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A quiet university student. A Lotte World mascot. One girl living two identities. When Yunho unknowingly connects with both versions of Y/N, their worlds begin to overlap — not through dramatic reveals, but through presence, care, and slow recognition.
Pairing: Yunho x Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, University AU, Workplace AU
Tropes: Dual identity, Secret identity, Soft protector, Gentle male lead, Quiet FMC, Overlooked protagonist, Found safety, Protective friends, Soft masculinity
Featuring: ATEEZ as found family, University setting, Mascot alter-identity
Yunho had learned, over the past six months, that working with children required three things: patience, energy, and the ability to smile even when your feet ached and your shift technically ended twenty minutes ago.
Luckily, he had all three.
“Okay, one at a time,” he said, crouching slightly to meet the eye level of the small boy gripping the safety bar of the ride with white-knuckled determination. “You’re going to do great, okay? It doesn’t even go that fast.”
The boy nodded, lip wobbling just a little, and Yunho gave him a thumbs-up before securing the belt and stepping back. The ride operator beside him gave him an amused look.
“You’re too good at this,” she said. “You sure you’re not already a teacher?”
Yunho laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not yet. Still studying.”
The ride began to move, gentle and circular, colorful lights flickering on as music chimed through hidden speakers. Yunho straightened, scanning the area automatically. Parents watching from benches, kids waving wildly, balloons bobbing in the air.
And then, like clockwork, he saw her.
She stood just beyond the ride’s entrance, oversized head tilted slightly as she waved at a group of children passing by. The mascot costume was bright and soft-looking, something cheerful and round, designed to be approachable rather than impressive. Its arms moved animatedly, gestures exaggerated, body language warm and playful.
Yunho felt his shoulders relax without him realizing it.
“Hey,” he called, raising a hand.
She turned instantly, spotting him with ease despite the crowd. The mascot lifted both arms dramatically, as if surprised, then shuffled over in that slightly awkward way that came with wearing a bulky costume.
“You’re late today,” Yunho said, mock-accusatory. “I was starting to think you ditched me.”
She placed a padded hand against her chest, feigning offense, then shook her head vigorously. The movement made the costume wobble slightly, and Yunho laughed.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “My bad.”
She leaned closer, lowering her head conspiratorially. Her voice came out muffled but clear enough, warm and familiar.
“I got stuck helping with photos,” she said. “You would not believe how many kids wanted to pull my ears today.”
Yunho winced in sympathy. “That should be illegal.”
She nodded solemnly, then pointed at the ride, giving him a thumbs-up.
“Busy?” she asked.
“Always,” Yunho replied. “But it’s fine. I kind of like it.”
She tilted her head again, something she did often when listening and Yunho felt that small, familiar tug in his chest. He didn’t question it anymore. It had been there for months now, quietly settling into his routine like it belonged.
Six months ago, he hadn’t even noticed the mascots much. They’d been background noise, part of the scenery. Then one afternoon, during an unusually slow shift, she’d stopped by the ride and made a joke about how he looked like he was one crying child away from quitting his job.
He’d laughed. She’d laughed.
And somehow, that was it.
They talked whenever their schedules overlapped. During breaks, between ride cycles, in stolen minutes when the park wasn’t too crowded. Sometimes it was about work. Sometimes it was about nothing at all. She had a dry sense of humor, the kind that crept up on you, and a gentleness that showed most when she interacted with kids. Yunho had watched her kneel down to talk to a frightened child, her big padded hands moving carefully, her voice soft and reassuring.
He’d thought about that moment more than he probably should have.
“You working late again?” she asked now.
Yunho nodded. “Yeah. Group project meeting later too.”
She made a sympathetic noise. “Those are the worst.”
“You don’t even know,” he said. “I got paired with someone I’ve barely talked to.”
She perked up. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Yunho continued, leaning against the ride’s control panel as he watched the children circle past. “She’s quiet. Keeps to herself.”
The mascot went still.
Yunho didn’t notice.
“I mean,” he added quickly, “she seems nice. Just… shy, I guess.”
She nodded slowly, then gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. Soft padding against his sleeve.
“Well,” she said gently, “maybe she just needs time.”
Yunho smiled. “Yeah. Maybe.”
The ride slowed to a stop, and Yunho stepped forward to help the kids off, waving at parents and offering high-fives. When he glanced back, the mascot was already moving away, called over by a handler.
He watched her go for a second longer than necessary.
Y/N removed the mascot head backstage with a quiet exhale, pushing damp hair away from her face. Her cheeks were warm. Not just from the heat inside the costume, but from the familiar flutter in her chest that refused to calm down.
Six months.
Six months of this.
She sat down on the bench, staring at the floor as she replayed the conversation in her head. Every word, every tone, every careless comment Yunho had made without knowing who he was talking to.
She’s quiet. Keeps to herself.
Y/N laughed softly under her breath, hugging the mascot head closer to her chest.
Yeah. That sounded about right.
Earlier that week, the lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students filtered in, laptops opening, notebooks flipping pages. Y/N slipped into her usual seat near the middle, careful not to draw attention to herself. She preferred it that way. Observing rather than participating, listening rather than speaking.
She took her notes neatly, eyes on the professor, even as her heart gave an involuntary stutter when Yunho entered the room.
He sat a row ahead, laughing quietly with his friends, tall frame impossible to miss. Y/N forced herself to look away, fingers tightening slightly around her pen.
To Yunho, she was just another student.
To Yunho, she didn’t exist.
And somehow, she told herself, that was okay.
Because at Lotte World, behind foam and fabric and a muffled voice, she existed more than she ever had before.
Y/N had learned how to disappear long before she ever realized she was doing it.
It wasn’t something she’d consciously decided, not at first. It started small. Choosing seats that were already half-hidden, lowering her voice when she spoke, offering help before anyone thought to ask for it. It became instinctive over time, like muscle memory. A way of moving through the world without taking up too much space.
At university, it was almost effortless.
She arrived early to lectures, slipping into the same seat every week: middle row, slightly off to the side. Close enough to see the board clearly, far enough not to be in the professor’s direct line of sight. She took notes meticulously, always leaving extra space in case someone needed to borrow a page later. She volunteered to share materials in group chats but never asked questions herself.
People liked her.
People just didn’t notice her.
And that was fine. Most days.
Y/N adjusted her notebook as the lecture hall slowly filled, her pen already uncapped. She could hear familiar voices up ahead. Laughter, chairs scraping, the easy noise of people comfortable with one another.
She didn’t have to look to know Yunho was there.
Her heart still betrayed her anyway, giving a small, traitorous flutter.
She focused on the front of the room, on the projector warming up, on the rhythm of her own breathing. She had work later at the park. A long shift in the costume. That thought grounded her. Behind fabric and foam, she didn’t feel like this. Didn’t feel small, or transparent, or painfully aware of her own existence.
Behind the costume, she was someone Yunho laughed with.
Someone worth noticing.
The professor cleared his throat, drawing the room to order.
“Today,” he began, “we’ll be assigning partners for your final project.”
Y/N’s grip tightened slightly around her pen.
Group projects weren’t new to her. They usually went the same way: she did most of the organizing, the background work, the quiet fixing of things that went unnoticed. She didn’t mind. Or at least, she told herself she didn’t.
Names began to be called.
Pairs formed across the room, chairs shifting, murmured reactions following each announcement. Y/N listened absently, writing down her own name at the top of a fresh page, already preparing herself to adjust to whoever she was assigned to.
Then...
“L/N Y/N and Jeong Yunho .”
For half a second, Y/N thought she’d imagined it.
Her brain stalled, the words echoing strangely in her ears. She looked up before she could stop herself, eyes snapping forward.
Yunho blinked.
Once. Twice.
He leaned slightly toward Hongjoong, brows knitting together in confusion.
“…Who?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.
Hongjoong shrugged. “No idea.”
Y/N felt heat creep up her neck.
Yunho turned more fully now, glancing around as if expecting someone obvious to respond. His gaze skimmed past her without stopping. He laughed softly, scratching the back of his neck.
“I didn’t even know there was someone named Y/N in this lecture,” he said, half-amused, half-genuinely baffled.
San snorted. “Harsh.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Yunho protested quickly. “I just—”
“I mean,” Wooyoung added, twisting in his seat, “this class is huge.”
Y/N stared at the lines of her notebook, the words blurring together.
She knew he hadn’t meant it cruelly. That almost made it worse.
She’d perfected being unmemorable. Hearing it confirmed out loud, casually, like an afterthought. It stung in a quiet, hollow way she didn’t quite have a name for.
She swallowed, forcing her breathing to even out.
It’s okay, she told herself automatically. You’re fine.
People-pleasing reflexes kicked in before emotion could catch up. Don’t make it awkward. Don’t draw attention. Don’t make him feel bad.
The lecture continued, but Y/N barely absorbed it. Her thoughts spiraled instead. How would she introduce herself? Would he feel uncomfortable? Embarrassed? Would he apologize?
She didn’t want an apology.
She just wanted this to go smoothly.
When class finally ended, the room erupted into movement. Chairs scraped back, conversations resumed.
Y/N stayed seated.
She always did. Leaving in the first wave felt too conspicuous, like announcing her presence to a room that had never really seen her to begin with. So she packed her things slowly, methodically, giving her hands something to do while her thoughts ran ahead of her.
Yunho was still sitting in front of her.
He leaned back in his chair slightly, phone in hand, talking quietly to his friends.
“I swear,” he said under his breath, “I’ve never noticed her before. How did I miss someone who’s been in this class all semester?”
Wooyoung snickered softly. “Maybe you should start paying attention instead of zoning out.”
San hummed thoughtfully. “She’s probably just quiet.”
“Still,” Yunho muttered. “Feels kind of bad now.”
Y/N closed her notebook.
Her heart beat a little faster. Not from anger, not even really from hurt, but from the weight of being right there. Of knowing she’d heard every word and still needing to be the one to step forward.
She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Then she reached out and gently tapped Yunho on the shoulder.
Yunho turned around mid-sentence.
And froze.
Because there she was, right behind him. Close enough that he could see the careful way she held herself, the polite tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly into the strap of her bag.
She’d been sitting there the entire time.
“Oh—” Yunho started, then stopped.
Heat rushed to his face immediately.
Hongjoong bit his lip, clearly holding back a grin. Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled with barely-contained amusement. San coughed suspiciously into his hand.
Y/N gave a small smile. Not awkward. Not offended. Just… gentle.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I’m Y/N.”
Silence.
Yunho stared at her for a second too long before scrambling upright in his seat. “I—wow, um—hi. Hi.” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly flustered now. “You—you were sitting here?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Another beat.
“Oh,” he said again, quieter this time. “You heard…?”
She hesitated for half a second, then nodded once more. “It’s okay,” she added quickly, instinctively smoothing things over before he could spiral. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
Wooyoung leaned in slightly, stage-whispering, “Smooth, Yunho.”
Yunho shot him a look that was half mortified, half pleading. “Please.”
San smiled apologetically at Y/N. “We’re not always like this.”
She shook her head faintly. “It’s fine.”
Yunho cleared his throat. “I’m—really sorry. I didn’t realize. I should’ve—”
“It’s really okay,” she repeated, softer but sincere. “I just wanted to introduce myself. Since we’re partners.”
“Right. Yes. Partners.” He nodded a little too fast. “I’m Yunho.”
“I know,” she said, and this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
That seemed to calm him, just a little.
“Um,” Yunho continued, glancing at her bag, then back at her face. “Do you want to exchange numbers? For the project, I mean.”
Her heart fluttered, traitorous and immediate.
“Sure,” she said.
They both pulled out their phones at the same time, fingers fumbling slightly as they unlocked screens. Yunho typed carefully, double-checking the name before handing his phone over so she could confirm.
“There,” he said. “That’s mine.”
She nodded, saving it.
“I’ll message you later.” He said.
“Yeah,” y/n replied. “That sounds good.”
As she stepped back, Hongjoong leaned toward Yunho with a quiet smirk. “See? She exists.”
Yunho groaned, dropping his head briefly onto his folded arms.
Y/N watched the interaction with a small, almost fond expression. Then turned and left the row, slipping out of the lecture hall the same quiet way she always did.
Only this time, her phone felt heavier in her pocket.
And Yunho knew her name.
The inside of the mascot costume was quieter than the park outside.
Y/N sat on the bench backstage, still half-dressed in layers of padding and fabric, the oversized head resting beside her like a silent witness. The muffled sounds of Lotte World filtered through the walls. Laughter, music, the distant hum of rides. But here, everything felt muted, slowed.
She pulled her phone from the pocket sewn carefully into the costume and let the screen light up the dim room.
His name sat near the top of her messages.
Yunho.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she tapped the chat open.
Yunho: tomorrow works for me!
Yunho: we can meet at my place if that’s okay?
Yunho: it’s a shared house though—hope you don’t mind 😅
She stared at the messages longer than necessary.
His place.
His home.
A house he shared with his friends. The same ones she’d watched laugh around him in lectures, the same voices she sometimes heard faintly when they came to the park and waited for him after his shifts. She imagined walking into that space, imagined standing in a room where Yunho was comfortable, where he belonged.
And she imagined herself there, shoes by the door, hands clasped together, trying not to take up too much room.
Y/N: that’s okay
Y/N: tomorrow sounds good
She sent the message before she could overthink it.
The reply came almost immediately.
Yunho: great!
Yunho: I’ll text you the address later
Yunho: thanks for being flexible
Flexible.
She smiled faintly at that.
Y/N leaned back against the wall, phone resting on her chest as her gaze drifted to the costume head beside her. Ist painted eyes stared back cheerfully, permanently bright, permanently confident.
Six months.
Six months of easy conversations, shared jokes, quiet moments stolen between rides. Six months of Yunho talking to her without hesitation, without confusion, without surprise. Necause behind this costume, she was someone he’d noticed.
Someone he’d chosen to talk to.
Her chest tightened.
Because tomorrow, she would sit across from him as herself. No fabric to hide behind. No muffled voice. No playful anonymity. Just Y/N. The girl he hadn’t noticed for months, the name he hadn’t recognized when it was called out in class.
The girl who’d heard him say, out loud, that he didn’t even know she existed.
She closed her eyes briefly.
It’s fine, she told herself, the same way she always did. You wanted this. You wanted to work with him.
That was true.
She’d wanted to work with him. To talk to him. To be close to him, even in this small way. She’d told herself that was enough, that she didn’t need more, that it was okay if he never looked at her the way he laughed with the mascot.
But now there was tomorrow.
Now there was his house, his couch, his easy smile directed at her.
And he still didn’t know.
Didn’t know that the girl he joked with at work was the same one who sat quietly behind him in lectures. Didn’t know that the voice he’d grown fond of belonged to someone he’d once overlooked entirely.
Y/N picked up the mascot head, turning it slowly in her hands.
Behind this, she was brave.
Behind this, she was funny. Warm. Someone Yunho leaned toward without thinking.
She wondered what would happen when those two worlds finally touched.
Her phone buzzed again.
Yunho: oh—and don’t worry
Yunho: my friends are nice, I promise
She smiled at that, small and soft.
“I know,” she murmured to the empty room.
Because she’d seen them before.
Because she’d heard them tease him.
Because she’d been there all along...just unseen.
Outside, a handler called her name, reminding her it was almost time to go back out.
Y/N stood, slipping the mascot head back into place. The world dimmed immediately, narrowing to mesh and padding and familiar comfort.
When she stepped back into the park, Yunho was already at his ride, glancing up as if he’d been waiting.
He lifted a hand in greeting.
She waved back, exaggerated and bright.
And just like that, she was someone he knew again.
Yunho didn’t mean to think about her this much.
It wasn’t like she’d done anything particularly loud or memorable. In fact, if he were being honest with himself, it was the opposite. Y/N slipped into his thoughts the same way she slipped into rooms. Quietly, without announcement, until suddenly she was there and he couldn’t quite remember what it had felt like before.
It started with the texts.
He’d sent her the address like he promised, then immediately followed it up with a time suggestion, then another message clarifying that she didn’t have to come exactly then if it didn’t work for her schedule.
Her replies had come quickly.
That’s fine
That works for me
Sure
Always polite. Always agreeable. Always… easy.
At first, Yunho had been relieved. Group projects were stressful enough without scheduling conflicts or awkward back-and-forths. But sometime after he’d locked his phone and tossed it onto his bed, the relief had shifted into something else. Something faintly uncomfortable.
Because she hadn’t disagreed once.
Not about the time.
Not about the place.
Not even when he’d casually suggested they might work better meeting at his house instead of the library.
Sure sounds good
Whatever you think is best
Whatever you think.
The words echoed in his head as Yunho stared up at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head. He wasn’t sure why they stuck with him. Lots of people said things like that. It was normal. Easygoing.
So why did it feel like he’d just… taken something from her without meaning to?
He rolled onto his side, grabbing his phone again and rereading the messages. There it was again. Yhat softness, that careful willingness to adapt. Like she was always bracing herself to fit into the shape other people needed.
A quiet thought crept in, unwelcome but persistent.
She’s used to being overlooked.
The realization settled heavier than he expected.
Yunho frowned slightly, thumb hovering over the screen as if he might text her again just to ask: Are you sure? Is this actually okay?
But he stopped himself. That would be weird. Overbearing. They barely knew each other.
Still.
He exhaled slowly and locked the phone again.
Tomorrow, he decided. I’ll just… pay attention tomorrow.
The next afternoon, Yunho found himself tidying the living room more than necessary.
Not because it was particularly messy. San and Wooyoung had already been yelled at earlier for leaving snack wrappers everywhere. But because his hands needed something to do. He straightened pillows that were already straight, nudged shoes closer to the wall, wiped down the coffee table twice.
“She’s coming over for a project,” Yunho said for the third time when Wooyoung shot him another look.
“I heard you,” Wooyoung replied, grinning. “I just didn’t realize ‘project partner’ meant ‘deep-cleaning the house.’”
Hongjoong glanced up from his laptop. “What’s she like?”
Yunho paused.
Quiet, his brain supplied immediately.
He hesitated, then said, “Uh. Nice. She’s… calm.”
San hummed thoughtfully. “That usually means shy.”
Yunho shrugged, but something in his chest tightened in agreement.
There was a knock at the door.
All conversation stopped.
Yunho’s heart kicked up embarrassingly fast as he moved toward the door. He didn’t know why. This wasn’t a date. It was just a project meeting. But his hand still hesitated on the handle for half a second before he opened it.
Y/N stood on the other side.
She’d come alone, backpack hugged close to her front, shoulders slightly drawn in as if she were already trying not to take up too much space. She wore simple clothes and her hair fell neatly around her face.
When she saw him, her lips curved into a small, polite smile.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“No—no, you’re good,” Yunho said quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She slipped past him with a murmured thank you, eyes flicking briefly around the space before dropping again. Yunho noticed it instantly. The way she catalogued the room without lingering, the way her steps were careful, measured.
“Guys,” Yunho called, “this is Y/N. My partner.”
That was all the invitation Wooyoung needed.
“Ohhh,” he said, popping up from the couch. “You’re that Y/N.”
Y/N stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Yunho shot Wooyoung a warning look.
“I mean—nice to finally meet you!” Wooyoung corrected himself quickly. “I’m Wooyoung. That’s Hongjoong, San, Jongho—”
They all chimed in at once.
“Hi!”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Welcome.”
Too loud. Too many voices.
Yunho watched Y/N’s shoulders tense, watched her nod a little too quickly, smile a little too carefully. She answered every greeting politely, softly, her voice nearly swallowed by the room.
“You can sit anywhere,” San offered kindly.
“Oh—okay,” she said, already moving toward the edge of the couch.
Yunho noticed how she perched rather than settled. How she kept her bag on her lap instead of setting it down. How her gaze drifted toward him briefly, then away again.
This is a lot for her, he realized.
The thought came with a pang of guilt. Of course it was overwhelming. Eight people, unfamiliar space, noise, movement. He should’ve thought about that.
“Hey,” Yunho said suddenly. “Why don’t we go work in my room?”
All heads turned toward him.
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “You kicking us out already?”
“It’ll be quieter,” Yunho said simply.
Y/N looked up at him, surprised.
“Oh—I don’t mind staying here,” she said immediately. “Really. It’s fine.”
There it was again.
Yunho met her eyes, keeping his voice gentle but firm. “I do.”
A beat.
Then she nodded. “Okay.”
He led the way down the hallway, aware of the way she followed half a step behind him. When he opened his bedroom door, the quiet settled in immediately.
She exhaled without realizing she was doing it.
Yunho noticed.
“You can put your stuff anywhere,” he said. “Desk, bed—whatever’s comfortable.”
She set her bag down carefully, perching on the edge of the chair by his desk. Yunho sat across from her, pulling out his laptop.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Yunho cleared his throat. “So. The project.”
She nodded immediately. “Yeah.”
“I was thinking,” he began, “we could split it into sections—research, presentation, analysis. I can take the presentation part if you want?”
“Sure,” she said without hesitation.
“And maybe we meet twice a week?” he added.
“That works.”
“And we could use my outline from last semester as a base—”
“Okay.”
Yunho stopped.
He leaned back slightly, studying her. Really studying her.
She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, posture straight, eyes attentive. But there was something missing. Not boredom. Not disinterest.
Absence.
Like she’d stepped aside and left space for him to fill.
“Y/N,” he said carefully.
She looked up instantly. “Yes?”
“You don’t have to agree with everything I say.”
Her expression froze.
“I—what?” she asked softly.
He hesitated, choosing his words. “I just… noticed that you’ve been agreeing a lot. And I want to make sure you actually like these ideas.”
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
No one had ever said that to her before.
Yunho could see it in her face. The genuine confusion, the way her brows knitted together as if she were trying to understand the concept itself.
“I—I don’t mind,” she said automatically.
“I know,” Yunho replied. “But that’s not the same as having an opinion.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Silence stretched between them.
He noticed then how she tilted her head slightly to the side as she listened. An unconscious movement, thoughtful, familiar.
The same way the mascot did.
The realization hit him so suddenly he almost laughed.
That’s weird, he thought distantly.
“I want to hear what you think,” he said gently. “Even if it’s different from mine.”
She stared at him.
Really stared.
Like she was searching his face for something and not finding it.
“I don’t want to mess things up,” she admitted quietly.
Something in Yunho’s chest tightened.
“You won’t,” he said immediately. “I promise.”
She hesitated, fingers tightening in her sleeve. “What if I say no to something?”
“Then I’ll survive,” he said with a small smile. “I’m pretty resilient.”
A faint smile flickered across her lips...there and gone too quickly.
He leaned forward slightly. “Actually… I have an idea.”
She tensed again, bracing.
“What if,” he continued, “you practice saying no with me?”
Her eyes widened. “With you?”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “You can use me as a punching bag. Say no, disagree, push back. I won’t be mad. I’ll probably cheer.”
She looked at him like he’d suggested something impossible.
“I—I don’t know if I can do that.”
“That’s okay,” Yunho said. “We can start small.”
He gestured toward his laptop. “Okay. First practice round.”
She swallowed.
“I think we should meet three times a week,” he said deliberately. “Long sessions.”
She inhaled.
Time stretched.
Then, barely audible: “No.”
Yunho’s face lit up instantly. “Yes!”
She startled. “What?”
“That was perfect,” he said, grinning. “See? You didn’t explode.”
Her lips parted, a laugh slipping out before she could stop it.
And then she smiled.
Not the polite one.
Not the careful one.
A real smile. Bright, unguarded, lighting up her entire face like she’d forgotten to dim herself.
Yunho felt his brain short-circuit.
Heat rushed to his cheeks, his ears, his chest. He looked away instinctively, heart pounding.
“Oh,” he muttered. “Wow.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just—uh—good job.”
She smiled again, smaller this time but still warm.
Yunho knew, with sudden clarity, that once you noticed someone like this, once you really saw them. You couldn’t unsee it.
And he had a feeling this was only the beginning.
Yunho didn’t realize how late it had gotten until the light outside his window had shifted completely.
The sun was gone now, replaced by the muted orange glow of streetlights bleeding through the curtains. His laptop clock blinked accusingly in the corner of the screen.
“Wow,” he muttered. “We actually got a lot done.”
Y/N looked up from her notes, eyes widening slightly. “Already?”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing between their screens. “We should probably stop before our brains turn into mush.”
She nodded quickly, already packing her things with the same neat efficiency she did everything else. She stacked her papers, zipped her bag, checked twice that she hadn’t left anything behind.
Yunho watched her, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest.
“Thanks for today,” he added. “You did really well.”
She paused, fingers tightening on the strap of her bag.
“Oh—thank you,” she said softly. “I mean… you too.”
He smiled. “We make a good team.”
Her lips curved upward again, that gentle smile he was beginning to recognize as hers.
They stood at the same time, the movement slightly awkward, as if neither of them was quite sure how to end the moment. Yunho walked her back down the hallway, the noise from the living room swelling again as they approached.
Wooyoung was sprawled dramatically across the couch. San and Hongjoong were mid-conversation. Jongho glanced up first.
“Done?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Yunho replied. “We’re calling it for today.”
Y/N bowed her head slightly, polite as always. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
“Anytime,” San said warmly. “You’re welcome back.”
She smiled at him, nodding.
Yunho opened the door for her, cool night air drifting in immediately. The darkness outside made him hesitate, hand still resting on the handle.
“Hey,” he said, glancing at her. “It’s pretty dark out. Do you want me to walk you home?”
She turned to him sharply, almost startled by the suggestion.
“Oh...don't worry.,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “That’s really not necessary. My place isn’t far at all.”
He studied her face, concern creeping in. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said again, firmer this time. “Really. I’m okay.”
There it was again. That reflex to reassure, to smooth, to take care of everyone else’s comfort first.
Yunho hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am,” she promised.
“Text me when you get home?” he added without thinking.
She blinked, then smiled. “I will.”
“Good,” he said. “Good night. And… nice work today.”
Her smile widened.
And Yunho forgot how to speak.
It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Just quiet and radiant, like something switched on behind her eyes. He felt it hit him square in the chest, warmth spreading so suddenly he had to swallow.
She didn’t seem to notice.
“Good night, Yunho,” she said softly.
Then she turned back toward the living room.
“Good night,” she added, bowing slightly again. “Thank you for having me.”
Wooyoung waved enthusiastically. “Get home safe!”
She nodded, smiled once more, and stepped outside.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Yunho didn’t move.
“Wow,” Wooyoung said slowly. “You good, man?”
Yunho blinked. “Huh?”
San tilted his head, eyes narrowed in interest. “Why do you look exactly like you do when you talk about the mascot girl?”
Silence.
Yunho froze.
Hongjoong leaned forward. “Wait. You do.”
Jongho frowned thoughtfully. “Same face. Same smile. Same… everything.”
Yunho opened his mouth. Closed it.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said finally. “You’re imagining things.”
Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Are you telling me—” he pointed between Yunho and the closed door “—that you now have two crushes?”
“No!” Yunho said instantly. “I don’t have a crush on—”
He stopped.
The room went very quiet.
“…on her,” he finished, distracted. “I only have a crush on the mascot girl.”
The words landed.
Then detonated.
Wooyoung fell backward off the couch. “YOU HAVE A CRUSH?”
San stared at him. “You just admitted that.”
Hongjoong’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You never admit that.”
Yunho’s heart dropped straight to his stomach.
“I didn’t—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean—”
Jongho crossed his arms. “You absolutely meant it.”
Wooyoung grinned wickedly. “Wow. So you’re in love with a giant foam character.”
“I am not in love,” Yunho muttered. “I just—like her.”
They exchanged looks.
“That explains everything,” San said slowly.
Yunho sank onto the couch, staring at the door she’d just walked through.
His chest felt tight. His thoughts felt tangled.
Outside, Y/N walked home under the streetlights, phone warm in her pocket.
And Yunho sat there, realizing far too late that the girl he thought he knew best was still the one he’d never really seen.
Three days later, Yunho couldn’t stop seeing her.
Not in the dramatic, cinematic sense. No slow-motion entrances, no spotlight moments. It was quieter than that. Softer. Almost cruel in how subtle it was.
He noticed Y/N in the lecture hall before he ever noticed her face.
He noticed the way she adjusted her path when walking through crowded hallways, always choosing the longer route if it meant not brushing shoulders with anyone. The way she slowed her steps when people rushed past, as if apologizing for existing in the same space. The way she paused before sitting, scanning for a seat that wouldn’t “disturb” anyone else’s view.
She didn’t take space.
She made space.
And once Yunho saw it, he couldn’t unsee it.
She sat behind him again in class. Same row. Same position. Slightly off-center. Slightly hidden. Her bag always tucked close, never spilling into anyone else’s space. Her movements precise and quiet, like she was trying not to leave any imprint behind.
People walked past her without looking.
Literally without looking.
Someone stepped back into her seat space while talking to a friend, and she immediately shifted her chair to give them room. Murmuring a soft “sorry” even though they hadn’t acknowledged her at all.
Yunho’s jaw tightened.
He twisted slightly in his seat, watching her from the corner of his eye. She didn’t look upset. Didn’t look angry.
She looked used to it.
That realization sat heavy in his chest.
He remembered the way she’d said no in his room. Barely louder than a breath. The way she’d looked surprised that he’d celebrated it. The way she’d smiled like someone who had just been given permission to exist at full volume for the first time.
It made his hands curl into fists under the desk.
No one should have to live like that, he thought.
The lecture blurred. Yunho barely registered the professor’s voice. His focus kept drifting back to Y/N. To the tilt of her head when she listened, to the way she wrote in her notebook, neat and contained and careful.
When class ended, the same pattern repeated.
Students stood. Bags shifted. The room filled with noise and movement.
And Y/N waited.
She always waited.
Until the first wave passed.
Until the loudest people left.
Until there was space for her to move without being in anyone’s way.
Yunho stood slower than usual.
He pretended to pack his bag, pretending to check his phone, pretending he had no reason to wait.
She stood up a few seconds later.
Their eyes met.
Her expression shifted into that polite, familiar softness.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” Yunho replied. “You heading out?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
They walked out together, side by side.
And it felt… normal.
Not awkward. Not forced. Just easy.
That somehow felt more dangerous.
Later that day, the lights and noise of Lotte World wrapped around Yunho like a second skin.
Work usually grounded him. The structure. The routine. The kids. The constant motion.
But today, his mind kept drifting.
To Y/N’s posture.
To her quiet voice.
To the way she smiled when he told her it was okay to say no.
On his break, he found her.
The mascot.
She stood near the edge of the park, oversized head tilted as she waved at a child clutching a balloon. When she spotted Yunho, her whole body brightened, movements instantly more animated.
“There you are,” he said, smiling as he approached.
She leaned down slightly to hear him better, hands clasped in front of her costume.
“Hey,” she said warmly. “Break time?”
“Yeah.”
They moved to the side, away from the noise, settling into their usual quiet pocket of space.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Yunho exhaled. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded immediately, tilting her head to the side as she listened.
That familiar gesture again.
His chest tightened.
“There’s this girl,” he said slowly. “From my class.”
The mascot went still, attentive.
“She’s… really quiet,” he continued. “Not shy exactly. Just… small. Like she’s always trying not to exist too loudly.”
The mascot nodded.
“She agrees with everything,” Yunho said. “Every suggestion. Every plan. Every opinion. It’s like she’s scared to take up space.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “And I hate it. Not her. The fact that she feels like she has to do that.”
The mascot tilted her head more, listening carefully.
“I think people overlook her,” he added quietly. “Because she blends in so well. Because she’s learned how to disappear.”
There was a pause.
Then she spoke.
“Maybe,” she said gently, “she doesn’t know yet that she’s allowed to be loud.”
Yunho looked at her.
“Some people,” she continued, “grow up learning that being easy is safer than being honest. That being agreeable is better than being seen.”
Her voice softened.
“And sometimes, they just need one person who doesn’t benefit from their silence.”
The words settled into him slowly.
“So what do I do?” Yunho asked.
The mascot straightened slightly.
“Just… notice her.”
He frowned. “Notice her?”
“Really notice her,” she said. “When she speaks. When she hesitates. When she holds back.”
Her voice stayed gentle.
“Be the person who sees her. Who listens. Who waits. Who doesn’t rush her. Who doesn’t talk over her. Who doesn’t decide for her.”
She shrugged slightly.
“That’s usually enough.”
The words hit him quietly.
Not dramatic.
Not heroic.
Not complicated.
Just simple.
Seeing someone and letting them know they’re seen.
“That’s… actually really good advice,” he said.
She laughed softly. “I have my moments.”
The break bell chimed in the distance.
Yunho straightened. “I’ve gotta go.”
She gave him a small wave. “Go be a good human.”
He smiled. “Always try to be.”
As he returned to work, one thought stayed with him, steady and grounding:
Maybe being there
wasn’t passive.
Maybe it was the most active thing you could do.
And maybe noticing someone
was already a kind of care.
The changing room was quiet.
Not the heavy, suffocating kind of quiet. Just soft, muted, wrapped in the hum of distant machinery and the faint echo of the park outside. Y/N sat on the bench with the mascot head resting beside her, fingers still curled slightly from where they’d been gripping the inside handles.
Her shift was over.
Her body was tired.
But her mind wouldn’t slow down.
She stared at the floor, Yunho’s voice replaying in her head without permission.
There’s this girl from my class.
Her chest tightened.
She didn’t need to guess who he meant.
Not really.
She’d known the second he started talking. Known it in the way his voice had softened, in the way his words had carried weight instead of curiosity. Known it in the quiet care behind the frustration.
He was talking about her.
And she didn’t know how long she could keep pretending she didn’t hear it.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing the lump in her throat.
How long can I hide from that?
How long can I pretend I don’t know?
The truth was uncomfortable and tender and terrifying all at once.
Because it wasn’t just that he noticed.
It was that he cared enough to ask someone else what to do.
That he didn’t mock her silence.
Didn’t dismiss her softness.
Didn’t see her as inconvenient or boring.
He saw her as someone worth paying attention to.
Y/N leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, face in her hands.
Of course she admired him.
She always had.
Not in the shallow, distant way of having a crush on someone popular or attractive or untouchable. But in the quiet, grounded way you admire someone who feels safe.
Yunho was kind without being loud about it. Gentle without being weak. Steady without being rigid.
He made space.
For kids.
For strangers.
For people who didn’t know how to ask for it.
And somehow, she’d been standing in that space without realizing it.
Her chest ached softly.
I don’t like him for nothing, she thought.
The realization didn’t feel dramatic.
It felt honest.
She exhaled slowly, then reached for the mascot head and set it carefully into the locker. The costume went next piece by piece, like shedding a second skin.
When she stood again, she was just Y/N.
Quiet clothes.
Soft presence.
Small footprint.
She changed quickly, movements practiced and neat, then slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the building.
Night had fully settled.
Streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, the air cooler now, calmer. She turned toward the direction of her apartment, already settling into the familiar rhythm of walking home alone.
Then she saw them.
Yunho.
Standing near the building entrance.
With two of his friends.
Mingi and Seonghwa.
They were laughing about something. Easy, unguarded, comfortable. Yunho’s posture loose, familiar. At home in his world.
Her heart stuttered.
Panic flickered through her chest, sharp and sudden.
If he turned now, he’d see her.
If he looked back, he’d see where she’d come from.
The same building.
The same door.
The worlds would touch.
Too soon.
Too fast.
Her steps faltered...then sped up.
Not running.
Not obviously.
Just faster.
She adjusted her path slightly, lowering her head, blending into the flow of the sidewalk. Her shoulders instinctively drew in, her presence folding smaller, quieter.
Don’t look. Don’t notice. Don’t see me.
She kept her gaze forward, heartbeat loud in her ears.
Behind her, laughter echoed.
In front of her, the street stretched open and empty.
And Y/N walked home alone, carrying a truth she wasn’t ready to let anyone else see:
That the boy who talked to the mascot with warmth and ease
was starting to see the girl who lived without the costume
and she didn’t know
whether she was ready
to be seen that way yet.
She keeps her pace steady.
Not fast enough to draw attention.
Not slow enough to seem uncertain.
Just walking.
The street is quieter here, away from the noise of the park, away from the lights and music and crowds. Campus buildings sit dark and tall around her, windows glowing in scattered patterns. The air is cooler, calmer. Night feels like night again instead of movement and color and sound.
She doesn’t look back.
Not because she thinks Yunho or his friends are watching her. But because looking back feels like breaking something fragile. Like acknowledging the moment would make it real.
So she walks.
Her bag rests against her hip, her steps measured, even. The sidewalk is uneven in places, cracks running through the concrete, patches where the light doesn’t quite reach. She watches where she’s going instead of where she’s been.
When the noise behind her disappears completely, she slows.
Not consciously.
Just naturally.
Her shoulders drop. Her breathing evens out. The tightness in her chest loosens as the world opens up again, less crowded, less close.
Her thoughts drift.
To Yunho’s voice earlier.
To the calm in it.
To the way he spoke about her without knowing.
Not analyzing it.
Not dissecting it.
Just remembering it.
It sits with her.
Not heavy.
Not dramatic.
Just present.
The campus path curves slightly ahead, lined with trees and dim streetlights. A few students pass in the distance, voices low, laughter soft. Someone crosses the street at the intersection. A car moves slowly through the corner.
Everything feels ordinary.
Safe.
She adjusts the strap of her bag and keeps walking.
She doesn’t notice the man at first.
Not because he’s hidden.
Because he’s just another person moving through the night in the opposite direction.
“Thank you,” she says politely, already preparing to move past him.
Then he looks at her properly.
And his expression changes.
His eyes linger.
His posture shifts.
“Well,” he says slowly, a smile forming that feels practiced rather than warm. “Aren’t you pretty.”
The word lands wrong.
Not aggressive.
Not loud.
Just invasive.
Her body reacts before her mind does. A tightening in her stomach, a subtle shift of weight backward.
“That’s kind,” she says, politely neutral. “But I really should go.”
She steps to the side.
His hand stays on her arm.
Not gripping.
Not painful.
Just preventing movement.
Blocking without force.
“Hey,” he says lightly. “I’m not upset. Accidents happen.”
“I understand,” she says, keeping her voice calm. “But I need to go home.”
He doesn’t move.
“I tell you what,” he says. “You can make it up to me.”
Her pulse quickens.
Make it up to me.
The phrasing feels deliberate.
“What do you mean?” she asks, wary now.
His smile widens slightly.
“A drink,” he says. “A date.”
Her mind moves faster than her body.
This isn’t friendly.
This isn’t casual.
This isn’t normal.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I have a boyfriend.”
The lie is thin. She knows it. He knows it.
“I really didn’t mean to bump into you,” she adds. “It was an accident.”
He glances down the street behind her.
Then back at her.
“Don’t see him,” he says calmly.
Her breath shortens.
“He’s not here,” she says. “But I really need to go—”
She tries to step back again.
This time, his hand slides from her arm to her waist.
The movement isn’t violent.
It’s deliberate.
He pulls her closer.
Just enough to remove space.
Just enough to remove distance.
Just enough to remove choice.
Her back brushes his chest.
Her breath catches.
Her body stiffens instantly.
Fear doesn’t explode.
It spreads.
Cold.
Heavy.
Paralyzing.
Her thoughts fragment.
Her hands go still.
Her chest tightens so sharply it feels hard to breathe properly.
This is wrong.
The word forms clearly in her mind.
Wrong.
“I said I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Please let me go.”
The street feels too open.
Too empty.
Too quiet.
The world that felt calm moments ago now feels exposed. Wide and indifferent and far away.
Her heart pounds.
Her vision blurs slightly at the edges.
Her mind searches for movement, for distance, for space...
And finds none.
Not because she’s physically trapped.
But because fear has taken over control of her body.
Because her instincts don’t scream, they freeze.
Because she doesn’t know how to fight.
Because she doesn’t know how to be loud.
And in that moment, she isn’t brave or quiet or careful or composed.
She’s just scared.
And alone.
The space is wrong.
That’s the first thing she registers.
Not the man’s voice.
Not his hands.
Not the street.
The space.
He’s too close.
Inside the invisible line she keeps around herself. The one she doesn’t let people cross. The one she doesn’t even realize exists until someone steps into it.
Her body knows before her mind does.
Her breathing shortens.
Her chest tightens.
Her hands go numb.
She can feel his presence behind her, even though he isn’t hurting her.
Even though he isn’t violent.
Even though he isn’t loud.
And that somehow makes it worse.
Her thoughts scatter.
Move.
Say something.
Do something.
But nothing comes.
Her mouth opens... no sound.
Her body is rigid, locked in place by something she doesn’t know how to override.
She feels small.
Not physically.
Internally.
Compressed into herself.
The night feels too open and too empty at the same time. No one close enough to notice. No one close enough to hear her if she did speak.
The man’s presence is steady.
Unrushed.
Unbothered.
As if he has all the time in the world.
Her pulse is so loud she can hear it in her ears.
Her thoughts stop forming in sentences.
Her awareness tunnels.
Her body feels disconnected, heavy and light at the same time.
She can’t tell if she’s breathing too fast or not enough.
Her hands tremble, useless at her sides.
She doesn’t know what to do.
Her brain cycles through the same broken fragments:
Say no.
Move away.
Create space.
Get out.
But none of them connect to action.
Her voice is gone.
Her body isn’t listening to her.
And then...A hand grips her arm.
Firm.
Certain.
Her body reacts before her mind does. A sharp inhale, a jolt of surprise.
And suddenly the space shifts.
She’s being pulled.
Gently but decisively.
Out of the circle.
Out of the pressure.
Out of the wrongness.
An arm comes around her shoulders.
Warm.
Solid.
Protective.
She stumbles half a step, then steadies.
The air feels different.
Lighter.
Wider.
Her lungs expand like they’ve been locked too long.
Her vision clears.
Her body registers safety before her mind catches up.
A familiar voice cuts through the fog.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my girlfriend?”
Yunho.
Her brain lags a second behind reality.
Girlfriend?
The word doesn’t register.
Only the voice.
Only the presence.
Only the arm around her.
Only the feeling of being moved out of danger without being asked.
Without hesitation.
Without doubt.
She looks up.
Yunho stands between her and the man.
His arm is around her shoulders, firm and grounding, his body angled slightly in front of hers. A barrier, not a cage.
She feels Mingi’s presence to one side.
Seonghwa’s to the other.
Forming a wall she didn’t ask for but desperately needs.
The man scoffs.
“Your girlfriend?” he says, voice sharp with irritation. “Yeah, right.”
His eyes flick to Y/N.
Then back to Yunho.
A smirk twists his mouth.
“What,” he says mockingly, “you into the quiet ones too? The shy ones? The ones you can do whatever you want with in bed because they don’t say anything?”
The words hit like a slap.
Just cruel.
Just ugly.
Just dehumanizing.
Y/N feels it land in her chest like something heavy and cold.
Yunho goes still.
His voice is calm.
Too calm.
Controlled in a way that feels dangerous.
“Say that again,” he says.
Mingi steps closer.
Seonghwa shifts forward.
The man’s confidence wavers, just slightly.
He scoffs again, but there’s tension now. Awareness.
“Relax,” he mutters. “Didn’t know she came with bodyguards.”
Yunho doesn’t move.
Doesn’t raise his voice.
Doesn’t escalate.
But his presence changes the air.
“She told you to let her go,” Yunho says. “So you let her go.”
“She didn’t say anything,” the man snaps.
“She didn’t have to,” Yunho replies.
The silence stretches.
Heavy.
Charged.
The man looks between them. Three men now, all solid, all unmoving, all blocking access.
His jaw tightens.
He steps back.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “Not worth it.”
He turns and walks off, disappearing down the street.
The space opens again.
The tension releases.
The night breathes.
Y/N doesn’t feel relief.
She feels everything all at once.
The shock.
The fear.
The delayed panic.
The adrenaline.
The sudden drop of danger.
Her body starts to shake.
Her knees weaken.
Her vision blurs.
Her chest tightens.
And suddenly she can’t hold it in anymore.
The tears come fast.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just overwhelming.
Her body folds inward, hands gripping Yunho’s shirt without thinking, breath hitching, chest heaving in uneven gasps.
“I— I’m sorry—” she tries to say.
The words fall apart.
Yunho turns fully toward her.
Wraps his arms around her.
One hand cradles the back of her head.
The other holds her against his chest.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Her sobs break through.
Her legs give out slightly.
He supports her weight without hesitation.
Her chest tightens so sharply she can’t get a full breath in.
“I— I’m sorry,” she sobs, the words tumbling out without control. “I’m so sorry— I didn’t— I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to— I’m sorry, I’m really sorry—”
She clutches his jacket, face pressed against him, tears soaking into the fabric.
“I’m sorry,” she keeps saying. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble— I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry— I’m so sorry—”
Her voice cracks completely.
Yunho tightens his hold just a little.
“Hey,” he says.
Not loud.
Not angry.
“No.”
She hiccups, still crying. “I— I just— I’m sorry—”
“Stop,” he says gently.
She stills slightly.
He pulls back just enough to look at her, one hand still cradling the back of her head, the other at her back.
“You don’t apologize for that,” he says.
Her eyes are red. Wet. Confused.
“I—”
“No,” he repeats, softer but stronger. “You don’t apologize for someone else crossing a line.”
Her breathing stutters.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he continues. “Not one thing.”
Tears keep falling.
“I just— I didn’t know what to do—” she whispers.
“That’s not something to be sorry for,” Yunho says. “That’s being human.”
She shakes her head, tears spilling again. “I always mess things up— I always—”
He cuts her off again.
“You don’t apologize for existing and I am pretty sure that you don't mess everything up” he says.
The words land hard.
“You don’t apologize for taking up space,” he continues. “You don’t apologize for being there. You don’t apologize for someone else’s behavior.”
Her breathing falters.
Her sobs quiet just a little.
Mingi steps closer, voice soft. “He’s right.”
Seonghwa nods. “None of this is your fault.”
Their voices aren’t loud.
Not overwhelming.
Just present.
Supportive.
Real.
Y/N’s body finally sags.
Exhaustion replaces panic.
Fear drains out, leaving her shaky and hollow.
Yunho pulls her back into his chest.
This time, she doesn’t apologize.
She just cries.
Quietly.
Brokenly.
Letting it out.
Mingi rubs the back of his neck, then exhales. “Okay,” he says gently, trying to lighten the air without dismissing it. “Hear me out.”
She lifts her head slightly, eyes glassy.
“Convenience store ramen,” he says. “Right now. Warm. Salty. Carbs. Healing powers.”
Seonghwa nods in agreement. “Scientifically proven.”
Yunho lets out a small, breathy laugh against her hair.
AWWW THIS FIC :(( kinda lost count on how many times i've reread it but I loved it sm! the whole dual identity concept and the reason behind it fits really well. i can definitely see yunho in this kind of situation too. following my review on the other fic, i just really love it when characters are being loved loudly, especially when they're not used to it. when insecurities and silence becomes too comfortable, everything can become a blur; even positive feelings. and i love how this fic captures it
After another soul-draining day at her corporate HR job, Y/N stumbles into a small underground bar to escape the exhaustion swallowing her whole. There she meets Yunho, a magnetic guitarist from a famous rock band and spends one unforgettable night wandering through the city with a stranger who makes her feel alive again.
What begins as a reckless decision slowly turns into something neither of them expected: a place to breathe.
Pairing: Jeong Yunho × Reader (Y/N)
Tropes: Rockstar AU, Strangers to Lovers, Opposites Attract, Late Night City Romance, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Soft Slow Burn, Falling in Love Before Realizing It
Featuring: Ateez as Yunhos Band Mates or Friends, Y/ns Childhood friend
Main Masterlist | Yunhos Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
This is Part 1
The train lurched hard enough to make Y/N’s shoulder bump against the cold window beside her.
No one looked up.
Not the man in the wrinkled suit across from her, staring blankly at a football livestream on his phone. Not the woman beside him furiously typing on a laptop balanced on her knees. Not the teenager with headphones large enough to swallow half his face.
Everyone looked tired in a way that felt permanent. The kind that settled into bones.
Y/N let her head rest back against the glass for a moment and closed her eyes.
The day clung to her. The office air conditioning that never worked properly. The synthetic smell of printer ink. The endless meetings about “workflow optimization.” Her manager smiling too brightly while assigning work that should have belonged to three different departments.
She could still hear the echo of keyboards. Still feel the ache in her neck from hunching over spreadsheets for nine hours straight.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.
Another email. At 8:47 p.m.
She stared at the notification without opening it.
Something in her chest tightened.
At university, she had imagined HR differently. She remembered sitting in crowded lecture halls with coffee-stained notebooks, genuinely believing she would help people. She thought she would create healthier work environments. Better opportunities. Real support systems.
Instead she spent most days pretending corporate language meant anything at all.
“We value employee wellbeing.”
Except no one left before seven.
“We foster communication.”
Except managers ignored complaints until someone quit.
“We prioritize work-life balance.”
Except her supervisor proudly answered emails during dinner.
Every conversation felt rehearsed. Every smile felt strategic.
And slowly, without noticing when it started, Y/N had begun rehearsing too.
The train screeched into another station. More people entered.
A gust of cold evening air brushed against her face before the doors closed again.
Her reflection stared back faintly from the darkened window.
Blazer slightly wrinkled. Hair no longer neat after an entire day. Exhaustion sitting beneath her eyes.
Twenty-six years old and already feeling worn down.
That scared her more than anything.
Not the stress itself. How normal it had become.
She opened her phone again, thumb hovering over the email notification before locking the screen instead.
No. Not tonight.
Outside, the city moved in streaks of blurred light. Storefronts glowed gold against wet pavement from earlier rain. Groups of friends laughed outside restaurants. Couples walked shoulder to shoulder beneath umbrellas.
Everyone seemed to exist somewhere beyond fluorescent lights and meeting rooms.
Y/N wondered vaguely when she had stopped existing there too.
By the time she stepped off the train, the night air had sharpened.
She pulled her coat tighter around herself and started walking.
Her apartment was only fifteen minutes away from the station. Usually she kept headphones in during the walk home, trying to create enough noise to drown out her own thoughts, but tonight she had forgotten them at work.
So there was nothing except the city.
Traffic humming in the distance. Snippets of conversation as strangers passed by. Music drifting faintly from somewhere ahead.
At first she barely noticed it.
Then another gust of wind carried the sound more clearly.
Live music.
Not polished radio music. Something rougher.
Y/N slowed slightly.
The closer she got, the louder it became. Electric guitar vibrating through the street. A deep bassline pulsing beneath it. Drums sharp enough to rattle somewhere in her chest.
People crowded outside a narrow brick building further down the block. Cigarette smoke curled into the cold air. Neon light flickered above the entrance in faded blue letters.
Moonlight Room.
She had passed this street dozens of times before. She had never noticed the bar. Or maybe she had simply stopped noticing things.
A burst of laughter came from the entrance as two girls stumbled out together, still singing loudly to whatever song had just ended inside.
Y/N kept walking. At least she tried to.
Three steps later she stopped.
The music started again. This time slower.
The guitar carried a kind of ache that made something inside her pull tight unexpectedly.
Before she could overthink it, she turned around.
The bouncer barely glanced at her before letting her in.
Warmth hit her immediately. Heavy warmth layered with alcohol, perfume, sweat, and the overwhelming closeness of too many people pressed together beneath dim lights.
The bar was packed.
Conversations blended together beneath the music. Glasses clinked somewhere to her left. Colored stage lights swept lazily across the room.
And then she saw them.
The band.
The drummer was impossible to miss first. Dark hair sticking to his forehead as he played with frightening intensity, like he might actually destroy the drum set before the night ended.
Beside him stood a tall blond bassist moving with reckless energy, grinning at the crowd as though he fed off their reactions.
At the center of it all stood the guitarist and singer.
His black shirt clung damply to his skin beneath the stage lights, sleeves rolled messily to his elbows. A guitar hung low against his frame while he leaned into the microphone, voice rough and warm all at once.
The crowd loved him.
No.
That wasn’t enough. They watched him like gravity itself bent toward him.
But strangely, it was not arrogance that caught her attention.
It was joy. Real joy.
He smiled mid-song when the bassist nearly missed a note. Laughed breathlessly when the drummer sped up too much during a transition. Looked entirely alive in a way Y/N had not felt in months.
Maybe years.
For a while she simply stood near the back wall watching.
Not because she understood anything about music technically.
Because she could not look away.
The songs were loud and messy and emotional. Some people sang along loudly enough to drown out parts of the chorus. Others danced without caring how ridiculous they looked.
No one here seemed self-conscious. No one seemed curated.
Y/N suddenly became painfully aware of how stiff she felt standing there in office clothes while everyone else existed so freely around her.
Then the guitarist looked up. Just for a second.
His eyes swept over the room casually before landing on her near the back.
Y/N expected him to look away immediately.
Instead he held her gaze for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Then the bassist slammed into him dramatically during a chorus and the moment disappeared.
Still, heat climbed unexpectedly into her face.
Ridiculous.
He probably looked at hundreds of people during performances.
The set lasted another forty minutes.
Y/N stayed for all of it.
By the end, the crowd erupted loudly enough to shake the floor beneath her shoes.
The drummer threw his sticks into the audience. Someone screamed. The blond bassist bowed exaggeratedly while the guitarist laughed into the microphone.
“Get home safe, yeah?”
His voice sounded lower while speaking. Softer.
The lights brightened slightly once they disappeared backstage.
People immediately crowded toward the bar.
Y/N considered leaving. She should leave.
It was late. She had work tomorrow. Her inbox was probably already getting worse by the minute.
Instead she found herself sitting on an empty stool near the far end of the counter.
A bartender approached almost instantly.
Pretty. Dangerously pretty.
Sharp eyes. Dark hair pushed back carelessly. Sleeves rolled to reveal tattooed forearms.
“Well,” he said while wiping down the counter in front of her. “You look deeply unhappy.”
Y/N blinked.
Then laughed despite herself.
The bartender grinned immediately like he had won something. “There it is,” he said. “You can smile.”
“I am smiling.”
“Barely.”
“That still counts.”
“Depends. You looked like you were about to file taxes when you walked in.”
A startled laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
The bartender pointed at her triumphantly.
“See? I’m hilarious.”
“You’re very confident.”
“I have to be. I’m pretty.”
Y/N stared at him. He stared back completely serious for exactly two seconds before bursting into laughter himself. Something about the ease of it made her shoulders loosen slightly.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Honestly? Something strong.”
“Oof. Rough day?”
“Rough year.”
He winced sympathetically before reaching for a bottle.
“Corporate job?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“You have the posture of someone who answers emails during lunch breaks.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“It should be.”
He slid a drink toward her before leaning casually against the counter.
“I’m Wooyoung, by the way.”
“Y/N.”
“Well, Y/N, congratulations on surviving adulthood long enough to make it here tonight.”
She took a sip. The drink burned pleasantly down her throat.
“Not sure I’d call it surviving.”
“See, that’s the problem right there.”
Before she could answer, another bartender appeared beside Wooyoung carrying a tray of empty glasses.
Unlike Wooyoung’s immediate energy, this one moved calmly through the chaos around him.
Elegant almost.
He glanced toward Y/N briefly.
“This the sad office worker you adopted?”
“Yep.” She said.
“I didn’t adopt her. She came voluntarily.”
The second bartender gave Y/N a small smile. “Seonghwa.”
“Y/N.”
“Don’t encourage him too much,” Seonghwa said while nodding toward Wooyoung. “His ego is already unbearable.”
“It’s not ego if it’s objectively true.”
“See what I mean?”
Y/N laughed quietly into her drink.
The conversation flowed easier than expected after that.
Mostly because Wooyoung refused to let silence exist longer than three seconds.
He asked about her job with dramatic horror.
“You studied HR willingly?”
“At the time it sounded meaningful.”
“And now?”
Y/N stared into her drink for a moment. “It feels like pretending all day.”
That quieted him unexpectedly.
“I thought I’d help people. Make work better for them somehow.” She gave a small humorless laugh. “Now I spend most of my time scheduling meetings everyone hates.”
Seonghwa hummed softly while drying glasses.
“That happens more than people admit.”
“What does?”
“Realizing adulthood isn’t what you imagined.”
Something about how simply he said it loosened another knot in her chest.
Wooyoung pointed at her suddenly.
“See, this is why you needed to come here tonight.”
“To a random bar?”
“To a bar with excellent bartenders.”
“Ah yes. Important distinction.”
“Very important.”
Two men approached the counter then.
One tall and broad-shouldered with blond hair.
The other quieter, sharp-eyed, carrying himself with an unreadable calm.
“Wooyoung,” the blond one announced dramatically, “San says you’re flirting with customers again.”
“I flirt professionally.”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“That’s called networking.”
The quieter one snorted softly beside him.
Wooyoung pointed toward them.
“Y/N, meet Yeosang and Jongho. Two of our resident alcoholics.”
“We’re literally friends with the bar owners,” Yeosang said flatly.
“Exactly.”
Jongho slid onto the stool beside her while Yeosang leaned against the counter.
“You work corporate?” Jongho asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
Yeosang studied her for a second.
“You looked sad watching the performance.”
The bluntness caught her off guard. “I wasn’t sad.”
“You were.”
Wooyoung gasped dramatically.
“Oh my god. Emotional profiling.”
“I’m observant.”
“You’re nosy.”
“Same thing.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “I think…” She hesitated. “I think they just looked happy.”
For the first time since sitting down, the others became quieter.
“The band?” Seonghwa asked gently.
She nodded.
“They looked like they actually loved what they were doing.”
Wooyoung’s teasing softened slightly around the edges.
“Most people don’t.”
“I know.”
That was the problem.
She knew.
And lately she could feel herself becoming one of them.
Someone enduring life instead of living it.
The realization terrified her more every day.
Music started again faintly somewhere backstage. Probably another playlist between sets.
Yeosang tilted his head slightly while watching her.
“When’s the last time you did something you actually enjoyed?”
Y/N opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because she genuinely did not know.
The silence answered for her.
Wooyoung looked personally offended on her behalf.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“What?”
“We’re fixing this.”
“You can’t fix my life in one evening.”
“Watch me.”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes fondly.
“She’s known you twenty minutes.”
“Long enough to understand my genius.”
Jongho took a sip from the drink Wooyoung shoved toward him.
“You do seem like you need a break,” he admitted.
Y/N laughed quietly.
“I can’t exactly quit my job and disappear into the mountains.”
“Why not?” Wooyoung asked immediately.
“Because I need money?”
“Annoying system.”
“Very.”
The conversation continued longer than she intended.
Strangely, no one asked invasive questions. They teased her constantly, but lightly. Easily. Like they had known her longer than an hour.
At some point Wooyoung convinced her to try a ridiculous neon-colored cocktail.
At another point Yeosang deadpanned something so unexpectedly funny she nearly choked laughing.
And slowly, almost without realizing it, the exhaustion pressing against her ribs all evening became lighter.
Not gone. Just quieter.
Eventually the air inside the packed bar became overwhelming.
Heat clung to her skin beneath her coat. Voices blurred together too loudly.
“I need air,” she muttered while slipping off the stool.
Wooyoung pointed vaguely toward a hallway.
“Back exit’s easier than fighting through the crowd.”
Y/N nodded gratefully before making her way through the hallway.
The music faded slightly with every step.
She pushed open the metal door expecting another street.
The cold air hit Y/N almost hard enough to make her dizzy.
For a second she simply stood there with one hand still resting against the metal door behind her, breathing deeply as if she had surfaced from underwater.
The noise from inside became muffled once the door closed.
Distant enough to finally think again.
The patio stretched wider than she expected. A narrow rooftop space cluttered with old tables, half-burned candles trapped in glass holders, and strings of warm lights hanging overhead. The city spread beyond the railing in shimmering gold and white, wet streets reflecting headlights below.
Someone had left an old speaker in the corner playing music quietly enough to blend with the wind.
Y/N stepped closer to the railing.
Her feet already hurt from her heels.
The night had settled colder while she had been inside. Goosebumps rose along her arms beneath her coat, though the sharp air felt good against her flushed skin.
For the first time all evening, things felt quiet.
No forced smiling.
No conversations about productivity metrics.
No pretending she cared whether onboarding presentations matched company branding guidelines.
Just the city breathing around her.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then the patio door opened again.
Y/N glanced back instinctively.
The guitarist from earlier stepped outside, letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.
Up close he looked taller somehow.
The stage lights had hidden details she noticed now. Slightly messy dark hair damp from sweat. Silver rings catching faintly beneath the patio lights. A black long sleeve pushed carelessly to his elbows.
He stopped when he noticed her already there.
For half a second both looked mildly surprised.
Then he pointed vaguely toward the far end of the patio.
“Oh. Sorry. Thought this place was empty.”
“You can still stay.”
“Generous of you.”
His voice sounded lower without the microphone.
Less sharp.
He moved toward the railing a few feet away from her, pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket before pausing.
“You mind?”
Y/N shook her head.
“Go ahead.”
He slipped a cigarette between his lips and searched his pockets briefly before muttering something under his breath.
“You lost your lighter?” she guessed.
His head lifted immediately.
“How did you know?”
“You checked the same pocket three times.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
A small laugh escaped her.
He looked at her for a second then smiled faintly too, like her laughing had surprised him slightly.
After another failed pocket search, he sighed dramatically.
“I think San stole it again.”
“Who’s San?”
“The drummer.”
“Oh.”
He finally gave up on the cigarette, tucking it back into the pack.
For a moment neither spoke.
The silence felt unexpectedly easy.
Not tense.
Not forced.
Just two strangers standing beneath string lights listening to distant traffic.
Then his eyes flicked briefly toward her outfit.
“You came from work?”
She looked down automatically at herself.
Right.
The blazer.
The slacks.
The painfully obvious office clothes.
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
“That bad?”
“Nah.” He leaned against the railing casually. “You just look like you’ve had a really long day.”
Something about the way he said it lacked the fake sympathy she usually heard from coworkers.
It sounded observational instead.
Like he was simply stating a fact.
“I have,” she admitted.
“What do you do?”
“HR.”
His entire face shifted immediately. “Oh.”
Y/N laughed. “That reaction again.”
“No offense, but that sounds terrifying.”
“It kind of is.”
“I knew it.”
“You knew nothing.”
“I know enough.” He gestured vaguely toward her. “You have the exhausted eyes of someone who says things like ‘per my last email.’”
She stared at him.
Then burst out laughing hard enough that she had to lean against the railing slightly.
“That’s actually horrible.”
“I’m right though.”
“You are unfortunately very right.”
His grin widened slightly at that.
Interesting smile.
Not polished. Crooked at the edges.
Inside the bar, muffled cheering erupted briefly before fading again.
Y/N glanced toward the sound. “You guys are good, by the way.”
He blinked once like the compliment caught him off guard.
“Thanks.”
“The crowd seemed insane for you.”
“They were loud tonight.”
“That blond guy especially seemed to enjoy it.”
“Mingi enjoys everything.” He paused. “Usually too much.”
She smiled slightly. “He nearly tackled you during one song.”
“He does that a lot.”
“How do you still know what you’re playing?”
“I don’t half the time.”
That made her laugh again.
It startled her slightly how easy that kept happening tonight.
Usually conversations with strangers exhausted her.
This one didn’t.
Wind swept across the rooftop again, stronger this time.
She crossed her arms instinctively.
The guitarist noticed immediately.
“You cold?”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that way too fast.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re literally shivering.”
“I’m trying to defend my dignity.”
“That battle’s already lost.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly.
“You’re annoyingly observant.”
“I get bored easily. Makes me notice things.”
He shrugged off the oversized jacket hanging over the railing beside him before holding it toward her.
“Here.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay.”
“You’re freezing.”
“I’m not freezing.”
“You look one gust of wind away from hypothermia.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“So does dying.”
She laughed quietly before finally taking the jacket.
It was warm from his body heat.
Far too warm.
The sleeves nearly swallowed her hands completely once she slipped it on.
The guitarist stared for a second before snorting softly.
“What?”
“You disappeared.”
“I hate you a little.”
“That’s fair.”
She folded the sleeves back awkwardly while he leaned both elbows against the railing beside her.
“You always end up in random bars after work?”
“First time actually.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“What changed tonight?”
The question settled unexpectedly softly between them.
Y/N looked out over the city lights below.
Cars moved through intersections like streams of white and red.
Somewhere nearby people laughed loudly in the street.
She thought about answering honestly.
About how exhausted she had felt on the train. How empty the last few months had become. How she sometimes came home too tired to even turn on the television before falling asleep.
Instead she settled on: “I heard the music outside.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“You make surprisingly impulsive decisions for someone dressed like an accountant.”
“I’m not an accountant.”
“Close enough.”
“That’s deeply offensive.”
He grinned slightly.
“There’s the corporate judgment.”
“You started it.”
“True.”
Another brief silence settled.
Comfortable again.
Y/N found herself studying him more openly now that he was not hidden beneath stage lights.
He looked younger up close somehow.
Not younger in age exactly.
Less untouchable. On stage he had seemed larger than the room itself. Here he just looked like a guy standing outside after work trying to get fresh air.
Strange.
“You looked different out there,” she admitted before thinking too hard about it.
He turned slightly toward her. “Different how?”
“Louder.”
“That’s usually how concerts work.”
She rolled her eyes immediately. “You know what I mean.”
A laugh escaped him. “Okay, fair.”
She searched briefly for the right words.
“You looked…” She hesitated. “Like you weren’t thinking about yourself.”
For some reason that made him go quiet.
“That’s probably the point,” he admitted eventually.
“The point?”
“Playing music.”
He tapped absentmindedly against the railing with his rings.
“You stop thinking for a while.”
Y/N looked at him more carefully then.
Not because of the words themselves.
Because of how quickly he answered.
Like he had thought about that before.
“You don’t seem nervous on stage,” she said.
“Oh, I am.”
“You hide it well.”
“I nearly threw up before one performance in Osaka once.”
She blinked.
“Osaka?”
Realization flashed briefly across his face.
Too quick to fully catch.
“Uh,” he said smoothly, “we travel around a lot.”
Something about the way he answered sounded suspiciously rehearsed.
Not necessarily dishonest.
Just careful.
Y/N noticed it immediately.
And apparently he noticed her noticing because he looked away first.
Interesting.
Before she could think further about it, the patio door opened again and two girls stumbled outside laughing loudly.
The second they spotted him, both froze.
Actually froze.
“Oh my god,” one whispered harshly to the other.
The guitarist visibly tensed beside her.
The girls immediately started whispering frantically to each other while staring.
Y/N looked between them, confused.
Then one of the girls suddenly straightened.
“Can we maybe get a picture really quick?”
There it was again.
That careful look on his face.
Like someone slipping into a role automatically.
But he still smiled politely.
“Sure.”
The girls hurried over immediately.
Y/N stepped aside awkwardly while one of them shoved a phone into her hands.
“Could you take it?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
She took the phone while the girls crowded beside him excitedly.
The entire interaction lasted maybe thirty seconds.
Still, something changed in him during it.
His shoulders straightened slightly. His smile became more polished. More practiced.
The girls thanked him approximately fourteen times before disappearing back inside squealing.
Y/N handed his phone back slowly.
“You’re famous.”
He looked mildly alarmed.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Those girls looked like they saw god.”
“That’s concerning for them honestly.”
She laughed softly.
“You really weren’t going to mention it?”
“It never comes up naturally.”
“You’re literally in a band.”
“True.”
“So what’s your name then?”
He hesitated exactly long enough for her to notice.
“Yunho.”
The name fit him strangely well.
“And your band?”
Another hesitation.
Then: “Ateez.”
Y/N searched her memory immediately.
Nothing.
Which apparently showed on her face because Yunho stared at her.
“You still don’t know us?”
“Should I feel bad?”
“A little, yeah.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“That actually hurts my ego.”
“You’ll recover.”
“I don’t know. This may stay with me forever.”
She laughed again.
God.
She could not remember the last time she had laughed this much in a single evening.
Yunho studied her quietly for a moment afterward.
“You really had a bad day, huh?”
The softness in his voice caught her off guard slightly.
“Was it that obvious inside?”
“Kinda.”
“Great.”
“You looked like you were thinking about work even while listening to music.”
Unfortunately accurate.
Y/N rubbed lightly at her forehead.
“My boss emailed me thirty minutes ago.”
“At night?”
“At 8:47.”
“That should actually be illegal.”
“I agree.”
“You answered?”
“No.”
He looked genuinely pleased.
“Good.”
“I’ll regret it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow-Y/N can deal with it.”
“That sounds irresponsible.”
“That sounds healthy.”
She shook her head slightly, smiling despite herself.
“You say that like you have your life together.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
The answer came so quickly that she blinked.
Yunho leaned back against the railing more fully.
“I forgot my lighter, lost my in-ear monitors before the show, almost tripped over a cable during the second song, and I haven’t eaten anything except fries since noon.”
“That’s concerning.”
“See? Disaster.”
“You seem functional though.”
“That’s because I’m tall. People assume tall people know what they’re doing.”
She laughed so suddenly she snorted slightly by accident.
Horror immediately flashed across her face.
Yunho stared one second.
Then burst into laughter too.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, covering her face instantly.
“That was adorable.”
“No, it absolutely was not.”
“It kinda was.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You can’t. I need to hear that laugh again.”
“I hate this conversation.”
“No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, she didn’t.
The realization hit strangely hard.
Because this felt easy.
Dangerously easy.
Like talking before thinking. Like forgetting herself for a while.
Most conversations lately felt calculated.
Professional.
Measured carefully before speaking.
This didn’t.
And maybe that was why it scared her slightly too.
The wind shifted again.
Somewhere below, a motorcycle roared through the street.
Yunho looked over the city skyline quietly for a second before speaking again.
“What would you rather be doing?”
Y/N frowned slightly.
“What?”
“If you weren’t working.”
“That’s a dangerous question.”
“Why?”
“Because then I have to think about it.”
“That’s usually how questions work.”
She smiled faintly despite herself.
Then looked back toward the city.
“I used to paint.”
The answer surprised even her slightly.
She had not said that out loud in months.
“Used to?”
“Back in university mostly.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“People. Streets. Random things.” She shrugged lightly. “Nothing special.”
“You stopped because of work?”
“I stopped because I got tired.”
The honesty slipped out before she could smooth it over.
Yunho didn’t immediately respond.
He just watched her carefully for a second.
“That happens fast, doesn’t it?”
Something about the quiet understanding in his voice made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
“Yes,” she admitted softly.
It did.
That was the terrifying part.
No dramatic breakdown.
No life-changing event.
Just waking up one day and realizing you had slowly stopped being yourself somewhere along the way.
The patio door suddenly slammed open again.
“Yunho!”
Wooyoung’s voice echoed dramatically across the rooftop.
He stepped outside holding two drinks before immediately stopping.
His eyes moved between them once.
Then his entire expression transformed into pure chaos.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
Yunho closed his eyes briefly.
“Please don’t.”
“You made friends with the sad corporate girl!”
“She has a name.”
“That’s even worse.”
Wooyoung shoved one drink toward Yunho before pointing accusingly between them.
“How long have you been out here?”
“Like twenty minutes,” Y/N answered.
Wooyoung gasped dramatically.
“Twenty minutes? Alone? On a rooftop?” He looked at Yunho. “You’re down horrendous already.”
“I’m literally just standing here.”
“And emotionally yearning apparently.”
“There has been no yearning.”
“Debatable.”
Y/N laughed helplessly while Yunho looked moments away from throwing Wooyoung off the building.
Wooyoung grinned proudly.
“Oh, she laughs easier now.”
Yunho glanced toward her instinctively then looked away just slightly too quickly.
Wooyoung immediately noticed.
Unfortunately.
“Oh my god,” he whispered again, sounding delighted. “This is insane.”
Wooyoung looked between them once more with the expression of someone witnessing the greatest event of his lifetime.
Then he pointed two fingers at his own eyes dramatically before aiming them toward Yunho.
“I’m watching you.”
“I hate you,” Yunho muttered immediately.
“That’s not what your eyes say.”
“My eyes are begging you to leave.”
Wooyoung ignored him completely and looked at Y/N instead.
“If he starts acting mysterious and handsome, don’t fall for it. It’s all carefully manufactured.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“He practices facial expressions in reflective surfaces.”
“That happened once.”
“Liar.”
Y/N laughed helplessly while Wooyoung took another dramatic step backward toward the patio door.
Then he paused again, clearly unable to resist one final comment.
“Try not to flirt too much while I’m gone,” he said casually.
Yunho nearly choked on his drink.
“We are not flirting.”
“Sure.”
“We literally just met.”
“That’s usually how flirting starts.”
“Wooyoung.”
The warning in Yunho’s voice only seemed to delight him more.
The grin he sent them before disappearing back inside was downright evil.
The patio door shut behind him.
Silence returned for exactly two seconds.
Then Yunho groaned quietly and dropped his forehead briefly against his folded arms on the railing.
“I’m so sorry.”
Y/N laughed again.
“No, that was entertaining.”
“For you maybe.”
“He seems fun.”
“He’s unbearable.”
The fondness underneath the complaint was obvious enough that it made her smile.
Yunho straightened slightly, rubbing a hand over his face before glancing toward the closed patio door.
“I’ve known him forever,” he admitted. “Him and Seonghwa are probably my oldest friends.”
“The bartender?”
“Yeah.”
“He seemed normal.”
“That’s because he hides it better.”
Y/N smiled faintly.
“I liked them.”
“Dangerous sentence.”
“I’m serious.” She adjusted the sleeves of Yunho’s jacket slightly. “They were nice to me.”
His expression softened a little at that.
“You met Yeosang and Jongho too, right?”
“The blond one and the quiet one?”
“That description could apply to all my friends somehow, but yes.”
She laughed softly.
“They noticed I looked miserable immediately.”
“Most people don’t hide it well when they’re exhausted.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It’s true.”
Y/N leaned back lightly against the railing.
“They made me laugh though.” Her mouth curved slightly at the memory. “Wooyoung especially. I think he decided within five minutes that fixing my life was his personal responsibility.”
“That sounds exactly like him.”
“And Yeosang somehow psychoanalyzed me after one conversation.”
“Also sounds accurate.”
“And Jongho kept looking at me like he felt sorry for me.”
Yunho laughed quietly through his nose.
“Yeah, that’s definitely Jongho.”
For a moment she just watched him.
The way he smiled around his friends’ names felt different.
Softer.
People usually talked about friendships casually, but his voice carried genuine affection beneath the teasing. Like those connections mattered deeply to him.
Maybe that was why the atmosphere around them all felt so easy.
Nothing seemed forced.
Not even with strangers.
Yunho shifted slightly then, folding his arms along the railing again before resting his chin on top of them.
From where she stood, he had to tilt his head upward slightly to look at her.
The posture looked strangely boyish compared to how he carried himself on stage earlier.
Less performer.
More just… him.
The thought caught her off guard.
Especially because she barely knew him.
Wind stirred through the rooftop again, brushing loose strands of hair across her face. Somewhere below, music drifted faintly from another building down the street.
Yunho watched her quietly for a second.
Then a slow grin appeared.
“That look means trouble,” she said immediately.
“Probably.”
“I knew it.”
“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?”
Y/N blinked.
“That’s a dangerous question.”
“You hesitated too fast. You definitely have an answer.”
She looked out over the city thoughtfully.
“In university my roommate and I climbed onto the roof of our dorm at three in the morning because we wanted to watch a meteor shower.”
“That sounds normal.”
“We got locked out.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Oh no.”
“We had to call campus security.”
“Okay, that’s pretty bad.”
“The security guard lectured us for twenty minutes while my roommate cried laughing.”
Yunho snorted quietly.
“Worth it?”
“…Honestly, yeah.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That face.”
She frowned slightly.
“What face?”
“The one you make when you talk about something you actually enjoyed.”
The words landed strangely softly between them.
Y/N looked away almost immediately.
Because he was right.
And because it unsettled her slightly that he noticed.
Yunho did not push the silence afterward.
He simply rested there against the railing watching the city lights below before speaking again.
“Would you be down for a stupid idea?”
She looked back at him cautiously.
“That depends how stupid we’re talking.”
“Pretty stupid.”
“Concerning.”
“I think you’ll survive.”
“That’s what people say before crimes happen.”
His grin widened slightly.
“Maybe.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him.
“You still haven’t told me the idea.”
“I’m building suspense.”
“You’re being annoying.”
“That too.”
She shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“Fine. What’s your stupid idea?”
Yunho straightened slightly from the railing then hesitated.
Actually hesitated.
Which surprised her enough that she paid closer attention immediately.
“We spend the night together.”
The words hit her like a record scratch.
Y/N blinked at him.
Once.
Twice.
“I’m sorry?”
Something in his face changed instantly.
Like he realized how that sounded approximately three seconds too late.
“No,” he said quickly. “Wait. Not like that.”
Heat flashed into his expression so suddenly she nearly laughed.
“You mean not in a one night stand way?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“I worded that horribly.”
“You really did.”
He groaned quietly, rubbing a hand over his face again.
“I swear I’m usually better at speaking than this.”
“Debatable.”
“That’s fair.”
Y/N crossed her arms loosely against the railing, trying not to smile too much at his obvious embarrassment.
“I don’t do one night stands,” she clarified anyway.
Yunho nodded immediately.
“No, I got that. That’s not what I meant.”
“Good.”
“God, this is going terribly.”
She laughed softly.
“Then explain properly.”
He exhaled once before trying again.
“I meant…” He searched briefly for words. “Have you ever had one of those nights where you just do things because you can?”
“That sounds vague enough to become dangerous.”
“Exactly.”
She stared at him suspiciously.
“That explained nothing.”
Yunho leaned his elbows against the railing again.
“Okay. Better explanation.” He glanced toward her. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never actually did?”
Y/N frowned slightly.
“That’s random.”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t know.”
“You absolutely know.”
She looked away thoughtfully.
The problem was that too many answers surfaced immediately.
Places she wanted to visit.
Things she used to love.
Tiny impulses she constantly ignored because they were impractical or childish or irresponsible.
Eventually she shrugged slightly.
“I’ve always wanted to stay awake until sunrise somewhere high up in the city.”
Yunho smiled immediately like that was exactly the kind of answer he expected.
“See? That.”
“What about it?”
“We do all the things like that tonight.”
She blinked at him again.
“All the things?”
“The dumb stuff. The impulsive stuff. The things you always think about and never actually do because real life gets in the way.”
Y/N stared for a second.
Partly because the idea sounded ridiculous.
Partly because some traitorous part of her immediately loved it.
Yunho continued before she could answer.
“We could wander around the city. Find weird places. Eat terrible food at three in the morning.” His expression shifted slightly softer. “Just one night where neither of us has to think too hard.”
The city lights reflected faintly in his eyes while he spoke.
And suddenly the entire idea felt strangely cinematic.
Dangerously tempting.
Y/N laughed quietly under her breath.
“You say this like spontaneous nighttime adventures are normal.”
“They should be.”
“For who?”
“For people in their twenties who are already acting forty.”
That hit far too accurately.
She looked away immediately toward the skyline again.
Below them, headlights streaked through wet streets. Music drifted faintly upward from somewhere distant. The entire city felt alive in a way her office never did.
One night.
One stupid impulsive night.
A horrible idea.
A really horrible idea.
Her phone buzzed suddenly in her coat pocket.
Both of them glanced downward instinctively.
Y/N already knew what it was before checking.
Another work email.
Her stomach tightened immediately.
Yunho watched her expression carefully.
“You don’t have to answer that.”
“I know.”
But her thumb still hovered over the screen anyway.
Conditioning.
That was the terrifying thing.
She had become trained to respond instantly. Like her entire nervous system revolved around availability.
Yunho noticed.
“You’re thinking about opening it.”
“I probably should.”
“It’s midnight.”
“It could be important.”
He looked genuinely unconvinced.
“If it’s important at midnight, your company has issues.”
“That’s unfortunately true.”
“Then ignore it.”
Easy for him to say.
Y/N stared at the glowing notification a second longer before locking the phone again.
Immediately anxiety flickered beneath her ribs.
Tomorrow was going to suck.
She already knew it.
But underneath the anxiety was something else too.
Relief.
Tiny.
Sharp.
Unexpected.
Yunho noticed her expression change slightly.
“There you go.”
“What?”
“You looked happier for like two seconds.”
“That’s because I’m making irresponsible decisions.”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head softly.
“This is such a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“So do I.”
“You’re literally a musician.”
“And?”
“You can’t compare that to office work.”
“Why not?”
“Because your life seems fun.”
Yunho laughed quietly at that.
“You think musicians don’t work?”
“No, I just mean…”
She hesitated.
He watched her patiently.
“You looked free earlier,” she admitted.
The same thought she had earlier inside the bar.
Only this time she said it more quietly.
More honestly.
Something flickered across his face briefly.
Not sadness exactly.
Something more complicated.
“Looks can lie,” he said eventually.
Y/N studied him carefully then.
There it was again.
That tiny shift in him whenever conversations edged too close to something real.
Not avoidance exactly.
More like instinctive caution.
Which made sense.
He was famous apparently. Or at least famous enough that strangers recognized him instantly.
People probably projected things onto him constantly.
Maybe she was doing the same.
Still.
He had looked happy on stage.
Truly happy.
And maybe she envied that more than she wanted to admit.
Yunho tilted his head slightly while watching her think.
“You’re overthinking.”
“I always overthink.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
“So stop.”
“That’s not how anxiety works.”
“Right.” He paused. “Then overthink this instead.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s not.” A grin tugged at his mouth again. “Imagine tomorrow morning.”
She frowned slightly.
“What about it?”
“You wake up, go to work, answer emails, survive meetings, come home exhausted.” His gaze stayed on hers. “Or you disappear into the city tonight with a stranger and make memories you’ll probably still think about when you’re eighty.”
Her heart gave one hard, unexpected thud.
Mostly because he said it so casually.
Like the possibility genuinely existed.
Y/N looked away first.
“That was unfairly persuasive.”
“I know.”
“You do this often?”
“What? Convince exhausted women to commit minor acts of chaos?”
“Yes.”
“First time actually.”
She snorted softly.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious.”
And weirdly enough, he sounded serious.
The wind picked up again, colder this time.
Yunho’s jacket still hung heavily around her shoulders, warm from earlier. The sleeves covered half her hands.
She should leave.
Any reasonable person would leave.
Go home.
Sleep.
Wake up responsibly.
But the thought suddenly felt unbearably dull.
Not because her life itself was dull.
Because somewhere along the way she had stopped allowing herself anything unexpected.
Everything lately felt scheduled.
Measured.
Efficient.
Even joy had become something she postponed for later.
Later when work calmed down.
Later when she had more energy.
Later when life became easier.
Except later never arrived.
Yunho watched her quietly while she thought.
He did not pressure her.
Did not interrupt.
Just waited.
And somehow that made the decision harder.
Y/N exhaled slowly.
“This could end terribly.”
“Most good stories do.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s true though.”
She laughed softly again, shaking her head.
“You really are just saying things tonight.”
“Am I winning?”
“Unfortunately maybe a little.”
A victorious grin spread across his face immediately.
“Oh, that’s huge for me.”
“Don’t get too excited.”
“Too late.”
She looked at him for another long moment.
At the messy hair still damp from performing.
At the silver rings catching beneath patio lights.
At the strange openness in his expression despite them being complete strangers.
Then finally:
“What exactly would this night involve?”
Yunho straightened instantly.
Like she had already agreed.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“What you’ve always wanted to do.”
She groaned quietly.
“That’s dangerously broad.”
“Good.”
“No crimes.”
“Debatable.”
“Yunho.”
“Fine. No felonies.”
“That’s somehow not reassuring.”
He laughed brightly then.
The sound echoed warmly across the rooftop.
And before she could overthink herself back into responsibility, Y/N sighed dramatically and held out her hand.
“Fine.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Fine?”
“One stupid night.”
The grin that spread across his face then felt unfairly satisfying to witness.
“Seriously?”
“Don’t make me regret this already.”
“You absolutely will.”
“That’s comforting.”
Yunho looked down at her extended hand like he had not expected the gesture.
Then he slipped his own into hers.
Warm fingers.
Calloused slightly against her palm.
“Deal,” he said.
His grip tightened once lightly before letting go.
Something about the handshake felt strangely important.
Ridiculous.
But important anyway.
Like standing at the edge of something before jumping.
Yunho stepped back from the railing afterward, energy visibly shifting around him now.
loved loved loved this one! i'm starting to explore more non-school/uni/college based fics and this one has such a unique trope! truly slow burn in a good way with them chasing each other and confronting their feelings. to be loved loudly is so powerful, and this fic shows it all
Y/N and Yunho have been rivals since the start of university, always competing, always bickering. When a university skiing trip takes a dangerous turn and the two of them get lost in a snowstorm, they’re forced to depend on each other to survive. Between the storm, the shed, and the slow burn of secrets revealed, Y/N realizes Yunho never saw her as a rival at all. What begins with banter ends with something warmer than either expected.
Pairing: Yunho × Reader (f)
Genre: University AU · Romance · Smut · Fluff · Angst · Comedy
Featuring: Mina (best friend/wingwoman), Ateez boys as chaotic friends
Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2
The sound of shuffling notebooks, the squeak of dry-erase markers, and the low murmur of students filled the lecture hall. Y/N adjusted the strap of her backpack and claimed her usual seat in the third row, close enough to see the professor’s notes, far enough not to get called on at random. She had just pulled out her laptop when the seat two rows down filled with someone she recognized immediately.
Of course.
Jeong Yunho.
The tall, perpetually smiling, annoyingly perfect thorn in her side.
She hated how easily he carried himself—broad shoulders, casual posture, hair that somehow always looked like he’d stepped out of an advertisement. Worse, he didn’t just look good. He was good. At everything.
The professor hadn’t even started writing yet, and Y/N already knew what was coming: the inevitable hand raised in response to the first question, Yunho’s steady voice answering with ease.
And there it was.
“Exactly right, Yunho,” Professor Kim said, pleased. “You’ve captured the nuance of the text perfectly.”
Y/N rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. Of course he did.
Her best friend Mina, sitting beside her, noticed the glare. She leaned in with a grin. “It’s eight in the morning and you’re already death-staring him. Should I be concerned?”
“I’m not staring,” Y/N whispered back, typing furiously just to look occupied. “I’m—observing.”
“Observing your arch-nemesis?”
“Yes.”
Mina stifled a laugh. “You know, most people don’t actually have arch-nemeses in real life. That’s like… a comic book thing.”
“Well, I do,” Y/N hissed, jerking her chin toward Yunho, who was jotting notes neatly, looking as if he had all the time in the world. “And he’s right there. Breathing my air.”
Mina’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously accurate.”
The lecture ended forty-five minutes later, and Y/N closed her laptop with more force than necessary. She told herself it wasn’t because Yunho had once again earned praise for his perfectly structured analysis. She told herself it wasn’t because Professor Kim had used his response as the example for everyone else.
She shoved her notebook into her bag.
“Going to the library?” Mina asked.
“Yeah. Gotta get a head start on the midterm outline. If I wait too long, he’ll take all the good sources.”
Mina raised a brow. “You mean the publicly available sources in the library that literally no one can hoard?”
“Yes.” Y/N swung her bag over her shoulder. “Don’t underestimate him. He’s ruthless.”
“Uh-huh,” Mina said, unconvinced.
As they left the hall, Y/N caught sight of Yunho again. He was surrounded by his usual crew—Hongjoong, Seonghwa, San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Yeosang and Jongho—all of them laughing about something. Yunho’s grin was wide, unbothered, as if midterms weren’t looming, as if the universe just naturally tilted in his favor.
Y/N tore her gaze away. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing she noticed.
The library was quiet, the faint hum of the heating system muffled by tall shelves. Y/N buried herself in research, flipping through articles and hammering out bullet points. She was in the middle of typing a particularly sharp thesis statement when a voice cut in.
“Ambitious. Starting on the midterm already?”
She froze, fingers hovering above the keyboard. Slowly, she turned her head.
And there he was. Yunho. Leaning against the opposite side of her table with an easy smile, holding two books in his hands.
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you have people to entertain?”
“Already did.” He set the books down with a soft thump. “Now I’m here. What’s your angle this time? Beating me on page count? Or are you going for the obscure reference flex?”
“I don’t compete with you,” Y/N said coolly, though her pulse ticked up.
“Mm.” He tilted his head, as if studying her. “Sure feels like you do.”
Y/N clicked harder than necessary on her trackpad. “Go bother someone else.”
Instead, Yunho slid into the chair across from her. “You know, if you spent half as much energy working with me instead of against me, we’d probably have a paper worthy of publishing.”
Y/N gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief.
She opened her mouth with a retort ready but Mina’s text popped up on her phone before she could speak.
Mina: Did you see the notice? Uni trip to the Alps is officially confirmed!!! Ski resort for a whole week, mid-February. You’re coming, right?
Y/N blinked. A ski trip? That hadn’t been announced in class yet.
Before she could reply, Yunho’s phone buzzed too. His expression lit up, and he muttered, “Nice. Skiing.”
Of course. Of course he’d go.
Y/N’s stomach twisted with immediate dread.
Y/N stared at the notification banner like it had personally insulted her GPA.
University Alpine Trip — Enrollment Opens Today @ 12:00
She minimized it and raised her eyes just enough to see Yunho casually flipping a pen between his fingers like he hadn’t just declared psychological warfare in the library.
“You’re going?” she asked, as neutrally as possible.
He glanced up. “To the mountains? To the fresh powder? To the allegedly ‘legendary’ lodge hot chocolate? I mean, it’d be a tragedy not to.”
“So that’s a yes.” She typed a line just to look busy. It read: Kill him. (Legally.)
He nodded at her laptop. “You should come. You look like you need to touch grass. Or—” His grin tilted. “—snow.”
Mina’s reply finally buzzed through.
Mina: If you don’t sign up, I will sign you up. Don’t test me, I know your student ID and your birthday because I bring you cake.
“Don’t you have, I don’t know, a fan club to charm?” Y/N muttered.
“I tried,” he said cheerfully. “They told me I was insufferable and to leave them alone.”
“That sounds right.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, lowering his voice. “Come on, third row menace. It’ll be fun.”
Her lips twitched traitorously at the nickname. She schooled her face back into the expression she reserved for both midterms and scented candle sections labeled whimsical snowflake. “I’m not being lured into a mountain by a man who color-codes his notes.”
“I only color-code big concepts,” he said. “And sub-concepts. And sub-sub-concepts.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll race you on the beginner slope.”
“I’m not a beginner,” she scoffed.
“Oh?” His eyebrows arched, delighted. “Intermediate? Advanced? Olympic hopeful? Say more.”
“I can manage,” she said, which was both true and strategically vague.
“Then it’s settled.” He tapped the top of her screen twice, like he was stamping a contract. “See you at noon—sign-up table. Don’t be late. Spots are limited and I’m not sharing a lift ticket.”
“You’re intolerable.”
“And yet,” he said, gathering his books, “here I am, tolerated.”
He left with a two-finger salute, and Y/N made the mistake of watching him go. He walked like hallways had been designed specifically to frame his shoulders.
Mina slid into the vacated chair a second later. “Was that… flirting?”
“Absolutely not,” Y/N said too quickly. “That was verbal fencing with an idiot who brought a baguette to a sword fight.”
“So… flirting,” Mina said, deadpan. “Anyway—” She slapped a flyer onto the table. “Trip details. Sign up at noon, deposits due by Friday, roommate forms next week. Pack layers. The lodge has a sauna and also a terrifyingly cheerful activities coordinator named Britta. The email used three exclamation points.”
“Three?”
“Three.”
Y/N stared at the flyer, then at her to-do list, then at the way her insides fizzed when she imagined gliding down a white expanse with cold air biting her cheeks and not a single citation style in sight. A week away. A reset. A chance to not sit in the third row and pretend she didn’t know exactly how broad Yunho’s smile got when professors said “excellent point.”
Mina tapped the page. “Say yes. Your inner child needs cocoa and a stupid beanie.”
“My inner child is busy formatting references.”
“She can do both.”
At 11:58, they walked to the student union. The sign-up line had already snaked past a poster advertising Open Mic Night: bring a poem or a kazoo. Yunho stood at the front with his friends, tall enough to be a human landmark. San was trying on someone’s ski goggles indoors. Hongjoong looked like he was mentally color-coding the bus seating chart. Mingi kept accidentally dropping the pen and apologizing to it.
Yunho spotted Y/N immediately, because of course he did. He lifted his wrist and tapped his watch like a disapproving PE teacher. She rolled her eyes so hard her optic nerves did a crunch.
When it was her turn, the Trip Officer (with the nametag BRITTA!!!—the punctuation was apparently legally binding) beamed. “Yay, another adventurer! Experience level?”
Y/N hesitated. “Between ‘won’t die’ and ‘cannot be stopped.’”
Britta wrote “INTERMEDIATE (confident)” with a heart over the i. “Roommate preference?”
“Mina,” Y/N said, pointing. “Please, I can’t be housed with someone who plays motivational podcasts at 6 a.m.”
“I can and I will,” Mina said, unhelpfully.
“Great!” Britta chirped. “Oh—one more thing. Groups get assigned by level for safety. You’ll be placed with others in the same tier for the first two days. After that, you can mix.”
Y/N exhaled. Perfect. No reason to cross paths with—
“Hey, Britta,” Yunho’s voice sailed over, “put me in Advanced-but-polite.”
“Oh, Yunho!” Britta wrote with extra exclamation points. “I have you as Advanced (helpful). You’re always rescuing lost freshmen.”
Y/N made a face. Of course he would be “helpful.” He probably baked muffins for lost freshmen.
Britta flipped a page. “Let’s see… Intermediate-confident group currently has… you, Mina, and—oh!” She brightened as if she’d found a buy-one-get-one sale on destiny. “We have one more space and Yunho asked to float between Advanced and Intermediate the first day to help with the new route maps, so you’ll likely see him.”
Y/N opened her mouth to protest purely on principle, but Yunho had already drifted back over, grin like a sun on skis.
“Welcome to the winning team,” he said.
“We are not a team,” she replied.
“We can be a very small, very fast team.”
“Stop talking.”
Hongjoong leaned around Yunho. “Hi, rival. I’m the trip playlist commissioner. Any requests?”
“Silence,” Y/N said.
“Bold,” Hongjoong said, writing it down. “I’ll put that between ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ and the Frozen soundtrack.”
San pushed the sunglasses up onto his hair. “I love teamwork.”
“We’re not—” Y/N began.
“—a team, she said,” Yunho finished with her, like they’d rehearsed it. He looked entirely too pleased by the accidental harmony.
Mina took the deposit envelope from Britta and nudged Y/N. “Pay up, powder princess.”
Y/N slid her card across the table with the air of someone signing a pact on a ship about to sail. “Fine. I’m in.”
Yunho clapped once. “Let’s go, third row menace!”
“Call me that again and I will lodge a complaint.”
“To whom?”
“Britta!!!”
Britta beamed. “I love a healthy rivalry.”
“It’s not healthy,” Y/N muttered.
“It looks well hydrated,” Britta said, oblivious.
The week before the trip blurred into a flurry of lectures, laundry, and Y/N pretending she wasn’t absolutely overthinking ski socks. In class, the rivalry fell into ist usual choreography.
Professor Kim posed a question about interpretive frameworks; Yunho’s hand went up; Y/N’s went up faster.
“Great, let’s start with Y/N,” Professor Kim said.
Y/N delivered a neat answer. Two rows down, Yunho’s mouth tilted like he’d just remembered a punchline.
“Excellent,” the professor said. “Yunho?”
“I agree with Y/N’s assessment,” he started, and Y/N’s spine loosened in microscopic satisfaction. “I’d only add—”
Of course you would, she thought, even as she scribbled down the thing he added because it was, infuriatingly, good.
After class, at the hallway’s bottleneck, he matched her stride.
“So,” he said, “did you buy a beanie yet or will you be wearing that terrifyingly serious scrunchie on the slopes?”
“This scrunchie is an academic weapon.”
“Sounds aerodynamic.”
“It is,” she said primly, then ruined it by smiling.
He bumped her shoulder with his. Not hard—just enough to announce himself like a bell ding. “I’ll teach you my warm-up routine. It involves hot chocolate.”
“That’s not a warm-up routine. That’s sugar.”
“Sugar is morale.”
“You can’t just… declare slogans,” she said, gesturing at the air.
“I can,” he said. “Watch me. New slogan: ‘If you fall, fall cute.’”
“Stop,” she said, laughing despite herself.
Mina caught up and gasped theatrically. “Are we laughing with the enemy?”
“He’s not the enemy,” Yunho said. “She’s my favorite plot twist.”
“Stop,” Y/N repeated, to no one in particular.
That night, the trip group chat exploded with energy.
BRITTA!!!: HELLO MOUNTAIN FRIENDS!! Here is the starter pack: packing list, bus assignments, cabin map, and a Google doc for snacks! (Collaborative snacks are community!!!)
San: i will bring gummy bears and an alarming amount of oranges
Hongjoong: snack doc has formatting now, you’re welcome
Mingi: does anyone have extra gloves? I have two left hands
Yunho: i can bring spare gloves, hand warmers, and emergency hot chocolate powder
Y/N: Emergency… hot chocolate powder?
Yunho: to be used in emergencies of morale
Mina: i’m putting “morale” on the snack doc checkbox
Seonghwa: please also bring water
San: no
Y/N: yes
Yunho: i’ll bring water. Look at me. Hydrated AND helpful. Britta will give me a gold star
BRITTA!!!: I DO HAVE GOLD STICKERS!!
Y/N put her phone face-down and told herself she wasn’t smiling. Her phone buzzed again. Private message this time.
Yunho: real question: do you prefer cocoa with marshmallows or whipped cream?
She stared at the screen. She considered options, outcomes, dignity.
Y/N: neither. I prefer victory.
Three dots blinked. Stopped. Blinked again.
Yunho: okay winner, we’ll get you both and call it “dual-wielding”
She refused to laugh. She laughed.
The morning of departure was a study in chaos. Suitcases, duffels, and twelve different varieties of neck pillow congregated outside the bus loading zone. Britta wore a beanie with a pom-pom the size of a small planet. Hongjoong held a clipboard like a weapon. San had indeed brought oranges; he was juggling them, terribly.
Y/N lugged her bag toward Mina, who was already holding two travel mugs, a bag of pretzels, and a moral high ground.
“Did you bring the charger?” Mina asked.
“Yes,” Y/N said, then added, “Probably,” because honesty mattered.
A laugh sounded behind her. “I brought three,” Yunho said, because of course he did. “One for you.”
“I didn’t ask for—”
He tucked the charger into her open tote with the smooth confidence of a man donating to a good cause. “Consider it a loan. Interest rate: one victory.”
“I don’t owe you victories.”
“We’ll negotiate.”
“Buses!” Britta yelled with cheerful authority. “Advanced group, Bus A! Intermediate—confident, Bus B! Friends may separate from friends for the short three hours; consider this a trust exercise!!!”
Mina made a face. “Trust who?”
“Yourselves!” Britta said, already shepherding.
Somehow, through a process that felt both random and deeply fated, Y/N ended up climbing onto Bus B right behind Yunho. He paused at the stairwell and gestured. “After you.”
“I’m not falling for the ‘you take the window seat so I can trap you in conversation’ ploy.”
“My ploys are more sophisticated than that,” he said. “Also, I get carsick in the window. I’m a tragic hero.”
“Sit in the aisle, then. Heroically.”
They found a row. He threw his duffel in the overhead like gravity was a rumor. Y/N attempted the same and immediately misjudged the angle; the bag bumped back toward her face. Yunho’s hand shot up, palm steadying the bag just before it kissed her nose.
“Careful, menace,” he said softly. They were suddenly very close. His cologne smelled like cedar and winter air and the injustice of tall people.
“I had it,” she said, trying to ignore the thud of her heartbeat.
“I know,” he said, and helped anyway.
They sat. The bus pulled away. The city gave way to blanks of countryside and, eventually, the bladed silhouettes of mountains drawing themselves onto the horizon like an invitation and a dare.
Yunho turned slightly, one knee angled toward her, attention with the focus he usually reserved for professors and complicated charts. “Okay. Serious question.”
“Doubtful, but proceed.”
“What do you think I’m like?” he asked.
She blinked. “What?”
“You call me your rival,” he said, amused. “Which is very flattering. But I don’t actually know what movie is playing in your head when you think about me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re competitive, smug, unfairly tall, tragically good at things, and disturbingly optimistic.”
“Tragically good,” he repeated, grinning. “I’ll put that on my résumé. Anything else?”
“You’re… loud,” she said, then, realizing how that sounded, added quickly, “Not volume-wise. Presence-wise.”
His smile softened. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“What movie plays in my head when I think about you?” he said. “Want to guess?”
“No,” she said, aware of how warm her cheeks felt, which was ridiculous because the bus AC was on arctic.
He made a thinking face. “Okay, I’ll tell you anyway. You’re a thundercloud with perfect posture. Also a problem I like solving even when the problem is imaginary.”
“That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”
“It’s a great compliment,” he assured her. “The highest. Also, you make me take better notes.”
“Is that a metaphor for something?”
“No,” he said, laughing. “But if it helps, you also scare me a little.”
“Good,” she said, relieved by the familiar ground. “Let fear be your compass.”
He nodded solemnly. “North: fear. South: hot chocolate.”
She turned her face to the window to hide a smile and let the mountains fill her eyes. She didn’t know yet that the dense forest below the resort had half-faded trail markers or that the weather swung fast up there, could turn as quickly and decisively as a thought. She didn’t know that a single fork in a path could mean the difference between getting back to the lodge on time and… not.
She didn’t know that you could think someone was your rival for so long you never noticed the softness in the way they caught your falling bag.
For now, there was the rumble of tires, a playlist that skipped from 2000s pop to “Let It Go” with no shame, Mina sending her a photo from the other bus of San beaming with an orange peel smile, and Yunho’s shoulder warm just barely near hers.
“Hey,” he said. “If we race on the bunny slope and you win, I’ll buy you cocoa.”
“I’ll win,” she said.
“I know,” he said, and his voice made something uncomplicated loosen in her chest, like snow falling easy off a branch.
“Dual-wielding,” she reminded him.
“Obviously,” he said. “Victory tastes better with marshmallows.”
The lodge looked exactly like a postcard someone had filtered for maximum cozy: timber beams, a fireplace the size of a tiny apartment, windows framing the kind of snow that fell in neat flakes as if auditioning. The lobby smelled like woodsmoke and cinnamon, which Y/N found personally offensive because she was trying not to fall in love with a building.
Britta distributed key envelopes with the efficiency of a benevolent dictator. “Cabins are labeled by animals! Please do not attempt to befriend the carved wooden moose; it will not love you back!! Dinner at six! Safety briefing at seven! Team assignments after!”
“Moose cabin?” Mina whispered, waggling her brows.
“We’re foxes,” Y/N read off their envelope. “Cute. Cunning. Not moose.”
Across the lobby, Yunho held up his own envelope. “Bears,” he mouthed. He did bear his way through life, Y/N thought. Large, friendly, dangerous to your blood pressure.
They hauled their bags through a snow-muffled path to the Fox cabin. Inside: two twin beds, a small desk, a window framing a pine that looked like it took ist job seriously.
Mina flopped dramatically. “Do you think our group will be competent?”
“I think we will be competent and the rest will be sent by the universe as… lessons.”
“At least there’s a sauna,” Mina sighed.
“Please don’t make friends with strangers in the sauna.”
“I make friends everywhere,” Mina said. “It’s my curse and my calling.”
They unpacked. Y/N did the ritual of pretending not to arrange her pens by ink flow quality. By dinner, the dining hall buzzed with skiers in knitwear, clatter of trays, the omnipresent background music of San telling a joke with his whole torso.
Yunho somehow appeared right as Y/N reached for hot chocolate. He held out the ladle like an offering. “Victory fuel.”
She arched a brow. “Getting started early, aren’t we?”
“Hydration is morale,” he said, already wrong and already grinning. He tipped the ladle. “Do you want marshmallows, whipped cream, both, or the chaos option?”
“What’s the chaos option?”
“Cinnamon.”
“That’s not chaos. That’s seasonal.”
“Chaos is seasonal,” he decided, sprinkling cinnamon regardless.
She took a sip, trying to maintain composure as liquid happiness elbowed ist way into her soul. “It’s fine.”
“It’s a triumph.”
“Don’t say triumph about hot chocolate.”
“It’s a triumph,” he repeated quietly, like he liked the way the word felt in his mouth.
Safety briefing involved a slideshow, two maps, and Britta saying “respect the mountain” in a voice that suggested she personally had beef with it. Team assignments followed. Y/N squeezed Mina’s hand under the table.
“Intermediate—confident, Route Two,” Britta called. “Leads: Seonghwa and—oh yay!—Yunho will float with you for the first day to check the new markers.”
Y/N stared at the ceiling. “Why does God hate me.”
“God doesn’t hate you,” Mina said. “He wants you to experience character development.”
Seonghwa—calm, capable, low-key terrifying in a way that made people want to behave—gave a little salute from across the room. Yunho glanced back at Y/N like he was trying to telepathically high-five her.
The plan for the morning went up on the projector. Meet at 9. Warm-up at the small hill. Practice linked turns. Route Two loop after lunch. “Stay with your group,” Britta emphasized. “We had a blizzard last year and rescued three very embarrassed students from a snowbank. They are fine and now legally obligated to help with this trip forever.”
Y/N wrote stay with group in her phone like she was the kind of person who never got distracted. She was. Mostly.
After, as people funneled out in puffy jackets like colorful marshmallows, Yunho fell into step, snow squeaking under their boots.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “I’ll try very hard not to show off.”
“You don’t need to try,” she said sweetly. “You do it naturally.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t—” She flapped a hand. “Whatever. Just… don’t coach me.”
“Why would I coach you?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“I don’t like being told what to do,” she said. “And by ‘don’t like,’ I mean ‘will immediately do the opposite out of spite.’”
“Good to know,” he said, eyes gleaming. “I will only offer cryptic riddles.”
“Please don’t.”
He slowed a step, expression softening in the way it sometimes did when he wasn’t performing their bit. “For real, though—if you want anything, ask. Otherwise, I’ll shut up and vibe.”
She blinked at him, thrown by the gentle sincerity. “Vibe silently.”
“Silently,” he promised, then spoiled it by adding, “But handsomely.”
She elbowed him, light. “Go to your bear cabin.”
“Yes, menace,” he said, and obeyed.
Back in Fox cabin, Mina brushed her teeth like a chipmunk and then leaned in the bathroom doorway. “You like him.”
“I tolerate him.”
“You smile at him.”
“I smile at many things,” Y/N said. “Coffee. Dogs. The downfall of my enemies.”
Mina made a knowing noise and crawled into her bed. “You project a lot of rivalry onto people you find intimidating.”
“I find him annoying.”
“And good,” Mina said. “At things. Which is not a crime.”
“It should be.”
“Did you notice,” Mina added sleepily, “he didn’t try to coach you when you said not to?”
Y/N lay in the dark and tried not to replay the moment when he’d caught her bag, the way his “I know” had been less teasing and more… simple. True.
“Tomorrow,” she said to the ceiling, “I’m winning the bunny slope.”
“Win it all,” Mina mumbled, already halfway gone. “Win cocoa. Win vibes.”
Y/N smiled despite herself and closed her eyes.
Outside, snow fell in a hush. The mountain waited, patient as a held breath. Somewhere in the grid of trails, a fork existed she hadn’t noticed on the map—an almost invisible split that could slip past your attention if you were laughing, if you were racing, if the clouds decided to shuffle over the sun for a while.
Tomorrow, they’d go up, then down, then up again.
Tomorrow, the universe would push them a few inches off course.
And there, in white and pine and the ridiculous warmth of shared hot chocolate, a rivalry would start to come apart at the seams—not with shouting, but with banter, with an inside joke, with a hand offered while you were still insisting you didn’t need it.
The morning hit crisp and bright, sun glinting off snow like a mirror. The lodge cafeteria smelled like waffles and coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead.
Y/N balanced a tray: oatmeal, toast, and the faint hope that carbohydrates could defend her from Yunho’s optimism. Mina, armed with a tower of pancakes, claimed a spot by the window. Outside, students shuffled into ski boots, looking like neon penguins waddling toward destiny.
“Hydration and carbs,” Mina said wisely. “Two most important things for athletic success.”
“Don’t you also need talent and practice?” Y/N asked.
“I outsourced mine to you.” Mina stabbed her pancake with enthusiasm. “Speaking of, your rival is about to do something stupid.”
Y/N followed her gaze. Yunho was across the cafeteria, balancing three trays. One held eggs and toast, another waffles, and the last an ominous stack of bacon. His friends trailed behind, laughing like this was normal behavior.
“Don’t say hi,” Y/N muttered.
“Say hi,” Mina countered.
She didn’t have to. Yunho spotted them, grinned like the sun itself was on his side, and detoured. He set one tray on their table without asking. “Breakfast diplomacy.”
Y/N eyed the bacon suspiciously. “Bribery.”
“Generosity,” he corrected. “Also, Mingi dared me to carry three trays at once, so technically this is logistics.”
Mina reached for a piece of bacon. “I support this rivalry. Free food.”
“Not free,” Y/N said. “It costs me my sanity.”
Yunho leaned on the back of her chair. “You’re glowing this morning, menace. Is it the oatmeal?”
“It’s contempt.”
“Ah.” He tapped his temple. “Radiant contempt. Good fuel.”
By nine, the group assembled at the base of the bunny slope. Colorful jackets zipped, goggles on, skis clicked into place. Britta bounded around with a whistle like an overenthusiastic camp counselor.
“Warm-ups!” she chirped. “Stretch those quads! Pretend you’re trees swaying in the wind!”
San immediately toppled sideways. Hongjoong muttered something about dignity. Yunho, naturally, looked like he was auditioning for a ski commercial—balanced, tall, annoyingly graceful.
“Ready?” Seonghwa asked, calm as always, clipboard in hand. He looked like he could ski blindfolded and still file his taxes on the way down.
“Ready,” Yunho said, and glanced at Y/N. “You ready to win?”
“I was born ready,” she said, adjusting her goggles. “You were born tall. It’s not the same thing.”
“Height is strategy.”
“Height is air resistance.”
“Air resistance is morale.”
She groaned. “Stop saying morale like it explains everything.”
They lined up for the practice run. Yunho clicked his poles into the snow, grinning. “Race you to the bottom?”
Y/N set her jaw. “Try to keep up.”
Mina muttered, “This is how people break collarbones,” as she scooted to the side.
The whistle blew.
Snow crunched, skis sliced, air rushed. Y/N leaned into the slope, adrenaline buzzing. Yunho stayed just behind, deliberately matching her pace, which only made her more determined. She pushed harder, cutting turns sharper, eyes watering from the speed.
Halfway down, she glanced sideways—and caught him watching her, not the slope. Watching her with a grin that wasn’t smug but something warmer, something that felt like being chosen.
She nearly missed her next turn.
They skidded to a stop at the bottom, spraying powder. Y/N ripped off her goggles, triumphant. “I won.”
Yunho pulled his down slowly, breath fogging in the air. “Did you? I thought we tied.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Or maybe,” he said, leaning on his poles, “I let you win.”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“Sportsmanship,” he said innocently. “Builds morale.”
She smacked his arm with her pole. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, “you’re smiling.”
“Because I’m imagining victory.”
“Sure,” he murmured. “Victory.”
After lunch, the Intermediate group gathered for their first loop trail. The sky had clouded, gray creeping over blue. Britta handed out maps with big X’s marked on safe meeting points.
“Stay together,” Seonghwa instructed, eyes sharp. “The markers can be hard to spot if the snow picks up. No detours.”
Everyone nodded obediently. Well—most everyone.
The first half of the trail was smooth, the forest thick with pines, branches bowing under white. Y/N focused on her rhythm, breath syncing with her turns. Yunho skied close but not in the way—just there, steady, like orbit.
“Nice form,” he called.
“Stop coaching!” she shouted back.
“Not coaching. Admiring.”
She hated the way her chest warmed at that, hated it even more when her turn wobbled because she was busy processing it.
They regrouped at a marker post. Snowflakes began to drift down, light but insistent. Seonghwa checked his watch. “One more loop before heading back.”
The group pushed on. Y/N swerved left around a cluster of trees, Yunho following. She cut too sharp, momentum carrying her down a narrower path than she intended. The slope curved deeper into the forest and she couldn´t stop. Bringing her further away from the group in a very fast tempo.
“Wait—Y/N!” Yunho’s voice.
She slowed, snow spraying. He skidded to stop beside her. The trail behind them had already forked into shadows and snow.
Y/N looked around. The trees pressed close, markers nowhere in sight. The snowfall thickened, whitening the air.
She swallowed. “This… isn’t the loop, is it?”
Yunho’s grin faltered, replaced by something steadier. He looked up at the gray sky, then back at her.
“No,” he said. His voice was calm, sure. “We’re off the trail.”
A gust shook snow from the branches, dusting their shoulders. The flakes came faster now, stinging cheeks, settling into hair.
Y/N’s heart thudded. “We’re lost.”
He nodded once, eyes meeting hers. “Yeah.” A pause. Then, softer: “But we’ll figure it out.”
Snow fell harder, muffling the world, and for the first time since their rivalry began, Y/N didn’t have a snarky comeback.
Snow thickened around them, falling heavier now, flakes clinging to their jackets and lashes. The trail behind had already blurred into a white haze.
Y/N fumbled for her phone. “Okay—no big deal. We just… text Seonghwa. Tell him we took a wrong turn.”
She unlocked it, thumb trembling slightly. No service. She held it higher, shaking it like the bars might fall from the sky if she begged hard enough. Nothing.
Her stomach dipped. “It’s dead. It’s—”
Yunho pulled his out. Checked. Held it higher than her head, because he could. Shook it once for good measure. The screen stayed stubbornly blank.
“No signal,” he confirmed.
Y/N’s throat tightened. She shoved her phone back into her pocket, fingers icy despite her gloves. “Okay. Okay, great. We’ll just… wait here, and they’ll notice we’re gone, and they’ll come back.”
Snow slapped sideways across her goggles, a gust of wind whining through the trees.
Yunho stepped closer, voice even. “Hey. Breathe.”
“I am breathing.” Too fast, shallow, puffing clouds of white.
He angled his head, catching her eyes through the fogged goggles. His tone softened. “Not like you’re racing. Just… in.” He demonstrated, exaggerated, chest expanding. “And out.”
She glared at him, which only lasted half a second before her breath caught in a laugh—small, shaky, but real. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous and calm,” he said lightly. “One of us has to be.”
The trees swayed, scattering more snow. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to imagine headlines about tragically over-competitive students.
Yunho crouched, brushing snow from a fallen log with his glove. “We can’t stand in the open. Let’s find some cover before it gets worse.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before,” she muttered.
“I camped with my cousins once,” he said, straightening. “We got rained on. Slightly different, but transferable skills.”
“Transferable?”
“Universal survival tip number one: don’t panic. Number two: find shelter. Number three: don’t let your rival’s nose freeze off.”
Her laugh this time came easier, though her pulse still buzzed with unease.
He nodded toward a slope where the trees thickened. “Come on. Let’s check over there. Pine branches make decent cover.”
Snow squeaked under their skis as they shuffled toward the cluster, air sharp in their lungs. Y/N’s heart drummed, but Yunho stayed steady beside her, occasionally brushing snow from markers only to find them blank.
They reached a natural dip where two fallen trunks leaned into each other, creating a crude roof. Snow piled on top, but underneath was a shallow pocket—dry enough to crouch in, sheltered from the worst of the wind.
Yunho ducked inside first, brushing space clear with his gloves. “Not bad. Cozy. Five stars if you don’t mind the draft.”
Y/N followed, folding herself beside him, knees pulled close. The storm muffled outside, flakes tapping faintly against the wood. Her breath finally slowed.
Yunho tugged off one glove and flexed his fingers, pink from the cold. “We’ll stay here until it calms down. They’ll sweep the trail once they notice we’re not back.”
“And if they don’t?”
He turned, eyes warm despite the chill. “Then we build an igloo. Easy.”
She shook her head, a small laugh breaking through her nerves. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible and here,” he said, leaning back against the log, voice steady as if the storm outside were nothing more than background noise. “So… we’ll be fine.”
Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The storm pressed on, snow thickening, but for the first time since the wrong turn, she believed him.
The pocket under the fallen trunks muffled the storm just enough that Y/N’s pulse had finally stopped sprinting. She leaned back against the bark, goggles perched on her forehead, watching the blur of snow outside.
For a moment, it almost felt like they were in a snow globe someone had shaken too hard.
Yunho had gone quiet beside her. Too quiet. He wasn’t sprawled with his usual lazy confidence; instead, he kept shifting, scanning the trees, brows drawn.
“What?” Y/N asked, suspicion rising.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, then adjusted his gloves like they’d offended him. “Just thinking about… marshmallows.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He exhaled through his nose, fogging the air. “Okay. Not marshmallows. It’s—” He gestured toward the storm. “The wind’s picking up. See how the snowflakes are smaller? Means the clouds are tightening. Heavier fall’s coming.”
Her stomach dropped. “So… worse?”
He caught the edge of her panic immediately and tried for a smile. “Not worse, exactly. Just… more enthusiastic.”
“Yunho—”
“Hey,” he cut in, tone light but gaze steady. “It’s fine. We just need a sturdier roof than this log. Think of this as… an upgrade mission. New cabin, better view, maybe even a minibar.”
Y/N let out a shaky laugh despite herself. “You don’t actually believe that.”
He tipped his head, admitting the truth without words. “I believe we’ll find something better. That’s enough.”
Outside, the wind howled louder, shaking snow loose from the branches. Y/N hugged her knees, trying to look composed. Her breath betrayed her, quick and shallow.
Yunho noticed. He reached out, tapping her ski pole lightly with his own like a knock on a door. “Stay with me, menace. We’ll move slow, together. Okay?”
Her throat felt tight, but she nodded. “Okay.”
He grinned, softer this time. “Good. Let’s go house hunting.”
The storm swallowed sound. Snow pelted their goggles, stung against every scrap of exposed skin. Trees blurred into white silhouettes as Yunho led the way, skis already lost somewhere, breath visible in ragged bursts.
They’d been trudging for nearly three hours. Y/N’s movements had slowed, her usual sharp energy dulled to quiet determination. She kept shivering, hands clumsy on her poles.
Yunho glanced back for the fifth time in ten minutes. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” she said through chattering teeth.
He slowed until they were side by side. Her lips were pale, her shoulders hunched. Fine, his ass.
“Hey.” His voice cut firm over the wind. “We’re almost there. Just a little more.”
“Almost where?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want to say hopefully somewhere, but that was the truth. He tried to stay calm, but he knew if they didn´t find anythig in the next hour they would probably freeze to death.
Then, as if the mountain had mercy, the shadow of a structure appeared between the trees. Blurry at first but it was there.
Wood. A small hut, half-buried in snow, faded green letters above the door: RANGER STATION – EMERGENCY USE ONLY.
Relief hit his chest so hard it hurt.
“Come on.” He grabbed Y/N’s hand, tugging her toward it. She didn’t even argue—proof of how exhausted she was.
The door groaned but gave way under his shoulder. Inside was dark, dusty, but blessedly dry. A metal stove squatted in the corner, stacks of wood beside it. Shelves lined the wall with emergency supplies—blankets, lanterns, water bottles.
Yunho shut the door against the wind, lungs still burning. He turned—and froze.
Y/N was trembling violently, snow melting into her clothes, her hair damp against her cheeks. She hugged her arms around herself like she could hold in the heat leaking from her body.
“Y/N.” His voice dropped, urgent. “You’re soaked. You can’t stay in that, you’ll get hypothermia.”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled again, stubborn even as her teeth chattered.
“You’re not.” He knelt at the stove, striking a match, coaxing the fire alive. Flames caught, heat blooming in the tiny shed. He stood, unzipping his jacket, tugging it off.
Her eyes widened. “What are you—”
“You have to get out of your wet clothes,” he said, already pulling off his gloves, then his sweater. His tone was firm in a way she’d never heard before—commanding, no room for debate. “Now.”
“I—”
He shook his head, not meeting her gaze as he reached for the stack of foil emergency blankets on the shelf. “I’m not asking. I’m ordering. Strip, wrap up in these. I’ll turn around.”
Y/N’s throat bobbed. The seriousness in his voice finally sank in. She nodded, fumbling with her jacket zipper. Hands shivering violently. Almost looking blue underneath the gloves.
Yunho turned his back, tugging his own damp shirt over his head, muscles goosebumping in the chill. He tried not to think about the sound of her layers peeling away, wet fabric hitting the floor. He spread out a blanket near the fire and unfolded another, shaking it out.
“Here,” he said, voice rougher than usual. He held the blanket out behind him without turning.
She stepped closer, taking it, wrapping herself tightly. The metallic crinkle filled the silence.
“Another one,” he said, turning around, seeing her covered in silver foil looking tiny and exhausted. He draped it over her shoulders carefully, eyes fixed on the stove. “Sit close to the fire.”
When he risked another glance, she was still a small, trembling figure cocooned in silver, cheeks flushed from cold. Vulnerable in a way he’d never seen.
His chest squeezed.
He crouched by the fire again, feeding it more wood, then wrapped a blanket around his own bare shoulders. His boxers were still damp, but the fire would help.
For a long moment, only the crackle of flames and the storm’s muffled roar outside filled the shed.
Y/N pulled the blanket tighter, eyes flicking to him. “You didn’t have to…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze now. “I did.”
Mina’s heart hammered against her ribs as she scanned the slope, snowflakes stinging her cheeks. Her skis sank with every shift, but she barely noticed, eyes darting from tree to tree. Y/N had been right behind her. Right there. She wouldn’t just vanish.
“Y/N!” she shouted, voice ragged against the wind. Nothing answered back but the groan of pines and the dull whistle of the storm closing in.
Her stomach dropped.
Seonghwa coasted toward her, clipboard clutched under one arm, every inch of him irritatingly calm as usual. His goggles caught the gray sky, hiding his eyes, but his tone was steady. “You’re looking for Y/N?”
“Yes,” Mina snapped, the panic sharpening her voice. “She was literally right behind me before that last fork! I slowed down, looked back—gone. She was gone.”
Seonghwa tilted his head, already assessing. “Could she have joined Yunho’s side of the loop?”
Mina shook her head furiously. “No. She would’ve told me. She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t just disappear without saying anything.” Her throat tightened. She hated the way her words broke.
Before Seonghwa could answer, San and Mingi slid to a stop beside them, snow spraying.
“Wait—what’s going on?” San asked, hair dusted white, his usual grin nowhere in sight.
“Y/N’s missing,” Mina said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, but her voice wavered.
Mingi’s frown deepened. “You haven’t seen Yunho either, have you?”
Mina blinked. “No… he’s not with you guys?”
San and Mingi exchanged a glance that made Mina’s stomach twist even tighter.
“He was supposed to be floating between Advanced and Intermediate groups,” Mingi explained, breath visible in short bursts. “We haven’t seen him since lunch.”
“Hold up—” Hongjoong arrived then, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead. His hair stuck out in damp tufts, his expression pinched. “Tell me I didn’t just hear both Y/N and Yunho are missing.”
Mina pressed her lips together, nodding once. Her hands clenched her ski poles until her knuckles ached. “I can’t find her. And if Yunho’s gone too then—then—”
“They’re together,” San blurted, like saying it out loud made it fact.
Hongjoong swore under his breath. “Of course Yunho would get himself lost with the one person on this trip who openly calls him intolerable.”
Mingi crossed his arms, voice softer. “Better than being alone.”
Mina swallowed hard. Better than alone. Yes. Maybe. But the thought of her best friend—stubborn, competitive, brilliant Y/N—out there in the thickening snow with no clear trail made her chest seize.
Her skis slid awkwardly as she turned toward the treeline. “We have to go look for them. Now.”
“Mina—” Seonghwa’s calm voice cut through her rising panic.
“No, I’m serious!” Her words came out high-pitched, raw. “Every second we stand here, they’re colder, further away. What if she’s hurt? What if they can’t find their way back? What if—” Her throat closed. She didn’t want to say it.
Seonghwa reached out, steady hand settling on her shoulder. His grip was firm but gentle, the kind that didn’t ask, just anchored. “Mina. Listen.”
She looked up at him, vision blurring with hot tears she refused to let fall.
“They’ll be okay,” he said slowly, voice so certain it almost convinced her. “Yunho’s not reckless. He jokes, he plays, but he doesn’t put people in danger. If Y/N’s with him, he’ll be watching out for her. That’s the kind of person he is.”
Mina’s chest heaved. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Seonghwa said simply. “I’ve known him for years.”
The certainty in his tone tugged at something fragile in Mina’s panic. She bit her lip hard, fighting down the whirl of what-ifs.
Hongjoong ran a hand down his face. “We need to tell Britta. Officially.”
Reluctantly, Mina nodded. Together, they skied back toward the lodge, the storm gnawing at their backs.
The dining hall buzzed with energy when they burst inside, jackets dripping snow, goggles pushed up. Students crowded around long tables, mugs steaming in their hands, completely oblivious.
Britta stood at the front, bright pom-pom hat bobbing as she directed someone toward the boot racks. She turned, beaming, until she saw their faces.
“Uh-oh,” she said, cheer dimming. “What happened?”
Mina stepped forward, heart racing. “Y/N’s missing. And Yunho. They haven’t come back from the loop.”
Britta’s smile dropped completely. “How long?”
“Four hours,” Seonghwa answered, calm but clipped. “They must have taken a wrong turn around the second fork. We regrouped, but they didn’t.”
Britta’s hands flew to her radio. “Copy that. I’ll alert the rangers.” She spoke quickly into the device, voice clipped, professional. Mina clung to that tone, like maybe competence could undo the knot in her stomach.
Finally Britta lowered the radio, expression grim. “The rangers say the storm’s peaking. Visibility is near zero up there. It’s not safe to send out a search party until it calms.”
Mina’s breath caught. “What? We can’t just sit here!”
Britta stepped closer, lowering her voice, but her words landed like cold stones. “I know you’re scared. But sending people out in this will only put more at risk. The rangers have protocols. As soon as the storm eases, they’ll sweep the trails.”
“That could be hours,” Mina whispered, voice cracking.
Seonghwa moved beside her again, quiet and steady. “Mina. Breathe.”
She whipped toward him, anger and fear colliding. “How are you so calm? My best friend is out there freezing, and you’re—”
“I’m calm,” Seonghwa interrupted gently, “because one of us has to be. Yunho’s not stupid. He knows how to read weather. He’ll find shelter, and he’ll keep Y/N safe until help comes. That’s what he does.”
Mina’s eyes stung. Her throat burned. “She hates him.”
San, standing a little behind, piped up softly. “Hates him loud. Which usually means… something else.”
Hongjoong elbowed him. “Not the time.”
But a small, broken laugh slipped out of Mina anyway, shaky and thin. She pressed her hands to her face, inhaling. The panic didn’t vanish, but Seonghwa’s steady presence held her upright.
Britta’s radio crackled again. She listened, nodded. “Confirmed. Storm should break by nightfall. Rangers will set out the moment it does. Until then—hot drinks, warm clothes. We wait.”
Mina sank onto a bench, jacket still dripping. Waiting felt unbearable. Like failure. Like betrayal. But she forced herself to breathe, one shaky inhale at a time.
Seonghwa sat beside her, not saying anything else, just steady. Mina curled her fists in her lap and silently begged the mountain to keep them safe.
The shed creaked when the wind leaned on it, a tired old boat riding out white waves. The little iron stove snapped and sighed, heat pushing back at the cold in stubborn circles. Yunho kept feeding it wrist-thick pieces of wood, waiting for the warmth to stick to the air instead of slipping away through the gaps in the boards.
Behind him, the foil whispered.
Y/N was a silver cocoon by the fire, knees to her chest, chin tucked, shivers running through her like a stutter that wouldn’t stop. The way she’d tried to say “I’m fine” earlier was still stuck in his head—too fast, too thin. She was all spine until her hands started to shake. Then she hid the shaking like it might disappoint someone.
Another log caught. The orange deepened. Good. Come on, heat. Do your thing.
He stood and crossed to her. “Hey, menace,” he said, keeping his voice light. “How are we feeling about our Yelp review for this place? Ambience: rustic. Heating: improving. Minibar: tragically theoretical.”
No answer. Her teeth had stopped chattering, which should’ve been a good sign. It wasn’t. Her breath was shallow, too warm on the exhale.
“Y/N?” He crouched, glove-less, and touched the back of his fingers to her cheek.
She was burning.
A cold prickle went down his spine that had nothing to do with the snow. Fever. Great. Perfect. Just what they needed.
“Okay,” he said softly, like if he sounded calm enough it would make it true. “You’re running hot. That’s… very dramatic of you.” He tried for a grin she’d roll her eyes at. “Could’ve just told me you wanted the whole stove to yourself.”
Her eyes fluttered open a little. Up close, Yunho could see the tiny mole near her upturned nose, the place where her brow always pinched when she was concentrating—or pretending not to look at him. He’d noticed it the first week she started arguing with him in lecture, back when she was just the third-row storm cloud who refused to give him the last word. She’d said he was “unfairly tall and disturbingly optimistic,” and he’d thought: oh, I like you.
He still did. Too much for today, in some ways.
“Don’t… be funny,” she mumbled, voice rough.
“Can’t help it,” he said, because that was the part he played when people he liked were hurting. “It’s a medical condition.”
He checked the shelf again. The emergency box had water packs, a headlamp, two more foil blankets, matches, a whistle, a basic first-aid kit. He cracked the kit open. Bandages. Gauze. Alcohol wipes. A tiny bottle—acetaminophen. Thank you, anonymous ranger.
He read the label twice to be sure, then shook two tablets into his palm. “Can you sit up a little?”
She blinked at him, slow, unfocused. He slid an arm behind her shoulders and lifted. She was all heat and foil and stubbornness, the latter doing most of the work. “Here,” he said, pressing the pills into her hand and unscrewing a water bottle. “Small sips.”
She made a face. “Tastes like… nothing.”
“Delicious nothing,” he agreed. “Five-star vintage.”
She swallowed the pills and a few mouthfuls of water. Yunho wiped condensation from the bottle with the heel of his hand and set it by the stove to take the edge off the chill. Then he added another log, opened the stove door just a crack to let more heat roll out, and turned back to her.
The foil had slipped from her shoulder. He tugged it up, careful, trying not to think too hard about how close his fingers were to bare skin. His brain liked to be an idiot at exactly the wrong times; today it needed to behave.
“You’re not… cold?” she asked, squinting up at him like it was a test she expected him to fail.
“I’m fine,” he lied. His boxerd were still damp; his shoulders were goosebumped under the blanket he’d thrown on. But warm was a relative thing, and she needed it more. “Plus, my morale is off the charts.”
She made a quiet, awful noise that might have been a laugh. “You and morale.”
“It’s a lifestyle brand now,” he said, settling beside her and dragging his blanket so it overlapped the edge of hers. “We’re expanding into not-dying, actually.”
Outside, the wind put ist shoulder into the wall again. The shed answered with a complaining groan. Yunho adjusted their little nest: moved her boots closer to the stove to dry, draped their damp jackets over a chair back and a nail, angled the stove door so the heat hit her cocoon first. The thermometer on the wall—one of those old metal ones with a red strip—crept a little higher. Not a lot. Enough.
“Hey,” he said after a minute, because her eyes were sliding shut again in a way he didn’t like, “talk to me for a second.”
“About… what?” she murmured.
“Anything. Tell me how you’re going to gloat about beating me on the bunny slope when we get back.”
“I… already gloated,” she said, drowsy. “You let me win.”
“Rude accusation,” he said, relieved by the spark of her. “And slanderous.”
Her brow pulled tight. The shimmer of heat in her skin made sweat bead by her hairline. He dabbed it away with the least glamorous corner of his emergency blanket.
“Y/N.” His voice softened but stayed steady. “You’re not allowed to retreat into your brain, okay? Not without me.”
Her mouth tilted, the ghost of a smile. “Bossy.”
“Only when medically necessary.” He paused. The truth—it was easier to say out here, where everything was stripped down to wood and fire and weather. “I’m worried about you.”
“I noticed,” she whispered.
He huffed a breath. “Subtlety is not my brand.”
Silence for a few beats, except for the stove’s steady crackle and the storm’s low growl. He watched her face the way someone watches a horizon, waiting for light. The fever flushed her cheeks, but her shivering had eased from violent to small tremors, which he decided to take as a win. The acetaminophen needed time. The heat needed time. Everything, always, needed time.
He checked her cheek again. Still too hot. Up close, the mole by her nose felt like a secret only he knew, even though anyone who bothered to pay attention could see it. Maybe that was the real difference: he had been paying attention. From the first day she cut across his answer with a better one; from the moment she called him insufferable and then returned his smile with one she didn’t mean to. He hadn’t seen a rival. He’d seen a person he wanted to orbit. He’d been chasing her attention like it was a sport he could win with jokes and good posture.
“You’ll be okay,” he said, because sometimes you had to say the thing out loud, for both of them. “The storm will break. They’ll sweep the trails. Britta will hand out gold stickers like a benevolent tyrant. We’ll go back to the lodge and you’ll tell everyone you won at survival out of spite.”
She made that almost-laugh again. “Out of spite,” she breathed. “Yes. My specialty.”
“Exactly.” He reached for the water and tipped it again against the stove for a minute, then offered it back. “More?”
She took a small sip, eyes on the fire. “You’re… good at this.”
“At what? Pretending I’m not scared?”
Her gaze shifted, finding his, soft and fever-slow. “At taking care of people.”
The words hit somewhere unguarded. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, aiming for teasing and landing somewhere honest. “It ruins my reputation.”
“You don’t… have a reputation,” she argued, eyelids drooping. “You just have… fans.”
“She talks,” he announced to the shed. “She slanders.”
Her eyes slid shut again. He watched the line of her throat as she swallowed, the flutter of her lashes. The tin roof pinged as the snow rearranged itself. He added another log, then dug in his jacket pocket until his fingers found the small, crinkled packet he’d thrown in out of habit: instant cocoa. Emergency morale.
“Hey,” he said, holding it up like a prize. “Contraband.”
Her lashes lifted. “Is that…?”
“Victory powder,” he confirmed. “We can wait until you’re less dragon-core.” He nodded to her fever-pink cheeks. “Or I can make it now and taunt you with the aroma.”
She considered, then whispered, “Aroma.”
“I respect your commitment to bit.”
He poured a little water into the dented camping pot, set it on the stove, and tore the packet open. Sweet, ridiculous chocolate scent rolled into the shed like a memory from a better universe. He stirred with a stripped twig, careful, and then let it be. When he looked back, she was watching him with that same intense attention she usually saved for professors and exam questions and his worst jokes.
“What?” he asked.
“You didn’t… see me as a rival,” she said, not a question.
“No,” he said, because this was a good time for true things. “Not once.”
“Then why… all the… everything?” Her hand fluttered outside the blanket, indicating his entire personality.
“Because you’re fun to spar with,” he said simply. “Because you make me better. Because you look at me like you’re going to set me on fire and I’ve never felt more awake.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Because I like you.”
She blinked, slow. Then, very Y/N, even with a fever: “Tragically.”
“Tragically,” he agreed.
The cocoa steamed. He took it off the stove and set it on the crate to cool. “We’ll split it once you’re at safe-sipping temperature. Doctor’s orders.”
“Are you a doctor?” she murmured.
“Of morale? Yes.”
She smiled for real then, small and tired and perfect. The kind that said she heard him even if they’d pretend later that she didn’t.
The wind pressed again, testing their little box. The stove pushed back. He shifted closer so their blankets overlapped more, so the heat had fewer places to escape. Not touching—just there, a line of warmth she could lean toward if she wanted.
“Rest a little,” he said. “I’ll keep the fire fed.”
Her eyes closed. “Don’t… go far.”
“As if,” he murmured, and settled in to watch the flames, to count the seconds between her breaths until they evened, to listen past the storm for the first sign of it letting go.
The cocoa steamed on the dented pot like a tiny promise, sweet and ridiculous against the hiss of the storm. Yunho sat with his back to the wall, one shoulder angled toward the stove so the heat could catch on him and ricochet to her. Y/N slept in a silver curl, breath shallow, fever-bright. He watched the rise and fall of the foil and told himself the rhythm would hold.
The fire popped. The smell of chocolate and woodsmoke braided together, and with it came memory.
Flashback
The first time Yunho noticed her, really noticed her, she was in the third row with her laptop open and a look of intense, polite disdain aimed at the professor’s question. He had raised his hand to answer—because of course he had—and delivered something solid enough to earn a nod of approval.
And then she raised her hand.
“Actually,” she said with maddening calm, “that collapses authorial intent into reception theory, which is sloppy. The nuance matters.”
The professor’s face lit up like Christmas morning. Yunho’s grin spread across his face, delighted. She didn’t just complicate things; she complicated him.
After class, he had ambled over, all casual height and easy smile. “Nice point in there. Nuance defender. Important role.”
She barely looked at him. “You didn’t need me to complicate you. You came complicated.”
He’d laughed so loud a freshman in the front row jumped. “Unfairly tall and disturbingly optimistic,” he offered, because he could tell she was about to say something like that anyway.
Her mouth twitched. “You said it, not me.”
She walked off before he could answer. And Yunho, instead of being insulted, found himself grinning like an idiot. She was cute when she was annoyed.
The library became their battlefield.
He would show up with an armful of books, spot her already seated, and saunter over. “Busy?”
“Yes,” she’d reply without looking up.
“Perfect,” he’d say, dropping into the chair across from her.
“You can’t sit here.”
“Why not? Is it reserved?”
“Yes. By me. For silence.”
“Good,” he’d say cheerfully, flipping open a notebook. “I love silence.”
“Then practice it,” she’d snap.
He never did. He’d “accidentally” tap his pen until she glared daggers, then beam at her like she’d just paid him a compliment. When she muttered, “You’re insufferable,” he would thank her like she’d knighted him.
Each time she bristled, rolled her eyes, or huffed under her breath, Yunho tucked the moment away. Cute. So cute.
Group projects? A disaster.
Professor Kim once paired them together for a presentation. Yunho had said, “We could divide the slides fifty-fifty,” and Y/N immediately countered, “No, because you’ll fill yours with useless optimism and metaphors about bridges.”
He’d put a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Useless? Bridges connect people!”
“Bridges collapse under weight,” she fired back.
“That’s very anti-bridge of you,” he said, eyes sparkling.
She’d groaned, muttering something about regretting higher education. He’d laughed so hard he couldn’t stop smiling through their entire presentation, which somehow still got them an A.
Outside of class, it was the same. She’d catch him balancing snacks on his tray in the cafeteria and hiss, “You’re going to drop that,” right before he successfully didn’t.
She’d glare when he waved at her from across the quad like an overgrown golden retriever.
She’d mutter, “Go away,” when he popped into study groups uninvited, only to find herself bickering with him for thirty minutes straight.
And Yunho—every single time—felt his chest warm. She thought she was keeping him at arm’s length, but he saw through it. She wouldn’t argue so fiercely if she didn’t care enough to engage.
Cute, cute, cute.
By the end of the year, he’d stopped pretending it was anything else. He liked her. He liked the spark in her eyes when she thought she had the winning retort. He liked the way she bit the inside of her cheek when she was trying not to laugh at him. He liked how seriously she took things, even when she swore she didn’t.
He liked her since day one. He just hadn’t said it out loud.
pairing + genre,, childhood!bestfriend!yunho x reader, fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, slight angst if you squint, each timestamp represents a memory (written in a linear timeline)
a/n,, just had a sudden burst of urge to write this :) & i wanted to try something new hehe
“Because of you, i laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a lot more.”
୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹
DECEMBER 5 2005 ⋆₊˚
5:30PM, Winter. By mid-afternoon, the light, once bold and golden, softened into a pale silvery haze and the shadows began to stretch lazily across the snow-blanketed playground. The air grew sharper, filled with the familiar yet unsettling tang of frost that promised to linger long after the sun has disappeared. By the time you look up again from making snow ducks, yet another day has gone by with the apartment street-lamps flickering to life. Everybody has gone home now. It was just you and another boy. He was crouched near his army of snow ducks, wearing a thick navy parka dusted with flecks of snow. Even with his rosy cheeks and reddened fingertips, he was carefully adjusting the wing of a snow duck. You eyed his every move, but he must have felt it. “Still here?” He said, without looking up. You flinched, ears reddening, “I-I didn’t mean to stare!” He put down his duck maker and walked over, boots crunching loudly against the packed snow. Reaching out a hand, he said “I’m Yunho, I’m turning six this year, let’s become friends” After the brief and awkward exchange of names, there you were, kneeling beside him, scooping up fresh snow, transforming the playground into a battleground. And on that very night, the snow ducks stood as silent witnesses to the beginning of something new — a friendship forged in the harsh December winter.
APRIL 17 2008 ⋆₊˚
2:14PM, Spring. The Spring season had just begun. The rain came down in relentless sheets, pounding against the school roof, turning the courtyard into a mirror of rippling puddles. While everybody padded off under their multi-coloured umbrellas, you stood there squatting at the front gate, clutching your bag to your chest. Your umbrella. You'd forgotten it. Again. You were nine back then, so instead of running in the rain, your hands tightened against the grip on your bag, vision blurring - not just from the rain, but from the hot sting of tears welling up at the prospect of not being able to make it home. "Forgot something, didn't you?" the sudden voice made you jump, turning to see yunho standing there, his slightly taller frame partially blocking the rain. His dark hair was damp from the drizzle, and he wore his usual dimple smile. "I-I..." your voice wavered, you didn't know why the tears were threatening to spill over. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to tilt the umbrella over the both of you. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to cry over something like this, I've got you." Both of you walked side by side, the small umbrella forcing you closer together. He held it high enough to shield you, though his shoulder was starting to get wet. "You're getting soaked, Yunho." He shrugged, "I'll live. What matters is getting you home dry."
OCTOBER 23 2012 ⋆₊˚
8:16PM, Autumn. You were both 13 now. By then, Yunho had grown a head taller than you and you no longer could tease him about his height. "Happy birthday, dummy." You grinned, holding out a small, slightly crumpled box wrapped in bright blue paper. Yunho blinked, staring at the box in your hands. "I saved up. I know how much you wanted it, so...yeah." Yunho took the box and tore into the wrapping, his clumsy fingers fumbling with the tape. Inside was a red baseball cap, one he'd been eyeing in the baseball store for weeks. For a moment, Yunho was speechless. "This is... really cool, holy shit you're the best!" You lit the candle, his face glowing in the flickering light, softening the sharp lines he was starting to grow into. "Now make a wish, birthday boy." He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out the candle in one breath. "What'd you wish for, hm?" You teased, nudging his arm. "Can't tell you," he said, leaning back on his hands. "But... I think it already came true."
JUNE 26 2015 ⋆₊˚
4:26PM, Summer. You’ve just gotten the news of Yunho’s successful audition. There’s a burst of hurt in your chest, dazzling and gnawing. You know you should be happy for him for pursuing his dreams but your face burns and so do your eyes, knot thick in your throat. Before you know it, you are slipping off your shoes in front of his doorstep, fighting the internal battle to will back tears. yunho’s brows shoot up when he opens the door to your face crumpling. One look at his face was enough to send the water crashing down. Had it not been Yunho, you’d feel like an attention seeker, but you held him tight, so tight against your chest as if you were afraid of him slipping away from your grip. Without question, he swept you up into his arms, huge warm hand running up and down your back. How much has he grown? Was his hands always this big? Were you always this small? He kept you there for a long moment, before peeling himself off of you to look at your face. Your breath was still hitching unevenly, coming in shallow, jagged gasps that caught painfully in your throat. Each inhale was sharp and shaky, as though you were trying to draw air through a tangled knot in your chest. You stared at him red-eyed, snot running from your nose. He looked you straight in the eye, mumbling “I will never ever leave you. I’ll be back in no time. Pinky-promise?” and that made you feel a whole lot better.
DECEMBER 5 2018 ⋆₊˚
5:30PM, Winter. Three years had passed since then. It might have been the nostalgic faint scent of frost lingering in the air or even the all too familiar row of wooden benches that got you squatting at the edge of the playground, cold biting at your cheeks. But there it was. Your eyes landed on an abandoned yellow snow duck maker in the middle of the playground and it was enough to send memories rushing back into your head. Every detail was painful, really — the spot under the slide where Yunho used to make his snow ducks with you, the echo of laughter that once filled the air, and the way your heart had felt so much at ease. A lump formed in your throat, tightening again with each passing second. Your chest ached and your vision blurred just like it once did on an April afternoon back in 2008. Your lips quivered, tears threatening to break through again. You hated how weak you were.
“You’re always crying”
You looked up and your breath hitched. There he was. Yunho. His face was the same yet completely different — the soft plump boyish roundness now replaced by sharper angles. The way he carried himself changed too,, his lanky frame filled out, movements steady and confident, no longer the awkward shuffle of the boy you remembered. Yet, all it took was his smile to catch the faint glimpse of the boy you used to know — that damn dimple.
Your heart froze for a moment before it began to race uncontrollably. "Yunho..." You blinked, as if your mind was trying to reconcile the boy from your memories with the man standing before you. "You're really just gonna squat there and cry in front of me?" he teased, stepping closer. "Some things never change."
You hastily wiped off the stinging tears in your eyes, too embarrassed to face him, sniffling. "I wasn't crying" you muttered defensively, though your shaky voice and tear-stained cheeks said otherwise. He squatted beside you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. “Miss me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, your chest tightening as the weight of his presence filled the air between you.
"Then kiss me." he whispered.
Your breath hitched again, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you, the snowy evening wrapping around you just like that same day you’ve met him for the first time. And before you could think, before you could second-guess, your heart answered for you.
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the space between us three (jyh) | series masterlist
⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.
⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader
⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut
⇢general warnings: cussing, mature language, slice of life, insecurities, anxiety and trauma from past events, death/mentions of death and tragic accidents, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, complex relationships, growing pains, etc. - individual warnings for each chapter will be included
⇢release: coming soon ! 11.29.24
⇢a/n: hi! i know we dearly love our pmylm!yunho but i'm bringing a new yunho to the plate - one i think you'll equally adore. i'll be working on this alongside of wildfire next - idk why this comeback is also giving single dad yunho of a pre-teen so here i am lol hope to release it soon and i hope you all enjoy it <33
i don't usually read single parent genres for my own reasons but recently, i've been trying to give chances to tropes that i wouldn't read usually. and once again, this did NOT disappoint!! the storyline went at the right pace and we got to explore both yunho and y/n's sides well. seora's character added to the depth and meaning to both characters and i love this series very much in general! thank you author!
SUMMARY: headcannon if jeong yunho becomes your husband
AUTHOR'S NOTES: hii ! sorry for the slow update , this is a small gift since i truly think yunho fits the husband material :’-)
MASTERLIST
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who loves slow mornings with you. He wakes up before you just to admire your face for a few minutes before you wake up. When he has the time, he’d make breakfast for the two of you then come back to the bedroom to wake you up, even though he’d climb back to bed because of your puppy eyes asking him to stay for “5 more minutes.”
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who refuses to let you carry anything even if it’s lightweight.
You had just finished grocery shopping and insisted on carrying a few bags yourself. However, the second Yunho see you carrying those bags, he carefully takes the bags from both of your hands.
“I’ve got it, it’s okay,” you said.
He scoffed while carrying the bags, “what kind of a husband am I to let my wife carry heavy things?”
You laughed under your breath, “Jeong Yunho, they’re not even that heavy.”
“Honey, just let me take care of it, okay?” he leaned down kissing your forehead.
You smiled quietly and raised your hands in surrender, “alright then, don’t whine at me if your hands start to hurt.”
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who can’t live without physical affection. Whenever you’re walking on the streets together, he’d casually place his hand on your lower back gently rubbing it. He intertwines your fingers while watching TV. He even pulls you onto his lap while he’s reading, one hand holding his back and the other caressing you by the waist.
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who still gets ridiculously excited over calling you his wife.
The two of you had stopped by a small cafe on your day off, when you approached the counter, a staff member smiled politely, “is this order together?”
Yunho nodded without hesitation, “Yeah.” He said while glancing at you with the softest smile, “It’s for my wife.”
“Your wife?” you repeated once you were seated.
He looked at you in confusion, “Yeah?”
You giggled, “you sounded really happy saying that.”
“I am,” he sipped his coffee silently.
You laughed in disbelief, “You’ve been calling me your wife for two years.” You looked at his eyes, smiling sheepishly, “somehow it still feels brand new everytime.”
“Well, I just like saying it,” he admitted.
You giggled before continuing sipping your coffee, “you’re cute.”
“So are you,” he reached his fingers across the table to intertwine your fingers with his. “..My wife.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, gently nudging his feet under the table, “you’re never gonna get tired of that, are you?”
He smiled proudly, “Never in a million years.”
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who always drives with one hand resting on your thigh. It wasn’t intentional, it’s just second nature. He just naturally reaches for you whenever you're sitting in the passenger seat beside him, absentmindedly circling your thigh with his thumb while you talk about your day to him.
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who still gets distracted by how pretty you are. You’ll be ranting about your day or gossiping about your friends over dinner when he suddenly smiles to himself. “What?” you’ll ask, think that he’s not listening to you when in fact he’s admiring you. “Nothing,” he’ll grin. “I just really like looking at you.”
✶⋆.˚ HUSBAND!YUNHO who loves slow dancing with you in the living room for no reason at all.
You’re folding laundry on the floor, in front of the couch, while Yunho half-listens to the music playing faintly in the background.
Then, he suddenly stands up.
You look up at him, “where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he says casually before holding out his hand to you.
You blink, “what?”
“Dance with me,” he smiled.
You shrugged, “I don’t know how to dance.”
He laughed softly, "That's the point, just follow the rhythm.”
You sighed but still took his hand. The moment you stand, he pulls you closer by the waist while the other gently holds yours. No rush, just swaying to the rhythm slowly as if the world only revolves around the two of you.
“You always do this,” you murmured quietly.
“Do what?” he tilted his head.
“Steal me when I'm busy.”
He smiles, “your existence is better here.”
You roll your eyes but you don’t move away. After a few sways, his grip around you tightens just a little.
“Stay a bit longer,” he says softly.
You look up at him, “you always say that.”
“And you always stay,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
The two of you just keep swaying slowly in the middle of the living room, while Yunho holds you like time doesn’t matter at all.
│synopsis: when you fall ill with a nasty cold, your roommate Mingi takes it upon himself to play matchmaker, inviting his best friend Yunho over to take care of you
│genre: friends to lovers, fluff, failed attempt on comedy
│trigger warnings: mature themes, mature language, mingi is gay, mingi plays cupid, mild illness descriptions, mild suggestive, reader is shorter than yunho
│words: 6.7 k
│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.
│requested prompts are bold
!minors do not interact!
— hi there, my lovely people! this request has been sitting in my inbox since before my hiatus, and i'm finally posting it now! i'm really happy with how it turned out, and honestly, i like it so much! the writing process was a lot of fun, and i'm excited to share it with you! enjoy!
love, mon ♡
You were sprawled across your bed, your body feeling heavy and drained as you reached for yet another tissue from the rapidly diminishing pack. Your nose, red and irritated from constant wiping, continued its relentless dripping, while your muscles ached with a dull, persistent soreness.
The cold wasn't unbearable, but it was certainly taking its toll. It left you feeling slightly drained, your energy sapped, yet it was still within the realm of manageable discomfort. You couldn't help but loathe being sick; the inconvenience, the discomfort, and the forced inactivity all grated on your nerves. But you knew that getting plenty of rest was the best way to get better quickly. It wasn't just helpful - it was necessary to fight off the cold. The prospect of lying in bed for days wasn't appealing, but you knew it was the quickest way back to feeling like yourself again.
With a soft groan, you rolled to the other side of the bed, your hand fumbling for your phone charger. As you reached for it, you also grabbed a throat lozenge from the nightstand, hoping it would soothe the persistent tickle in your throat. Just as you were about to pop the lozenge into your mouth, a flash of color caught your eye. Peering through the crack in the door, you spotted a tuft of vibrant red hair. You raised your eyebrow, focusing your bleary eyes on the familiar sight. It was none other than Mingi, your best friend and roommate, apparently hovering just outside your door. His presence, both unexpected and comforting, brought a small smile to your face despite your illness-induced misery.
"What's up, Mings?" you asked, slightly lifting your head from the pillow to see him better.
Mingi stood in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically nervous. His hair was styled carefully, his locks falling softly onto his eyebrows and glasses. He was wearing a pink, oversized sweater, and loose light jeans that complemented his tall frame. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sweater as he spoke. "I was just thinking that maybe I shouldn't be leaving you all alone when you're sick?" he said, scratching the back of his neck as he looked at you with concern in his eyes.
You rolled your eyes at him playfully. "We've already talked about this. You've been waiting forever for this guy to ask you out, so please, for the love of God, just go on that date already!" Mingi stepped into your room, his fingers now fidgeting with his rings nervously. You sighed, recognizing the signs of his anxiety. "Are you trying to find an excuse not to go?" you asked, pushing yourself up to sit on your bed. You patted the spot next to you, inviting him to sit. As Mingi hesitantly made his way over, you couldn't help but notice the conflict evident in his expression. Despite your own discomfort from the cold, you felt a surge of concern for your friend.
Mingi finally sat down beside you, he cleared his throat before speaking "What if I mess it up? What if he realizes I'm not as cool as he thought I was?" His eyes darted around, avoiding your gaze.
"Mings, you're overthinking this," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "He asked you out because he likes you, just as you are. Besides, you're plenty cool – even when you're being a total dork." You reached out and gave Mingi's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Listen, I know first dates can be nerve-wracking, but remember, he's probably just as nervous as you are. Just be yourself, Min. That's who he wants to see." You paused, a small sneeze interrupting your pep talk. "And hey, if it doesn't go well, you can always come back here and we'll binge-watch your favorite show together, okay?"
Mingi's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he continued, his eyes fixed on your carpet, unable to meet your gaze. "It's just that he's so... cool, you know? Like, effortlessly cool, handsome, and kind of intimidating," he started, his words coming out in a rush. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "And then there's me. Just... plain old me. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary. I can't help but wonder why someone like him would even be interested in someone like me."
You felt a pang of sympathy for your friend. Despite his vibrant personality and kind heart, Mingi had always struggled with self-doubt. "Hey, look at me," you said gently, waiting for Mingi to meet your eyes. "You're amazing just as you are. Your quirkiness, your passion for music, your terrible jokes—that's what makes you you. And that's exactly why he asked you out." You paused, squeezing your best friend's arm reassuringly once again, before continuing, "Trust me, Mingi, you've got so much to offer. Just be yourself and let him see the amazing person I know you are."
As you finished your pep talk, you suddenly felt the urgent need to blow your nose. You reached for a tissue and let out a loud, honking blow. Mingi's face scrunched up in a mix of amusement and mild disgust. "Alright, Miss Therapist," Mingi said, standing up with a dramatic flair. "I think I'll head out before I catch that disgusting virus of yours." He started walking towards the door, a small smile playing on his lips despite his earlier nervousness.
You watched as Mingi bent down to put on his shoes, his movements more confident now. As he straightened up, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "You know what?" Mingi said, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of playful determination and newfound confidence. "If I'm going on this date, then I think it's about time you finally asked Yunho out."
Your eyes widened in surprise, and you felt an immediate rush of heat flood your cheeks. The mere mention of Yunho's name sent your heart into a flutter, "W-what? Yunho? I don't... I mean, I..." you stammered, suddenly finding the pattern on your bedspread fascinating.
Mingi's grin widened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, come on, Y/N. You can't seriously think you've been hiding it well. I've seen the way you look at him - it's like he hung the moon and stars just for you. Plus, you get all flustered and tongue-tied every time he's around. It's actually quite entertaining to watch."
You buried your face in your hands, your embarrassment compounded by your illness-induced flush. "Is it that obvious?" you mumbled through your fingers.
"Only to everyone with functioning eyes," Mingi teased, his voice softening slightly. "But don't worry, I think it's absolutely adorable that you have such a massive crush on my best friend. It's like watching a rom-com in real life."
You groaned loudly, dramatically falling back onto your pillow and pulling the covers up to hide your burning face. "Just go on your date already," you said, your voice barely audible through the layers of blankets. "Leave me here to die of embarrassment in peace."
Mingi chuckled, the sound warm and affectionate. "Alright, alright. I'll go, but don't think for a second that this conversation is over, Y/N! We're definitely revisiting this topic when I get back."
As Mingi turned to leave, a mischievous idea suddenly popped into your head. Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't resist the urge to turn the tables on him. With a grin you suddenly shouted, "I know you shaved your butthole! No sex on the first date!" just as Mingi's hand reached for the doorknob.
The effect was instantaneous. Mingi froze mid-motion, his hand hovering over the handle as if suddenly paralyzed. Slowly, almost comically, he turned back to face you, his eyes as wide as saucers and his cheeks rapidly turning a shade of red that rivaled his vibrant hair. For a long moment, he stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, struggling to form coherent words. "I... You... How did you...?" he sputtered. Then, as if suddenly remembering how to function, he pointed an accusing finger at you, his expression a mix of shock, embarrassment, and grudging amusement. "You're terrible, you know that? Absolutely, fucking terrible!"
Despite your congested state and the persistent tickle in your throat, you couldn't help but burst into laughter at Mingi's priceless reaction. Your amusement quickly turned into a coughing fit, but the utterly flabbergasted look on his face made it all worthwhile. "Just go on your date, you adorable dork," you managed to say between coughs, waving him off.
Mingi shook his head, a complex mixture of embarrassment, amusement, and fondness playing across his features. "You're lucky you're sick, or I'd get you back for that comment right now," he said, finally gathering enough composure to open the door. "Get better soon, you little bitch! And don't think I won't remember this!" As the door closed behind him, you flopped back onto your pillow, still giggling despite your stuffy nose and sore throat. The brief exchange had momentarily lifted your spirits. You made a mental note to tease Mingi more about this later, once you were feeling better.
You hadn't even noticed when you fell asleep in the middle of scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The sudden chime of the doorbell jolted you awake, leaving you disoriented and groggy. How long have you been sleeping? Confusion set in as you tried to gather your thoughts. Did Mingi forget his keys? But he rarely did that. Or was he back already? That seemed unlikely given how nervous he'd been about his date. Your foggy mind raced through possibilities as you struggled to sit up, your body still heavy with sleep and illness. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. With a groan, you pushed yourself out of bed, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders like a cape. Your legs felt wobbly as you made your way to the door, your heart racing with a mix of curiosity. You reached for the handle, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
As the door swung open, you found yourself face to face with Yunho. His tall frame filled the doorway, and his warm brown eyes were filled with concern. Your heart skipped not just one, but several beats in quick succession, and you felt an intense warmth spread across your cheeks.
"Y/N! I hope I'm not bothering you," Yunho said, his voice gentle. The familiar timbre of his words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, momentarily distracting you from your stuffy nose and aching muscles. "I heard you were feeling sick, so I made you some soup." he continued, a hint of shyness creeping into his voice. He held up a sizable container, "It's my grandma's special recipe, it's worked wonders for me whenever I've been sick. I swear, it's like magic in a bowl."
You blinked rapidly, momentarily stunned into silence by his incredibly thoughtful gesture. A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in your chest, momentarily overshadowing your illness. "Yunho, I... you really didn't have to go through all this trouble," you finally managed to say, your voice slightly hoarse and barely above a whisper.
He smiled then, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes, causing them to crinkle adorably at the corners. The sight made your heart do a little flip in your chest. "But I wanted to, Y/N. Taking care of you... I mean, helping you feel better is important to me," he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Do you think I could come in for a bit? I just want to make sure you're okay and maybe heat up this soup for you."
You hesitated for a moment, your illness-addled brain struggling to process the situation. But as you looked into Yunho's earnest eyes, you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with your fever. "Of course," you heard yourself say, stepping aside to let him in. "I'd love some company, actually." As Yunho entered, you couldn't help but feel that maybe being sick wasn't so bad after all. Yunho busied himself in the kitchen, and you found yourself trailing off, a question forming on your lips. "How did you know I was...?" you started your voice raspy from your cold.
Yunho glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Well, Mingi called," he explained, turning to face you, "He was feeling pretty guilty about leaving you like that."
'This little bitch,' you thought to yourself. You tried to compose yourself, suddenly acutely aware of your disheveled appearance. Your oversized hoodie was rumpled beyond repair, and you could only imagine the state of your hair. A wave of self-consciousness hit you as you realized that you never wanted Yunho to see you like this in the first place. You ran a hand through your tangled hair, attempting to smooth it down, all while silently cursing Mingi for his well-intentioned meddling. Despite your embarrassment, a small part of you couldn't help but feel touched by Yunho's kindness.
"Hey, Y/N? I can't seem to find a pot. Where do you keep them?" Yunho’s question snapped you back to reality, and you felt a rush of embarrassment at the thought of him rummaging through your kitchen drawers.
"Oh! Sorry, they're in the cabinet above the sink," you answered, your voice still a bit raspy. You scooted over to help Yunho, determined to reach the pot yourself. However, as you approached the cabinet, the upper drawers seemed to tower above you, mockingly out of reach. Undeterred, you stretched up on your tiptoes, your fingers barely grazing the cabinet door. You could feel Yunho's presence behind you, probably watching with a mix of amusement and concern. Stubbornly, you extended yourself further, managing to hook your fingers onto the rim of the cabinet. As you strained to reach for a pot, you suddenly felt a bit lightheaded - likely a combination of your fever and the sudden vertical movement. Your balance wavered slightly, and you instinctively tightened your grip on the cabinet, determined not to embarrass yourself further in front of Yunho.
Just as you felt yourself starting to sway, you heard Yunho's deep voice behind you, tinged with a mix of amusement and concern. "I can't help you if you won't let me."
Before you could respond, you felt his warm presence directly behind you. His chest was almost touching your back as he effortlessly reached over your head, easily grasping the pot you had been struggling to reach. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, and you were suddenly very aware of how small you felt next to him. As he lowered the bowl, his other hand gently steadied you by your waist. "Easy there," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear. "We don't want you falling and getting even sicker, do we?"
You turned to face him, your cheeks burning - though whether from embarrassment, your fever, or Yunho's closeness, you couldn't quite tell. "Thanks," you managed to mumble, taking the pot from his hands. Your fingers brushed against his, and you felt a jolt of electricity at the contact.
Yunho's eyes crinkled with a soft smile. "Anytime. Now, how about you sit down and let me take care of the rest? Doctor's orders." Despite your stubbornness, you found yourself nodding. You placed the pot on the stove, and moved towards the couch, secretly grateful for his care and attention.
As you settled onto the couch, you pulled out your phone from your hoodie's pocket. Your fingers flew across the screen as you typed out a message to Mingi:
You: You absolute little shit. Why the fuck would you send Yunho over?! I look like a zombie raccoon that's been hit by a truck. I swear I'm going to kill you... right after I thank you. Maybe. If I'm feeling generous. Which I'm not right now. 🤬😤💀
You hit send, a mix of embarrassment, anger, and reluctant gratitude swirling in your chest. Despite your annoyance, you couldn't help but smile a little at Mingi's well-intentioned meddling.
Your phone buzzed almost immediately with Mingi's replies:
Mingi: You're welcome, you ungrateful bitch! 😘 Have fun with your sexy doctor. I, on the other hand, will be getting my guts rearranged tonight. So don’t wait for me! Too bad you can't ride that Yunho rollercoaster because of your cold, but hey, at least you've got him to role play with you! 😉
Mingi: Remember, the best way to sweat out a fever is vigorous physical activity. I'm sure he can help with that. 😮💨
You: I told you no sex on the first date!!! I hope his dick is small and he can't fuck!!! 😤
You smirked as you sent the message, feeling a mix of satisfaction and lingering embarrassment. Your attention was quickly drawn back to the kitchen as you heard the clatter of utensils and the gentle simmering of soup. Your phone buzzed again, but before you could check Mingi's response, you heard Yunho's voice from the kitchen. "Soup's ready! Are you comfortable out there?"
You quickly pocketed your phone, your playful argument with Mingi momentarily forgotten as you focused on the care and attention Yunho was showing you. "Yeah, I'm comfortable," you called back, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions.
Yunho appeared a moment later, carefully carrying a steaming bowl. He set it down on the coffee table in front of you with a flourish. "Here you go! My grandma's secret recipe. It'll have you feeling better in no time." You smiled gratefully, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the soup. The liquid was a murky brown color, with unidentifiable chunks floating in it. You hesitated for a moment, then brought the spoon to your lips. As soon as the soup touched your tongue, you had to fight the urge to spit it out. It was... terrible. The taste was a bizarre mix of overly salty and oddly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste that clung to your palate. You swallowed hard, trying to keep a neutral expression on your face. Yunho was watching you expectantly, his eyes bright with hope. "Well? How is it?" You opened your mouth, ready to lie through your teeth, when a chunk of something chewy and unpleasant slid down your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you started coughing and spluttering. "Oh no," Yunho said, his face falling. "Is it that bad?"
With tears in your eyes from the uncomfortable coughing session, you shook your head. "No, it's... it's good," you stammered, trying to catch your breath.
Yunho's concerned expression softened slightly, but doubt still lingered in his eyes. "Are you sure? You don't have to pretend if it's not good. I know my cooking skills aren't the best..."
You felt a pang of guilt at his crestfallen look. Despite the soup's awful taste, you couldn't bear to hurt his feelings when he had gone out of his way to take care of you. "Really, it's fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "It just went down the wrong way. I'm sure it'll help me feel better in no time." Yunho's face brightened at your reassurance, and you steeled yourself to take another spoonful of the concoction. As you raised the spoon to your lips, you silently prayed that your taste buds would miraculously adjust to the flavor. After all, how bad could it be if it came from a grandmother's recipe? But as you brought the spoon closer to your mouth, your stomach churned in protest. The pungent aroma wafting from the soup made your nostrils flare, and you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Your hand trembled slightly, and you realized you simply couldn't force yourself to take another bite. Lowering the spoon back into the bowl, you looked up at Yunho with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Yunho. I really appreciate you making this for me, but… it tastes fucking terrible.’’
Yunho chuckled and quickly covered his lips with his hand, trying to compose himself. "Fuck, I'm sorry... I know I'm not the best cook but—" he trailed off, unable to contain his laughter. You couldn't help but join in, your own laughter bubbling up despite your illness. The tension in the room dissipated as you both giggled, the terrible soup becoming a shared joke between you. "I guess I won't be winning any cooking competitions anytime soon," Yunho said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Maybe stick to dancing," you teased, feeling more at ease now that the truth was out. "But seriously, thank you for trying. It means a lot."
Yunho's smile softened. "Anytime. How about we order some real food instead?"
You smiled weakly at Yunho, "Actually, I'm not really that hungry," you admitted, your stomach still unsettled from the combination of your cold and the attempt at soup. "But thank you for offering."
Yunho's expression shifted to one of concern. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have realized you might not have much of an appetite. Is there anything else I can do to help you feel better?"
You felt a warmth in your chest at his genuine care. "Just having you here is nice," you said softly, then quickly added, "But maybe we could watch a movie or something? If you're not too busy, that is."
Yunho's face lit up with a gentle smile. "That sounds perfect. I've got nowhere else to be. Let's find something light and fun to watch, okay?" You settled back into the couch, pulling your blanket closer around you as Yunho grabbed the remote. As he scrolled through the movie options, you felt a strange mix of comfort and nervousness. His presence was soothing, yet you couldn't help but be hyper-aware of every move he made. You silently hoped your stuffy nose wouldn't ruin the movie experience for both of you.
As Yunho continued scrolling through movie options, your phone chimed with a series of text notifications. You glanced at the screen to see multiple messages from Mingi popping up in quick succession:
Mingi: Actually, I've given it some thought. Don't let this damn cold cock-block you! 🍆 🍆 😏😏 You and Yunho should have some fun since I’m not around! 😋
Mingi: So with that being said! Time for some vitamin D(ick)! It's scientifically proven to boost your immune system. Trust me, I'm a doctor. 🤭😎
You felt your face burning hotter than your fever as you quickly shoved your phone under a pillow, praying Yunho hadn't seen any of Mingi's increasingly explicit messages.
"Hey, I saw my name on your screen. Everything okay?" Yunho asked, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Your heart skipped a beat, realizing he had caught a glimpse of Mingi's suggestive messages.
You fumbled for words, trying to come up with a plausible explanation that wouldn't make the situation even more awkward. "Oh, it's just... Mingi being Mingi," you said with a nervous laugh, hoping to brush it off. "You know how he can be sometimes."
Yunho's lips quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, I do know. Should I be worried about what he's saying?"
You shook your head quickly, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "No, no! It's nothing. Just... silly stuff. You know him."
Yunho nodded, but his eyes held a hint of amusement. "Alright, if you say so." You felt a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment as Yunho turned his attention back to the movie selection.
As you finally settled on a movie, you found it increasingly difficult to focus on the scenes. Your eyelids grew heavy, the fatigue from your illness weighing you down. You tried to stay awake, not wanting to be rude to Yunho, but the struggle was real. His presence beside your curled-up form was both comforting and distracting. His scent, a subtle mix of clean laundry and something floral, enveloped you. It was soothing, almost lulling you further into sleepiness. You found yourself unconsciously leaning slightly towards him, drawn to his warmth and the sense of security he provided. As you fought against the encroaching drowsiness, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment. Here you were, sick and probably looking a mess, practically falling asleep on Yunho. Yet, a small part of you reveled in the closeness, in the care he was showing you. Your thoughts became increasingly fuzzy as sleep threatened to overtake you the movie fading into background noise as Yunho's presence became the most prominent thing in your awareness. Your eyelids grew heavier and you felt a gentle movement beside you. Yunho hesitantly put his arm around your shoulder, bringing your body slightly closer to him. The sudden warmth and proximity startled you into alertness, and you looked up at him questioningly.
His eyes met yours, a mix of concern and something softer, almost tender, in his gaze. "You looked like you were about to fall over," he explained softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Is this okay?"
You felt a flutter in your chest, your heart rate picking up despite your fatigue. The gesture was so gentle, so caring, that it momentarily made you forget about your illness. You found yourself nodding, a small smile tugging at your lips as you allowed yourself to relax into his embrace. "Oh... yeah, it's alright," you murmured softly, feeling a knot form in your stomach. Your heart began racing, its rapid beats echoing in your ears. The sudden closeness to Yunho, while comforting, also sparked a wave of nervous energy through your body. "But maybe it's not a good idea for me to be so close?" you almost whispered. "I wouldn't want you to get sick."
Yunho's arm tightened slightly around you, and you could feel the rumble of his soft chuckle. "Don't worry about me," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "I've got a strong immune system. Besides, taking care of you is more important right now." His words sent a warmth spreading through your chest, conflicting with the guilt you felt about potentially passing on your illness. You opened your mouth to protest again, but Yunho gently shushed you. "Just relax," he murmured, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your shoulder. You looked up at him, trying to read his face and decipher his motives. Of course, you were happy to have him so close, but this wasn't typical Yunho behavior towards you. Usually, you'd spend time together with him and Mingi, playing games or going out for drinks. On days when you felt particularly anxious, you'd retreat to your room, leaving the boys to their fun. But now, for the first time, it was truly just the two of you.
You took in his handsome features, realizing he was even more attractive up close. Relax? How could you possibly relax with your heart racing like this? How could you relax when all you could think about was closing the distance between you?
And then, in that charged moment, your body betrayed you. You sneezed. Not just a small, polite sneeze, but a loud, explosive one that sent droplets flying. You immediately covered your face with your hands, mortified.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry," you mumbled through your fingers, your face burning with embarrassment. You could feel Yunho's body shaking slightly, and when you dared to peek up at him, you saw he was trying to suppress his laughter. His laughter was contagious, and despite your embarrassment, you found yourself giggling too. The tension broke, and you both dissolved into a fit of laughter.
As your laughter subsided, Yunho wiped a tear from his eye and grinned at you. "Well, I guess that's one way to clear the air," he joked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands again. "I can't believe I just did that," you mumbled, your voice muffled.
Yunho chuckled, gently pulling your hands away from your face. "Hey, look at it this way," he said, his tone playful, "if I don't get sick after that sneeze, I'm probably immune to everything. You might have just given me superpowers."
You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous statement. "Oh yeah? What kind of superpowers are we talking about here?" you asked, playing along.
Yunho pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm... maybe the ability to detect oncoming sneezes within a five-mile radius? Or perhaps instant tissue summoning?" He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "Behold, the amazing Sneeze-Man!" His silly antics made you laugh even harder, momentarily forgetting about your embarrassment. In that moment, you felt incredibly grateful for Yunho's ability to turn an awkward situation into something light-hearted and fun.
As the laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled between you. You felt a surge of warmth and gratitude wash over you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you decided to voice your feelings. "Yunho," you started, your voice soft but steady, "I'm really happy you came."
You held your breath, heart pounding as you waited for his response. Yunho smiled softly at you, reaching for a tissue from the coffee table and gently handing it to you. "How could I not?" he replied, his voice warm and filled with an emotion you couldn't quite place. His eyes met yours, and there was a tenderness in them that made your heart skip a beat. "You're important to me, you know." The way he said it, the look in his eyes - it felt like he was hinting at something more, something deeper than just friendship.
You felt a flutter of hope in your chest, wondering if maybe, just maybe, your feelings weren't as one-sided as you'd thought. "You care about me?" you mouthed, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on your tongue, laden with hope and uncertainty.
Yunho's eyes softened, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Of course I do. Did you think I didn't?"
You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands. "I... I guess I always thought you only hung out with me because of Mingi. That you only came over to see him, and I was just... there."
Yunho's eyebrows furrowed, a look of surprise and something akin to hurt crossing his face. "What? No, that's not true at all," he said, his voice firm but gentle. He reached out, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "I come over because I want to see you, too. Mingi's my best friend, sure, but you're important to me in your own right."
You felt your heart skip a beat at his words and the intensity in his eyes. "Really?" you asked, hardly daring to believe it.
Yunho nodded, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Really. I thought you knew that. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you were just an afterthought. You're so much more than that to me." The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch in your throat. You found yourself leaning into his touch, your earlier worries about getting him sick momentarily forgotten. You must have looked dumbfounded, your mouth slightly open, as you looked at him in pure shock. Yunho giggled at your expression, gently pulling you closer until you were almost leaning straight into his chest. You gasped, your eyebrows rising in surprise. Yunho looked you straight in the eyes, a mix of amusement and tenderness in his gaze. "What?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with a hint of playfulness. The closeness between you was overwhelming, his warmth enveloping you, his scent filling your senses. Your heart raced, torn between the desire to lean in further and the lingering worry. You found yourself frozen, caught between your feelings and your concerns, as you stared into Yunho's eyes, searching for answers to questions you weren't even sure how to ask.
Yunho's expression softened, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his features. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. "Y/N," he began, his voice low and earnest, "I... I like you. And not just in a friendly way." Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could respond, Yunho continued, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "I hope that's okay. That I like you, I mean. Because I do. A lot."
Your eyes widened even further, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to form a coherent response. Your brows furrowed in surprise, your mind racing to process Yunho's confession. You felt a mix of elation and disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest. "I... I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to catch in your throat, refusing to come out. You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your gaze flickered between Yunho's eyes and his lips, your own parted in an attempt to speak. Yunho waited patiently, his eyes never leaving yours, a mix of hope and nervousness evident in his expression.
"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath, barely audible. Then, gathering all your courage, you looked straight into Yunho's eyes and said, "I like you too." The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice trembling slightly with emotion and nervousness. "I really, really like you." As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Your heart was still racing, but now it was from excitement rather than anxiety.
Yunho's face lit up with a brilliant smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm so glad," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine happiness. Yunho's arm fell from your shoulders to your waist, gently wrapping around you and pulling you closer. "So..." Yunho continued, his voice taking on a playful tone that made your heart skip a beat. "What do you think about putting some of Mingi's... unconventional health advice to the test?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing a burst of laughter to escape your lips despite your best efforts to maintain a serious expression.
You couldn't help but gasp, your hand flying to your chest in an exaggerated display of shock. "Yunho!" you exclaimed, your voice a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Don't tell me you actually read those messages!" You punctuated your words with a gentle, playful swat to his chest, your fingers lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary.
Yunho's response was to throw his head back in laughter, the sound rich and warm, filling the room and making your heart swell with affection. When he finally composed himself, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered conspiratorially, "Would it make you feel any better if I told you that our dear friend Mingi sent me an equally... enlightening set of texts?" His eyes twinkled with mischief as he pulled back to gauge your reaction, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, a mix of curiosity and amusement dancing across your features. "Oh really?" you asked, your voice laced with intrigue. "And what exactly did our Mingi have to say to you?" You leaned in closer, your eyes locked with Yunho's, eager to hear his response.
Yunho's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing against your ear. "Let's just say," he murmured, his voice low and husky, "that Mingi was very... thorough in his medical advice." He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. He cleared his throat, clearly a bit flustered. "But I think I'd rather focus on what you want, not Mingi's wild ideas."
A warmth spread through your chest at his words. Despite the playful atmosphere, there was a tenderness in Yunho's eyes that made your heart race. "And what if..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "what if I want to test Mingi's theories?"
Yunho's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and excitement flickering across his face. "Well, if that's what you want... I'm more than happy to oblige." His hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles on your skin as he gazed into your eyes, silently seeking permission. You leaned in, your heart racing with anticipation. But just as your lips were about to meet Yunho's, you felt an all-too-familiar tickle in your nose. Your eyes widened in panic.
"Oh no," you managed to whisper, before turning your head away at the last second. "ACHOO!" The sneeze erupted, loud and forceful, completely shattering the romantic moment.
Yunho jerked back in surprise, blinking rapidly. For a moment, you both sat in stunned silence, the abrupt shift from intimate to awkward leaving you both at a loss for words. Then, as if on cue, you both burst into laughter. Yunho's shoulders shook as he chuckled, while you buried your face in your hands, your giggles muffled but unmistakable.
"Well," Yunho said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, "I guess your cold isn't quite ready to let us test those theories just yet."
You peeked at him through your fingers, your face flushed with both embarrassment and amusement. "I'm so sorry," you mumbled, though you couldn't help but smile.
Yunho gently pulled your hands away from your face, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Don't be. I think it's safe to say that this is a moment we'll never forget."
As your laughter subsided, Yunho pulled you into a warm embrace. "How about we put those theories on hold for now and focus on getting you better first?" he suggested softly.
You nodded, snuggling into his chest. "That sounds perfect," you replied, feeling grateful for Yunho's understanding and care. As embarrassing as the moment had been, you couldn't help but feel that it had only brought you closer together.
♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│
synopsis : a figure skater meets a gentle dentist after a toothache, and their soft, supportive love grows alongside her skating career. With his constant encouragement, she wins Olympic gold, and then he proposes on the ice, proving he’s been her greatest victory all along.
• pairing : dentist! yunho x figure skater! reader
𓈒𓍼𓏸 wc : 7.4k
𓈒𓍼𓏸 genre : fluff, romance, slice of life, light erotica (just a little)
𓈒𓍼𓏸 warnings : 16+
♡ author's note : hey babies ! so i wrote this inspired by yunho's first dream and my first dream, and honestly, this trope has a unique dynamic that you may love ! hope u enjoy lovies and pls lmk if it's good ! <3
☆ masterlist
You first met Yunho because of a toothache.
Which, in your opinion, was one of the most unfair meet-cutes ever.
Not in a café. Not at a rink. Not in a bookstore. No. A dental clinic.
Your day off was supposed to be sacred.
No training. No drills. No coach yelling “again.” No early alarms. Just sleep, coffee, and maybe stretching if guilt won.
Instead, you woke up with a dull throb in your jaw.
You ignored it.
Figure skaters ignored pain like it was part of the job description.
By noon, it pulsed.
By two, it stabbed.
By four, you were clutching your cheek and googling emergency dentist near me like your life depended on it.
That’s how you ended up standing in front of a clean glass building with soft pastel signage and a neat little logo shaped like a smiling tooth.
You groaned.
“Of course it’s cute,” you muttered. “My suffering must be aesthetic.”
Inside, the clinic smelled faintly of mint and citrus. Calm instrumental music played, the kind that felt like it was trying to convince your body you weren’t about to be stabbed with tiny metal tools.
The receptionist smiled. “Appointment?”
You pressed your cheek. “Pain. Sudden. Urgent. I will cry if not helped.”
She nodded sympathetically. “We can fit you in. Please sit.”
You sat.
You regretted everything.
You hated dentists.
You hated the sound of drills. The sterile lighting. The way you couldn’t talk while someone examined your mouth like you were a science project.
A door opened.
“Next patient?”
The voice was warm.
Low.
Gentle.
You looked up.
And forgot about your tooth.
He was tall.
Not just tall—tall tall. The kind of tall that made doorframes look slightly concerned. Soft brown hair framed his forehead, and his eyes—
You blinked.
Kind.
That was the word.
Kind eyes.
He smiled politely. “You must be our emergency patient?”
You stared.
He tilted his head slightly, amused but patient.
You snapped back to reality. “Yes. That’s me. Emergency disaster.”
“I’m Yunho,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
Oh.
Oh no.
He had the voice of someone who read bedtime stories to children and made them believe monsters didn’t exist.
You followed him into the treatment room in a daze.
You sat in the chair.
He adjusted the light.
“You said it started today?”
You nodded.
“Sharp pain or dull ache?”
“Both,” you mumbled. “It upgraded.”
He chuckled softly.
Why was that comforting.
“Open for me?”
You opened your mouth.
Dignity left the chat.
He leaned closer, gloved fingers gentle as he tilted your chin. His touch was careful, almost apologetic, like he didn’t want to inconvenience you by examining your own teeth.
Professional, you reminded yourself. He’s professional. Stop noticing things.
His brows furrowed slightly as he checked.
“Hm.”
You froze.
Was that a bad hm.
“That’s a worried hm,” you tried to say, which came out as “Tha ah wah-ee hm.”
He laughed quietly. “Not worried. Thinking.”
He leaned back. “Looks like a small cavity that finally decided to protest. We can fix it today.”
Relief flooded you.
“No root canal?”
“No root canal.”
You nearly cried from joy.
While preparing tools, he asked casually, “So what do you do?”
You swallowed. “I’m a figure skater.”
He paused mid-motion.
Turned.
Eyes bright.
“Really?”
You nodded cautiously.
“That’s amazing.”
Not fake-polite amazing.
Real amazing.
You felt heat creep into your cheeks. “It’s… just a job.”
“It’s not just anything,” he said gently. “That takes discipline. Balance. Years of training.”
You stared.
Most people either said Wow you must be flexible or Do you know how to do backflips?
No one ever said discipline.
“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “It does.”
He smiled softly, like he understood something about you that most people missed.
“Alright,” he said, adjusting his mask. “I’ll numb the area first.”
You stiffened.
He noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”
You hesitated. “…I don’t like needles.”
His eyes softened.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised. “And I’ll tell you before I do anything. Nothing sudden. Okay?”
You nodded.
He raised the syringe slowly so you could see it. “This is the anesthetic. Small pinch. That’s all.”
You gripped the armrests.
He waited.
Actually waited.
Not rushing.
Not dismissing.
Just… there.
“You ready?” he asked.
“…Okay.”
Gentle fingers rested against your cheek, steadying you.
“Little pinch.”
It stung.
You flinched—
—and then his thumb lightly tapped your wrist.
Distraction.
Comfort.
Grounding.
It was over in seconds.
“…That wasn’t bad,” you admitted.
He grinned behind his mask. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
The procedure was quick.
You expected tension, pain, panic.
Instead—
You felt calm.
Because every movement he made was deliberate. Every tool introduction came with a soft explanation. Every adjustment came with “You okay?”
At one point he paused.
“You’re doing great,” he said.
Your heart did something embarrassing.
Why did praise from a dentist feel like winning a championship medal.
When he finished, he leaned back. “All done.”
You blinked.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That was…” you searched for the word. “…pleasant.”
He laughed. “I’ll put that on our reviews.”
You sat up slowly, still numb.
He removed his gloves.
“You should avoid chewing on that side for a few hours,” he said. “And no cold drinks until sensation returns.”
You nodded.
Neither of you moved.
The air shifted.
You didn’t know why your chest felt tight.
Maybe it was the way he looked at you—not as a patient, not as a stranger, but as someone interesting. Someone worth paying attention to.
“So,” he said lightly, “when’s your next competition?”
You blinked. “Next month.”
“I hope you win.”
It was simple.
Sincere.
No teasing. No exaggeration. Just belief.
Your throat felt weirdly tight. “…Thanks.”
You told yourself you didn’t go back because of him.
You told yourself it was responsible dental care.
Routine checkups.
Preventative maintenance.
Totally normal.
Totally professional.
Totally not because your dentist had the warmest smile you’d ever seen.
But somehow—
Your appointments kept landing on his shift.
Coincidence.
Sure.
Every time you walked in, his face lit up slightly.
“Hey, skater.”
Every time, your heart betrayed you.
Three months after your first visit, you were practicing a program when your coach clapped.
“Break.”
You glided to the barrier, breath visible in the cold air.
That’s when you saw him.
Standing near the entrance.
Tall.
Scarf around his neck.
Looking wildly out of place in a skating rink.
You blinked.
“…Yunho?”
He waved awkwardly. “Hi.”
Your brain malfunctioned.
“You… you’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you here?”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “You said your practice was today. I was curious.”
Your coach smirked from behind you.
You ignored her.
“You came… to watch me?”
He nodded.
Heat spread across your face that had nothing to do with exercise.
You stepped back onto the ice.
Your heartbeat felt different now.
Not nerves.
Not pressure.
Something lighter.
You skated.
Spun.
Jumped.
And every time you passed the boards, you saw him watching—eyes wide, completely captivated, like you were performing in an arena instead of an empty practice rink.
When you finished, you glided back, breathing hard.
“Well?” you asked.
He looked like he’d just witnessed magic.
“That,” he said softly, “was incredible.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
After practice, you sat across from him in a small café.
He stirred his drink. “I didn’t realize how intense skating is.”
You laughed. “People think it’s just sparkles and music.”
“You make it look easy.”
“It’s not.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why it’s impressive.”
You studied him.
“You really pay attention, don’t you?”
He tilted his head. “To things that matter? Yeah.”
Your chest fluttered.
It happened quietly.
Naturally.
Like it had always been heading there.
You were walking outside the café, evening air cool against your skin.
“I’m glad my tooth hurt that day,” you said suddenly.
He blinked. “Most patients don’t say that.”
You laughed softly. “If it didn’t… I wouldn’t have met you.”
He stopped walking.
Looked at you.
Really looked.
“…I was hoping you’d say something like that.”
Your breath caught.
“I wanted an excuse to see you outside the clinic,” he admitted. “But I didn’t want to cross a line.”
“You didn’t,” you said gently.
Silence.
Soft.
Warm.
Then—
“Can I take you out sometime?” he asked.
Your answer came instantly.
“Yes.”
Dating Yunho was like living inside a soft song.
He remembered things.
Your competition dates. Your favorite tea. Which ankle got sore first during winter training.
He showed up with snacks after practice.
He learned skating terminology just to understand your stories.
And when you got nervous before competitions, he held your hands and said—
“You’ve already won, you know.”
“How?”
“You love what you do. That’s the rarest victory.”
The night before your biggest event of the season, you sat beside him on a quiet bench outside the arena.
“I’m scared,” you admitted.
He squeezed your fingers. “Of what?”
“Messing up. Falling. Disappointing people.”
He turned toward you.
“You could fall ten times,” he said softly, “and I’d still think you were amazing.”
Your eyes stung.
“You’re biased.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I’m your biggest fan.”
You didn’t win first.
You placed second.
But when you stepped off the ice, breathless and shaking, he was there with a small bouquet of white flowers.
“You were beautiful,” he said.
Not your skating was.
You were.
And somehow that meant more than any medal.
Months later, you lay on his couch, head resting on his shoulder as a movie played you weren’t watching.
His fingers traced lazy circles on your wrist.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Mm?”
“Your checkup is next week.”
You laughed. “You’re dating me. Isn’t that cheating?”
“Nope,” he said. “It’s dedication to oral health.”
You snorted. “Romantic.”
“I can be more romantic,” he said.
“Oh?”
He tilted your chin gently.
Smiled.
“You still have the nicest smile I’ve ever seen.”
Your heart melted.
If someone had told you that the love of your life would be a dentist—
You would have laughed.
But love didn’t arrive dramatically.
It didn’t crash in like a storm.
It came quietly.
With gentle hands.
Kind eyes.
Soft reassurances.
And a voice that always said—
“You’re doing great.”
And somehow, with him beside you—
You always believed it.
You didn’t expect the call to come on a Tuesday.
Tuesdays were boring. Tuesdays were conditioning drills and protein bars and your coach yelling about posture.
Tuesdays were not supposed to change your life.
Your phone buzzed during your water break.
Unknown number.
You almost ignored it.
Almost.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Y/N?”
“Yes?”
“This is the national federation.”
Your stomach dropped.
Your coach froze mid-lecture across the rink.
You swallowed. “Yes?”
“We’re calling to inform you that you’ve officially qualified for the 2026 Winter Olympics.”
Silence.
Not dramatic silence.
Not cinematic silence.
Real silence — the kind where your brain shuts off because reality suddenly becomes too big to process.
“…I what?”
“You qualified.”
Your knees went weak.
Your coach was already running toward you.
“You qualified,” the voice repeated gently. “Congratulations.”
Your lips trembled.
“…Thank you.”
You hung up.
Stared at your phone.
Your coach grabbed your shoulders. “Well??”
You whispered, “I made it.”
She screamed.
You burst into tears.
Your hands shook as you dialed him.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Hey, skater.”
Your voice broke. “Yunho.”
He sat up instantly. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“I—”
You couldn’t say it.
Not because you didn’t want to.
Because you couldn’t breathe.
“I qualified,” you whispered.
Silence.
“…For what?” he asked softly, like he already knew but didn’t want to assume.
“The Olympics.”
Another silence.
Then—
“You qualified,” he repeated.
Not loud.
Not shocked.
Just… full.
Proud.
You heard him exhale slowly.
“I knew it.”
Your chest tightened. “You did not.”
“I did,” he said. “I told you before, remember?”
You remembered.
You’ve already won.
Your eyes filled again.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly. “So proud.”
You cried harder.
That night he showed up at your apartment with takeout, flowers, and a cake that said:
GO GOLD OR GO HOME
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped it.
“That’s aggressive,” you said.
“I panicked at the bakery,” he admitted. “There were too many options.”
You set the cake down. “You could’ve gotten something classy.”
“I did,” he said, pointing at himself.
You snorted.
He pulled you into a hug before you could reply.
And that was when it hit you.
Not the Olympics.
Not the pressure.
Not the expectations.
Just—
Him.
His arms around you.
His steady heartbeat against your cheek.
“I’m really going,” you whispered.
He nodded against your hair. “Yeah. You are.”
Olympic preparation was different.
Harder. Longer. Sharper.
Everything mattered now.
Your jump height. Your spin speed. Your landing edges. Your breathing. Your stamina. Your sleep.
Your stress.
Especially your stress.
Which is why Yunho became your unofficial emotional support human.
He brought meals when you forgot to eat.
He taped your ankles when they ached.
He sat quietly during late-night stretch sessions, reading while you worked.
Sometimes you’d glance up mid-stretch and find him already looking at you.
Softly.
Fondly.
Like you were something precious.
“What?” you’d ask.
“Nothing,” he’d say.
But his smile always answered.
Every athlete has one.
The day nothing works.
You fell three times.
Missed two combinations.
Under-rotated a jump you’d landed perfectly for months.
Your coach called break.
You skated off, chest tight, throat burning.
You didn’t cry at the rink.
You never cried at the rink.
But the second you got outside—
The tears came.
You didn’t even realize you’d called him until he answered.
“Hey love—”
“I’m bad,” you choked.
Pause.
Then calm.
Gentle.
“No, you’re not.”
“I couldn’t land anything today.”
“That happens.”
“I’m going to embarrass everyone.”
“You won’t.”
Your voice cracked. “You didn’t see me.”
“I don’t need to.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“I’ve seen you enough to know one bad day doesn’t define you.”
Your breathing slowed.
He continued, voice warm as sunlight:
“You’re allowed to struggle. Champions struggle. That’s how they become champions.”
You wiped your eyes.
“…Can you come over?”
“I’m already grabbing my keys.”
He didn’t ask you to talk when he arrived.
He didn’t ask what went wrong.
He didn’t analyze.
He just sat beside you on the couch and opened his arms.
You went into them immediately.
No hesitation.
No pride.
Just need.
He held you quietly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
“You’re safe,” he murmured.
And somehow—
You believed him more than you believed your own doubts.
The airport was loud.
Too loud.
Too bright.
Too everything.
Athletes milled around with luggage and gear bags and headphones and game faces.
You stood beside him near security.
Your fingers were laced together tightly.
“You’ll text me when you land?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And after practice?”
“Yes.”
“And after meals?”
You laughed softly. “Okay, mom.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I just want to know you’re okay.”
Your expression softened.
“I will be.”
He hesitated.
Then leaned down and pressed his forehead gently to yours.
“I wish I could be there.”
“You will be,” you said. “Just… not physically.”
He nodded.
Then quietly—
“Bring me back a gold medal, okay?”
You grinned. “Bossy.”
“Motivational,” he corrected.
It felt unreal.
Flags everywhere.
Languages everywhere.
Energy everywhere.
You should’ve felt intimidated.
Instead—
You felt focused.
Because every time nerves tried to creep in, you remembered Yunho’s voice.
You’re doing great.
Your room was dim.
Your skates rested beside your bed like loyal companions.
Your phone buzzed.
Yunho.
You answered instantly. “Hi.”
“How’s my Olympian?”
“Nervous.”
“Good.”
You blinked. “Good?”
“Nerves mean you care.”
You smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.”
“I practice speeches in the mirror,” he said seriously.
You giggled.
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Warm.
“Y/N?” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
“No matter what happens tomorrow… I’m proud of you.”
Your throat tightened.
“…Thank you.”
“And,” he added, “I’ll be watching live. So don’t fall.”
You gasped. “YUNHO.”
He laughed.
Your tension melted.
The arena lights were blinding.
The crowd was thunder.
Your name echoed.
You stepped onto the ice.
Cold air kissed your skin.
Blades touched the surface.
And suddenly—
Everything went quiet.
Not literally.
Just inside you.
Because you heard it.
That voice.
Warm. Steady. Certain.
You’re doing great.
Music began. You moved. One step. One glide. One jump. Landed. Spin. Transition. Combination. Landed. Applause swelled.
You didn’t think. Didn’t doubt. Didn’t hesitate.
You just skated. Flew. Lived. Felt. Every hour of training. Every fall. Every bruise. Every early morning. Every whispered encouragement. Every soft “I believe in you.”
It all carried you.
Final pose.
Music ended.
Silence—
Then the arena exploded.
Scoreboards were cruel.
You sat in the kiss-and-cry area gripping your coach’s hand.
Breathing shallow.
Screen flashed.
Numbers appeared.
You blinked.
Your coach screamed.
You stared.
1
First.
First place.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t process.
“…I won?” you whispered.
Your coach was crying. “YOU WON.”
You covered your mouth.
The world blurred.
Back home, Yunho was standing in front of his TV.
Still.
Silent.
Eyes shining.
When your score appeared—
He laughed.
Not loudly.
Not wildly.
Just softly.
Proudly.
“That’s my girl,” he whispered.
The medal was heavier than you expected.
It rested against your chest, cool metal warming against your skin.
Cameras flashed.
Crowds cheered.
Anthem played.
But all you could think was—
I want to show him.
You didn’t even take off your skates before calling.
He answered instantly.
“Hi, champion.”
You burst into tears.
“I did it.”
“I know.”
“I did it, Yunho.”
“I know.”
You laughed through tears. “You sound calmer than me!”
“I’m trying not to scream and scare my neighbors.”
You sniffled. “You watched?”
“Every second.”
Silence.
Then softly—
“You were breathtaking.”
Your heart fluttered.
“…Come see me when I get back?”
He smiled through the phone. “Try and stop me.”
When you landed, the terminal was crowded.
Fans. Media. Officials.
You barely saw any of them.
Because you saw him.
Standing behind the barrier.
Tall.
Bright-eyed.
Holding a sign that read:
WORLD’S BEST SKATER (AND MY FAVORITE PERSON)
You laughed.
Ran to him.
He caught you easily, lifting you slightly off the ground.
“You did it,” he murmured into your hair.
“You believed I would.”
“Of course I did.”
You pulled back and placed the medal around his neck.
“For you.”
His eyes widened. “Y/N—”
“You’re part of this,” you said softly. “Every step.”
He swallowed.
Then gently took it off and put it back on you.
“No,” he said. “It belongs here.”
His fingers brushed your collarbone as he adjusted it.
“And I belong right beside you.”
That night you lay beside him, medal resting on the bedside table.
Your fingers traced his hand lazily.
“Yunho?”
“Mm?”
“If my tooth never hurt that day…”
He smiled sleepily. “Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t have met you.”
He squeezed your hand.
“Then I guess,” he murmured, “that cavity was fate.”
You laughed softly.
And as sleep pulled you under, his thumb brushed gentle circles against your skin—
Just like it always had.
Steady.
Warm.
Certain.
Just like him.
You noticed it three weeks after the Olympics.
Yunho was acting strange.
Not bad strange.
Not distant strange.
Just… secretly glowing strange.
He smiled at his phone more.
Whispered with your coach once.
Closed tabs when you walked past.
At first you thought nothing of it.
Then he started asking questions.
Weirdly specific questions.
“What kind of rings do skaters prefer?”
“Does hand size change after training?”
“Do you like silver or gold more?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“…Why.”
He blinked innocently. “Just curious.”
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
He told you to dress warm.
That was the only instruction.
“No training clothes,” he added. “Something pretty.”
You stared. “I always look pretty.”
He smiled. “True. But today I want breathtaking.”
Your stomach fluttered.
When you arrived—
Your breath stopped.
The rink was empty.
Lights dimmed.
Soft golden lamps lined the boards.
Fairy lights twinkled along the railing like fallen stars.
In the center of the ice—
One single spotlight.
You turned slowly.
“…Yunho.”
He stood behind you, hands tucked nervously into his coat pockets.
“I rented it,” he admitted.
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
He stepped closer.
Because he was tall, when he looked at you, his gaze always dipped slightly, soft and fond like sunlight filtering through leaves.
“Because,” he said gently, “this is where you shine the most.”
Your throat burned.
He held out your skates.
“You didn’t think I’d make you dress up just to stand still, did you?”
You laughed softly through the emotion rising in your chest.
You changed.
Stepped onto the ice.
Glided.
It felt different today.
Not like training.
Not like competition.
Like floating.
Music began playing softly through the speakers — your Olympic program song.
You looked at him.
He nodded once.
You skated.
Slow. Graceful. Effortless.
No jumps. No pressure. Just movement.
Just feeling.
Just you.
When you finished, you turned toward him—
—and found him already stepping onto the ice.
Carefully.
Cautiously.
Holding something behind his back.
Your heart stuttered.
“Yunho…”
He stopped in front of you.
Close enough that you could see the tiny crease that appeared beside his eye when he was nervous.
“I practiced walking on ice for two weeks,” he confessed. “For this exact moment.”
Your lips parted.
He took a breath.
Then—
He knelt.
Your hands flew to your mouth.
He revealed the small velvet box.
Opened it.
Inside rested a delicate ring that caught the light like a captured star.
His voice was soft.
Steady.
But trembling at the edges.
“I’ve watched you fall,” he said quietly.
“I’ve watched you get back up.”
“I’ve watched you doubt yourself… and prove yourself wrong every time.”
Your vision blurred.
“I’ve watched you become the strongest person I know.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“And somewhere along the way… you became my home.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks.
“I don’t just want to watch you shine,” he whispered.
“I want to stand beside you for every performance life gives us.”
His thumb brushed your hand gently.
“Will you marry me?”
The world went silent.
Not rink silent.
Not night silent.
Heart silent.
“Yes,” you breathed.
His shoulders dropped in relief, a laugh escaping him as he slid the ring onto your finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
He knew you.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until he stood and wiped your cheek with his thumb.
“You’re crying,” he murmured.
“You proposed on ice,” you sniffled. “What did you expect?”
He smiled.
Then you grabbed his coat and pulled him down into a kiss.
Soft.
Warm.
Certain.
His hands settled instinctively at your waist, grounding you, holding you like you were something precious he never wanted to drop.
When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered.
You smiled. “Good.”
The apartment was quiet.
Snow tapped gently against the windows.
You sat on the couch facing him, still staring at your ring like it might vanish if you blinked.
“I can’t believe you planned all that,” you murmured.
He shrugged shyly. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It was,” you said. “You’re perfect.”
He laughed softly. “I’m really not.”
“You are to me.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Warmer.
Deeper.
The kind of look that always made your stomach flutter.
He reached out slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.”
Your breath caught. “Then why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to wait until you were mine forever.”
Your voice dropped to a whisper. “I was already yours.”
His eyes darkened slightly — not intense, not overwhelming.
Just full.
Full of affection.
Full of love.
Full of you.
His fingers slid gently along your jaw, tilting your face toward him.
This kiss was different.
Slower.
Softer.
Lingering.
His lips moved against yours like he was savoring the moment rather than rushing it. One hand cradled your cheek while the other rested at your waist, thumb brushing slow circles through the fabric of your sweater.
You melted into him.
The world outside faded.
All you could feel was warmth.
His warmth.
Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, holding him closer.
He pulled back just enough to murmur—
“You okay?”
You nodded softly.
Always checking.
Always gentle.
“Yunho,” you whispered.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His smile was quiet.
Certain.
“I love you too.”
He kissed you again — softer this time, like sealing a promise rather than starting a fire.
And somehow that made your heart race even more.
Later, you lay curled against his chest, his arm wrapped around you protectively.
Your ring glinted faintly in the lamplight.
His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm.
Comforting.
Steady.
Safe.
“You know,” you murmured sleepily, “all this happened because of a cavity.”
He chuckled quietly. “Best dental diagnosis of my career.”
You smiled against his shoulder.
Outside, snow kept falling.
Inside, his heartbeat thumped slow and sure beneath your ear.
And you realized—
Gold medals were nice.
Olympics were dreams.
But this?
This quiet moment, wrapped in his arms, wearing his promise on your finger—
synopsis ; seonghwa had promised to be there on your last day. promised to spend the whole day with you, but when the time came, he was nowhere to be seen. not until it was far too late.
pairing(s) ; bf!seonghwa x f!reader
☆ ── wc. ; 1.4k
☆ ── genre ; angst w/o comfort
☆ ── tw. ; empty promises, cheating(?), a lot of heartbreak, lmk if I missed anything!!
⏤͟͟͞͞ JOIN THE TAGLIST ── MASTERLIST NAVI ── MAIN NAVI
“I’ll be there at two o’clock on the dot, I promise.” That’s what Seonghwa had told you as he held his pinky out to you, and of course, you were a fool to believe him, linking your pinky with his and a hopeful smile spreading on your lips.
But now, as you stood in your favorite spot, staring at the city below you, you found that hope dwindling as the seconds passed by. It was well over half an hour after two. He was thirty minutes late and showed no signs of showing up.
Inhaling sharply, you wiped your face of any stray tears that had fallen before pulling your phone out of your bag, hoping to see a message of any kind from the dark-haired male, but of course, there was nothing. Not a single word.
“Miss, we’ll have to get going soon if you’re going to catch your flight.” The diver who stood next to the car that had just pulled up behind you spoke softly, a look of pity falling on his face as he watched you nod slowly.
“Just a little bit longer and we’ll go…” You spoke with a shaky voice as you opened your phone to call Seonghwa, hoping that he had just lost track of time and it wasn’t what you were thinking.
Dialing his number you pressed the device to your ear and waited as it rang… and rang… and rang until the line clicked followed by, “We’re sorry but the number you’re trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
It felt like your heart was being pushed through a shredder. Small, sharp blades were tearing away at the delicate organ until nothing was left but tattered pieces.
Swallowing thickly, you made the mistake of opening his social media, and there you found out why he wasn’t with you. The pictures made you want to throw up all of the contents of your stomach, tears pricking at your eyes as you swiped.
He was with his ex. His first love. The one he had told you about when you first got together, saying that she wouldn’t ever be coming back. And just like before, you were a fool to believe him.
You were going to be leaving to study abroad and wouldn’t have as much time to visit, let alone communicate with him, so you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. At first, that’s exactly what you got, and you couldn’t be happier. However, as soon as word got out that Seonghwa’s first love had returned to the country, everything started to tumble downhill.
In a fit of rage you furiously typed on your phone before posting the comment, ‘you guys look happy, I’m glad.’
Afterwards, you blocked Seonghwa and anyone that he could possibly use to get to you, as tears silently streamed down your face. Once you were finished, you opened your best friend's chat, informing her that Seonghwa had, in fact, not shown up—just like she said he would—to which she replied with reassurances and words of a safe flight.
“Miss l/n, we must be going now.” The driver spoke once more, and you nodded, shoving your phone into your bag once more and walking over to the vehicle. He opened the door for you before allowing you to step into the car and shut the door afterwards.
When he got into the car, he looked into the rearview mirror and saw you staring out the window with an expression devoid of emotion, but he could very well see the hurt in your eyes. He wanted to say something, anything to at least comfort you, but he wasn’t sure what could even be said in a moment like this. So he just let out a small sigh before putting the car into drive and driving off.
–
Seonghwa laughed loudly as he walked with Kira, her arm wrapped around his. To any ordinary outsider, it looked as if they were a couple, happily in love.
“Thank you for today, Hwa. I really needed it after a rough week.” Kira smiled sweetly at the taller male as they stopped in front of her apartment door, “I hope y/n understands.” She then added on with a faux pout, knowing that she had the man wrapped around her finger.
“It’s no problem really, and I promise that y/n will understand.” He reassured the girl before watching as she opened her door and walked inside, but stopped short to turn back.
“Did you want to come in? I can make us dinner.” Kira offered, sure that Seonghwa would give in and she’d be able to steal him away from you completely.
What she didn’t know, though, was that she already had.
Seonghwa laughed softly, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, “I would love to, but y/n is going abroad soon, and I promised I’d spend more time with her.” He explains, patting the top of Kira’s head as she pouted.
“Aw, okay. See you later then, Hwa.” She nodded eagerly, and Seonghwa nodded before bidding the girl goodbye and walking away as soon as her front door shut behind her.
With a content smile, he walked back down the road and pulled his phone out to let you know that he was on his way back to the apartment. However, his heart sank when he saw the calls and messages he had received from you.
The happiness that he once felt all dissipated into guilt and worry as it finally dawned on him what today was. Looking at the time, he knew that he was screwed, but he held on to some hope that you would still be there.
That’s when he saw your comment, and bile started to creep up the lining of his throat. He hadn’t even known that the post was made before recalling Kira using his phone momentarily while they were at the cafe.
Cursing himself, he started sprinting down the street in the direction of your guys' meet-up spot, furiously trying to call you. However, he was met with the same result every time.
“We’re sorry the number that you’re trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
He started to panic the closer he got to the location, hoping by some miracle that you would still be there waiting for him.
Once he finally reached the top of the hill, he bent down, trying to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees.
“Ah, so he finally shows his face.” A voice called out, followed by a sarcastic round of applause. Startled, Seonghwa stands straight, looking at the girl who was standing in your spot, a disgusted look covering her face.
“Youmin, what are you doing here? Where’s y/n?” Seonghwa asked, still trying to catch his breath; however, it proved futile when her words traveled to his ears.
“Oh, now you care?” She laughed bitterly, “She’s gone, Seonghwa, you would've known that if you weren’t busy with your little plaything.”
“What—”
“You promised her that you would be here at two o’clock, and she was kind enough to believe you and give you another chance,” Youmin crossed her arms over her chest, “and yet you never showed.”
Seonghwa started to panic once more, worried that he would lose you if things weren’t settled soon. Rushing up to Youmin, he grabbed her shoulders, looking down at her with wide eyes.
“You have to call y/n now, I’ll apologize, I swear. I lost track of time, and my phone was on silent.” His words came out in a rushed jumble.
Youmin scoffed, shoving his hands away from her before taking a step back. Her eyes studied the absolute look of horror that settled on his features, a strange sense of pride swelling in her chest, knowing that he was suffering the way he had made you suffer for so long.
“She’s gone, Seonghwa, and won’t be back for a long time,” She started before taking a step forward to press her finger against his chest roughly, “and it’s too late to apologize, you’ve already lost her.”
Then, with that, she walked away, leaving Seonghwa standing there in absolute disbelief. Tears started to flow from his eyes as the weight of his actions started to fall onto his shoulders.
Breaking down, he fell to his knees with a cry, begging to have another chance to make things right. To see you one last time, but it was no use.
....oh so it's really crying hours now 😭 but honestly...i think this scenario is a very fair event that would happen irl 🙂↕️ with that being said, imma go to the corner and cry a bit
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note: i don’t know what this is. just something for everyone’s obsession with yunho’s hands
[ (ateez) jeong yunho x reader ] domestic fluff, hands, | warning/s: nsfw mentions, the mildest of spice, size kink(?)
yunho’s hands never failed to make you feel something. they are big, and his fingers are quite long and slender. it didn’t matter what he was doing, your eyes would automatically fall to watch his hands. it could be something as simple as cracking his knuckles. and you’re left just simply admiring the way he applies pressure to each joint.
holding his hands gives you a feeling of security and comfort. it had soon become a habit of yours, always searching for his hands subconsciously. especially when you were feeling a bit insecure. because holding yunho’s hand made you feel like you were at home.
he doesn’t simply just hold your hand; he loops his arms around you and interlocks your fingers over the shoulder. it’s a protective gesture yet also so endearingly casual. he loves how it also allows him to be physically closer to you.
he loves it so much and gets giddy whenever you’re reaching for him, tenderly tracing over his thin veins with your fingers, always offering his hand whenever you two are on a walk somewhere. without even thinking about it, he puts a hand on your back and moves to the side where cars are passing by, all the while continuing to talk with you.
or just playfully teasing you, because that’s how he is. he loves to compare the size of his hand with yours, knowing how you like the sight of his completely covering yours (even if it’s not a big of a difference, he’ll take that chance). he’ll grab your hand and put it against his, bending his fingers down so they trap you there in his grip.
thumb wrestling was always an unfair and frustrating game to play with him. after you forcibly defeat yunho with two hands, he brings his arms around you and gives you a lot of forehead kisses. you just stare at his fingers firmly wrapped around his game controller or smoothly flying over his keyboard when he’s playing video games, it’s one of the hottest things about him.
he has many habits that unintentionally gets you riled up: stroking your hair, tucking an out-of-place strand of hair from your face to behind your ear. telling you that you’ve got food on the corner of your lip and swipes his thumb across your mouth. putting his hand on your thigh when you're sitting next to him, it's instinctual at this point.
he places one hand on your thigh while the other lazily scrolls on his phone, or when he's driving and you're in the passenger seat, he drums his fingers on your skin to the beat of the song playing on the radio while one hand is on the steering wheel.
he does this thing where he uses his index finger to lift your chin to make you look at him. it can be something as playful as making you pay your undivided attention when you’re jokingly ignoring him.
he would place his hands flat on your cheeks when you’re panicking or crying, and reminds you to breathe. you loved how his palms would cover the expanse of your jaw whilst his fingers reached into your hair, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks. the movement would calm you down, placing your hands on his wrists in hopes that would keep him in place. it would allow the warmth to seep from your cheeks to the rest of your body.
you pray yunho doesn’t notice your fixation with his hands but of course, he does. he’ll make you tell him what you like about his hands, and what you like about the things he does with those hands of his. he wants all of the details, doesn’t care if it’s mundane, or things he does when he’s feeling a certain way.
he’ll do exactly what you like with his hands so he can start incorporating those habits whenever he’s around you. he’ll hold your hands during sex if you wanted. he asks to hold your hands too when he gets overwhelmed, liking the warm feeling it gives him and squeezing your hands when you both reach your peak. also, totally someone that’ll make you suck on those fingers. oh, but he’ll purposely get some dessert on them— asking you to suck them off. it’s pretty adventurous. he starts to act on it as soon as the revelation is revealed to him.
synopsis : When your washing machine breaks at midnight, you end up at a 24-hour laundromat with a shy, overly polite stranger.
genre : slice of life, fluff, rom-com, strangers to maybe lovers, meet-cute, slow burn
warnings : none
author’s note : lately there’s been some blogs that like and reblog my post multiple times in a row 👀 i just wanna say thank yew so much this means a lot to me 🥹🫶 i hope yall will enjoy this short san fic 😋
word count : 1.5k
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You don’t believe in fate.
But if fate exists, it has a really weird sense of humor.
Because your washing machine could have broken at literally any time.
Morning. Afternoon. A respectable 7 p.m.
But no.
It started screaming at 11:38 p.m.
Not making noise. Literal screaming.
Like it had developed consciousness and chosen violence.
You stood there in your pajamas, holding a dripping T-shirt, staring at it in betrayal.
“I have treated you well,” you said quietly.
It rattled in response.
So now you’re here.
At a 24-hour laundromat two blocks from your apartment.
It’s nearly midnight. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The vending machine in the corner hums ominously. There’s a single plastic chair that looks like it has witnessed things.
You drag your laundry basket inside with the energy of someone who has lost an argument with life.
The bell above the door jingles.
The place is mostly empty.
Except—
There’s someone else here.
A guy.
He’s standing in front of one of the washers, reading the instruction sticker like it’s a contract he legally needs to understand.
He looks… serious about it.
Like, really serious.
He leans closer. Squints slightly. Nods to himself.
You pause.
He’s tall. Soft black hair falling into his eyes. Dressed simply — hoodie, loose sweats. He looks like he belongs in a quiet coffee shop at 4 p.m., not a laundromat at midnight.
You quickly look away before he catches you staring.
You are not here to fall in love.
You are here to wash socks.
Focus.
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─────────
You choose a machine two spaces away from him.
You aggressively shove your clothes in.
The machine door refuses to close.
You shove harder. Still no.
You glare at it.
“Don’t test me,” you mutter.
You press your hip against it for leverage.
Nothing.
You try rearranging.
Nothing.
You sigh dramatically.
Suddenly, you hear a soft voice beside you.
“Um… excuse me.”
You nearly jump out of your skin.
He’s closer now.
Oh no.
Up close, he looks ridiculously handsome.
Soft small eyes. Gentle features. The kind of face that looks like it apologizes when someone else bumps into him.
“I— I’m really sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t mean to interrupt. It’s just… that model sometimes needs the door lifted slightly when you close it.”
You blink.
“…It does?”
He nods shyly.
“I used it earlier. It gets stuck if the hinge isn’t aligned.”
He gestures carefully, like he’s afraid the washer might bite him.
“May I?” he asks politely.
You stare at him.
He’s asking permission. To close your washing machine.
At midnight.
Why is that kind of adorable?
“Uh. Yeah. Sure.”
He steps closer.
Very carefully.
He avoids brushing against you even though there’s limited space.
He lifts the door slightly and clicks it shut smoothly.
It locks immediately.
You stare at it. Then at him.
“…Oh.”
He gives a small, bashful smile. “It’s… temperamental.”
You cross your arms.
“Unlike me,” you say.
He panics immediately.
“I— I didn’t mean— I’m sure you’re not temperamental. I mean— not that it would be bad if you were— I just meant the machine—”
You burst out laughing.
He freezes.
Like he thinks he’s done something wrong.
“You’re okay,” you say, trying to breathe. “I was joking.”
He exhales quietly.
“Oh.”
He smiles again.
And it’s soft. Small.
Like he doesn’t smile full force unless he’s sure it’s safe.
“Thank you,” you say.
“For… the door thing.”
He nods quickly. “You’re welcome.”
There’s an awkward pause.
He shifts his weight slightly.
“I’m San,” he says after a moment, like he rehearsed it internally three times before speaking.
You tell him your name.
He repeats it.
Softly. Carefully.
And something about that makes your chest feel weird.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
You both end up sitting on opposite plastic chairs while your machines run.
The laundromat hums around you.
Silence stretches.
You sneak a glance at him.
He’s looking at his phone.
But his posture is very straight. Very proper.
Like he’s afraid of accidentally taking up too much space.
There’s something painfully polite about him.
You notice he placed his laundry basket perfectly aligned with the machine. Neat. Organized.
Your basket is… chaos.
A sock is hanging off the edge.
You kick it back in.
He notices.
Immediately looks away.
Like he doesn’t want to embarrass you.
You narrow your eyes.
“You can judge me,” you say.
His head snaps up. “What?”
“My chaotic laundry situation.”
“I— I wasn’t judging.”
“You looked.”
“I was just making sure nothing fell.”
You stare at him.
He looks genuinely distressed.
You feel bad instantly.
“…I’m teasing you again,” you admit.
He pauses.
Then—
A tiny, relieved smile.
“Oh.”
He nods.
“I’m not very good at telling when people are joking,” he confesses quietly.
“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll include disclaimers.”
“Thank you.”
He says it sincerely.
Like you just did him a huge favor.
───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
─────────
Ten minutes later, disaster strikes again.
The washer beside yours starts shaking violently.
Aggressively.
You both look at it.
It gets louder. Thumping. Unstable.
It sounds like it’s about to enter orbit.
“Is it supposed to do that?” you ask.
San stands immediately.
“I don’t think so.”
The machine lurches.
You take a step back.
San, very bravely, steps closer.
He presses the stop button.
Nothing happens. The shaking continues.
You stare at him. He stares at the machine.
“…Maybe it’s excited,” you offer.
He makes a very quiet sound that might be a laugh.
Then the machine jerks hard.
He instinctively reaches for you.
Not dramatically. Not cinematic.
Just reflex.
His hand wraps gently around your wrist and pulls you a step back from the machine.
It’s protective. Instinctive.
Polite even in panic.
The washer finally slows. Then stops.
Silence.
You both look down.
He’s still holding your wrist.
Very gently.
Like he’s afraid to apply pressure.
He realizes. His eyes widen.
He lets go immediately.
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.”
“I shouldn’t have— I just didn’t want it to—”
“It’s fine.”
You’re both slightly breathless.
From fear.
Definitely not from proximity.
Definitely not.
He rubs the back of his neck shyly.
“I think it was unbalanced,” he says, clearing his throat.
“Like my life,” you reply.
He pauses.
Then—
A soft, surprised laugh.
And it’s warmer this time.
Less hesitant.
You think you might want to hear it again.
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Five minutes later, your dryer finishes.
You stand. So does he.
You walk toward the dryers at the same time.
And that’s when everything goes wrong.
You open your dryer.
Reach in.
Pull out—
A hoodie. Black.
Definitely not yours.
You freeze.
Slowly, you look to your right.
San is staring into his dryer.
Confused.
He pulls out something grey.
Your sweater.
The oversized one with the tiny stitched star near the cuff.
Silence.
You both look at each other.
Then at the clothes.
Then back at each other.
“…Oh,” he says softly.
“I think we…” you start.
“…switched dryers,” he finishes.
You stare at him holding your sweater.
It looks unfairly good in his hands.
He panics.
“I didn’t mean to touch it without asking— I mean I had to take it out of the dryer— but I didn’t mean to assume it was mine—”
“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently.
He nods.
Still flustered.
He carefully folds your sweater.
Very neatly.
Then holds it out to you with both hands.
Like he’s returning something sacred.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
You hand him his hoodie.
Your fingers brush.
And this time neither of you pull away immediately.
It’s warm. Unintentionally intimate.
You clear your throat.
“So.”
“So,” he echoes.
There’s a beat.
Then you notice something else in your basket.
You lift it slowly.
A pair of black pajama shorts.
Definitely not yours.
You look up.
San goes completely red.
“Oh.”
You blink.
“…San.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says instantly. “I didn’t realize those were still in there.”
He looks like he might evaporate on the spot.
“I can take them back.”
“You probably should.”
“Yes.”
He steps forward.
Very carefully, takes them back like they’re explosive.
You both avoid eye contact.
There’s a long pause.
Then he says, very softly—
“I’m really glad your washing machine broke.”
You look at him.
He freezes.
“I mean— not because that’s inconvenient— I just— if it hadn’t— then we wouldn’t have—”
He gestures vaguely between you.
You feel something warm bloom in your chest.
“I’m… kind of glad too,” you admit.
His ears turn red.
And he smiles shyly. Hopeful.
And somewhere between the shaking washers, the mixed-up laundry, and the late-night fluorescent lights.
Pleaseeee can I request either Jaemin or Johnny and a female reader hurt-comfort using 11,19,25 ? And for a dash of random razzle-dazzle, could it be 7th year Hogwarts au? :D
pairing. fem! ravenclaw reader x slytherin jaemin | genre. fluff, enemies to lovers | wc. 1.2k | warnings. mentions of bullying and reader injures her leg
a/n:: tbh jaemin is such a perfect slytherin! and also ppl need to ship ravenclaws and slyrherin more
The library was supposed to be your sanctuary. Quiet, orderly, and far from the petty rivalries that filled Hogwarts’ halls. But today, it had failed you.
You sat at a corner table, your face burning as you stared at the Potions essay that had been unceremoniously ruined by a flick of Ming Zheng’s wand. He was a smug Slytherin who had made it his personal mission to torment you this year just for his petty amusement.
Zheng’s voice echoed in your ears as you stared at the ink-stained parchment in front of you.
“I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart,” he’d sneered, his entourage laughing as the ink spread like wildfire across your essay. “Guess even your brains couldn’t make up for that handwriting.”
Zheng Yi wasn’t like Jaemin Na, your archnemesis. Jaemin teased you, pushed your buttons, and made your blood boil in ways you secretly enjoyed. But Zheng Yi? He was cruel. Sharp. His insults weren’t playful—they were designed to cut deep.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have a backbone. You’d always stood up to Jaemin, giving back as much as you got. But with Zheng Yi, it was different. Any attempt to fight back would only escalate things, and you couldn’t risk drawing more attention to yourself.
So you avoided him. Kept your head down, swallowed your pride, and let him think he’d won. You hated it—hated him—but you hated the thought of drawing more trouble even more.
The laughter still echoed in your ears as you fought back tears. Zheng had walked off with his entourage before you could muster a response, leaving you feeling small and humiliated. You’d tried to rewrite the essay, but your hands were trembling too much to hold the quill properly.
“Pathetic,” you muttered under your breath, blinking back frustrated tears.
“Isn’t it a bit early in the day for a pity party?” You froze, the low, teasing voice unmistakable.
Looking up, you saw Jaemin leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his emerald-and-silver tie loosened, his smirk firmly in place.
“Go away, Na,” you snapped, though your voice wavered. “I’m not in the mood.”
Jaemin raised an eyebrow but didn’t leave. Instead, he walked over and pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like he belonged there.
“I saw what happened,” he said, gesturing to your ruined essay. “Zheng’s a git.”
“Since when do you care?” you asked sharply, glaring at him. “I thought you lot stuck together.”
“Maybe I don’t like seeing people like him thinking they’re untouchable. Or maybe…” His voice softened, surprising you. “I just don’t like seeing you like this.”
The sincerity in his tone disarmed you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.
“None of that matters now,” Jaemin said, pulling out his wand. Before you could protest, he muttered a quick spell, and the ink stains on your parchment disappeared as if they’d never been there.
“You’re helping me?” you asked, incredulous.
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t read too much into it, Ravenclaw. I just hate sloppy work. That essay looked half-decent before Zheng wrecked it.”
A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, smirking again. “Literally. Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.” He was nothing like Zheng.
A few days later, you found yourself facing Zheng in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The moment Professor McAllister paired you with him, your stomach sank. Dueling wasn’t your strong suit, and Zheng knew it. The smirk he gave you before raising his wand made your blood run cold.
At first, you managed to hold your own, dodging his hexes and firing back with as much precision as you could muster. But Zheng was relentless, his attacks growing more aggressive with each passing second.
When his final hex hit, it sent your wand flying out of your hand and you sprawling to the ground. Pain shot through your leg as the impact knocked the wind out of you. The class erupted in murmurs and cheers, but all you could hear was Zheng’s voice.
“Better luck next time, bookworm,” he sneered, stepping closer as if to gloat over your defeat. Before you could respond, another voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.
“That’s enough.” All eyes turned to Jaemin, who stepped forward with a glare that could have frozen the entire classroom.
Zheng smirked, crossing his arms. “What’s it to you, Na?”
“Why don’t you try competing with her in Transfiguration or Charms? Afraid your stupid ass won’t survive?” Jaemin said, his voice low and cold. He walked past Zheng without another glance, kneeling beside you.
“Can you walk?” he asked gently, his hand already reaching for yours. “I-I think so,” you stammered, though the sharp pain in your leg made you doubt it.
Jaemin frowned, slipping an arm under your shoulders to help you sit up. “We’re not taking any chances.”
“Jaemin, I—”
“Do you trust me?” he interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes.”
Without another word, Jaemin helped you to the hospital wing, his arm steady around you as he shielded you from the prying eyes of your classmates.
In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey healed your leg quickly, though she insisted you stay seated for a while, but Jaemin stayed by your side long after the matron left to tend to other students.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked finally, breaking the silence.
Jaemin leaned against the wall, his smirk returning. “Maybe I felt bad for you. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to miss class.”
“Sure,” you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”
“True,” he said, stepping closer. His smirk softened as his eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you. “But Zheng’s an idiot and you don’t deserve to deal with him. You’re better than him. Smarter, stronger—and definitely more fun to mess with.”
A laugh escaped you despite the lingering embarrassment. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Anytime,” Jaemin said, sitting down next to you. His hand reached for yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. The gesture was so gentle, so unlike him, that it left you momentarily speechless.
“You’re supposed to be my enemy,” you teased, though your voice was barely above a whisper. Jaemin smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Guess I’m breaking the rules.” Your cheeks burned, but this time, you didn’t mind.
“Next time Zheng tries anything,” Jaemin added, his tone serious, “tell me. I’ll handle it.” You gave a small laugh, squeezing his hand. “You already did.”
He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek now. “Good. But just in case, stick close to me, Ravenclaw. I don’t mind breaking the rules for you.”
As he pulled away, you stared at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Thanks,” you murmured again, squeezing his hand. “Don’t get used to it,” he said with a smirk, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed his words.
You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, your nemesis wasn't your nemesis anymore.
Genre: fluff, comfort, headcanons, established relationship
Request: what their reaction would be if their s/o doesn't really celebrate their birthday / they themselves forget it just cus they're used to it being forgotten
Warnings: food mentioned on san's, that's it?
A/n: happy bday to you even if your birthday is only 364 days from now 🥳 | daily click
Seonghwa
He's approaching this in a careful way
He wants to celebrate your birthday
But he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable
You had your reasons to not celebrate it after all
So he tried to understand it, to comprehend why you don't like the date
And then, he tries to fill in the blanks
If you could never have a party, he'd make one for you. If you could never receive gifts before, he's buying you everything
He's not trying to fix it all or undo your bad experiences from the past
He just wants it all to be good now
Because he just loves you so much
Hongjoong
"Oh I forget about it"
Well yeah, good luck trying to forget it now
Your birthday is only two months from now and he goes "what do you want to do then?"
Like I don't know bro 😭
He seems a bit anxious about it but he has the best intentions
He wants you to see he cares
And if people downplayed it before or forgot about this date back then
You can be sure he'll never do it
Sometimes he remembers a bit too much lmao
But it's cute actually
Although he has a habit of spoiling his surprises to you because he's so excited he keeps on talking about it 🕊️
Yunho
Oh, this one is healing your inner kid fr
He loves you so hard yet so dearly throughout the whole day
Takes you out for the day
"But I have to work" shh follow the script, he solved everything already
"But what if he has schedules" the managers can blow his phone up with calls if they want, no problem
Whatever happened or might happen, this day is about YOU
Everything and everyone else might as well not exist this day
He gives you nothing but all of his attention
Even if the day is filled with simple activities you could've done anywhen else
Yunho is paying so much attention to you, because he wants to, that you lowkey forget about who and what was absent in every other birthday of yours
Yeosang
He 100% wants to celebrate your birthday
It's the day the love of his life was born, after all
He's forever grateful for this day
But he doesn't want to overwhelm you
Maybe a huge party or something like that would scare you off more than anything else
So he keeps it domestic
Wakes you up with breakfast in bed, gives you small yet meaningful gifts and just spends the entire day doing all of your favourite things
It's a day that could look like any other, but it's so intimate and well thought that it just warms you so much
San
If you came into this post wanting to know who'd throw a surprise party for you
That's him
He'd throw a party for you
The dimensions of it would depend
It could be just you and him, a cake he hid and a few balloons
It could be you both and a few friends surprising you after college/work
It could be so many people in the party that you wonder if he recruited people on the street because you swear there is a few faces you've never seen before
It depends on what you want
On what he thinks you need to heal and celebrate
Mingi
Not celebrating your birthday ?
Yeah
Not happening
Good try though!
Your birthday will be celebrated
The way he had been smiling the entire week, one would think it's his own birthday
But he just gets happy like that simply because it's you
Cherishing you is cherishing the best thing that ever happened to him
Of course he is happy
And honestly, the way he wakes you with a bone crushing hug is already enough to make all your worried fade away
He will not allow anything other than thousands of smiles and hundreds of giggles throughout the whole day
Wooyoung
Lowkey like mingi but worse
No can do, you WILL acknowledge your birthday this year
He spoils you soooo much
But not only on your birthday
On its entire WEEK
He gotta make it up for all the times you didn't celebrate it
Gifts you something you really wanted
Gets soooo loving
But be prepared in case he decides to tease you a bit
He'll only do that if he thinks you won't hate it
But why is he suddenly singing "happy birthday to you" in the middle of the street
No matter how, he'll make sure you feel celebrated
Jongho
Has a similar approach to Yeosang and yunho
He doesn't want to be too much
So no big parties and intense stuff
At least not for now
He keeps it casual, domestic and comfortable
The day would mostly be you and him, a few friends of yours too if you wanted that
But overall, it'd feel very... Normal
It almost feels like it's not a birthday
Except for the way Jongho makes sure you feel extra loved
It's not about what you get to do that day
It's all about how you feel like the only person in his world
Masterlist | you'll probably like: love letters with ateez
Daily click
Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!
Summary: Dedicating his life to his work, Yunho had never bothered to entertain the idea of settling down. Despite encountering many charming women throughout his career, none had sparked his desire for companionship. But everything shifted when he met a certain herbalist whose medicinal knowledge seemed to surpass even his own. What began as mere intrigue might have gradually developed into affection.
A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.
Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2
"Are you still here, sunshine? It's way past closing time. Come on now, let's head home soon. Your mother will be worried if we take too long," your father called out from the backdoor of his apothecary, where you were diligently working in the backyard farm responsible for growing and harvesting all the herbs he required to make his medicines.
You sighed, gazing at the new batch of seeds you had just planted and still needed to water, "Uhh... you go on without me first, father. I'll join you as soon as I'm finished with this latest batch of ginseng."
The elderly man shook his head in resignation, "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you. Be prepared for an earful from the lioness at home if you're late for dinner."
Chortling, you playfully stuck your tongue out at him, "Worry about yourself first! I'll tell mother dearest you called her a lioness," you waved him off as he sputtered in disbelief, panicking and giving you all the reasons you shouldn't say such a thing. But you only shook your head, finding your old dad incredibly adorable. That's why you couldn't resist teasing him every chance you got.
"Go home, father. I was just teasing you, geez," you reassured with a cheeky grin, watching as he huffed and grabbed his bag, "I'm going then. Hurry up, sunshine. And be careful on your way home."
"I will. You be careful too. I'll see you in a bit," you said, quickly returning your attention to your work. It was only then that you realised your stomach was beginning to growl with hunger at the thought of your mother's cooking. With no time to waste, you hastily completed the remaining tasks.
After finishing up, a contented sigh escaped you as you dusted off your hands and admired the fruits of your labour. Despite years of repetition, you couldn't imagine ever growing tired of this routine. Your father's apothecary had been a fixture long before your birth. Your mother had been one of his loyal customers, initially seeking medicine for her ailing father. However, as time passed, her visits seemed motivated by more than just medicinal needs.
It didn't take long for them to realise their love for each other, and they soon married. In the early days, your mother continued to assist your father with herb growing and harvesting, even after your arrival. Growing up, you spent your childhood amidst the sights and smells of the apothecary, playing and observing as your parents toiled away.
As you matured, your curiosity blossomed into genuine interest, prompting you to actively participate in and learn about herbalism. With your mother's growing age and declining health, she was eventually advised to retire and stay home, leaving you to take over her responsibilities in the apothecary. However, unlike her, you insisted on handling the planting of herbs alone, sparing your elderly father from further strain. Instead, he managed the less physically demanding tasks such as medicine-making and store management.
Locking up the apothecary doors, you began your trek home, you observed the families and couples passing you with a small smile on your face. While you couldn't exactly relate to most people, having spent most, if not all, of your time in the back of your father's store growing up, you couldn't be any happier than you are now.
You had no desire to venture out, make new acquaintances, or seek friendships. Your simple life brought you contentment, and you cherished the strong bond you shared with your parents. Grateful for the absence of hardship and discontent, you had no yearning for wealth or extravagance. Engaging in what you loved, even if it meant remaining within the confines of the apothecary indefinitely, filled you with immense satisfaction. You were perfectly content staying right where you were, surrounded by the familiar warmth of your family and the comforting aroma of herbs.
I could do this forever.
"I'm home!" you called out cheerfully as you stepped into your humble abode. It was a decent-sized house with all the essentials, providing everything your family needed. Despite the success of the apothecary and its financial stability, your parents saw no reason to move to a larger residence. Attachment and sentimental value outweighed any desire for more space.
Everything in your home remained in excellent condition, thanks to your mother's meticulous care, and that was all that mattered. As soon as you entered, she cooed and rushed over to envelop you in a warm hug, "Oh, my dearest little sunshine is home!"
You grinned at your father, who rolled his eyes in mock jealousy. Unlike you, he had returned home only to be lectured for allowing you to walk home alone instead of waiting for you. It was almost ironic how he had warned you about being scolded, only for the roles to be reversed.
It didn't take long before a smile spread across his features; your father was one of the sweetest men you'd ever known. But you hadn't met many people, given that most of your time was spent in the back of his shop. Even then, one thing was certain: he was good to you and even better to your mother.
You had never witnessed him raise his voice, regardless of how upset he might be. He always remained patient, letting his wife do all the yelling. And at the end of the day, he would go to great lengths to make her smile again, ensuring she never went to bed angry. If you were to find a husband, you'd want someone like your father.
Fortunately, you inherited his cheerful personality when you were born. You were truly a bundle of joy since entering this world, earning the nickname 'sunshine' from your parents. No matter how bleak their days became, your bright presence would always illuminate everything. You couldn't recall ever having a particularly bad day, and you hoped things would stay that way forever.
As you settled into your seat at the dining table, your bowl was instantly filled to the brim with your favourite dishes. Your mother chimed in, "Eat up, sunshine. You need to replenish all that energy you've lost from working so hard." The aroma tantalised your senses, and you couldn't help but salivate, "Thank you for the food, mother!" you exclaimed, immediately digging in, feeling famished to the point where you felt like you could devour an entire cow.
"Woah, woah, slow down. They're all yours, silly girl," your father cautioned, shaking his head at your unladylike eating habits, "I'm telling you, no guy will be attracted to you if you eat like that in public."
You pouted, retorting, "If he truly loves me, he'll accept me for who I am." Your mother gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, "While that's true, I'm starting to worry that you might never attract anyone at all, since you're always at home or hiding in the back of the store," she confessed, setting down her chopsticks, "I've been feeling slightly better lately. Maybe I could return to the store occasionally, and you could finally go out and meet some boys—"
Shaking your head, you cut her off, "Nice try, mother, but that's not happening. Be good and stay home if you don't want me and father to worry. Besides, I don't need a man to complete me. I'm content as it is. All I need is the two of you by my side."
Unbeknownst to you, your parents harboured fears about exactly that. They knew they wouldn't be around forever, and once they were gone, who would take care of you? The thought of leaving their precious little girl behind all alone in this world filled them with dread.
The elderly man pondered for a moment, unwilling to let go of the topic so easily, "How about you come and help in the store once in a while? That way, you'd still have the chance to interact with some of the customers, and who knows, you might meet someone the same way your mother and I met each other."
You giggled, watching as they exchanged affectionate glances, their hands intertwining on the table, "That's cute, but no thank you, father. The farm isn't going to tend to itself, and before you offer, I refuse to let you perform such hard labour. Your body can't handle it; please don't make me worry. I'll be just fine, I promise."
You're fine, sunshine, but we're not.
Your parents sighed, disappointed by your refusal. At this stage, they could only hope for some miracle to happen, allowing you to meet a kind man who would care for you when they no longer could.
But maybe that miracle wasn't as distant as they thought. Maybe there was no need for your parents to be so concerned. Maybe things were about to change very soon. Perhaps your parents had prayed earnestly enough, and perhaps the heavens had finally chosen to answer those prayers.
"Tell me what you need, and I'll assist you," Jongho offered as soon as the physician finished briefing the head maid on all the tasks she would now have to handle, especially with Lady Park's pregnancy encountering difficulties and depending on him. With a shake of his head, Yunho smiled at the assistant, "It's fine, I've got it covered. Eunsook knows what to do while I'm away. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably head to the apothecary for some herbs."
As the doctor made his way to the apothecary where he sourced medicines and herbs for his clinic, his mind raced with plans on which herbs would best suit the case at hand. It had been some time since he last treated a pregnant woman or dealt with pregnancy-related issues like this, and he couldn't deny feeling a bit rusty in this area. If only he had foreseen this, he might have brushed up on his studies, but the urgency of the situation caught him off guard.
He could still recall how urgently he had been summoned. Jongho had barged into his clinic, leaving him with no choice but to close up immediately. He wondered if he should have anticipated the pregnancy, especially given the general's desire for alone time with his wife. Perhaps he had been foolish not to prepare beforehand; he should have seen this coming. But there was no time to chastise himself over it now. His focus needed to be on ensuring Seonghwa's baby safely reached the three-month mark.
"Ah, finally, we're here," he murmured to himself as soon as the familiar store with the sign 'Ryu's Apothecary' came into view.
Without hesitation, he entered the establishment he knew like the back of his hand. This was the only place he trusted for all his medicines and herbs; he had known the owner for years. Mr. Ryu truly was one of the kindest apothecaries, never overcharging him and sometimes even offering discounts and deals for his loyalty. Just when Yunho thought they were close enough for him to know everything about the elderly man, today seemed to prove otherwise.
Perhaps he didn't know nearly enough.
"Mr. Ryu, I'm afraid I'll need all your raspberry and peppermint leaf supply for the day. Lady Park hasn't been doing too well in the early stages of her pregnancy," the physician announced upon entering the apothecary where he regularly obtained his medicines and herbs, his eyes busily scanning around for anything else that could be useful.
"Is that so? You might want to consider our latest batch of Codonopsis root imported directly from China just a week ago. It's highly effective in boosting vital energy and reducing fatigue during pregnancy."
Yunho's head shot up in surprise.
First of all, why hadn't he thought of that before? More importantly, the feminine voice addressing him sounded nothing like the elderly man who usually managed the store. He turned to find a young woman behind the counter, his eyes widening in astonishment.
"O-oh, um... hello there. I didn't realise Mr. Ryu had such a young wife," he blurted out before cursing himself, feeling embarrassed for making such a hasty assumption.
Your face immediately twisted in disgust, "Goodness gracious, you're severely mistaken! I'm his daughter!"
Way to go, you complete idiot!
The physician immediately bowed, overwhelmed with embarrassment as he offered his apology, "I-I apologise, Miss Ryu! I don't know what made me say that. It's just that I'm used to seeing only your father here. Seeing someone else caught me off guard."
Blinking rapidly, he hoped he wasn't visibly blushing. He had known the elderly man for so long and hadn't the slightest clue he even had a daughter, and such a pretty one too. Making such a mistake on their first meeting was unbelievable to him. He rarely found himself flustered and struggled to maintain his usually composed demeanour.
Good lord, did he really just say that?
You could only sigh; this was precisely why you didn't want to be out here in the store. It was only your first time in your father's place, and this was the first thing that happened. Off to a bad start already, you wouldn't be surprised if this trend continued with some of the other customers later on. It felt like your father had jinxed it at dinner that evening; shortly after, your mother fell sick, leaving him no choice but to stay home and care for her. In the meantime, you were left with no option but to manage the store.
Determined to put the incident behind you, you shook your head, reassuring the physician, "It's fine, sir. My father has to stay home due to an emergency, but fear not, he should be back in a few days to man the store as usual. So, would you be interested in those Codonopsis roots? I could pack some for you as well."
"Y-yes, please. Thank you for the recommendation, Miss Ryu; I really appreciate it," he said, stepping over sheepishly towards the counter.
"No problem, sir," you responded politely, busy packing the raspberry and peppermint leaf he had requested along with some of the Chinese herbs you had suggested.
You calling him 'sir' only reminded him that you still didn't know his name. For the first time in forever, not knowing what to do with his hands, he intertwined them behind his back and cleared his throat, "Uhh... my name is Jung Yunho, by the way. I'm the—"
"Oh, so it's you!" you cut him off, nodding in recognition with raised brows, "I know you; I've heard plenty about you from my father. I know you're the great General Park's family doctor," you continued with a shrug, "But of course, I should've figured that out when you mentioned a certain Lady Park's pregnancy. Huh, it's good to know they're having a baby soon. And before I go off on a tangent, more importantly, you're known to be one of the best physicians in town."
With a light chuckle, he shook his head modestly, "Well, I'm clearly not the best if I couldn't even think to use Codonopsis root."
Furrowing your brows slightly, you countered, "I don't see how that has anything to do with your abilities. That's because you're a physician, not a herbalist. Experts like me are here for that. While we may know which herbs are best used to treat what, herbalists obviously cannot diagnose patients. See, that's our difference and why we coexist to help one another."
Listening to you speak, Yunho felt thoroughly impressed. He couldn't deny that he had always believed he was the smartest person in the room, given his medical expertise and role as the famous general's personal doctor. People often revered him for being at the top of his field. At some point, he had almost convinced himself that there was nobody who could teach him anything new.
But your words made him reconsider.
He hadn't expected to meet someone who could humble him and make him realise he still had much to learn. Especially not a young woman like you, the daughter of an apothecary, a herbalist.
"In that case, Miss Ryu, what else would you recommend for an unstable early pregnancy? You see, the general's wife suffered from severe malnutrition throughout her childhood, and her body is now lacking enough nutrients for both her and her baby," he asked, deciding to set aside his pride and seek help. Seonghwa was relying on him, and he couldn't risk anything happening to Lady Park or the baby.
Finishing up the last of his orders, you hummed in thought, "Actually, there is another medicine that could help. It's a well-known Chinese herb my father has sold to some customers facing similar problems," you explained as you retrieved a box of medicine from the cabinet behind you. Opening it revealed a brown block of medicine he had never seen before, "This one also arrived not too long ago from China. It's called Colla Corii Asini, and it nourishes the kidney while preventing miscarriage. Perhaps this is what Lady Park needs."
"Thank you so much, that sounds perfect," he breathed out in relief, finally feeling a glimmer of hope. You shook your head with a small smile to indicate 'no worries.' As he prepared to make his payment, he asked, "Um, I was just wondering... why haven't I seen you before? I mean, you're Mr. Ryu's daughter and—"
You shrugged, "I'm in charge of growing and harvesting all the herbs we sell, so I'm usually on the farm at the back of the store."
"Ohh... so, you are the genius behind all these herbs," he nodded slowly in wonder, standing there after completing his payment, hands full with the herbs you'd packed for him. Intrigued by your knowledge, he mustered the courage to ask, "I know I'm probably asking too much, but... w-would it be okay for me to come over frequently and learn more about herbs from you? You know, to improve as a medical practitioner."
You shrugged again, "Sure, suit yourself."
Yes, she said yes!
Deep down, he didn't want this to be his first and last time seeing you. He rationalised it, telling himself you were simply an intriguing person. He hadn't encountered anyone as passionate about healing and herbs, someone who possessed more knowledge than he did. He was just eager to learn more.
That had to be the only reason.
It had to be.
"Has the mistress been feeling any better?" the physician inquired eagerly, anxiously awaiting Eunsook's response. He had returned to the general's estate a few days after administering the first batch of the medicine you had recommended.
Beaming, the head maid exclaimed, "Oh, those medications worked like magic! The fatigue and morning sickness improved immensely just a day after she started taking the medicine. You're amazing, Physician Jung! I knew we could count on you!"
It wasn't me at all, it was all her.
"That's good to know, Eunsook! I couldn't have done it without the help of a very talented herbalist. Well then, I'll be back in another few days with more of those herbs," he said eagerly, already looking forward to returning to the apothecary to share the news with you.
The elderly woman bowed, "Of course! And please extend our thanks to this kind herbalist friend of yours, we definitely could use more experts like him around—"
"Her. She's a female herbalist, and you're right, we do need more talents like Miss Ryu around," Yunho quickly corrected.
Blinking rapidly, Eunsook nodded with a slightly knowing smile, "Oh, my apologies. I shouldn't have assumed her gender, but yes, please offer Miss Ryu our sincere gratitude."
"Don't worry, I will."
As he approached the apothecary, his heart seemed to quicken at the thought of seeing you again, though he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason why. Perhaps he was simply eager to make a new friend who shared his passion for medicine. Besides, he couldn't deny his admiration for your extensive knowledge of herbs, despite your young age. You seemed to surpass even some of the more experienced practitioners in his field.
Truthfully, he genuinely desired to learn more about herbs from you. The prospect of befriending you held great potential for him; he envisioned you as a valuable ally who could aid in his continuous growth as a physician. Together, with his medical expertise and your herbal knowledge, you could make a formidable team, contributing significantly to society together.
"Oh, Physician Jung! How can I help you today?" Mr. Ryu, your father, greeted him upon his entrance. For once, the doctor seemed rather flustered as he approached the counter, "Oh, uhh... I'm not here for medicine today. I came to see your daughter. Please don't take this the wrong way!" he hurriedly added, "She said I could come to learn more about herbs from her, so I—"
Your father's eyes widened in excitement as Yunho rambled on. While he didn't like the fact that his wife had to fall sick for him to finally be away from the store, it must have been a blessing in disguise because now his daughter had finally met someone, and not just anyone, but the amazing Physician Jung. Oh, he would be able to die happy if this was to be his future son-in-law.
With a little snicker, the elderly man nodded, "Ah, I see you've met my little sunshine while I was away. No need to explain yourself, I believe you. Now if you'll come with me, she's just at the back of the store."
"Here, just head straight ahead, and you should find her somewhere within the plantations," your father said, nodding his head down the hallway leading to the back of the store, "I'd take you there myself, but I don't think I should leave the store unattended."
"I've got it, Mr. Ryu, thank you."
As he walked down the hallway as instructed by Mr. Ryu, the physician wondered how the elderly man would have reacted if he knew Yunho had mistaken his dear daughter for his wife during their first meeting. That would surely ruin the image of perfection he had consistently been upholding.
But why would that matter?
The apothecary would continue to value him as a customer. Why was he suddenly concerned about how your father would view him? The direction of his own thoughts was beginning to baffle him.
Before he could become lost in his thoughts, he reached the farm and was struck by its beauty and meticulous upkeep. His admiration for you swelled, knowing that it was your work that had created such a splendid place. Ryu's Apothecary was known for its top-notch herbs and medicine, and now he understood why. His respect for you grew immensely, realising that you were the mastermind behind it all. After taking in the full view of the farm, he finally spotted you.
Is that what a fairy looks like?
The moment he spotted you amidst the herbs you were planting, he felt as if his breath had been stolen away. He already thought you were pretty before, but now, seeing you in your white and blue hanbok among the lush greenery, passionately engaged in your work, you looked even more enchanting to him.
"Ah, Physician Jung, you're here!" you exclaimed, pulling him out of his reverie with a wave of your hand, "Hurry over, I'm about to harvest this batch of Sophora roots. There's probably some valuable information here for you to learn from this."
"Right away, Miss Ryu!" he replied eagerly, rushing over to join you.
Without delay, you plunged into your work while explaining the herb to him, "This, right here, is the Sophora flavescens, native to China and Japan. Its antibacterial, antiviral, and antifungal properties make it useful in treating conditions such as damaged livers, jaundice, eczema, ulcers, and more. I know it looks nothing like the completed product you're used to seeing, but that's because it requires several seasons of drying after harvesting before it's ready for use."
While he knew he should focus on the herbs, he found it difficult to tear his gaze away from your face. The subtle furrow of your brows and the delicate bite of your lips when you weren't speaking—adorable. Wait, did he really just think that? He'd never had such thoughts before. Sure, he'd treated plenty of beautiful ladies throughout his career, but this occurrence was a first.
"Interestingly, this plant can grow up to 5 to 7 feet tall. Even taller than you, isn't it quite amazing?" you remarked, noticing his lack of response. Frowning, you turned to him and sighed when you realised he wasn't paying attention. With a gentle nudge on his shoulder, you snapped him out of his trance.
"O-oh, sorry, you were saying?" he muttered, embarrassed to be caught zoning out.
"I... never mind. Could you please fetch the root puller from that tool rack?" you requested, opting to delegate rather than have him kneel in the dirt beside you. Perhaps he was starting to regret coming here, realising it wasn't his cup of tea. Not that you minded; he could leave if he wanted to. After all, he was the one who asked to be here. The least he could do was listen.
"Absolutely!" he responded, heading toward the tool rack to retrieve what you asked for.
Making his way toward the tool rack, he chastised himself for leaving such a poor impression. It was only your first session together, yet he was struggling to stay focused. Gosh, you must be judging him so hard right now, and he couldn't even blame you. You were kind enough to share your knowledge of herbs at his request, and here he was, lost in daydreams instead of paying attention. Determined to redeem himself, he resolved to be more useful.
Pull yourself together, Jung Yunho.
However, the doctor was so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to notice the patch of ground still damp from your earlier watering. You did a double-take when you saw him unknowingly heading towards the wet path instead of taking the drier route.
"Wait, Physician Jung! You'll slip and fall if you go that way!" Your words of warning went unheeded, and you sprang up from your position on the ground in alarm, "Yunho! Yah, Jung Yunho!" In a panic, you dashed toward him, your eyes widening as he stepped onto the wet soil just as you reached out to grab his arm and redirect him.
But it was too late.
"You bloody idiot!" Your shout echoed across the farm as he let out a yelp, his arms instinctively encircling you as he toppled backwards, shielding you from the fall as he landed on the wet ground.
Your breath caught as you landed on his chest, faces mere inches apart, hearts racing. Huh, how have you not realised how good-looking he actually is? Wait, what? Before either of you could react, your father's voice rang out from the entrance, "Oh dear, what's with all the shouting, sunshine? Is everything alright—"
"F-father, I can explain..."
The apothecary blinked at the unexpected sight before him: his daughter atop the handsome and intelligent Physician Jung. God must have heard his prayers. With a grin, he chuckled, "Well, well! Seems like everything's more than alright! I won't intrude any further. Back to work for me!"
"N-no, Mr. Ryu! It's not like that at all!"
With a gulp, he turned to face you again, only to find you glaring down at him, "Let me go," you muttered, and he immediately loosened his grip, "O-oh, my bad." He moved to sit up as soon as you were off him, only to smile sheepishly up at you when he felt the back of his outfit completely soaked. Not only did he fail to help you with anything, but he was now causing you more trouble.
Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you raised a fist threateningly towards him, "I'll get you some new clothes to change into. Stay here and don't move, or else..."
"Y-yes, ma'am."
« Preview of Part 2 »
"Oh, my poor Yunho. I can't believe that happened," Lady Park cooed, trying to suppress her laughter as she comforted the flustered physician after completing her weekly check-up. He was really beginning to regret his decision to confide in her.
"I shouldn't have told you about it, ugh. And to think you'd be the only one not to tease me," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away from her.
Lady Park softened, "I'm not teasing you, silly. You're always so serious and uptight, it's just refreshing to see you like this for once. Besides, there's nothing wrong with having feelings for someone, especially at your age. You should really consider settling down."
He scoffed, a blush creeping up his cheeks, "What? That's funny, I-I didn't say anything about liking anyone, my lady."
"You don't have to. It's written all over your handsome face," she smiled knowingly, "Hwa has that same look often, so I think I'd know better than you, Physician Jung."
Perhaps she had a point; he still couldn't shake the memory of that incident from his mind. The sensation of holding you close lingered, strangely comforting. He started to grasp why couples found solace in such intimacy. Maybe the idea of settling down, and having someone to come home to after a long day wouldn't be so bad. Maybe—
"What are you two talking about? Didn't the check-up end ages ago?" the general's voice jolted him back to the present.
"Nothing at all, my lord," he stammered, caught off guard.
Seonghwa arched an eyebrow sceptically, "You really expect me to believe you'd spent an hour talking about nothing with my wife? So, what were you doing together then?"
"Oh my god, nothing! We just talked, okay?"
"Right, now fill me in. Suit yourself if you don't want to. My wife will tell me everything eventually; just so you know, we don't keep secrets from each other."
Slapping a palm against his forehead, the physician wished he'd kept his mouth shut, "Alright, but promise not to tell anyone. If Hongjoong catches wind of this, I'll never hear the end of it."
"Deal."
Holy sheeeet, thank you all so much for 1.7k followers! I was sleep-deprived asf while proofreading lmao I hope this one was decent HAHA I promise the next part will be more interesting!
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3
Tag list (1/9): Tumblr is a bitch and won't let me mention more than 5 users in a single sentence, so now my tag list looks like a complete joke🤡
historical stuff doesn't really interest me, unless we're talking about the subject (to which, sign me up cause i'll learn everything and anything about the world). i've never found historical kdramas or shows or movie interesting, but i'm so glad i gave this one a chance!! it's so so so cute!! gotta love shy yunho! can't wait to read the others 🥰🫶
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"when nothing adds up i’ll be your number, you’re 106 and i’m 94." — 200, mark
pairing: spider-man! yunho x gn! reader
you were always very close with yunho, but you never quite knew who he really was whenever he made excuses to leave or cancel plans with you. as close as you felt with yunho, you didn’t realize you were close with someone else in the process.
You sat on your bed, annoyed as you continued to check your phone. He should’ve been here by now, but of course, he was late as usual.
You and Yunho were supposed to go out to a new cafe that opened in town. It closed at eight and the plan was to leave at five, but when you had checked the time, it was now pushing 7:30.
It didn’t help that today was the day you were planning to admit your feelings to him, determined to take the weight that’s sat on top of your shoulders for so long. You two have been close for some time, so what could go wrong? There was a chance he had felt the same, no?
You sighed heavily, taking off your shoes and jacket as disappointment filled your heart. This was the 4th time this week he had been late, or even a “no-show,” and you were tired. Just as you were going to lay down, a tall man flew in through your window, wearing red and blue.
“What the fuck?!!” you yelled, throwing your shoe at the figure in your room.
The shoe flew at his head, earning a groan out of him as he grabbed the back in pain. Your eyes widened at his suit, realizing the similar spider webbed pattern layered across it.
Did Spider-man really just fly through your window?!
The man sighed heavily and began to turn to you., rubbing the back of his head softly as he held his mask in his other hand.
“Dude, you know I come in through your window all the time.. why would you hit me???”
Your eyes widened as you two stood face to face. Your face in utter shock as he came into view. Did he even realize his mask was off? Surely, right? Maybe he wasn’t the smartest superhero everyone made him out to be.
“Yunho?!” you spoke, your eyes practically popping out of your head as his own did with you.
He quickly looked down, seeing the mask scrunched in his hands. It was at this point that Yunho knew there was no going back, and now he had to come clean. What excuse could he possibly make to you? Especially in such a quick amount of time? It was inevitable.
“Shit.” he brought his free hand up to his face, shaking his head softly as he realized his stupidity. “Well.. uh, let me explain myself.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side in bed as you made room for him to sit down. He took a seat, sighing as he tired to explain the ordeal to you; from how he was bit, to when. How he had gotten used to his powers and ultimately decided to use it for good. It also brought answers to the billions of questions you’d have over his whereabouts, as to why he was always so late to hang out with you or even why he ditched you at times.
You punched him in the arm, crossing your hands as you sat there in disbelief. Yunho looked at you with a shy smile, unsure of how you may take the news.
“You idiot. You should’ve told me.” you mumbled, holding onto his hand.
He shrugged and squeezed your hand softly. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. It’s a big responsibility, you know?”
You nodded, standing up as you pulled him with you. You took the mask from his hand, placing it over his eyes. His face turned red as he felt your hands rest in his, still unable to see where you were.
“I was still worried about your whereabouts, Yunho. I hope you can learn to trust me.”
You both exchanged a smile as you rested your hand against his cheek. Pulling his face to yours, you rested your lips on his softly. Your lips intertwined as his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His lips were warm against yours, making your heart beat out of your chest.
You pulled away from him, keeping your eyes low as he pulled his mask up from his own. He smiled at you softly, his hand coming up to your chin. He lifted your head slowly to look at him, kissing you one more time before beginning to speak.
“I don’t think you understand how long I’ve waited to do that.” he chuckled softly, his cheeks as red as blood.
You blushed, feeling your heart rest as he calmed your nerves with his confession. The weight you once felt living on your shoulders, was now gone. He did feel the same, felt the exact same as you. Your bond was too strong, not even a mere superhero confession could break that apart. It only made you stronger, and you were grateful for that.
“Does this mean I’m your sidekick?” you smiled cheekly, a laugh escaping you as he rolled his eyes.
“Hmm… I’m not sure..”
Yunho wrapped his arm around your waist, placing his mask back on and bringing you toward the window. He opened it, bringing you both out onto the fire escape.
“How about we go for a ride and find out, hm?”
You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up. You wrapped your arms around his chest and neck, holding on tightly as he prepared to take off. He tilted his head at you, signaling to you that he was smiling under his mask.
“Alrighty spidey sidekick, hold on tight.”
a/n: i love spiderman. i needed a spidey yunho idea to be written so here we are ! mark’s new mv just urged my will to do it. not my favorite piece, but I really wanted to write it and keep it short!
Nights like this just felt right — your warm hand in Yunho's much larger one, fingers locked between one another’s. City lights blurred in the night sky almost like stars as Yunho sped down the highway. The windows rolled down just a bit, enough to feel the wind whip across your cheeks. Your joint playlist floated from the car's speakers, setting the mood further.
You could smell the dinner he'd picked up in the back seat, as well. The aroma of pan-fried dumplings wafted to your nose, promising a delicious meal later in the evening.
You were having a hard time taking your eyes off of your boyfriend, not that you wanted to. He was always insanely attractive, but seeing him under the flashing glow of the street lights, you felt your heart fluttering more than usual.
"What are you thinking about, pretty?" His thumb rubs the back of your hand gently as he brings you back from your thoughts.
"Just,” you sigh, gathering your thoughts, “how much I love you. And how much I miss doing this."
Yunho feels warmth spread to his cheeks. He glances over at you with a smile before returning his attention to the road. "Me too."
"You love me or you miss doing this?"
"Both. Definitely both." You hum contentedly and relax against your seat, noticing that you're approaching the destination -- Yunho's apartment parking garage.
It wasn’t uncommon for you and your boyfriend to wind up on the top floor of the parking structure. It was a quiet, often neglected space, with a view overlooking the city. There, you had spent countless hours together, watching the blue sky morph into blends of yellows and oranges and purples.
Tonight, though, you wanted nothing more than being in each other's company and staring out at the city, or staring at each other, as close to the stars and moon as possible.
It was an autumn night. The temperature was perfect—not stuffy after the sun had gone down like summer, not bone chilling like the winter. A light breeze kissed your skin as you sat atop the hood of his car side by side.
“Are you hungry yet?” He asked.
“No, not yet,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. Something about the silence was comfortable. You were almost afraid of speaking too loudly. “We’ll eat soon, before it gets cold.”
Yunho looked so soft under the glitter of the moonlight and warm yellow lamps. The slight blush on his nose and round cheeks, his soft round eyes, and perfectly plush lips. His black hair a bit mussed from both the wind and his nap two hours earlier. You looked up at him and he swore that he could see the reflection of each and every star in your eyes.
Without much thought, you reached up and raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He’d been letting it grow longer, and it often fell into his eyes, brushing his lashes. As your hand came down, you cradled his cheek. Melting into your touch, Yunho's gentle brown irises met yours.
"I love you," he whispered. You knew that was coming. Before he could say it out loud, you’d known that he had been thinking it, simply from the way he was looking at you. As if you were the only thing that mattered to him. As if the shining moon above you both was your doing, hung by your delicate hands. As if he could stay there forever with you and enjoy every second, happy for the rest of his life.
You couldn't help but smile as you leaned in toward him, your reply getting lost on his lips. As your lips met, Yunho's fingers settled on your hips, pulling you in closer. You clutched the soft sweater that he wore, feeling the fabric balled up in your palms.
The kiss started passionately — slow and deep. You took his face into your hands, cupping his cheeks as your teeth clicked together.
Without breaking the kiss, Yunho pulled you onto his lap. You lifted one leg to the other side of his hip so that you straddled his hips. Yunho leaned back onto the windshield, pulling you down with him.
While one of his hands held you in place, the other slid to your thigh. Yunho wished so badly that he could feel the skin that was hidden beneath your yoga pants. You felt his grip on your soft curves, leaving a warm sensation where his fingers pressed into you.
Soft smacking sounds filled the air as you brushed your lips together, now slick with saliva. One of your hands traveled from his jaw, down his neck, to his chest while the other played with the hair at the nape of his neck. You gave a light tug, a grunt escaping from his throat.
Your chest pressed to his, as if you were melting into your boyfriend. Yunho’s large, warm palms began to roam your body, feeling your hips and ass and back. Slowly, almost regretfully, he pulled back, breathless. Your lips were just barely touching, still breathing each other’s air. You felt dizzy, intoxicated from his lips. A second later, Yunho was pulling you into a crushing kiss, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.
The kiss had grown hungrier, more heated. You felt Yunho’s hand tug at your waist, urging you to roll your hips together. He loved the feeling of having you on top of him. Your thighs settled over his. Yunho slips his tongue between your parted lips.
Your hands explore the planes that you’re all too familiar with — your boyfriend’s solid chest, his wide shoulders, and his long neck. Soft moans escape you, muffled against his mouth. He groans in response, low as you roll your hips, seeking more friction. Yunho’s lips leave yours to press warm, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, to your neck. You arch into him, gasping, your fingers tightening in his hair.
“We can’t get carried away up here.” He pressed his forehead to yours, heart hammering in his chest.
“I know.” You pause for a breath and nuzzle your nose against his. “It’s just been too long since we did that.”
“I agree.” He hums. His opens his eyes to meet yours already taking in his features. You hold Yunho’s gaze for only a moment before his reddened lips start to curl into a smirk. “Wanna do it some more?”
You giggle and nod in response, slotting your lips against his once more.
Your only witnesses, the stars.
✎ᝰ.
next fic dedicated to the loml, jeong yunho. WHERE MY HOTTEOKS AT?!
if even one person enjoys this, then it was worth posting. thank you for reading ♡
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