into working here. She said it blended with the rest of the themes and uniforms well. Soft satin with silk ribbons sewn in the neckline, it flutters around your thighs. Cass had made it for your nineteenth birthday and back then, you didn’t know you’d be wearing so much of it until it caught your manager’s eye on a random Tuesday. 

Putting it on makes you look one with the giant vase of lilies that you sing by. Perhaps, that has been the intention all along. To make you look pretty enough for the eyes of the customers but not in a way that disrupts their conversations, more like a detail that completes the room rather than commanding it.

A delicate presence, a pleasant after-thought. 

You are midway through running your fingers through your hair and making sure the gloss settles strictly in its place when your phone buzzes with a text from your brother. 

Ethan: dude, hurry tf up…

You stare at your reflection one last time before collecting your things and walking out to wish your parents’ goodbye. To maybe even tell them to stay for a song or two if the diner is not too busy. 

But you only take two steps outside the hallway and into the dining room before you flinch and duck behind a curtained pillar that conceals you from it. 

Your stomach drops so hard that the echoes of the impact ring in your ears. 

No. 

It must have been a mirage. A trick your eyes played. 

He’s not supposed to be here tonight… there was no game, no victories. You made sure to check. 

Yet, you lean just enough to steal a clearer glance at the group of boys who have just walked in and are now chatting away with Veronica at the entrance. 

You recognize most of them — Chan, Dokyeom, Wonwoo. Around them are a few faces that you can’t put a name to. Possibly freshmen, judging by the rosiness of their faces that can barely hide that look of unadulterated excitement of finally hanging out outside of practices and drills with the big dogs, the seniors. It is Fresher’s week after all. 

In the middle of them all, doing most of the talking and charming on behalf of the tired players is him.

Mingyu. 

Even with the hood of his plain sweatshirt covering most of his face from your view, his distinct tallness and athletic build gives him away with ease. And if that had failed you, you are very aware of the fact that there are only so many people in this whole wide world who can make Veronica blush like that. 

You don’t know if Ethan has seen him yet. You don’t want him too, just the thought of it makes your heart shrink on itself with heavy dread. 

And more than that, you don’t want to walk out and have Mingyu spot you. Because you know he’s going to smile at you or attempt to talk to you in front of your brother who would rather swallow broken shards of glass than have his sister be remotely associated with his arch nemesis. 

Your breaths continue to shorten as you type a text to Ethan with shivering fingers. 

‘I just got my periods and it’s gonna take me longer to deal with it…you guys should leave, I’ll see you next month. Tell mom and dad I said I love them.’

His response comes in the form of three detached emojis with their eyes rolling to the back. But nothing more. And for a short-lived moment, you feel a breeze of relief brush past you, making it all bearable. 

You press yourself closer to the cold hard wall, deciding to make it your hideout until you are sure your family has left the diner completely.  

You count your breaths as you see them walking closer towards the exit—the same one to which Mingyu is standing near with his back facing them. You continue chanting silent prayers under your breaths as the distance between your two worlds shrinks smaller and smaller. 

Please don’t make him turn around. 

Please don’t let Ethan look up from his phone and see them. 

But even your Gods seem to have abandoned you today because just as Ethan slides his phone into his pocket, Mingyu turns around, staring straight at him. 

You flinch like you have just witnessed two unmanned trucks skid off the road and collide into each other.

The way Ethan tenses physically hurts you to watch. Jaw locked, shoulders straightened, fists curled. 

For several moments, nothing happens.

Just the two of them surveying each other. Mingyu, amused. Ethan, agitated.

You hold your breath, preparing for the worst, but your mother dismantles it before a discord can even begin taking shape when she continues to walk past them like there is nothing to be tensed about. 

“Hey, excuse me,” she says as she passes the team, offering a polite smile.

Mingyu steps aside immediately, all easy manners and gentle edges than Ethan ever credits him for. “Of course, ma’am.”

Your father nods, Ethan doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t.

Even from here, you can feel the tension in the way his gaze lingers a second too long. Mingyu's demeanor sharpens too. You see it…the flicker of recognition, the almost-smile that never quite forms with a silent acknowledgement of the competition he has faced all his life. 

Ethan shrugs him off with a scoff as he walks out. 

Mingyu doesn’t even bother letting his gaze follow him all the way. Wonwoo mumbles something that makes the team laugh—most probably something at the expense of your brother, the captain of their rival team and the only one giving them something serious to worry about on the field. 

And even though you find yourself disagreeing with your brother on most things, you cannot simply sever the connection you have shared with him ever since the cells in your mother’s womb had split to form you both simultaneously.

It makes you want to walk out of the shadows and protect him in the rooms he’s not in. It makes you want to ask Mingyu what it is that he thinks is so funny? 

Surely, Ethan would do the same for you…won’t he? 

Your phone buzzes in your palm, reminding you of its existence. You feel lightheaded as you answer your brother’s call. 

“Guess who just showed up at the diner?” he says, not giving you a chance to speak. “That meathead, Mingyu. You sure you don’t wanna bail out on the shift and come with us?” 

“Why would I want to do that, Ethan?” you sigh, ignoring his initial comments. 

“I don’t know…I don’t want you to sing in front of that jackass.” 

“I have sung in front of worse people.”

“Tell me if he does something. If he even looks at you weird—”

“Ethan, you're acting crazy. He doesn’t even know me.” you bite your lip hard until you taste metal. 

Growing up, you were always able to tell whenever he lied. You wonder if Ethan shares that intuition, if he can tell you are lying through your teeth right now. 

“Whatever…just don’t look at him.” 

“I won’t.” 

You end the call before you are forced to tell more lies to deflect the overwhelm. You press your palms over your face, a shuddering breath escapes through the crevices of your cupped fingers. Once you are sure you are not as flustered to a point that makes it obvious, you step out of the shadows and into the lights. 

Mingyu’s head tilts instantly like even your muffled footsteps against the plush carpet drew his attention. Like a magnet pulling north, inevitable and unthinking. 

His eyes find yours before you can pretend to look elsewhere. His face visibly relaxes out of what seemed like a mask he had been wearing all night when he smiles at you, giving you a small wave. 

Yet, you pretend not to see him and walk with hurried steps like you cannot wait to get away from him.

Because you can’t.

Because not getting away from him would only intensify this unwelcomed, unwanted ache in your chest that keeps on insisting that you are physically incapable of ever hating him, even when all your circumstances make it the most sensible for you to do so. 

CHAPTER 8: i never, never want to go home

You do not meet Mingyu after the night at the diner. 

He doesn’t understand why. But he doesn’t push either. Perhaps it is because you both have your mid-terms week to prepare for. 

Still not too confident in his preparation so far, he thinks he could use some help. But something about the flip in your demeanor makes him stall from asking, which is strange to say the least because prior to this, he has never had any issues admitting defeat when he’s with you. 

There’s just something about the way you look at him whenever he gets stuck somewhere — not like a tutor, or someone who holds something above him — but more like a friend sitting by his side giving him directions. Or each time you tell him not to go as per the index of the book, but by what makes sense to learn in a sequence that one can only understand when they’ve been through the material several times already. 

Mingyu has always lived a life on easy mode. Not essentially relaxed or lazy, but doing just enough that would satisfactorily get him by without any underlying ambitions of being best of the best. Besides, things just naturally happen for him. And he always thinks there's better aspects of life he could make time for, the softer ones.

But seeing you so put together often makes him push himself harder. It is one of the reasons why he has begun replaying the voice notes you send him explaining concepts instead of his usual playlist when he’s on the bus with the team returning from a game. Or why he has begun waking up an hour earlier to go over your notes until he can almost recite them just from memory. 

It is all for you, and from you. 

But it isn’t just the same without you by his side. 

So when you text him a week before the mid-term, asking if he wants to hop on a Zoom call to go through the syllabus once and resolve any doubts if he has them, he replies back with an enthusiastic ‘yes, that sounds great!’ so quickly that it is embarrassing. Like he already had your chats with him open when you sent him the text, because of course he did. 

He knows it is so silly, yet he wipes the surface of Dokyeom’s dining table meticulously before setting his laptop and organizing all the text he’d need along with four extra pens lined by it. 

The moment he joins the call, it only takes a second worth of static before the sound of your laughter is filtering in through his earphones like music.

He smiles back without meaning to, too caught up in the image of your dimly lit but beautiful face on his screen to enquire what is it that’s making you laugh so much. 

“Okay, this is very funny, I’ll give you that…” you manage through broken wheezes before a flurry of giggles takes over you again. 

He blinks, checks behind himself to see if Dokyeom’s playing any tricks, before remembering — his background on Zoom is that of the teletubbies with the red teletubby making up his costume. 

“Oh shit, sorry.” he chuckles too, quickly working around to fix it back to normal as you wipe your tears on the screen. “Forgot to change that after Dokyeom borrowed my computer.” 

“Yeah, sure, blame it on Dokyeom.” 

He has only ever seen you laugh like that when he said some poorly timed joke about how Statistics deserves the PR that Mathematics got because ‘that shit is nuts’ after you walked him through the Bayesian theorem. And he wishes you were physically here with him so that he could witness it again up close. How your fingers fly to your mouth when the laughter gets uncontrollably hard like you’re trying to physically seal it in. Or how your hair escapes from behind your ears when you duck your face low to hide it from the world. 

He stays rooted there, not saying anything, not doing anything— just admiring, with the faintest smile curving his lips until your laughter dissolves. 

“Anyways, I thought we should revise the third unit again.” you shake your head, avoiding looking at him like you didn’t just have his heart do somersaults in his chest. 

You continue revising for nearly two full hours while he pretends to read something on another tab when actually, he’s just staring at you.

Your eyes downturned to focus on your handwritten notes. Your eyebrows scrunched with that little frown between them as you scribble something endlessly. Your face is illuminated just by the soft white glow of your screen while your hair catches the mellow gold emanating from your fairy-lights behind you. Effortlessly delicate.

You only look at him whenever he asks you something and after quickly solving his query, return back to your tasks.

He hates it — he hates that in the library and he hates it even on this zoom call.

If he could, he'd willingly let himself be held captive by your deep, dark gaze and live all his days under that said captivity like the happiest man on the planet.

By the time midnight rolls around, he’s a mess. Like a desperate dog trying to get your attention in any way possible. Each time you as much as suggest dropping off the call, he interrupts you with a “sure but I just can’t understand why we are taking the present values here…” 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” you yawn, blinking slowly and trying to keep your watery eyes open for him. “Truce?” 

His heart skips a beat hearing you sleepily say that word. The word you both decided upon and one that is uttered a million times across the globe. Yet, it feels intimately personal. Like a shared language the two of you made up. 

“Truce. Tomorrow sounds cool.” he nods eagerly, already feeling guilty about keeping you up later than what was needed all so he could stare at you. 

“Good night, Mingyu.” You give him a little wave because maybe sleep has worn down your usual armour which restricts you from ever saying goodbye to him. 

“Sleep well.” he smiles, not turning the screen off until you do. 

He cracks his neck from side to side, stretching his arms up as if attempting to make the warm, euphoric feeling in his chest melt and seep into every fibre of his being. 

A jarring clink of metal hitting ceramic pulls him out of his dreamy haze. Dokyeom is leaning against the kitchen counter since God knows when, eating spoonfuls after spoonfuls of soggy cereal as he eyes him like a hungry cat stalking an injured sparrow. 

“Hey,” Mingyu clears his throat, toughening up his voice as if he wasn’t just wishing you like your personal teddy-bear. “What’s up?” 

Dokyeom lifts the bowl up to his lips and finishes the remaining, cold milk in a go. He shakes his head, wiping his lips with the sleeve of his shirt. “Can’t believe girls slip off their numbers into your jacket, man.” 

⸻

The day before the exam isn’t all sunshines and rainbows though. At least not for Mingyu. 

He hasn’t really budged off from his makeshift study-table at Dokyeom’s dining table in days. Only leaving the space for his daily four-hour long practices and workouts or to sleep.

He just doesn’t want to disappoint you — even though you have told him that mid-terms for this specific Professor would be harder than finals so a lower average is pretty much guaranteed. 

Yet for each question that he gets wrong, Mingyu’s conviction diminishes to a point that he questions if in the past month or so, he learnt anything from you at all or was he just busy being mesmerized by you? 

He doesn’t know if the two of you are even at a point in your ‘friendship’, if he can even call it that, where he can just call you and rant about it. You’ve made it very clear with your disinterest in any other topics that he brings up for him to believe that. 

He spends the entire afternoon reworking his most common errors and doesn’t even notice the sun set behind him until Dokyeom comes up to him. 

“Dude,” he says, slapping Mingyu on the back, “Jess's coming home tonight, hope you don’t mind.” 

Shit—

He totally forgot about Dokyeom’s long-distance girlfriend who he was told would be visiting the town. 

“Yeah, yeah, I made arrangements to crash at Jihyo’s for the week.” he lies. 

“No I’m good with you here,” Dokyeom says, quickly, “we just might need the place to ourselves for tonight.”

“Nah dude, I don’t wanna interfere. Just give me a moment.” 

Dokyeom gives him one, simple nod of gratitude, telling him to stay back for dinner with Jess before disappearing out of the door to pick his girlfriend up. Mingyu collects his things, tidies up the place and even puts the chicken out to thaw that Dokyeom forgot about — but doesn’t overstay his welcome. 

⸻

Mingyu hates how pressure-inducing libraries can be during exam-periods. But studying at the campus café, he realizes, seems performative to the onlookers because even with his laptop and notes out all over the table, he has lost count of how many times people come up to him to strike a conversation. Girls reminding him not to bail out on their invitations, freshmen coming up to tell him how they’d love to hang sometime.

He smiles at all of them, flirts back until they’ve been charmed enough to leave him alone when he apologizes with a ‘would love to…just need to get through these mid-terms right now.’ 

Perform, pretend, please. 

That’s what he does until his face is buzzing with exhaustion curving and contorting into fake smiles. 

He packs up his things, nearly accepting defeat and realizing he still needs a place to sleep tonight before the big exam tomorrow. 

He is about to text Jihyo when his phone lights up with an unexpected call. 

You. 

The phone rings twice as he blinks, trying to figure out if you actually called him or if it’s just his tired eyes playing tricks before he hurriedly answers it right before the call cuts off. 

“Hello?”

“Oh hi,” his favorite voice answers, gentle and calm, “I… uh, I just wanted to call and check in to see how you’re doing. Hope you’re not stressing much.”

He scratches the back of his neck, thinking of another fake answer to appear cool as ever. But something within him unlatches at the mere presence of you, only if it’s just your voice, as it presses against his ear. And he crumbles.

“Actually,” he sighs, “I am kinda struggling.” 

“Do you need my help with something?” 

“As much as I’d want it to be otherwise…I do.” 

“Mingyu,” your voice softens even more like it is trying to cushion his fall. “You don’t have to feel bad about asking for my assistance. Can we meet somewhere?” 

He wasn’t expecting you to offer that. At least not physically, given the fact that out of the six of your last study sessions, four of them were all online. 

“I would…I would love to.” he nods, even though you can’t see. “Library?” 

“Gosh no, I hate libraries during exam weeks. Everyone’s like a zombie in there.” 

“Same,” he laughs, “uh, I’m at the café but it’s…not quite ideal either.” 

“The girls next door are having a slumber party,” you reply, “so that checks out my room as well.” 

A hopeless silence stretches between the two of you, heavy and desperate. Mingyu is about to drop the plan altogether. 

But then, you interrupt his thought before he can even verbalize it when you ask, too small and doubtful, like you are always bracing for some impact. 

“How about your place, Gyu?” 

He feels his chest collapse on itself. 

But this time, not with dread. 

Instead, a quiet possibility of something that feels too fragile for him to hold tight upon. Yet, he does. 

“Yes,” he answers, “we can go to my place.”  

CHAPTER 9: on my last strength against you

You had tried. 

Since the night at the diner, you had really tried your best to avoid Mingyu in spaces of your life he didn’t belong in. 

You had tried to suppress it — the craving you felt for his effortless ease. The warm breeze of movement whenever he’d walk in, or lean in, like the air displacing itself to make room for his citrusy scent. The weight of his voice that somehow just made everything pause. 

But mostly, you had craved the sense of safety you felt around him. 

How even his shadow would loom over you as you both strolled through the bookshelves searching for a textbook, like it was looking after you. 

Or how his fingers would always reach forward to carry your books before his own. How he’d lean coolly across the table, often making it look narrower than it was with his knees bracketing yours. 

You had tried not to think about it, hold it all in, until you just could not. 

You wanted to hear him complain about portion sizes again. You wanted to make fun of the way he’d write his g’s and y’s, almost identical. 

And above it all. You had just wanted him. 

Kim Mingyu had done what Kim Mingyu does best — saturated your mind and soul with his endearing existence until you just could not look away. 

Even after knowing the costs… even after fearing the truths… even after watching the wordlessly icy encounter between him and your brother, you wanted nothing more than to just be near him. 

So you relented and called him, making some excuse about ‘checking in’ when all you were looking forward to was hearing the sound of his voice. 

You had instantly regretted suggesting to meet at his place — because what if he took that suggestion otherwise? What if, to him, you were another one of those trying to just slip into his bed with him? 

You shake your head, that is a ridiculous thought. Mingyu would never think of you like that…

Yet, you put on an additional armour — a jacket — over the dress you had spent fifteen minutes choosing because you thought it made you look pretty. And for some reason, you wanted to feel pretty. 

It is so vain, you think, dolling yourself up like this for a study date. 

But a startling knock at your door jerks you out of your never-ending train of dilemmas. You quickly smooth the dress one last time before picking up the spiral-bound book that contains everything you’d need to take a look at the night before the test. 

A strong wave of nostalgia hits you right when your fingers curl around the doorknob. 

Almost a month ago, this was the same door that had separated you from him. The same pull of the knob that had twisted with it all the certainties that you knew, and turned them into uncertainties you didn’t know would make you this happy. 

The hinges of the door creak when you open it, and for a moment, you forget where you are. For it is not the same Kim Mingyu you had opened the door to all those days ago. Back then, he had leaned in the doorway, smiled at you with recognition, made the conversation flow too easily and made the room seem too small. 

Right now, though, he stands there somewhat nervous. Strange. 

Some of his hair falls over his brows messy and abandoned, like he gave up on brushing it back. Faint shadows loom over his face, enough to tell you he has had a long, long day.

Still, he smiles at you. 

“You look really… nice.” he says, slowly, so slowly that it is almost devastating. 

“Thanks,” you tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“Sorry for the delay though, I uh,” he clears his throat, “I needed to tidy up my place.” 

“Don’t worry Mingyu, I can survive at your bachelor pad for a few hours.” 

He laughs, “that’s not what I meant. It was just a bit dusty.” 

The girls next door shout the lyrics to some song on top of their lungs as you shut and lock your door behind you while he slips the bag containing your books off your fingers and slides it onto his own shoulders. You let him. Because you know it’s little things like these — this constant contact of skins, words, eyes, gestures — is what grounds him. 

“You okay?” You ask him as you begin walking side by side across the dimly lit hallways of the dormitories that smell faintly of mildew. 

He tilts his head, already looking more at ease than earlier. 

“I am now.” 

⸻

Mingyu’s apartment is a fifteen minute walk off campus. A neat, spacious place which comes with a balcony and whose rent you know would make you roll your eyes at him. 

Walking in, you’re hit with the scent of cedar and fresh laundry — which judging by the constant hum of the washer in the distance, is a pile he most probably stocked in right before coming to pick you up. 

The lights are a welcoming, mellow gold which shine just a tad too bright and flicker like they’re adjusting being turned on after some significant underuse over time. 

The carpet looks freshly vacuumed too. 

But it’s the seemingly unnoticeable things that give it away. Like the plants shrivelled dead in his balcony. Or the bag of some basic groceries that still lies unopened on the polished kitchen counter. The absence of dishes in the sink and the books overstuffed into the shelf, forgotten. 

It looks like a home deserted, which is only recently witnessing its first signs of life after months. 

“You have a beautiful place.” you tell him regardless, your eyes taking in the details of the arched doorway leading into the drawing room. 

“Thanks,” he answers, already in the kitchen, "it's a shame I barely ever come here anymore. Water or tea?” 

“Just water’s fine.” you answer, “but why though? And where do you live if not here?” 

“Dokyeom’s.” he says quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to say it out loud. “It’s just more convenient. For practice, I mean. Closer to the campus and everything.” 

Your fingers cup the glass of water that he offers you, but your eyes remain on him. Lingering and loaded. 

He stares back into them, then licks his lips. “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” your heart races. 

“Look at me like you know I’m lying.”

A short titter escapes your lips with the ease of a breath. “Well, then don’t lie. My intuition is just stronger than average.” 

He leans by the counter next to you, his fingers tapping against the marble casually like his close proximity isn’t making you dizzy. Whenever he is near you, like this, you’re always reminded of just how much taller he is to you. And you probably shouldn’t be reveling in the feeling of it this much. 

But some carnal part within you…this uncontrollable thing…it does. It often makes you want to reach up and just feel his firm shoulders under your palms, or see if your fingers could even reach the back of his head if your lips were to ever meet—

“What gives it away?” he asks, a small smirk tilting his lips like he just heard your thoughts out loud. 

“Wh–what?” you stutter, unintentionally taking a step back. 

“What gives it away to you when I’m lying?” he asks, lolling his head to a side almost curiously. “You always seem to catch me with those big, beautiful eyes of yours.” 

You choose to ignore that last bit because you know that if you focus too much on it, you’d lose your goddamn mind. 

“You just seem very unhappy when you do.” You shrug, peeling your eyes away from him, “and your face drops and drains like you can’t stand being dishonest. But for some reason, you do.” 

“Don’t we all?” he asks, “I mean, do you never lie?” 

The glass almost slips out of your grip. The question hits you like a morning alarm, too loud and eager to disrupt the dreams you had been knitting lazily, carelessly. You want to tell him that of course, you do lie. That this entire arrangement is based on one of those lies. That you’re dreading seeing Ethan again because of one of your lies and you’re not too sure what it would be that finally breaks you. 

“I do, sometimes…” you whisper. “I guess my face is just not as expressive as yours so people don’t catch it.”

Maybe he can sense your discomfort or see your jitters because he only nods, keeping those observant eyes all over you — taking in your trembling lips, your avoidant eyes before slipping down to the visible stretch of your collarbones.

Just when you think you should pivot by pulling out the notes for the night, he exhales. 

“Well, the truth about why I don’t really live here anymore is because…some time back, I said something stupid to someone here. And then it resulted in this tense disagreement in our friend-group.”

His breath shudders like it has just put down something heavy after carrying it for a long time. You stay silent, but you do move in a bit closer, your thumb finding its way over his fingers. Not soothing, not rubbing. Just staying with the quite presence of your touch.

“We all used to hang out around here all the time, you know? Always too loud that the neighbours would complain, always too full that I had to arrange for extra seats. But it all just abruptly stopped.” 

He glances at your face like he’s looking for some signs of wariness, or judgement. But you only shift closer. 

“So when a pipe burst some months back, I just took that as an escape — or at least that’s what my friend Jihyo thinks.” 

You let what he has just confessed settle somewhere between the two of you. It’s not heavy, nor ugly. Just so, so human. 

And it breaks you to see that he believed otherwise for so long. 

“Not an escape, but maybe a break?” you suggest, gently, carefully. “Because if you were running away from it, you wouldn’t be here tonight. You wouldn’t have cleaned it all up and invited me here.” 

He doesn’t stop staring at you, like hearing you speak soothes something within him. 

“I really wanna come back here. I just feel so shitty that I abandoned it for so long.” 

“Well,” you say, “if I were you, I’d start by getting some flowers back into those pots.” 

“And what flowers do you suggest I grow here in my humble garden, your highness?” he says, painting his voice with a fake British accent that makes you laugh. 

You match his playfulness, “Only the most beautiful ones, of course.” 

“Which are…?” 

“Peonies,” you exclaim, “you idiot.” 

⸻

Just an hour worth of pep-talk is all it takes for the both of you to feel more at ease about the exam tomorrow. And because he is able to miraculously understand all the concepts he was struggling with all day in a matter of minutes now, Kim Mingyu has been getting too brave with his antics. 

Sometime between nine and ten p.m., you both had abandoned the comfortable, plush couch to sit on the cushions on the ground with all the books scattered over his coffee-table. Well, you are the only one who’s sitting it seems, because Mingyu has long given up on the idea of yet another ‘one last revision’ and now lays on his side with his head propped up over his fist. 

You roll your eyes at him again when he mentions dinner for the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes, but your smile gives it away — which only fuels his audacity to disrupt. 

Because after only a few short moments of pindrop silence, you feel the ghost of his touch almost brushing the skin of your thighs as he fiddles with a small corner of your dress’s hem. 

And just like that, you forget how to breathe. 

Your eyes shoot towards him, wondering what he’s thinking, only to find his lips twitch into something small, something unreadable, as he holds the fabric reverently between his fingers. This isn’t the first time when Mingyu has made it evident that he can’t stop touching what you wear…or just you, for that matter. 

He thinks he’s too smart, that you won’t notice it when he sits by you, rests his arm over the back of your chair and lets his fingers twirl ever so softly with your loose hair. 

Or when he sometimes places his palm flat over your back — only momentarily, to get your attention or to guide you through an overcrowded cafeteria.  

But this time, the lack of subtlety and the sheer rawness of the act makes you stutter. 

“Silk?” he asks, finally tilting his head back just enough for his shadowed gaze to melt with yours. 

"Wha...what?" you somehow manage not to trip your words over your breaths.

"Your dress...is it made of silk?" he says, too curious over something so irrelevant.

“It’s satin,” you can only squeak, your skin suddenly too aware of the smooth fabric that hugs and clings to it at various angles under his watchful gaze. “My friend Cass stitches most of my clothes for me.” 

Mingyu nods, letting the lush fabric drop down from his fingers. But he makes no attempt at retrieving them away, just lets his hand fall over your knee. 

Not grabbing or squeezing, just a soft warm press of skin on skin. 

“They’re beautiful on you… she seems like a lovely friend.”

“She is.” you pretend to return back to writing in your notebook, even though all your attention has pooled in the spot where his fingers sit over your body. 

“I used to make a few designs too.”

“You did?” 

“Yeah…here and there, during my free time. Nothing serious.” 

“Do you have any of those designs right now?” 

He glances away from you towards a door that you aren’t too sure conceals what. 

“I actually do.” he replies, then looks back at you with sheer excitement. “Wait a second.” 

⸻

Mingyu reappears with a giant, black binder with a few loose sheets poking out. 

“This is just unfair,” you complain, flipping through his hand-drawn designs — some apparel, others just patterns. “You are the best at the sport that you play, your average is almost as good as mine, and you are creative too?” 

“Says the girl with a voice that one hears only at the pearly gates of heaven.” 

“You’re exaggerating.” 

“So are you.” 

“I’m not!” you retort, pointing to a sketch of a jacket. “Look at this — the details, the drape, the structure. You’re so good at this.” 

Mingyu watches you instead of the drawing, the usual flaming passion in his eyes mellowed down into the toasty warmth of dying embers. “You think so?” 

“Mhmm.” you’re too busy admiring the designs that you almost miss it when your stomach grumbles loudly. 

Almost. 

Because Mingyu begins laughing like that was some cue. That loud, open laugh that is raspy at the edges and emerges right from his chest. You feign offense to hide your blush. But he’s already up on his feet and pulling you up on yours with his sure palms supporting your much smaller ones. 

“Let’s get something to fill Mr. Grumbly Grumps up.” he teases, “also, please don’t tell me if it tastes horrible, it’s been very long since I last cooked for someone else. I will, as a matter of principle, cry if you complain.” 

You help him out by emptying the groceries out of the bag and onto the counter. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” you scoff, “the only other things I’ve heard more about than your stupid abs are your cooking skills.” 

Mingyu gives you that tongue-in-the-cheek smile while slicing garlic, the one that suggests he is having a hard time holding back whatever it is that he wants to say out loud. 

“What?” you press. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“No, you have to tell me.” 

“It’s just an observation that my father and I have.”

“What observation?” 

“You know? The one that goes that whenever a girl wants something really bad, she’s most likely to affix the adjective ‘stupid’ to it. For example, my mom is always like ‘ugh, I could kill for one of those stupid oatmeal cookies right now,’ or my sister who is always complaining about her stupid crush.” 

“Okay first, that’s gross. And second, that’s untrue.” 

“Backed by research and scientific data,” he shrugs.

“You’re being really stupid right now, I don’t want you or your stupid abs.” 

He ducks just in time as you hurl a cherry tomato at him. 

“Just keep hammering my point to the wall, princess.” 

CHAPTER 10: i'm a moth, who just wants to share your light

It is a cloudy day when you both meet after your mid-terms. 

Being back in the library packed with buzzing bodies after spending your last meeting at the hushed intimacy of his house, and all that you shared, seems like hitting restart on a game you didn’t know you were playing. 

Sitting by each other now with a single computer shared between you both feels oddly distant, despite the physical nearness. Especially after he had made you taste the sauce as he cooked it and then licked the spoon that you had in your mouth clean. Especially after he had driven you back to your dorm—even though you insisted you could walk—simply because he refused to let you do so in the dark. 

Especially after you had taken him by surprise when you turned after unlocking your door and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him in for a hug that lingered longer than it needed to. 

Especially after several strands of your hair had gotten stuck to his warm hoodie, refusing to part even after you pulled back and wished him luck for the exam while he stared down at you like he was hanging on by some thread. A thread that was actively loosening up. 

But you know it had been the right call to decline his invitation to meet at his house again and suggest the library instead. 

You can’t believe it had taken Heather appearing at your doorstep, asking for a specific charger, to rattle you out of the fantasies you had been weaving in your head.

Fantasies that had felt beautiful because they were a kaleidoscope of someone else’s broken wishes. 

The guilt that had consumed you at the mere sight of her smiling face was so enormous that it felt like all your blood had drained out of your system to make space for that corrosive thing as it ate you alive. 

You had attempted to right your wrongs by promptly giving Heather Mingyu’s number, telling her that Chaeyoung left it before leaving.

Still, you weren’t brave enough to confess fully, so you carefully omitted out the details about the whole tutoring fiasco. 

Now, he sits beside you as you shoot down yet another attempt of his to crack a joke. He doesn’t look confused though. 

Just…curious, with his eyes scanning across you once.

He shifts back in his seat, allowing you space. Like by now, he understands that this isn’t something that he caused. That maybe you’re just having one of your tougher days where him being playful irks you more than it entertains you. 

What he’s blissfully unaware of is the fact that you plan to make this permanent now. 

He leans back in his chair, his knee pressing against your own in that way that always makes your skin tingle. 

Except this time, you shift yours further away. 

He notices it, momentarily glancing up from the screen of his phone like someone reached forward and stole something precious away from him, but doesn’t comment. 

You hear him answering a few texts, snorting at the others before—

“Huh? Strange.” 

You turn to face him, “what?” 

He shakes his head, pocketing his phone. “This girl named Heather. She just invited me to a charity concert her club is organizing tonight. It’s strange cause I don’t really know her.”

“Heather? She’s sweet.” 

“You know her?” 

“Who do you think gave her your number?” you pretend to snort, going back to your notes because you don’t think you have it in you to see his reaction. 

There’s a long pause that stretches so tight, it almost creates a rift in time and space. 

“You did?” he asks, voice small. 

You hum, still unable to look at him. “I mean…so many people have your number, she would have gotten it from somewhere.”

Mingyu scoffs before you can even finish that sentence, like he wants to physically brush off your words that just landed on him. You finally look at him only to find him watching you. Not with anger, not with disappointment. 

Just disbelief. 

Pure, unadulterated disbelief. Like he somehow misunderstood the entire story that you had written and narrated to him. 

And that desolate look scares you more than if he was, in fact, cross with you.

“You think I should go with her?” he asks with a low, humourless chuckle. But his voice remains dull, lacking any edges that could make you flinch. 

It only fuels your cruel bravery. 

“If you wish…we’re almost done here. I’m no one to stop you.”  

“Right,” he says, letting his eyes wander off into a distant corner before returning back to you. “Right. Because you’d only stop me if it were interfering with our schedule and nothing else.” 

“Precisely.” your jaw locks and you shut your book off with more force than necessary. 

Mingyu doesn’t utter another word, something so uncharacteristic for the boy whom you have grown accustomed to reciting his entire post-study schedule and what he’s planning to eat for dinner after all your sessions. 

He just collects his things, not furiously, but certainly with an edge. 

The air between the two of you distorts into an energy that you’ve never experienced with him. You blame it on the humidity and not the sinking feeling inside your gut. 

Still, Mingyu waits for you to walk you out until your paths diverge. And just before they do, right outside the library, you turn to him. 

“Mingyu?” you call out and he jerks his head towards you, something hopeful budding in his eyes. 

You crush it before it can bloom as you reach into your bag and pull out the umbrella you always carry. “You should take this, the weather’s only gonna get worse... have fun at the concert.” 

You turn around before he can notice the moisture in your eyes, or how your voice cracks. 

⸻

Mingyu has never really been the one to decline an invite, especially not when the said invite comes with the prospect of meeting new people, enjoying free drinks and good music. 

But lately, he has taken a liking to slowing down more. 

He prefers listening to softer music over loud noises, the kind of voices where he has to hold his breath to not miss it. Staring at a specific pair of wide, glossy eyes instead of neon lights. Calling truce when the overwhelm gets too much, instead of smiling and performing through it. Being held between the softest arms outside the world’s smallest dorm room as the voice of an angel wishes him luck for his exam, right by his ear. 

He doesn’t know what he did to scare her away like that. 

Was he too big? Too loud? Too demanding and insistent? 

When he had first fallen in love — if one can even call it that — some deep, untouched part of him had remained untouched. Like his soul knew that even though he loved her, he wasn’t really in love with Chaeyoung. 

Mingyu never understood when people told him that loving someone and being in love with someone were too vastly different things. 

But now, he does. 

Because with Chaeyoung, it had felt like he was falling off a cliff he knew very well the height, the perils, and the climb of.

But with you? It was like an unseen force had just hurled him off the edge of something — perhaps the Earth, perhaps the sky. 

His fall had been inevitable, unending…it had already happened. And all that was left was the slow drift downwards. 

And God he wanted it to go on forever. Just suspended somewhere he couldn’t name, being pulled towards something he had known primordially. 

That untouched part of him? He didn’t know when he had reached for it and handed it to you himself.

Yet now, it seems like you have lent it to someone else.

Or worse, discarded it, like it was some ugly, rotten thing. 

He really wants to understand why. He thought he had this mapped out this time around, thought he was more observant, more careful, more receptive. But as Heather snakes her arms around him with a sense of possession he didn’t know he had given her, he wonders if he really had been all that. Or did he just make it up in his head? 

Heather is, indeed, a very sweet girl. 

Yet, the more she clings on to him, the more she laughs at whatever he says — he feels like he has never been more misplaced in his whole life. 

Her perfume is sharp, floral. Nothing like the quiet, almost-there scent you carried. Like old paper warmed under sunlight.  

She passes him yet another chilled can of beer, bringing it up to his lips and tilting it even after he tells her he’s good. When he carefully takes it from her fingers, and places it back on a table to be forgotten in a sea of bodies colliding with each other, she pouts. But not for long, because the very next moment, she is pulling him along to flaunt him to her friends. 

He lets her pull him along. He smiles at the names that dissolve the moment they reach his ears. He lets the music settle deep and hum in his bones, a cruel mimicry of the way his ribs would sing whenever he touched you. He smiles — the practiced movement of the stretch of his lips and ease of his breaths. 

But none of it lands. 

None of it sticks. 

This concert is a place for him to be, a place he would have never complained about. Yet all the noise that once drowned his thoughts out seems muffled now.

His mind keeps on betraying him, dragging him to the same quiet place that he doesn’t own but had only rented out from you. 

He doesn’t pay much attention to the song that is nearing its end. But even as Heather coils tighter around him, dancing to it, he catches a lyric or two and knows that it’s about grief muffled between loud bass. The lights are a pulsating red like they’re signalling an end to something. 

You… sitting beside him in the library, pretending not to look at him. 

You… shifting your knees away like his touch had turned into something offensive. 

You… handing him the umbrella under the thickest grey cloud ever, biting back something under your tight lips like you weren’t actively unravelling him at the seams. 

The song shifts to a duller, more romantic one. Heather’s hold loosens, she tells him she needs to go somewhere quick and leaves. The lights change to pure white.

You, sitting on the floor of his house with a pot of ramen shared between your bodies, making it seem worth spending a life in. 

You, trying to hide your smile at his oddly timed jokes when you think he’s not looking in the library. 

You, with your skin flushing pink whenever he tells you you look beautiful, which is almost everyday. 

You, opening the door to Chaeyoung’s room with confusion in those deep dark eyes, stuttering and changing his life forever. 

You, with a guitar on your lap and exhaustion in your throat, still somehow making a space for him to take refuge in your softness forever. 

Something shatters in his chest the moment the song ends. Its jagged edges poking at his heart, deflating it until nothing remains. 

“You wanna try Molly backstage?” Heather shouts over the music, having appeared out of nowhere, “I know a guy.” 

You had looked… resolved. Like someone choosing to amputate their own limb to stop an infection from spreading.

He exhales sharply, tipping his head back as the ceiling lights blur into abstract orbs. 

“Mingyu?” Heather calls, “hey are you drunk already?” 

He’s thinking about that thread again.

The one he didn’t even know existed until it started tightening around his ribs, pulling him toward you in ways that defied logic, timing, consequence. The one he had seen reflected in your eyes that night outside your dorm when you hugged him — fragile, trembling, but undeniably there.

He had held onto it.

God, he had lived inside it.

And today, in the library, it snapped — clean and mercilessly.

“Dude?” Heather’s voice cuts through again, this time accompanied by a gentle shake of his arm. “Are you even listening?”

He looks at her then. There is nothing unkind in his expression. Just absence…like you took away everything that warmed his eyes in exchange for a small umbrella with your initials painted on the base. 

“Yes?” he says automatically, but even to his own ears, it sounds hollow. Like a placeholder. Like something meant to fill silence rather than to convey truth.

Her smile falters, just slightly. “You’ve been off all night.”

He almost laughs at that.

All night.

As if it had only started tonight.

As if something fundamental inside him hadn’t been displaced hours earlier, in a quiet library where the loudest sound had been the turning of pages and the breaking of something neither of you had dared to name.

“I think I should go,” he says suddenly. “I need to be somewhere.”

Somewhere that exists in fragments — your voice, your hands, the way you had said his name like it meant something fragile and worth protecting.

Heather blinks. He hands her the drink, untouched.

“I’m sorry,” he adds, and this time, he means it — for the inconvenience, for the confusion, for being physically present while being irreparably elsewhere.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I figured.”

// im not lying when i say i looped 'all i need' by radiohead like crazy while planning this fic, all thanks to the person who introduced me to that song! i probably shouldn't have released this already but welp, i hope this didn't sound too rushed.

pls let me know if you would like to be added to the next part. as always, comments, reblogs and asks about the fic are always appreciated <3

tags: @gyuiebabie @lavendersunfloooooower @fzenn @mmerleu @junniesoleilkth

@woo-wonwoo @meowchella @yoongihan @berry-s-stuff @slut4kwon (im sorry i also tagged people who reblogged this asking for the next part, please let me know if you would like to be taken off the taglist, no hard feelings at all!!)

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 1: no longer who i used to be

Kim Mingyu never thought that a day would come where he’d step into his favorite restaurant in the town after a day of gruelling practice and his first thought would be that he’d rather die than face his friends over dinner. 

But life is full of surprises — it has its ways of blanketing the brightest of suns with a grey cloud of gloom. And as he tugs at the knot of tie for what seems like the seventh time in the last one minute as the hostess leads him in, Mingyu already looks exhausted. 

“You’re the first one of the party to arrive,” she looks over her shoulder, her maroon-coated lips stretched into a professional curve. 

He nods.

She shows him to the largest table draped in lilac satin as per Chaeyoung’s request and replaces the ‘reserved’ sign with a menu-card. 

“Should I get you some water?” she asks, wiping the table again, just in case. “Or anything to start. Your server will be here shortly.”

“No, I’m good for now.” he clears his throat and tries to unlock his jaw, “I’ll just wait for the others.”

She smiles and walks away like she has done multiple times in the last one year that he has been frequenting this place. 

It is one of his favorites, truly. 

Rustic interior drowned in darkness with moody lighting cascading only upon the things that matter. Familiar staff who humor him every time he shows up with his friends or his team after a game. Music tuned just enough to allow loud conversations of joy to echo while filtering out the ones weighed down by feelings that, in his opinion, do not belong over good food. 

But tonight feels…odd. Misaligned and misplaced. Just wrong.

The hostess never asks if he’d want something. The lights are never this bright and why does it clash with the color of his tie? Why is he even wearing a fucking tie in the first place—

Oh right. 

Birthday girl privileges and a request—threat—from Miss Chaeyoung herself to tidy up in formals and dress up at least once. 

Regardless, the tie needs to go. 

And so he tugs at it until the knot gives away. But as soon as the noose loosens and falls soundlessly in his lap, he feels his throat tightening again with yet another inconvenience. 

Why does the music sound different? Quieter, much more mellow and slower than usual. It ruins everything, he thinks, because what if he sighs differently and they catch it? What if there’s some obvious change in tone that someone latches on to? What if he scrapes his knife too harsh against the porcelain when someone says something cruel to get a reaction out of him? 

No. 

He’s never the one to complain or be grumpy, it is so uncharacteristic for him. But the music needs to be what it usually is…a tad bit louder. Just tonight, especially tonight. 

Just as he’s about to lift his head to inspect what’s up, his line of sight gets blocked by the server who usually takes their table whenever the ice-hockey team of the college or any of its members visit the restaurant. 

It is comical how quickly Mingyu is able to slip on his happy-go-lucky, ‘all-is-well in the world with sunshine and rainbows’ mask when Betsy, their server, smiles at him. 

“What’s the celebration tonight?” She asks, her wrinkled face deepening with delight when she notices the tailored-suit. “Seems quite fancy.” 

“Are you jealous Betsy?” he teases, a small smirk maturing on his face, “don’t worry I’m here for a birthday dinner. Not on some date.”

The older woman feigns surprise like she isn’t used to his effortless charm and flirtatious tendencies by now. She hits him lightly with her notepad. “I am married, young man.”

“And I score on defended nets all the time.” he winks. 

“Find yourself a suitable girl and stop wasting your charms on older women.”

“Talking like you are not my only perfect match in this whole wide world.”

Betsy gasps and shakes her head, ignoring his words but the blush creeps up regardless. “Flattery won’t get you free dessert, boy. Now quit playing around and tell me what you would like before your loud pack of hooligans arrive.” 

“Just water for now,” Mingyu allows himself to give her his actual, real smile. The kind which lights up his eyes and allows his jaw to relax more. 

“I will get you the cucumber one, it is better for you,” Betsy says, stuffing the notepad back into her apron, “in the meantime, enjoy the new addition we have got here.”

With that, she steps away just enough for Mingyu to see the epicenter of his earlier dilemma. The change in music. 

“A new, live singer in the house,” Betsy offers. She further says something about the name of the singer, about how she attends the same University as him, about how she’s the niece of the owner.

But it all fades. 

She is sitting on a bar-stool in a dark corner, her only companions being the mic-stand tangled up with haphazard wires at the base and an acoustic guitar in her lap. Her eyes are either downturned, or closed—it is hard for him to tell from where he’s sitting. But even from the distance, the view of her—small and contained in that little corner that already feels like it belongs to no one but her—it heals something deep within him. And for a moment, he feels like all is, actually, well. 

This soothing, balmy feeling. 

Like when he’d used to stare up at the moon that hung low outside his window. 

Her skin glows with its own mellow, moonlight too. Or perhaps it’s just the amber from the chandelier that falls with romantic shadows over her. Her hair, long and open in loose waves curtain half of her face away from his gaze. But he can hear, more than he can see, the anxiety undercutting her voice as she sings some old Billy-Joel song. All her words carefully clipped and never gliding over each other or over the music, as if the quiet control will undo the dread of doing something wrong on her new job.

“Do you like her?” Betsy asks, not out of the blue, but as a follow-up to something she must’ve said earlier. 

Mingyu feels the strain behind his eyes when he drags them away from the singer with the dreamy voice and back to Betsy as she stares at him with this unspoken look in her eyes—one that older people give you when they can foresee something that you don’t. 

Mingyu tries to play it cool, toying with his cufflinks. “Dreaming about setting me up with her or what? At least introduce me to her first.”

“Don’t even think about it, player, at least not while she’s at work.” Betsy warns, “I’m just taking feedback—do you like her?”

“She’s good,” Mingyu tries to physically shrug off the urge to look in that certain corner again, “a little nervous, I think.”

“Uh huh, well she is quite young.”

“When did she start?”

“Last month?” Betsy pauses to think, “yeah, last month. Said she needed some extra cash but had no experience in hospitality. Her aunt suggested we put a nice little set-up in the corner without the windows for her.”

A month. 

Mingyu hadn’t been anywhere since before that. In fact, this might be his first night out and about ever since the party where it all went down. Because since then, he had been cooped up in his apartment, just sketching and writing his feelings away and surviving on half-eaten bowls of ramen that he’d forget about before reheating it again for dinner. 

If Mingyu seems uncharacteristic tonight, it’s not a switch flipped. But a culmination of everything that had beaten it into his head that whatever he knew about love and affection had been just wrong. Impure. Insincere. Even when he didn’t mean for it to be. 

And without love, what else is there for him to even define his character upon? 

Betsy disappears just in time for Chaeyoung and Seungcheol to arrive with Dokyeom, Misty and the freshman named Chan who has been following Seungcheol around like a lost puppy. 

Chaeyoung squeals before she hugs him. “Oh my God, Gyu!” 

His palm flattens over her bare back—almost. He blames it on muscle memory before correcting himself by letting his fingers awkwardly rest over her lower back. 

“Happy birthday, Chae.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” sincerity brims her eyes when she takes a moment to look at him, really look at him. 

Everyone else settles behind them, pretending they are not all thinking the same things or feeling the same tensed air weighing down upon them. 

She squeezes his hands as Mingyu nods once, his smile tight when he settles in the corner seat next to his ice-hockey team’s captain, Choi Seungcheol. The guy gives him a tight nod—formal and clean. 

The entire table of his friends falls back into that practiced chatter. Jokes from Dokyeom as he surveys the menu, hushed whispers between Seungcheol and Chaeyoung as they decide upon what dish they would like to share, Chan and Misty complaining about their own schedules. 

And he can hear it all because the music is too soft. 

Mingyu keeps on shifting in his seat, pretending to read the menu and failing at it…almost as if his own body doesn’t understand how to function at this moment. He is grateful for it when Dokyeom—ever observant and quick to read the room—orders the exact same thing for him. 

Wonwoo and Jihyo join them a bit late with a present wrapped in silver, blaming the delay on traffic. 

Mingyu doesn’t miss it though, the look that the two share when their watchful gazes shift from the interlinked fingers of Chaeyoung and Seungcheol on the table to Mingyu who looks like he is trying to swallow something down but failing gloriously at it. 

He looks away before he can detect pity in their eyes.

Leaning his head back, he thinks it is going to be a miracle if something can keep him afloat in the tsunami that is this night. 

He finds that anchor in the voice that melts into the music of an acoustic guitar like liquid gold. 

⸻

“Oh, I love her voice,” Chaeyoung mumbles mid-bite when Betsy asks her the same question about the singer. “Very fresh.”

Misty, who surprisingly hasn’t said anything peculiar throughout the night so far, no longer seems to be in the mood to hold back anymore as she watches Mingyu carefully chew down on the last bits on his plate. 

“Hey, Mingyu!” she calls for his attention, breaking some trance that the boy has slipped into. “Why don’t you go down there and ask her to play Chaeyoung’s favourite song, huh?”

Dokyeom interrupts, quickly dabbing his mouth, “I don't know if that is allowed…is it Betsy?” 

“Oh I’m sure Veronica would let it slide,” Misty says, referencing the manager of the property, “it’s a beloved patron’s birthday after all. So, Mingyu, would you?” 

There it is. The test. The show. The jibe. The thing he had been dreading all evening. Like something he hasn’t prepared for, but something he must excel at to prove he isn’t all that vain. 

Chaeyoung cuts in smoothly, trying to defuse the smoke before it overtakes all the airy lightness of the night. “It’s very unnecessary, really. We are not kids anymore…” But after taking a quick sip of the water, Mingyu is already getting up from his seat. Chaeyoung probably doesn’t think it through when she grabs his hand, “Mingyu really. Don’t.” 

Misty files the seemingly small but weighted interaction, reveling in how Seungcheol’s eyes oscillate between the two. 

“Come on Chae,” she pushes, “she sings so sweet and besides, Mingyu is good with people.”

Good with people. 

Good with feelings. 

The irony behind the words isn’t lost on Mingyu and the fact that they’re coming from his friend only makes him laugh. Just a small huff of air—something that he cannot hold back in unlike everything else he did all night. 

It is a humiliation ritual almost—because the song that is Chaeyoung’s favorite might just be the one that fits his situation perfectly. 

Something stupid by Frank Sinatra. Of course Misty would ask Mingyu to get it played. And if he says no, everyone would conclude what they have already been suspecting to be true—that he is still affected by it all. The rejection. The humiliation. The stupid confession. 

It leaves him with no choice but to oblige. 

Chaeyoung had long slipped her fingers off his wrist, yet he gently explains. “It’s your birthday…no big deal. I’ll go ask her.”

“Try not to get her number plastered all over your chest in red lipstick!” someone calls out from behind. Mingyu only shakes his head, playing along. That’s all he has learnt to be good at. 

CHAPTER 2: stand still like a hummingbird

“Hey—” Kim Mingyu says, standing barely a foot away from you. 

To say that it startles you would be an understatement when you almost slip off the stool. But your fingers instinctively curl around the mic, stationing your balance under the pretense of checking if it is off. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeak, a bit embarrassed. 

In your defence, being on a chair with no back support for three whole hours, trying to sing every word with perfection so that your being off-tune doesn’t ruin anyone’s dinner, all while carefully balancing your guitar over your thighs wasn’t the most comfortable position to be in. 

Especially not when someone whom you have avoided eye-contact with all night decides to knock all the air out of your system by hogging the space around you. 

For a moment, after you regain your composure, none of you speaks. He just stares at you like his vision has been blurry the entire night and you are the first thing he can focus upon. That he can anchor upon. You visibly see his uneven breaths slowing down when you tuck your hair behind your ear, blinking at him confused. 

“Can I help you?’

“Uh…I’m sorry if this is too demanding but it’s my friend’s birthday today,” he points back to the table and you assume the girl in the middle, who is currently busy talking to someone, is the one he’s talking about. “Can you maybe please sing something stupid by Frank Sinatra for her?” 

You almost turn him away by telling him you aren’t allowed to take requests from customers. That your aunt is very serious about you sticking strictly to the neat, organized playlist she carefully curates for every day of the week depending on the weather, the ambience, even factoring in the special menu items of the night to generate the ultimate dining experience at her diner. 

But he looks so…heartbreakingly small. 

You purse your lips together in contemplation and your eyes almost fall off his face as you gear up to mumble a careful rejection. But he interrupts you. 

“Please.” he says, so low and heavy that it falls on your lap like a plea you have no words to use to reject. 

Your fingers press over the guitar, surprised and confused. You look around—for Veronica, for a senior staff, for answers. But some of his friends are already getting up from their seats to see what’s taking so long. He nervously glances back at them, giving them an easy smile though nothing about him when he turns back to you seems easy. 

“Alright,” you nod. “Yeah, I can sing that.” 

His shoulders slump and he stands there for a moment like he needs to make himself breathe. Then, he nods at you with a small, tight smile before joining his friends and says something to them with the effortless cool he always sports—on and off the rink. 

You, like most people on campus, had never seen his armor creak. Mingyu has always been too easy to like, too tall to be ignored, too charming to not smile at and too easy to not talk to.

But tonight, right in front of you, you could swear you had seen him nearly crumble. Like everything you had known about him until now was a lie, a heavy mask that was making it hard for him to breathe. 

And you have never been the one to not care. Even if it meant nothing in return for you. 

So you strum the guitar and sing the song he had asked…no—begged you to sing. It is such a slow song. Simple lyrics. Easy cords. But it can be sung in so many voices and ways. 

You can make it melancholic and draw attention to his drooping lips as he sways in a corner with his friend—not the birthday girl though, because she is dancing with somebody else, your college’s ice hockey team’s current captain Choi Seungcheol. 

Or, you can make it more romantic for every couple who have joined the young crowd to dance along to your song. 

But then you remember the tender bruises denting his voice when he had spoken. And the decision finishes forming itself in your throat before you can rationalize it.

The song belongs to him. 

So you soften your voice and purposefully emphasize on the lighter lyrics while breezing past the wistful ones. You ensure to smile through it all, because one of the first lessons you had learnt in music was that listeners can hear the smile or the frown in your voice when you sing. And it has the tendency to rub off. 

You utter a small prayer under every word you sing with your most honest smiles, hoping that they land on and soothe whatever scars the dancing people in this dimly lit diner carry on their souls. 

⸻

Your head is swimming by the time you return back home. Not with exhaustion or delirium, but with the surrealist nature of everything that unfolded. 

Your ears still rang with the cheers that had followed after the song ended with everyone raising their champagne flutes to thank you. Some were wiping their eyes, while the others leaned more into their partners. The hundred dollar bill that Mingyu had quietly slipped into the tip-jar meant for you that still weighs down in your purse. 

When you come down for dinner, you wrap your hands around your stomach like you can somehow hold it all in and preserve it under your skin forever to return back to it whenever you feel too small or too lonely. Hold it from bubbling over and spilling at a home where there are rules associated with how his name must be spoken. 

Rule number one: well, it shouldn’t be. 

Because once uttered, Kim Mingyu’s name is enough to sour the moods of everyone in the family for days if not weeks. 

You don’t get it though. 

Sure, your twin brother and him might have had the fiercest of rivalries when it came to being drafted for your college's ice-hockey team throughout their junior and senior years in highschool. But it has also been almost two whole years since Coach Greer offered the opportunity to Mingyu and your brother had to go with his second choice at NYU. 

In theory, he should be over it by now. 

But he evidently isn’t, as can be seen at the monthly dinners for which he joins you and your parents, always grumbling about how it seems like he is the only one with a hockey-IQ on his team. 

“It’s like I am carrying that team throughout the season, and I am only a Sophomore.” he pierces the vegetables on his plate with more force than necessary, causing you to flinch. 

Your dad’s eyes dart between the two of you. Even though you are twins, you and Ethan couldn’t be more distinct from each other.

There is almost an inverted mirror between you both, reversing every image that reflects on it. 

You clear your throat, trying to deviate the topic of conversation before it crooks into something else. “Well, I don’t know if you know Ethan, but I got a job at Aunt Sylvie’s diner.”

“What do you need a job for?” he frowns. “Isn’t your course already too demanding?” 

“It is, which is why I want to save up to move into the dorms by next term…or maybe by Junior year at least. The workload would be harder then and I think living on campus would be better than commuting everyday—”

“On campus?” he scoffs, “you sure about that?”

You blink at your parents, confused, because you already had this conversation with them so you really don’t understand where this doubt is emerging from. 

“Yeah,” you say, “why?”

Ethan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and dragging the air from around you and towards himself like he has always done. 

“I don’t know…the stories that come out of your campus are pretty wild. It seems like you guys are more famous for your parties more than anything.” 

You don’t think much before you scoff. 

“You’re just jealous.” 

The impact of your words is so loud, it’s deafening. You only meant it as a light banter, but you know just how Ethan—and even your parents—are going to perceive it. 

You study at a University Ethan had made vision-boards about. You attend classes that he only got to tour when he was sure Coach Greer would pick him. You walk the same hallways as the guy who took that chance away from him. In fact, you even sang upon his request tonight. 

You cannot begin to bring yourself to look up and tally the damage that your careless remarks have caused. Slowly, you put your fork down. 

“I…uh, I’m done,” you announce, voice small, “besides, I promised Cass I’d meet her today.” 

You grab your jacket and zip it in a blur, mumbling a quick promise to your mom that you’d come and help her clean up before bed. Once outside, you drag your palms down your face and groan hard. 

You barely make it to Cassidy’s front-poarch before you hear your brother’s truck roar in the driveway and see him leave—even though he had plans to stay the weekend. 

CHAPTER 3: promises, unkept

A year later. 

Here’s the thing about being exceptionally silent—everyone glosses over your existence.

Yours is a tiny dorm room that has just enough space for a bunk bed, a shared closet and two tables. And yet, with her entire life upturned onto her bed and the floor, your roommate moves around like she has a personal agenda to bump into everything that makes a sound. 

You have been lying on the top bunk, wide awake and occasionally flinching since six in the morning each time she drops her metallic flask.

Now you do not like checking your phone first thing in the morning, but you have been scrolling endlessly because there’s nothing else you can do. With Chaeyoung’s open suitcase and bags littered all over a floor which seems like it was hit by her wardrobe-blizzard, there simply isn’t enough ground for you to step on. 

You muffle a groan in your folded forearm when your bladder cramps yet again.

This is getting ridiculous, and no amount of distractions can make you look away from the fact that you need to use the restroom in the next five minutes or less. 

You accidentally hit play on a random video of Olivia Rodrigo on twitter, attracting your roommate’s attention. You hear her drop the notepad she had been reviewing her to-pack list from before you feel her take a step on the ladder that connects her bed with yours. 

“Hey,” her face pops up by your pillow and you instinctively scoot backward, “you’re awake!” 

“Uh, yeah…” you rub the heel of your palm over your eyes, trying not to make it seem like her commotion disturbed you out of your sleep even though it absolutely did. 

“Oh how long?” her face scrunches up with concern, “shit, did I wake you up?” 

“No, no,” you insist, getting up and fixing your sleepgown even though Chaeyoung doesn’t really seem to mind. “Just need to use the restroom.”

“Fuck, sure.” she clamors around to make way. 

You keep on smoothing over your nightgown as you climb down, making a mental note of buying some bunk bed friendly PJs. Grabbing your essentials, you pad down the hallway towards the bathroom and to your surprise, Chaeyoung follows you, mumbling endlessly about how totally overwhelmed and unprepared she is for this trip. 

“And I told Cheol that I can absolutely not shut my internet off for two whole months but he insists that it’s gonna be rewarding.” 

You adore your roommate, there is no reason for you to not do so. She has been nothing but welcoming and friendly since you moved in a few weeks ago. But you have also only known her for so long to express any personal opinions about her relationship with the college’s former ice-hockey captain and now Boston Bruins’ defenseman Choi Seungcheol. 

“Are you going to be completely offline?” you ask a diplomatic question instead as she leans outside. 

“Not totally…I mean I still need to take the classes I enrolled online for. But I guess that’s it because apart from that, he has told me he has planned a lot for the two of us.” 

“Sounds nice.” 

“It’s sweet, yeah. But also—he’s the celebrity, not me. Why am I hiding away in a cabin for eight weeks? All I wanted was to take some time off this semester, not go on a whole ass retreat.” 

You wash your hands and splay some water over your face, trying to jolt your brain awake to come up with an appropriate response, and preferably a conclusion, to this conversation. 

From what you have observed so far, Chaeyoung is one of those people for whom a ten minute walk to the class ends up taking twenty because of the amount of times she has to stop and say hi to a billion people she knows. Every night when you return from your shift at the diner, there is always a friend or two occupying your room as she brews tea or just gets ready with them for a night-out. And when it is just the two of you and you have succumbed yourself to your own corner, unable to entertain her anymore, she’s on her phone talking to her family or Seungcheol. 

It is hard for you to imagine Chaeyoung cut-off from the world in a luxurious but distant wooden cabin somewhere up North. 

But it isn’t so hard for you to imagine the relief of having the entire dorm room to yourself for such a significant chunk of time… besides, you do not want to be the reason behind a romantic getaway as this one falling apart. 

“I think it’ll be something new, fun, exciting,” you say, avoiding her eyes in the mirror as you melt your moisturizer between your fingers, “just the two of you, it could be quite romantic.”

Behind you, Chaeyoung leans her head against the doorframe of the bathroom, a little pout puckering her lips. “Ugh, I know. I could use some time away from all the chatter. Like I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but it can be quite loud sometime, you know? Everyone is always telling things to me or asking me stuff and it can get very overwhelming very quickly.”

Your roommate goes on yet another one of her fifty mile long rants about a topic that irks her while you hurry to finish up your morning skincare. 

“Which reminds me,” her voice booms another note all of a sudden—in volume and in speed—making you jolt. “Please tell me you have Heather’s phone number.”

It takes you some time to rack your brain and match a face to the name she’s referring to.

“Heather…as in, the girl on the third floor?” 

“Yes, her!” 

“I don’t.” 

“Ugh, yeah…why would you have her number? You barely know her.” Chaeyoung zips her last bag shut, lugging it over her shoulder, “I guess I’ll have to leave a task unfinished. I don’t even know what room she’s in.” 

“If you have a message, I can pass it on.” you offer.

Chaeyoung presses her knee over her mattress, gnawing at her lower lip and considering. It is so easy to read her, you think, as her forehead creases up with dilemma and she chews on her own skin harder. Then, she drops her shoulders like the weight of whatever it is isn’t worth carrying around like this. 

“Fine…but promise you won’t laugh.” she says.

You help her with her luggage as she pockets her set of keys and begins walking out. “I promise, I won’t.”

“Okay so I have a friend, you might know him,” she looks over her shoulder as you follow her down the stairs, “Kim Mingyu.” 

You stall halfway down a step, but the weight of the luggage in your hand swings your body forward regardless and you nearly topple down. 

“Woah woah woah,” Chaeyoung rushes to stabilise you, “are you okay?” 

“Yeah I just…slipped.” you do your best to hide your frozen face behind your hair. “I’m fine.” 

“Please don’t be another girl who falls for him — literally and figuratively.” Chaeyoung blinks, but takes one of the bags from your reluctant clutch. “Anyways, I was saying, Mingyu — he was just made captain of our ice-hockey team.” she says like she’s trying to polish your memory until some recognition of him sparks.

As if you can ever not know him. His existence has followed you around, completely unbeknownst to him, for five whole years now. 

And truth be told, you are tired. 

While leaving your home, you had thought you won’t have to hear that name again. Not because you hate him—that is a right only your twin brother can exercise—but because you have reached your limit. 

Despite your strongest desires against it, Mingyu is practically inescapable on campus. He’s the guy people ask about at parties — ‘is Mingyu gonna show up?’ or the one whose name girls use the brightest, boldest red glitter for in their banners which they bring to the home games in support of the team. His is the name that pops up so many times on your campus’ confession page, it is actually concerning that so many people fantasize about him all at once. 

Chaeyoung trails off, “it is insane how much clout each year’s hockey captain gets though. Like… What do you mean the guy who took ketchup shots with me is now some sort of campus deity?”  

“What about him?” you press your lips, dragging the suitcase outside. 

“Okay so ever since he was made captain, his workload significantly increased and I guess he is struggling with a few classes this semester. It’s not like he needs a formal tutor—he is freakishly smart. But just someone to help him out with the material when he can’t make it to classes. And with how busy this season is, he’s gonna miss a lot.” 

You nod, wrapping your arms around your middle and trying your best not to look absolutely disinterested at the mention of a boy who follows you around like a shadow, even in rooms he doesn’t belong in. Instead, you fix your eyes on the road, cursing Seungcheol internally for not being here already. 

“He asked me for help with finding someone who can assist him like that. And Heather once told me she has the biggest crush on him…they share most classes you know? So I thought why not play Cupid and have her ‘tutor’ him?” 

A chilly gust of morning wind sends your hair flying all over your face. You attempt to tug it back behind your ear and fail. 

“But wouldn’t it…I mean, doesn’t he need serious help?” 

Chaeyoung shrugs, “a glorified study-partner whom he pays.” 

“And do you think Heather would be the best for that given…y’know?” you can’t help but counter. 

“What?” 

You purse your lips hard, digging the balls of your feet on the ground like it would rescue you from this tumultuous mess you have hurled yourself into simply because you care too much.

“I don’t know Chae…from what I’m understanding, I think he needs some sure help and—”

“Someone consistent,” Chaeyoung finishes for you. She breathes thoughtfully, “huh, I guess I never thought about it that way.”

You nod. A small, careful movement. “Just a suggestion.” 

Chaeyoung exhales, long and dramatic, as if clearing her head. “Ugh, whatever. He’s gonna figure it out himself. But if you do see Heather, give her his number, just in case.” She taps quickly on her phone, “I just shared it with you.” 

Seungcheol’s truck revs in the driveway, getting visibly closer as you stand there stunned. Your phone blinks as it receives her text. 

Chaeyoung jogs over to the grinning guy who stepped out of the driver’s seat with his arms spread wide for her. 

You almost can’t believe what just happened. 

But he’s her friend, a part of her life whom she has autonomy over. And you’re nothing more than a messenger to be feeling this much about it. 

“I’ll pass it on to her.” you mumble when Chaeyoung hugs you goodbye and reminds you about Heather. “I will.” 

CHAPTER 4: miscalculations and misrepresentations

The first week after Chaeyoung leaves passes like smoke from between your fingers. Your days are like a bunch of sugar-cubes, clumped and melting into each other as you attended all your classes, finished your shifts at Aunt Sylvie’s diner, studied for the LSAT and applied for other jobs in your free time because the singing gig had begun costing you. 

The paycheck was good. But the management—too demanding. Even after you had told her that too much singing could damage your vocal chords for the long term from all the overuse, Veronica would insist you show up for almost all the major nights. 

And with nowhere else to turn to for your monthly income and with an aversion of upsetting your aunt, you’d almost always relent. 

But with your evening teas becoming more of a crutch for your sore throat than a relaxing ritual, you knew things had to change before you lost whatever remained of your already small voice. 

It is one of those nights as you rot over your mattress—tired down to the bone, nursing a warm cup of tea and reviewing the mock questions you practiced after another long day at the diner. 

The room, with you just in it, feels sterile. Like Chaeyoung took all the character away with her when she left. 

It is dimly lit, not in the comforting way that lulls one to sleep, but rather dull. The kind which makes you aware of how even your fairy-lights blink like it is taking an effort for them to glow. 

Meanwhile all of Chaeyoung’s expensive, quirky lamps lay cold and turned off by her bed. 

No one has been into your room since she left.

You tell yourself that you like it this way, that it’s better to focus. You’ve never had too many friends anyways—it was always just you and your quiet ambitions and dreams that sound awfully silly when spoken out loud. And you have been fine like that so far. 

But something about living on campus, in the dorms that are buzzing with girls getting ready with each other to spend this Friday night out and about, makes your solitude seem depressing. 

A small thought keeps poking its head in your mind… you wouldn’t mind if there was at least one other person here right now. Someone whom you wouldn’t have to invite. Someone who could talk your share of talk because you’re too tired to speak. 

A friend. 

A companion. 

You sip harder on the tea and tell yourself the bitterness at the back of your throat is the aftertaste of hibiscus and not your own self-pity. Squinting your eyes harder on the papers, you try to figure out just where you went wrong with eigenvalues. 

So far, nothing turns up. 

And just when you are about to give up and call it a night, a knock at the door rattles the entire still air of your room with an unwelcomed pulse. 

You’re barely halfway down your bed before whoever is on the other side knocks again—urgent and hard. 

You shouldn’t—because this is your room—but you rush towards the door at the commanding, insistent knocks. 

“Chaeyoung I swear to God if I fail—”

He is about to knock again when you open the door, evident from his fist raised halfway up. He instantly drops it when his eyes fall on you. 

“Oh hey—I’m sorry,” Mingyu quickly takes a step back, then checks the room number plastered on your door before looking at you again. “I…uh, I didn’t mean to—is this not Chaeyoung’s room?” his frown grows the more he stares at you, but not with accusation, more like you’re a puzzle that is occupying his entire mental-capacity right now.  

Something about the intensity of his gaze, the sheer heat of it as he studies you, thaws you out of your frozen, aghast state. 

“It is,” you mumble, “she’s not here though. I am her roommate—”

“The girl who sang the song.” he replies under his breath, his eyes softening as the recognition settles in. 

You blink, confused. “I’m sorry?” 

“Uh, like more than a year ago… at Lorenzo’s? I requested you to sing a song and you did…” he trails off. 

Your fingers over the door tighten inadvertently. You hadn’t expected him to remember that. Chaeyoung didn’t. It was just a night out of many. 

Why would he? 

Except that he did. And now, he stands there in front of you with a small, honest smile on his lips. This subtle look of victory almost. 

“Yeah,” you pause before quickly covering it up with a lie, “I mean, I don’t remember what you’re referring to but I do sing there sometimes. So I guess I must have.” 

Something further softens in him as he leans down to hear you over the noise emanating from the room opposite to yours. His shoulders drop and graze the door as he relaxes by it, already covering most of it with his broad frame. 

You clear your throat, trying to speak louder than usual. “Chaeyoung isn’t here though, can I help you?”

“Do you know when she will be back?” 

“Uh, like two months?” you answer. When you see his frown deepening, you realize he isn’t aware of your roommate’s little retreat. “She is on vacation with her boyfriend.” 

Mingyu’s eyes drop from you to the floor—so does his smile. But only momentarily. You don’t think Mingyu is the type of person who’s never not smiling, even if he has to fake it. 

He scratches the back of his head. “She didn’t tell me, I think.” but then, he hastily adds, “or if she did…guess I forgot.” 

You nod. That’s all you can do because this unplanned encounter with him is like being dragged out of your sleep and right onto the middle of a brightly lit stage. Something that people like Mingyu, Chaeyoung and even your brother Ethan have always been naturals at. But not you. You always freeze, you always forget your lines. You don’t know how to perform. 

Like he’s offering you a cue, Mingyu drives the conversation forward. “Sorry for disturbing your night,” he says, “but Chaeyoung told me she was going to help me find a tutor. She said she had someone—”

Your eyes widen when the memory hits you. 

“Oh yes! She told me about that.” you blurt out and instantly regret it. 

You were only supposed to pass his number on to Heather, not confess to him about knowing about Chaeyoung’s masterplan on hooking them up. A plan you are not too sure he’s in on or not. 

“She did?” He pockets his hands further into his jeans, leaning his head to a side more coolly now. Not curious, just aware of something more… “Interesting.” 

You walk back into your room, “I was about to—”

“I’m sorry but do you mind speaking up? I can barely hear you…”

“Oh just come in.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut the moment you yell that. Messy, messy, messy. What the hell are you doing inviting him in your room alone?

You’re fiddling with the scattered notes all over your table and mattress to look for your phone when you feel him enter the room and push the door just enough to leave it slightly ajar. 

“You know, I am just realizing I never saw you sing at the diner again.” he remarks. 

‘It’s because I never took the shifts on the nights after your games because I knew you’d be there to celebrate.’ 

Instead, you reply, “I have sporadic shifts. No specific schedule.”

Behind you, Mingyu nods like he is a bit unconvinced but is kind enough to let you have it. 

“You’ve been roommates with Chaeyoung since…?”

“Last month,” you answer before you finally locate your phone. 

You scroll through it in vain, praying that Heather’s number would somehow miraculously appear somewhere—in some group-chat or otherwise. 

Mingyu just takes a seat on Chaeyoung’s desk-chair, his long fingers fiddling with the paperweight on the table. The more he eases up, the more the room collapses around him, warping until it shrinks significantly. He looks cartoonishly big compared to all the dainty decor that there is, but nothing about the scene looks out of place. He is more like a giant teddy placed down between your little stuffed animals. It is almost as if there has never been a place he has not belonged in, made a home in. 

Unable to not speak for long, Mingyu hums again. “Chaeyoung and I haven’t been able to talk much, I guess that’s why I missed out on such major life updates from her. I mean the vacation and you.”

“Me?” you pause.

“Yeah, you.” he smiles, bright and polite, like he has to make you feel included even though you didn’t ask for it. “The last time I talked to her, it was only about my tutoring situation. Told her I was ready to pay double what the TAs earn hourly. She said she had a friend in mind.” 

You had tuned him out since the phrase ‘pay double what the TAs earn.’ Your heart picks up pulse as the gears behind your mind start churning with a newfound velocity. Suddenly, you feel like you can solve all the eigenvalues and as an extension, all your problems, if you just tweaked a few things just right. 

“Why don’t you ask the TAs for help?” you ask, your voice breathy and shallow. 

“I did, our schedules just never aligned. I captain the Ice-hockey team and the TAs only have so many spots and open slots.” 

“What subjects do you need help with?” 

“Eh…I can do most theory and research on my own. Just have to read up during my free time. It’s the Mathematics and Stats that are bothering me. Not that I’m bad at them, I just don’t get the time to follow through what’s happening in the coursework.” 

“Yeah Chaeyoung mentioned that.” 

“So you’re her?” Mingyu grins, “the ‘friend’ Chae was talking about?” 

“Wha–I…” you shut your phone off, then turn it on before shutting it off again. You toss it somewhere on Chaeyoung’s mattress, marinating in your own blunder. “I mean she spoke about your situation, yes. But—”

Mingyu’s attention drifts towards the reference book lying unopened on your table. “Hey, that’s the exact material Professor Blyth has recommended. You’re taking the same Calculus?” 

“I am.” 

He’s already flipping through your neat notes. The clean sheet of paper carrying the perfect score to your pre-mid terms from a few days back catches his attention. 

“I totally tanked it. But you have…a near full grade.” his thumb brushes over the unmistakable 98 marked in red on top of the sheet. 

Guilt begins clawing up your gut the more he stares at your answers and practice sheets with awe. 

This isn’t your glory to revel in. 

This isn’t how it is supposed to be. 

This isn’t what Chaeyoung had planned for it to be. 

This is going to ruin your plans of steering clear of Kim Mingyu…for Ethan’s sake. Why the hell would you ever even agree to help the guy who ruined the perfect trajectory of your brother’s professional hockey dreams.

Well, he didn’t do it directly…or deliberately. 

But still. 

“I won’t take a no for an answer,” Mingyu shakes his head, placing the papers back on your table, “you have to tutor me. You have to help me.” 

“Mingyu I—”

“Please.” 

There it is. 

That word. 

Spoken with the same cadence that he had carried over a year ago. Tender, polite…begging. It is as if he has mastered speaking a language that doesn’t contain anything equivalent to rejection. At least not in your books. And no matter how hard you try to contain it, freeze it, something in the very centre of your chest aches as it melts at the warmth of his voice. 

“It will be a huge favor,” he stands up from the chair, all serious yet still gentle somehow like he’s trying to persuade you, not convince you. “I will do anything in return. Your laundry, your dishes, I can even clean your room every weekend or be your date for all important appearances this term. I can make your exes jealous, heck I can even beat one up. Well, not if it’s a girl but you get the drill?” 

You stare at him with your eyes wide and jaw slacked. “I think…I think just money would be good for now.” 

The angel on your right shoulder that is in charge of keeping your conscience intact is practically drilling holes into your skull when you reach for a printed copy of your schedule and hand it over to him. 

“This is my schedule.” you murmur, not daring to meet his eyes, “I work most evenings from Tuesdays to Saturdays. But I guess I can cut a few shifts off at the diner if I’m going to be tutoring you now. Just tell me whatever works for you.”

Mingyu doesn’t mind your sudden aloofness or even if he does, he doesn’t comment on why you are trying to practically become one with the wall as you shrivel further and further. He just grins like you have handed him over the keys to the Universe. 

Before he leaves, he takes his phone out and asks you to give him your number. 

You don’t miss it though, how he repeats your name under his breath when you put it in there or how he stares at your face like he’s trying to match you to it. Like he’s trying to understand why you were named what you were named. All while that same, sweet smile blooms further and further over his lips. 

The sheet of paper, the same one where you were struggling with the eigenvalues problem on, slips and lands at his feet. 

He picks it up, briefs it over before handing it over to you and points out what you were doing wrong. 

Relief washes over you and you scratch your head. “Ah…I wasn’t even considering that.”

“See,” he winks, “we’re already one very strong team.”

CHAPTER 5: i swear i don't murder puppies

Your room is a warzone of sweaters and dresses at seven in the morning. Not because you somehow left your window open and a storm wrecked through your wardrobe, but because it is the day you meet Mingyu to decide upon a schedule that is in alignment with his practices. 

The September weather is always so confusing—all your sweaters feel too warm and your summer dresses flutter way more for your comfort with the rain-soaked wind. You cannot bring yourself to put on a plain old hoodie because it is only Monday, and all your giant sweatshirts and grays are preserved for anything post-Wednesdays. 

You wring your hands before pressing them to your face. 

“You’re just trying to distract yourself from your real problems by making up these stupid ones,” you whisper to yourself. 

It is the truth. 

You should have never agreed to this.

You should have never given him the impression that you were the girl whom Chaeyoung was talking about.

You should have gone out of your way to look for Heather and tell her what happened instead of waiting to run into her. 

You suppress another groan before your little guilts whirlwind into self-hatred. It's for the money, you tell yourself. And money often transforms people into someone unrecognizable.

You choose a mid-length dress that Cass made for you. No flashy colors, modest neckline but sweet strappy sleeves. It is formal without being strict. 

The bag of make-up sits untouched on your dresser. You tell yourself everyday that you will find time to put it on, look more presentable. But each day, it’s just your sunscreen, lip-gloss and kohl-liner against the world. 

As you massage the vanilla-scented lotion over your collarbones, you weigh upon the pros and cons of this situation. 

This tutoring gig is too lucrative for you to pass on. Not only it pays more than your singing job, but it would also mean that you won’t have to walk all the way out of campus, put heavy layers of pigment and glitter on your face, smile and sing until everything aches and come back half a corpse even during your busiest weeks. 

Not to mention, helping him review whatever happens in class would also make you revise simultaneously. 

You lift the mascara closer to your face and lean into the mirror. And perhaps, it is something about the out reflection of your somber eyes in the dulled out mirror that makes you see the risks clearer than ever. 

Not only are you taking it away from someone else, but by agreeing to help him out with something—anything—you are in a way betraying your brother.

You do not harbour the same animosity in your heart towards Mingyu like Ethan does. But you had also planned on steering very clear out of his enemy's way the day you received your acceptance letter to the college and Ethan didn't. 

Besides, what the hell will you tell her when Chaeyoung returns with that expectant gleam in her eyes and asks you if you forwarded her message? 

You lose count of the amount of times you almost stab yourself in the eye with the wand. Eventually, you give up on it and just sit there on the floor with your knees curled up. 

By the time you are up and ready to face the day—and him—you have what seems like a fool-proof plan up your sleeve. You mentally rehearse it while applying the last coat of your gloss. 

You are going to head out, be stoic and get the job done with him hopefully before Chaeyoung returns.

Hell, you can even push harder and cut on more shifts to help him be ahead of the schedule in class so that you can get rid of him faster. 

You’re not going to strike a friendship with him—you are not even going to talk about anything beyond just what’s necessary. No mentions of a vengeful sibling, no mentions of the wicked game of ice-hockey. 

Whenever you run into Heather, you’re going to make amends by dutifully passing Chae’s message to her and giving her his number. Hell, you might even make him warm up to the idea of her if that’s what it takes to have them go out together per Chaeyoung’s wishes. 

You will have this all wrapped tight and dusted in under seven weeks if you just manage to do what you’ve promised yourself to do. 

Exhaling deeper than usual, you take one last look at the mirror. 

You push down the thought that there is certainly an additional gilded glow illuminating your features today. 

You tell yourself it’s just the morning sun. 

⸻

(mingyu’s POV)

He sees you before you see him, and something within him hollows out. 

You are fiddling with your thumbs, letting your eyes lightly sweep across the space before promptly giving up and succumbing to your phone—most probably texting him. 

He quickly collects the orders from the counter and walks over to you. 

“There you go,” he says, extending the warm tea towards you, “I just took a wild guess that you’d prefer tea over coffee cause that’s what I saw in your room.” 

You look startled. Or maybe that’s just how you usually are. So calm and ethereal in your own world before he comes and disrupts it with his loud demands and ramblings. 

Yet, you accept it from his hand with a polite ‘thank you’. 

Small wins. 

He cocks his head towards the empty table in the café. “Shall we?” 

You walk ahead of him, something that he actually appreciates because it gives him the time—however small of a window—to stare at you longer. Your hair fall over your smooth shoulders like curtains and your dress sways with the light breeze. 

You look so soft, you always do. He has to clutch his bag and his espresso harder than usual to avoid reaching forward and detangling your tresses that are catching up with the dainty chain of your locket behind your neck. 

But then, you put an end to it when you finally settle down into the booth and pull your laptop out along with a few loose sheets, some already printed or scribbled upon while the others are a blank canvas. 

“Did you fill out your schedule in the Excel file I shared?” you ask in that low, gentle voice of yours. 

He loves hearing you speak because your tone is so serene and tender that it requires him to put all his attention to it. Sometimes, he even has to physically lower himself, or lean closer, to hear you better. 

And Mingyu always thinks that there is something irresistible about people who require the world to bend and adapt to them. 

“Well?” you ask again, quirking your eyebrows up. 

“Wh—ah, yes, I filled it out.”

“Already losing out on attention?” you mutter, before throwing a pointed glance at him, “we can’t afford that.” 

He laughs to himself. “Didn’t peg you as someone who’d be so strict.” 

“You’ve seen my schedule. We’re already operating on a tight timeline.” 

“Fair,” he replies, “although, I would promise you that I am a quick learner.” 

“Don’t promise me, surprise me.” 

“You know what? I actually quite like it,” he leans back into his chair, emptying a whole packet of sugar into the steaming coffee, “this whole strict teacher bit. It’s…compelling.” 

You shoot him a deadpan look and continue typing. 

You quickly breeze through all the hours of the week that you’d be able to meet with him and prepare a list of priority topics that he missed out on or needs to cover before the mid-terms. Mingyu meets you halfway through it all, giving his inputs wherever necessary and letting you know what all he could work upon alone. 

It doesn’t slide by him about how different you seem today compared to the previous times he has spoken to you. You are more guarded in the moment, like you took time to stitch an armour around yourself in the morning before coming to meet him. 

But it often slips—that usual softness that he has begun associating with you. Like the time you accepted his request to sing or when you invited him into your room, unguarded and trusting. It’s there when he sheepishly apologizes for adding to your burden and you assure him it’s alright. It’s there when he goes blank about most topics you initiate and you quickly pivot to something he might know. 

You keep on covering up that softness each time he diverts from business though. Like throwing a wet-blanket over a warm hearth. 

This additional layer of caution. Another boundary etched. 

When Chaeyoung had told him she had someone in mind who might be interested in helping him out, she had completely omitted the information that that someone was her new roommate who also happened to be the girl whom he sometimes still thought about. Someone whose voice still hummed in the back of his mind. 

Perhaps, if Chaeyoung hadn’t been too excited about telling him that the girl had a huge crush on him, she would have remembered to share that vital piece of information. 

But watching how you’ve been acting around him today, it seems like his friend probably exaggerated your fascination towards him. Why else would you be shooting down his attempts at being anything beyond just a chore if you did in fact like him like that? 

It’s not like it hurts his pride though, he had never really weighed down on the possibility of any romances with his tutor. All he desperately needed was for someone to help him and if a little charm and flirtation was gonna help him get there, then what was the harm? 

It is a relief that you don’t seem like you are interested anymore though—or at least that’s what he tells himself. 

Because telling himself that makes it hurt a bit less when he asks you if you’d like to stay back and chat over coffee after you’re done and you deny it without a second thought. 

Telling himself that makes it feel less cruel when he offers to walk you to your class and you look at him like he has just admitted to killing a million puppies. 

He doesn’t know what prompted it, but since the last time he saw you, it seems like you have made some judgments of your own. 

And he’s not too sure if he likes the idea of it. 

CHAPTER 6: truce? truce.

No matter how hard he runs across the campus from the ice-rink to the library, Mingyu is still ten minutes late to your study session. 

You are already in one of the study-rooms surrounded by two distinct sets of stapled papers and a workbook that you’re scribbling hurriedly upon with a short, dull pencil. His heavy, fatigued footsteps against the otherwise polished tiles startle you out of whatever it is that is making you frown and look up at him. 

At once, his breathing significantly slows down. Like his body is trying its best to behave and be proper under the captivity of those big, soft, doe-like eyes of yours. 

“So sorry, Coach Greer had us run extra drills,” he pants, “and I couldn’t exactly show up here without washing up.” 

Despite all the exhaustion, he still flashes you that full grin that can make even a shrivelled flower blush and bloom as he drops his bag over the small table separating two chairs in the small room. 

He thinks you have ignored him when you return back to flipping through your book. 

But then, you slide your bottle of water towards him. 

“You should take five.” you suggest. “Catch your breath.”

And then, you go back to acting like you were before he showed up. 

Still, he thinks it is very sweet as he uncaps the bottle and takes a swig out of it. Not because he is particularly thirsty—but because you offered. 

His breath evens out as he studies the focus-pod. It is literally a box with a single small window and a giant glass door. Two squeaky chairs placed thoughtlessly with a table that looks like it would collapse from the weight of his arms alone if he leans over it. Sunlight filters in hot, rectangular slants, warming the scratched surface and making it a tad too warm for comfort. 

No one ever studies here. Not really. Unless they have an important meeting to attend or a call to take. 

“Why are we meeting here instead of the actual library, again?” he can’t help but ask. 

You look up from your work to briefly glance at him before returning back to it. “Because you talk too much.” 

“Right, but doesn’t the library have a much better ambience?”

“Not worth getting rebuked by people studying there because you won’t stop speaking.”

“I’m going to speak here regardless.”

“You can,” you answer, finally shutting your workbook, “because I’m getting paid to hear you speak. The others are not.” 

“You majoring in business?”

You correct him, “Economics.” 

“You should switch to majoring in business though.” 

“Are you calling me greedy and unkind?” 

“No, I am saying you would make a terrifying CEO. You are very practical and efficient.” 

You sigh, keeping your face uninterested as you speak, “as fun as this was, let us return to ANOVA, shall we?” 

Mingyu folds his hands over the table, resting his chin over his crossed fingers. “I was hoping to stall further.” 

Your knuckles tighten over the stack of books and for a moment, Mingyu thinks he toed a line he shouldn’t have dared crossing. But then, your eyes soften—just by a beat—and you suggest. “We can call a truce whenever you feel like it’s getting too much…y’know? You can just say the word and we’ll take a break.”

“Wait, really?” he perks up, just enough for his eyes to flash with something refreshing. Like hope. 

You shrug, “I don’t want to force you into doing something that you are too tired to.” 

“So like,” he nearly giggles—and it is fucking ridiculous watching a man as tall and buff as him giggle like that—before even finishing the joke, “a safeword?” 

Your face goes back to that blankness that feels like a curtain of indifference being drawn. 

“For studying,” you respond flatly, “don’t make it weird.” 

But the corners of your mouth give it away by curling up. Barely. Just a flicker that you quickly hide by looking in your bag for nothing. It is gone before he can be sure if it was even there. 

But he grins anyway because he decides that it was. 

“Right,” he nods like he’s signing a contract. “A truce.” 

“A truce.” you shrug, like it doesn’t matter.  

⸻

You both work in relative silence after that. 

Mingyu tries his best to focus each time you lean over to explain something to him. But he just can’t. He fidgets too much, stretches his arms too often, cranks his neck side to side even though there is no stiffness.

He isn’t his usual self and he can feel it. 

And something about you tells him that neither are you. 

You see, he might not have known you that well. But he for sure had observed you. And each time he said something stupid or attempted anything beyond just discussing the numerical problems on paper, it felt like you were restraining yourself. A smile, a retort, an answer. It wasn’t a mask, but a heavy door that you kept on shutting up with all your body-weight. 

“Hey, did I do something?” 

He finally asks towards the end of the session when you have already briefed him over the concepts and given him a worksheet to practice upon until your later session. 

You blink, “No…why?” 

He doesn’t want to tense this up…doesn’t want to end a productive session on a needlessly confusing note just because of the faulty projections of his mind. 

So he lets out a little laugh, trying to lighten the weight of it when his observation lands, “I don’t know, you seemed a bit annoyed.”

He expects you to snap back at him, tell him that you are not some doll who’d always smile at him or shut him off by telling him that it’s because he is in fact—annoying. 

But your shoulders drop, “oh?” you tuck your hair behind your ear, “I…I am not annoyed at you Mingyu.” 

It is the first time you have spoken his name to him. And he can’t understand why it feels like the first time anyone has ever spoken it right. 

“Just a bit tired.” you further explain, avoiding his eyes as you begin fiddling with something inside your bag. 

He doesn’t prod further. Just lets the sound of your breathing thread through the tight-packed walls of the sterile room. 

But then, very cautiously, he adds, “You know you can always tell me to shut it if I’m speaking too much. I am a talker, but I get it.”

“I don’t mind you talking,” you interrupt him so quickly that he frowns. You bite your lip, “sorry if I made you feel that way. I guess I was just bickering earlier.” 

“No, no, really. I didn’t think much about it, just giving you a heads up that I can be quiet if you want me to be. We don’t have to continue meeting in these coffin cubes just because I can’t shut up.”

You nod, just a small movement. He feels at ease when he spots a small smile over your lips. Hidden and fluttering like a newly hatched butterfly. This strange sensation of pride surges behind his ribs—something on you that he can finally claim some possession at most and contribution at least, after all. 

Mingyu doesn’t know where this urge comes from—this almost need to give you something, anything, worthwhile in return. If he tallies all the hours he has known you, it might not even add up to a full day. Yet he feels like he already owes you half his lifetime for some reason. A debt of eons. 

You pile up on that debt when you slide a neat stack towards him. It feels warm in his hands. 

“I printed out a copy of my notes if you want to refer to them.” you inform as he looks through them with this undisclosed wonder. 

Around eighty sheets of material. You even printed out the pages with additional workings that explain the main solution better, along with the alternatives. The margins that people often hide because of the simplistic explanations that are meant for their eyes alone and no one else’s. 

But you copied it all out for him. 

“This is…wow,” he slowly gets up after you, “I really have no idea how to thank you enough for this.”

“Literally the least I could do.” you shrug. “I will meet you Friday?” 

“Yeah,” he repeats, his voice unstable, “Friday.” 

You don’t give him a departing smile or a ‘take care’ before turning around. But you do halt at the door, lingering for a suspended moment. 

“Just for the record…I like it when you talk. Because I don’t speak much myself, but I also hate silence.” 

⸻

Ever since the beginning of senior year, Dokyeom hasn't hosted much. 

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to. But because of the giant golden retriever living in his drawing room who, through the virtue of his squatter's rights, had turned into a roommate he didn’t sign up to have. 

Ever since a gnarly water-leak at his apartment some two months ago, Mingyu had practically moved in with him, taking refuge on Dokyeom’s worn-out couch. His place was all fixed now. Yet, whenever Dokyeom as much as even hinted at the prospect of him moving back, Mingyu reacted like he had lost all sensations in his ears. 

Tonight though, Dokyeom had invited a couple friends over and asked Mingyu to help him organize. 

“I really can’t believe you pay full rent for your own place and still break your back on this couch.” Jihyo, who had arrived a bit earlier than the rest, fluffs an additional pillow on Mingyu’s makeshift bed, “seriously dude, are you even getting the rest you need?” 

Mingyu jokes, “I sneak in and sleep on DK’s bed when he’s not home.” 

“I swear to God Mingyu, don’t even joke about it.” Dokyeom deadpans as he sets the dinner table. “You know I have that mild OCD shit or something.” 

“Move out bro, it’s getting embarrassing.” 

Pausing from the salad he is assembling, Mingyu tosses two olives at both of them, “seriously? Can I not just live with my best-friend in the whole wide world for a few weeks? We’re all gonna graduate in under a year and I am already missing you.”

“Or,” Jihyo chimes, swinging her legs off the couch, “you were looking for excuses to move out of your apartment ever since the rejection-gate and now that you’ve found it, you’re using DK’s space like a crutch.” 

Mingyu’s fingers tighten over the cherry tomatoes he’s splitting in the middle. 

“It’s not like that.” he shrugs, despite it.

“Except for the fact that it is.” 

He lets out a light, airy laugh. Just a puff of it to make it seem like he can glide through this conversation like he does with all the other ones. But for some reason, today, he cannot.

“It’s fucking lonely in that apartment." he finally admits.

He turns his back to his friends, checking up on the cherry pie. In the reflection of the shiny surface, just momentarily, he catches his friends exchanging a look behind him. He opens the oven before he can discern if it’s worry or mockery. 

The ceramic dish lands harsher than he intended on the counter top. He slides his mitten off like he needs his palms to feel air before they sweat so much that his skin melts off. 

He rests his fists over the marble, leaning all his weight over them as his eyes clench shut. He instantly regrets that little comment, feeling a sense of dread rising like bile up his throat as he hears them shuffle behind him. 

Here come the pitiful looks and careful words. 

He doesn’t need them—he hasn’t needed them for so long. 

“I will move out,” Mingyu announces just before Dokyeom can offer him another futile assurance. “I just need a little more time, I guess.”

Dokyeom doesn’t argue that. He can see just how a few weeks away from his apartment has helped bring the Mingyu he knew back into the body which had been rotting away in that place. Dokyeom had seen how Mingyu had cooped himself up in his place. Depressed and dull. Curtains always shut off. His art-studio collecting dust. 

He barely ever cooked anymore. 

So when he had told Dokyeom about the pipe that burst in his apartment, it was a no-brainer for him to let Mingyu in. 

And by the looks of it now — and despite all the inconveniences — Dokyeom thinks that he wouldn’t hesitate to do it all over again. 

“You can be here for as long as you want, bud.” He slaps him over his back. “That’s what friends are for.”

Jihyo adds, “Yeah I guess I was just being a jerk…I think you needed this change. It suits you.”

Mingyu nods at them, the way one does when they’re overwhelmed to a point that even words fail them. 

He goes back to arranging the forks by the spoons on the table when Dokyeom clears his throat, leaning against the counter and announces to Jihyo, “It’s not just the change of place that’s suiting him though.” 

Jihyo reflects his playfulness, “Ahan? What do you mean?” 

“A little birdie told me our puppy has made a new lady friend.” Dokyeom answers, his voice sporting that dramatic lilt that makes Mingyu roll his eyes. “Chan saw him smiling like an idiot with a girl in the library the other day.” 

Mingyu protests, “she’s just helping me study—”

“No, wait.” Dokyeom interrupts, “my apologies, because Chan said he saw you smiling like an idiot at a girl in the library. She wasn’t even looking at you.” 

“I spy a little crush situation,” Jihyo squeals, hopping up on the marble counter between Mingyu and Dokyeom, “come on, spill. Who, when, why, where?” 

“There is no crush situation,” Mingyu scoffs, “besides, I think I learnt my lesson about not crushing on my friends.” 

“She’s not your friend.” Dokyeom corrects, “like I said, she doesn’t even look at you.” 

“And how do you know that?” 

“I have my ways.” 

Jihyo throws two napkins at the both of them, “Dokyeom, shut up. Mingyu, man up. Who is this new friend of yours? Tell me all about her.”

“There is nothing to tell. Dokyeom’s right, we aren’t even friends. She’s just someone…well, she’s Chaeyoung’s roommate, and we share similar classes so she’s helping me out with whatever I miss out on.” 

“Chae’s roommate?” Jihyo’s eyebrows arch, “well, that’s a new angle.” 

“It’s nothing serious. Really. I was talking to Chae the other day and I mentioned needing help with a few classes. She thought her roommate had a little crush on me and decided to set us up, I guess. I think she misread it though because the girl is farthest from interested in me. But it works.” he shrugs, like this entire rant and all the specific details he gave out mean nothing.  

“‘Just a great tutor,’” Dokyeom mocks, imitating Mingyu’s very hurried and very raspy tone, “then why the hell were you smiling to yourself while reading her notes like they were love letters at three in the morning?” 

“I was not.”

“You so were.” 

“I was admiring her penmanship.” 

Jihyo completely glosses over their back-and-forth and turns to fully face Mingyu with the same grin she has whenever she’s watching her favorite rom-coms. “What if Chae is right and the girl is indeed into you? What if she’s just playing hard to catch?” 

Mingyu leans down until he’s eye-level with Jihyo’s moony ones. “Or what if, we all stop being so obsessed with this cause I don’t wanna creep her out.” 

Jihyo’s smile drops. Stoically, she asks. “Do you like her?”

“Not like that…”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s pretty…and seems like a good person. But that’s it. I barely know her.” 

“Then make an effort and get to know her!” 

“You guys don’t get it…” Mingyu finally says, “she is very distant and guarded and I don’t know what Chae has told her about me. I mean, for all I know—”

“Don’t even finish that thought.” Jihyo interrupts, “you and I both know Chaeyoung would never do that.” 

Mingyu sighs, placing his hands over his waist and letting his head drop with defeat. When he finally has the energy to look at his friends again, all the lightheartedness has evaporated out of the room. 

“Let’s just drop it. I can’t even enter my apartment on my own for fuck’s sake.” 

// lemme know if u wanna be tagged pookies <3 reblogs, asks and comments are not only appreciated but fucking threatened on here dont make me block u if i catch u just liking my fics smh!!!! happy early birthday to my man ugh i love him saurrrr much

perms : @mellowamour @lovelylonelinesssvt @gyuguys @scoupscious

@jicheolsol-lover @sumzysworld @lllucere @seungcheolsblackcard @wakandabiitch2

@helloiliketits @J3nnch3ls3a @princessjazzyjazz @livelaughloveseventeen

@sousydive @izzyy-recs @livmarauder @vwintershire @cherrymayz

@novalpha @honglynights @eskoupe

MASTERLIST

But if you are honest, you have bigger problems at hand now. Because before you can even blink, the line in front of you is already much longer, everyone asking you for a drink. You'd love to be able to split in half at the moment. It's always like this, and yet you are never ready for it. Rush hour is every halftime and end of the match for you.

You wave your hand to your colleague so she can collect the money, quietly praying for the beer cooler to work faster. There's not much for Dae to do when everyone is waiting for a drink — your specialty. And as much as you love being at the drinks duty, you regret not switching with her every time this happens.

Handing out one beer after another, you listen to the chatters about today's game. There are lot of praises passed around, creating a smile on your face. You might have not seen most of the game, but you know the guys killed it tonight again. How could they not with their talents finally being put to use with their new coach? You might be biased, but you do think they'll take it far this year.

"Sunshine, can you also pour me one when you have time?" You look up to meet your dad's eyes, nodding.

"You'll have to wait," you shrug, softly pointing your head at the line. He nods, waving you off like he doesn't care at all, reminding you to take your time. You wish more people would be like this. At least your family if no one else. But your uncle is a prime example of the behavior your hate when you are already busy. He pushes past the line, handing you his empty pint. "Yeah, yeah," you mumble, placing it down and focusing on the people that came before him.

You're not sure how much time passes, but you sit down again eventually. Plopping down with a heavy sigh, you exchange a glance with Dae. She gives you a sympathetic smile, glancing at your dad who has the same one as he leans against the wall with his beer in hands. "It's going to calm down again now. They won't all be coming at the same time."

You hum back, stretching your hands above your head. "How did it go? Did you finally figure out the rotation?"

"Pretty much," he nods. "I liked how they played today so if it continues like this, we got the perfect core five."

"That's good," your smile grows. "If nothing, then the points show they've gotten better since you started training them."

He rolls his eyes but you see the smile tugging on his lips. You like seeing your dad like this. He's always been happy no matter what category he was training, loving it when he could see the enjoyment on his player's eyes, but there is something different about watching him coach a team full of adults who could really take it far if they want to.

"Let's not assume how the rest of the season will go." You peek over when you hear Jake's voice, a smile on his face. "Who says I won't replace Seungkwan and give us the well deserved win."

"Not if you keep avoiding working out," your dad reminds him and Jake just shakes his head, mounting to you that he is lying.

You chuckle, "right, right."

He steps forward, still smiling as he opens his wallet. "Could you give me two? Promised Heeseung I'll buy tonight."

"He doesn't stay for stretching after trainings but he stays to get drunk?" You shake your head as you take the cash from him. "You should keep an eye on that."

"At least he stays to drink with us and team bond. Nishimura doesn't even look me in the eyes before disappearing."

"I think he is intimidated by you, coach," Jake explains and your dad's eyes widen in the most your dad way you know. He somehow manages to look shocked as well as not surprised at all, offended but also making fun of the situation. You've seen this look a lot. With his eyebrows raised and arms crossed over his chest, he looks exactly the same as whenever you tell him about a dumb date you've been on. The amount of times he's been surprised at something the guys you went out with said or did is not something you could count on both hands. Every time, the conversation ends with the two of you agreeing that guys just need more time to mature.

"By me?" He questions and you laugh as you pour Jake his two beers. "Tell him he'll be running ten extra laps for that." All four of you laugh, including Dae who has far from knowing anything about basketball.

Your dad leaves after a short moment to talk with the rest of the coach staff and some of the players while Jake stays with you, chatting with Dae about their upcoming assignment. You try to listen in but your attention starts drifting elsewhere, the debate about the physics paper they have to submit passing by you completely. Zoning out, you stare at the nearest wall, thinking about anything but the situation around you. For the first time today, you get to turn off and not worry about whether you gave the right change or not.

You are glad Jake and Dae found something in common when you introduced them for the first time. If they didn't, you'd never be able to just shut off like this, worried it would get awkward and would try your hardest to keep the conversation going. But when they met for the first time and found out they share a physic class, all your worries disappeared as you watched them talk about their lessons. Both of them still rely on you sometimes but you'd say they are good friends now.

It's good knowing your friends are getting along.

"I love you so much," Heeseung sings as he comes into your sight, making you snap out of your thoughts. You blink up at him, seeing four more players behind him. The foam on his beer has already fallen off but he doesn't seem to care, taking his drink from Jake with a grin on his face.

"Can I get a better one if I also tell you I love you?" Seungcheol smiles at you and you shake your head, standing up again and getting four pints ready, assuming all of them are here for the same thing.

"You can try," you shrug, a smile tugging in the corner of your lips as well. It only makes his smile grow wider.

"Sure he could," Joshua wraps his arm around his shoulder. "If he wants to die while explaining to his coach why his daughter is suddenly pregnant and needs to leave school."

"Now now," you quickly interrupt him, your eyes widening. "Don't even joke about that."

"Exactly," Seungcheol joins you, shaking the younger man off him. "If I knock anyone up in the near future I'll assume it's your curse and what will you do then? I don't have the time or resources to raise a kid right now."

"At your grown age?" Heeseung pipes from the side, grinning through his drink. Seungcheol ignores his comment but you chuckle.

"And here I was going to give you a tip," he sighs.

"Yeah? What kind?" Dae tilts her head innocently and you have to hold back a laugh, handing all four players their drinks while the eldest pays for them while exchanging a few words with Dae that you can't catch. You think you're glad you don't by the way her ears turn red.

Everyone on the team has always been friendly with you. Whether it's because you sell them alcohol or that your dad is their coach, you have no idea. But it doesn't really matter. As long as they keep being nice to you, then you don't need to know. It still feels a little weird being a part of conversations like these with them as if it was completely normal, but you're trying to get over that. And honestly, with the captain's welcoming smile and kind words — despite his friends joking about him making you pregnant — it's all a lot easier.

You'd say you are pretty close with the team. You are able to hold small talks and they often hang out with you and Dae here after their games. So while you can't say you consider all of them your friends, you aren't strangers either.

Well, expect for one man on the team.

Possibly the only one you've ever wanted to be close with.

It was a year ago, you think. Around the time the previous season started. The team gained a few new players — including Jake and Riki who you'd say you are the closest to out of all of them — and your eyes immediately locked in on one of them.

Kim Mingyu, tall, tanned, and handsome, was impossible not to look at.

It only took one game and you were hooked, unable to look away from him whenever he was on the court and you had some time to watch. His smooth movements, the control he has of the ball, and the incredibly beautiful smile on his face when he scores a point all made you so much more interested.

But you never got to talk to him as you wished you would. Because right after the game ended, you saw him with the only person you didn't want to see him with — Jungkook. Watching the guy you have a silly little crush on laughing with your ex boyfriend might have been the best way to get you to turn around again and reconsider talking to him.

You have no idea what or if Jungkook ever told him anything about you, but with the way Mingyu never even tried to talk to you outside a few hellos and ordering unlike the rest of the team, you think it's safe to assume he doesn't think of you nicely.

You and Jungkook didn't exactly end it on bad terms, you just both had different views on things. All you wanted was to focus on your studies and to do something with yourself, while all he wanted was a family to settle with as soon as possible. At twenty, the idea of turning your life around to make a family with your boyfriend was wild to you. It was simply never supposed to happen. You never spoke badly of him after the breakup but you also never talked to him again, so you have no idea how he and his friends look at you.

It's as if you've manifested them, the two of them coming into your sight of view. Jungkook doesn't come closer but you see him standing in the hall while Mingyu walks over to you. "I'll take two, please." He only meets your eyes briefly before Seokmin tugs him into their conversation. You glance at him a few times as you pour the beers, watching the easy smile on his face. Despite knowing it's not going to happen, you can't help but admire him. He is so handsome, it's unfair to you. How are you supposed to not look at him when he looks like that?

You quote the price to him, just like you've done many times today. Your fingers brush when he hands you the cash and you feel like you're going insane, the nervousness you suddenly feel driving you crazy. As if it wasn't enough, he practically holds your hand in his as he takes the drinks from you. You have to look up at Jungkook to remind yourself this is nothing, that Mingyu thinks who knows what of you and it's only your own delusion making this into something that it's not.

He doesn't stay for any longer, saying his goodbye to the rest of the team and leaving to hang out with your ex. Dae nudges you and you take your eyes off him, offering her a brief smile. It's been like this for a year now, so why do you unconsciously keep hanging onto a thread of hope?

"Sunshine." You nod when you hear your dad's voice, taking his pint from him to pour him his drink. "Thank you. What are you all standing here for?" He nods towards the team, all of them holding their own beer. "Good game today but how do you want to bond the team together if you aren't drinking with us?"

"We were just about to join you, coach," Seungcheol grins. "How could we possibly afford to miss the president's drunk blabbing about our game?" Your dad shakes his head and Seungcheol sends both you and Dae a wave, saying his see you later before leaving with the team to join the coaching staff in their staff room. You're sure they'll be back for another round but for now, as soon as you hand your dad his drink and he leaves as well, you are left alone with Dae and the thoughts of how much you want Mingyu to talk to you.

When your dad told you you'll be home alone on the weekend because he's got away games, you found yourself questioning how far you're willing to go for a stupid crush. You always liked watching sports, but not to the point you'd come out of your way for them. If you were already coming to the game to sell drinks, then you wanted to watch as well. If you were hanging out with your friends and you happened to find a group of people playing street basketball, you'd watch as well. But you never went to watch a game in your free time just because.

Which is also why your dad was so surprised when you asked him to come with instead of enjoying the free house. Still, he wouldn't say no to you, not even if he wanted to.

Humming along to your playlist, you watch the road ahead as your dad drives. He follows Joshua's car, who's taking most of the bench players except for Riki who sits behind you. Your dad's way of taking revenge and trying to intimidate him, you're certain. It seems to be working since he hasn't said a word ever since you picked him up, looking into his phone the entire time. No doubt texting his best friend.

There are two more cars behind yours — Seungcheol's and Mingyu's. You feel bad a little. If you weren't going, they could easily fit into just three cars and everyone would be comfortable. Your dad assured you they were planning on driving four cars either way and there is no need for you to worry but you can't help it.

"Jake's asking if we can stop by the nearest gas station." It's the first time you hear Riki's words since you said hellos and both you and your dad glance at him. You see him swallow his nerves when your dad's eyes find his, unable to hold back your laugh. It's funny to see him so freaked out when you know your dad is the sweetest person you know. Most of the players know it too, you're sure. It's only a matter of time before Riki realizes it too.

"Will we be on time?" You ask, biting back your laugh.

"We should be," you dad nods. "Let the others know as well. If they don't want to come with they can drive straight to the stadium but they better not get lost."

"Yes, coach," Riki nods eagerly and your lips form a straight line, your eyes closed as you do your best not to let the laugh out. Turning your head towards the window, you hide your smile behind your hand. You already know this will be a fun trip.

You all park in a line and Jake immediately rushes out, not bothering to look back once as he heads straight for the bathroom. Riki steps out as well, using the opportunity to breathe properly without your dad near. Shaking your head, you stretch your arms over your head, melting into your seat.

A knock on your window interrupts you and you glance to the side, your eyes widening when you see Mingyu leaning down besides you. Your dad rolls the window down and you want to curse him out for not keeping the barrier between you and him up. "I'm grabbing a coffee, do you want anything, coach?" He asks, his hands bracing the edge of the open window as he looks inside, and you can't help but watch his toned arms.

It's insane how invisible he makes you feel. You become one with the seat, looking down into your lap as your dad refuses his offer. A beat of silence passes and you look up again, finding Mingyu's eyes on you, waiting for your answer. "Oh," you breathe out. The feeling of invisibility disappears instantly. "Could you get me an ice coffee? I'll give you the money, wait."

He shakes his head, straightening his back again. "Don't worry about it," he brushes you off and leaves before you can argue further.

You pick your purse from the floor either way, finding your wallet. "He's not going to accept it," your dad says simply. You meet his eyes, tilting your head slightly. "I've tried before as well. He even bought me lunch one time last year when I was subbing for their assistant coach and he refused to take any money from me. I think he likes treating people."

"I don't want to owe him, though."

"You can give the money to me then and I'll do my best forcing it to him. If I fail, I'll just keep the money and we'll all be happy."

"Listening in on other people's conversation is not a great look, Lee," your dad warns him. Heeseung just smiles in return, copying Mingyu's pose from before and leaning down onto the window.

"Isn't it great when I overhear our opponents tactics, though?"

"You're terrible," you shake your head at him with a laugh.

"Tell me you use your time for better things as well. Like, for example, learning our tactics."

"You know I only do my best, coach," Heeseung assures him. "Which is why we've been singing out lungs out the entire ride." When your dad gives him an annoyed look, he clears his throat, immediately switching the playful vibe to a more serious one. "We'll focus on it for the rest of the drive." After one last look from your dad, he runs away again, mumbling something about starting to get it as he approaches Riki.

You scroll through your playlist, picking the songs for the rest of the ride as you wait. Jake comes back shortly after with a new hat, that you rather not question where he got from, and Mingyu right after him. He hands you your ice coffee and when you try paying him back, he dismisses you just like your dad said he would. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you open the can, thanking him while Riki takes a seat in the back of the car again. You keep your eyes on the older man, your hands wrapped around the cold drink, cooling yourself at least that way when your entire body feels so hot.

You'd like to say you don't think about Mingyu. In fact, you'd love to be able to say thinking about the way he is best friends with your ex made you snap out of it and you weren't looking at him as anything other than one of your dad's players.

But you apparently have no control over your emotions because while your head tells you that's an enough reason for you to give up on the idea of him, your heart does the exact opposite and just keeps thinking about him the entire car ride.

With your music on and free time, it doesn't take much for you to start daydreaming. A certain basketball player who towers over you and has arms the size of your head keeps lingering in your mind, all sorts of scenarios taking over you. If your dad and Riki manage to exchange some words, you don't hear any of them. All you can focus on is how great you know you'd be together if only things were a little different.

Shifting in your seat to make yourself more comfortable, you force yourself out of it, staring at the road ahead instead.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

It's a chaos as soon as you arrive at the stadium. While the guys go find their changing room — which you genuinely hope they'll be able to as the map at the entrance wasn't any helpful — your dad tries to convince the organizer to let him have two assistant coaches. It's not against the rules, you know that, so why is it that the opposite team's coach has so much trouble with letting you in?

"Okay," the organizer sighs. "We'll need to see your coach license and it won't be any problem. I'll talk it over with the Tiger's coach. As you said, the rules state up to maximum of eight extra people accompanying the coach and team members."

"Oh," you breathe out, panicking as you glance between the stranger and your dad. You do not have a coaching license. Why would you? You stopped being involved in this sport back when you were fifteen. Your dad realizes it as well. Deep down he knew trying to let you in on the bench was a bad idea since if anyone wanted to check, they'd know you have no previous experience. Still, he wanted to try in case he could have his little girl beside him during the game.

"To be honest, I think it'll be better if you just do it with Seojin. The two of you work well together and it'd be a chaos if there were three of us. I'll be watching from the audience," you smile, briefly stroking your dad's arm. Looking over at the organizer, you thank him again for trying to hard to make it work for you both.

"If that's what you guys want to do," he nods, pointing towards the audience entrance and telling you to go up the first stair you see. You nod, giving your dad a quick goodbye before disappearing into the hallway.

You need to hurry if you want to grab a good spot in the front. It's still early, forty minutes until the game officially starts, but people are already coming in and you don't want to risk a good spot. Not today when you already came all the way here to watch the team play.

Rushing through the hall, you don't pay attention to where you are going, accidentally bumping shoulders with one of the players. "Shit, sorry," you apologize quickly before glancing up, your eyes slowly trailing up his figure until they settle on the chocolate eyes you know so well.

Mingyu's eyes wander all over your figure as well as he shakes his head softly, assuring you it's okay. Look at where you are coming from and then back at you, he tilts his head in confusion. "Where are going? the court is the other way around."

"Ah. The audience— I'm going to watch from the seats."

He hums and you want to melt into floor beneath your feet. It's embarrassing. In the past year, you haven't talked to him outside of exchanging hellos and grabbing his order. You have no idea how you're supposed to talk to him like this, how to make it seem like you aren't an awkward loser. Even though, honestly, you might be.

A part of you wonders how he sees you. If your interactions today made his opinion on you final and he can now finally say with no trouble that you are weird and he's glad he never spoke to you before.

"Okay," he nods, and you swear you aren't imagining the emptiness of his words. Why even ask in the first place? You raise your head to find him looking at you, his eyes unlike his words the opposite of empty. You frown without properly realizing what you're doing, questioning why he is staring at you. "Your eyes," he points out, "they have a bit of yellow in them."

You blink up at him. Out of all the things you expected him to say, commenting on the color of your eyes was on the bottom of the list. "I…I guess?"

"Didn't you say you'd practice free throws before we finish changing?" Joshua calls as he nears the two of you, the rest of the team right behind him. Mingyu looks at them and takes a step away from you, naturally falling into pace with them and excusing how it's not his fault he couldn't even get on the court yet. You think you see him glance at you one more time before giving the boys his full attention but you're honestly not sure. It could be just your head playing tricks on you.

"Cheer loudly for us, okay?" Jake smiles at you as he passes you and you give him and encouraging nod, wishing them all good luck. The hallway gets empty again and you get back to why you found yourself here in the first place. You need to find good seats.

You sit right above their bench, second line. Most of the first line is already filled and you honestly don't want to be sitting between men your dad's age who have been eyeing you ever since you started wandering around the seats. So, you decide for a seat still close to the players but also comfortable. You'll just have to hope your luck isn't terrible and you won't find yourself squeezed between someone weird after all.

Your dad finds you with his eyes as soon as he orders for Seungcheol to lead the stretching, offering you one of his smiles. You return it, smiling at Seojin, his assistant coach, as well. He's been friends with your dad for as long as you can remember, and it's nice seeing them coach together now. Seojin has always trained the younger kids, teaching them the basics of basketball and how to handle a ball, but ever since the men's team has got a new coach, the entire staff needed an update as well. And from what you know, Seojin has always been on top of your dad's list.

"Is this seat taken?" You look up upon hearing a woman voice, relief washing over you immediately.

"Please, take it." She laughs softly, thanking you as she folds her jacket in her arms and sits down, resting her bag between her legs. She doesn't look much older than you. Twenty four if you had to guess. She is pretty, with her brown hair in a ponytail going down to the middle of her back, matching eyes gazing into yours and an adorable smile. You can imagine how easy it's for her to have guys folding at her feet. Especially if she is into their sports. "Who are you here for?"

"SK Knights," she answers, her eyes trailing the players on the court. "You?"

"Same," you grin, doing the same. "My first away game with them, kinda nervous," you joke and thankfully, she matches your humor, chuckling as she wishes you good luck. "I don't think I've ever seen you on their home games?"

"It's only been a few weeks since I started cheering for them," she explains. "I got interested when I saw them beat my brother's team. He hates them now, obviously."

"Obviously," you nod, unable to hide your smile. It's probably the excitement you feel from knowing you'll be able to talk about the game with someone similar to you and not a fifty year old man staring at your body instead of the game that makes you this giggly. You extend your hand out to her, your name falling off your lips.

"Bora," she shakes your hand with a smile. The two of you watch as Seungcheol controls the free throw drills before she nudges you with her shoulder, bringing your attention back to her. "So which one is it?"

"What do you mean?" You blink up at her.

"Oh come on," a knowing smile spreads on her lips as she eyes you up and down. "Sisters usually aren't that immersed into their brother's games — speaking from experience — so I crossed that option out. And that look in your eyes doesn't look like you're deeply analyzing the forms of the players or anything."

"Oh," you breathe out, glancing back at the court. Have you been looking at Mingyu without noticing? You did watch him and cursed a little under your breathe when he missed the shoot but were you that obvious? You quickly shake your head, getting the thoughts out of your head. There is no reason why you would be looking at him differently, you remind yourself. You have nothing to worry about. "The coach."

"The coach?" She blinks and you can tell she is surprised. "Well, you go girl then," she laughs quietly. "How big of an age gap is that?"

"God no! Not like that!" You interrupt her before her mind can wander further. "He is my dad. That's why I'm here," you finish your thought.

Bora sighs in what you could only classify as relief, "That makes so much more sense."

"And we have thirty years between us so please."

"Some girls are into that," she shrugs. "I couldn't but how am I supposed to know what your range is."

You think about it but don't answer her, your mind only coming up with the five years older player with annoyingly beautiful eyes and perfectly white teeth he shows every time he smiles. That seems like a reasonable difference. The last time your boyfriend was five years older than you it might have not lasted long but who ever said you are one to learn from your mistakes? You'll gladly try again and better if Mingyu lets you.

"Do you have a player you are here for? Or is it just the team in general?"

You watch her eyes flicker to the players, trying to follow her line of sight. But with everyone so close to each other right now, it's hard. "I think it was number twelve that caught my attention at first. But the entire team is great and I genuinely just want to watch a good game."

"Seungkwan?" Your eyes widen, less in a surprise and more in a pure excitement. Just based on what you know about him, you know he'd love her. But then again, who wouldn't? Looking at her, you might fall as well. "You should get his number after the game!" You encourage her. "You can come with me after and I'll introduce you."

"Please," she shakes her head, laughing. "I don't need his number. I'll be happy watching from the side lines and cheering the team on while my brother prays for my and their down fall. And if I were to get anyone's number tonight," she meets your eyes with a soft smile, "It'd be yours."

You shake your head at her as you pull your phone from your pocket, gladly handing it to her. Looking forward to all the games the two of you can watch together from now on, you are happier and happier you decided to join today's game.

The dopamine you feel as soon as the game starts is much bigger than you expected. The starting five is the same as at the last game — Seungcheol as center, Mingyu and Seungkwan as guards, and Jeonghan and Hansol playing forward. It worked last time, and with every inch of your body you hope it does today as well.

They had advantage last time, playing on home land, so if they work it out this time as well it'll mean your dad found the core five. Ever since he started coaching them two months ago, he kept on trying different rotations, trying to learn what worked together and what didn't. You watched him sit over his notes at home late at night sometimes and gave him your two cents when you had something to offer.

You were the one to point out how well Seungkwan plays when he has Hansol on the team with him, how relieved he seems knowing they have a strong defense that allows him to make risky plays. You're glad you did. They seem way more stable now.

You cheer for the team along with the rest of your section, frowning when they lose the ball, and raising your hands in the air when they score a point. It's incredibly loud around you but you don't mind, only focused on the play. Your dad has never been one to argue with referees or yell at his players about what they should do when they are in the zone, and that hasn't changed with the men. It's not your dad's voice that keeps echoing in your ears. But there one — two actually. Seungcheol leads his team on the court, with the help of Mingyu, who isn't scared to call for a ball or suggest a play.

Without having to see his face, you know your dad is proud. You know exactly what kind of look he has because the same one is on your face. There is a weird sense of accomplishment knowing they are doing well.

It's a close match, no one letting the other team get too far ahead. As soon as the gap widens more than they'd like, they pull a new move and turn it around again, leaving the entire audience in chaos. You watch with wide eyes, unable to take your attention off. This has got to be one of the best games you've ever seen. It makes sense why they play in the league now. While you were always a fan thanks to your little crush and one of your closest friends being on the team, it's moments like these that remind you the players aren't just hot but actually talented.

You know Bora feels it too, loud encouragements leaving her lips every time one of the Knights gets the ball. The team work is amazing, their passes perfect and shots clean. You can tell they are in a zone, likely only seeing the ball and the rest of the players on the court.

It's the second quarter that the opponents defense starts to be more aggressive, the referees having to stop the game because of fouls before you can comprehend anything. Luck seems to be on your side through, because every time they foul, it happens to be Mingyu they make contact with. Your smile grows more and more as you watch him take his place at the free throw line, knowing he'll make it without having to look.

If you know anything about him, it's that his cleanest shots are from the free throw line. You've never seen him miss in a game, but it's not only that. You know his stats. 98% success rate in free throws is fucking amazing. Based on the look on the opponent's faces as they take their positions, you know they realize it too.

He isn't missing.

Your section grows quiet as Mingyu dribbles the ball beside his leg briefly, getting the right grip of the ball before holding it in both hands. The ball leaves his fingertips and your eyes follow it eagerly, the loudest cheers leaving your lips when it goes straight in. Glancing at the score board, you high five with Bora when you see the 43:33. They made it to the ten point gap.

You seriously couldn't be prouder.

It's Riki's eyes you find first when the halftime begins. Jake joins him right after, both of them yelling at you how they hope you know they'd play way better if they were on the court before your dad dismisses them. You laugh, watching them get scolded over not knowing when to stop. It's all playful, they know it too, but it still must look heavy to everyone who doesn't know your dad personally. Thankfully, a lot of the people in your section have left when the second quarter ended to go to the toilet or buy drinks.

"You guys seem to be close," Bora nudges your shoulder and you roll your eyes with a scoff. Encouraging her to stand up, you both walk to the railing at the front, leaning forward and looking down at the players.

"We are close in age, it was natural," you explain, smiling at the two youngest

"If it isn't our two biggest fans," Seungcheol comes into view, offering you both a smile. "I'm pretty sure I could only hear your voices throughout the game." You doubt that's true but with the confident grin on his face, he could make you believe a lot. He looks around at his teammates to add to his words before he opens his mouth again, "Shouldn't we know the name of our biggest fan?"

Exactly what you expected. You shake your head at him as Bora introduces herself, praising their game play in the first half. You take the opportunity and scan the court with your eyes until you find what you've been looking at. You meet Mingyu's eyes briefly, smiling at him. A smile appears on his lips in return and it's impossible how weak your heart suddenly feels. Jesus. You need to get a grip.

His eyes don't stay on you for long though, the warm feeling in your chest leaving as soon as it came when he focuses his attention on Heeseung and calls him over so he'd practice passes with him. You're used to this, though. It'd be weirder if he kept his focus on you. You tear your eyes off him when Bora asks you if you want her to get you a drink and shake your head, joining her conversation with Seungcheol and Joshua.

Your eyes trail to number 17 every now and then, but you don't meet his eyes again until the very end of the halftime when you tell them all good luck.

You say your goodbye to Bora at the entrance after the happy win, your grin growing wider when you see her talking with Seungkwan before leaving, praising his game all over again. He seems frustrated, and you just know he'll be thinking about the interaction for a while. When he asks her if she'll be in the stands tomorrow as well, it only confirms everything.

"Let's go, we need to settle in," your dad calls for everyone to gather and they listen. The cars fill shortly after, Jake joining you this time so Riki won't be alone anymore. It's not like he was since you were in the car as well, but honestly, you enjoyed the tension between him and your dad too much to actually provide him some of the support Jake will by sitting in the back with him.

This time, your car leaves first. "We need to rearrange the rooms when we arrive," your dad reminds you and both of the guys peer up from their phones.

"Why?"

"I was booking for twelve, not thirteen. And I know since Seokmin ended up not coming today there is an empty bed, but it'd be uncomfortable having our only girl room with three men."

"Dad, I'm fine—"

You don't get to finish your sentence as he interrupts you. "It's uncomfortable for me."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I'm okay sharing the room with the guys. We are all adults and I know them."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about the most. We should switch our room with yours so she can room with me and Seojin," he suggests, glancing at Jake in the back through the rear view mirror. "Heeseung can go instead of Seokmin and the two of you will take our room."

"No," you stop him immediately. "Dad, I'm not sharing a room with you and Seojin. That'd be uncomfortable for me. Let me room with the guys instead. It's fine."

He hesitates and you can see all kinds of thoughts running through his head as he stares at the road ahead. "Okay," he finally sighs. First win of the night for you. "You can take my room with one of the guys, but I'm not having you stay in a room with three of them."

"Yes, sir," you laugh.

"Shall we room together?" Jake leans forward, holding onto the seat in front of him. You glance back at him, nodding without a second thought.

"Sounds good."

"Wait, does that mean Heeseung and I will be in the room alone or what?" Riki leans forward as well and your dad's grin widens. Oh good god.

"No. Heeseung will sleep in the four people room like I said. The room switch also still stands. Just this time, you'll be the one in the room with us and not my daughter."

You watch as Riki's face gets pale, holding back a laughter. You can practically see the curse on his lips, needing to look away to hold it in. Things may not be working out for Riki, but this is one of the funniest trips you've ever had.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

Despite your dad's stare, Jake helps you carry your bag up to your room. You immediately jump on the closest bed, your arms and legs stretched out. "You wanted to room with me because you knew the room for coach staff would be the biggest one, didn't you?" You prompt yourself up to look at him and he laughs, dropping your bag besides your bed.

"Obviously. What did you expect? That I would want to share a room with three stinky men instead of enjoying my free space? Absolutely not."

You laugh as well, nodding. "Valid point."

"I'll go shower first, okay? I need to get all this sweat off me."

"Sure," you nod. "Go ahead."

"This is also what I love about this room," he says as he stretches his hands above his head, going to check out the bathroom. "I can just shower without waiting for everyone else to get it over with because they love to make things by age order."

"I hope you like using me to your advantage," you shake your head with a smile, taking out your phone from your pocket and looking at messages you missed while you were at the game.

"It's the best!" Jake yells before the bathroom door shuts behind him, the sound of the shower being turned on coming shortly after.

Jake has a towel wrapped around his waist when he comes back, apologies leaving his lips as he rushes to his bag to get a set of fresh clothes. You sigh heavily, ignoring his presence and continuing to scroll on your phone. He is gone again in a second anyway. He doesn't close the bathroom door fully this time, though, wanting you to hear him. "The guys have texted about wanting to go out for drinks. Do you want to come with? It'll be fun."

"Everyone's going?" You ask back and he agrees. Thinking about it for a moment, you go through all the possibilities of how tonight could go.

One, you get awfully drunk and embarrass yourself in front of everyone.

Two, you get awfully drunk and give into Seungcheol's joking and flirt back with him, all of it leading to one big, drunk, mistake.

Three, you get awfully drunk and call your ex just to ask him about what him and his friends think of you so you can know what your chances with Mingyu are.

Four, you get awfully drunk and confess your feelings to Mingyu, who will then turn you down and you'll spend the rest of the night heartbroken, not even wanting to come to the game tomorrow. Things will be weird, he'll talk to you even less than before, your dad will see that something is going on, and you'll have to explain to him what happen and feel embarrassed all over again.

Yeah, you don't think you want to drink tonight.

"I'll pass!" You call back at him. "I don't feel like drinking tonight."

He peers from the bathroom, fully dressed now. "Just come and don't drink then? I'd feel weird leaving you here alone while we are out having fun."

You wave him off. "It's okay. I won't stay here. I wanted to go out and explore the city a bit so you don't have to worry about that," you assure him. "You guys go have fun and I'll see you in the morning. Hopefully I won't be cleaning your puke by then."

"I promise you you won't," he laughs. "If you get bored and change your mind, just call me and I'll tell you where we are so you can come hang out, okay?"

"Okay," you nod.

Standing up from your bed, you reach for new clothes in your bag as well, going to steal the shower for yourself now.

You don't hear Jake leaving the room through your playlist, but when you come out again twenty minutes later, he is nowhere to be seen. You look at the time on your phone, deciding to go out as well and have something for dinner when you see the 7:53. It surprises you how fast time passes, but then again, it was a long game, and even longer settling into your hotel rooms.

It's only the end of March but the cold air has already been replaced. You brought a jacket with yourself in case you'd get cold but you don't think you'll be needing it after all. Walking through the quiet streets, you admire the city slowly. You've always loved exploring new places, so tonight is only looking more and more perfect. There is no rush, no one telling you to stop taking pictures of random stuff and just hurry so you can have dinner already, and you love that about it the most. You're glad you decided not to go for drinks with them tonight.

A part of you feels disappointed, the hope you still have for you and Mingyu lingering and telling you to go so you can get to know him more. But a bigger part of you knows you shouldn't. All your worries earlier were right, and you're not sure how you'd behave if the guys got you drunk. Kim Mingyu is hot when you are sober. You don't want to find out what you think of him when you're wasted.

Snapping a picture of a fountain you pass, you hide your phone in your pocket again when your eyes fall to a small restaurant nearby, the atmosphere pulling you in immediately. The only thing better than amazing food is amazing food with a nice vibe.

Jake and Riki both send you videos from the bar as you have your dinner, making you laugh out loud. One of the servers looks at you weirdly but you do your best not paying it any attention, refusing to let this good night be ruined by anything.

You take a different route on your walk back, checking your phone's map every once in a while just to make sure you aren't going in a completely different direction.

It's when you see an outside basketball court that you stop in your track completely, the urge to go and play growing with each second you're looking at it. It's still far so you can't see if anyone is there or not, but you surely hope there is.

It's been a while since you last played. Sure, there were PE lessons in high school and you'd play sometimes then, but it's been almost ten years since you played properly. You don't regret quitting back then, you still believe it was the right decision. Pushing yourself into doing something that was no longer fun would have only made you hate the sport, and you never wanted that to happen. You prefer this more — the feeling of still caring for the sport and wanting to play at times like these.

The sound of dribbles reaches you before you can see anyone. You debate texting Bora if she's free and doesn't want to come meet you so the two of you could play together, but as soon as your eyes land on the only person occupying the court, you rethink it. It would be fun to play with her and get to know her more, but if you're honest, you are more interested in playing and getting to know the person practicing free throws.

"I thought you guys went out for drinks," you say softly, trying not to scare him by suddenly breaking the silence you are sure he's gotten used to. Despite your attempt, you watch as he flinches when your voice reaches him, the ball changing trajectory and missing the hoop. "Sorry."

"No worries," he mumbles, jogging for the ball again. "They did go. I think Seungcheol said the bar was like five minutes from the hotel." You nod, awkwardly standing on the side as he comes back to the free throw line before locking his eyes with yours. "Wanna play?"

Before you can think it through, you are nodding, wanting nothing more. That's why you came here after all — to see if there was anyone you could play with. You surely didn't expect it'd be a league player but he'll have to do this time.

Mingyu watches you as you rest your jacket on a nearby bench before coming to him. He hands you the ball and steps aside so you can shoot as well. You seem nervous but he doesn't point it out, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. He takes the sight of you in as you stand at the line, trying to get into the same position you've seen him take many times during today's game. Your shirt rides up slightly but it's barely noticeable since a bit of your stomach was already revealed. You're wearing an off-shoulder blue shirt — a different style from the red tank top he saw you in at the game — that you tucked into what he assumes is your bra on one side, your jeans hugging your stomach unlike the baggy bottoms.

Your hair is the only thing still same, the brown locks reaching down your back. It's simple, and yet he can't help but think about how much he loves your outfit. Blue suits you.

The ball leaves your hands but doesn't go as you'd like, missing the hoop. You close your eyes shut in defeat, slowly trailing to pick it up again. "You need more power, Blue. Otherwise it was great."

You look over your shoulder when you pick up the ball, blinking at him confusedly. "Blue?"

"Oh," he breathes out, realizing he let the nickname escape. "That was just—" he hesitates as he takes a place at the free throw line again, extending his hands forward for you to make a pass to him. You do, giving him the ball and slowly coming to his side. "I noticed you wear it a lot, it kind of escaped."

It's you who is breathing out a quiet 'oh' this time, your heart doing weird back flips at the mention of him noticing what you usually wear. It's shocking since you always thought he avoided looking at you as much as he could. "I see."

His eyes find yours again as he takes a step to the left, encouraging you to come closer to him. He dribbles the ball besides him briefly before taking his position, letting you watch him from up close as the ball leaves his fingers again, this time landing in the hoop perfectly. You smile at the sight, unable to hide how you feel as he comes to stand under the hoop, passing you the ball.

You stand with the ball in your hands for a moment, trying to figure out what he's doing. "Come on, Blue. You just saw how it's done. You can do it too if you try. We aren't moving on until you make it in."

You knew you wouldn't need your jacket but now he just confirmed it. There is no way you'll get cold tonight when he makes you feel so hot, your entire body heating up over his words. Come on, Blue. Does he know you are crazy for him? If he did maybe he'd pay more attention to what he says. Playing with you is one thing, but trying to help you like this on top of giving you a nickname? He isn't fair to you at all.

You do your best aligning your arms perfectly, watching the hoop in front of you as the ball leaves your hands. As soon as it does, you know you missed. It felt wrong. Just like you thought, the ball falls short again. Mingyu catches the ball with ease, passing it to you right away. "Are you sure you want to be here all night? I'm not making it in. The hoop is too high."

"You are making it," he shakes his head. "What would your dad say if he saw you whining like this? The hoop is too high? Don't play dumb now." He tilts his head and it's the pretties you've ever seen him. With his dark short hair, a knowing raised brow, a comfortable sweats and a black tank, he is absolutely gorgeous. Maybe your crush on him isn't as little as you've been convincing yourself. You are obsessed. Obsessed with how he watches you right now, how he looks, and how he talks with you.

"I'm not playing dumb," you argue but still listen to him and try to get into position again.

"Then you're not as smart as I always thought you were."

God fucking damn it.

You are in no way Mingyu's strongest soldier, and he just keeps proving you that.

Shooting again, you get a better feeling than before. You miss again, but this time the ball at least hits the hoop. Maybe he is right and you can do this. "What happens when I get it in?" You wonder as he passes you the ball back.

You hold the ball under your arm while he thinks, waiting for his answer. "We move on to a real game. Match for ten points, hm?"

"I'm supposed to try to match a league player?"

"You came here to play, didn't you, Blue?"

You hesitate, averting your eyes from him. "This just seems like an unfair bet for you to jerk your ego," you mumble under your breath, shooting again. This one is terrible and you both know it but he doesn't say anything about it, simply passing you the ball again.

"It gets easier without all the complaining," he points out and you scoff, ignoring him as you try again.

It takes two more bounces off the hoop, but by your third try, the ball makes it in. You cheer loudly when it does, your hands raised in the air in celebration. Mingyu carries a similar proud smile on his face as he picks the ball again and dribbles over to you. "I knew I still got it," you scoff playfully, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

"Of course you did," he shakes his head, the grin never disappearing from his face. "With how great you are, you have no problem playing against me, right?"

A wave of nerves suddenly washes over you, your confidence dropping. You swallow, nodding, "Sure." Your voice comes out a lot quieter than you expected, the uncertainty clear as day.

"I'll give you five points to start, that's fair, isn't it?"

"Eight," you argue immediately and he raises his eyebrow.

"You need eight points difference to beat me?"

"If I need to beat you then I want to start with ten points right away otherwise I have no chance, but if playing for more than five seconds is what we want then eight points will do."

"You'll get seven. I can't underestimate you so much, what if I'd lose?"

"Then I'd need to tell my dad to reconsider your position on the team."

The atmosphere is easy, much more comfortable than you through the two of you would ever able to be. He steps behind the three point line, dribbling the ball around his leg while you watch him, trying your hardest to focus on the ball and not his face. Chasing after him, you do your best guarding the almost head taller man. It doesn't work, obviously, but both of you laugh at your attempts and that makes you feel a lot better than stopping him would.

He easily makes a point in and you rush in to get the ball. He lets you dribble to the three point line without guarding you, slowly walking to you only once you cross it to make your way towards the basket. As soon as he reaches you, you know you don't stand a chance. You knew he was big, but standing against him now, as he guards you so you don't get to the basket, he is fucking huge. Not only does he hover over you, you also feel like you suddenly grew smaller when he outstretches his hands, easily blocking both sides. You dribble back again, cursing quietly as you try to figure out a way around him.

The only possibility you see is trying to shoot from the three point line, but there is no way you're making that in. With how long it took for you to get the free throw in, a three pointer will seriously take all night — if you'd even manage to get it in then.

Is this how he wins his games? By intimidating his opponents until they run away and settle for the last possible option just to lose the ball? Fucker. An incredibly tall and handsome fucker. You never want to stand on the opposite side of the court against him again.

You try to run around him but he blocks you again, this time stealing the ball from you. He runs behind the line with ease, making his way past you even easier before dunking the ball in, scoring another point for himself. "I don't want to do this," you groan. He chuckles, passing you the ball as a small pay back. But it's no use when you won't be able to shoot anyway.

"Just try, hm? What's the worst that happens?"

"I embarrass myself in front of you," you mutter, not meeting his eyes as you try as he said, dribbling around him.

"In front of me? Who cares what I think," he shakes his head. "Just have fun, Blue. Play around, miss the shots or make them in, lose or win — it doesn't matter." He doesn't stand in your way this time, his eyes following you as you dribble to the basket before shooting your shot once you are close enough to confidently make it in. The shot is clean, the ball falling through the hoop perfectly. "What matters is that you keep that smile on your face and don't worry yourself with anything."

It's easy for him, isn't it? You want to argue that you can't possibly stop worrying about what he'll think of you but you stop yourself in time, realizing just how wrongly that conversation would go. Your best shot today is to just listen to his words and try to enjoy this as much as possible. Even if you do lose at the end.

You never went into this considering you'd win so it should be fine. You can have fun with Mingyu without worrying yourself with anything.

Once you let go, you feel a lot better. Laugh fills your ears — both your own and his — accompanied with the sound of the ball hitting the hoop and bouncing off. You stopped playing for points a long time ago, Mingyu easily scoring ten more points before you could get another one in. But because Kim Mingyu can't be anything if not perfect, he encourages you to keep trying, cheering you on as you keep trying to get around him to shoot. Eventually, you give up on trying to be perfect and just shoot from your spot. The ball won't make it and you know it, but he seems to believe in you a lot more as he turns around to watch the ball go.

Taking your chance, you run past him and catch the ball as it falls short, shooting again once you have the right grip. It's only then that he realizes what you did, rushing to you to stop the ball from going in. But he is too late, and the ball falls into the hoop before he can catch it.

"Yes!!" You yell loudly. "Did you see that?? I figured it out! I outplayed you for real!"

He laughs as he turns to face you, nodding. "I saw that," he assures you. "You did great, Blue."

Your cheeks heat up as soon as your eyes lock with his, his words making your heart do spins for the nth time today. It's incredible how he makes you feel, and how much more you want him to talk to you. He's always been attractive, but now, when you know you enjoy spending time with him as well, you are just so much more interested. It's been a while since you felt like this, and even then your feelings weren't as strong as they are now.

"Let's take a break," he suggests, motioning to the bench you laid your jacket on before. "I've got water in my bag, you should hydrate yourself." You nod, unable to argue as you follow him to the bench. Taking a seat on the edge, you watch him reach into his backpack, handing you his water bottle. You take a long sip before handing it back to him, prompting him to do the same.

You lean back in your seat, looking up at the night sky. The stars are much clearer from here than Seoul. Taking a seat besides you, he rests the bottle of water between you in case you want to drink again, following your line of sight.

"How come you didn't go drinking with them?" You wonder out loud.

It stays quiet for a second so you glance his way, finding him looking up at the sky. "Didn't feel like it," he shrugs when he feels your eyes on him. "I wanted to practice more and coach said there was a court nearby, so I found this." You hum back. "Why didn't you? I'm sure they asked you to join."

"Yeah, but I didn't want to get drunk in front of them," you explain. "Jake kept texting me to come join them after all but it didn't feel right." It didn't feel right to get drunk and confess my feelings to you, but you don't finish that sentence. After all, not going ended up being the better option. When else would you get a chance to play basketball with him?

"Jake is nice," he hums.

"Yeah," you agree, trying not to sound too confused. "He is great."

"How long have you been together?" Mingyu wonders next and you almost choke on your saliva.

"What??" His eyes shoot to you when he hears you coughing, quickly patting your back in an attempt to help. "We aren't together," you correct him as soon as you can breathe properly again. "We are friends. Just friends."

"Oh?" He blinks, a little confused. "I thought you guys— never mind."

"You thought we what? Does it look like we are together? God, do people seriously think that?" You groan and his lips curve up at your panic.

"No," he shakes his head. "I guess it was just me who thought so," a soft, almost disbelieving, chuckle leaves his lips. The realization slowly settles in, all the interactions he's seen you have with his teammates — the jokes and conversations — making much more sense now.

A beat of silence passes by as the two of you sit under the moonlight, watching the night sky together. "Can I ask something?" You break the quiet, too nervous to even look at him.

His eyes rest on you though, wondering what you're thinking about. "You just did," he teases, trying to ease the situation when he sees how anxious you seem. It doesn't help at all. You fidget with your fingers, trying to find the right words as your eyes fall down to your lap. Mingyu's eyes follow yours, his brows furrowing when he sees you playing with your nails. "Ask me away, Blue."

You're suddenly rethinking everything you did today; how you look, how you acted, how you played, even how you're sitting right now. Putting yourself out there is your least favorite thing. You usually don't mind having attention on yourself, at least not to the point where it would actually influence your behavior. But as you sit here now, wondering what goes inside Mingyu's head when he looks at you, you feel like throwing up as soon as the words leave your lips. "Why do you never talk to me?"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head.

You still don't meet his eyes, staring holes into your thighs. "Like— the team talks with me after games or whatever but we barely say hi to each other," you quickly blurt out, unsure if he can even understand you. He sighs and you finally look up. "Is it because of Jungkook?"

"Jungkook?" His frown deepens. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Is he not—" you stop yourself from finishing the sentence, cursing yourself mentally as you gaze into his confused eyes. Jungkook has nothing to do with it. He never had anything to do with it. You're not sure if that makes you feel better or worse. Why has he been avoiding you like the plague then?

"I didn't mean to avoid you," he assures you, his gaze dropping to your fingers again. You are still playing with them, but it's gotten better now. "To be honest, I didn't even think you noticed we weren't talking."

"I did," you mumble. "I wanted to talk to you."

"You did?" He questions and your cheeks heat up, nervousness washing over you again.

"You are part of the team and others talk to me so I just—" you quickly try to excuse it, hoping he doesn't notice how red your ears are. "I didn't want anything to be awkward between us, so I wanted to get to know you as well."

He chuckles, nodding. "I'm sorry I made you feel like it was ever awkward between us." His eyes soften as he looks at you, all your previous interactions crossing his mind. He understands why you could think he didn't want to talk to you or that he feels indifferent towards you, but that was never his intention. "I never had anything against you — actually I always thought you were pretty damn cool based on how the guys talk about you — but I didn't want to overstep because I thought you were with Jake and it could make him uncomfortable."

"I'm not with Jake," you remind him again.

He laughs, "Yes, I know that now."

"Okay, good. Just remember that."

"I will," he shakes his head in amusement, a smile on his face as he takes the sight of you in again — no longer fidgeting with your fingers and wearing a smile on your face.

He likes you like this much more. You are pretty when you are happy.

By the time you came back to your room last night, it was already midnight. You'd love to blame it all on Mingyu, but you didn't want to leave either. The longer you could spend time with him, the happier you were. The two of you played again — and this time he actually allowed you the advantage of eight points — betting on who'd reach ten points first. You lost, obviously.

You probably should have been sad you lost, but somehow, you were glad. Because losing and having to keep your word that the winner gets a wish, means you'll have to talk to him again. It means you'll have an excuse to talk to him and get to know him further. The fact you need to fulfill his wish is just a minor disadvantage.

The two of you walked back together, chatting about anything and everything that came to mind. You're not sure how much he remembers, but you told him a lot about yourself and he did the same in return, the questions you've always had for him slowly disappearing just for new ones to appear with every answer. You think it's safe to say you're interested him.

You're not sure when Jake came back to the hotel room, but it was long after you were already asleep. Luckily, he didn't throw up or anything, keeping his promise, but he still ended up hung over in the morning, whining your ears off.

"Is there anyone sober?" Your dad complains. "I don't have players to play with if you guys don't do something about yourself right about," he looks at the watch on his hand to add to his point, "now."

"We are all pretty much sobered up," Seungcheol argues. "My head does hurt though."

You laugh quietly as your dad contemplates his choices to be their coach. "Coach, me and Vernon stopped drinking before midnight, we are good to play."

"I also feel good," Riki pipes up.

"Nishimura, you'll see my daughter married before you play on the court," your dad deadpans and your eyes widen, unsure if you should question what he means by that or laugh at your friends misery.

"I didn't drink anything last night, coach," Mingyu joins the conversation and your eyes find him immediately. He stands with his hands in his pockets, dressed in comfortable gray shorts and a black graphic shirt, sunglasses sitting firmly on top of his head. Have you mentioned yet how attractive he is? Because if not, maybe you should get your laptop and start writing a book about it.

"Exactly why you're my favorite player," your dad snaps his fingers, visibly excited. "We can work with this. Okay, whoever can drive will drive, we'll stop at a gas station and everyone will try to sober up as best as they can. Only if I know no one will want to test you for alcohol is when I let you guys on the court."

A loud, "Yes, coach!" is heard from everyone, making you blink in surprise while Seojin besides you looks pleased, expecting nothing less from their team. When you see the look in his eyes, your eyes soften, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You settle yourself in the passenger seat of your dad's car, Jake and Riki right behind you again. You watch as Mingyu gets into his car, Seungcheol right behind him. Seojin drives Seungcheol's car this time, taking in Jeonghan and Heeseung, while Seungkwan drives Joshua and Hansol in Joshua's car. Every part of you wants to switch with Seungcheol and sit besides Mingyu, watch him drive and talk with him the entire ride, but there's no way you'd be able to do that with your dad around.

Fastening your seatbelt with a heavy sigh, you bring the attention of all three to yourself. Quickly shaking your head when you notice them, you brush them off, claiming you just sighed because you feel tired. As soon as your dad hums and focuses on the road again, you send Dae a quick text about how you'll need to talk with her about Mingyu when you come back before switching chats to the one with Bora you started last night, asking her to wait for you in front of the stadium when she arrives.

Jumping out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop, you join the guys, planning to buy yourself coffee and your dad a soda per his request. You swear it's not on purpose, that you have nothing to do with it, but as you walk you find yourself by Mingyu's side, the two of you trailing together at the very back.

"Hi," you smile up at him. His smile is gentle as he greets you back, his chocolate eyes finding yours with ease. You love his eyes. "Did you sleep well?"

"Surprisingly fell asleep shortly after showering," he nods. "The guys were a mess when they came back, though. Shua and Hee were singing for the entire floor to hear before Hansol and I shut the up." You chuckle at the imagine in your head. You'd love to see that as well. "It was little after three when they got back but they fell asleep as soon as their faces hit the bed so it wasn't too bad."

"How are they even functioning right now?" you ask, more curiously than judging them. Even though, considering the situation, you do hate it on behalf of your dad. Despite them winning the yesterday's game, they still need to do their best today, which is not something that can happen with half of his players under the influence. If anyone finds out, they could be in serious trouble.

"They are used to it," he shrugs. "Not to say they are alcoholics, but it's not the first time celebrations were like this."

"Do you usually no drink with them?"

"Oh no," Mingyu laughs as you enter the store together. "I drink with them way more than not. I just wasn't in the mood last night. And, to be honest, I did not want to risk having alcohol in my system for today's game. I want to be at my best today."

"When are you not at your best?" You mumble, taking a turn to the right immediately to browse the drinks they offer. Mingyu blinks at you curiously, your words repeating in his head. There are a lot of moments he could answer with, but he likes the fact you believe in him so much to think he does no wrong. If anything, it's a great motivation.

"Hand it to me," Mingyu encourages when you reach the counter to pay. You look up at him, eyebrows furrow in confusion as you hold the bottle of coke for your dad. You give it to him hesitantly, watching as he hands it to the worker for her to add it to his bill.

Your eyes widen immediately, "Wait, Mingyu, no, I'm buying that."

"It's fine. Did you want anything else?"

"Mingyu," you shake your head. "Stop buying me stuff every time we stop somewhere," you try your best to sound convincing, but by the lazy scoff that leaves his lips, you don't think you managed anything. "Can you please take it off? I'll pay for it myself. And I'll also get a latte please."

"Add the coffee as well. How much is the total?" Mingyu smiles innocently at the girl behind the counter. He really is no good for you. While you want to keep arguing with him, fight him that there is no reason for him to buy you drinks, the tingly feeling in your chest when he does stops you.

"Mingyu," you try once more.

His gaze drops to you, his smile widening. "Yes, Blue? Just accept the offer when I'm making it, okay? You can buy next time." You both know next time will look the same, that he'll fight you for paying again, but neither of you say anything about it. You sigh in defeat, nodding when the cashier asks you if she should ring him up with your drinks on as well.

"I think you misunderstood the terms of our bet," you mumble as you walk outside again, sipping on your coffee. "Since you won, I'm supposed to fulfill your wish. Not the other way around. There is no reason for you to be doing this."

Mingyu shrugs, not a single care in the world. "I know what we bet on. Trust me, I'll use my wish well when I figure out what I want. But for now, I'm simply bribing my coach by buying him and his daughter a drink."

"So this is what it's about?" You fake gasps and he nods, biting back a smile. "What would happen if he found out you're using me like this? Your good boy image would fall off."

"I don't need a good boy image when I am in fact a good boy," he sends you a wink that makes you feel like your heart will jump out of your chest before sending you off with a grin on his face, getting back to his car.

Kim Mingyu is so terrible for your health.

He is also, apparently, a good boy.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

Your eyes land on Bora's figure as soon as you step out of the car. You're not the only one looking at her, though. Watching as Seungkwan takes the sight of your friend in with a smile on his face, you have to smile too. They might not know what awaits them in the future, but you can already seem them getting together and being happy. Seungkwan deserves this, and you root for him with everything you have.

"We'll go in first," you wave at your dad, locking arms with the brown haired girl waiting for you. "Let's pick good seats."

"Let's go," Bora nods eagerly.

You tell her about the guys' celebration yesterday and how your dad was pretty annoyed in the morning, not knowing who to send on the court without risking a penalty for a player under the influence. You leave out the fact Mingyu was the only one not drinking because he was with you, shrugging and saying that he probably just didn't feel like drinking when she asks. There is a somehow proud smile on her lips when you tell her that Seungkwan is one of the players ready to play today, making you roll your eyes. She's super obvious.

A part of you wonders if you look the same when you think or hear about Mingyu. If you wear a similarly adorable smile without even realizing. While you have a feeling you do, you hope it's not like this in your case. Because if it is, everyone probably knows what goes on in your head, and that's not something you want.

You find seats in first row this time. It's not that huge of a change from yesterday's game, but it still feels like you are a lot closer to the players. Your dad and his assistant coach are the first ones to appear on the court, quickly finding your seats before settling at their own bench.

"I saw this video last night, I wanted to show it to you, wait," Bora says as she opens her phone quickly, easily getting your full attention again. There is forty minutes until the official start of the match, and you spend the entire time talking with her, barely noticing other people come in and occupy the seats around you. You talk about things you have in common, what interests you, and she also tells you about her family and how she's been into the sport her whole life thanks to her brother. Explaining how you grew up around basketball thanks to your family as well, you bond over your experience all over again. You're convinced you'll keep this girl in your life as long as you can, and you just hope she feels the same about you.

The starting five is different this time, just like you assumed when you saw how Seungcheol was doing. You've seen worse before, but with how tired he seems and how he's been complaining about his head hurting, it makes sense for your dad to swap him out. What you didn't expect was for Jeonghan to be sitting this time as well. He looked fine to you, but who knows what your dad was thinking.

Mingyu, Seungkwan, Hansol, Heeseung and Jake all come onto the court along with five players from the opponent's team, Mingyu taking his place in the middle circle instantly, getting ready for the jump ball. With his tall figure, it's only natural for him to be doing it. Despite other players often being around his height as well, his jump ability gives him the needed advantage. You watch him from your seat, looking forward to the play he shows today.

Waiting for the referee to take position as well, Mingyu takes his time scanning the crowd. He looks at all of their fans, noticing the red color in the audience a lot more than the opponent's green. You matched color to his team today as well. Your jeans are black, the same ones you wore to the game last night, and your shirt red. It's not a bad look, the opposite actually, but it's not blue.

"On three." Mingyu snaps out of it, his eyes immediately flickering to the referee besides him. Nodding, he gets ready, briefly looking at his opponent before focusing his attention on the ball. He doesn't hear the count anymore, only jumping once he sees the ball being tossed in the air. His opponent is shorter than him this time but it doesn't stop him from jumping as high as he can, stealing the ball into his side. He hears your cheers from the side but he doesn't have the time to look, instantly running forward so they can score the first basket.

Becoming friends with a guy you've liked for around a year is not for the weak. It seems like the dumbest thing ever when you think about it, but that doesn't change the fact your heart skips a beat at any and every mention of him.

It was a follow at first. Once you told Dae about your weekend and how you played basketball with him late at night, she immediately encouraged you into messaging him, claiming you should strike the pot while it's still hot. You didn't have the nerve to text him yet, but you sent him a follow, one he returned in the span of a minute. Deep down you know it doesn't mean anything, but at the moment, when the following turned into friends, you couldn't be more excited.

You exchanged simple likes after, a smile on your face every time you'd watch the stories he'd post. It's mostly pics from the trainings or his friends, but a picture of him in the gym occasionally pops up and you're down bad for him again. Even with his forehead full of sweat and tired eyes, he is just as attractive as ever.

Mingyu can't give you a moment to rest, though. So as soon as you started getting used to his notification popping out every time you'd post something — because he apparently is the nicest person on earth and likes everything he sees — he found a new way to get you jumping up from your seat. After posting a picture of you and one of the little girls you met at your internship, holding the drawing she made for you, he popped into your messages for the first time, asking about it.

You spent the next two hours on the phone with him, talking about your internship and all the kids you've got to teach so far, as well as some other things you've manage to learn thanks to your classes. To your surprise, you don't feel nervous at all talking to him. Maybe it's because of the topic, or how excited you always get when someone asks you about teaching. He is eager with his follow up questions as well, reassuring you he truly cares every time he interrupts you to ask something that caught his attention.

When he interrupted your texting by calling you the first time, you almost didn't pick up at time, but the more you talk to him, the more at ease you feel. If you could pick one thing you like the most about him, it would be how important he makes you feel every time.

You stayed on the phone with him until he made it to the sport hall, hanging up only because he needed to change and start training.

Ever since then, the two of you somehow managed to turn your calls into something normal, usually at least texting a few times during the day if you weren't calling later. If someone told you just a month ago that you'd be talking to Mingyu on the daily, you wouldn't believe them. It's something you once dreamed of, so having it now still feels out of this world.

Smiling as you send him a quick message, laughing at the picture he sent of his spilled coffee. Turns out, Mingyu is the clumsiest person you know, stuff like these happening to him on the daily. From spilling drinks, to breaking stuff or bumping into things. You're honestly surprised he is still alive at this point.

He sends you a pouty selfie right after seeing your laughing emoji, your grin only widening. "That's a boy!" Your eyes widen and you immediately turn your phone off, turning around to see Jiho, one of the loudest kids you look after.

"A boy?" Jia peers up instantly, blinking at you curiously. She's adorable, every part of you wanting to tell her all about the boy in your phone when you meet her big brown eyes.

"A boy," you nod. "Just like Jiho is a boy, and like Sunghoon is a boy."

"No!" Jiho argues quickly. "That was a grown boy! Like my dad!" You know he probably doesn't mean it that way, but thinking about how he just compared his dad, who is in his late thirties, to your Mingyu, makes you laugh.

Your Mingyu. You like thinking about him that way.

Before you can blink, a small group of kids surrounds you, all of them looking at you as if you just introduced them something foreign. Awkwardly smiling at them, you search for your supervisor, begging her with your eyes to come and help you out. She just smiles at you from across the room, leaning against the wall in amusement. Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for the wave of questions about to come.

"Was that your husband?"

"I don't have a husband," you shake your head quickly, raising your left hand to show off that it's empty. "See this finger? What do we call this finger?"

"The ring finger!" Jooyoung yells immediately.

"Exactly!" You grin happily, proud of her for getting it right. "And since there isn't a ring on this finger, it means I don't have a husband."

"Then it's a boyfriend, right? My sister says she needs a boyfriend all the time!"

"The boy Jiho saw isn't my boyfriend either," you answer her question, trying not to get swayed by the idea. "He is a friend of mine. He is nice to me, which is why I like him so much and talk to him. You guys remember how we talked about friendships last week, right?"

Everyone around nods and you do as well. "Great. Can anyone tell me what a friendship is?"

"When two people share their toys together!"

"When we play together!"

"When we are nice to each other!"

"Yes, yes, precisely," you agree. "So how about you all gather your friends, and go play with them?" It works better than you expected. All the kids glance at each other before running off with a laugh, making you breathe out in relief. You're glad you managed to get out of it so easily.

"That was great," your supervisor, Mrs. Choi, says as she joins your side. Looking up at her from your chair, you offer her a brief smile as well. "You took care of it well."

"I'm sorry for being on my phone while working," you lower your head again with an apology. Truth is though, you don't regret it. You never regret texting Mingyu and learning what he's doing.

"At least say it like you mean it," she scoffs playfully, pulling out a chair besides you and sitting down. "It's okay if you answer some texts when you're not busy, just please don't let it distract you to the point you aren't paying attention to the children."

"I won't," you promise instantly. "It could have waited and that was my fault."

She shakes her head, brushing you off. "Back when I was your age, I also couldn't wait to answer the phone when a boy I liked texted me. And look at me now, I'm still doing the job and I married him," she points to her ring finger. "So believe me when I say I'm okay with you being on your phone from time to time."

"It's not like that," you try to argue, but by the knowing smile she wears you don't think she believes you. To be fair, you don't believe yourself either. Talking to him every day, constantly texting and laughing at things together, it's impossible not to hope for something more. It's incredibly easy to love Kim Mingyu.

"Darling, eyes are the one and only thing that doesn't lie."

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

"Blue."

You're fully convinced you'd recognize his voice anywhere. Looking up, your eyes widen when they meet the chocolate ones you fall in love with every day more and more. "Mingyu?" You blink confusedly, standing up and dusting your jeans off. Glancing at the kids — who are watching you curiously instead of focusing on their drawings — you debate what the right move here is. "What are you doing here?"

"That's him!" You hear Jiho exclaim, quickly grabbing Mingyu's sleeve and pulling him with your outside.

"Woah, woah, ask me out to a dinner first," he laughs but still follows you voluntarily. You don't answer him, not stopping until you are far away from everyone.

"What are you doing here?" You repeat your question, slowly letting go of him.

His eyes briefly fall to the piece of fabric you were holding until now, a move you notice and only makes you more confused. "I texted you but I don't think you saw my messages," he meets your eyes again, an easy going smile on his face as he fixes the gym back hanging on his shoulder.

Pulling out your phone from your pocket, you scan the new messages truly waiting for you. He asked when you finish and if you want to go home together, as well as sending you updates on his position so you know when to expect him. "Shoot," you mutter, apology written all across your face as you look up. He simply shakes his head, assuring you it's okay. "I'm sorry I didn't answer and you walked all the way here for nothing," you frown. "I have another hour left until I can leave."

"I can wait," he shrugs. "I don't mind."

"But—"

Mrs. Choi calling your name interrupts you and you peek over Mingyu's side to see her, quickly apologizing to her for rushing out like that. "It's okay," she shakes her head, a calming sign you saw from Mingyu just seconds ago. "Who may this gentleman be?"

"Kim Mingyu," he introduces himself with a grin, extending his hand forward for her to shake. She gladly does, the knowing smile of hers making you close your eyes in regret. "I'm sorry for interrupting like this. I thought I'd come by and walk her home."

"Oh, please, come inside," she encourages him and your eyes widen. Inside? You can't leave right now, she knows that as well. The kindergarten is opened until three and you just promised the kids you'll draw with them. "I can make you a cup of coffee and you can wait comfortably there. No need to wait outside."

"Mrs. Choi—"

She completely ignores you, nudging Mingyu in while talking about how grateful she is to have you here and is glad you won't have to go home alone. You sigh, watching their backs as they disappear in the door. This could go terrible. You do feel bad about keeping him waiting for you, but you also can't stop thinking about the fact he decided to come here and pick you up, not even batting an eye when he found out he has to wait an hour if he wants to go with you.

With your cheeks flushed and heart beating out of your chest, you quickly fix your hair before following the two of them back inside.

Mingyu is crouching down at the same spot you were when he showed up, a smile on his face and a pencil in hand as he helps Jooyoung draw on her paper. It's not the first time your body has reacted to Mingyu, but it certainly is the first time your ovaries are dancing this much, all because he is doing the same thing you love the most — teaching.

Good God.

"What are you guys doing?" You ask softly, your eyes flickering between the drawing and Mingyu as you gently pat Jooyoung's hair, your other hand resting on Gyu's back instinctively.

"This kind sir is helping me draw a flower," she explains and you laugh when his shoulder's tense at the name.

"Call me Mingyu, hm?" He smiles at her before shooting you a look for laughing at him.

"Mingyu sir," Sujin besides her smiles.

A snicker escapes your lips and you quickly hide your face behind your palms. "Looks like you are getting old, Mingyu sir," you tease, unable to stop laughing.

"Oh yeah?" He taunts, dropping the pencil in his hand on the table and pushing himself up, instantly towering over you. "I'm getting old? Aren't you little daring, miss?" He leans down, his face only inches from yours. It's hot. Is it only you who feels hot right now? Swallowing, you open your mouth in an attempt to answer, but no words leave your lips.

"Ew! Mrs. Choi, they are about to kiss!"

You've never taken a step back as fast as now, forcing more space between you when you hear the complain. You were not just about to kiss him. Definitely not. Just like you definitely aren't staring at his lips, and how it definitely isn't distracting you to the point you don't know where you're putting your foot. Your eyes widen as you step on something, losing your balance.

Fortunately, you don't hit the ground like you expect to. A strong arm wraps around your waist, catching you just in time. He looks panicked, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide as he stops you from falling. Exhaling in relief, he helps you stand on both of your feet again, ignoring all the groans and complains coming from the kids. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe out, trying to blink out of the shock and look anywhere but at him. "Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles again, slowly letting his hand fall back to his side.

You clear your throat, clasping your hands together as you look around the room, refusing to meet eyes with your supervisor, knowing exactly how she's looking at you right now. "Alright, guys! Who wants to have Mingyu give them a piggyback ride around the room?"

Mingyu stares ahead confusedly, wondering if he's heard you right. But when he looks at you and sees the smile on your face as you encourage the first kid to come forward, he can't complain about anything.

It's probably the most you've laughed in a while. Watching Mingyu get dragged around the room, all of the kids wanting to play with him, has you absolutely head over heels. It's adorable, he's adorable. Grinning at you every chance he gets, seemingly proud of how well he is doing, you fall for him again. You're sure a lot of the kids feel the same, refusing to let go of him even when their parents come pick them up. They only let go once he promises to play with them even more next time, and while deep down you know there won't be a next time, his words manage to spark hope in you as well.

"Thank you so much for today," Mrs. Choi smiles at Mingyu warmly, handing him back his sports bag. "The kids really loved spending time with you."

"I'm glad to not have been a burden," he smiles before glancing at you. "It was nice learning what it's like to take care of a group of children like this."

"Hopefully it's not the last time we are seeing you here."

"I hope so too," he nods and you bite back your smile, trying not to show how excited that makes you. "Let's get you home?" He tilts his head and you nod, unable to meet his eyes as you grab the rest of your stuff and say your goodbyes to Mrs. Choi, following him out.

You walk side by side, your hands sometimes brushing each other on the way. Neither of you pulls away though. You try to convince yourself it doesn't mean anything and that he probably doesn't even notice the electricity his touch sends through your body, but it's hard to believe it's all just coincidence. He has to feel something too, right? You don't want to get your hopes up, that's the last thing you'd want, but why would he be doing all this if it was only meant to lead you on?

"You really didn't have to wait for me," you mumble, your voice barely loud enough for him to hear. "I could have just called you once I was done or something. You didn't have to walk me."

"I wanted to," he states casually. "It doesn't bother me at all, Blue," he assures you when he sees the look in your eyes. "I wanted to walk with you so I did what I could to walk with you. Don't even think for a second that you are bothering me or anything like that."

He shuts you up immediately, your lips forming a straight line as you look down at the ground beneath your feet. How does he manage to mess with your head so easily? "You're too good to me," you whisper.

Shaking his head, he allows himself to lace his fingers with yours, careful not to freak you out. Your head shoots up immediately, your eyes finding his in surprise. "If there is anyone too good for someone, it's you, Blue." His eyes drop to your tangled fingers and you do the same. He's holding two of them, his large hands covering them fully. "Who else would sit on a call for hours with me and listen to my ramblings?"

You could name girls. You are certain if he wanted to, he could have any girl he wants doing the same. Loving Mingyu is easy for you, so why wouldn't it be for other girls? "Have I ever told you you confuse the hell out of me?" You slowly lift your eyes again, your expression a mix of happiness and fear. You watch something flicker in his eyes, something you can't name at the moment. It makes him drop your hand, though, and that's all you need to know.

Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes from you, "Let's go. I'm sure you have things you need to do instead of just standing here with me."

A part of you wants to argue with him and tell him that you don't care what you are doing as long as you are with him, but then you remember the look in his eyes and decide not to, nodding instead. "Yeah, let's go," you agree, not waiting for him to lead this time and simply stepping forward. It takes him a second to pull himself again but he catches up to you, doing his best to stay calm in the bothersome silence that embraces you afterward.

The walk isn't exactly awkward, but it doesn't feel nice either. You both feel it. While you gently kick the rocks under you, coming in terms with the answer you just got, Mingyu eats himself alive for his earlier reaction. It was far from what he wanted to do, but he can't figure out how to tell you what goes in his head. For now, he'll just have to hope you don't hate him too much after this.

Despite the way your last real interaction with Mingyu went, nothing much has changed. As soon as you closed the door behind you, finally able to breathe alone, you were convinced that was the end of what you managed to build together in the past weeks. You hated the idea of it, of not spending hours on the phone with him anymore and hearing his voice through out the day, or not being able to text him when something would happen, having to deal with it on your own.

But he never stopped interacting with you like before, constantly texting you and calling you at night to talk about your day. It almost made you feel like he didn't reject you back then.

Almost.

But truth is the memory crosses your mind every time the call gets quiet enough, every time you aren't busy focusing on something and your mind gets a moment to think. You still see his eyes clearly, the fear of what your words mean and the instant pull back when he processed it.

At times, you feel like you are losing your mind thinking about all the moments you thought meant something. They didn't, you need to remind yourself. Mingyu is the nicest guy you know, and even though you don't want to blame him, it's because of that that you're left feeling like this. Maybe if he wasn't so nice, if he wasn't so good for you, it wouldn't hurt this much to admit to yourself it isn't happening.

"You need to stop drowning in that pain," Dae's voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. You turn to face her, forcing a smile on and shaking your head gently. "He wasn't all that anyway," she waves her hand, trying to cheer you up. "If you ask me, Seungcheol — who has been flirting with you this whole time mind you — is much better."

You chuckle, your eyes following hers and locking on the very man you are talking about, his jersey sitting on top of a white shirt that hugs his biceps perfectly as he dribbles across the court before passing it to someone you can't see from your place. "It's all jokingly," you remind her. "You should know that the best, hasn't he been flirting with you? Like, actually flirting."

Her cheeks catch the color red and you already know the answer. "That's jokingly as well," she tries to brush you off. Raising an eyebrow at her, you eye her up and down. "Come on, you know him better than I do. Shouldn't you know he flirts with everyone? I don't need that."

"I do know that," you shrug. "But I still think he flirts a tiny bit more with you. Who knows, maybe if you gave him a shot, the two of you could have something great."

"Sure," she rolls her eyes at you. "Just like—" she stops herself before finishing the sentence, swallowing the rest of her words.

"Just like what?"

"Nothing," she blurts out quickly.

Narrowing your eyes at her suspiciously, you try to see through her. "Were you just going to mention my failed….whatever with Mingyu?"

"No!" She argues.

"You were!"

"I wasn't!" She raises her hands in the air, shaking her head so hard you think it'll cramp soon. "I was just, you know, talking faster than I think. I don't know what I was going to say."

"Sure," you sigh. It's okay if she was going to mention it. She'd only be voicing what you've been thinking anyway.

"Do you want to watch the game? It doesn't look like anyone will come anytime soon so let's just step out for a moment," she suggests, wanting to make you feel better. You hum, standing up from your place and following her out of the stand, settling at the entrance. You see the entire court now instead of just half of it, your eyes quickly scanning the score board before dropping to the players.

They are doing amazing as always. The score is sitting at 64:61, but you have no doubt they'll win. They are your favorite team after all. No matter what happened or still awaits you, your cheers for them won't change. You've been their fan all throughout last year while crushing on Mingyu as well, so why wouldn't you be now?

You watch the exact moment Hansol and Seungkwan get into it, running faster than before and getting past all the blockers with ease. Passing the ball around until they make it under the opponent's basket, it's all perfect. Cheering loudly, you watch as Seungkwan jumps in the air, the ball leaving his fingertips precisely. The ball makes it into the hoop, the score board switching to 66:61 in a second.

It's time to go into defense, but thankfully the guys don't lack there either. Hansol gets to work again instantly, doing his best not to let them get past him. Getting in the player's way, he blocks him until he steps out of the line, the referee's whistle ringing in your ears immediately.

There aren't many referee signs you remember, but the ball going out of the bounds is one of them. He points towards the sideline that was crossed, pointing out the violation of rule eight. Your dad tried to teach you these signs before, but all you ended up remembering was this one and the one for a player taking steps without dribbling. It wasn't like you necessary needed to know them when you were still playing.

Just like that, the ball goes to the Knights again, allowing them the opportunity to make another great play.

Dae besides you cheers when Seungcheol gets the ball, yelling tactics at his team. They are making Mingyu score. You've seen your dad planning enough to know what his words mean. So while the opponents might be confused on what their next move is, you know exactly who the ball is going to.

Seungcheol makes a low pass to Mingyu, who jumps without any hesitance, aiming at the basket before shooting the ball out of his hands, landing on the three point line again. You watch as the ball spins on the hoop, knowing exactly how to make the entire crowd tense. The whole court is silent as they wait if the ball makes it in or bounces off, until a loud cheer erupts in your ears again as the Knights gain three more points.

You watch Mingyu jog to the other side of the court quickly, getting ready to defend. His eyes find you briefly, but you quickly break eye contact, turning around on your heel and excusing yourself so you can go to the toilet. Dae doesn't question you at all, her eyes still glued to the game as you leave to the back.

Despite your heart aching when you look at him, you are still his biggest fan. You think you'll be for a while. Unless he plans to break your heart entirely.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

Just like you thought they would, the guys won tonight. Celebrations were hard, especially on you with the amount of people needing a drink. But you managed, and an hour after the game finished, you are finally cleaning up.

"What about these?" You ask your dad, holding up the knifes and paper towels left here. There aren't any home games planned for the time being, so there is no need to be leaving your things here.

"Take them to our changing room, there is a box in the back for towels and things like this." Humming, you let him wash the counter as you walk around him, heading straight for the changing rooms. The men's changing room is still where it was when you grew up, remaining the only changing room dedicated to the team. Other teams usually just take whatever room is free when they arrive, including your children teams.

You stop right in front of the door, unable to walk inside when you hear the familiar voice. You don't know if they are changing at the moment or not, but you aren't risking it. Taking a step to the side, you settle besides the door, waiting for the guys to finish before you go put this away.

"Bora is amazing," you hear Seungkwan tell the guys and your lips immediately turn up into a smile. From what you know, they've been talking lately, and you love that they are getting along. The only other pair you need now is Dae and Seungcheol, but that might need a lot more effort than Bora and Kwan did. "She couldn't make it today but I can't wait to see her again next week at the ball."

"Are you two going together?" Seokmin question, the grin on his face obvious in his tone.

"Yeah," Seungkwan answers sheepishly and you cheer internally. You're just as happy to have Bora on the ball as he is. It's something you've been looking forward to for a while.

"What about you?" Jeonghan is asking this time. "Are you coming with Blue or are you both going on your own?"

"Don't call her Blue," Mingyu grumbles immediately. You suddenly feel like you are invading their space. You should go. You should go and act like you never heard anything.

Your feet don't move, though. Despite your head telling you to go, you stay glued in place, unable to leave. "Someone is possessive again," Seungcheol laughs.

"I'm not," Mingyu argues, clearly annoyed. "And she's going with coach, I think. We didn't talk about it."

"Why not?" Seokmin wonders. "You should just ask her to come with you. We all know you'll be together all night anyway. Ever since you started talking to her, you have been unable to be with anyone else."

"You're acting as if you mind," Joshua scoffs. "All his girls are falling at your feet now."

"I know! It's great!"

You should really leave. You aren't supposed to be a part of this conversation. If they knew you are outside the door, they wouldn't be talking like this.

"I don't get why you don't make it official," Jake shakes his head. "It's clear you like her, and we both know she likes you as well, so why are you hesitating so much?"

"Is it because of coach?" Riki adds another question.

"It's not like that," Mingyu finally huffs, the sound of a locker being slammed shut following right after. "We aren't like that. We are friends. That's all there is. We both feel that way, so can you stop saying things like this?" You swallow as you listen to his voice, the last bit of hope you have searching for any sign of him lying as he speaks. "Even if anything you guys think we have going on was true — which it's not — it's not like we'd ever be anything. We have a championship to win. I have a clear goal I need to reach. I can't have anything holding me back. Especially not my coach's daughter."

There goes the last bit of hope you had. It leaves out the window, your eyes closing shut as you take a deep breath. If his answer weeks ago wasn't enough for you, this certainly is. There is nothing between you and Mingyu. Never was and never will be. You are friends at best. Even though you aren't sure if you want that after tonight.

"What are you doing here?" Dae tilts her head confusedly and you finally push yourself forward, quickly walking to her.

"Can you put this inside?" You hand her all the stuff you are holding, only confusing her further. "There should be a box or something in the back. Or maybe the guys know if you ask them." Your eyes flicker all over her, unable to stay focused on one thing for too long. "I'm going back to the stand to check if we got everything and then leave, okay? I'll see you next Saturday at the ball."

"Wait—" She turns after you as you rush off, blinking into the empty space as your back disappears from her sight. You feel sorry for leaving so abruptly, but you need to get home and into your bed. You need to get as far away from Mingyu as you possibly can and do something with yourself so you can act like you didn't just overhear their entire conversation.

"Are you sure you want to be getting ready with me?" You ask again, eyeing Bora from your bed. "Aren't you going with Seungkwan?"

She brushes you off, "I told him we'll meet there. There is no need for us to come together, anyway. And, I want to get ready with you. Do you know how long it's been since I last went out with a girl who wasn't fucking my brother?" You shake your head at her, standing up to help her grab her things. "But if you think fucking my brother might help you stop looking so gloomy all the time, I'm pretty sure he is single at the moment."

"No, thanks," you laugh, hanging her dress on the open door of your room. "But if Seungcheol doesn't dance with Dae the entire night, offer it to her. She'll need it."

"I thought you said she doesn't expect anything out of it?"

"She says she doesn't," you correct. "But I know better than anyone she hopes he asks her out instead of just flirting with her all the time, trust me." Bora sighs, plopping down on your bed. "Don't give me those pitiful eyes," you warn her.

"How can I not? If you didn't want me to hate his guts, you shouldn't have told me what was happening with you and Mingyu. He's an ass!"

"He isn't," you roll your eyes. "I get him, really. It's fine. I never expected anything out of it in the first place."

"Liar," she calls you out. "I saw you when you were telling me about how he makes you feel. Which is even more of a reason for you to be mad at him. You can't just excuse him and act like what he said wasn't terrible. Who does he even think he is?" she huffs and you chuckle, shaking your head.

"Feel free to hate him all you want while I go take a shower, but I hope we aren't still talking about this when I come back so we can start getting ready."

"Yes, ma'am," she salutes, both of you laughing as you leave your bedroom to go to the bathroom at the other side of the hall.

As you stand in front of your mirror, Bora beside you, you feel happy for the first time in the last week. You feel pretty. Your hair falling in soft waves thanks to her help and your brown dress hugging your curves perfectly, you aren't his Blue tonight. You are just you. Your makeup turned out well as well, and you truly couldn't be more excited tonight.

Your cat, Snowy, seems to think the same as he rubs his head against your feet, all loving. You smile as you look at him before checking yourself again, making sure everything is perfect.

While deep down you don't think you look too different from your usual self, Bora certainly does. You are used to her hair being up and her clothes being sporty, so seeing her hair fall down the length of her arms and her body hugged by her purple dress is a blow. You already know Seungkwan will be falling to his knees when he sees her. She is perfect.

"Girls! Let's go!" Your dad calls from downstairs just in time. Bora nudges your side, picking her purse from your desk. You do the same, quickly collecting your phone and wallet before heading with her down. Your dad is already waiting at the door, a smile on his face as he watches you walk the stairs with your friend.

You know organizing this ball with the rest of the staff was hard, so it's nice to see him so happy now. Grabbing your jacket from the hanger, you pull it over your shoulders. "Let's go," you encourage with a smile.

It's not too far from your home, so you all walk together, enjoying the fresh air. The walk back will be perfect for sobering up. You can't wait to get drunk tonight. To be honest, you've been needing it. You need to get some alcohol into your system and enjoy your night freely without wondering what Mingyu is doing or who he's dancing with.

You avoided his calls all week and only answered his messages briefly, so you are hoping to keep that up tonight as well and have fun without him. It'd be great if he'd only leave your head fully and you wouldn't be thinking about him all the time.

You swear you don't do it on purpose. One second you are focused on something and your head is empty, but then you breathe again and he is everywhere, annoying every inch of your mind. No matter where you look, you see him. One night without drowning in pain is all you ask for tonight.

Giving the worker in the dressing room your jacket, you step aside as soon as you are done, waiting for Bora and your dad. You take a look around in the meantime, admiring the decoration. Everything is in the team colors, and it looks amazing with the lights. Red and black line the walls, balloons attached anywhere they could put them and the music from the main hall playing in your ears even out here.

"It looks awesome!" Bora exclaims as soon as you are all together again.

"It truly is," you agree. "You guys did a great job with the decorations."

"It was all the club president," your dad shakes his head. "He made this all happen. I don't think we would have been able to restore this tradition without him."

You can't remember when the last ball organized by the basketball club happened. It was definitely when you were still little, barely paying attention to these things. You are glad they decided to start planning events like these again. You'll have to praise the president for his hard work when you see him later.

"Let's find out table," your dad encourages.

Nodding, both of you follow him into the main hall. "And drinks right after," Bora whispers into your ear, making you giggle. Who cares if Mingyu likes you or not when you have your girls you'll be spending tonight with?

You do. You care. You absolutely do. Because as soon as Seungkwan shows up, he steals Bora from you. They both assure you they don't mind hanging out with you — Bora keeps asking you to stay with them on the contrary — but you know when you are being a third wheel. You'll be happy if they just enjoy themselves. You don't need them to keep you occupied.

You find Dae shortly after, linking your arms with her instantly as she leads you towards the bar, offering to buy the first drink. You don't tell her it's already your second one, grinning as she hands you a shot glass. You grimace as the liquid goes down your throat. Dae has a similar expression, settling the glass down on the bar again.

"Let's dance!"

"I'm not drunk enough for that," you shake your head no, making her roll her eyes.

"Just say you want another drink, no need to find excuses."

You giggle softly, "anything but what we just had please."

You stay near the bar with her, talking about anything that comes to mind while drinking together. You're both just mostly complaining about school, the other nodding in understanding. The only difference between your usual hangouts is the music playing in your ears.

"Have you told her yet about the terrible physics assigment we have for next week?" You look up when you hear Jake's voice as he joins Dae's side. She groans at just the mention of it, making you laugh. "What are you guys drinking?" He wonders, looking at the empty glasses in your hands. You were so busy talking you didn't have time to order another one yet.

"Are you buying?" You raise an eyebrow in question.

"No, but I'm sure you guys can just wink at Seungcheol and you'll have your drinks for the rest of the night secured," he smiles. "You both look amazing, by the way."

"Thank you," you and Dae chant in union, smile spreading on your lips. "You don't look too bad yourself," Dae shrugs and he fixes his tuxedo, suppressing his grin.

You shake your head at him, looking around the room to find the rest of his teammates. Seungcheol is standing with Jeonghan and Heeseung in the line, chatting about something as they wait for their turn to order. "Shall we try our luck?" You nudge Dae's shoulder, her eyes following your line of sight.

You leave Jake behind for now, making your way past the crowd to reach your new favorite players. To be fair, you think that'll be anyone who buys you drinks tonight. As long as that someone isn't Kim Mingyu. In that case, the person buying you drinks won't be your favorite. Not that you plan on letting him buy you any tonight either way. The only plan you have for tonight is to keep avoiding him and forget all about the pain you feel when you think about him with alcohol.

Heeseung whistles as soon as the two of you come into his sight, his two older teammates turning around instantly. Jeonghan offers you a warm smile while Seungcheol's eyes take their time taking all of Dae in. You have to fight back the urge to tell her you were absolutely right about him looking at her differently. While Seungcheol is known to be a flirt, getting girls anywhere he goes, there is a difference in the way he looks at them and your friend.

"Let me see a spin," he grins, raising his hands in the air for the two of you to hold and spin under. You brush him off, shaking your head. It makes him roll his eyes, but both of you know it doesn't mean anything. Just like you know it's not actually both of you he wants to see from the back. Dae doesn't give into his tactics either though, blinking at him innocently as she covers her ass with her hands and slowly turns around. All he can see is her hair, but he doesn't seem to mind that either. "Beautiful as always. The both of you."

"Think you can manage to keep it in your pants tonight, Choi?" Your eyes close shut at the familiar voice. You refuse to look his way, but even then you know there is a beautiful man towering over you.

Seungcheol raises his hands in defense, a lazy smile on his lips. "I was just about to buy them a drink. You don't possibly have anything against that, do you?"

There is a moment of silence before Mingyu grumbles a whatever, cutting in line and finding his place behind Heeseung. You don't acknowledge his presence, standing with your back facing him as you ask Seungcheol for a drink. You catch his eyes flickering between you and Mingyu in a question but you ignore it, pulling Dae into the chat instead.

As soon as you get your drink, you leave the group, heading towards Joshua, Seokmin and Jake, who you catch leaning against one of the tables. Dae follows you, leaving the four guys behind. Avoiding Mingyu means having to avoid some of his teammates at times as well, no matter how much you want to hang out with them.

"Your idea worked," you raise your glass for Jake to see, catching his attention as you join their table.

"Didn't even need to show him my ass," Dae smiles, making you chuckle at the memory of her spinning. "I call that a win."

"No idea why we got blessed like this but I'm glad we did," Seokmin grins, ear to ear.

"Where do you have Hansol and Riki? They are the only ones I didn't see yet," you wonder, looking around the place to prove your point.

"I haven't seen Hansol since we came either," Joshua shrugs.

"Who I've seen though," Jake starts, the smirk on his face telling you he knows something, "is Riki."

"He's with a girl, isn't he?" Dae reads right through him and Jake nods as he takes a sip of his drink. "I think I caught a glimpse of him before."

"He started talking to a girl as soon as we arrived. He wanted to dance and it worked. I left him then because I didn't want to third wheel," Jake explains. You immediately reach your hand to him, offering him a fist bump, saying you understand that quite well. "You know you don't need to third wheel tonight, though, right?"

"What do you mean?" You tilt your head, your eyebrow raised.

"I'm pretty sure there is a guy who is dying to talk to you," Jake points somewhere behind you and you turn around, your eyes widening when you see the group you left earlier. They are in the middle of a conversation and somehow, it's you who Mingyu has his eyes set on. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you quickly avert your eyes.

"We should go dance. You still want to dance, right Dae?"

She nods to your question and you look at the guys hopefully, needing to get out of here. "I'm not risking that," Seokmin shakes his head as he looks at you, his eyes flickering to who you can only assume to be Mingyu. "Seungcheol I'll gladly rile up, though. May I?" He extends his hand towards your friend, palm up. She giggles at his smile, holding his hand in hers and letting him pull her towards the dance floor.

"Guys," you plea, glancing between Jake and Joshua. They lock eyes together, neither one looking like they plan to dance with you tonight.

Jake meets your eyes again, debating what he should do. He is one of your closest friends and you'd like to think he won't let you down like this, but judging by his expression, you can't tell for sure. "Okay, wait here. I'll get you someone who doesn't have anything to lose by dancing with you."

"And what do you have to lose?" You grumble, annoyed. He is already gone, though.

"Don't take it to heart, please," Joshua offers you a comforting smile. "It's not like you did anything wrong, but we don't want to be the ones delivering the final blow. I'm not sure what happened between the two of you," he hesitates for a second, looking at the rest of his teammates, "but Mingyu has been ticked off since you stopped talking to him. It just feels like we are waiting for a bomb to go off."

You blink at him confusedly, your brows furrowing together. "And why would dancing with me have anything to do with it?"

Joshua gives you a knowing look, telling you you know exactly why that's connected. You open your mouth to argue and tell him that it's stupid, but no words come out. Thankfully, you don't have to look at his pitiful expression anymore though, your attention drifting away when you feel someone's hand settle on your lower back. You instantly relax when you see Seungcheol and Jake standing behind you, blinking up at them curiously.

"I told you I'd find you someone who doesn't fear the consequences," Jake shrugs when he meets your eyes.

"They are exaggerating," Seungcheol rolls his eyes.

"Thank you! I think so too," you nod.

Jake and Joshua exchange a look again but you don't pay it any attention, asking Cheol if he wants to dance with you. "I thought you wouldn't ask," he laughs, offering you his arm and tugging you away.

The music is loud in your ears as you sway your hips in the rhythm, laughing. Unlike Jake and Joshua, Seungcheol doesn't make you feel weird about the situation at all, acting as if nothing happened. He makes you laugh and forget about everything, doing exactly what you wished for tonight. You don't think about anything, only focusing on the man in front of you.

Seungcheol's arms stay on you, whether it's on your waist or simply holding your hands in his. You don't mind, barely noticing the touch. It doesn't feel like anything unusual or what you should be paying attention to. The two of you are friends after all.

You keep inching towards him due to the group of guys dancing behind you, trying your best to get further away from them so you wouldn't be bumping your ass into them every time you move. With the amount of space behind Seungcheol, there isn't much to do, the two of you naturally ending up close. You don't think anything of it, but Mingyu certainly can't say the same.

It's one thing for you to avoid him at all cost, but it's a completely different one to be climbing his friend's body while he is forced to watch from afar.

When Jake came to their group, wrapping his arms around Seungcheol while trying his hardest not to make eye contact with Mingyu, he already knew something was wrong. Turns out, everything was wrong. When Jake asked if Cheol would mind dancing with you because you are looking for someone who'd take you for a spin, he wanted nothing more than to interrupt their conversation and say he'll dance with you. Before he could, Seungcheol agreed and left with the younger one, leaving him there with Jeonghan and Heeseung.

Having to watch Seungcheol take your hand in his and lead you towards the dance floor has to have been one of the worst things he's had to see. Well, turns out it wasn't. Watching you actually dance with him and letting him touch you however he wants is much worse.

Gripping the glass of beer in his hands, he keeps his eyes on the two of you, completely ignoring the conversation Jeonghan and Heeseung are having beside him. He honestly could not care less about the training schedules in the upcoming week.

It hurt seeing Seungcheol take your hand and dance with you, but he could live with that. He could bear watching you dance with Seungcheol because you were having fun, and he would never wish to take away your fun. But now, you are just forced to squeeze together with him because the guys around you are being asses and he is sure it's making you uncomfortable.

So, logically speaking, he isn't ruining your fun anymore if you are already uncomfortable.

Plus, he really hates the sight of you and Seungcheol together. Somehow, he thinks if it was Jake in his place, he wouldn't care so much. Maybe because of the amount of times you made it clear to him there is nothing going on between you and Jake. He liked seeing you convince him so eagerly.

Seungcheol's hand slides down your back, resting dangerously low. There is a lazy grin on his lips as he talks to you, and it's the first time he's wanted to beat up his friend so bad. He can't see your expression since you are standing with your back to him, but he can see his friend's hand and that's all he needs. Even if he might be destroying your fun, he'll manage. He'll take whatever you throw his way, whether it may be your screams or punches. He'd much rather have you yell his ears off than continue watching you and his friends climb each other. At least then you'd be talking to him.

"Here, have this," he mumbles, handing his beer to Jeonghan. "I'm not drinking anymore."

Mingyu doesn't wait for his friends' response, not giving a damn if they are watching him or not as he makes his way through the dancing crowd, needing to get to you.

"Hey," he interrupts your giggles, his blood boiling for some reason at the idea of you laughing at something Seungcheol said. Both of you look his way, your big eyes staring right into his. It makes him feel a bit better about the situation for a moment, at least until you avert your eyes again. He wishes you'd look at him for longer than two seconds just once. He's been watching all night, unable to take his eyes off. It'd be nice to know you watch him too.

"Hey," Seungcheol slowly drops his hands to his side, wrapping one around Mingyu's shoulder. Mingyu sends him a glare, not playing with him at all. He snickers when he sees the serious look on Mingyu's face, taking his hand away again. "What are you doing here?"

Mingyu ignores him completely, only looking at you. "It's late, Blue."

You swallow hard upon hearing his voice, closing your eyes as if that'd magically make him disappear. Spoiler alert: it does not. "We should go home."

You frown, meeting his eyes. "We," you point between the two of you, "aren't going anywhere. I'm dancing if you haven't noticed. So if I'm going anywhere with anyone, it's Seungcheol."

"Blue," it comes out as a warning, only making you feel worse. He has no right to talk to you right now. He has no right to command what you do and who you do it with.

"I'm not going anywhere," you state, redirecting your attention to Seungcheol. "Plus, why do you even care?" you huff, resting your arms around Seungcheol's shoulders.

Mingyu's annoyance only grows. Pulling your hand away from the older man, he forces you to look at him again. As soon as he notices the look in your eyes he loosens his grip, allowing your hand to slip away. Fuck. He found another thing he hates more than being forced to watch you be so close with someone else. He absolutely despises how you look at him right now, like he is hurting you.

"Leave me alone, Mingyu," you beg him.

"Please just come with me, Blue," he pleads in return, completely forgetting about Seungcheol beside him. All he sees is you, everything else blurred together and forgotten.

"I don't want to," you whisper, your voice strained as you shake your head.

"Love," he tries again, desperate. His eyes widen as soon as he realizes what he just said, yours not doing any better. He shocks the both of you, but it seems to work as you slowly offer him your hand. He doesn't hesitate for a second, lacing his fingers with yours and tugging you away, as far from everyone as possible.

He only stops once you are standing outside and you slip your hand away again, hiding it behind your back. "I was having fun," you mumble, staring at the ground beneath your feet. "Do you hate me so much? Is that what this is about?"

"I don't like you having fun with Seungcheol of all people."

"Then let me go have fun with someone else!" You look up, locking eyes with him. You hate this conversation with every inch of your being, and you're sure it shows in your expression. You just want to go back and pretend this never happened, that you didn't just give in to him so easily again after everything. You were doing so good. So good. But he just had to ruin it again. He had to remind you he exists. "Since you can't even look at me all night, so why do you even give a fuck?"

"I wasn't able to look anywhere but at you tonight," he corrects you.

"Stop lying to me, dammit! I'm going back there, I'm having a drink, and I don't care if you like it or not!" You huff, turning around on your heel. You don't get a chance to walk away, though, his hand wrapping around your wrist and stopping you. It only takes him one swift tug to pull you flush into him, your hands landing right on his chest to stop yourself from falling.

"Please don't go," he begs again, his voice getting more and more desperate each time. You hate that you know it's coming from his heart, that he needs you to stay here with him and talk to him again. "Can't you just like me for the night, Blue?"

You'd like to blame it on the drinks you had tonight. You'd like to say you're hallucinating things by this point and this entire conversation is just a figment of your imagination, but you know damn well it's not. It's not even the alcohol in his system speaking and making him do dumb things. You hate him. You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel like this. Like you are on cloud nine.

You're lucky he can't see your face. Your cheeks are flushed, and most definitely not because of the liquor you had. You like him much more than he realizes, and you hate that as well. It'd be a lot easier if you knew how to pretend like you don't care, like you don't feel happiness when you are with him, and like his words don't effect you. But truth is, it never sucked more than in the past week when you were repeating his words in your head over and over again.

"Aren't you the one who doesn't have time for relationships?" You mumble. "Who would never date his coach's little daughter because it's not worth it?" You feel his arms stiffen on your back, the realization of what your anger is about settling in. You try hitting his chest, hoping to get him to answer, but your punch comes out more like a gentle nudge.

Tightening his hold, he embraces you in a warm hug. Pulling away from you, just enough to see you better, you are forced to look up at him, your eyes watery. "Is this what's been troubling you?" He asks, his voice gentle. He cups your face, his thumbs slowly stroking your cheeks. "What I said to the guys in the locker room?" He sighs heavily, every regret he felt in the past week regarding you in that little exhale. "I was stupid to think I could ever push aside my feelings towards you and focus on anything but those beautiful eyes of yours."

"Blue, my blue," he continues, refusing to break eye contact with you again. "This past week when you were ignoring me? Was so much worse for me than anything else I ever had to go through. I could not go a single minute without thinking about you, wondering what you are up to, and if someone else gets to enjoy your attention instead."

"That week fucking sucked," you complain.

A tiny smile appears on his lips, "Yeah," he agrees with a nod, his eyes dropping to your lips. "I'm sorry for being an idiot. I'm sorry you had to doubt anything and that I wasn't the one dancing with you tonight. But most importantly, I'm sorry for not realizing how important you are to me sooner." He finished his speech by leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. You melt in his touch instantly, the softness of his lips on yours helping you forget about everything that was bothering you until now.

It's the first time a kiss makes you feel like this — as if the world peace just happened. It's the happiest you've been in a long time, and you cannot express how grateful you are it's with Mingyu of all people. You did think about the slim chance of going home with someone later tonight, but truth is, you couldn't bring yourself to smile at the idea of anyone other than him having you like this.

Mingyu cradles your jaw, tilting your head for a better access. You slowly glide your hands up from his chest, wrapping them around his neck. It's the best kiss you've ever had. Maybe because it's the one you've felt the most during. Jungkook was nice, but he could never compare to how much you love Mingyu.

"Don't go up there again," he whispers against your lips, only to kiss you again. "Stay here with me."

"It's cold here," you tease him, knowing you'd stay anywhere with him right now.

"I'll warm you up," he promises, his hands moving from your face down to your back, feeling your curves before resting on your ass, giving it a squeeze as his lips meet yours again. He needs to get in all the kisses he missed out on by convincing himself you were nothing more than a friend he cared deeply about. He doesn't think it'll be a problem. He is getting addicted to you already, unable to let you go. As much as he loves kissing you, though, he pulls back again. "Please."

You don't answer him right away, looking up at him. He's truly beautiful from up close. Have you mentioned that yet? You don't think you say it enough. The mole on his nose, the brown of his eyes, the lips, he is the definition of perfect. "I can't just leave," you sigh. "I came here with my dad, remember? He'll be looking for me."

"Can we please not talk about my coach while I'm getting hard," he groans, throwing his head back and exposing his Adam's apple. Oh yeah, he is gorgeous.

Your eyes drop down to his crotch, not even hiding it as you gaze at the boner. Oh-oh. "Oh yeah, let's not talk about him," you shake your head.

"My eyes are up here, Blue," he reminds you.

You nod, "I know where your eyes are, Mingyu."

His chuckle bubbles in your ears as he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Please, baby. Stay with me just for tonight. Tell your dad you'll stay with Dae and be with me. Let me catch up on what I missed."

Meeting his eyes again, you nod this time. Honestly, you want nothing more than to go with him. Not only because your core is aching now thanks to the outline you got to see through his dress pants, but also because you've been longing for this — to be able to be with Mingyu as more than friends. You want to kiss him all night long, cuddle until you fall asleep, and wake up with him still in the bed. You want to do all the domestic things couples do when they are in love.

A part of you also thinks you need to fully believe it's not just the heat of the moment for him. You need to see it happen with your own eyes before you truly believe there is a future and he won't change his mind later again, remembering where his priorities lay.

"My jacket and purse are still up there," you tell him and he nods instantly.

"I'll get them."

"I can go for it," you argue but he just pins you down with his look, showing you there is no way you are going anywhere right now.

"Please just stay here and look pretty for me, hm? I'll get it. I'll be out before you can start missing me."

That's not possible. You miss him all the time, even when he is right there with you. You don't tell him that, though. You need to keep his ego in check a little, take your time before you show him just how much you love him.

"Mingyu," you call as he jogs away towards the entrance. He turns to face you, his eyes finding yours curiously. "Don't let other girls see that boner, will you?"

He laughs, a sound so pretty you want to keep listening to it. "That's only for you, my love." He adjusts his clothes to prove his point before disappearing inside. You watch the door close behind him, his words echoing in your ears. Tonight will be a long night.

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

You are quite certain your driver hates you. Mingyu managed to not only grab your things, but also call a taxi and find Dae to beg her to cover for you. As he told you, she was dancing with Seungcheol at that moment, so he also had to apologize to him, only for him to brush him off and focus on the girl holding his forearms again. You told him you were glad Cheol got some sense and asked her for a dance as well, which only lead to Mingyu kissing you all over again because he didn't like you talking so much about his friend.

Jealousy looks good on him. So good.

Kissing him back, you held his hand on top of your thigh the entire ride, trying to ground yourself as to not ask him to fuck you right then and there in front of the driver. That'd be embarrassing.

But truth be, you wanted nothing more but.

Mingyu leads you inside his apartment, kicking his shoes off as soon as he steps inside. You bent down to undo your own heels, but he stops you before you can. Blinking up at him, you watch him confusedly before he hooks his hand around your waist and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as if you don't weigh anything. A yelp escapes your lips, a disbelieving laugh following right after as you frantically look over his apartment. His hands are wrapped around your thighs as he holds you in place, a clear goal in his mind.

You only get off him once you are in the bedroom, your back hitting the softness of his mattress. Prompting yourself up on your elbows, you watch him from his bed. It's the one place you dreamed about a lot before. It's so much better than you imagined, though. You're not sure if it's on purpose, or if he even realizes it, but his sheets are navy, his room decor matching it. His walls are white, lined with all kinds of pictures and posters of basketball players. If you were to explain his room in two words, you'd use blue and basketball. Your smile grows. It suits him.

Just like the suit he is wearing does. God. As he stands in front of the bed, his hair messy from when you ran your fingers through it as you kissed him in the car, you are unable to look away. "Why am I in my shoes still?" You tilt your head without breaking eye contact.

"Because they look so fucking good on you I need to look a bit more." He doesn't hide how hungry he is as his eyes scan your whole, from your ankles up to your face.

"They are uncomfortable, though," you complain and he doesn't hesitate any longer, climbing onto the bed to you, bending your knees and forcing them up. The bottom of your dress covers your view of him, making you frown. "Mingyu," you call, wanting to see him.

He hums, bringing one of your feet to himself, slowly undoing the heel and slipping it off. You stretch your leg out, clearing your view again. Pressing your foot to his chest, you watch as he wraps his hand around your ankle before dipping under the hem of your dress. He caresses your calf, eyes gazing into yours. Following the same process, he gets your other shoe off as well, releasing you of the pain.

"You look stunning tonight. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner," he presses a kiss to your ankle, looking up at you. You bite back a moan at the sight, shaking your head. "I should have done so many things earlier, I'm sorry."

You don't get a chance to answer before he is scooping you up and pulling you onto himself with ease, putting you right where he wants. This time a moan escapes you as you crash your lips with his, stranding his lap. He groans at your reaction, gripping your ass tightly and helping you roll your hips forward. "I'll make it up to you," he promises softly — a completely different feeling from how hard he grips your flesh. "I'll be so good to you."

His name falls off your lips as you rock your hips on top of him, chasing the well needed friction. "That's it, baby. Take what you need," he coos, lowering his lips to your shoulder. Brushing one of the straps holding your dress off, he replaces the fabric with his lips, pressing kisses to your skin. He needs to focus on something else. But it's hard when you moan into his ear so prettily. If it continues like this, he might as well come in his pants from how you ride his clothed erection.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him away from your neck so you can look at him. His big eyes stare right into yours, nothing but want behind them. "So beautiful," he praises, pressing his lips to yours. He buckles your dress at your hips, sliding his hands under and gripping your ass again. His fingers toy with your thong, pulling on the fabric and making you moan. "Please tell me you wore this for me," he groans.

You nod frantically. Even though you didn't expect to end up here when you were getting ready, a part of you has been dressing in hopes of him getting to see for a while now. You'd like to convince yourself you wore it so no line would be shows on your dress, but that's not the only truth. If it were, you wouldn't have worn any panties at all.

Maybe that's what you should have went with actually. Right now, as your thong gets soaked in your wetness, definitely leaving a stain on his pants as well, you wish you would be bare.

His name leaves your lips in a desperate plea. You're not sure what exactly it is you are begging for, but you need him. In any way he gives you. He tilts his head, a teasing smirk on his lips. "What do you need, baby? Use your words."

"Need to come," you answer immediately, rocking your hips forward. It's not enough, though. You need more. "Can you please help me," you whine, your head falling to his shoulder, "Please, just this once."

He doesn't need to hear more, throwing you back onto the bed, a needy whine escaping you when you lose the friction entirely. He takes a second to take you in again, your dress bucked up at your hips and your lower half covered in only your soaked panties and stockings. He's going to lose his mind soon. Your messy hair sprawled all over his pillow, your cunt soaked because of him, your lips chanting his name, what could be better?

Settling himself between your legs, he spreads them apart, taking a good look at your pussy. It's embarrassing, your cheeks heating up. You feel hot all over, a shiver running down your spine as he rubs your clit with his thumb. "Just so we are clear," he tugs at the fabric of your stockings harshly, ripping it apart. "We aren't doing this 'just this once'," he states firmly. "I don't think I'll ever get you out of my system again."

You try to cover your pussy with your hands when he tugs at your thong, the fabric sliding between your folds. It's no use though, Mingyu simply shaking his head at your attempt before taking your hands away with his free one. He pins them above your head, taking the opportunity to kiss you again before lowering himself. "Be a good girl and hold them there, will you? I'll make you feel good in return." He waits for your agreement, watching as your nod eagerly.

Smirking, he hooks his fingers in your thong again, pulling it to the side this time. You can feel his breath on your throbbing clit, your hips thrusting forward on instincts. "Tell me what you like, Blue," he prompts as he gives a soft kiss to your clit. "How do you touch yourself?"

When he doesn't move again, waiting for your answer, you open your mouth. "Slow rubs at first," you mumble, raising your head to see him better. He presses two of his fingers to your clit, doing as you tell him. Fuck. It feels way better like this. You are convinced he can read your mind because he is doing exactly what you always do.

"How about here?" He circles your hole with his thumb, looking up to see your reaction. "Do you ever finger yourself?"

"Sometimes," you moan.

He hums back, replacing his fingers with his tongue, licking slow circles around it while his fingers nudge you open. He thrusts two digits inside, curving them in hopes to find your sweet spot. "God," you gasp instantly, clenching around his fingers at the pleasure.

"Not my name," he shakes his head slightly, his lips wrapping around the bundle of nerves and sucking, speeding his movements at the same time. Your head falls back, your back arching off the bed. It feels too good. Your orgasm quickly builds up, your moans filling the room. The sound is a pleasure to his ears, his cock twitching in his pants every time he feels you clench around his fingers or your hips thrust up against him. It's not an exaggeration when he says you're the best pussy he's ever eaten, every inch of his body craving more. If he could, he'd have you laid out on his bed like this forever, eating you as every course of the day.

Your hands shoot to his hair, keeping him close as you feel your orgasm approaching, needing to find that release. He let's you ride his face, his fingers still thrusting into you. It's only when you finish with a loud moan, your legs shaking around him, that he pulls them out, licking them clean while looking at you. "I was going to tell you how fucking good you taste, but where are your hands, baby?" You whine as you quickly pull them away, pinning them above your head, exactly like he put them before. "And to think I had plans with you," he shakes his head, trying to sound disappointed. "But girls who don't listen shouldn't get a reward, should they?"

You whine, shaking your head. You're not sure why, if you're trying to agree or argue with him. His voice makes you wet all over again, the fact you just came doing nothing to stop how much you want him. "Please, Mingyu," you beg, desperate to get more, just one more orgasm. "I'll be good. I'll be such a good girl for you."

Oh fuck me — is the only thing Mingyu can think about as he looks at you, his eyes rolling back as he listens to you. It's safe to say he is addicted. How could he not be? He seriously believes everyone who let you go before was an idiot, as much as he appreciates they did because now he gets to be the one seeing you like this. His Blue. Oh how he loves the sound of that. "How could I ever say no to you?"

Finally taking off your clothes fully, you lay in front of him naked, your eyes glued to him as he stands in front of the bed, undoing his tie. You've never seen anything more attractive. Dipping your hand between your legs, you rub your clit slowly. His eyes fall down to your hand instantly, enjoying the view as he takes off the rest of his clothes, peeling off layer by layer.

He takes his time, teasing you while you desperately finger yourself in a poor attempt to reach your orgasm again. It doesn't feel as good as when he did it, though. Your fingers don't feel like enough, sad whines leaving your lips. "Oh, baby," he coos, joining you on the bed. "Do you want one more that badly?" You nod, unable to answer with words.

You take your chance as soon as he is close enough, your free hand reaching for him, wrapping around his cock. You had no doubt he'll be big but getting to feel him for yourself makes it so much better. Rubbing your thumb over his tip, you blink up at him to see his reaction. "Blue, if you want me to fuck you tonight you need to stop or I'll come before learning how it feels like to have you on my cock."

Your eyes roll back at his words, your hand not doing anything to stop. You jerk him off slowly, your legs wrapping around his hips to bring him even closer. "My needy little girl," he shakes his head, leaning down to press his lips to yours. You stop moving your hand, only holding him now before he takes your hand in his and brings them up. "Play with your boobs for me."

Listening to him, you pinch your nipples with your fingers. "You're so beautiful," he praises, kissing your cheek before moving down. He presses a kiss to your neck, to your breast, to your arm, to your belly, even to your thigh. He doesn't kiss where you need him the most, though, only teasing your further. He wraps his hand around his length, slapping his tip against your clit a few times. His eyes flicker between your pussy, to your chest, and then your face, trying to remember everything about this moment as well as he can.

"Mingyu, please," you cry, squeezing your boobs while thrusting your hips forward. Chuckling, he reaches into his nightstand, pulling out a condom from the first drawer. Your quickly wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him before he can open the wrap. "I'm, uh, I am clean. I haven't been with many people before. I'm not on birth control but I could," you avert your eyes from him, embarrassed now that you started talked. "I could get the after pill in the morning. If you want."

"Are you sure?" His eyes widen, his hand holding your chin instantly and making you look at him. "There is no pressure here," he assures you. "I'm perfectly fine with a condom."

You shake your head, biting your lower lip nervously. "I want to feel you."

"Fuck," he groans, throwing the condom somewhere on the floor as he steals a kiss from you again. "I've never fucked without one before," he whispers between kisses, absolutely drunk on you.

"But you would with me?"

"My love, you are the only girl I'd want to feel bare," he proclaims, aligning himself properly without breaking the kiss. You feel his tip slide into you, your mouth falling open at the sudden stretch. "I got you," he promises softly, brushing your sweaty hair out of your face while slowly thrusting into you.

He takes his time, not wanting to rush anywhere. You feel incredible.

You think the same way, your eyes rolling back as your walls wrap around his cock, feeling every one of his veins. You're starting to understand why people don't use condoms. You never imagined you'd go without one, considering you aren't on the pill, but you wouldn't change it for anything now that you know what it's like. If there is anyone you'd risk it for, it's Kim Mingyu either way.

His left hand slides down your sides, feeling every inch of your body. You are sweating, but so is he. "I love these curves," he tells you, squeezing any flesh he can find. "I love these lips," he kisses you to prove his point. "This brain of yours, these hands, this soul, this fucking pussy," he thrusts into you harshly, groaning at the same time. "God, I love you, Blue."

Your back arches from the bed, your moans growing louder. You don't think you can tell him now, not even sure if he means what he says at the moment, but it's exactly how you feel. You definitely love him, there is no questioning that. You'll tell him another time for sure. You'll tell him exactly how much he means to you once your mind isn't fully occupied by his dick.

You run your hands down his back, leaving your prints as you slide your hands down until you get to his ass, holding it as he thrusts into you. "I'm going to spill all over you," he groans between thrusts, his movements becoming sloppy as he gets close to his orgasm. "Fill you up so nicely, hm?"

"Yes," you gasp, nodding frantically. The idea itself makes your head spin, and while you are in no way ready to have a baby and definitely will get the pill in the morning, Mingyu filling you up with his cum just made it to the top of your to do list. Your heels dig into his lower back, making it impossible for him to pull away — which you both know he doesn't want to do anyway.

"Get you pregnant," he moans at the thought, caressing your belly with his hand, feeling himself thrust into you. "Fuck, you'd look so good with my baby."

"You want to put a baby in me?" You blink at him prettily, rolling your hips forward to reach your orgasm as well. He curses under his breath, claiming your lips in his. He doesn't need to say it because you can see it in his eyes that the answer is absolutely yes. God, how you'd love to have his kid in a few years. "So close," you moan as he pulls back, feeling your orgasm approaching.

"Me too, love," he tells you, running his hand down to your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive bundle to help you.

It doesn't take much longer for the two of you to come together, Mingyu's cum covering your inside white just like he said he would. You're so fully, your breath heavy as you ride out your high. He lets you, holding you through it before pulling out, running his fingers through his hair to get the sweaty stands off his face.

"You did so well," he praises with a smile on his face, kissing you so lovingly you fall for him all over again. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you keep him close as you kiss him back, melting into his sheets. "Let's get you washed up, hm?" He nudges his nose with yours. You don't think words could ever express how he makes you feel. He makes sure all the doubts you could possibly have are gone, his gentle touch and words grounding you in the exact way you need.

You nod to him and he scoops you up with ease, one of his hands under your thighs and the other holding your back. Wrapping your arms around him, you hold onto him tightly while he carries you into his bathroom, sitting you on the edge while setting the temperature. "I'll get you some clothes. The water is warm enough so you can get in if you want. I'll be right back here." You nod, watching his naked butt as he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind himself to prevent the warmth from escaping.

You take a look around his bathroom, around his products in the shower and the interior, smiling. It's exactly how you expected. No three-in-one shampoos or questionable laundry products but genuinely good stuff instead, fragrances and everything organized. You wonder if he realizes his towel is also blue. Chuckling, you turn around on the edge of his tub, slowly getting in. You let the water fill it up slowly, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax.

When the door opens again, Mingyu is still naked. Holding a shirt and a pair of his boxers in one hand, he loads the washer with his dirty sheets with the other one. You watch him from the comfort of his tub, leaning your chin on your arm. He's got an incredible body. Broad shoulders, pretty back, pretty ass and legs. He is absolutely perfect. He smiles at you, his grin full of genuine happiness. Returning his smile, you scoot forward to make space for him, waiting for him to join you.

He sits behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. You lean back against him, closing your eyes again. "Thank you for being so great," you whisper into the silence.

He shakes his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

Mingyu helps you wash your hair as well as clean your whole body off, his touch nothing but gentle. He kisses you all over, whispering praises from the bottom of his heart. He wraps you in one of his shirts as soon as you're dried off, not wanting you to get cold. It's big on you, enough for it to be the only thing you could wear, but you reach for his boxers as well either way. He looks like a little boy who just got his birthday present when he looks at you in his clothes, needing to hold back not to take you all over again in his bathroom. He has to remind himself he'll have more time for that later, helping you sit on his washer instead so he could dry your hair.

The sheets are already changed when you leave the bathroom again — the reason he took a while before joining you in the bathroom, you assume. There are still blue, though, and it makes you smile. Falling into his bed, you feel on cloud nine instantly. He joins your side, letting you lay on his arm while he hugs you with the other one, embracing you in a hug. His blanket is warm enough to make sure you don't get cold during the night, but you can't say you would complain about his way of keeping you warm. Resting your head against his chest, you fall asleep to the soft sound of his breath, already looking forward to the next days you'll be spending together.

You love your boyfriend. You haven't been able to tell him yet, but you absolutely do. And now, seeing the flowers in your hands, you are sure to tell him the next time you see him.

There weren't any questions or doubts about where the two of you stood the day after the ball, Mingyu apologizing all over again in the morning over breakfast before asking you if you'd be his girlfriend. You couldn't say no even if you wanted to. He got you flowers as he walked you home later that afternoon, forcing you to come up with a bunch of excuses when your dad saw you holding a bouquet of tulips.

It's been a month since then, and it's now the third bouquet you received. It's lilies this time around, and they are absolutely beautiful. He had them delivered to you shortly before his training, after your dad was already out of the house thankfully. You have not been able to stop smiling since then, rereading the messages he sent you before he needed to go.

Who knew a twenty-eight year old could be so sappy? He is adorable, acting like a teen in love for the first time at times. But those moments are often quickly suppressed by him reminding you he is older after all, taking care of you in any and every way before you can even realize you're in need of something. From checking on you all throughout the day and sending you food when you don't have the time to make something for yourself, to making as much free time as possible for you. You see each other often, but it still doesn't feel like enough.

You sometimes just lay in his bed, studying, while he does his work out, or the two of you go out together, taking a stroll around as a form of break. He always knows what you need, and you're incredibly grateful to him for that. You haven't been able to see each other in the past week at all due to your schedule crash, but it's okay. You can't possibly complain when he is so in love he just sent you flowers just because he could.

Replacing your old peonies with the lilies on your bedside table, you smile before resting in your bed with your study materials, ready to dive into work again.

It's shortly past eleven when your phone starts blowing up. Frowning, you almost kick your cat off your bed as you turn around to shut it down. You were just about to fall asleep, finally in the right position, but someone just needed to make your night worse.

Or in this case, actually, better.

You peek one eye open to see if it's anything important, blinking confusedly at the bunch of messages and missed calls from Mingyu. You sit up straight, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands before looking at your phone again. You don't even read what he said, immediately dialing his number to see what's going on.

It rings twice before it stops and his voice comes through, "Come open the door so I don't have to climb through the window like some fucking teenager."

You blink confusedly, his words slowly turning around in your head until they clock together. "You're here?"

"Not reading my texts anymore? Is this the 'I hate my boyfriend' I've seen around?"

"No!" You quickly shake your head as if he could see you, quickly getting from your bed. You don't bother sliding on your slippers, rushing out of your room barefoot. Snowy looks up to see what you're doing but doesn't follow you downstairs, staying in your bed.

Mingyu laughs on the other side of the phone while you run down the stairs, doing your best to stay quiet and not wake up your dad. You open the door, finally exhaling as you look at your boyfriend standing outside. His eyes trail down your figure, his smile widening as he takes the sight of you in. He hangs up the call without averting his eyes from you, enjoying the view you provided him.

It's only then that you realize what you're wearing — a baby blue tank with lacy lines and matching shorts. You clear your throat, stepping aside so he could walk in. "What are you doing here?" You wonder, covering your chest by crossing your arms over it.

He raises a questioning brow at that. "You do remember the fact I saw you with less on, right?"

"That's different, though," you mumble and he shakes his head.

"Would you rather I take it off then?" He crosses the space between you, closing the door on his way. Not waiting for your answer, he cups your cheek and presses his lips to yours in a greeting. "Hi."

"Hi," you smile. "I was just about to fall asleep. I almost didn't even know you were here."

"It's eleven," he states, as if you weren't already aware of that.

You shrug, "I was tired."

"I'm sorry for keeping you up," he finds another excuse to kiss you. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," you kiss him back, your hands falling down to your sides again before lacing with his. "Are you going to stay with me?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Always," you assure him.

Leading him upstairs again, you keep your hands locked as you walk through the hall. You are quick to lock your bedroom door just in case, not taking any chances. It feels weird sneaking around like this when you are a grown adult, but it's the only option you see at the moment. You don't want to be explaining to your dad you are dating his player just yet.

"There's my little guy," Mingyu lets go of your hand as soon as his eyes land on your cat sprawled out on your bed. You watch him lovingly as he pets his head, rubbing the top of his head. Snowy isn't the biggest people loving cat, and often takes time to warm up to others, so seeing him lean into Mingyu's touch makes you smile. It may be because of how tired he is, but you like thinking it's because he knows Mingyu is a good guy. "Were you keeping my girl company while I was busy? Yeah?"

"He seems to like you," you whisper, wrapping your hands around his waist from behind.

"Your family seems to do that, yes," he grins.

"Don't ruin it for yourself."

"I couldn't." Turning around, he stands face to face with you again, sitting on the edge of your bed and resting his hands on your sides. You stand between his spread legs, cupping his face as you gaze into his eyes. "Hi," he smiles again.

"Hi," you smile back, leaning down to give him a kiss. It's tender and sweet, conveying exactly how you feel having him in your room.

Mingyu's hands slide under your tank, needing to feel your skin on his fingers. You let him, melting into his touch instantly. You seem to do that a lot. In return, you slide your hands under his shirt as well. Unlike him, though, you take the fabric off, dropping it to the ground. "Take your pants off."

His smile turns teasing, his hands dropping to the waistband of his pants without a second of hesitation. "Do I get to see you naked in return or is it only you having fun tonight?" He pushes the pants to the floor and you roll your eyes.

You don't answer him, walking around him to the other side of the bed. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you walk, your smile growing. You lift the covers, sliding under them without another word, ready to go to sleep. Snowy gets up at the same time, looking offended as he jumps down. You chuckle at his reaction. You barely brushed him as you got into the bed, but he seems to have taken that as a hint to get off either way.

"That was mean," Mingyu complains, and you're not sure if he's referring to your cat or the fact you left him sitting in just his boxers, expecting something more.

"You should get used to it," you tell him simply, closing your eyes. You can't suppress your smile as he slides under the covers with you, his hands finding you instantly. He pulls you flush against him, your legs tangling with his.

"Good night, baby," he whispers, kissing the top of your hair. You relax in his hold, resting your head against his bare chest.

"Hey, Mingyu?"

"Hm?" He hums back without moving an inch.

"I love you."

You don't need to look at him to know he is smiling, his hold tightening.

"Hey, Blue?" You hum in response, knowing where this is going. "I love you."

♡⸝⸝♡⸝⸝

You're the first one to wake up in the morning, which isn't a surprise to you. Mingyu likes to sleep in, just like he likes staying up late. You fell asleep almost instantly after, the last thing you remember being Mingyu's lips on your shoulder. You turned your back to him while trying to find the perfect position, and he immediately used that opportunity to brush aside your tank top stripe and kiss your skin all over. It was easy falling asleep like that. You couldn't guess when he fell asleep, but hopefully it didn't take him too long.

You slip from his hold, taking a minute to wake up properly as you sit on the edge of the bed. Mingyu is sleeping soundlessly, hugging the blanket. Snowy jumps up to join him as soon as you make the space for him, glancing at you briefly before cuddling up to Mingyu's side.

"You like him a lot, huh," you whisper, rubbing him behind his ears before standing up.

Your dad is already awake as well when you get downstairs. "Good morning!" You call to him, disappearing into the kitchen. You hear him greet you back from the living room, the sound of his favorite video game playing on the TV. You look through the cabinets and fridge, trying to figure out what you should make for breakfast. You have no idea when Mingyu will wake up, so it makes it harder to decide.

You eventually take out a few eggs and bacon from the fridge as well as the toast from the cabinet. You'll just wake him up when you come back up. Hopefully, he won't mind. You move around the kitchen while listening to your dad play his game, humming to yourself. There is still a huge problem waiting for you, but you're choosing to leave it up to your future self to somehow sneak Mingyu out of the house.

You finish planting everything, taking the two plates out of the kitchen with you. But because your luck apparently sucks, your dad is on his way to the bathroom at the same time, eyeing you confusedly upon seeing how much food you're taking upstairs.

"I'm really hungry," you blurt out quickly. "I didn't have dinner last night so I'm starving right now."

"Why didn't you put it all on one plate?" He questions, trying to understand your trail of thoughts.

You shrug, trying to stay as casual as possible. "I'll wash it later, don't worry." He simply shakes his head at you, brushing you off and going upstairs first. You feel the weight lift off your shoulders instantly, relief washing over you. That's one question out of the way. You jog up the stairs after him, disappearing in your room while your dad goes to the bathroom.

As if he could read your mind, Mingyu is already awake when you come in. He is sitting in your bed, his clothes still on the floor and Snowy still on his side. He has one hand on your cat, rubbing the spot behind his ears while scrolling on his phone with the other, his eyes lifting up when he hears the door closing. "Good morning," you greet him, crossing the room and handing him his breakfast.

"Good morning," he leans over to kiss you.

You sit between his opened legs, resting the plate in your lap. "I just had to explain to my dad how it totally makes sense I'm eating two portions," you sigh.

"Yeah? Did he believe you?" He wonders, taking a bite. "This is really good!" He signs.

You roll your eyes at his reaction. "Eggs," you remind him. "There is no way you just complimented the way I make eggs." Kim Mingyu, who is the greatest cook you know right after your dad. Yeah, right.

"What?" He shrugs. "I'm a simple man."

"You're an idiot," you shake your head, taking a bite yourself. "I don't think it even crossed his mind I might be hiding a boy in my room at my age, so I think we are good."

"At your age," he repeats with a laugh. "Do you feel old or something, baby?"

"I feel quite annoyed if you ask me," you nudge him with your feet, only for him to nudge you right back. Your morning is already filled with giggles and playful fighting as you eat your breakfast together, reminding you how much you love this man.

"I forgot to ask," the door of your rooms comes to an open, your dad's face falling into your vision. Right. "Did you get the message about Saturday's schedule—" he stops mid sentence as his eyes land on you and Mingyu in your bed, his bare chest on full display and his clothes on the floor. You close your eyes shut, regretting not locking the door after you came in.

You knew there was going to be a time he'd find out, you just didn't want it to be now. Truthfully, you liked having him just to yourself. Being able to live in this little bubble with just you and him without everyone knowing. Dae knows, of course. After covering for you the night of the ball, it was only natural for her to ask a bunch of questions, questions you didn't feel like lying about. Most of the guys probably have an idea as well, but that's all. Other than that, it was just you and Mingyu living in your own world, and you liked that.

"Yeah, Saturday, the, uh, men tournament. I got it. I said I'll be there," you answer as if nothing happened.

Mingyu clears his throat, glancing between you and your dad. "Good morning, coach." He sounds awkward, which you certainly don't blame him for. Closing your eyes shut, you run through all the possible worst case scenarios that could follow. You just hope he doesn't take it out on Mingyu and bench him for the rest of the season.

"Mingyu," he blinks, finally acknowledging his presence. "Do I want to know what you're doing shirtless at my house so early in the morning?"

"Having eggs?" He raises his plate to prove his point, looking at you for some sort of help when your dad's eyes stay locked on him. Mingyu sighs when your eyes tell him you have no idea what to do, deciding to take it into his own hands. "I came in last night because I missed my girlfriend, coach. I'm sure you know how busy her classes have been keeping her lately. I slept over, and I'm sorry for not saying hello earlier?" He offers a sheepish smile, one that might work on you but you're not sure will have the same effect on your dad.

"You looking to end your career anytime soon?"

"If I have any say then no, sir," Mingyu shakes his head instantly. "I want to keep playing."

"So no pregnancy leaves or anything like that?"

"Dad!" You yell immediately.

"What? I need to make sure one of my best players isn't looking to quit when we just gained him last year," your dad shrugs as if it was the most obvious thing.

"I'm not planning on doing that anytime soon," Mingyu assures him and your dad nods, his eyes briefly flickering between you and him before sighing. He turns on his heel, ready to leave the room again. You blink confusedly. That went a lot better than you expected.

"And Mingyu?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Wear your clothes, will you?"

It's cold today. The goose bumps on your arms only prove that. You regret not bringing something warmer with you as you stand in front of your shop, watching the game from the entrance before your snack bar. The only thing making it a little easier for you is the fact you catch Mingyu's eyes every once in a while, his smile widening every time he is reminded you are wearing his jersey number on your back.

Dae called you out on it as soon as you came in before the game started, teasing you the entire time. You couldn't even care. Not when you are this proud to be wearing his number on your back while he keeps winning all his games, getting closer to his goal.

The crowd is buzzing with excitement, cheering loudly for both teams on the court. You and Dae aren't far behind, screaming your lungs out as well. You were a little scared before when you saw the change in the core five, but Riki and Jake are doing perfect in the game so far.

People keep coming in and out, but Dae takes care of most of their orders, allowing you to keep watching the game. She excuses it with the fact you'll have more to do once the game is over, but you know deep down she's doing it because she simply wants to give you the opportunity to watch them.

"If it isn't the new Mrs. Kim." You glance at the customer beside you, offering an awkward smile. He used to play with your dad when you were little, but it's been so long you can't remember his name. "He is doing great today. I'm sure your dad is proud to have him in the family."

You clear your throat, glancing at Dae for some sort of help. She only gives you a look, one telling you she finds this just as weird. "We, uhm, definitely aren't at that stage yet," you shake your head, joining Dae behind the counter and taking your position. "I'll let him know you think he played well today, though. I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

He brushes you off, "No need. We are all waiting to tell the team ourselves how well they are doing once they win." There is no doubt in his voice about how today's game will turn out and it makes you smile. You know they'll take the win as well. Despite it being a tie right now, both teams at their best, you don't question them even for a second. "You should come with us later. I heard there is a ceremony drink ready for the team."

"I don't know if we'll be able to," you turn him down gently. As much as you'd love to go for a drink with the guys once the game is over, it's not like you can when you're behind the bar, being the provider of their alcohol. "Maybe next time."

You serve him a beer, waiting a bit after he leaves before going to watch the game with Dae again. 68:63 for the Knights. They scored four more points while you weren't looking, and it makes you so much prouder. They got this. Just five more minutes like this and they'll have their spot in the finale guaranteed. You cheer as loudly as before, if not louder.

Watching the game, you realize how much you truly missed the sport. You can't say you'd want to be in their spot again, but you love watching the game and cheering for the team, cheering for your boyfriend. It feels great.

The entire crowd erupts at the buzzer beater, all the guys running together to the center, huge grins and loud noises filling your ears. They won. 81:79. It was Seungcheol scoring the final two points, and you don't think you've ever seen Dae more excited about the game than at that moment. She's been learning the rules lately and understanding the principles more and more every time. And while she says it's because she realized it's more fun when you know what's going on, you know a certain captain has his hands in the sudden change.

You both clap as best as you can while the guys hug themselves, pulling your dad in as well. It makes you laugh seeing them practically drag him down. Your eyes flicker around all of them, trying to find the number 17 you're the most excited to see. You frown when you don't see his messy hair anywhere, standing on your tip toes in an attempt to see better.

Your vision is quickly clouded with the image of a red jersey though, your eyes trailing up his body until they finally lend on the chocolate eyes you love so much. "Hi," he smiles sweetly, all sweaty and his hair sticking to his forehead.

"Hi," you greet him back, unable to hide your smile.

"That's my number you're wearing," he points out, his grin as big as yours.

"Oh? This thing?" You turn around to show him your back with his name on it. He's seen the jersey many times already, but his reaction never changes. "I just threw something on."

"The prettiest shirt ever," he crosses the space between you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you in for a kiss. By the sounds around, there are already people coming in to order a drink, but he doesn't care at all, keeping you as close as he can. "My name looks perfect on you."

"I've been told," you giggle, your palms pressed against his chest. "Pretty sure someone told me just last night."

"Must have been a genius," he hums, his hands sliding down to your ass and giving it a tight squeeze as he kisses you again, just because he can.

"Celebrate on your own time." There is a slap coming to Mingyu's shoulder, one you know is encouraging as soon as your eyes land on Bora.

"I can't. I'm too impatient," Mingyu argues, offering Bora a soft smile. You tap his chest with your palm, bringing his eyes to yours again. He sighs when he realizes what you want, stealing one last kiss from you before taking a step back.

"Go celebrate with your team, this is big for all of you," you nod your head towards the rest of the guys still on the court.

He doesn't even glance their way, keeping his eyes on you. "I was celebrating with my team before I was interrupted." You roll your eyes at him despite finding him adorable.

"Ignore his corny ass," Bora shakes her head, but the smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your shoulders tells you just how much she loves this for you as well. "There is a line of people waiting for a drink, and I'd love to use my friend card and cut in line, so hurry."

You laugh with her as you walk to the bar, glancing over your shoulder at Mingyu once more. He is still watching you, so you take the opportunity and pull your head to the side, showcasing him the name on your jersey once more. He is right, you also think Kim looks great on you.