snooze

PRESENT DAY | TUESDAY, MAY 17, 2022 

OF ALL THE WAYS YOU IMAGINED MEETING SEUNGCHEOL AGAIN, THIS WASN’T ONE OF THEM. you’re both wide-eyed, mirrored deer-in-the-headlights, staring at each other for just a beat too long. him, stepping out from the apartment across the hall from yours, in the building you just moved into, and you, dressed in your standard uniform of black slacks and a collared shirt that’s just the slightest bit wrinkled from a combination of a near twelve-hour office shift and the fact that you still haven’t managed to invest in an iron but refuse to shell out for dry cleaning. instead, you have a bulk buy of the same set of collared shirts in varying shades of decidedly neutral blues and whites, purchased on sale and worn in rotation every week. 

laughably, your first thought is, well, i could look a lot worse. your hair is only slightly disheveled, and you’ve got the top button of your shirt open, but other than that, you really just look appropriately post-corporate, pre-happy hour levels of exhausted, barring the fact that it’s nearing 9pm and happy hour’s long passed. seungcheol’s always been naturally gifted with the inability to look bad, ever, irrespective of his state of being, another mark in your mental list of how unfairly different his world remains from yours. a list you wish you could scrub from your thoughts, because having it is unfair in and of itself. to you, and to him. 

the silence stretches between the two of you. you’ve never been known for filling the space, but even seungcheol seems at a loss, unsure what’s acceptable to say after five years. then again, you suppose no one expects to run into their ex across the hall - that is, assuming he’s your new neighbor. 

the question’s on the tip of your tongue, a hopefully safe conversation starter, when he clears his throat, lips pulling up on one side in a polite smile. “hi.” 

perhaps even more unexpectedly, the deep tenor of his voice hits you straight in the chest. it’s been years since you’ve last heard it, having forced yourself to delete all the voicemails he left after the breakup, and then burying the few videos you used to have on your phone into archives you don’t dare to touch anymore. claiming it was part of a bulk purge of the media you have on your phone, clearing your limited storage for new pictures. pictures you don’t take, unless your sister is around. 

you straighten a bit, shoulders pulling back. “hi,” you echo, and something flickers in his eyes, gone as fast as it came. you figured after five years you wouldn’t notice these things about seungcheol. but you still do. 

like how his hair is just the slightest bit shorter now, parted just off center instead of hanging thick across his forehead. or how he seems impossibly broader, obvious even in the plain t-shirts he still seems to prefer, a thin, light gray zip-up thrown over to combat the slight chill that tends to accompany spring nights in your city, before the summer heat hits. how his palms smooth down his jeans, nervous, as if seeing you still has any effect on his heart. 

it shouldn’t, by now. by now, seungcheol probably has a gorgeous girlfriend, the type that can afford fancy dinner dates that he pays for anyway, half a point of pride, and half a deep wish to always take care of the people around him, a personality trait that’s more or less wired into his genetics. your mind tries to dredge up a memory you’ve thrown under as many heavy weights as you can mentally, successfully yanking out a fleeting image of seungcheol switching tactics at age twenty, eating spam and rice and kimchi on your dorm floor, his smile unbearably fond, eyes adoring. 

“i was just-” seungcheol jabs a thumb in the direction of the door he came out of, his voice scattering the memory. “visiting. a friend. my friend. he lives here. mingyu. you - i - if you remember - um. yeah.” 

you suppose that answers the question of whether or not your one and only ex is your new neighbor. instead, it’s the freshman that used to follow seungcheol around for the express purpose of being annoying, so incredibly endearing in spite of it all that even you had a soft spot for him. but you only lift a noncommittal shoulder, trying for a smile while you’re at it. you nod your acknowledgement, gesturing towards your door. “i just moved in.” 

“oh.” seungcheol’s response is short, but with a sharp, sudden inhale, he blurts, “do you need help unpacking?” 

your eyebrow arches before you can help yourself. he winces slightly but doesn’t take it back, powering through: “i don’t mind,” and the problem is you know he really doesn’t. seungcheol is sincere that way. “or if you need someone to help carry the furniture up. and mingyu can help too. if you want.” 

you both know the answer is no. even before becoming strangers, you never wanted seungcheol’s help. avoided it, if you could help it. it was a contention point that the two of you came back to again and again and again, but old habits die hard. “i’ve got it,” you shift your keys in your hand, the sound an indicator of this conversation ending. “thank you, though.” 

seungcheol swallows. “sure,” he murmurs. “if you change your mind, though. my… my number hasn’t changed. or you can just knock on mingyu’s door.” 

your heart beats an unsteady rhythm in your chest, and the hallway feels claustrophobic. you jam your key into the lock before you can meet his eyes again, turning your back on him in the way that has always felt safest. “will do,” you lie, and seungcheol clears his throat once more before shoving his hands in his pockets, giving you a quiet bye, and then he’s gone, down the hallway and around the corner, out of reach. 

you close your door behind you, inhaling a steadying breath. you get the sense that you feel like crying, but it’s been five years, and you’ve already run the limit on the number of tears you’re allowed to shed on a relationship you trashed, so you drop your keys on the table and clench and unclench your fists tightly until the feeling subsides, until it becomes a manageable, tiny, crumpled little ball that you can successfully toss aside like everything else that matters to you even when it shouldn’t. 

FRESHMAN YEAR | WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28, 2013 

you meet seungcheol in an incredibly mundane way. you bump into him outside your government-funded dorm room, seungcheol moving into the room down the hall from you. as a “disadvantaged student in higher education,” you’d moved in a couple weeks prior as part of mandatory orientation for students within the financial aid program at your university. the rest of the students are moving in now, seungcheol one of them as he heaves a box piled with smaller boxes into the building. 

“oh, thanks,” he says brightly, when you pick up a beanie that’s dropped out of whatever else he’s managed to balance on top of his belongings. his expression falters a bit when it occurs to him that his hands are currently occupied with boxes, and setting it down would likely mean even more toppling of things. you settle for placing it on top, tiptoeing to get it in the middle, where it’s hopefully less prone to falling off. he seems satisfied with your solution, beaming at you in return. his eyes flick to the door behind you, the one you’d just come out of, reading the names tacked to it. “y/n? or nayeon?” 

“y/n,” you nod, and he smiles. 

“i’m seungcheol. i’m just down the hall. it’s nice meeting you,” his voice is earnest, sincere, though you’re mostly wondering how he doesn’t sound even the slightest bit strained, considering how much he’s carrying. he reads it on your face, how you eye his towering pile with mild concern. “oh, don’t worry,” he reassures. “it’s not heavy, just a lot of small things. but i should probably go put them down. hey, i’ll see you around, okay? knock if you ever get bored.” 

you watch him head down the hallway, past other students moving in, hear loud laughter and chatter that seungcheol responds to with pouting and whining before the person already in his room unloads a stack off as he follows them in, disappearing from sight. seungcheol at eighteen is still young and naive and excited. so are you, but in the sense that you still can’t pick out the differences between the college career he can afford, and the one you can’t. 

you’re lucky to even be here. scraped every penny, broke probably a few child labor laws, applied to every scholarship and grant just to get here. but going to university means you stand a chance. means you can go home to your sister and see a better future for her, maybe even prove to your mother that you were worth raising, after all. that you can change the tides, rewrite your father’s abandonment out of the story she can’t stop reliving every time she sees you. you won’t be him. you won’t leave. you’ll come home with a degree and a paycheck and a second chance. 

you can be different. nobody works as hard as you. 

FRESHMAN YEAR | TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2013 

you are, you discover, devastatingly average. below average. 

you run a hand through your hair, ruining the tight ponytail it’s been pulled up into from your closing shift at the convenience store. it’s late enough that most everyone has retreated to their dorms, leaving the common area empty. your head lowers, hand pressing down into your scalp as if you can squeeze the stress out, exhaling heavily. your free hand clenches and unclenches. you try to remind yourself you’ve been through worse than this. you are a top student. you do not fail. 

except your calculus midterm grade is staring back at you, one letter grade above an actual failure. it would take a miracle to turn this around by the time you have to take your finals. 

“ouch,” you hear, followed by a sympathetic wince. your head lifts, and you must be giving him the filthiest look, because seungcheol takes a step back, palms raised defensively. “sorry,” he whispers, slowly lowering his hands. “if it makes you feel better, i’m pretty sure i’m failing out of chinese.” 

he can tell from your expression that it does not, in fact, make you feel better. 

hesitantly, like he’s reaching for an animal that might attack at any second, he reaches for the chair across from you, sliding it out. you eye his hand, contemplating whether it’s worth lunging across the table to bite him just to see his reaction. he lowers himself into the seat, watching you carefully as he does so. “may i?” he gestures towards your exam papers, the 64% marked unnecessarily large in red ink across it. you consider telling him to fuck off, but he’s already seen it and it’s past midnight, so you don’t really have altogether that many fucks left to give, anyway. you push the papers towards him, and he gives you a small smile, collecting it into his hands. 

he flips through the pages, eyes scanning through each point you’ve lost. he doesn’t skim, takes his time, slowly reading through your work, like he’s mentally taking notes for himself. you don’t realize you’re waiting for his evaluation until after he’s handed them back to you. 

he gives you a crooked grin. “salvageable,” he promises, and you’ve got no reason to believe him, but he holds himself with such confidence that you find yourself doing it anyways. “have you tried office hours?” 

your eyes lower. you fold the papers into your backpack. “they’re during my shifts.” 

he hums. “i think there’s peer tutoring, too.” 

“i have lecture doing those hours. or…” you chew on the inside of your cheek. “more shifts.” 

seungcheol’s chin raises slightly, like he’s starting to put the pieces together, then lowers it again in a slow nod. “okay. when do you have free time?” 

your eyes lift to meet his. “now.” 

he blinks. you watch the gears turn in his head, expression thoughtful. “every week? every tuesday, midnight?” 

you shrug. “more or less.” 

“okay.” he sticks his hand out. you stare at him blankly. “phone,” he clarifies. 

you hand him your phone, watch his eyebrows shoot up at your nokia, but he firmly clamps his mouth shut and types in his number, saving it to your contacts list. “tuesdays,” he hands your phone back to you, tilting his head. “i’m not too bad at calculus.” 

his grin makes a reappearance, while your lips turn downwards in a frown. “why?” 

“well, jeonghan’s better than i am, and i’d offer him up instead, but he goes to bed at like 10pm, but he taught me everything and it stuck pretty good, so i figure-” 

you cut him off. “not that.” 

“oh.” he twiddles his thumbs. shrugs. “you picked my beanie up.” 

it’s been two months since move-in day. you never once took seungcheol up on his offer, haven’t even wandered past your own door in the hallway of your building. you practically treat your dorm like a hotel - you only come back to sleep and shower, your days packed to the brim with classes and work-study and extra shifts at the student center convenience store, plus the restaurant downtown. it’s not exactly a new routine for you - used to filling your days with as much as you can, collecting every paycheck that comes by. but it meant sacrificing the early days of get-togethers that your RA scheduled (“freshman bonding,” your roommate informed you. “you’re not missing much.”), so you haven’t even spoken to seungcheol since that first day. 

reality had set in pretty early on. but you can’t afford to fail which means you can’t afford to second guess whatever intentions seungcheol has, not when you’re starting to think you’re running out of options. so you bite your tongue and accept his dirt poor explanation, even if it means feeling discomfort crawl under your skin, the kind of unease you always get when there’s nothing you can offer back in return. 

FRESHMAN YEAR | FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2013

courtesy of seungcheol, your grades do start looking up. calculus is scored on a bell curve, which means, according to seungcheol, all you need to do is be better than everyone else in your class by the time you take your finals. easier said than done, but nevertheless, doable. 

“y/n?” 

you lift your head. it’s the middle of the night again, a thursday (friday, technically) - and seungcheol’s voice carries loud enough down the hall to make both of you pause in case anyone wakes up to snap at him. he’s sitting on the floor outside his room, but he clambers to his feet now that he’s confirmed it’s you. he meets you outside your dorm, and you’re suddenly self-conscious of the way you smell, grease clinging to your clothes and hair. he sniffs. “damn. can you bring me fries next time?” 

you’re pretty sure you should be offended, but even the bags under seungcheol’s tired eyes don’t hide the warmth with which he looks at you. you’re not entirely sure if seungcheol’s capable of being malicious. “why aren’t you in your room?” you ask instead, seungcheol’s face dropping immediately, nose scrunching. 

“jeonghan,” he says his roommate’s name like he’s cursing him out. he lowers his voice even further. “i’m being sexiled.” 

you choke on air. seungcheol snickers, and you glare at him but there’s no heat to it. a glance at your phone tells you it’s cutting close to 2am. if jeonghan hasn’t let him back in by now, there’s a pretty low probability of seungcheol getting let back in later. 

“i thought jeonghan goes to bed at 10pm,” you say, searching through your texts for nayeon’s message chain. your roommate is sleeping over at a friend’s dorm, working on a project together, and hopefully still awake. incidentally, nayeon is the only person that might qualify as your friend after three months of being here, which is convenient considering what you’re about to ask her. 

“sex might be the only thing he’s capable of staying up for,” seungcheol informs you. he says it casually enough to make your cheeks flush pink, and you focus on texting nayeon in an attempt to hide it. judging from the amused smile on his face, you’re not doing a very good job. 

[01:46am] y/n: can seungcheol sleep in your bed [01:48am] nayeon: is he clean  [01:48am] y/n: he’s not a dog, nayeon [01:48am] nayeon: all men are dogs, y/n 

you glance at him. seungcheol’s hair is slightly damp, and you try to calculate whether that’s sweat-damp or post-shower damp. he raises his eyebrows and you show him your phone. his lips quirk. “i showered earlier,” he clarifies for you. 

[01:50am] y/n: he showered earlier  [01:51am] nayeon: with soap?  [01:51am] y/n: you can just say no [01:51am] nayeon: im kiddinggg  [01:52am] nayeon: let the dog in. tell him not to bark

“woof,” seungcheol mutters, reading over your shoulder. you flinch in surprise from how close he suddenly is, but he just chuckles, drawing back up to his full height, out of your personal space. “tell her thanks.” 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, MAY 21, 2022 

you blame nayeon for ever letting seungcheol become your friend. it’s not really her fault - she used to roll her eyes whenever you brought it up: “it could’ve been just me and you, nayeon,” you’d pretend to mourn in your sophomore year, even with seungcheol on the couch across from you, looking offended. 

but whatever trajectory your life takes, seungcheol would always have been in it. midnight tutoring had turned into meals in his dorm room, study sessions in the library whenever you could manage it, and the occasional sleepover, courtesy of jeonghan, who you did eventually meet, too. whenever nayeon was still in the dorm, she’d pull out a sleeping bag definitely too small for seungcheol, and toss a pillow on the ground to make up for the extra height on him. you always left well before he was awake - morning shifts at the local coffee shop - but he found ways to weasel into your schedule. anything to stay in orbit, as long as you’d have him. 

turns out, dumping him somehow still doesn’t change whether or not seungcheol’s in your life. “shit,” nayeon says concisely, sitting at your kitchen table. 

“shit,” you confirm, dropping your head into your hands. it’s a saturday morning and you’ve just briefed her on your encounter with seungcheol earlier in the week, and the fact that mingyu is your neighbor. you’ve gotten lucky so far and haven’t bumped into him yet. 

nayeon purses her lips. “i just feel like the universe is trying to tell you something.” 

“that i’m fucked in the head?” 

“you didn’t need the universe for that. dumping him could’ve told you that.” 

“thanks,” you respond dryly. nayeon smiles pretty for you. 

the both of you settle into silence, nayeon nursing her coffee and you glancing around at your apartment. it’s small, a one bedroom, the kitchen and living room so close together, you’re certain whatever couch you end up with is going to permanently smell like oil. you would’ve gone with a studio, like your old apartment was, but your sister and nayeon teamed up on a group call just to yell at you, so you compromised with a cheap one bed, one bath apartment on the side of town that is decidedly less shady. safety first, or whatever. 

considering your neighbor is mingyu, nothing could be safer. you’re pretty sure if you so much as yelp, your six foot two golden retriever of a neighbor would find a way to barrel through your door. it’s impossible for you to pretend mingyu doesn’t know by now, given the fresh batch of cookies he’d left at your door, coupled with a note jokingly (mostly, you think) informing you that he’s always got sugar handy, if you need it. just knock. 

you wish you could say mingyu is just doing seungcheol a favor, but mingyu’s just genuinely nice. most of seungcheol’s friends are. you were always the outlier in that batch. that is, back when you could be considered one of his friends. 

“did he look taken?” 

you snap your head back to nayeon so fast you’re surprised you didn’t hear it crack. “what?” 

nayeon sips her coffee, then stares straight at you. “did he look taken?” 

you squint at her. “how am i supposed to know?” 

nayeon waves a hand aimlessly. “y’know. put together, tied down.. a ring.” 

you run a hand down your face. “that’s not.. i don’t know. i wasn’t looking.” 

“well, what did he look like?” nayeon arches her brows, and you know you’re not getting out of this. she’s being entirely unhelpful on purpose, trying to corner you into admitting something you’ve kept locked down for years. 

handsome, is what he looked like. now that you’ve put a couple days in between, and successfully dodged mingyu while you were at it (yeah, maybe you slammed the close button on the elevator every morning just in case), the shock value has worn off at least a little bit. 

“tall,” is what you say. “t-shirt, hoodie, jeans.” tan, broad, strong, warm. still looks at you the way nobody else has ever looked at you. 

“so you were looking,” nayeon gives you a wicked grin, and you throw her a look. 

“get out of my apartment.” 

“he’s still hot, isn’t he.” 

“get out.” 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2022

god hates you, and you know it, so you should’ve braced yourself better for this moment. 

you’ve managed to avoid mingyu for almost two weeks, which is about as much luck as you’ll ever be given in your life. actually, maybe luck had nothing to do with it. if it did, then you would’ve come across mingyu any other way but this one. 

“do you need- oh,” mingyu can’t hide his surprise, not that he’s ever been good at hiding his feelings. he’s the definition of heart on his sleeve. “y/n. nayeon!” 

“hi, mingyu,” nayeon smiles and wiggles her fingers in greeting. you close your eyes briefly. 

“hi, mingyu,” you try not to sound tired. his eyes light up, and your shoulders drop helplessly at the sight. mingyu is so - so endearing. so harmless. you just don’t have the heart to pretend otherwise. five years after the fact and your soft spot for him remains untouched. 

he gestures towards the couch you and nayeon had been struggling to drag into the elevator. all of your non-mandatory furniture was delivered today, and you’d enlisted (forced) her to come help you. “i guess he wasn’t hallucinating,” mingyu comments. “you really are moving in. did you get my cookies?” 

“i did. thank you,” you say, and he looks so pleased that now you feel bad for avoiding him. it’s not his fault he’s friends with your ex. when you dumped seungcheol, you’d also dumped all his friends, and none of them had taken particularly well to that. but while jeonghan had tried to guilt you into responding to his texts, and joshua tried to bribe you, mingyu had simply texted: i’d really like it if we can still be friends. 

no pressure, just a wish that you couldn’t fulfill. 

he took the hint when you didn’t respond, and judging from the looks of him now, he didn’t take it personal, either. 

“here - let me help,” mingyu gently nudges you out of the way. “actually - is that yours, too?” 

he points towards a set of boxes that contain the bedframe your sister made you buy. moving into this apartment is your most expensive purchase yet, having been nagged into replacing most of the furniture you’ve kept from your very first apartment years ago. “you literally got half of those things off the street, it’s a miracle they haven’t collapsed on you yet,” she’d argued. “and i’m not gonna be the sister to a loser who doesn’t own a freaking bedframe. do you know how many guys i’ve met without one? it’s abysmal out here.” 

so, new bedframe. 

“...yes,” you cave, and mingyu makes his way towards it, hitting the elevator buttons along the way. as the doors chime open, he hefts the materials up and carefully navigates it into the cramped space, setting it down in time for him to shove an arm out before the doors can close. “come on,” he waves you over. “need your keys to get it in. don’t worry, backup’s on the way for the couch.” 

you glance at nayeon. “oh don’t worry,” she says, voice saccharine. you could kill her if she wasn’t your only friend. “i’ll watch your stuff and wait for the backup to show up.” 

you knew you should’ve just coughed up the money for the movers. 

ten minutes later, with a majority of your heavy (and new) furniture moved into your apartment thanks to mingyu, who makes it all look effortless, seungcheol appears in your lobby, looking slightly out of breath and a little sweaty, like he’d just run here. you make the definitive decision not to think about how that probably means he doesn’t live that far away. and that he rushed here just to help. dropped everything the moment your name was mentioned.

you are not thinking about it at all. because that’s definitely not what happened. 

nayeon gives him the same greeting she gave mingyu, her fingers wiggling with that spark in her eye that always spells trouble, while you try to will the ground underneath you to swallow you whole. 

“hi,” he breathes, but he’s not looking at nayeon. he’s looking at you, eyes a little wide, too hopeful for your liking. “you called?” 

you point at mingyu. “technically, he did.” 

seungcheol barely spares his friend a glance. nayeon mouths “single” to you over his shoulder. your eye twitches. 

mingyu and seungcheol decide the couch won’t fit in the elevator, so they’ll have to take the stairs instead. mingyu, with his distinct ability to look like a kicked puppy (both with and without meaning to, depending on the day - today it’s without), convinces you to take the elevator and just wait for them at your apartment while they haul it up three flights of stairs. nayeon drags you away before you can change your mind, elevator doors closing on the image of mingyu smiling cheerfully, promising to bring it up in one piece. 

“definitely single,” nayeon says as soon as the doors slide shut. “and definitely never got over you.” 

you hang your head, groaning. “nayeon, please.” 

she relents, just barely, voice softening. “it’s been five years, y/n. you’ve grown out of a lot of things.” 

you stare at your sneakers. you’ve had them for seven years now, they’re worn and old and there’s scuffs everywhere and you’re pretty sure the soles gave out two years ago. you haven’t thrown them out because you argue that the hole on the side towards your heel hasn’t yet grown large enough for you to feel concerned about it, so they’re still acceptable to wear for short distances, like from your door to the lobby. 

nayeon is wrong. you don’t grow out of things. you keep them with you forever, until they’re damaged and unrecognizable. until they become part of you. you cling to them with unnecessary force, refuse to let them go even when they’ve run their course. 

the elevator dings before you can come up with a decent response. it’s a good enough excuse to avoid the conversation, heading down the hall to wait in your apartment for the boys to come up with the couch, leaving the door open for them. 

when they arrive, mingyu comes through the door first, holding one end, seungcheol appearing after. you manage to make a vague gesture for where you want the couch to be, but you’re staring and you can’t help it. good looks and healthy physique was never seungcheol’s problem. sturdy build, broad shoulders, biceps that could make you dizzy irrespective of the incoming summer heat, seungcheol had once been your one luxury in life, your constant daydream, the kind of guy that felt like he’d been taken straight out of a fairytale. a novel. you try to force yourself to turn away, to not watch the muscle of his arms flex as he hauls the couch into position, but your eyes simply redirect to follow the expanse of his back as he lowers it to the floor. he does it all with ease - you’re pretty sure he hasn’t even broken a sweat. running over here took more out of him than lifting that couch. 

you forget you’re staring. your eyes trace from the trim of his waist up his back, to the way he flexes his hands, rolling his wrist slightly. up, to the breadth of his shoulders, his strong jawline as he turns, full lips that part as he speaks - 

speaks. he’s talking to you. you snap your eyes up to his. “-anything else?” 

“she’s got a bedframe in need of building,” mingyu nods towards the boxes he dropped off earlier. you almost glare at him before you remember mingyu is basically a stranger at this point and he carried all your stuff up anyways. seungcheol brightens. 

“i can do that. i don’t have anything else going on today,” he offers. 

“well i do,” nayeon hops off your kitchen table, heading for the door. “i bet mingyu does too, no?” 

mingyu blinks. “...yes,” he says slowly, following after her. “i sure do.” 

your lift your head towards the ceiling. you feel like a teenager. specifically, nineteen. 

seungcheol smiles. 

SOPHOMORE YEAR | FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 2015 

when you push your door open, you find your small space filled. nayeon’s on her bed, seungcheol on yours, with jeonghan at your desk and even joshua’s here, occupying the floor with his long legs spread out far enough that the door snags on his foot before he draws it back towards him. there’s a chorus of “hi, y/n,” that makes you smile even through the exhaustion. 

you hang your coat on the command hooks nayeon put up earlier in the year, pressing your fingers against your neck to feel some semblance of warmth. the heater’s on blast in the dorms but your fingers are still frozen from the walk back from your shift at the diner. 

“don’t you guys have dorms you pay for to hang out at?” you tease, coming to sit beside joshua on the ground. “this place is too small for all of you.” your foot taps joshua’s shin playfully, nudging him over to make space for you. 

“how else are we supposed to welcome home our hard working husband?” jeonghan grins, and nayeon scans him top to bottom and back up in joking disdain. 

“our? that’s my hard working husband,” she scoffs, earning an eye roll from jeonghan. “how was your shift?” 

“busy,” you sigh, leaning back on your hands, lolling your head back tiredly. “lots of valentines dates. good tips.” you dig a hand into your pocket, wrangling out a folded pile of bills. jeonghan whistles, leaning down to snag it out of your hands, unfolding the bills to count them. 

“a hundred forty-six,” he announces, stacking them neatly back before handing them to you. “not bad.” 

you hum, eyes closed. your friends chatter around you, picking up whatever conversation you’d interrupted when you came back. it’s nice, that your friends are here whenever they can be, waiting for you on the days you have late shifts, just so they can spend some time with you. you’d met jeonghan and joshua two semesters ago, courtesy of seungcheol. somehow, in the spare minutes you got in between classes and work, you managed to make friends. actual friends. they’re even more easy-going than seungcheol, except that one time they found out about your catastrophic thanksgiving last semester, when you went home only to be stonewalled by your mother. 

why bother coming home, she’d said. 

your father didn’t, is what she didn’t say. you heard it anyways. 

it’s a memory that still bleeds. you prepped, you cooked, you cleaned. you sat at the dinner table with your little sister, and stared at the empty seats across from you where your parents belong. the entire weekend passed and only your sister ate the leftovers, promising you they taste good. she’s thirteen, and instead of throwing teenage fits, she’s trying to ease the burn on your heart, not knowing the damage has already been permanently branded there. you’d smiled at her and run a hand through her hair, fond. thank you. 

you came back early that weekend, earlier than the rest of your friends. curled into a ball on your bed in your empty dorm, tried to swallow the ache that comes with going home. resented being alone, needing to be alone. you didn’t want anyone else to see how pathetic you could be. 

except nayeon had come back early, too. unlocked the door and entered before you had time to compose yourself, and she’d taken one look at you and pulled you close to her, wrapped you in a tight hug. by then, it wasn’t much of a secret what life at home for you was like. you spared most of the details, but it’s hard to hide the truth when they always hit like meteor strikes. hard, blast radius wide, leaving craters in your chest. 

your friends had come back, one by one. over the next week, they secretly planned, using a mix of seungcheol and joshua’s bank account, jeonghan’s scheming, and nayeon’s decorating skill to throw a friendsgiving in the common area, even though it was 11pm by the time you got back from work. tears had sprung to your eyes and seungcheol tugged you into a hug long enough for you to hide them, burying your face into his chest where everything felt safe. you hadn’t wanted to let go. you wanted to live in that moment forever. 

your head lulls forward, eyes blinking open slowly. seungcheol watches you, your smile imperceptible to anyone else, but your friends know you well. all of them could look at you right now and see the soft affection written into your eyes, even with the exhaustion layered in. 

“alright,” you finally say, tapping joshua’s leg. “get out. i wanna shower and get changed in peace, so all of you need to leave.” 

“i live here,” nayeon pouts, but she herds jeonghan and joshua out, notably leaving seungcheol behind, shooting you a sly smile as she pulls the door closed behind her. you roll your eyes at her, but as expected, seungcheol stays behind. 

he slides off your bed, joining you on the floor. “hate to break it to you, cheol,” you pick at a fraying edge on your shirt. “but ‘all’ does include you. i don’t even let nayeon see me naked.” 

since your dorm showers are communal, you usually bring a ratty robe with you, so you can return from the showers to your room to change, where you don’t have to worry about where to put your towel, or your clothes, or your shower supplies in a crowded bathroom stall, or a wet shower stall. given that you usually come home late, nayeon’s typically asleep by the time you’re done showering, her back to you as you get changed into pajamas. 

“what if i promise not to look?” seungcheol leans his head towards you. “pinky swear. won’t even cross my fingers like jeonghan does.” 

you snort. “you won’t have to. i’ll just make you wait in the hall.” 

that makes him pout, earning him a smile from you that makes his whole expression light up. seungcheol’s easy to please, you just so rarely aim to please him, not when it’s so fun to make him whine and huff. he revels in affection of any kind, uses it as an excuse to show off his own. his arms open to tackle you in a hug, but you quickly climb to your feet, stepping away, so he just meets empty air, whining. so predictable. 

“i’m gross,” you argue, collecting your shower items. “don’t touch me. you’ll get gross too.” 

“don’t care,” seungcheol kicks his legs, looking every bit the overgrown toddler. one raised eyebrow from you and he behaves. “come back quickly, then. you owe me a hug.” 

“i owe you shit,” you say over your shoulder as you exit, but your shower is quick, and seungcheol patiently waits in the hall when you return and pull on pajamas - an old tee, sweatpants you’re pretty sure used to belong to joshua but have somehow made it into your closet. the legs are too long for them to be yours, rolled up at the ends so you don’t trip when you wear them. when you swing the door back open to let seungcheol in, he eyes the ends of your sweatpants but says nothing, opting to claim his hug instead. 

seungcheol always smells good. a bit woodsy but clean, distinctly masculine. it’s your excuse to linger in his warmth, strong arms pulling you against him as he buries his face into your shoulder. “hug me back,” he mumbles, voice muffled because he refuses to lift his head away from you. it makes you smile, so you leave your arms hanging just to hear him whine, seungcheol twisting the two of you side to side until your arms wrap around his waist, you laughing into his chest. 

satisfied, he sighs happily against you. seungcheol’s clingy with everyone, prone to practically climbing onto joshua, or letting jeonghan lay his head in his lap, but your affections have always been more reserved, which brings his out even more. 

secretly, you don’t mind. you like his attention, how openly he adores you, how it’s more than just his insistence on hugging you when you return home, but how he listens to you with such focus, like whatever you say is all that matters to him at any given moment. seungcheol’s eyes are your weakest point, how large they get, always soft when he’s looking at you. 

your phone pings with a text message. you wriggle out of seungcheol’s arms to grab it off your desk, seungcheol grumbling the entire time, trailing after you. 

[11:39pm] nayeon: jeonghan is a WHORE  [11:39pm] nayeon: it is literally 1140 who the fuck finds a valentines date 20 minutes BEFORE VALENTINES [11:39pm] nayeon: anyways im staying at shua’s. too much work to come back. have fun with cheol :)  [11:40pm] y/n: we’re just friends [11:41pm] nayeon: i didn’t say anything [11:41pm] y/n: i could feel it through the screen. you’re loud as hell  [11:41pm] nayeon: <333 mwah mwah mwah 

“jeonghan found a date,” you tell seungcheol. his eyebrows arch, glancing at the alarm clock on nayeon’s nightstand. 11:42pm. 

“wow,” he says succinctly, entirely unsurprised. seungcheol’s known jeonghan since they were kids and been his roommate for the past year and a half. you suppose none of jeonghan’s habits surprise him anymore. 

“nayeon’s staying at joshua’s,” you plug your phone into the charger, climbing onto your bed. “what about you?” 

seungcheol leans against your bed. “you tired?” 

you shrug. “i’m pretty sure i’m always tired.” 

he quirks a smile, snagging nayeon’s laptop off her desk. “move over,” he hands you the laptop, crawling in next to you. seungcheol’s much too broad to reasonably fit both of you side by side in the bed, but you’ve learned that if you lean into him and throw your legs over his, he’s less likely to fall off. 

he signs into his netflix account on nayeon’s laptop, scrolling through romcoms until he finds one he fancies, since you never care to choose. fifteen minutes into the movie and you’re fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder. 

seungcheol turns to you, cheek brushing your forehead. “happy valentines,” he whispers, setting the laptop aside. 

he stays, gently adjusting you until the both of you are laying down, letting you use his chest as a pillow. in your sleep, you shift, one arm thrown across him, your leg hooking against his. it’s the only time you cling to him, pressed as close to him as you can get. like you never want to let him go. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2022

you know what? maybe you don’t need friends. nayeon’s easy enough to lure into a grave. 

you hover awkwardly to the side while seungcheol uses the scissors you’d handed him to slice open the boxes to your new bedframe. you had hardly picked it - anything you chose was cheap and ugly, according to your peanut gallery (nayeon and your sister). in the end you made them browse by themselves and settled on the cheapest one they could agree on. it still put you out a couple hundred, but it was sturdy and would likely last you a long while, your only comfort and justification in the cut to your wallet. 

“you make six figures and a five digit bonus,” nayeon said. “your sister’s on partial scholarship. i think it’s okay if you get a new bedframe.” 

she was right, but frugal living is how you ended up with a bank account that allowed for a new apartment, never mind a new bedframe, so if there’s any habit you’re gonna carry for life, it’s this one. 

seungcheol glances up at you from his position on the floor, scissors set safely to the side farther from you. “you can unpack, or do whatever it is you need to do,” he says. “you don’t have to…” he trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence. you bite your cheek and fold your legs under you as you sit on the ground, a safe distance from him. 

“i’ll help.” you never could stand it when seungcheol took care of everything himself. 

his lips twitch on one side. “from all the way over there?” 

your lips press into a thin line. you’re tempted to say yes just to be contentious, but you opt to silently scoot an inch closer, which only makes seungcheol bite his lip to hide a laugh, but you can still see the amusement in his eyes. he knows you’re being petulant. 

he unloads a box, handing you the instructions. grateful to have something to do, you flip through the booklet, skimming as he spreads the pieces out on your bedroom floor. it gives you something to focus on that has nothing to do with the way your stomach twists, anxiety crawling under your skin. there’s a sense of deja vu; it was like this when you first met seungcheol, too. an offer to help that you didn’t want to take, and an inability to figure a way out of it. 

the two of you work in silence for the first five minutes. you hand parts and tools and screws, holding pieces together so he can bolt them in. it’s surprisingly seamless - still so in tune with one another, in spite of the years spent apart. 

“do you like it?” seungcheol asks, suddenly, as he’s working an allen key, tightening a screw. 

you blink. “hm?” 

“your new apartment,” he explains. “do you like it?” 

“oh,” your thumb swipes back and forth over the part you’re helping him balance. “it’s… nice.” 

it’s more than nice. you’ve bounced around apartments for the past couple years, from one cheap place to the next. the first had roaches, which you unfortunately learned to live with; the second had mice, which you did not learn to live with. the third place was moderately better, clean, at least, even if the paint was peeling and the heater sometimes kicked on randomly, even in the summer. all the appliances were functional, you had enough space to move around, and you could fit a small pull-out couch for your sister whenever she visited. 

by comparison, this apartment may as well be considered luxury. granite countertops, windows overseeing the street rather than a brick wall, a heater/ac that you can control. it’s small, but you get your own bedroom, finally separate from your kitchen, so your sheets will stop smelling like food. most importantly, it’s on the safe side of town, quiet and well-lit, and while you still carry pepper spray around, you no longer feel like you need to keep your keys between your knuckles when you walk home. 

seungcheol glances around your barren bedroom. you moved in a little over two weeks ago, unpacked your essentials, and left it at that. you don’t really have ‘personal items’, just a couple of old, worn books, and a framed photo of you and your sister at her high school graduation that’s on the nightstand you refused to replace. “pick one or the other,” you’d said firmly. “bedframe or nightstands.”  

you fall back into awkward, stiff silence. seungcheol glances at you when you’re not looking, trying to capture glimpses of your face while you’re still here, still in front of him. he hasn’t seen you in so long, wants to know everything that’s changed and everything that hasn’t. 

your hair’s the same, same practical style that you always choose. easy to maintain. without makeup, he can spot the bags under your eyes, but they’re not as severe as they were in college, like you’re getting more sleep now, on a regular schedule instead of staying up late just to catch a breath for yourself. you look healthier. just a little less tired. a little less worn. 

you turn, gaze finding his, and he freezes. you both do. for a moment in time, you’re both just staring at each other, before you simultaneously jerk away, seungcheol focusing on his building project, while you suddenly become fascinated with the paint on your walls. 

inexplicably, you feel heat prickle behind your eyes, but you blink rapidly and bite down hard on your tongue to fight the tears. unfair, unfair, unfair, your mind scolds. you haven’t cried in years over seungcheol. every time the urge comes around, you find another problem to fix instead. anything to ignore the crushing ache. 

it’s kind of hard to ignore when the reason for said crushing ache is sitting two feet away from you building your new bedframe. 

hesitantly, seungcheol lifts his eyes in your direction again. you’re rolling a screw between your fingertips, pressing hard as you spin it, again, again, again. you stare aimlessly at something on the ground, mind a thousand miles away. 

gently, he pulls the screw from your fingers, startling you. wide eyes turn to him and he feels his heart rate kick up from the way you look at him. “it’s-” sharp. i don’t want you to hurt yourself by accident. “-for the next step,” he says, picking up the booklet and hoping he’s right. 

“oh,” your voice sounds so small, it stings. with nothing else to fidget with, you run a finger along the edge of the parts of the frame he’s put together so far, back and forth, before settling your hands back into your lap. 

attempting to disperse the tension, seungcheol tries a new topic. “there’s a restaurant, around the corner,” he says. “it’s pretty good, mingyu and i have gone a few times. it’s worth trying. if you want. with - with nayeon. or - yeah.” 

seungcheol is a confident person. you are the only person who can shake that confidence, the only one who makes him feel like he’s losing his footing, so desperate in his wish to understand you. to be part of your life. in college, you watched him falter when you started dating, only to double back tenfold, with new ways to love you. whatever it took to make it comprehensible to you. 

the problem, which he never understood, to the very end, wasn’t that you didn’t understand. seungcheol showered you in gifts and food and time and affection, did so even as friends. it’s impossible to miss. 

it’s just you, incapable of accepting it. incapable of being worth it. 

“sure,” you tell him. “what’s the name?” 

seungcheol looks surprised, but he covers it quickly, a smile pulling at his lips. “i’ll text it to you, if…” his smile falls slightly. “if your number is still the same.” 

you stare at him. so familiar, choi seungcheol. all warmth and good intentions, comforting presence and quiet peace. still the same. 

“it’s the same.” 

you wonder if he understands you now. 

PRESENT DAY | THURSDAY, JUNE 02, 2022 

a knock sounds at your door late thursday evening. you open the door to a container of tupperware, lifting your head to find mingyu being the one proffering it to you. “made extra,” he says in lieu of greeting, ripping you straight back to 2015. 

mingyu, like seungcheol, loves taking care of people. maybe not in the same way seungcheol does - seungcheol is more time spent at your side, hands pulling you close, always a call away to fix whatever has gone wrong. but mingyu is more… folding your laundry when you can’t get to it, washing your dishes when he comes over, leaving food in your refrigerator. in a way, mingyu is a little more like you. he talks twice as much as you do, but the way he loves is a language you speak a little more fluently. 

he loved cooking, even as a freshman when you’d met him while in your junior year. he was probably the only freshman who knew how to cook. he knew seungcheol first, but a few months into meeting you and he was leaving kimbap in your dorm mini-fridge, a sticky note on top saying “for nayeon and y/n. jeonghan/joshua/seungcheol do not touch”. 

there’s no sticky note this time, though you suppose there is also no jeonghan/joshua/seungcheol to raid your fridge anymore, since you haven’t talked to any of seungcheol’s friends since you were in college. save for mingyu, now. 

you don’t know what to say. mingyu can read it on your face, but he just smiles, bright as ever. he pushes the box towards you. “it’s galbi-jjim,” he explains. “i made too much. take it. you can give me the box back after. or just leave it at the door.” 

mingyu is terribly hard for you to say no to. something about his overwhelming height combined with his utter harmlessness, so incessantly kind and eager to please. 

also, he’s just a really good cook. 

you take the container, mumbling thank you a couple times too many, which makes him grin, canines poking out. distantly, you remember the way seungcheol used to huff because you always paid mingyu more attention whenever he was in the room. he was just so endearing and he loved the attention. “and he’s handsome,” you used to tease seungcheol. “he’s very handsome.” 

not your type. your type is the one that got jealous and pouty hearing you call mingyu handsome. 

satisfied with the hand-off, mingyu doesn’t keep you, waving as he turns back to his apartment across the hall. you close your door after he does, setting the galbi-jjim on your kitchen counter, staring at it. 

this, you think faintly, might become a problem. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, JUNE 10, 2022 

in the past week, you’ve run into mingyu so many times you’re starting to think that the two weeks you’d managed to dodge him had less to do with your skill in hiding from people and more to do with mingyu being nice. you wouldn’t exactly put it past mingyu to see how hard you’re trying to avoid him and decide to spare you the misery and embarrassment. 

but now that you have seen each other, mingyu is everywhere. walking into the building at the same time you are, holding the door open for you cheerfully. stepping out of his apartment at the same time you’ve decided to toss the trash, or passing by you at the mailboxes. that’s not even counting the numerous times he’s knocked on your door - it had started with the galbi-jjim, but then there was the rice cakes, and more cookies, and one time it was brownies. he’s been at your door practically every day with something new he’s whipped up, and always with such a hopeful shine in his eyes, you don’t have the heart to turn him away. it helps that every dish is better than the last. 

a barrage of knocks has you hurrying to the door, only to see that it’s mingyu again, but this time he looks a little bit breathless. “hey, sorry,” he says, brushing his hair out of his face. “did you happen to see a package with my name on it in the lobby earlier?” 

“oh,” you kind of wish you’d worn a jacket before opening the door. you’re in a pair of pajamas that are on their absolute last leg - which technically is nothing mingyu hasn’t seen before, but you’re not exactly college students anymore. “no, i didn’t. sorry, mingyu. but i can bring it up if i see it next time, if you’d like.” 

his shoulders slump. “damn. that’s okay. thanks, though.” he’s gone in a rush, back down the hall before you can even say goodbye. you’re so startled by how quickly he leaves that you stand there in your doorway for a bit, unsure what to do with yourself. 

eventually, you give a single, jerky wave to no one, alone. “see ya, mingyu,” you mumble to yourself, shutting the door. you feel a little strange, a little restless. you turn and find the empty tupperware from mingyu’s latest effort in feeding his way back into your life sitting on your kitchen counter, and chew on your lip. 

this, you are now fairly certain, is a problem. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, JUNE 17, 2022

mingyu is opening his door just as you enter the hallway. he lights up when he sees you, stepping out and waving. “coming back from work?” 

you nod, and he returns with a sympathetic nod back. “late even on a friday, huh.”

“it happens, sometimes,” you shrug, fishing for your keys. he stands there, hesitating, but you pretend not to notice as you slide your key into the lock. 

by the time you’ve got the door open, he’s finally drawn up enough courage to ask, “do you.. want to eat together?” 

you mean to turn him down. you really do. but it’s 8pm on a long friday and you haven’t eaten yet, and mingyu is oh-so-very good at cooking, every meal and baked good that he’s left with you in the past two weeks a testament to how much he’s improved since his college days. mingyu with a full kitchen qualifies as a master chef compared to mingyu working off a communal stove and an unhealthy number of ramen packets. 

“it’s just, normally wonwoo comes over on fridays,” mingyu explains, expecting you to say no. “or at least every other friday, since we’re both losers and neither of us have partners. but he’s on some kinda business trip this week, so it’s just me. and..” he scratches the back of his neck, shy. “it’s just a little lonely, eating alone, y’know.” 

mingyu knows exactly how to press on your soft spots. when you glance back at him, he’s got his puppy-dog eyes on, eyebrows drawn together, lower lip jutting out just slightly. small enough that he could pretend it isn’t on purpose. you know damn well it is. 

“let me just get changed,” you surrender. you pull at your shirt a little. the summer heat is starting to kick in strong, and though it’s late, the heat hasn’t dissipated. “and showered,” you tack on. you prefer not to think too long about how you might smell right now. 

mingyu doesn’t seem to mind. he nods vigorously and tells you he’ll leave the door unlocked, so when you’re ready you can just walk in. you shower and make yourself vaguely presentable for 8:30pm on a friday night eating at your ex’s friend’s/ex-friend’s/neighbor’s apartment. there isn’t exactly a dress code that you’re aware of for that, but you figure a t-shirt and jeans will do. 

when you push his door open, mingyu looks up from his kitchen. his apartment is a mirror of yours, the front door opening to his kitchen on the left and the living room on the right. like you, he’s made a small division via a dining table, which appears to have nothing short of a small feast on it. 

stir-fried pork belly, soup, jajangmyeon. he’s plating up kimchi and seasoned cucumbers, and your eyebrows lift high. “this is what you eat when you’re alone?” 

he sets the kimchi and cucumbers on the table. “well, technically the soup is leftovers,” he tries to defend himself. “and the jajangmyeon i made in case you were hungry and this wasn’t enough. otherwise it would’ve just been the pork belly.” 

you scoff before you can help it, and he ducks his head, sheepish. but his eyes peek up at you as you round the table, and they glitter. he’s just happy that you’re here. 

when you’re both seated, with bowls of rice steaming in front of you, you ask, “who’s wonwoo?” 

“hometown friend,” mingyu explains. “he was my neighbor. he’s a year older than me, so he wasn’t my classmate, but it’s kind of like how jeonghan and seungcheol are. except he’s probably…” 

he trails off, like he’s just realized he’s starting to say too much. bites the inside of his cheek, then commits to the rest of his sentence as you stare at him, curious. 

the corner of his mouth lifts up. “...a little more like you, than he is like them.”

that makes you pause. “like me?” 

mingyu glances at you. mingyu’s never been adverse to running his mouth, least of all around you. this is the second time he’s hesitated within the span of an hour, like he’s not sure how far he’s allowed to push before you run away from him again. the ache in your chest is back, a pressure that sits heavy inside you. for the first time, you’re face to face with the consequences of having abandoned the people who considered you friends when you left seungcheol. the people that you wrote off as his friends, and not yours, in spite of all the time they spent with you even when seungcheol wasn’t around. even when they left messages in your inbox and your voicemail. jeonghan even emailed you once, just to see if it would get your attention. 

you can’t hold his gaze, so you start poking around the food. 

“yeah,” mingyu finally says. “like you. a little quiet. a little weird. in the way that makes us good friends. and…” his chopsticks nudge at the pork belly. he looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, but he settles on, “a little guarded.” 

you bite your cheek. mingyu picks up the meat and puts it in your bowl, smiling at you as he does it, but it takes him a little extra effort this time. you knew you might’ve hurt mingyu’s feelings back then, but you never thought the hurt would linger for long. thought it would fade out, make you another classmate he once upon a time knew. insignificant. 

but he’s still trying to know you. doing it the way he knows how to, with food and company. the brief interactions you have with him when you catch him in the lobby, or stepping out from his door, or back into his apartment, they all ease you back into the idea of being mingyu’s friend. it’s maybe a little bit by design, and a little bit unintentional, all at once. he’s just.. trying. 

your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. it’s hard, getting the words out. part of why you liked mingyu so much was because it was so easy to be around him - he did all the talking for you. but now things are stilted, and he’s not sure what he’s allowed, anymore. everything he did before wasn’t enough to keep you from running. he’s treading carefully, so cautious to keep from scaring you away again. 

it takes a little bit, but you force yourself to keep up conversation. “you never mentioned him, in college.” 

“oh,” mingyu looks a bit sad. “we… we didn’t talk much, back then. he wasn’t really having a good time in college, or at home, and… i guess it was just easier for him if… if he didn’t have to keep up with me, too. on top of everything else.” 

i guess it was just easier for you, too, if you didn’t have to be my friend, after breaking up with seungcheol. 

he doesn’t say it. he doesn’t have to. your grip tightens on your chopsticks as the guilt pries into you, forces your lungs open so you have no choice but to breathe it in, suffocating you. it wrenches into your heart, matches the pace of your heartbeat, so that it echoes into your entire system. 

“but you’re friends now,” you say, the words barely audible. mingyu straightens a bit. 

“yeah,” he smiles affectionately. “i dragged him back. he’s my best friend, i wasn’t gonna let him off so easy.” 

when he looks at you, his eyes are a little brighter. your gaze flicks to all the food on the table, the pile of meat that he’s slowly been pushing towards your side of the plate, so it’s easier to reach. how the cucumbers were placed on your side, too, because he remembers you like them best. 

you’d thought when mingyu had only texted, just the once, back when you’d drawn the line in the sand, that it had meant he was okay with letting you go. he didn’t fight you on it, so you thought he understood. 

and maybe he did understand. maybe he still does. 

but maybe that isn’t the same as being okay with watching you leave. 

PRESENT DAY | TUESDAY, JUNE 21, 2022 

“seungcheol’s suggestion, huh,” is what nayeon says as the two of you slide into a booth at the restaurant near your apartment. it’s a place known for its curry katsu, with pictures just tempting enough for you to ignore the fact that it only ended up on your screen because seungcheol had texted it to you. 

seeing his message, seeing his name on your phone again had your chest tightening. you had deleted all his messages back then, too, even removed his contact photo, but you could never bring yourself to block him. it made you dizzy, seeing his name but not the photo that used to come with it, of seungcheol laying in your tiny dorm bed with his phone out, caught off guard by your camera. you’d finally gotten a smartphone that year, pretending to test out your new camera. you kept that photo even after all of seungcheol’s whining to update it to something cuter, because you liked him like that. candid in your camera roll, and whiny in your ear. 

you hadn’t responded to him when he sent the location over. just gave it a thumbs up and set your phone down, contemplating a message back for hours before giving up. 

“you like katsu,” you say succinctly, smiling at your waitress when she hands you a menu. 

nayeon snorts. “sure. everyone likes katsu. it’s almost like it’s a favorite of someone we know, recommended by that same p- holy shit,” she lowers her volume immediately. 

you look up from the menu as nayeon flips hers up, covering her face. “what?” 

“i think we’re having a college reunion.” 

“we’re having a what?” 

“actually, i don’t know why i’m hiding. i didn’t do shit,” nayeon lowers her menu again, though her eyes remain glued to it. “since i love you, i’ll warn you. your new neighbor, your ex, and jeonghan just walked in.” 

you let out a hard breath, shoulders stiffening, your whole body more or less freezing in place as you try your hardest to look natural and not like you’ve just been informed of a recurring nightmare. “this sounds like the beginning of a poorly timed joke,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. nayeon’s lips twitch but for your sake, she tamps down her amusement. 

“nayeon?” jeonghan’s voice carries across the small restaurant. 

“put your menu up,” you hiss on pure instinct, nayeon throwing you a look that says, seriously?

she neutralizes her expression and peers above your head. “jeonghan? oh, mingyu, seungcheol!” 

you do have to give her props for pretending so well. 

there’s a variety of greetings, and you try to sink lower into your seat. if the earth couldn’t swallow you whole when mingyu helped you carry your furniture up to your apartment, maybe, it could do you the courtesy of opening a chasm in the ground right now. right now. 

anytime now. 

you hear them heading closer and force yourself to straighten, turning slowly and bracing yourself. while you expect jeonghan’s surprise, and mingyu’s friendly smile, your heart still betrays you, stuttering at the sight of seungcheol. narrowing in on him, tunnel vision. 

he’s already looking at you. he looks happy, eyes lit up and a smile he’s trying and failing to hide, cheeks a light rosy hue you can’t blame on the weather. it’s warm today, even at 7pm, but the air conditioning is high enough not to warrant that color on his cheeks, and certainly not on yours, either, because you feel your skin heating, too. 

no matter how many years you have or haven’t known him, seungcheol is insistently, unfailingly, undeniably handsome. you know every line of his face. can recognize the set of his jawline, the length of his nose, the way his eyebrows always make him so expressive. the fullness of his lips, how soft they are, how red they always seem to be, just naturally. you know when he smiles his eyes crinkle not only in the corners, but underneath, too, because for years you’d watched him do just that. laugh loudly around his friends, smile sweetly at you, felt the way his hands always pulled you closer. closer, closer, closer. 

time has a funny way of slowing down every time he enters a room. 

“wow. they weren’t hallucinating,” jeonghan remarks, bringing your attention back to the two others who’d come with seungcheol. 

you frown before you can help yourself. “why am i always a hallucination?” mingyu had said it, too, when he first saw you. 

“move over. it’s cause you’re like a ghost,” jeonghan waves you in, so natural that you instinctively listen, shuffling into the booth while he follows. it takes you a beat to realize you are now stuck here, at a table with two of your former friends, and your ex-boyfriend. plus nayeon. 

to seungcheol and mingyu’s credit, they both hover awkwardly rather than sitting down, unsure. but jeonghan eyes them like they’re the ones being weird, nodding to the seat nayeon left open, and scooting in close enough to leave a space open for a third person on your side of the booth. “what are you doing? sit down.” 

obediently, they sit. mingyu next to jeonghan, seungcheol across. 

while mingyu gets ahold of the waitress, jeonghan leans his elbow against the table, propping his cheek against his hand. he stares at you, long enough that you start to draw back, pressing against the wall slightly. “i’m not gonna bite,” he grouches, noticing the movement. “i’m just making sure i’m not hallucinating.” 

if this were five years ago, you’d pinch him on purpose. 

jeonghan wiggles his other hand in the air. “speak now if you don’t wanna be poked.” his eyebrows arch up in questioning. one of yours goes up too, baffled. “i’m serious, y/n.” 

you don’t speak. he pokes you in the shoulder. “wow.” he nods thoughtfully. you’re half-tempted to go, i’m a real girl, pinocchio style. 

“you still have a phone?” he asks, and at this point, you can’t get more confused, so you just nod. he hums. “you should consider using it.” 

nayeon kicks him under the table. “that’s enough, jeonghan.” 

“ow,” he huffs. “how come you can kick me but i’m not allowed to recommend using a communication device?” 

“because she’s my best friend and only i’m allowed to give her shit for it,” nayeon bites back, and jeonghan slumps in his seat, relenting. you’re not naive nor selfish enough to think nayeon hasn’t talked to jeonghan in the past five years, but you do know that their conversations had inevitably died off, the result of having to choose sides when it came to your split with seungcheol. both of you were hurting, and your friends had to pick who to comfort, and trust the rest to figure out the other side. you didn’t really give jeonghan or mingyu a choice in the matter, which left them with seungcheol, and nayeon with you. 

silence fills the space. you can’t possibly be the only one uncomfortable, and judging from the way seungcheol’s fingers tap on the table, you’re right. you kind of wish mingyu had sat next to nayeon instead, so you could beg him with your eyes to say something, anything. 

“so how’ve you been-” 

“this is stupid,” jeonghan interrupts nayeon, who kicks him under the table again, except this time jeonghan dodges, leg jostling into yours instead. jeonghan is tremendously capable of reading a room and still choosing to trample right into it. he turns to you. “you moved in.” 

without being sure what else to say or do, you nod. again. 

he stares at you, takes you in. same old hairstyle, same old clothes, same quiet disposition. his tongue rolls against his cheek, “y’know,” he starts, which is usually a bad sign for you even when you were friends. “i really thought the email would work.”

you blink. against your will, laughter climbs its way up your chest, forcing you to twist your head away to bite it back down. it’s fucked up, laughing about it. a history that still hurts, that still aches and burns and cuts straight to the core of you every time you so much as think about seungcheol, never mind when he’s sitting right there, across the table. yet, the stupid email jeonghan sent when you dodged all your old friends was, invariably, absurd. based on the grin slowly forming on jeonghan’s face, he knows it, too. 

from: [email protected]  to: y/n.l/[email protected] subject: pick up your fucking phone message:   am i a joke to you 

succinct, really. mildly threatening undertones. he’d left a mountain of messages in your inbox and a handful of voicemails - ranging from gentle coaxing to petty insults - before finally resorting to email, a last ditch effort. a good one, but it still failed. 

“email?” seungcheol asks, wiping any trace of amusement off your face. jeonghan purses his lips, then shrugs. 

“yeah,” he smiles politely at the waitress who drops glasses of water at your table. “she wouldn’t pick up her phone or answer any of her texts, so i figure, if she’s gonna act like her phone’s broken, i will too.” 

“wasn’t broken,” you mumble, swiping your finger against the condensation of the glass. “you just couldn’t take a hint.” 

“oh, i could,” jeonghan sniffs. “it’s you who can’t.” 

he waves the waitress back over before you can respond, forcing all of you to place orders, shifting the conversation with a pointed look at mingyu, who happily takes up the mantle of regaling tales from wonwoo’s work trip, which seems to involve a lot of embarrassing interactions with the coworker he went with, who mingyu’s convinced wonwoo has a crush on. the food arrives, steaming plates of rice and crispy katsu, paired with a golden curry sauce poured over. it smells so good you contemplate whether you can convince mingyu to try and replicate it on another day, maybe a winter night when you don’t feel like heading out. 

it’s a thought that startles you, the idea that there’s a future that involves still being in mingyu’s company, one degree of separation from seungcheol. more than that, how quick, how easy it is to fall back into old routines and old company, like time hasn’t passed, as if there isn’t a half-decade you spent buried in work and bills and stress where none of it ever managed to truly stitch up the heartache. 

funny, how it fades in the presence of people who once loved you. 

nayeon lays out opinions on whether or not wonwoo’s coworker also has a crush on wonwoo based on mingyu’s limited knowledge. their back and forth is loud enough to fill the table, in spite of the relative silence from over half of you. when jeonghan pats your knee under the table, you turn to him. 

he speaks quietly, just for you to hear. not unkindly, he asks, “can you take the hint now?” 

a noisy table, good food, seungcheol’s half-smile as his head pingpongs back and forth between mingyu and nayeon. occasionally, his eyes sweep over you, and his smile grows just the slightest bit before he swings his gaze back to whoever’s speaking. 

and of course, jeonghan himself, devoid of all his notorious quick wit, left only with his sincerity. you say nothing in return, but you tap his knee back, and he smiles, too. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 2022

you should’ve ignored the knock on your door. curse mingyu, for getting you used to his towering height outside your apartment, dragging you over for one thing or another. 

in retrospect, you also should have known better. seungcheol’s birthday was earlier in the week, of course he’s going to have a birthday party with all his friends. you just didn’t expect it to be hosted at mingyu’s, of all places. 

“you can call nayeon, if you want,” mingyu offers. you spot jeonghan peeking out from behind him, making you raise your eyebrows. mingyu swats at him without looking. “it’s a really chill birthday party. just food and alcohol, and, like, video games.” 

“and me,” a voice pipes up from behind him. mingyu makes a very poor attempt at pretending to casually hold joshua back, before giving up and letting the last of your former friends step to his side. “hey.” 

his expression is kind. there’s something akin to relief in his eyes from the sight of you as he trails over your features, like he’s cataloguing everything that might’ve changed. 

it seems, every old friend that stumbles back into your life was bound to do this. seungcheol did, too. they all look at you like they’re hoping they can see whether the past five years have treated you well or not. there’s always a bit of satisfaction - you’re certainly healthier. the bags under your eyes don’t drag so deep. but there’s also a question that seems to go unanswered, something they search for but can’t find just from looking at you. 

you can’t resist, when you ask him flatly, “you gonna ask if i’m a hallucination, too?” 

he chuckles. “i was raised with manners, so no.” 

your lips pull in a wry smile. “you should teach jeonghan some.” 

jeonghan lets out an offended sound that you ignore, but joshua just grins. “it’s good to see you, y/n.” 

he means it, too. joshua was built to be polite first and honest second, but you and jeonghan were always best at deciphering the difference. that, and joshua never really made it a habit to be anything less than real with his friends, either. 

“come over,” he repeats mingyu’s request. “i’ve missed you.” 

the other thing about joshua is that his honesty always feels brutal. not because he isn’t kind, but because he is. which is why you find yourself at mingyu’s apartment yet again, this time surrounded by old friends, with several messages from your phone telling nayeon to hurry up come over mingyu’s hosting seungcheol’s birthday party (which should be equivalent to at least three large SOS texts). 

you stand awkwardly in the middle of mingyu’s apartment. from his spot on mingyu’s couch, seungcheol’s eyes go wide when he sees you, breath catching. he stumbles out a hi, scrambling to his feet while the rest of his friends pile in, mingyu going to his tv console to dig out a video game, while jeonghan raids mingyu’s pantry and fridge. 

hands land on your shoulders and you jump, before realizing it’s just joshua guiding you into one of the seats at mingyu’s dining table. “beer?” 

you’re not an avid drinker, but until nayeon gets here, you think you might need it. “yeah. thanks.” 

seungcheol is still several feet away from you, but you can feel him hovering, especially after seeing joshua more or less set you down in your chair. it would be better if you could ignore him, but it’s technically his birthday party, so you brace yourself to look at him, eyes meeting his. you offer him a smile, watch the line of his throat work in response. “happy birthday.” you pause. “happy belated birthday,” you amend. 

the way his eyes light up could qualify as a work of art. they shine, and his boyish grin makes your heart stutter dangerously in your chest. seungcheol from years ago always got whiny when you didn’t wish him happy birthday on the dot, but the seungcheol in front of you is just grateful you’re even here. 

“thanks,” he bites his lip, trying to contain his smile, but his cheeks are pink and now the tips of your ears feel hot, too. 

you find relief in joshua handing you a beer, giving you a chance to focus on something else. he’s already popped the cap off for you, and has wine for himself in his hand too as he settles down across from you. seungcheol watches the two of you for a beat before heading to mingyu, sprawling on the floor beside him. 

joshua nurses his wine. “pass me that,” he calls to jeonghan, who has managed to dump half a bag of chips into a bowl, and is now working on microwaving popcorn. jeonghan hands joshua the bowl, and he situates it between you two, tilting his chin towards you. “eat. mingyu ordered pizza but it probably won’t be here for another hour or so.” 

just to have something to do with your hands, you obey, picking at the chips while listening to seungcheol bicker with mingyu over which game to play, and the crinkling sounds of jeonghan opening a third bag of snacks, this time a packet of pocky. he sticks one in his mouth, taking the popcorn out of the microwave with him before sliding the chair beside you out and dropping himself into it, offering you both. 

it feels like déjà vu, sitting here. mingyu’s apartment is far larger than your tiny university dorm, but the people remain the same. how casual joshua and jeonghan are, the white noise of seungcheol and mingyu by the tv. nayeon swinging the apartment door open completes the set, as she tosses her hair over her shoulder the way she’s always done since the day she became your roommate. 

“the life of the party’s arrived,” she announces, arms opening in a flourish. joshua and seungcheol spare her a wave in greeting. jeonghan looks nonplussed. 

“arrived? i live here,” mingyu quips, lifting his head from the console. nayeon scoffs, shutting the door behind her. 

“you know, you should really lock your door, mingyu,” she makes a show of turning the lock slowly, until it clicks into place. 

he shrugs, handing seungcheol the xbox controller. “why? i knew you were coming.” 

“men,” she scowls. 

“there’s alcohol in the fridge and on the counter,” he appeases, and she squeals in delight, mingyu shaking his head with a smile. 

“she doesn’t change,” jeonghan says under his breath. 

“i heard that,” nayeon calls, pouring a glass of wine for herself. she flicks jeonghan in the head when she passes by him on her way to the couch, sinking into the cushions next to seungcheol, who had found his way back to the couch after acquiring the controller earlier. “i always knew mingyu would have the best apartment.” 

“you literally haven’t been to any of ours except hers,” jeonghan gestures to you, and nayeon shrugs. 

“mingyu was the only one who cleaned his room in college. i doubt any of you have changed much.” 

jeonghan mulls it over. “okay. fair.” 

mingyu takes the spot on nayeon’s other side, clicking through the settings on his game. “none of them have changed at all.” 

“so jeonghan’s still a whore,” you muse, the words slipping out before you can think twice about it, eyes snapping up to see if anyone’s heard you, but it’s too late -  jeonghan points at you, eyes sparking in delight even as he tries to be accusatory. 

“you learned to say bad words,” he complains, but he couldn’t hide his smile even if he tried. “and for the record, no. i’m practically celibate.” 

“he’s down horrendous for a girl who won’t look twice at him,” joshua clarifies, rifling for a handful of popcorn. 

“you’re talking a lot for someone who hasn’t landed a date in like three years.” 

“first of all, that’s intentional-” 

“intentional, as in, no one intends to go out with you-” 

“second of all,” joshua raises his voice above jeonghan’s. “that is so uncalled for, it’s not like i’m wrong?” 

“you’re both losers,” nayeon concludes, lifting her wine. two heads whip to her and she lazily shifts her gaze to them. “you guys missed me so bad,” she blows them a kiss, snickering at the identical way jeonghan and joshua’s lips curl in reproach. 

unknowingly, a fond smile pulls at your lips at their squabbling. so familiar, it’s almost comforting. 

eventually, jeonghan leaves to curl beside seungcheol on the couch, squeezing between him and nayeon. joshua stays with you, nursing his wine. there’s realistically only a few feet between the dining table and where everyone else is crowded on the couch, but with joshua sitting in front of you, the distance feels safe. 

for a minute, neither of you say anything. you’re watching mingyu and seungcheol fight and shoot characters on the tv, and joshua is tracing mindless shapes into the table. his eyes flick to you. 

“you’ve been good?” he asks, carefully. 

you hesitate. your fingers brush against the neck of the beer you didn’t drink. “not bad.” 

of all your old friends, you think joshua is the one who worked the hardest to understand you. jeonghan does it intuitively, and mingyu has always been on your wavelength, but joshua has to put in the effort. has to dig through the flippant answers and the shallow responses, just to find what you really mean. in the years that you knew him, he’d gotten really good at it. might still be, even now. 

“you look well,” he offers, and your eyes lift to his. “you look..” he tries to find the right word. “better.” 

it occurs to you, in that moment, what they’ve all been looking for, every time their eyes have scanned you, head to toe. why they always linger on your face, not because they’re trying to see how you’ve grown, but because there’s something they all want to know. 

happy. that’s what they’re trying to figure out. have you been happy? 

you don’t know the answer to that question, so maybe that’s why they don’t, either. happiness has always been one of those elusive things you assumed was going to be just out of your reach. you’ll brush against it from time to time, just to remind yourself of what you can’t have. 

your eyes wander to mingyu, who nearly dwarfs nayeon beside him. then jeonghan, who looks half-asleep, leaning against seungcheol. 

seungcheol, who is biting his tongue in concentration, brows furrowed as he focuses on the screen. you take his distraction as a chance to stare. no matter which way you slice it, the time you spent with seungcheol in college was the happiest you’d ever been. it was the only time you’d ever even come close to thinking you could stay happy, with friends who loved you, and a boyfriend who loved you even more. 

your world was so different, back then. young enough to enjoy it. naive enough to hold it. 

but not brave enough to keep it. 

“better,” the word tastes foreign in your mouth. you turn your gaze back to joshua. in five years, you’ve made zero new friends, lived in at least two different atrocious apartments, worked a job that probably could’ve killed you if you hadn’t escaped in time, stopped visiting your mother, and still - still - couldn’t forget your years at university. warm laughter in a small dorm, joshua’s clothes finding their way into your closet, mingyu’s cooking in your refrigerator. jeonghan’s precious sleep schedule ruined just so he can hang out with you. nayeon leaving the fairy lights on so you don’t come back to a dark dorm. 

and seungcheol, with his arms always open for you to fold yourself into, bury your face against his chest, all your worries melting off your shoulders as soon as you breathe him in. seungcheol, perhaps not your greatest heartache, but the only one you couldn’t figure out how to live with. 

you smile at joshua, a little bittersweet. “yeah. i’m better now.” 

now. right here, in this room, full of all the people you love. all the people you never stopped loving, even when you left without looking back. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 13, 2022

seungcheol’s party ends with you having barely said a word beyond happy birthday to him. at some point joshua and mingyu swapped spots, nayeon joining you at the table later in the evening. it’s the first time in years that you’ve found yourself grinning so hard, your cheeks hurt. your eyes catch seungcheol’s from time to time, but he never makes a move to approach you. 

it’s only when jeonghan, joshua, and nayeon have all left that it occurs to you this was all by design. seungcheol only lives a few blocks away, there’s no reason for him to throw his party at mingyu’s when anyone coming over could just as easily walk the extra few blocks to his place. no, seungcheol commandeered mingyu’s apartment for the express purpose of hoping you’d come, to at least be in the room as he celebrates 27 with all his friends - who used to be your friends, too. maybe still are. 

this birthday wasn’t about him. it’s about you, and hoping you’d be willing to test the waters. tread in a step or two, towards seungcheol. towards joshua and jeonghan and mingyu. 

the two of you hover in the hallway after making sure mingyu’s apartment is satisfactorily cleaned up. there wasn’t much left to clean, since everyone had dutifully done their part in tossing garbage and washing dishes and putting away the games that had been taken out. you say your goodbyes to mingyu, who waves, tired but happy, as he shuts the door. 

now that the noise of the party is gone, everything feels painfully quiet. it’s late, heading steadily close to midnight. you don’t know the protocol here, but disappearing back into your apartment immediately doesn’t feel quite right, so you stand awkwardly with your back to your door, across from seungcheol. he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, not quite ready to end the night, not when you’re finally right in front of him for the first time this evening. 

you fiddle with your doorknob behind you, just to have something to ground you. “well… happy birthday, seungcheol,” you say, just to cut through the silence. you can’t quite look at him - his eyes too expressive, too open. too easy to fall into. 

“you can still call me cheol,” he says, and you lift your eyes to his. he’s wearing a small smile, cheeks still a little red from the soju, but his eyes are too clear to be tipsy. 

your hand curls tighter around your doorknob. “okay,” you agree. “happy birthday, cheol.” 

you hate it. how your heart pounds in your chest at the sight of him, the lack of restraint as his smile widens into a grin, dimples peeking out. how much you adore that look on him. how that fact hasn’t changed at all, because you know immediately you’d do anything as long as he keeps looking at you like that. 

slowly, his smile softens into something just a little less bright. he shifts again, unsure. you don’t know when you started holding your breath, but you are, as you wait for him. the time drags, and you’re about to turn to enter your apartment when he finally says it. 

“can we be friends?” 

his voice comes out soft, hardly a whisper. tentative, but genuine, the desire an undercurrent you can’t even try to pretend isn’t there. it’s a birthday wish, something only you can grant. 

but it’s a wish that lands like weights on your chest. the pressure bears down on you, and you chew on your lower lip. 

it’s different, hearing him ask right in front of you. 

when you broke up with seungcheol, you did it over the phone. you told yourself it was the right thing to do, and the best way to do it, so he could hear how much you meant it while putting yourself at a distance. unreachable. 

seungcheol was better than you. is better than you, in many ways. in every way. a better upbringing, a good background, healthy habits, a firm but comforting disposition. reliable. unwilling to bend when it counts, but always soft when he loves. you? you’re a litmus test in poor parenting and one horror scene away from setting your entire life on fire. nayeon says you’re older? you’ve grown out of things? no, you’ve grown into them, tangled yourself amongst weeds and debris with every vulnerable instinct you have telling you to swing whenever anyone tries to get too close. 

you broke up with him on the phone to be cruel. deliberately cold, like he wasn’t worth anything more. seungcheol deserves the best and that was never going to be you, so you’d figured you may as well live up to expectation. 

but reality stares down at you at 5’10”, pleading with round, large eyes. if you asked him to beg he’d fall to his knees immediately, no hesitation. this is the truth of why you couldn’t break up with him in person. you were never going to survive watching his expression crumple, having him hold onto you, ask you to stay. completely ignore all sense of shame if it meant you’d take it all back. 

he’d left you voicemail after voicemail. baby, please. please pick up. just once. okay? just once. can we talk about it? 

just tell me what happened. tell me what changed. are you okay? it’s cold out. i’ll come pick you up. i’ll drive you. anything. anything. 

did you change your schedule? i looked for you today. fuck. please. baby. please, baby. 

i love you. can we just talk? 

i love you, y/n. 

i love you. 

there was quiet, for a few days. just long enough for you to gather the courage to delete every message he sent, even the ones telling you he loves you. 

on what would’ve been your anniversary, he left his last voicemail. 

“look. just - please. baby, i- god, you’re so fucking good at disappearing on me. shit.” a broken laugh, a sniffle. a deep, shaky inhale. “i don’t know what else to do. i’ve searched all over campus. gone to your dorm. the diner. the convenience store. i go at different times of day and i can never find you. fuck, y/n. if-” he’d cut off with a tortured sound, like he was crying. “if you wanna do it your way, we’ll do it your way, okay? you don’t have to be my girlfriend. you don’t. you wanna break up, we can break up.” 

you’d memorized it, can still remember how your chest caved in at his voice. could hear his desperation. used it as proof for your conviction, that you could never measure up. you ruin it all. you’re just like your father, y/n. 

“then let’s be friends,” he’d begged. “you don’t want me anymore? fine. that’s fine. can we still be friends?” 

you stare at him now, his voice from then blending with his voice from now. it makes you dizzy, lightheaded, the ground slipping from under you with how similar he sounds. like asking now still feels as desperate as asking then. 

he swallows hard, waiting for your answer, one hand twitching up towards you, an instinct to hold you. when he catches you noticing, he shoves his hands into his pockets as if it’s the only way to keep himself in line. 

you almost want to laugh. friends. friends. you can’t be his friend. being seungcheol’s friend is - is a gift. all his bright smiles and tight hugs, such an easy willingness to drop everything and show up at your door, ready to help with anything you ask of him. you used to wonder if it was just because he had a crush on you, but he did the same when jeonghan called, or when mingyu texted. it’s just who he is. when nayeon needed someone to walk her home in the dark, seungcheol threw his blanket off and went out without questions asked. 

you can’t be friends. you don’t want to be friends. you won’t ever want to be just friends. but the seungcheol that’s asking you now, isn’t asking you over the phone. he’s in front of you, brown eyes pleading, eyebrows drawing in, chewing on his bottom lip while his fingers curl inside the pockets of his pants. 

“yeah,” you manage to squeeze the word out. “yes. we can be friends.” 

the relief is visible, written into his expression as his eyes widen, lips parting on a huff of a disbelieving laugh. he looks so happy that you can almost pretend your heart isn’t shaking in your chest, like you aren’t terrified of what it’ll mean to be seungcheol’s friend, to let him back into your life. his smile is so beautiful, you can almost forget you will never deserve it. 

JUNIOR YEAR | FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 2015

you’re rushing. you shove your arm through the sleeve of your jacket with your backpack on your other shoulder, yanking the other strap on after. your shift this semester cuts a little too close to lecture, the travel time in between unpredictable enough that if you don’t peel out of here soon, you’ll be late. the good news is it’s a large lecture hall, one that doesn’t take attendance and won’t miss you if you’re not there, and no one notices even when you inevitably sneak in through the back door. 

you run out, finally dragging your backpack strap up over your other arm, coming to a stop only at the crosswalk, impatiently waiting for the light to change. it’s the tail end of rush hour, with people driving home, or out to dinner, backing up traffic enough to be a nuisance, but not for the cars to come to a standstill long enough for you to slip between them even at green lights. 

your eyes flick from the traffic light to the pedestrian light, back and forth, cars passing by you. across the street, there’s a restaurant that you pass by regularly, the kind that’s slightly more upscale - not much, the sort of place people go to when they celebrate a birthday, or maybe somebody’s retirement. fancy enough to feel celebratory and special, but not so much that most people can’t afford it every once in awhile. you’d tried getting a waitress position there once, but they’d had no openings available, which is just as well, because you can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to meet your father again by serving him. 

it’s him. you’re sure of it. he looks a little older, but it’s the face you remember from your childhood, with added wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, though his hair remains dark, not yet old enough for gray to streak through it. your pulse slows. it hasn’t caught up yet with what your eyes are processing, still struggling to properly register it. he’s dressed nicely, a navy sweater pulled over a collared shirt, hair combed neatly. when you were young, he always looked just a little rumpled, hair always just a touch tousled. 

your heartbeat climbs up, beat by beat, until it’s in your throat and pounding in your temple as the rest of the scene bleeds in: a birthday cake, two candles marking the age 14, the flames flickering. across from him, a woman claps as her mouth forms the syllables to happy birthday, a song you can hear echoing in your own voice, one you hum for your sister every year. there’s a teenaged boy at the table, with his sister sitting across from him, next to your dad. she’s probably a few years younger. nine, maybe ten, if you had to take a guess. 

your sister is 14, too. her birthday was two months ago, and you brought home a slice of cake that she split with you while your mom was out. 

the light changes. cars have slowed to a stop, letting pedestrians cross, but you don’t move. can’t. the little girl at the table looks nothing like you - your sister doesn’t, either, both of them taking after their mom, while you look like your dad. spitting image, they used to say. just like him. so much like him that your mother can’t look at you without seeing him. can’t treat you like her daughter, just a reminder of the man who left your family behind without looking back. 

your hands tremble. your vision clouds, and you wish you could look away. but there’s a teenager sitting at a table your sister belongs at, with a birthday too close to hers for you to misunderstand what happened when you were six with your sister barely a month old. the anger, the resentment, the hurt - it feels visceral, pins you to the sidewalk and chains you there. you need this image branded into your memory. every single detail, so you’re not allowed to forget it. need it to torture yourself, so you can remember exactly who you don’t want to be, no matter who looks back at you in the mirror. 

it makes sense now, why he left. why you had to be so young, bordering on seven years old and wondering where dad went, why he’s never home, why mom is so sad and angry all the time, and struggling to figure out what mistake you’ll make to suddenly set her off. 

he had to choose: his daughters, or his son. he had to choose and it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t your mother, and it wasn’t your baby sister, but a little boy who gets to sit at a table with a mom and a dad and a kid sister and a birthday party, with a cake decorated so well it must be expensive, one that they cut into smaller pieces so every person gets their own slice, topped with candles for the number of years your father has abandoned you while he dines at a restaurant you can’t afford. 

you can’t breathe. your hands clench at your side so tightly, there will be nail marks in your palm later. there’s a block in your throat that won’t go down, bitterness so potent you can’t swallow it. betrayal screams through your system and makes a wreck out of your fragile heart, but you learned at age six that you’re not allowed to throw tantrums anymore, so you stand there and watch them blow out the candles and hug their kids tight to their sides. 

turns out, your father is capable of raising a family, as long as it’s not yours. there’s a tragedy unfolding in front of you in the form of a happy, picture-perfect family, and nothing has ever, ever felt more unfair. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, AUGUST 14, 2022

as far as anyone else is concerned, you haven’t seen your father since you were six. to this day, there’s no one but you who knows that he lives barely an hour away from your hometown, that you have a half-brother and sister who probably have no idea you exist. no one else knows that you’d been haunted for the rest of your time at university, always bracing yourself for the next time you’d come across him. 

you’d spent the weeks after living like a zombie. radio silent, you kept to yourself, blocking calls and ignoring nayeon whenever she tried to talk to you. she eventually got frustrated and desperate, holding onto your arm when you came back to the dorm one night, and you’d simply turned around and walked right back out, falling asleep on the couch in the common area instead, refusing to to even acknowledge her when she begged for you to “just come back to the dorm and sleep. i’ll stop asking. please, y/n.” 

you ended up waking up to jeonghan shaking your shoulder at 8am. “she left for lecture,” is all he said. it was the first time you’d ever seen him look so defeated. 

he’d followed you back to your dorm, tucked you in, even, despite you turning your back to him. he let you sleep through all your lectures but woke you up for your evening shift, because that was all that you were still going to. 

you’d only cry when you were alone. crouched near the dumpsters behind the diner you worked at, you’d sob, feel the devastation tear through you. when you eventually picked yourself up enough to go back to lectures, you locked yourself in bathroom stalls afterwards, rubbing at your eyes and nose until they were red and raw. you’d go back to the dorms, eyes puffy and the pain so openly displayed, but refused to speak, listlessly going through the motions and crawling back into bed, constantly cutting it close on time to get anywhere you needed to go that didn’t involve falling back onto your mattress. 

your friends had run rounds on you, checking in without asking any questions, afraid of you running away again. jeonghan would swing by to keep you company in the dorms whenever nayeon wasn’t around, sitting quietly at the desk while you laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling. joshua joined you in lectures when his schedule allowed, sliding into the seat next to you and taking notes even when he barely understood the topics. seungcheol would walk you to class, or to work. most days, he said nothing, but you could tell he wanted to. he just didn’t know how. 

on a day he was walking you back from lecture to your dorm, he’d stopped in front of you, just outside your dorm hall. you’d lifted your head, staring blankly at him. he’d inhaled deep, like he was preparing himself. 

“write it down.” 

it was such a baffling sentence, he got your first word out of you in weeks. “what?” 

“write it down,” he’d insisted. “you don’t have to talk to me, joshua, jeonghan, nayeon, no one. you don’t. but you can’t - you can’t just keep it inside of you. it’s eating you alive and i get that it’s selfish to say this, but to be honest, that’s killing me a little bit. so write it down. whatever happened. whatever’s hurting you. write it down. then put it away. or set it on fire. whatever you want. you can even give it to me, if you just want someone to hold it. you can tell me to never read it and i promise i won’t. but just… just get it out. stop holding onto it alone.” 

so you wrote it down. in the form of letters, to your father, to your mother, to your sister, to your friends. all of your anger, your hurt, all of the things you wouldn’t let yourself admit out loud. all of your grief, your misery, your failures, your disappointments. then when you were done, you handed them to seungcheol. “burn them,” you’d told him. “don’t read them. just burn them.” 

you made him do it, because you knew if you tried, you’d end up keeping them. re-reading them, just to relive the hurt and convince yourself you deserved it. 

when you broke up with seungcheol, you didn’t need to write a letter. you tried, and it still didn’t matter. by that point, there was no convincing necessary. you deserved it. you deserved it for letting seungcheol in, letting it get this far, when you already knew better.

strangers/enemies to lovers, organized crime au (a, f, s)

don’t have a summary for this one but this is a masterpiece! trust me!!!!!

rattled by @gukslut

e2l/f2l, singledad!jk (a, f, s)

in love with love (with you) by @yoongihue

office!au / coworkers!au, frenemies to lovers, idiots to lovers, holidays!au (f)

you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not.

series (ongoing)

help wanted by @merakoo

single dad!jungkook x nanny!reader, 1980s au, slowburn, age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) (a, f, s)

In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form.

iris by @oddinary4bts

drummer!Jungkook x writer!female reader, enemies (annoyances?) to lovers!au, celebrity!au, rockstar!au (a, f, s)

when you move to Seoul to do some research on your upcoming book, your life gets tangled with the city's celebrity scene. It leads to you crossing paths with Jeon Jungkook, whose confusing behaviour convinces you that he hates you. Only, you might have misread his intentions from the beginning...

oneshots

starlight (three shot) by @solecize

friends to fwb to lovers au, famous athlete!jungkook x reader, unplanned pregnancy (a, f, s)

you've been best friends with nba star jeon jungkook since he was a skinny point guard for your high school team in the middle of nowhere. over ten years later, you remain the one calm constant amidst his hectic life of chasing greatness on the court. you've seen jungkook through all - his struggles, his successes, and especially his god-awful love life. when his recent engagement goes awry, he decides he's had enough following heartbreak after heartbreak. meanwhile, you've grown numb to the mere idea of love in favour of building your career. pent up frustrations come to a head and caution is thrown to the wind, as you and jungkook promise it's just one time. a drunken night between two friends and two lines on a pregnancy test later, your lives change. unsurprisingly, jungkook promises to stick by you no matter what. marrying your best friend shouldn't be a bad idea, especially when he's the father of your child. when the two of you continue to cross unexplored territory, you don't know if you have the guts to admit that you want more.

deal by @jeonstudios

demon!jk x reader (a, f, s)

what do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for Taehyung’s.

begin by @taegularities

s2f2l, fallen angel/fantasy!au (a, f, s)

Being a human isn’t that bad when he gets to be one with you by his side. Before everything shatters like a mirage of an impossible dream, you teach Jungkook how to live a fulfilling life far from Heaven. His numb heart starts to gradually light up again; you make him begin believing in love and hope when not even starting afresh could. But then... everything shatters.

many moons by @onlyswan

royalguard!jk x princess!reader, strangers to lovers (a, f, slightly suggestive)

your father sets off to find a way to get you the moon, not realizing he has already given it to you.

paint me naked (ao3) by @/daddytaehyungie

friends to lovers, college au (a, f, s)

After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

miss taken by @junghelioseok

teacher!au, single parent!au, e2l (f, s)

you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

heart of the storm by @ladyartemesia

secret feelings, strangers to lovers, college au (a, f, s)

Jeon Jungkook was the handsome RA that you could never quite bring yourself to talk to, and you were the ice princess whose status kept you far out of his reach… But a selfless act of kindness in the midst of a terrible storm forges an unexpected bond between you - one that could break your guarded heart… or finally set it free. 

concrete king by @bratkook

skaterboy!jk x reader (f, s)

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2022

SEUNGCHEOL IS STUBBORN. and persistent. you knew this from the get-go, but living through it again is something else entirely altogether. 

[11:28am] seungcheol: have you tried the bakery like two blocks down? i think you’d really like it [11:28am] seungcheol: lots of black sesame stuff  [12:36pm] seungcheol: there’s also a ramen place nearby [12:36pm] seungcheol: mingyu really likes it, so that’s how you know it’s good  [02:12pm] seungcheol: saw a stray cat [02:12pm] seungcheol: looked round [02:12pm] seungcheol: probably all the neighbors are feeding it [02:12pm] seungcheol: maybe i should buy cat treats too?

seungcheol has never had any qualms with double texting. or in this case, double-triple-quadruple-whatever texting. it doesn’t matter that it’s a saturday and he probably knows you’re awake, incapable of sleeping in, your body too accustomed to waking up at ungodly early hours for work even years after graduating, yet you still aren’t texting him back. nothing in his messages even suggests he’s upset that you’re not replying, though just as he likely knows you’re awake and reading his messages, you know he’s probably whining in a group chat to mingyu, jeonghan, and joshua. 

[03:08pm] y/n: picture?  [03:08pm] seungcheol: [image.jpg]

the cat is round. it’s cute and orange, lounging on someone’s doorsteps. it looks awfully at peace, sunbathing with its eyes closed, and it makes you smile. 

[03:08pm] seungcheol: cute, right?  [03:09pm] y/n: yeah  [03:09pm] seungcheol: are you home? 

you hesitate. you pull yourself off the couch and stand in front of the mirror you’d hung near your door. an old t-shirt, sweatpants that you thought were just too big but now that you’re looking at them again, they might actually be joshua’s from years back, and your hair still tangled from not combing it when you woke up. 

the small luxuries of no longer being in severe debt and solo living: you can look like a complete and utter slob, with no one to report to. 

you stare at your phone again. seungcheol walks fast. your phone drops to the couch while you’re tugging your shirt off, rummaging through your dresser for one that is moderately less ancient and infinitely less wrinkled, then head to your bathroom to yank a brush through your hair. you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, then glance down at the sweatpants. 

you consider changing out of those, too, but no one lounges in their own apartment in jeans, and you don’t want to look like you changed just for him. a strangled sound escapes you, and you give up and go back to your phone, picking it up off the couch. 

you hold it, frowning. you can just say no to him. how is he gonna know if you’re actually home or not? as far as he’s concerned, you could be busy. you could be at nayeon’s. or you could be visiting your sister. or- 

fuck it. 

[03:18pm] y/n: yeah

you stare at the screen. seungcheol’s response is immediate. 

[03:18pm] seungcheol: can i come over? 

you stare harder. this might actually be worse than the first time around when you were friends. no, actually, you’re sure this is worse. 

[03:19pm] y/n: ok 

you throw your phone back onto the couch and pace the length of the room, back and forth. there’s nervous energy just bouncing through you, waiting for him to knock. is your apartment clean? you do a quick scan, but you honestly don’t own much, which makes it difficult to be messy to begin with. do you set out a glass of water? you don’t for nayeon, she just grabs it on her own when she’s here. but is that because you’re close, or because you don’t know any better? 

your head snaps to the door when you hear the knock. you inhale a steadying breath, then calmly walk to it, bracing yourself as you open it. 

every time you see seungcheol, it’s like your heart goes back to 2016. you come face to face with his chest first, gaze slowly rising up to his face, to his dimpled smile, his long lashes. there’s a tiny voice in your head deeply unhappy about how handsome he irrefutably is. there’s also a tiny voice in your head deeply happy about how handsome he irrefutably is. you firmly ignore both. 

“hey,” he beams. one hand lifts a plastic bag. “i come bearing gifts.” his smile drops, remembering how little you liked gifts years ago. “snacks,” he clarifies quickly. “baked goods. i mean, not that i baked them. they’re from the bakery i was telling you about. the one with the black sesame stuff. i stopped by. and they’re not even that expensive, which is partly why they’re so good. and- uh- can i come in?” 

you unfreeze, taking a step back to let him in. his eyes wander immediately, hand lowering as he shuts the door, toeing his shoes off in the entryway, nudging them neatly to one side. your walls are blank, your apartment hardly any different than the last time he’d been here. a couch in front of a coffee table, no tv. just a small stack of old, yellowed books on a shelf in the corner, trinkets from your sister and nayeon from over the years scattered in between. a polaroid nayeon had taken with you, propped against the books. 

he gestures towards it, before moving to set the bag down at your kitchen table. “when’d you guys take that one?” 

you don’t know what to do with your hands. plates seems like a good enough idea, so you walk past him to rummage through your cabinets. “after i got my first real job,” you tell him. “she made me celebrate.” 

he glances at you. “you deserved it.” 

you shrug, pulling the plates down and setting them on the table. standing next to seungcheol is all warmth, radiating off him. he’s always run hot, and a quick scan of him tells you that you should probably crank the air conditioning a little higher. you start to move towards the thermostat, then stop again. “do you want water?” 

he nods. “thanks.” 

you fill a glass for him and hand it to him before heading to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature. he watches you as you go - you can feel his eyes on you the whole time, and when you turn back to him, his eyes have drifted down to your pants and their rolled up hems, his eyebrows drawn in a little, lips tugging downwards. 

“those are shua’s.” a statement, not a question. 

you look down at your pants, like you didn’t already know you’re wearing them. “oh.” 

seungcheol doesn’t continue. when you look back at him, he’s still staring at your sweatpants, frowning. like the rolled up ends are a personal affront to him. 

you have no reason to explain yourself. you do it anyway. “i thought they were maybe, just, i bought the wrong size,” you try, stumbling over your words. “but i guess i just- forgot. or.. i mean, they all look the same, to me.” 

seungcheol blinks. “oh,” he echoes you. “yeah. maybe.” he looks sheepish, but finally lifts his gaze back to your face. “you just used to wear joshua’s sweatpants all the time.” 

seungcheol was always a jealous guy, huffy whenever you got too affectionate with mingyu, pouty whenever he found you hanging out at joshua’s with nayeon, without him. but never possessive, only ever a bit whiny and needy, always wanting your attention the most. he didn’t mind how close you were with them, as long as you promised he was your favorite. with that, there was never any contest. 

he never said anything about you wearing joshua’s sweatpants, but when you started dating, you suddenly discovered your closet was a lot fuller, seungcheol’s sweatshirts somehow finding their way in between your clothes. he knew you were only wearing joshua’s clothes because joshua snuck them into your closet as his own way of making sure you stayed warm, since you refused to accept gifts, and he didn’t want you to spend what little money you made on new clothes. but that never stopped seungcheol from wanting to see you in his clothes, instead. 

you always obliged. joshua’s pants were useful, sure, a well-intentioned hand-me-down. but seungcheol’s clothes smelled like him. which is why you left all of them in a box outside his door after the breakup. it was too easy to want to keep them. to breathe them in, to hold onto something that didn’t belong to you. 

keeping joshua’s clothes didn’t feel like crossing a line. you could still pretend you didn’t remember who they belonged to, until you really did stop remembering who they belonged to. you kick idly at the ground, watching the hems shake, though they don’t unroll. “he meant well,” you finally say. “letting me keep his old clothes.” 

“i think he didn’t know how else to help,” seungcheol responds quietly. his hands have stilled, no longer emptying pastries out of the bag. he simply watches you, and you wish he wouldn’t. not when there’s no one else in this suddenly stifling apartment. 

you move back towards him, despite wanting to run. you’re the one who agreed to being friends. you’re the one who told him he could come over. so you can’t run, on sheer principle. 

using the dining table between you as a buffer, you rummage through all the things he bought, ranging from cakes to breads to cookies. a little bit of everything. not because he doesn’t know what you like - because you see all your favorites, too - but because seungcheol always wants you to try everything. wants you to have everything. 

“that’s not his fault,” you try for casual when you answer him, picking up the melon bread and setting it to the side. “i didn’t want help.” seungcheol eyes the melon bread. his favorite. one corner of his lips hike up. 

he takes the sesame ball and sets it on your side of the table. switches the topic. “are you settling into the apartment well?” 

“yeah. mingyu keeps finding new ways to feed me. he must get paid really well, because i think most of his paycheck goes to buying extra food for me,” you huff a laugh. you still can’t quite look at him, so you don’t know how he reacts, but the two of you continue splitting pastries. back and forth, one at a time. 

“he likes it,” seungcheol shrugs. “i think he feeds wonwoo, too.” 

that’s when you glance up, curious. “have you met him?” 

“wonwoo?” seungcheol hums, nodding. “yeah, we play games together sometimes. he’s a nice guy. a little strange,” he frowns. “but in a good way.” 

you bite your cheek to hide a smile, but seungcheol catches it anyways. “what?” 

“nothing,” you shake your head. “mingyu said the same thing when i asked. a little weird, but in a good way. he said-” you cut yourself off, hesitating. “he said.. wonwoo was a little like me.” 

seungcheol studies you. by now all of the pastries have been split - all your favorites on your side, hand-picked by him. all his favorites on his side, hand-picked by you. like habit. muscle memory. 

you shift, uncomfortable. then he smiles, so disarmingly, nose scrunching when he declares, “wonwoo’s weirder. trust me.” 

a laugh stumbles out of you, so surprising that you don’t catch the way seungcheol’s eyes light up at the sound. he craves it, loves seeing you smile, loves even more to make you laugh. in college it was easy. giggles would spill out at almost anything he said, and you’d give him adoring smiles whenever he pouted and sulked over something. your touches came easy, too, even if you pretended they didn’t. but he remembers. they weren’t grand, not the bear hugs he’d give you, or the dramatic way mingyu liked to lift you off the ground. your touches were smaller, lighter - your hand running through his hair, pushing it out of his face, or the teasing tap of your finger to his cheek. your head, leaning against his shoulder as you drifted to sleep, and your hands always searching for his on instinct. 

your love was quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you. you were quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you still do. 

JUNIOR YEAR | SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2015

it happens in a moment of peace. 

your shoulders are relaxed, head tipped back in laughter from something he says. seungcheol is good at that - making you forget. forget to be stressed. forget all the responsibilities. forget to put him at arm’s length. for just a second in time, you can just be. 

but the moment lasts longer than a second. your laughter subsides, your gaze meets his, and something in the air changes, sparks. a low tension that feels good enough to ignore every warning sign you’ve ever placed on every wall you’ve ever built. 

for a couple extra, selfish seconds, you want to keep forgetting. 

he’s close, closer than you realized, and you don’t know when that started happening, either. how his space blends into yours, until every brush of his skin, his clothes, him, feels natural. it would be stranger for him to be a step away, a polite distance, and stranger still for him not to lean into the spaces you let him (and only him) occupy. 

when he leans toward you, you don’t question it. when his eyes drop to your lips, a little hooded, longing, your heart rate kicks up in anticipation. you want it. you didn’t know you wanted it, not this bad, not until now, when he’s showing you what he could give you if you just let him. 

you feel his hands brush your waist, a featherlight touch, like he knows you scare easy. of course he knows. seungcheol knows more about you than you care to admit. he pulls you in, slow, meeting you halfway. his head tilts, nose brushing against yours. you breathe him in, almost let your eyes flutter shut, almost give into the overwhelming desire to know what those plush lips would feel like on yours, and maybe if seungcheol had been even a beat faster, you both would’ve found out. 

but he isn’t, and you snap out of it, pulling away. at the very last second, backing out of the one and possibly the only thing you’ve ever wanted this badly. 

but you’re still bruising. you’re still reeling from seeing your dad and his new family, even if seungcheol burned the letters almost a month ago. being this close to seungcheol feels a little like having that sore spot pressed on, even if you can’t pinpoint why. 

he calls your name, gentle, neither a question nor an accusation, and you look away from him. but seungcheol is stubborn, and determined, and so very, very close. you can’t blame him for taking what he probably thinks is his first and last chance to tell you. 

“i get it,” he says, voice soft. never loud. not with you. unbearably understanding, his tone just shy of being coddling, except seungcheol is anything but. “i understand. i swear. but we both know what almost just happened, so you should also know i mean it when i say i like you, and i’m not going anywhere, y/n. we can go as slow as you want. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here.” 

so you tell him, in no uncertain terms, that you want to stay friends. he smiles, and you’re too young to realize that friends is a joke. friends don’t almost kiss. friends don’t look at seungcheol the way you look at him even as you’re turning him down. 

you want him, and you’re obvious about it, and you’re scared, and he knows it. 

knows it enough to show up at your door the next day like nothing’s changed. 

everything’s changed. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2022

“you know what you should do?” jeonghan observes the walls of your apartment. 

“kick you out?” 

“decorate,” he ignores you, getting way too comfortable on your couch. “that’s what this place is missing. well, besides a tv.” 

“i have a laptop,” you argue. “and nayeon’s netflix password.” 

“we can get you one of those little projectors,” mingyu suggests. “then you can just hook it up to the projector and watch it on the wall. way cheaper than a tv.” 

“i don’t need-” mingyu is lucky he’s been feeding you for months now. you let out a strangled sound. “if you want a tv, go back to your own apartment. it’s literally right there.” 

you really can’t figure out how they all ended up here. it wasn’t even mingyu who entered first, which would at least be reasonable, considering he’s your neighbor, but you’re pretty sure it’s jeonghan who shouldered his way into your apartment unannounced, and within twenty minutes, the rest of them had followed. 

“we could put a shelf here,” joshua taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“i don’t want to put holes in the wall-” 

“cheol can help you patch them later,” jeonghan waves you off, like having seungcheol become your personal handyman is just the natural solution. sitting beside him, seungcheol nods his head vigorously. 

you’re going to develop a headache, at this rate. nayeon sits at your dining table with a hand over her mouth, hiding what you’re sure is a shit-eating grin. she’s loving this. fucking traitor. 

“in fact,” jeonghan’s grin is wicked. “i bet the labor day sales next week will be great for finding shelves. you could go to ikea.” 

“and bring cheol,” nayeon calls out. “he can help you carry everything. plus he’s got a car.” 

“you can’t just offer him up-” 

“i’m okay with it,” seungcheol cuts in quickly, and you close your eyes, trying to find the last thread of your patience. 

“excellent,” jeonghan claps his hands, pleased. “it’s a date.” 

seungcheol turns pink and you refuse to give jeonghan the satisfaction of hearing you say it’s not a date, because you know that’s exactly what he wants to hear, and he probably has something worse lined up in response. so you bite your tongue and march into your kitchen, yanking open your fridge in the hopes of finding something to eat away the nerves spontaneously fluttering inside you, while your friends noisily move onto other conversation topics, filling your small living room with their nonsense. 

nayeon joins you by the fridge, nudging your foot with hers. “isn’t it nice?” 

you shove your head further into your fridge. “isn’t what nice?” 

“friends,” she says plainly. you straighten, turning to look at her. she’s watching you carefully, and you glance past her to your living room, where mingyu has taken up residence across the floor, and joshua sits beside him, legs stretched out. mingyu is giggling about something he must’ve said, because seungcheol is whining at him, kicking his leg because it’s the only thing within reach. 

“whatever,” you mutter, settling on a yakult and shutting the fridge door. but you peer back over at the boys, and jeonghan meets your eyes, his own half-lidded, already well on his way to falling asleep in the midst of the chaos. he gives you a crooked smile and a two-finger salute. 

the nerves quiet, something fond taking over. a small, hopeful part of you thinks maybe, you could keep this. maybe you could have this, this time. you crawled and scraped your way out of debt and into this nice, new apartment, with vinyl flooring and granite counters. you sacrificed everything to get here. gave up everything just to find a sense of stability. normalcy. 

your gaze drifts back to seungcheol. he’s sulking on the couch while mingyu and joshua poke fun at him, arms crossed over his chest. he looks right at home, like he belongs there, pouting on your couch in your apartment. you don’t need new shelves, or decorations, posters and plants and fairy lights. 

still, you can’t bring yourself to admit it yet. 

that the only thing really missing from your apartment, from your life, is him. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 04, 2022

you actually really don’t recall agreeing to this. 

seungcheol is bright as ever, pushing a cart beside you as the two of you wander through the ikea. you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be looking for, but it seems seungcheol came with ideas in mind, because he stops every so often to consider one item or another. 

he turns to you. “do you want a rug?” you stare blankly back at him. “for your living room floor,” he elaborates. “it might look nice. but maybe ikea isn’t the place to find a rug. we could probably get one at target or something.” 

“uh,” you say intelligently. “...sure.” 

he smiles, the one that makes your brain glitch a little, and you’re not entirely sure you’re going to survive what is supposed to be a harmless trip through ikea. you barely survived the trip here, in seungcheol’s luxury car with the cup of coffee he’d picked up on his way over. watching seungcheol turn his steering wheel is something you should not be thinking about, because seungcheol, as you have so firmly placed him, is your friend. 

god, he stresses you out. 

you follow after him, glancing around the store and their room mock-ups, just for anything to focus on that isn’t him. seungcheol points out various pieces of furniture, undeterred even when you shake your head each time. your apartment has all the necessities. you’re also not completely convinced another armchair will even fit in your apartment anyways. 

when you hit the cafeteria, seungcheol parks the empty cart next to a table. “wait here.” 

he doesn’t give you the option to go with him or say otherwise, because he’s turned and joined the line before you can even open your mouth. you roll the cart back and forth idly, then sit down, glancing around the room. there’s a lot of parents here, couples young and old, sitting at tables or grabbing utensils. 

like always, your eyes find seungcheol. his broad back, posture straight, one hand in his pocket while his other hand rests against his mouth, pointer finger tracing his lip mindlessly as he scans his options. he’s in a plain black tee today, partially tucked into a loose pair of jeans. his sunglasses are hooked in his collar, drawing the neckline down slightly. 

even in such simple clothes, he draws attention. customers passing by him give him a second glance when they catch sight of his face. 

you wish seungcheol was just handsome. it’d be easier if the physical was the only thing drawing you to him. but seungcheol is a good many things - polite, if a little impatient. stubbornly responsible, from his finances to his workout routine. habitual, but still ever-willing to follow along in his friends’ antics. his temper around others short-circuits a bit, but with you, he was gentle. affectionate, prone to clinging to you whenever you let him. and you always let him. 

seungcheol is the most dangerous for you to want for. his sweet smile, soft touch in spite of all his underlying strength. so eager to help, as long as you’ll have him. so willing to take whatever you have to give. around him, the world had a tendency to melt away. 

but around you, his world drew sharper into focus. always something to take care of, another hole tearing open in an already sinking ship. so you tried to keep him out of it. your train wreck of a life wasn’t his responsibility to fix, but he’d try, anyways. 

you still remember. you didn’t fight with seungcheol often, at least not in ways where seungcheol fought back. seungcheol always took your anger and met it with calm, soothing your raised bristles with a sweep of his hand through your hair, a soft press of his lips to yours. “okay,” he’d say. “i’m sorry. let me make it up to you, hm?” 

the night of your sister’s car accident was the only time his temper spiked with you. the only time he ever raised his voice, and even then, he wasn’t shouting so much as trying to be heard over your stubborn refusal to admit you might’ve been wrong. 

you hadn’t come back to the dorms that night. no one could get ahold of you, at first because you weren’t paying attention to your phone, then later because it had died and you didn’t have a charger on you. eventually, hospital staff dug one out for you, but it wasn’t till well past 3am that you finally managed to get your phone up to an acceptable battery percentage. 

you’d flipped through all your messages and missed calls. you knew you should call them back. or at least tell them you were okay. but doing so would invite questions, and you were so tired. the nurses let you stay overnight because you were immediate family, yet you couldn’t sleep. not with your baby sister laying in hospital sheets, an iv running through her arm. lucky, they’d called her. compared to what could’ve been, she came out of the accident fairly unscathed. 

she’d been so young. when you look at her even now, you still see her when she was an infant. a toddler. when she could barely walk and talk. when the accident happened, she’d been only fifteen. 

you’d held your head in your hands and refused to cry. not with the chance of her waking up and seeing you. steady breaths, your hands curling into fists so tight you left marks in your palms. all the things you taught yourself - counting backwards from one hundred, just to keep your emotions under lock. 

when she woke up is when you finally went back to the dorms. you’d fussed over her until she complained, “go away, i’m fine,” and when your mom arrived to the hospital, you slipped out of the room before she could see you. 

you came back to the dorms running on shitty hospital coffee and maybe half a sandwich. when nayeon burst, “where the hell have you been?” you’d muttered, “hospital,” before promptly passing out in your sheets. 

that response hadn’t really gone over well. you woke to seungcheol sitting at your desk, jaw tense. his entire body was lined with anger. the older version of you now recognizes it as worry - worry so bone deep, it forced its way out as frustration. 

still, he’d softened when you sat up, jumping to his feet. “are you okay?” 

“i’m fine.” 

“nayeon said you were at the hospital.” 

you’d stiffened. an old instinct. “my sister got into an accident.” 

seungcheol had reached for you, and you’d shied away, a subtle shift of your blankets, pretending not to see the hurt that flashed through his eyes. “is she okay?” 

“she will be.” 

despite the sleep, the exhaustion remained. all the adrenaline had worn off, the shitty coffee, the half-sandwich. your mind felt blank, but the gears still turned, unable to stop pushing. 

so tired. so worn. 

but for someone like you, stopping wasn’t an option. a hospital meant bills, care, decisions you’d need to make. you didn’t know how much insurance would cover. you couldn’t count on your mom to show up enough to take care of your sister. 

“you should’ve called.” 

maybe it was the years of raising your sister. maybe it was the years of learning how to do it on your own, with no one to show you or help you. of picking up odd jobs by the time you were twelve, or the image of your father and his white picket fence family still splitting open a wound that was never going to close. maybe it was just how tired you felt, all the damn time, but ‘you should’ve’ cut straight to the resentment you tried so hard to live past. 

you don’t really remember what you said to him. you just knew that you’d finally done it, a sick satisfaction tearing through you watching seungcheol lose his patience - i knew it, i knew it, i knew it, you’re tired of me, too - and you wanted that fight. you needed it, no matter how it hurt. even if some part of you felt like it was watching from the outside in, begging you to stop, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

we were worried, y/n, did it ever fucking occur to you? 

maybe, if you let us fucking help, things could be a little easier on you, have you tried that? 

fuck. fuck, y/n, wait. that’s not what i meant - 

i can help. we can help. why don’t you ever let us help? 

i’m sorry. 

let me help. please, baby. 

you have too much pride, you know this. but you’ve always hated letting the curtain draw too wide, letting anyone else see the wreckage of your life. you’d gotten so good at patching back then, you didn’t even notice the foundation had already fallen apart. bandaid on a bullet wound. 

it was the beginning of the end. your vice is starving on an island even with the rescue team on your shores, yet you just keep digging through the forest for something to keep you alive. it’s all you know how to do. 

when seungcheol returns with trays of food, placing them atop the table, you ask, “how much was it?” 

he knows you well enough not to look you in the eye, pretending like splitting utensils and napkins requires his utmost focus. “don’t remember. it’s okay.” 

you want to fight him on it. your eyes flick to the menu screens but they’re too far for you to read the prices. you glance back at him, and he’s deeply invested in arranging the trays as if he’s personally responsible for making ikea into fine dining. 

“okay.” 

his eyes snap to yours. he’s so surprised he forgets to hide it, but covers it with a smile, sliding over a bottle of juice to you. “okay,” he repeats, but he can’t keep the happiness out of it. 

you wish you could tell him. you wish you could rewrite history. say, i’m sorry. it wasn’t your fault. you were right, i scared you that night and i shut you out. i shouldn’t have. but i did it again and again and again, until i made sure you were gone. i’m sorry, seungcheol. it wasn’t fair. 

too little, too late. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2022 

“i can’t believe you went to ikea and bought nothing.” 

jeonghan has said this almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you’re pretty sure you’re gonna start hearing it in your sleep, soon. 

“it was cheaper at target,” you drone, the same thing you’ve said almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you don’t know if it’s good or bad that you’re getting used to being hassled by jeonghan. also, when did your apartment become the default hang-out location? when did it even become a hang-out location? you don’t even own a tv. 

“yeah, yeah. then where is the floating shelf that we agreed on?” 

you wish you had a throw pillow to launch at him. if mingyu wasn’t still feeding you at least once a week, you’d steal one from him. “we didn’t agree to anything, including that ikea trip, actually.” 

jeonghan rolls his eyes, ambling his way over to your couch. he slumps into the cushions, kicking his legs up over seungcheol’s thighs and throwing an arm over his eyes, sighing contently. “at least your couch is comfy.” 

you scoff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. more than you care to admit, you like seeing them there. the atmosphere is mostly quiet today, less ruckus and teasing and more comfortable companionship, with jeonghan already half asleep, seungcheol scrolling through his phone. mingyu sits on the floor by jeonghan, nursing an iced coffee he made seungcheol buy him on the way over. you can hear murmurs from joshua and nayeon chatting at the kitchen table, as you settle yourself on the floor next to mingyu, by seungcheol’s side of the couch. seungcheol peers at you over his phone, giving you a tiny, adorable smile that you can’t help but shyly return. 

“holy shit- oh, fuck,” mingyu startles all of you with his outburst, jeonghan letting out a disgruntled noise. “oh no. sorry- oh my god-” 

seungcheol grabs jeonghan before he can get his fingers on mingyu’s hair. you clap a hand over your mouth when you realize why - half of mingyu’s iced coffee is now on jeonghan’s shirt, having spilled when mingyu got over-excited courtesy of god-knows-what on his phone. 

“at least y/n’s couch is clean,” mingyu tries, bolting to his feet when jeonghan lets out a screech, held back only by seungcheol’s hand on his collar, seungcheol’s other hand held up and away from himself, a grimace on his face from the sticky feeling he must have after grabbing jeonghan the first time around. 

you giggle before you can help yourself, seungcheol’s head snapping to you at the sound. it’s not enough of a distraction that jeonghan can free himself, still prying at seungcheol’s fingers on his collar. 

“alright, relax,” you clamber to your feet, beckoning to jeonghan. “come on. i probably have a shirt you can borrow.” 

“i’m sticky,” jeonghan huffs in disgust, holding his hands away from himself as he looks down at his shirt. seungcheol loosens his hold on jeonghan to let him get up and follow you, seungcheol himself moving to your kitchen sink to rinse his hands off. 

“it’s just coffee,” you roll your eyes, pushing the door open to your bedroom. “you’ll live.” 

jeonghan grumbles, though his complaints peter off as he surveys your room. 

it’s a small, utilitarian space, much like the rest of your apartment. there’s little to even suggest you live here, with a standard, full-size bed sitting atop the simple bedframe seungcheol had built when you first moved in. a nightstand sits to the right of the bed, with a small lamp and a roll of toilet paper that you use in lieu of tissues. the only thing that makes this room yours is the photo you have with your sister on your nightstand, taken by her friend at her high school graduation a few years back. 

your dresser sits on the left side of your room, closer to the door. you pull open a drawer, digging for an old, oversized shirt that probably yet again once belonged to joshua. 

“hm,” jeonghan lets out an amused noise. he’s spotted the teddy bear on your bed, walking over and picking it up, shaking it in your direction. “so you did buy something from ikea.” 

you flush. you hide it by turning back to your drawers, rifling through the clothes to find one that’ll fit him. you know he knows you didn’t buy that bear. jeonghan is too smart for that. 

“seungcheol bought it.” you tell him out loud anyways. 

when you’d hit the kids section that day, your hands had run over the stuffed animals they had, fingers skimming through soft fur. seungcheol must’ve watched you, saw the way you picked up ikea’s trademark brown bear, how you looked at it, a bit wistful. 

you have no need for plush toys. you’re not a child anymore. but it’s cute, and so soft. you’d set it back down, but seungcheol snagged it before you could fully let go. when you’d stared at him questioningly, he’d lied, telling you he was getting it for his niece. 

but a couple weeks later, on a day seungcheol visited by himself - something he’s been doing more and more lately, without all your friends to crowd the apartment - you found the bear tucked into the corner of your couch. he’d left by then, and you don’t really know how he could have possibly hidden it the whole time he was here, but he managed it. 

you never thanked him for it. but you did send him a picture of the bear tucked into your bed, just so he would know that you didn’t throw it out. that you’d just moved it into your bedroom. 

jeonghan leans against your nightstand, tilting his head, observing the bear. you’re pulling out a band tee when, quietly, he mentions, “he never really got over you, you know.” 

you freeze. your grip tightens on the shirt, unable to turn around. 

no one’s talked about it. not outright, at least, except for nayeon, who saw you through the worst of it, all the sleepless nights, the breakdowns that would come out of nowhere. you’d hated yourself for it, convinced your priorities were twisted out of order. how come you can hide most of what hurts when it comes to your father - your mother, even, but the tragedy of your own making has you on your knees at three in the morning, hands curled tight against your chest as you bend your body as small as you can, feeling the pain ricochet through you? 

how can that be, when you were so sure you did the right thing? 

you hear jeonghan move, rounding the bed to walk closer to you. there’s no anger in his voice, no accusation in the way he speaks to you. “he couldn’t, y/n.” 

he lets the words hang in the still air, until you draw the courage to face him, even when you’re unable to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. jeonghan smiles, but it’s sad and knowing, and he looks down at the bear in his hand, fiddling with it. “to be honest,” he lifts his eyes back to yours. “in a way, none of us really did. i mean - you ran away, y/n. you explained nothing, and then you just… left.” 

he looks hurt. more openly than anyone else has looked at you, not mingyu, not joshua. not even seungcheol. jeonghan’s pain is written clear across his face, and you bow your head, the shame sinking you lower. it’s the same feeling that’s colored every single day since you broke up with seungcheol and abandoned the people you called your friends. the people you loved. the people who loved you. 

jeonghan sets the bear down on your bed. “i’m not saying i don’t understand. or that we don’t understand. we knew how hard it was for you with your mom. your dad, too.” his voice falters for a second, and he inhales, slow. “but we could’ve just talked about it. i… i wish you would’ve just talked about it.” 

nothing he says is meant to hurt you. he doesn’t say it to make you feel guilty. but it does, anyway. 

it hurts, anyway. 

gently, jeonghan takes the shirt from your hand, forcing you to look up at him. “he loved you. maybe still does. and i’m not asking you to love him again, but if nothing else…” 

he holds your gaze, half-pleading, half-hoping. “stay, this time. even when it gets hard. especially if it gets hard. because i don’t think any of us can handle it if you leave a second time.” 

JUNIOR YEAR | MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2015

when you told seungcheol you just wanted to be friends after his confession, you sort of expected him to disappear for a little while. or maybe even a long while, until he slowly faded out of your life, moving farther and farther into the distance, until one day, he was simply a speck from a time long past. 

after all, you’ve been through this song and dance before. it’s cliché, but a disappearing father really set the stage for your life, the first in a long line of people who always got to be the one to decide they no longer have a use for you. your college friends are the first people who have even tried to stay, but maybe that’s because they haven’t been given the opportunity to leave yet. 

still, you’re used to being left behind. easy to leave, disappointment a feeling so recurring, you could call it home. classify it as a habit. people slip out of your life like it’s effortless, and you can’t blame them, so you wouldn’t blame seungcheol, either. not when you’re always so busy, not when your life is as messy as it is. if seungcheol leaves, jeonghan and joshua probably do, too. nayeon will find ways to stay out of the dorm until she can get a new roommate, and you’ll go back to what you know. 

you’ve always done a decent job keeping yourself company, and it’s not like you don’t have a laundry list of responsibilities to keep you occupied. you’ll soothe the sting over on your own and move on. you won’t beg for someone to stay, nor do you have any good reasons to ask them to, anyways. 

so when seungcheol shows up outside your dorm the day after confessing, you stare blankly at him. his lips quirk in amusement at the obvious bewilderment on your face, and he slides past you, letting himself in the way he has a hundred times before. 

“hi,” he says, looking entirely relaxed. “did you eat yet?” 

“n-no,” you stammer, closing the door behind you. you’re so confused. you know the routine. you know how it goes. yet he’s standing before you, casual and relaxed, like it’s just another monday. 

“great. i haven’t eaten either. let’s order something, my treat.” he pulls out his phone, absently listing out options as he scrolls through restaurants in the area. 

with a start, your heart clenches, hard, the kind of painful ache you’ve shoved down time and again because you can’t afford to dissect it. this time, you let it burn for a little bit, just a little longer, enough time to trace the broadness of seungcheol’s shoulders, the sweep of his hair across his forehead, to the flex of his hands as he continues to scroll. you let the feeling spread, just for a chance to watch him. then, you call his name. “cheol.” 

it’s his eyes that betray him. seungcheol’s smile is the same as it’s always been, dimpled and handsome. but his eyes are soft on you, now that you know to look. there’s a certain adoration there that, if you’re being honest, you’ve pretended not to know existed for almost all the years you’ve been his friend. seungcheol, who always seems a bit stern, between the thick eyebrows and the strong line of his jaw, has only ever relented with you. 

you watch it happen again, how his smile hesitates, and the resignation starts to settle in. he knows you’re going to draw the line again. it’d started months ago, when you shut all your friends out, and never quite let them back in. but it hasn’t stopped him from trying to sneak over it, hoping to reach you, knowing you’ll slip through his fingers like water. 

you don’t know why he keeps coming back. if you were a better person, you wouldn’t let him. 

but his dark hair, his full lips, those wide, brown eyes - you’re selfish enough to want to keep him here. seungcheol is steady and reliable, and he makes you laugh, and that’s more than you can say about most people who have passed through your life. his friendship is perhaps the most meaningful thing you have, second only to your little sister, and even though you braced yourself for giving it up, now that he’s here, you know you aren’t ready to let him go. 

which means you also can’t let him linger for more than he already has. 

“go home,” you say softly. “break’s started. i’m sure your parents are missing you.” 

his shoulders fall, and he fidgets with the phone in his hand before pocketing it. “right,” he responds quietly. “yeah.” 

he doesn’t move, though. when your fingers brush against him, his eyes focus on the way they curl around his wrist, gently tugging him back towards the door. he follows you willingly, simply for the fact that you’re the one pulling him. 

for a moment, even when he’s standing in your doorway with you, you don’t drop your hands. you keep them there, just holding him lightly. 

you let him go. say your goodbyes and close the door behind you. 

his missing presence is immediately palpable in your quiet dorm. but you refuse to open the door again and call down the hall for him to come back, share a meal with you, liven up this tiny space you live in. you keep your back pressed to the door, palms flattening against the wood. last night, after he’d confessed, you’d stared at your ceiling until dawn, convincing yourself seungcheol wouldn’t come back into your life once you’d set a hard line with him. convinced yourself of the worst so you could prepare for it, and if you were prepared, then none of your expectations could shatter. you can still survive. 

but the smallest part of you knew. you know seungcheol’s a better man than that. your friendship with him isn’t contingent on whether or not you can reciprocate his feelings, and the part of you that doesn’t bank on endless series of disappointments knew that he’d show up at your door today. just so he could see you again. 

it’s why you placed your bets on the safe side. when he’d leaned a little closer, when his eyes had dipped to your lips, when his hands had brushed against your waist, pulling you towards him. when you’d almost let him, until the excuses came filtering in. 

lovers come and go. 

friends stay. 

and selfishly, you want him to stay. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2022

with christmas around the corner, you finally cave about that damn floating shelf jeonghan keeps talking about. 

your sister is coming over, the way she has every year since she started university. she’s been telling you since she was eighteen that she wants to spend the holidays with you, doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how, as long as it’s with you. she doesn’t want to go back to your mom’s cold, lonely house either, not when she could be happier in your small apartment, doing nothing together. 

in the past years, your shitty apartments had mostly led to a lot of muffled screams whenever a bug crawled by, but this year, your apartment is nice. clean. there’s space. she deserves a good christmas, so you take the extra bit of money you’ve been saving up, and buy the stupid shelf, along with a variety of christmas decorations. 

seungcheol went with you. he was pink from how happy he was to be there, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering, enthusiastic with every item you asked for his opinion on. “yes,” he’d nod. “i think she’ll love it.”

so now you’re here, with a variety of christmas ornaments and other decorations scattered across your kitchen table and coffee table, boxes of things littered across the floor, with seungcheol drilling a screw into your wall to hold up your shelf. you hover near him, anxious with nothing to do to help him, while he moves with familiar ease and practice. 

“you look like you’ve done that a lot,” you comment, and he glances at you. 

“i have,” he replies, bemused. “the rest of those idiots can’t figure out a power drill to save their life.” 

“i feel like mingyu might know,” you say it without thinking twice, wincing a little when you see the immediate frown on his face. 

“you think mingyu can do a lot of things,” seungcheol mutters, and you have to bite your lip to hide a smile. his petulance is short-lived as he gets the shelf secured into place, setting the drill down. 

he dusts off the top, satisfied with his handiwork. “all done.” 

it’s only when he turns that you realize how close you’ve gotten to him. in a rush, you step backwards out of his space, tripping over packaging from all the other things you’ve bought, an embarrassing squeak escaping you. seungcheol’s arms shoot out to catch you, reflexes quick, instinctive as his hands grab your waist and yank you to him, your breath catching when your chest meets his, your hands latching to the back of his shirt. you lift your head, your wide eyes matching his, and suddenly you’re not breathing, heart rate doing double time in your chest. 

he’s so close. you can’t think. his breaths are shallow, lips parted, and you can’t focus. fuck, you can’t focus at all. seungcheol just does this to you, does it every time he’s nearby. it’s why you can’t let him stand too close. why you shouldn’t have let him back into your life. into your apartment. 

but right now, with the way his palm slides against your back, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. 

his eyes are half-lidded, gaze dragging from your eyes to your lips and back, like he’s trying to keep himself in check but can’t. you’re not sure you want him to. you don’t think you do. 

he leans closer. every movement feels like an echo from the past, and there’s a buzzing in the back of your head that you simply ignore. it feels too good to have him here, looking at you like you’re the only person who exists on this planet. like he wants nothing and no one else but you. 

you blink slow, so tempted to let your eyes shut, to feel only him, let him surround you wholly. you missed him. in all these years, you just… missed him. missed feeling him. missed the way he loved you, so softly, so endlessly. like nothing else mattered. 

you feel his breath ghost over your lips, and yours hitches. your hands tighten in his shirt, and your eyes slam shut before you’re releasing him, hands braced against his chest, pushing him away just enough so that you can lower your head in the space between the two of you, sucking in a shaky breath. 

he doesn’t move. your fingers curl against his shirt, holding tight onto him. you don’t want to let go. you don’t want him to go. 

the tears are rising, and they’re rising fast. your hands are shaking from how hard you’re gripping his shirt. he tries to soothe you, one hand running against your back but you shake your head furiously, unable to speak. 

“okay. okay,” he whispers, letting his hands hover away from your body. still there, just not touching you. just close enough so you know he’s there. 

you want his hands back on you. you don’t want him to hold you at all. there’s a knife in your chest that twists, and you’re gritting your teeth so hard you think they might crack. 

“i need you to breathe,” he murmurs. you hadn’t realized you’d stopped. “please, baby. we’ll do it together.” 

please, baby. 

against your will, a sob chokes out of you. a wretched sound, one you swallow immediately. the tears don’t escape. you make sure of it. you blink them back down, steady your breathing, just like seungcheol asks for. in, out. slow. 

little by little, your fingers loosen. your breaths even out, fingers still splayed across his chest, using him to hold yourself up. “that’s it,” he says softly. “it’s okay.” 

you don’t lift your head. you think if you do right now, you won’t be able to hold the tears back. so you stay where you are, fingers weakly curling against his shirt, then straightening out. it feels safer, your hands against his clothes. a layer of separation. you can argue that it’s not him you’re holding onto. just his clothes. 

when your heart rate has calmed, and the burning behind your eyes has receded, you finally raise your head, eyes finding his. he’s smiling at you, but his eyes are sad, and there’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him. you force yourself to pull away, returning your hands to your sides. you don’t know what to say, which makes everything feel worse. 

you watch his smile fade. he tries to say something, but the words must escape him too, because all that comes out is empty air, and he stops. 

for a few minutes, there’s only heavy silence. he finds his words before you do, and they come out quiet, honest. “i don’t want to apologize.” he holds your gaze, certain. “because i’m not sorry. i’m not sorry for the way that i feel. i’m sorry i scared you, but i’m not sorry for wanting you. for always wanting you.” 

he runs a tired hand through his hair, brushing through the strands. they’ve grown out a bit since the first time you bumped into him back in may, long enough that he’s able to pull them back, out of his eyes. so terribly reminiscent of when you saw him last, five years ago. 

he inhales, slow and deep. “i wish… i wish i knew how to make it less terrifying for you. i wish i knew how to - how to make it not hurt you. because i know it does. i see it every single time you look at me. how much it hurts you.” 

sometimes, you forget. for as well as you know him, he knows you. it’s why the two of you always felt like you fit together so seamlessly, how all of his soft edges could still find a way to mold to all of your rough, sharp ones. because he knew how to find the gentle slopes, the parts of you that you wanted him to have. the parts of you that were better. 

“it took me a really long time, you know,” his voice has dropped, barely audible. “to figure it out. why you left. i thought i did something wrong. rushed you. pushed you too much, maybe. and maybe that’s still true, at least a little bit. but…” he swallows. “but you left jeonghan, too. joshua. mingyu. you left all of them, not just me. so it couldn’t have just been about me. about us. but i could never really be sure, not until i saw you outside of mingyu’s apartment.” 

you should kick him out. whatever it takes to make him stop talking. 

“but you still look at me like that, y/n.” 

you can’t move. 

“you still hold onto me when i touch you.” 

the thing about the knife that stays buried in your chest, is that it was never seungcheol’s hand digging it deeper. it isn’t even your mother’s, or your father’s. 

it has always been yours. 

“i’m not going away this time, baby,” seungcheol promises. “i don’t care. i’ll figure it out. until it stops being scary. until it stops hurting. whatever it takes.” 

the worst thing, you think, about being in seungcheol’s presence, is that he’s so convincing. so much so that he makes you want for more than what you think you’re allowed to have. makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have it. have him, without leaving behind a wreckage, disaster. 

the sharp pain is so familiar, that letting your hand slip off the hilt feels unnatural. to not have to live every single day with the reminder of what kind of person you are, and where you stand in anyone’s life. but when seungcheol is nearby, he always finds a way to pull you closer. refuses to let you stay at a distance. no matter how far you step back, seungcheol doesn’t ever let you go. 

JUNIOR YEAR | THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY 16, 2016 

seungcheol is impossible to stay away from, you realize. 

even as just friends, seungcheol is good to you. when you rejected his confession a few months back, nothing outwardly changed, except for the fact that you could no longer pretend you didn’t know. you didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but no one seemed to notice the difference. seungcheol pre-confession was no different than seungcheol post-confession. only you remained in silent turmoil. 

when you lock the convenience store door behind you, you turn to find seungcheol waiting for you outside. winter this year is harsh, seungcheol’s nose red from the cold in spite of being bundled up, a beanie flattening his hair, scarf pulled up high. he brightens when he sees you, digging through his pockets for something. 

“cheol?”

“hand warmers,” he presents them to you proudly. “for you.” 

you stare at them. the cheap little packets, that knowing him, he’s bought an entire case of, just to give to you. to make sure you stay warm in the deep winter chill, because he knows you’re always out in the dead of night, a direct result of having closing shifts regularly. the longer you stare, the angrier you get. you don’t need hand warmers, you’re plenty warm right now, from the mix of anger and sheer want. 

without warning, you yank him to you, hands fisting his jacket as you pull him down to your height. seungcheol squawks, a sound he will vehemently deny making later, completely baffled by the way you glare at him, lips turned downwards in a frustrated frown. “stop it,” you demand, but there’s no heat to it. no strength behind your words. “stop it, choi seungcheol.” 

“hey,” he whines. “you know how i feel about you using my full name.” 

“i know. i know how you feel about it. i know how you feel about me. it’s not fair, cheol. it’s not fair,” your brows furrow deeper. you’re breathing harder, and he looks even more confused now, but his expression has softened. you hate how he looks at you. like you’re all that’s worth focusing on. like he understands why you’re so angry with him right now, and why none of it really feels like anger at all. 

“you’re so unfair,” you whisper, tracing every line of his features, from his chin to his lips to his nose and cheekbones, up to those eyes you adore so much. “why do i like you so much?” 

his smile is a bit cheeky. “because i’m so cute?” 

“annoying,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, more affection than anything else. seungcheol is still bent at an awkward angle, but you haven’t let him go and he likes exactly where he is, right now. you don’t want to let him go, either, because you also like him exactly where he is, right now. close to you. centimeters away from you, but still a little too far, so you tug him even closer, till your nose brushes his. “i said no,” your voice trembles a little, but your head tilts, angling towards him. “i said i wanted to be friends.” 

“we can be friends,” seungcheol breathes, but he’s finally remembered how to move, hand warmers forgotten in his pockets as his gloved hands find your waist, tugging you against him. “we can be whatever you want, y/n.” 

your feelings are a mess. your life is a mess. but seungcheol cuts straight through it, a direct path to your heart. “i don’t wanna be friends.” your hands tighten in his jacket. “i…” 

it’s hard to think straight. so you opt against it entirely, running on instinct instead, on purely what you want. 

him. 

you want him. 

you close the distance, and seungcheol melts right into you, hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulls you in closer. your eyes flutter shut, and every thought dissipates. there’s only seungcheol, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way his hands feel on you, the way you only want to keep bringing him closer, closer, closer. 

your hand reaches up to his face, and it’s the only reason the two of you break apart, seungcheol yelping at the cold of your fingers when they brush his cheeks, and you both burst into giggles. “sorry,” you start to pull away, but seungcheol’s hands wrap around yours immediately. 

“keep ‘em there,” he presses his cheek to your hand. “maybe you don’t need hand warmers. you can just have me instead.” 

you pinch his cheek. “cheesy.” 

he hums. “yours,” he answers. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2022

“you decorated!” your sister’s delighted squeal makes it worth it, as she drops her bags on your floor and takes in your apartment. it wasn’t much, but you’d managed to find a small tree, one of those little bendable plastic ones, and you bought two stockings from the dollar store that you hung off the floating shelf seungcheol helped you put up. you can’t look at it too long, the memory still fresh in your head of his hands on your waist, his voice low, sincere. so determined to love you again. 

you watch your sister flit about your apartment, excited over every new detail she spots. she’s visited before throughout the past half-year or so, but never overnight. she shakes the snowglobe on your bookshelf, and for a second she looks six years old again, giddy and young. 

you smile. the softest part of your heart is always her, your headstrong sister with her boundless energy. so much smarter than you, popular around campus and so beloved by everyone. 

“go put your things in the room,” you call, heading into the kitchen. 

“i can sleep on the couch,” she tries, but you point at the bedroom door. 

“room,” you repeat sternly, and she shrugs and flounces off, taking her weekender bag with her. you rummage through the cabinets, preparing for dinner. 

she comes back out of the room with your laptop hoisted above her head. “netflix?” she beams at you, and you gesture to the kitchen table for her to set up, while you cook. when she sidles up to you, you swing an arm around her, squeezing her tight to you until she complains. 

“missed you, berry,” you coo, keeping her held tight in place even as she squirms. the old nickname comes from before she was even born, from a trip you made to the doctor’s office back when your parents were still together, and the doctor said she was the size of a strawberry. 

“let go,” she whines. “miss me from like two feet away, oh my god.” 

you snicker and release her, letting her go back to your laptop to scroll through nayeon’s netflix account for something to watch. dinner is plated within thirty minutes, the two of you sitting side by side, watching ‘business proposal’, laughing and talking with your mouths full, falling silent together at more intense scenes, chopsticks mid-air. the evening goes quietly, comfortably, until the two of you are curled up on the couch, both showered and clean, your sister’s head on your shoulder while you both scroll aimlessly through your phones. 

with how late it’s gotten, you’ve turned the overhead lights off, leaving only the twinkling from the little tree you set up, and a floor lamp in the corner, the room awash in a dim yellow glow, just enough for the two of you. it’s peaceful, a slow night with your favorite person on this earth, her giggling at silly reels on her phone, pressed warm against you. 

you’re flicking through photos you took with her earlier in the day when your phone buzzes. the message flashes across the top of your screen but before you get a chance to swipe it away, your sister catches sight of it and jolts upright. 

[12:02am] seungcheol: merry christmas, y/n 

oh, boy. 

“you’re back together?” 

you flounder, unsure what to do with the fact that she sounds excited about it. “no,” you deny, a little more forceful than absolutely necessary. you soften your voice. “we’re - no. we’re… reacquainted. his - our -” you suddenly can’t figure out how to describe mingyu. “my neighbor is a mutual friend.” 

your sister hmphs, picking her hot chocolate up from off the coffee table. “you never told me why you broke up with him. i thought he was nice.” 

you flick her forehead. “none of your business. drink your hot chocolate.”

she pouts but obeys, going back to her phone while you stare at yours, at the simple message seungcheol had left you. your eyes drift from your phone to your sister, how young she still looks, yet she’s here, with you, instead of your mom on christmas day. 

your sister is 21 now, but back then she was only a teenager. a teenager you could no longer protect, because you were away at college doing everything you could to make enough to secure her future, with or without a scholarship. you didn’t want her to worry about the money like you did. you didn’t want her to have to worry about anything, but it was inevitable. 

in the end, she was the one who’d encouraged you to stop talking to your mom. to stop coming home. at eighteen years old, your sister had no right being as mature as she was, already so much better than you when you were her age. so much less naive, so much stronger, so much quick wit and a straight back, head held high. you’re so proud of her, it makes your heart ache. 

maybe it’s because she watched you fight for your place in a home that no longer belonged to you. maybe because she was too young to remember when it did, when you were the apple of your parents’ eyes, an adorable toddler with a mischievous streak. 

because unlike you, she only knew one outcome. that no matter what you did, nothing ever changed. there were no amount of accomplishments, no feats, nothing that could change your mother’s mind about you. you were the problem. 

“and i’m okay,” she’d said, so earnest it broke your heart. “you don’t have to come home just to check on me. i’m going to college soon. i won’t have to be here. we can just see each other on campus, or at your apartment.” 

she was trying so hard not to be a part of the reason you kept picking open the same wound, every time you came home. 

but the thing is, some days, most days, even, you understand your mom. it’s why you kept going home, again and again, in the hopes that something would change. that one day you’d be enough. that your mother could look at you and see just you, and not the man who abandoned you both. 

it takes you a long time to learn, but you can’t beg someone to love you. you can’t beg your mom to see past your dad’s betrayal and realize that you were just a kid. she needed someone to blame for the hurt and it was easy when you look so much like him. it takes you a long time to learn that that isn’t your fault. 

you run a fond hand through your sister’s hair, brushing it back away from her face. she’s used to your affectionate touches, doesn’t even look up from her phone. but she does eventually tilt her face towards you. in the late night, there’s a bit of melancholy when she says, “it’d be nice, if you got back together with him.” 

you mask the feelings that come with that statement, choosing instead to arch your eyebrow. “why?” 

“he was good to you. i could tell. and he made you happy.” she pauses, contemplative. “when you were with him… it was like you got a chance to think of yourself, for once, too. i liked that he could do that.” 

she goes back to her phone, leaving you to sit with that thought. the idea that you could put yourself first, because of seungcheol. because that was all he ever wanted of you. for you to choose you. 

you swipe back to your messages with him. you scroll through them, the past few months of him messaging you every errant thought, blurry photos of that neighborhood orange cat. all the times you ignored the majority of his messages, and how he responded to all of yours within minutes.  

when you type your message back, you miss the way your sister peers over at your phone, and the small, secret smile she wears when she sees it’s his chat. how she glances at you, spots the faint smile on your face, the soft look in your eyes. the one you only get with him. 

[12:34am] y/n: merry christmas, cheol 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2022

every year, seungcheol had told you, his parents hold a new years party. 

it’s a full house - his parents’ friends, his brother’s family, his brother’s friends, seungcheol’s friends. everyone the chois know gather at their house to drink and eat and talk, different friend groups and family members taking up different sections of the house, occasionally mingling together and making new friends, too. 

it sounds… unreal, if you’re being honest. it sounds like something out of a movie. or a book. nobody’s life is this picturesque. nobody actually has a home so warm, so welcoming. 

up until you stepped into seungcheol’s family home five years ago, you didn’t think it was possible. 

you haven’t celebrated new years with them before, only christmas, but the love had been palpable. seungcheol was raised on adoration and affection, and this fact was amplified the instant you’d entered his home. 

after breaking up with him, though, you didn’t think you’d be back here. 

“we took the train and still beat you here,” mingyu laughs, leaning against the doorway of seungcheol’s house. you can spot nayeon behind him, waving at you, as you climb out of seungcheol’s car. his family home isn’t far from the city, maybe an hour out, and seungcheol had offered the ride. offered all of it, actually. the invite to the party, the ride to his parents’ place, a guest room in his house overnight. 

it’d taken a bit of convincing. from everyone. they were all going - mingyu, jeonghan, joshua, nayeon. mingyu was bringing wonwoo with him. but none of them were you. none of them had the history you had. none of them were seungcheol’s ex. 

“you should go,” your sister was the nail in the coffin. “i think it could be fun. i’m gonna go hang out with my friends on new years so you should hang out with yours.” 

“they’re his parents,” you’d argued, and she’d shrugged. 

“is seungcheol dense?” 

“not particularly, no.” 

“then i don’t think he’d invite you unless he thought it’d be okay.” 

so, here you are. one hour of only a moderately awkward drive later, and you’re in front of the choi family home again, staring at the white paneling and the christmas lights still strung up. 

his home is as lovely as you remember it being. all warm, golden lights, decorations in the windowsills, the fireplace lit up. there’s toys scattered across the living room where his brother’s kids have taken to playing, seungcheol’s brother, sister-in-law, and their friends crowded around the kids. the kitchen is overflowing with drinks and food, seungcheol’s dad running back and forth, laughing loudly with seungcheol’s uncle, while his mom sits at the dining table, amusedly listening to jeonghan lament over the girl who won’t give him the time of day. 

it’s so.. busy. loud. you don’t even know who took your jacket and scarf, but before you can even politely greet his parents with the box of oranges you brought (which also mysteriously disappeared from your hands), you’re whisked off upstairs, where seungcheol’s friends have commandeered his childhood bedroom. 

“i should-” 

“don’t worry about it,” seungcheol reassures. “there’s too many people downstairs. even if you say hi, they’ll forget you did within the next five seconds.” 

so you let him guide you into his room, hyperaware of his hand against your back, his touch barely there. 

nothing about his room has changed. you suppose it wouldn’t, considering he lives in the city now. his walls are painted a standard eggshell white, the dresser opposite his bed still displaying his taekwondo trophies atop it. there’s a desk in the corner that joshua’s sitting at, fiddling with seungcheol’s thousand-year-old monitor. he gives you both a quick greeting when you enter. 

you don’t recognize the man laying in his bed, though. lazy eyes peer back at you before blinking twice and sitting up, curious. 

“jihoon,” seungcheol introduces. “y/n. y/n, jihoon. jihoon’s my neighbor. y/n’s my… uh, my friend.” seungcheol clears his throat. you ask yourself for the millionth time why you came. 

jihoon smirks, clearly aware of who you are. “hi,” he sticks out a hand. “nice to meet you.” 

you shake his hand, nodding and trying to smile. it’s like your facial muscles have decided they don’t remember how to work today. 

seungcheol pivots. “what are you doing with my computer?” 

“you mean your relic from the dinosaur age?” joshua snorts. “i’m just wondering if it even still boots up. why do you still have this thing?” 

seungcheol swats at joshua’s hands. “leave it.” 

“he has porn on there,” jeonghan drawls, and you turn to find him with mingyu, nayeon, and who you assume is wonwoo all crowding into seungcheol’s room. you’d think at your age, you can handle jeonghan’s shameless jokes, but you still turn red. 

seungcheol notices. instead of pouting at jeonghan for the slander like he normally would, he leans down to you, murmuring so only you can hear. “still shy, hm?” 

on pure instinct, you shove him away, then walk as nonchalant as possible to stand beside nayeon, ignoring the wide grin on seungcheol’s face for successfully flustering you. “smooth,” nayeon mutters under her breath. you elbow her for good measure. 

in your defense, neither of you have talked about the almost-kiss. if it wasn’t constantly running a loop in the back of your mind, you would think you dreamt it up. but every casual brush of seungcheol’s hands against your waist, your back, your arm - and it’s all you can think about. that edge of desperation in his voice, pleading. that stubborn streak in him, so insistent. i’m not going away this time, baby. 

if there’s anything about seungcheol, it’s that he’s straightforward with how he feels. 

your head’s a mess, around him. your heart’s less confused, but you don’t lead with it. could never afford to. still might not. 

everyone finds a way to shuffle into the room. somehow, you, nayeon, mingyu, and wonwoo fill the space on the floor, near seungcheol’s closet. jeonghan flops down next to jihoon on the bed, and seungcheol sits by his nightstand, leaning against his bed, facing your direction. 

it’s not quite what you expect a party to be. there’s brief exchanges - mingyu introduces wonwoo, and he gives you a kind smile that catches you off guard. when you first saw him, he seemed strict, a bit cold. adverse to people. but when he smiles, the entirety of him warms. 

seungcheol nudges your foot with his. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring at wonwoo. after all, this is the guy everyone says is like you. but from what you can tell, wonwoo is good-natured, a little goofy, clearly attentive. he laughs at mingyu’s jokes even when everyone else groans, and bounces his attention from person to person, intent on listening to everyone. 

you glance at seungcheol. he’s trying not to, but you can tell he’s sulking. you tilt your head at him, and his eyes dart to wonwoo so quick you almost don’t catch it. he nudges you again, lower lip jutting out just slightly as he eyes you, looking for your attention. 

as subtly as you can, you scoot to his side. nayeon catches your eye and raises her eyebrows, eyes twinkling. shut up, you narrow your eyes at her. make me, she smiles innocently. 

“doing okay?” seungcheol’s voice is low, for only you to hear. you turn to him, stopping short when you see how close he is, eyes widening slightly. his lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment on the way your cheeks color, ever so slightly. you nod in response. 

“good,” he sounds happy. “thank you for coming.” 

for a striking moment, you wish you weren’t the person you are. you wish you could let go of all inhibition, forget history, forget habit. you want to lean into him. you want to feel his fingers curl around yours, you want to breathe him in, let your head rest on his shoulder. make it so he doesn’t have to be jealous when you stare at wonwoo, and how carefree wonwoo seems even though mingyu said he had a hard life, like you. you want to be that way too. carefree. enough to make it evident that seungcheol is the only person you want. the only person you have ever wanted. 

he can see it on your face, and his breath catches. he swallows, but he draws back, giving you space. even when his eyes always give him away. 

he wants to kiss you, and your heart races in your chest at the thought. anxiety or anticipation, you can’t decide. 

until it stops being scary, he’d promised. until it stops hurting. 

you wonder if bravery looks like falling all in. you glance at wonwoo again. 

maybe it just looks like defying misery in favor of choosing happiness. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

every person in the house somehow manages to squeeze into the living room to ring in the new year. you manage to greet seungcheol’s family beforehand, seungcheol’s dad shocking you when he pulls you into a quick hug, like he’s completely forgotten that you’re seungcheol’s ex-girlfriend. 

new years lands with you standing between seungcheol and nayeon, nayeon holding your hand tight as she cheers with everybody else, raucous and loud, shouting “happy new year!” you laugh and wince at the same time, her voice practically directly in your ear, instinctively shifting towards seungcheol. his arm comes to rest around your waist while it’s still chaotic and overcrowded, pulling you close to him, you releasing nayeon’s hand when he does so. it’s just a minute - just long enough for him to lean down and murmur for you, and you only: “happy new year, y/n.” 

only seungcheol knows how to get your heart going. 

he lets you go, and you find yourself missing the warmth. it’s hypocritical of you to want it, when you’re the one who pushed him away when he almost kissed you two weeks ago. he seems to know it, too, he just doesn’t seem to care. he’s spent this entire day at your side, from the drive in, to the evening spent in his bedroom with all your friends, to now, with the clock ringing midnight. 

you don’t know why, but you’re suddenly conscious of it. hasn’t he been here since you bumped into him in front of your apartment? running to you as soon as he’s called, standing at your kitchen table, sitting on your living room couch? why does it suddenly feel different?

the night draws deeper, people slowly beginning to leave the party. his extended family leaves first, cars pulling out of the driveway. the volume lowers to a comfortable hum, voices drifting from the kitchen where his parents sit with jihoon’s parents, still talking and laughing. 

out of habit, you start cleaning. it starts with you folding the blankets and quilts on the couch you’re sitting on, mingyu and joshua glancing at you and following after you. by accident, you start a train of clean-ups, wonwoo picking up toys that were left behind by seungcheol’s niece, tucking them with the rest of the toys in the box in the corner, jihoon helping him. you gather mugs off the table, nayeon sweeping the crumbs from cookies and other snacks into her palm once the surface is cleared. 

“you don’t have to do that,” seungcheol tries to stop all of you, but halfway through his sentence and he ends on a defeated, affectionate sigh, bending down to pick up a block that got kicked towards the couch, tossing it to jeonghan, who’s closer to the toy box. 

he helps you carry the rest of the mugs into the kitchen, depositing them into the sink. letting you wash them is where seungcheol draws the line, both hands landing on your waist to shift you to the side, the movement so easy and natural for him that you buffer for a good minute, confused. he takes your place in front of the sink, grabbing the sponge and trying not to smile too hard. 

“i-” 

“nope,” he cuts you off, scrubbing the mugs. “when you’re here, you’re the princess. house rules.” he says it so confidently, so self-assured, that you swallow and stand down. 

he knows you can’t sit still, though, certainly not while watching him, so after a beat of watching you fidget, he nods towards the towels hanging off the oven handle. “help me dry?” 

while you dry dishes, jeonghan comes in, patting seungcheol’s shoulder. “they’re gonna head out soon. take the last train out.” 

“they need a ride?” 

“jihoon said he’d drive. just came to say bye, i’m gonna go home with my parents.” jeonghan smiles at you like you’re not going with them. confused, you set the mug down. 

“when are they leaving?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“five, ten minutes, i think. but his car can only fit four.” he arches his eyebrows. you count off your friends. shua, gyu, nayeon. wonwoo. four. 

when he sees the frown on your face, he chuckles. “cheol will take you back in the morning. won’t you, cheol?” 

“i can just uber-” 

“i’ll take you in the morning. let’s go say bye to them.” seungcheol finishes washing the last mug, leaving it on the dish rack to dry and toweling off his hands. the two of them pull you towards the front door before you can even get a word in edgewise, bewildered. it’s a rush of hugs, mingyu lifting you off the ground just to hear you squeak in surprise, nayeon promising to text when she’s home. then they’re gone, leaving you blinking rapidly in seungcheol’s entryway. 

somewhat dazed, you turn to seungcheol. everyone has gone, seungcheol’s parents having sent off jeonghan and his family too, then retiring to their bedroom, leaving only the two of you. 

“i… i didn’t bring clothes,” is what finally comes out of your mouth. it feels silly to point out something obvious, but it kicks seungcheol back into action. 

the two of you head back upstairs, where seungcheol tugs out a t-shirt and sweatpants from his dresser while you hover awkwardly in his doorway. he hands them to you, and you spot his high school logo stamped across them. “thank you,” you mumble. 

“i can set up the guest bedroom,” seungcheol clears his throat. “or… or you can just stay in my room. with me.” 

you stare at him, unsure. he has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, eyebrows pulling together. when you hesitate, he lifts a hand, fingers brushing your forearm, sliding down until they slowly wrap around your wrist, tugging you to him, until you’re centimeters apart. his palm feels warm on your skin, and your eyes flutter closed. 

without all of his friends and family, the house is quiet. the peaceful kind, one you can sink into, not the kind that leaves you on edge, careful not to make a sound. you can hear the faint hum of the heater running, the air still. 

you lift your head and open your eyes, finding his. his eyes were always your favorite. a captivating shade of brown, always full of emotion. he never hid from you. not once. 

“stay with me,” he whispers, just shy of begging you. “please, baby.” 

when he asks like that, you can never tell him no. 

“okay.”

you fall asleep that night in his clothes, in his bed, on his sheets. with him tucked close to you, your back to his chest. before you fall asleep though, you hear him murmur, “missed you. more than anything.” 

in his sleep, his arm drapes heavy around your waist, like it’s instinct. how naturally he holds you against him, burying his nose against you. that’s how you fall asleep, with the familiar comfort of him wrapped around you. where it feels like coming home. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2016 - SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2016 

with seungcheol’s personality, you sort of just assumed his mother was a bustler. the kind of woman who never stopped moving, like there was always something to clean or cook or wash or serve. food to offer, dishes to clear, drinks to pour. you assumed she was like the mothers you saw in hallmark movies, constantly yammering on about something or another, but never in a way that felt annoying, only comforting. somebody who made soup whenever one of her kids so much as shivered, to fend off a cold. 

but when you step through the doors of seungcheol’s family home, you’re greeted by his dad first. he’s quick, helps you slide your coat off before you can even register what’s happening, and he’s talking the whole while, a steady, if quick beat of welcoming words as he ushers you in, rattling off something about it’s cold outside, there’s hot chocolate in the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready, do you need a blanket? you should stand by the heater, or we can get the fireplace going - 

“dad,” seungcheol says, amusingly exasperated. he puts his hands on his dad’s shoulders, redirecting him into the house. “let her breathe, would you?” 

mr. choi grumbles but it’s all fond, letting seungcheol push him back towards the kitchen, but not before he gets a chance to give you another smile, earnest and pleased, in a way you’re not sure anyone has ever been at just the mere fact that you’ve showed up in their home. you force a smile in return, hope it looks sincere, want it to be, because you realize it’s not his mom where seungcheol got his warmth and energy from, but his dad. 

“is that my baby?” you hear her before you see her, the soft lilt of her voice, so full of affection as she calls for her son. 

“the one and only,” seungcheol calls back, grin wide as his mom appears at the entryway of the hall, seungcheol bending down to wrap her in a tight hug, one that she returns with small pats on his back, pulling away from him with a smile. it becomes immediately clear that seungcheol’s dad was the loud one and his mom the quiet one, but both with a deep love for their kids. her eyes are warm, kind, her love no less muted, and when her gaze lands on you, her eyes widen ever so slightly, lips turning upwards. 

“y/n?” she guesses, and something in your heart stumbles at the way she says your name. you swallow down the feeling and stand straighter, hope that she doesn’t notice the slight shake in your fingers. 

“hi, mrs. choi,” you lower your head in a slight bow, but she simply straightens you back up, fingers gentle on your arms as she peers at you, like she wants to get a better look. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” she brushes a hand against a strand of your hair, pushing it back slightly, away from your face. “so many good things. cheol likes you very much.” 

“very much,” seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which heats from the attention. his mom chuckles.

“we brought pears, if you’d like,” you tell her. “seungcheol helped carry them in.”  you hope she can’t see how nervous you are. you feel jittery, like you’ve had too much caffeine. 

his mom rubs a comforting hand against your arm. “thank you. that’s sweet of you.” 

you’d googled a lot before coming here. what to do. what to bring. what the right etiquette is, how to behave. you’re still not really sure, but his parents don’t seem to mind, or even notice, as seungcheol sets the table, his dad urging you to sit and just let his kid handle it all. “we wanted a daughter, y’know,” he tells you. “so we could spoil her. a little princess. spoiled him instead.” he pinches seungcheol’s cheek, tone all affection and fondness. seungcheol scrunches his nose but you can see the happy glow on him, how much he enjoys his parents’ attention. 

when seungcheol passes by your seat, setting down your utensils, he leans to whisper in your ear, “you can be the princess, instead.” when you turn red, he relishes in it, grin completely unashamed. 

dinner is loud, between seungcheol and his dad, mostly. his dad regales you with stories from seungcheol’s childhood, seungcheol whining back over every embarrassing memory. you feel yourself slowly ease up, less and less conscious of how you hold your chopsticks, or how fast you eat your food, or how much of it you take. not that it matters, because even as he’s talking, his dad manages to pile your plate the instant you’ve finished even a small portion of it, almost like he’s not even thinking about it. it takes seungcheol’s mom subtly sneaking the tongs out of her husband’s grasp for him to stop, and she gives you a secret, knowing smile when you accidentally let the relief show on your face. 

you try to wash the dishes after dinner, but seungcheol’s mom pulls you away. “his dad will do it. you rest,” she guides you towards the living room. “seungcheol mentioned you work a lot. it’s okay.” 

“you don’t need to lift a finger when you’re here,” seungcheol’s dad proclaims, tugging on dish gloves. “don’t you worry one bit.” 

they mean well, but the embarrassment floods you anyway. of course they know. seungcheol is close with his parents. open with them. probably tells them everything. “i don’t mind,” you try, but she shakes her head, firm. 

seungcheol’s brother arrives on christmas day with his wife. he’s as casual as seungcheol is, if a little quieter, quick to attempt to put seungcheol in a headlock, which gets them both scolded by his wife. it makes you laugh, seeing two tall, fit men with their head bowed low in front of a woman who at best is maybe 5’2”. 

she’s charming and clearly wields command over the choi brothers, both of them at her beck and call. one because he’s so obviously head over heels for her, and the other out of respect. seungcheol most days is whiny and pouty, but just as easily flips the switch whenever he crosses his arms, eyes dark and stern. around his sister-in-law, he’s the definition of a kid brother. a little annoying, but obedient. it’s endearing to watch. 

he’s never far from your side. always a hand around your waist, lips brushing against your ear to whisper something for just the two of you. he sneaks kisses when no one’s looking, but his lips linger just long enough that you always feel a little winded. his affection is so consuming, so open. he loves you, so unashamedly, so fully. there’s no question about it. 

you wonder, if you match him. can they tell? how much seungcheol means to you? it’s all you have to offer, is how much you love him. 

you spend the entire weekend waiting. you’re so convinced - any moment now, and they’ll all realize. they’ll see through the pristine smile you wear, every careful movement you make. they’ll notice the wrinkles you can’t get out of the best set of clothes you own no matter how hard you try, how cheap the material is. they’ll spot the awkward way you move around their home, how every slight noise makes you jump a little. how tense you are, how unused to the only life seungcheol has ever known, in this home so full of love that he grew up in.

then it’ll all be over. they’ll see you, the nervous way your fingers clutch at the ends of your sweater, or how you can’t talk about your family for too long. the gaping hole in the family photo you don’t have, because your father fled from you. six years old and already so unlovable, so easily left behind. no second glances. no second thoughts. 

their disappointment will sink in deep. hushed whispers when they think you can’t hear. seungcheol, are you sure? it’s not too late to break things off. 

but it never comes. they don’t ask about any of the things you expect them to ask about. only, do you like your professors? or, how old is your sister? and, are you full? would you like more? cheol-ah, go get her some hot water. do you like tangerines? 

a few hours before you’re set to leave, back to the city to work a few shifts in between the holidays and to see your sister for new years, seungcheol snags you by the arm, shutting his bedroom door to lean you against it. he dips his head, skims his nose against your cheek, down to your neck, pressing a quick kiss to the small gap of skin between your shoulder and your neck. he pulls you against him, chest to chest, doesn’t ever want any distance between the two of you. a quiet, private moment, just for the two of you, one you sink into, burying your face against his shoulder. the tension melts off of you, when you’re alone with him. 

he pulls away only enough so he can murmur, “are you okay, baby?” 

you didn’t think he’d noticed. but of course he did. there’s no hiding from him, not when everything he does is in an active effort to make you comfortable. you keep your head on his shoulder, holding him tight to you. 

one day, you think. one day he’ll be tired of reassuring you. one day he’ll be sick of mending wounds he didn’t cause, of learning what things set you off that even you didn’t know set you off. one day he’ll be tired of waiting for you to let him all the way in, of having to carefully pry you open, slow and easy, so you don’t shatter. 

“do you think your parents like me?” 

his lips pull upwards. “is that what you’ve been worrying about?” 

no. yes. yes and no. you worry about everything. it’s chronic, unavoidable. the more you learn about seungcheol, the more you love him. and the more you think he’s unattainable. 

it doesn’t matter how close he is, that he’s already yours. doesn’t matter that he presses kisses into your skin, his form of comfort. how he whispers they love you. like i knew they would, promising that you’ve made a good impression. 

all you can think about is the way his mom put a gentle hand on your wrist, pulling you away from the sink. how kind. suffocatingly so. 

no expectation of you, only that you love her son. 

seungcheol’s dad is where he gets his brightness from. his clingy affection, his childish sulking, his easy nature. but his mom, his mom must be where he gets all his patience from. the calm way he addresses you even when you get frustrated. the gentle way he holds you, like you’re precious. 

it turns out, when seungcheol loves you, it feels suffocating, too. 

after all, you’ve never been loved without conditions, before. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2016

new year’s eve is surprisingly calm. your mom’s in a good mood, a shocking change of pace after years of silence and quiet celebrations between just you and your sister. but she’s awake this time, eating at the dinner table together, the curtains pulled open to see the fireworks people have already started setting off outside. 

maybe it has something to do with the wine in her system. not that she’s drunk, but she seems more relaxed, peering out the window and watching the fireworks burst across the sky. “back when i was a kid, we used to set off our own fireworks, you know,” she tells you and your sister. “not those big ones, but the little firecrackers, out on the streets. and the handheld sparklers.” 

“we should do that together one year,” your sister suggests. your mom smiles at her, and your sister brightens, back straightening with the attention. 

“i’d like that,” you agree, your sister leaning over to rest her head on your shoulder. 

the evening is quiet, comfortable. the table has been cleared, dishes washed, leaving behind only glasses for drinks. your sister texts her friends, while you watch the sky flood with colors every so often, waiting as the time ticks by, counting slowly down to the new year. 

with only a few minutes left till midnight, you rise to refill everyone’s drinks. you set the glasses down on the table and dig your phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick skim for new notifications from your friends, who are loud as ever in the group chat in spite of most of them being at seungcheol’s family’s new years party, before leaving it on the table, a faint smile on your face. 

taking the wine, you ask over your shoulder, “how much would you like?” 

you hear your mom stand, walking towards you, and you turn to face her. 

it’s like it happens in slow motion. your arm catches on the glass, and you watch it topple, reflexes too slow to catch it, as it rolls and falls over the ledge, shattering when it hits the ground, glass spraying across the floor. 

your heart is in your throat, racing. your eyes snap up, wide and fearful, and you watch the way her lip curls, all the loose, happy feeling from the wine erased in seconds. “you’re kidding me, y/n.” 

“i’ll clean it up-” 

“are you serious?” her voice cuts through you, one hand raising and you flinch, lowering your gaze. “you can’t even pour a drink right?” 

all your hope sinks low, drowns deep. you keep still as your mom berates you, “are you six years old? you can’t watch what you’re doing? do you know how expensive that glass was?” 

“i’m sorry,” your head lowers, every muscle tense. she throws her hands in the air, a sardonic smile on her face. 

“sorry. sure. no, no i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t raise you right. i was a single mother, working my hardest to keep this roof over your head, and you-” 

the phone you left on the counter buzzes with a text. in a panic, your head jerks towards the sound, then back to your mom, and you watch her turn towards it. you’re not fast enough - you reach for it, want to shove it back into your pockets, curse yourself for being so stupid - but it’s too late. his name sits at the top of your notifications, cheol <3 and she sees it. she scoffs, caustic and angry. “of course,” her tone is light. like she expected it. like it doesn’t even really matter, but the words feel sharp all the same. “that’s why, right? that’s why your head isn’t in it? that’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? the one you spent christmas with? you just can’t wait to get back to him, that’s why you aren’t paying attention.”

her hands on the kitchen towel are tight, mouth twisting. “mom-” your sister tries to speak, but your mom cuts her off, throwing the towel down on the counter. 

“we were having a good time, you know. like a family. but you always do this. you don’t care about us. you know your sister was in the hospital only a couple months ago? but you can’t even pay attention to your family for a couple hours. your head’s always somewhere else. you ruin it all. you’re just like your father, y/n.” 

you keep your expression clear. your mother backs away, shaking her head, sighing. quietly, stiffly, you say, “careful where you step,” as she walks past you, ignoring you. 

clench, unclench. clench, unclench. your eyes burn but your sister is right there, and she deserves better. you inhale through your nose then breath out slowly from your mouth. 

“y/n-” your sister tries to get up from her chair, but you put a hand up, cutting a sharp glare at her. 

“sit down. you’re gonna step on glass. don’t move.” you soften your voice at the end, trying to unclench your jaw. “i don’t want you to get hurt. stay there, okay?” 

you clean the glass. your sister bites her lip and rounds her shoulders, staring at her hands in her lap. when you’re sure the floor is clear, you walk to her, gently pull her against you, her head resting against your chest. “i’m sorry, berry.” 

she shakes her head, arms wrapped around your waist. “it’s not your fault.” she lifts her head to look at you. “you know that, right?” 

you should. it was an accident. 

but you were so close. so close to being enough. so close to having one good evening, without mistakes, without stepping out of line. you can almost taste it, what it could be like. 

what a fucking joke. 

you tuck your chin against your sister’s head, humming your acknowledgement. “go call your friends,” you say, softly. “tell them happy new years, hm?” 

your sister goes to her room, and you collapse into the chair, running a hand against your face. anger thrums under your skin, the devil on your shoulder whispering break it all. fuck it, why not? shatter every glass. every plate. then walk away. 

you’re just like your father, y/n. 

god, you should know better by now. twenty-one is too old to still be this gullible, to be this fucking naive, to think you can still make it work. still change your mom’s opinion of you. to still think she might give a shit about you, that you might even be capable of getting away with not making any mistakes just so she might look at you like she did when you were still young and your father was still around. before he walked out. before it all went to fucking shit. 

the worst part, is that you can’t stop thinking about one week ago, sitting in seungcheol’s home, with his parents so eager to talk to you, barely letting you walk two steps without appearing with something to eat, or to hand you a blanket in case you were cold, or to offer a drink. how his dad gave you a hug before you left and his mom sent you off with a pint of peeled fruit for the trip back, promising to send seungcheol back to the dorms with plenty of packed banchans to share with you, that she’ll make extra seasoned cucumbers just for you. 

you grind the heel of your palms against your eyes. how could you possibly subject seungcheol to something like this? air that fractures, tension that creeps around every corner of this haunted fucking house. the ghost of your childhood lingers in the living room only to be slashed through by the reality of how you grew up. 

when you were little, everything must’ve glowed. golden, lovely. but the paint on the walls is cracked. the cabinet doors are always a little crooked because there’s no one to fix the screws they’re barely hanging on by. seungcheol’s home is lived in, loved, while your house is deteriorating, falling in on itself. 

the difference is so stark, it’s laughable. 

seungcheol, the product of affection and care and assurance, who spends money like it means nothing, who calls his mom at least once a week just to see what she’s up to, who is gentle even when you’re rough and careless. who doesn’t push even when you shut him out, who looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. 

and you. with your mother’s disdain ringing in your ears, and your father’s footsteps echoing in the entire house, through your entire life, the sound of being shut out and left behind. unwanted. of never being enough. 

your breath shudders. seungcheol deserves better than you. you don’t fit into a life like his. you waited that entire weekend for the other shoe to drop, and here it is. here, not there, in his home with his pictures on the wall, photo albums thick with photos from when he was a baby. 

where he is, all your worries slide off your shoulders. where he is, you can take a full breath, lungs filled with relief. the world fades into the background. but you… 

all the days you spent working till far too late, but he stayed up to walk you home, just to see you. you watched the bags grow under his eyes, but you liked seeing him so much that you pretended not to notice. all the gifts you refused, even when he pouted and promised that he just wanted to get you something nice, but you felt a strange sort of jealousy rip through you at how effortlessly he spent his money, without even a second thought. all the fights you picked, that he refused to fall into, so rarely ever arguing with you, smothering you in kisses until you forgot what you were fighting about. doing it again, and again, and again, testing his patience, searching for that temper he so famously has with everyone but you.  

all the cracks you created, in the past year of being selfish enough to want him, forming into ledges you know you’ll jump off of. 

two weeks later, you call seungcheol and tell him it’s over. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

you wake surrounded by seungcheol’s warmth. your eyes blink slowly open, still heavy with sleep as you adjust to your surroundings, hazy thoughts gathering until you remember you slept over in seungcheol’s room. judging from the light pouring in through the windows, it’s much later than when you typically wake up, something you choose to attribute to how late you were up last night, and not the fact that you’re still in seungcheol’s arms. 

he’s awake. you can tell, considering he’s trying very hard not to move. but you’re not ready to face him, so you keep still too, ignoring how comfortable it is to lean against him, to sink into sheets that smell entirely like him. if he knows you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything. 

neither of you want to leave this moment. 

you can hear his parents shuffling around the kitchen downstairs, the occasional burst of laughter from his dad. his mom is much quieter, but you know she’s likely to be smiling too. you only met them less than a handful of times - twice, to be exact - but their love was palpable. it shows. it shows because seungcheol exists. 

eventually, you know you have to get up. you shift in the bed, bracing yourself to look at him, but nothing could prepare you for the way seungcheol looks in the morning. rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, his cheeks a little puffy as he lies on his side, looking at you. you’re still conscious of his hand resting on your stomach, where it slid to after you moved onto your back. 

“hi,” his voice is gravelly from disuse, deep enough to send your pulse running. without thinking, your hand lifts to his chest, sliding up behind his neck, fingers threading through the ends of his hair. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, a pleased hum escaping him. 

you should pull away. 

you don’t want to, though. 

“hi,” you whisper back, his eyes opening at the sound of your voice. like this, it feels like there’s only you and him. no past, no future. just now. 

your sister was right. around him, you can only think of yourself. of what you want. 

him. 

there’s a clanging noise in the kitchen that startles you both, jolting upright and away from each other. seungcheol coughs, hands tangling in the sheets before shaking them off, embarrassed. 

“you can wash up first,” he suggests, dragging his hand through his unruly hair. you decide its best if you do just that. 

within thirty minutes, you’re both washed up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and downstairs, where seungcheol’s dad has managed to make breakfast, despite it being well past noon. the clanging was apparently his dad digging for a specific pan and clumsily dropping half of them out of their overstuffed kitchen cabinet, something you’re fairly certain seungcheol has mentioned as something they should really organize since long before you even dated. his parents (well, his dad) greets you brightly, and his mom gives you a kind smile, eyes crinkling the same way seungcheol’s does. 

you awkwardly bow your head in return. they let the two of you eat alone, having been up much earlier than both of you, and when breakfast is over, seungcheol washes the dishes while you dry. it’s quiet, monotonous. 

without looking at you, seungcheol admits, “i’m really glad you came.” his head turns towards you. “and stayed.” 

me too. the words are on the tip of your tongue, more honest than you’ve been with yourself for years. your lips part, and- 

“cheol-ah,” his dad comes into the kitchen, and you almost drop the plate you’re drying, seungcheol’s quick reflexes helping to catch it. you freeze, panicked, but his dad just laughs, sheepish. “sorry. didn’t mean to scare you. cheol, can you come help me look at the garage door real quick? that thing’s been half-broken for months.” 

you don’t realize how tight your grip is on the plate until seungcheol is gently prying it from your fingers, setting it on the table. he casts a worried look at you, before turning back to his dad. “yeah, sure.” he turns back to you, head ducking until you’re eye level. “wait in the living room? we can leave after.” 

you nod, following him from the kitchen into the living room, where his mom is sitting on the couch, wearing her glasses and scrolling through her phone. like it’s second nature, her hand stretches out, so that her husband’s hands tangle with hers for a minute, a small, sweet exchange, before he heads down the hall towards the garage. 

“sit,” seungcheol’s hand is firm against your back, nudging you towards the couch. “i’ll be right back.” 

his mom looks up from her phone, adjusting her glasses. she smiles, lowering her phone. “sit, dear. they’ll probably be awhile. his dad’s been trying to fix that door for ages.” 

you nod. except you can’t seem to move, body frozen in place. you can’t explain the way the tension starts to leak in. anxiety bleeds into you, lacing tension through your shoulders, stomach twisting into knots. your feet are rooted to the ground, watching seungcheol disappear around the corner. you should sit down. your brain reminds you, twice. stop awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. don’t just stand there. sit down. 

his mom tilts her head at you, concern beginning to form between her brows. “y/n?” 

do you think your parents like me? 

they love you. like i knew they would. 

when you look at her, you almost want to apologize. but apologizing would mean admitting that you’ve been here before, that you came into their house and ate their food and drank out of their glasses and slept in their son’s childhood bedroom and let them see the way the son they love so dearly, loved you, only to rip his heart out two weeks later when you ran from him. ran from this, precisely this, this house with their family photos lining the shelves, an old quilt tossed over the arm of the couch, family dvds visible through the glass of the tv stand. 

five years have passed in between. you’re no longer a student clinging to every paycheck, carefully calculating what you need to give up this month in order to pay off the tuition, and smart enough now to stop going home and letting old wounds tear open every time you visit your mother. you have a bank account padded with enough money to cleanly pay off your sister’s tuition every semester, and your own apartment, with a cup you can designate as yours, and a mug you can label as your sister’s, and a fridge you can decorate with print-outs of photos you’ve taken with her. you can be different. you can be stable. reliable. 

but the instant seungcheol left your side, you felt yourself start to unravel. you wonder if it’s right of you to want this. if it’s fair for you to dare to come back into seungcheol’s home and stand in front of his mother, and ask of her to accept you again, even after all the damage you did. 

would any rational mother, who dotes on her son the way seungcheol’s mom dotes on him, forgive you? you look like any other flight risk, constantly ready to bolt. never fully unpacked, always one foot out the door. you look like the start to an argument, a series of questions about commitment and history. you look like the beginning of the end. 

can you do that to seungcheol? become the reason he and his parents fight, a never-ending debate on whether or not you’re worth the trouble? you can already hear the echoes in the halls, i love her, seungcheol’s firm resistance even in the face of straining his relationship with his family. stubborn, the one trait you don’t think he inherited from them. 

you can’t do that. maybe you should leave. maybe this was all a mistake, and your instincts were right. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong in a house that actually fits within the definition of home, even if your bones ache with the desire to want it. the audacity to dream of it being yours. 

your breaths come out shallow, soundless. but a mother is as a mother does, perception sharp, and seungcheol’s mom spots it before you even register that breathing is difficult. her expression softens as she stands, setting her glasses aside and stepping towards you. “honey,” she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers brushing against your wrist. “i know.” 

i know. 

i know? 

“i know how hard it is for you,” she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch gentle and warm. her eyes grow wistful, somber. “it’s scary, right? in a house like this?” 

it doesn’t make sense. how could it? seungcheol’s home, seungcheol’s family - this is what normal looks like. you’re the outlier. you’re the one with all the wrong instincts, all of it twisted completely backwards, warding off anything that looks even remotely close to good intentions. every minute, every instance of your friends, of seungcheol, drawing closer, of mingyu feeding you dinners and jeonghan refusing to leave you alone, and joshua lending you clothes - why does it all leave you terrified? 

“i understand.” her eyes cloud, bittersweet. “but do me one favor. let the people who love you, love you. it’s okay.” the way she looks at you feels like string being pulled direct from your heart, tugging loose a mess of emotions that you’ve wrapped tightly, knotted and twisted and tangled as much as you can just to prevent anyone from ever being able to understand you. but she looks at you like she does. like she recognizes the hurt that lays at the center of it all, the damage that’s been done to you, decades worth of pain that you can’t erase or hide no matter how you try. 

you search her gaze, trying to find what you expect. anger, frustration, betrayal, disgust, contempt. anything. the normal things. but there’s only her favor posed as a question, asking you. can you let the people who love you, love you? 

your breath shudders and the tears rush to the surface so fast, you don’t get the chance to stop them. they linger on your waterline as you try to blink them away, hands shaky as you clench, unclench, clench, unclench, head turning when you realize it’s not working. but she brings a hand to your cheek and gently turns you back towards her, eyes sad when she looks at you. 

“it’s okay,” she repeats, lowering her chin and holding your gaze. like she wants to make sure you understand her. “it’s okay, my dear. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to make mistakes. it’s okay to get frustrated and feel jealous and like you’ve been wronged. like the world dealt their hand but they made sure to make yours as bad as it can get. that’s unfair. it is. but…” she inhales deeply, her smile kind, so reminiscent of seungcheol’s that it stings. “but after that. and in between that. it is also okay to feel loved. to be loved. to be taken care of and to do the things that aren’t just borne out of survival. you came back, and i’m grateful, and i hope the next time you feel scared, you just… come home, instead.” 

she says it like here, this place, her, is home for you. like seungcheol and his parents and his family and this house that he grew up in is yours, too. like there’s a space they set aside, waiting for you to return. 

her thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping a stray tear. you make a choked noise, breath shuddering in your chest, lips rolling out of habit, still trying to bite down to stop the crying. to hold it, to not make a scene, not make a sound, to never act out of line. 

“it’s okay,” she whispers, and the sob ruptures out of you, a quick gasp, tears that blur your vision until you’re shaking, seungcheol’s mom pulling you into her shoulder, the same gentle hug you’ve watched her give her son before, replayed a thousand times on the nights you can’t sleep, her hand patting a soothing, slow rhythm on your back. a reminder that she’s here. 

you don’t know how long you stand there. you feel hands pull you away, eyes lifting to find seungcheol, getting only a brief glimpse of his face before he’s tugging you into his chest, holding you tightly. you try to explain, but your voice catches and he hushes you, one hand smoothing your hair down, the other a steady lock against your back, pressing you against him. he whispers comfort against your hair, i love you’s slipped in between, almost like he can’t help it. like he needs you to know. 

you cry into his chest, fingers curled into a tight fist clutching at his shirt. distantly, you hear seungcheol murmur a short conversation with his mom, but his hold doesn’t falter, not once. rocks you against him, pressing kisses against your cheek and burying his nose into your neck. “it’s okay,” he promises, and for the first time, you finally believe him. 

PRESENT DAY | THURSDAY, JANUARY 05, 2023

seungcheol shows up alone on your doorstep. he’s sitting in the hallway when you come home, his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, a faraway stare. 

“you could’ve waited at mingyu’s, you know.” 

his head snaps up at your voice, lips parting in surprise. he clambers to his feet, a little clumsy, one hand placed against the wall to balance himself. “i…” he trails off. his shoulders lower. you know what it is he can’t say. i didn’t want you to run away. 

you don’t blame him for it. you’ve got a pretty strong track record of running first, when it comes to him. always pushing him away. never letting him all the way in. every time he gets close, every time you think you can handle it, flying so close to the sun - the fear wins out. you love him too much to stay. 

but you’ve had a few days to think it over. to replay not only everything his mother said to you, but all of it - from the very start. from the day seungcheol entered your life. 

you unlock your door, seungcheol quietly following in after you. he trails you around even as you shrug off your jacket and set your belongings down, like being even a step away means he might lose sight of you. you stop inside your kitchen, finally turning to face him, bracing your hands against the countertop. 

his eyes don’t leave you. he’s still hurt, you can tell. for which reason, you’re not sure. because you broke up with him two weeks after new years, five years ago? because you did it without giving him a proper explanation, did it just shy of your one year anniversary? because when you arguably needed someone the most, you let your phone die while your friends spent the night searching for you, worried sick out of their minds, and instead of being grateful for him wanting to help, you were cruel to him? 

because, even after letting him come back into your life, even after calling him your friend, even after sleeping in his bed again, crying in his mom’s arms, crying in his arms, you left him on read for the past four days? 

he had every right to resent you, when you broke up. to never want to see you again. to move on, find someone better, more suited, less fucked in the head. but the instant you re-entered his life - a sheer coincidence - he made every effort to stay. even when you hurt him. 

what must it be like, to be soft around the edges even when you are hurt? 

he moves only when he sees the tears well up in your eyes again, so quick to come to you, brush a thumb against your cheek, wiping the tears away. “baby,” he starts, but you shake your head, one hand coming up to hold his wrist, grip just a little too tight, trembling. 

you stare up at him. he looks helpless, could never stand to see you cry. would do anything to make it better. 

“i’m sorry,” you’re barely audible, say it twice, knowing you probably owe him a lifetime of apologies. “i’m sorry, seungcheol.” 

he shakes his head, voice shaky when he tries to joke, “what did i tell you about my name?” 

you let out a watery laugh. “i didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

“i know.” 

“i just needed some time to think.” 

“i know, baby.” 

you drop your head to his chest, arms hanging limp at your sides, weary. but he pulls you to him, flush against his body, your arms wrapping around his waist. so sturdy, choi seungcheol. dependable. in all these years, he never changed. his head rests against yours, cheek pressing against your hair. “i didn’t think you were running again, you know,” he murmurs. “but you get into your head, sometimes. get stuck there, and i… i didn’t want you to be alone.” 

the two of you fall into silence, entwined around each other in the dim lighting of your kitchen. quietly, you admit, “i stopped going home. couple years ago.” 

he pulls away to look at you. he’s so focused, attention entirely on you. you continue, “leaving didn’t hurt any less.” you smile bitterly. “‘cause now she can really say i’m just like my father.” 

his brows pull in. “he abandoned his kids, y/n. kids who needed him. then your mom forced you into the part, because she decided not to move on and blame her children instead of the person who left. you took care of your sister. you worked three times as hard as anybody around you, just so you could go to and stay in college. you were there when your sister got into her accident. you’re the one putting her through college. you’re the one she goes to when she needs someone. you’re nothing like him, y/n. you’ve never once abandoned someone when they needed you.” 

“i left you,” you say, and his grip on you tightens. 

“don’t take this the wrong way, baby, but i didn’t need you.” he brushes your hair back, cupping the back of your neck. “i wasn’t a child, and i had a support system. i wanted you. even if you didn’t want me. even if you still don’t.” 

the words escape you before you can stop them: “how could i not want you?” 

he smiles, unable to stop it. his thumb swipes against your skin, slow and soothing. his smile falls slowly, something more intense stirring as you lift your chin. he can sense it, his gaze hooded as he lowers his head to meet you, nose brushing against yours. his hand slips to your side, grip a touch firmer, pulling you to him. you’re so close that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

when he kisses you, he does it slowly, a soft sigh escaping as soon as your lips brush. warmth glows from inside you, spreading through your limbs, making your fingers tingle. your hands find their way onto seungcheol’s neck, pushing through the hair at his nape, and he crowds you even more against the counter, like he needs you as close as he can get you. you follow, willingly. you need him as close as you can get him. 

when he pulls away, it’s only because both of you need air. his breaths are a little uneven and his eyes are closed, forehead pressed against yours. “yours,” he mumbles, not an ounce of shyness in the way he says it. confident, assured. like there’s nothing else he can be. “always been yours. always wanna be yours.” his eyes flutter open and he smiles at you, and you feel a little (a lot) like you could melt, grateful suddenly for his hands keeping you upright. 

your fingers brush against his hair lightly, and he leans into your touch. one hand slides down against his neck, then up against his cheek, cupping his face as you stare at him. you want to look at him forever. long lashes, thick eyebrows, a pretty nose, pouty lips. seungcheol has always been handsome, so utterly undeniably so. heartstoppingly so. 

he presses a kiss to your palm. “i love you.” his hand comes to rest over yours, pulling you gently away so he can lean towards you again, nosing against your cheek. lips press against your cheek, against your jaw, then find their way back to your lips, soft and chaste. “i love you,” he repeats, reverent. “always.” 

seungcheol is the safest place you have ever been, you think. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 2023 

“okay,” mingyu carefully adjusts the projector, making sure it’s well balanced as it lights up your living room wall. “i think we’re good.” 

“i don’t understand why we can’t just go to your place,” you whine. “if you all just wanted to watch tv, there’s an actual tv right across the hall.” 

“that’s not the point,” joshua ruffles your hair, teasing. “the point is to be here. with you.” 

“you can be here, with me, over there-” 

“will you just accept the very extremely late housewarming gift?” nayeon complains, and you clamp your mouth shut, though seungcheol coos at the small pout on your face. 

“we all split this, by the way,” jeonghan gestures to each person in the room, bar you. “so don’t just give seungcheol special treatment for it. or mingyu, for that matter.” 

“i deserve special tr- mingyu?” seungcheol’s brain catches up to jeonghan’s sentence. he looks affronted, eyes widening, and jeonghan smirks when you narrow your eyes at him. 

“mingyu,” jeonghan confirms, snickering as seungcheol sulks, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch. you run your hand through his hair to appease him, seungcheol leaning into your touch, eyelids fluttering. you bite your cheek. he’s so easy, sometimes. 

your friends settle in for the movie, jeonghan taking the space on seungcheol’s other side, while joshua, mingyu, and nayeon get comfortable on the floor. with your feet tucked up on the couch, joshua leans back, tilting his head towards you. “hi.” 

you peer down at him, unable to prevent a smile. “hi, shua.” 

his eyes crinkle in the corners, happy. “for the record, i’m very glad you didn’t turn out to be a hallucination.” 

you roll your eyes, but you lean down, whispering, as if it’s a secret, “me too.” 

he grins. the movie starts, and you lean back into your cushions. seungcheol not so subtly shifts closer to you, and with a smile, you curl into him, pressing into his warmth. 

you glance up at him. trace the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. in the past half-year or so, he’s put a careful distance between you and him, watching from the sidelines as you slowly reach for your old friends. content to see you as long as you’re smiling, the roll of your eyes around jeonghan, the joking with shua, the fond exasperation with mingyu. it isn’t until now that he’s started to beg for your attention, your closeness. 

all this time, he’s just been trying to bring you home. it didn’t matter if you were his, as long as you were here. 

you are, though. here, and his. 

your hand finds his, fingers intertwining. you press your cheek against his shoulder, murmur for only him to hear. “i love you, cheol.” 

he tilts his head towards you, gaze meeting yours, soft and adoring. 

“yours,” he promises. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2022

SEUNGCHEOL IS STUBBORN. and persistent. you knew this from the get-go, but living through it again is something else entirely altogether. 

[11:28am] seungcheol: have you tried the bakery like two blocks down? i think you’d really like it [11:28am] seungcheol: lots of black sesame stuff  [12:36pm] seungcheol: there’s also a ramen place nearby [12:36pm] seungcheol: mingyu really likes it, so that’s how you know it’s good  [02:12pm] seungcheol: saw a stray cat [02:12pm] seungcheol: looked round [02:12pm] seungcheol: probably all the neighbors are feeding it [02:12pm] seungcheol: maybe i should buy cat treats too?

seungcheol has never had any qualms with double texting. or in this case, double-triple-quadruple-whatever texting. it doesn’t matter that it’s a saturday and he probably knows you’re awake, incapable of sleeping in, your body too accustomed to waking up at ungodly early hours for work even years after graduating, yet you still aren’t texting him back. nothing in his messages even suggests he’s upset that you’re not replying, though just as he likely knows you’re awake and reading his messages, you know he’s probably whining in a group chat to mingyu, jeonghan, and joshua. 

[03:08pm] y/n: picture?  [03:08pm] seungcheol: [image.jpg]

the cat is round. it’s cute and orange, lounging on someone’s doorsteps. it looks awfully at peace, sunbathing with its eyes closed, and it makes you smile. 

[03:08pm] seungcheol: cute, right?  [03:09pm] y/n: yeah  [03:09pm] seungcheol: are you home? 

you hesitate. you pull yourself off the couch and stand in front of the mirror you’d hung near your door. an old t-shirt, sweatpants that you thought were just too big but now that you’re looking at them again, they might actually be joshua’s from years back, and your hair still tangled from not combing it when you woke up. 

the small luxuries of no longer being in severe debt and solo living: you can look like a complete and utter slob, with no one to report to. 

you stare at your phone again. seungcheol walks fast. your phone drops to the couch while you’re tugging your shirt off, rummaging through your dresser for one that is moderately less ancient and infinitely less wrinkled, then head to your bathroom to yank a brush through your hair. you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, then glance down at the sweatpants. 

you consider changing out of those, too, but no one lounges in their own apartment in jeans, and you don’t want to look like you changed just for him. a strangled sound escapes you, and you give up and go back to your phone, picking it up off the couch. 

you hold it, frowning. you can just say no to him. how is he gonna know if you’re actually home or not? as far as he’s concerned, you could be busy. you could be at nayeon’s. or you could be visiting your sister. or- 

fuck it. 

[03:18pm] y/n: yeah

you stare at the screen. seungcheol’s response is immediate. 

[03:18pm] seungcheol: can i come over? 

you stare harder. this might actually be worse than the first time around when you were friends. no, actually, you’re sure this is worse. 

[03:19pm] y/n: ok 

you throw your phone back onto the couch and pace the length of the room, back and forth. there’s nervous energy just bouncing through you, waiting for him to knock. is your apartment clean? you do a quick scan, but you honestly don’t own much, which makes it difficult to be messy to begin with. do you set out a glass of water? you don’t for nayeon, she just grabs it on her own when she’s here. but is that because you’re close, or because you don’t know any better? 

your head snaps to the door when you hear the knock. you inhale a steadying breath, then calmly walk to it, bracing yourself as you open it. 

every time you see seungcheol, it’s like your heart goes back to 2016. you come face to face with his chest first, gaze slowly rising up to his face, to his dimpled smile, his long lashes. there’s a tiny voice in your head deeply unhappy about how handsome he irrefutably is. there’s also a tiny voice in your head deeply happy about how handsome he irrefutably is. you firmly ignore both. 

“hey,” he beams. one hand lifts a plastic bag. “i come bearing gifts.” his smile drops, remembering how little you liked gifts years ago. “snacks,” he clarifies quickly. “baked goods. i mean, not that i baked them. they’re from the bakery i was telling you about. the one with the black sesame stuff. i stopped by. and they’re not even that expensive, which is partly why they’re so good. and- uh- can i come in?” 

you unfreeze, taking a step back to let him in. his eyes wander immediately, hand lowering as he shuts the door, toeing his shoes off in the entryway, nudging them neatly to one side. your walls are blank, your apartment hardly any different than the last time he’d been here. a couch in front of a coffee table, no tv. just a small stack of old, yellowed books on a shelf in the corner, trinkets from your sister and nayeon from over the years scattered in between. a polaroid nayeon had taken with you, propped against the books. 

he gestures towards it, before moving to set the bag down at your kitchen table. “when’d you guys take that one?” 

you don’t know what to do with your hands. plates seems like a good enough idea, so you walk past him to rummage through your cabinets. “after i got my first real job,” you tell him. “she made me celebrate.” 

he glances at you. “you deserved it.” 

you shrug, pulling the plates down and setting them on the table. standing next to seungcheol is all warmth, radiating off him. he’s always run hot, and a quick scan of him tells you that you should probably crank the air conditioning a little higher. you start to move towards the thermostat, then stop again. “do you want water?” 

he nods. “thanks.” 

you fill a glass for him and hand it to him before heading to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature. he watches you as you go - you can feel his eyes on you the whole time, and when you turn back to him, his eyes have drifted down to your pants and their rolled up hems, his eyebrows drawn in a little, lips tugging downwards. 

“those are shua’s.” a statement, not a question. 

you look down at your pants, like you didn’t already know you’re wearing them. “oh.” 

seungcheol doesn’t continue. when you look back at him, he’s still staring at your sweatpants, frowning. like the rolled up ends are a personal affront to him. 

you have no reason to explain yourself. you do it anyway. “i thought they were maybe, just, i bought the wrong size,” you try, stumbling over your words. “but i guess i just- forgot. or.. i mean, they all look the same, to me.” 

seungcheol blinks. “oh,” he echoes you. “yeah. maybe.” he looks sheepish, but finally lifts his gaze back to your face. “you just used to wear joshua’s sweatpants all the time.” 

seungcheol was always a jealous guy, huffy whenever you got too affectionate with mingyu, pouty whenever he found you hanging out at joshua’s with nayeon, without him. but never possessive, only ever a bit whiny and needy, always wanting your attention the most. he didn’t mind how close you were with them, as long as you promised he was your favorite. with that, there was never any contest. 

he never said anything about you wearing joshua’s sweatpants, but when you started dating, you suddenly discovered your closet was a lot fuller, seungcheol’s sweatshirts somehow finding their way in between your clothes. he knew you were only wearing joshua’s clothes because joshua snuck them into your closet as his own way of making sure you stayed warm, since you refused to accept gifts, and he didn’t want you to spend what little money you made on new clothes. but that never stopped seungcheol from wanting to see you in his clothes, instead. 

you always obliged. joshua’s pants were useful, sure, a well-intentioned hand-me-down. but seungcheol’s clothes smelled like him. which is why you left all of them in a box outside his door after the breakup. it was too easy to want to keep them. to breathe them in, to hold onto something that didn’t belong to you. 

keeping joshua’s clothes didn’t feel like crossing a line. you could still pretend you didn’t remember who they belonged to, until you really did stop remembering who they belonged to. you kick idly at the ground, watching the hems shake, though they don’t unroll. “he meant well,” you finally say. “letting me keep his old clothes.” 

“i think he didn’t know how else to help,” seungcheol responds quietly. his hands have stilled, no longer emptying pastries out of the bag. he simply watches you, and you wish he wouldn’t. not when there’s no one else in this suddenly stifling apartment. 

you move back towards him, despite wanting to run. you’re the one who agreed to being friends. you’re the one who told him he could come over. so you can’t run, on sheer principle. 

using the dining table between you as a buffer, you rummage through all the things he bought, ranging from cakes to breads to cookies. a little bit of everything. not because he doesn’t know what you like - because you see all your favorites, too - but because seungcheol always wants you to try everything. wants you to have everything. 

“that’s not his fault,” you try for casual when you answer him, picking up the melon bread and setting it to the side. “i didn’t want help.” seungcheol eyes the melon bread. his favorite. one corner of his lips hike up. 

he takes the sesame ball and sets it on your side of the table. switches the topic. “are you settling into the apartment well?” 

“yeah. mingyu keeps finding new ways to feed me. he must get paid really well, because i think most of his paycheck goes to buying extra food for me,” you huff a laugh. you still can’t quite look at him, so you don’t know how he reacts, but the two of you continue splitting pastries. back and forth, one at a time. 

“he likes it,” seungcheol shrugs. “i think he feeds wonwoo, too.” 

that’s when you glance up, curious. “have you met him?” 

“wonwoo?” seungcheol hums, nodding. “yeah, we play games together sometimes. he’s a nice guy. a little strange,” he frowns. “but in a good way.” 

you bite your cheek to hide a smile, but seungcheol catches it anyways. “what?” 

“nothing,” you shake your head. “mingyu said the same thing when i asked. a little weird, but in a good way. he said-” you cut yourself off, hesitating. “he said.. wonwoo was a little like me.” 

seungcheol studies you. by now all of the pastries have been split - all your favorites on your side, hand-picked by him. all his favorites on his side, hand-picked by you. like habit. muscle memory. 

you shift, uncomfortable. then he smiles, so disarmingly, nose scrunching when he declares, “wonwoo’s weirder. trust me.” 

a laugh stumbles out of you, so surprising that you don’t catch the way seungcheol’s eyes light up at the sound. he craves it, loves seeing you smile, loves even more to make you laugh. in college it was easy. giggles would spill out at almost anything he said, and you’d give him adoring smiles whenever he pouted and sulked over something. your touches came easy, too, even if you pretended they didn’t. but he remembers. they weren’t grand, not the bear hugs he’d give you, or the dramatic way mingyu liked to lift you off the ground. your touches were smaller, lighter - your hand running through his hair, pushing it out of his face, or the teasing tap of your finger to his cheek. your head, leaning against his shoulder as you drifted to sleep, and your hands always searching for his on instinct. 

your love was quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you. you were quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you still do. 

JUNIOR YEAR | SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2015

it happens in a moment of peace. 

your shoulders are relaxed, head tipped back in laughter from something he says. seungcheol is good at that - making you forget. forget to be stressed. forget all the responsibilities. forget to put him at arm’s length. for just a second in time, you can just be. 

but the moment lasts longer than a second. your laughter subsides, your gaze meets his, and something in the air changes, sparks. a low tension that feels good enough to ignore every warning sign you’ve ever placed on every wall you’ve ever built. 

for a couple extra, selfish seconds, you want to keep forgetting. 

he’s close, closer than you realized, and you don’t know when that started happening, either. how his space blends into yours, until every brush of his skin, his clothes, him, feels natural. it would be stranger for him to be a step away, a polite distance, and stranger still for him not to lean into the spaces you let him (and only him) occupy. 

when he leans toward you, you don’t question it. when his eyes drop to your lips, a little hooded, longing, your heart rate kicks up in anticipation. you want it. you didn’t know you wanted it, not this bad, not until now, when he’s showing you what he could give you if you just let him. 

you feel his hands brush your waist, a featherlight touch, like he knows you scare easy. of course he knows. seungcheol knows more about you than you care to admit. he pulls you in, slow, meeting you halfway. his head tilts, nose brushing against yours. you breathe him in, almost let your eyes flutter shut, almost give into the overwhelming desire to know what those plush lips would feel like on yours, and maybe if seungcheol had been even a beat faster, you both would’ve found out. 

but he isn’t, and you snap out of it, pulling away. at the very last second, backing out of the one and possibly the only thing you’ve ever wanted this badly. 

but you’re still bruising. you’re still reeling from seeing your dad and his new family, even if seungcheol burned the letters almost a month ago. being this close to seungcheol feels a little like having that sore spot pressed on, even if you can’t pinpoint why. 

he calls your name, gentle, neither a question nor an accusation, and you look away from him. but seungcheol is stubborn, and determined, and so very, very close. you can’t blame him for taking what he probably thinks is his first and last chance to tell you. 

“i get it,” he says, voice soft. never loud. not with you. unbearably understanding, his tone just shy of being coddling, except seungcheol is anything but. “i understand. i swear. but we both know what almost just happened, so you should also know i mean it when i say i like you, and i’m not going anywhere, y/n. we can go as slow as you want. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here.” 

so you tell him, in no uncertain terms, that you want to stay friends. he smiles, and you’re too young to realize that friends is a joke. friends don’t almost kiss. friends don’t look at seungcheol the way you look at him even as you’re turning him down. 

you want him, and you’re obvious about it, and you’re scared, and he knows it. 

knows it enough to show up at your door the next day like nothing’s changed. 

everything’s changed. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2022

“you know what you should do?” jeonghan observes the walls of your apartment. 

“kick you out?” 

“decorate,” he ignores you, getting way too comfortable on your couch. “that’s what this place is missing. well, besides a tv.” 

“i have a laptop,” you argue. “and nayeon’s netflix password.” 

“we can get you one of those little projectors,” mingyu suggests. “then you can just hook it up to the projector and watch it on the wall. way cheaper than a tv.” 

“i don’t need-” mingyu is lucky he’s been feeding you for months now. you let out a strangled sound. “if you want a tv, go back to your own apartment. it’s literally right there.” 

you really can’t figure out how they all ended up here. it wasn’t even mingyu who entered first, which would at least be reasonable, considering he’s your neighbor, but you’re pretty sure it’s jeonghan who shouldered his way into your apartment unannounced, and within twenty minutes, the rest of them had followed. 

“we could put a shelf here,” joshua taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“i don’t want to put holes in the wall-” 

“cheol can help you patch them later,” jeonghan waves you off, like having seungcheol become your personal handyman is just the natural solution. sitting beside him, seungcheol nods his head vigorously. 

you’re going to develop a headache, at this rate. nayeon sits at your dining table with a hand over her mouth, hiding what you’re sure is a shit-eating grin. she’s loving this. fucking traitor. 

“in fact,” jeonghan’s grin is wicked. “i bet the labor day sales next week will be great for finding shelves. you could go to ikea.” 

“and bring cheol,” nayeon calls out. “he can help you carry everything. plus he’s got a car.” 

“you can’t just offer him up-” 

“i’m okay with it,” seungcheol cuts in quickly, and you close your eyes, trying to find the last thread of your patience. 

“excellent,” jeonghan claps his hands, pleased. “it’s a date.” 

seungcheol turns pink and you refuse to give jeonghan the satisfaction of hearing you say it’s not a date, because you know that’s exactly what he wants to hear, and he probably has something worse lined up in response. so you bite your tongue and march into your kitchen, yanking open your fridge in the hopes of finding something to eat away the nerves spontaneously fluttering inside you, while your friends noisily move onto other conversation topics, filling your small living room with their nonsense. 

nayeon joins you by the fridge, nudging your foot with hers. “isn’t it nice?” 

you shove your head further into your fridge. “isn’t what nice?” 

“friends,” she says plainly. you straighten, turning to look at her. she’s watching you carefully, and you glance past her to your living room, where mingyu has taken up residence across the floor, and joshua sits beside him, legs stretched out. mingyu is giggling about something he must’ve said, because seungcheol is whining at him, kicking his leg because it’s the only thing within reach. 

“whatever,” you mutter, settling on a yakult and shutting the fridge door. but you peer back over at the boys, and jeonghan meets your eyes, his own half-lidded, already well on his way to falling asleep in the midst of the chaos. he gives you a crooked smile and a two-finger salute. 

the nerves quiet, something fond taking over. a small, hopeful part of you thinks maybe, you could keep this. maybe you could have this, this time. you crawled and scraped your way out of debt and into this nice, new apartment, with vinyl flooring and granite counters. you sacrificed everything to get here. gave up everything just to find a sense of stability. normalcy. 

your gaze drifts back to seungcheol. he’s sulking on the couch while mingyu and joshua poke fun at him, arms crossed over his chest. he looks right at home, like he belongs there, pouting on your couch in your apartment. you don’t need new shelves, or decorations, posters and plants and fairy lights. 

still, you can’t bring yourself to admit it yet. 

that the only thing really missing from your apartment, from your life, is him. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 04, 2022

you actually really don’t recall agreeing to this. 

seungcheol is bright as ever, pushing a cart beside you as the two of you wander through the ikea. you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be looking for, but it seems seungcheol came with ideas in mind, because he stops every so often to consider one item or another. 

he turns to you. “do you want a rug?” you stare blankly back at him. “for your living room floor,” he elaborates. “it might look nice. but maybe ikea isn’t the place to find a rug. we could probably get one at target or something.” 

“uh,” you say intelligently. “...sure.” 

he smiles, the one that makes your brain glitch a little, and you’re not entirely sure you’re going to survive what is supposed to be a harmless trip through ikea. you barely survived the trip here, in seungcheol’s luxury car with the cup of coffee he’d picked up on his way over. watching seungcheol turn his steering wheel is something you should not be thinking about, because seungcheol, as you have so firmly placed him, is your friend. 

god, he stresses you out. 

you follow after him, glancing around the store and their room mock-ups, just for anything to focus on that isn’t him. seungcheol points out various pieces of furniture, undeterred even when you shake your head each time. your apartment has all the necessities. you’re also not completely convinced another armchair will even fit in your apartment anyways. 

when you hit the cafeteria, seungcheol parks the empty cart next to a table. “wait here.” 

he doesn’t give you the option to go with him or say otherwise, because he’s turned and joined the line before you can even open your mouth. you roll the cart back and forth idly, then sit down, glancing around the room. there’s a lot of parents here, couples young and old, sitting at tables or grabbing utensils. 

like always, your eyes find seungcheol. his broad back, posture straight, one hand in his pocket while his other hand rests against his mouth, pointer finger tracing his lip mindlessly as he scans his options. he’s in a plain black tee today, partially tucked into a loose pair of jeans. his sunglasses are hooked in his collar, drawing the neckline down slightly. 

even in such simple clothes, he draws attention. customers passing by him give him a second glance when they catch sight of his face. 

you wish seungcheol was just handsome. it’d be easier if the physical was the only thing drawing you to him. but seungcheol is a good many things - polite, if a little impatient. stubbornly responsible, from his finances to his workout routine. habitual, but still ever-willing to follow along in his friends’ antics. his temper around others short-circuits a bit, but with you, he was gentle. affectionate, prone to clinging to you whenever you let him. and you always let him. 

seungcheol is the most dangerous for you to want for. his sweet smile, soft touch in spite of all his underlying strength. so eager to help, as long as you’ll have him. so willing to take whatever you have to give. around him, the world had a tendency to melt away. 

but around you, his world drew sharper into focus. always something to take care of, another hole tearing open in an already sinking ship. so you tried to keep him out of it. your train wreck of a life wasn’t his responsibility to fix, but he’d try, anyways. 

you still remember. you didn’t fight with seungcheol often, at least not in ways where seungcheol fought back. seungcheol always took your anger and met it with calm, soothing your raised bristles with a sweep of his hand through your hair, a soft press of his lips to yours. “okay,” he’d say. “i’m sorry. let me make it up to you, hm?” 

the night of your sister’s car accident was the only time his temper spiked with you. the only time he ever raised his voice, and even then, he wasn’t shouting so much as trying to be heard over your stubborn refusal to admit you might’ve been wrong. 

you hadn’t come back to the dorms that night. no one could get ahold of you, at first because you weren’t paying attention to your phone, then later because it had died and you didn’t have a charger on you. eventually, hospital staff dug one out for you, but it wasn’t till well past 3am that you finally managed to get your phone up to an acceptable battery percentage. 

you’d flipped through all your messages and missed calls. you knew you should call them back. or at least tell them you were okay. but doing so would invite questions, and you were so tired. the nurses let you stay overnight because you were immediate family, yet you couldn’t sleep. not with your baby sister laying in hospital sheets, an iv running through her arm. lucky, they’d called her. compared to what could’ve been, she came out of the accident fairly unscathed. 

she’d been so young. when you look at her even now, you still see her when she was an infant. a toddler. when she could barely walk and talk. when the accident happened, she’d been only fifteen. 

you’d held your head in your hands and refused to cry. not with the chance of her waking up and seeing you. steady breaths, your hands curling into fists so tight you left marks in your palms. all the things you taught yourself - counting backwards from one hundred, just to keep your emotions under lock. 

when she woke up is when you finally went back to the dorms. you’d fussed over her until she complained, “go away, i’m fine,” and when your mom arrived to the hospital, you slipped out of the room before she could see you. 

you came back to the dorms running on shitty hospital coffee and maybe half a sandwich. when nayeon burst, “where the hell have you been?” you’d muttered, “hospital,” before promptly passing out in your sheets. 

that response hadn’t really gone over well. you woke to seungcheol sitting at your desk, jaw tense. his entire body was lined with anger. the older version of you now recognizes it as worry - worry so bone deep, it forced its way out as frustration. 

still, he’d softened when you sat up, jumping to his feet. “are you okay?” 

“i’m fine.” 

“nayeon said you were at the hospital.” 

you’d stiffened. an old instinct. “my sister got into an accident.” 

seungcheol had reached for you, and you’d shied away, a subtle shift of your blankets, pretending not to see the hurt that flashed through his eyes. “is she okay?” 

“she will be.” 

despite the sleep, the exhaustion remained. all the adrenaline had worn off, the shitty coffee, the half-sandwich. your mind felt blank, but the gears still turned, unable to stop pushing. 

so tired. so worn. 

but for someone like you, stopping wasn’t an option. a hospital meant bills, care, decisions you’d need to make. you didn’t know how much insurance would cover. you couldn’t count on your mom to show up enough to take care of your sister. 

“you should’ve called.” 

maybe it was the years of raising your sister. maybe it was the years of learning how to do it on your own, with no one to show you or help you. of picking up odd jobs by the time you were twelve, or the image of your father and his white picket fence family still splitting open a wound that was never going to close. maybe it was just how tired you felt, all the damn time, but ‘you should’ve’ cut straight to the resentment you tried so hard to live past. 

you don’t really remember what you said to him. you just knew that you’d finally done it, a sick satisfaction tearing through you watching seungcheol lose his patience - i knew it, i knew it, i knew it, you’re tired of me, too - and you wanted that fight. you needed it, no matter how it hurt. even if some part of you felt like it was watching from the outside in, begging you to stop, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

we were worried, y/n, did it ever fucking occur to you? 

maybe, if you let us fucking help, things could be a little easier on you, have you tried that? 

fuck. fuck, y/n, wait. that’s not what i meant - 

i can help. we can help. why don’t you ever let us help? 

i’m sorry. 

let me help. please, baby. 

you have too much pride, you know this. but you’ve always hated letting the curtain draw too wide, letting anyone else see the wreckage of your life. you’d gotten so good at patching back then, you didn’t even notice the foundation had already fallen apart. bandaid on a bullet wound. 

it was the beginning of the end. your vice is starving on an island even with the rescue team on your shores, yet you just keep digging through the forest for something to keep you alive. it’s all you know how to do. 

when seungcheol returns with trays of food, placing them atop the table, you ask, “how much was it?” 

he knows you well enough not to look you in the eye, pretending like splitting utensils and napkins requires his utmost focus. “don’t remember. it’s okay.” 

you want to fight him on it. your eyes flick to the menu screens but they’re too far for you to read the prices. you glance back at him, and he’s deeply invested in arranging the trays as if he’s personally responsible for making ikea into fine dining. 

“okay.” 

his eyes snap to yours. he’s so surprised he forgets to hide it, but covers it with a smile, sliding over a bottle of juice to you. “okay,” he repeats, but he can’t keep the happiness out of it. 

you wish you could tell him. you wish you could rewrite history. say, i’m sorry. it wasn’t your fault. you were right, i scared you that night and i shut you out. i shouldn’t have. but i did it again and again and again, until i made sure you were gone. i’m sorry, seungcheol. it wasn’t fair. 

too little, too late. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2022 

“i can’t believe you went to ikea and bought nothing.” 

jeonghan has said this almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you’re pretty sure you’re gonna start hearing it in your sleep, soon. 

“it was cheaper at target,” you drone, the same thing you’ve said almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you don’t know if it’s good or bad that you’re getting used to being hassled by jeonghan. also, when did your apartment become the default hang-out location? when did it even become a hang-out location? you don’t even own a tv. 

“yeah, yeah. then where is the floating shelf that we agreed on?” 

you wish you had a throw pillow to launch at him. if mingyu wasn’t still feeding you at least once a week, you’d steal one from him. “we didn’t agree to anything, including that ikea trip, actually.” 

jeonghan rolls his eyes, ambling his way over to your couch. he slumps into the cushions, kicking his legs up over seungcheol’s thighs and throwing an arm over his eyes, sighing contently. “at least your couch is comfy.” 

you scoff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. more than you care to admit, you like seeing them there. the atmosphere is mostly quiet today, less ruckus and teasing and more comfortable companionship, with jeonghan already half asleep, seungcheol scrolling through his phone. mingyu sits on the floor by jeonghan, nursing an iced coffee he made seungcheol buy him on the way over. you can hear murmurs from joshua and nayeon chatting at the kitchen table, as you settle yourself on the floor next to mingyu, by seungcheol’s side of the couch. seungcheol peers at you over his phone, giving you a tiny, adorable smile that you can’t help but shyly return. 

“holy shit- oh, fuck,” mingyu startles all of you with his outburst, jeonghan letting out a disgruntled noise. “oh no. sorry- oh my god-” 

seungcheol grabs jeonghan before he can get his fingers on mingyu’s hair. you clap a hand over your mouth when you realize why - half of mingyu’s iced coffee is now on jeonghan’s shirt, having spilled when mingyu got over-excited courtesy of god-knows-what on his phone. 

“at least y/n’s couch is clean,” mingyu tries, bolting to his feet when jeonghan lets out a screech, held back only by seungcheol’s hand on his collar, seungcheol’s other hand held up and away from himself, a grimace on his face from the sticky feeling he must have after grabbing jeonghan the first time around. 

you giggle before you can help yourself, seungcheol’s head snapping to you at the sound. it’s not enough of a distraction that jeonghan can free himself, still prying at seungcheol’s fingers on his collar. 

“alright, relax,” you clamber to your feet, beckoning to jeonghan. “come on. i probably have a shirt you can borrow.” 

“i’m sticky,” jeonghan huffs in disgust, holding his hands away from himself as he looks down at his shirt. seungcheol loosens his hold on jeonghan to let him get up and follow you, seungcheol himself moving to your kitchen sink to rinse his hands off. 

“it’s just coffee,” you roll your eyes, pushing the door open to your bedroom. “you’ll live.” 

jeonghan grumbles, though his complaints peter off as he surveys your room. 

it’s a small, utilitarian space, much like the rest of your apartment. there’s little to even suggest you live here, with a standard, full-size bed sitting atop the simple bedframe seungcheol had built when you first moved in. a nightstand sits to the right of the bed, with a small lamp and a roll of toilet paper that you use in lieu of tissues. the only thing that makes this room yours is the photo you have with your sister on your nightstand, taken by her friend at her high school graduation a few years back. 

your dresser sits on the left side of your room, closer to the door. you pull open a drawer, digging for an old, oversized shirt that probably yet again once belonged to joshua. 

“hm,” jeonghan lets out an amused noise. he’s spotted the teddy bear on your bed, walking over and picking it up, shaking it in your direction. “so you did buy something from ikea.” 

you flush. you hide it by turning back to your drawers, rifling through the clothes to find one that’ll fit him. you know he knows you didn’t buy that bear. jeonghan is too smart for that. 

“seungcheol bought it.” you tell him out loud anyways. 

when you’d hit the kids section that day, your hands had run over the stuffed animals they had, fingers skimming through soft fur. seungcheol must’ve watched you, saw the way you picked up ikea’s trademark brown bear, how you looked at it, a bit wistful. 

you have no need for plush toys. you’re not a child anymore. but it’s cute, and so soft. you’d set it back down, but seungcheol snagged it before you could fully let go. when you’d stared at him questioningly, he’d lied, telling you he was getting it for his niece. 

but a couple weeks later, on a day seungcheol visited by himself - something he’s been doing more and more lately, without all your friends to crowd the apartment - you found the bear tucked into the corner of your couch. he’d left by then, and you don’t really know how he could have possibly hidden it the whole time he was here, but he managed it. 

you never thanked him for it. but you did send him a picture of the bear tucked into your bed, just so he would know that you didn’t throw it out. that you’d just moved it into your bedroom. 

jeonghan leans against your nightstand, tilting his head, observing the bear. you’re pulling out a band tee when, quietly, he mentions, “he never really got over you, you know.” 

you freeze. your grip tightens on the shirt, unable to turn around. 

no one’s talked about it. not outright, at least, except for nayeon, who saw you through the worst of it, all the sleepless nights, the breakdowns that would come out of nowhere. you’d hated yourself for it, convinced your priorities were twisted out of order. how come you can hide most of what hurts when it comes to your father - your mother, even, but the tragedy of your own making has you on your knees at three in the morning, hands curled tight against your chest as you bend your body as small as you can, feeling the pain ricochet through you? 

how can that be, when you were so sure you did the right thing? 

you hear jeonghan move, rounding the bed to walk closer to you. there’s no anger in his voice, no accusation in the way he speaks to you. “he couldn’t, y/n.” 

he lets the words hang in the still air, until you draw the courage to face him, even when you’re unable to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. jeonghan smiles, but it’s sad and knowing, and he looks down at the bear in his hand, fiddling with it. “to be honest,” he lifts his eyes back to yours. “in a way, none of us really did. i mean - you ran away, y/n. you explained nothing, and then you just… left.” 

he looks hurt. more openly than anyone else has looked at you, not mingyu, not joshua. not even seungcheol. jeonghan’s pain is written clear across his face, and you bow your head, the shame sinking you lower. it’s the same feeling that’s colored every single day since you broke up with seungcheol and abandoned the people you called your friends. the people you loved. the people who loved you. 

jeonghan sets the bear down on your bed. “i’m not saying i don’t understand. or that we don’t understand. we knew how hard it was for you with your mom. your dad, too.” his voice falters for a second, and he inhales, slow. “but we could’ve just talked about it. i… i wish you would’ve just talked about it.” 

nothing he says is meant to hurt you. he doesn’t say it to make you feel guilty. but it does, anyway. 

it hurts, anyway. 

gently, jeonghan takes the shirt from your hand, forcing you to look up at him. “he loved you. maybe still does. and i’m not asking you to love him again, but if nothing else…” 

he holds your gaze, half-pleading, half-hoping. “stay, this time. even when it gets hard. especially if it gets hard. because i don’t think any of us can handle it if you leave a second time.” 

JUNIOR YEAR | MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2015

when you told seungcheol you just wanted to be friends after his confession, you sort of expected him to disappear for a little while. or maybe even a long while, until he slowly faded out of your life, moving farther and farther into the distance, until one day, he was simply a speck from a time long past. 

after all, you’ve been through this song and dance before. it’s cliché, but a disappearing father really set the stage for your life, the first in a long line of people who always got to be the one to decide they no longer have a use for you. your college friends are the first people who have even tried to stay, but maybe that’s because they haven’t been given the opportunity to leave yet. 

still, you’re used to being left behind. easy to leave, disappointment a feeling so recurring, you could call it home. classify it as a habit. people slip out of your life like it’s effortless, and you can’t blame them, so you wouldn’t blame seungcheol, either. not when you’re always so busy, not when your life is as messy as it is. if seungcheol leaves, jeonghan and joshua probably do, too. nayeon will find ways to stay out of the dorm until she can get a new roommate, and you’ll go back to what you know. 

you’ve always done a decent job keeping yourself company, and it’s not like you don’t have a laundry list of responsibilities to keep you occupied. you’ll soothe the sting over on your own and move on. you won’t beg for someone to stay, nor do you have any good reasons to ask them to, anyways. 

so when seungcheol shows up outside your dorm the day after confessing, you stare blankly at him. his lips quirk in amusement at the obvious bewilderment on your face, and he slides past you, letting himself in the way he has a hundred times before. 

“hi,” he says, looking entirely relaxed. “did you eat yet?” 

“n-no,” you stammer, closing the door behind you. you’re so confused. you know the routine. you know how it goes. yet he’s standing before you, casual and relaxed, like it’s just another monday. 

“great. i haven’t eaten either. let’s order something, my treat.” he pulls out his phone, absently listing out options as he scrolls through restaurants in the area. 

with a start, your heart clenches, hard, the kind of painful ache you’ve shoved down time and again because you can’t afford to dissect it. this time, you let it burn for a little bit, just a little longer, enough time to trace the broadness of seungcheol’s shoulders, the sweep of his hair across his forehead, to the flex of his hands as he continues to scroll. you let the feeling spread, just for a chance to watch him. then, you call his name. “cheol.” 

it’s his eyes that betray him. seungcheol’s smile is the same as it’s always been, dimpled and handsome. but his eyes are soft on you, now that you know to look. there’s a certain adoration there that, if you’re being honest, you’ve pretended not to know existed for almost all the years you’ve been his friend. seungcheol, who always seems a bit stern, between the thick eyebrows and the strong line of his jaw, has only ever relented with you. 

you watch it happen again, how his smile hesitates, and the resignation starts to settle in. he knows you’re going to draw the line again. it’d started months ago, when you shut all your friends out, and never quite let them back in. but it hasn’t stopped him from trying to sneak over it, hoping to reach you, knowing you’ll slip through his fingers like water. 

you don’t know why he keeps coming back. if you were a better person, you wouldn’t let him. 

but his dark hair, his full lips, those wide, brown eyes - you’re selfish enough to want to keep him here. seungcheol is steady and reliable, and he makes you laugh, and that’s more than you can say about most people who have passed through your life. his friendship is perhaps the most meaningful thing you have, second only to your little sister, and even though you braced yourself for giving it up, now that he’s here, you know you aren’t ready to let him go. 

which means you also can’t let him linger for more than he already has. 

“go home,” you say softly. “break’s started. i’m sure your parents are missing you.” 

his shoulders fall, and he fidgets with the phone in his hand before pocketing it. “right,” he responds quietly. “yeah.” 

he doesn’t move, though. when your fingers brush against him, his eyes focus on the way they curl around his wrist, gently tugging him back towards the door. he follows you willingly, simply for the fact that you’re the one pulling him. 

for a moment, even when he’s standing in your doorway with you, you don’t drop your hands. you keep them there, just holding him lightly. 

you let him go. say your goodbyes and close the door behind you. 

his missing presence is immediately palpable in your quiet dorm. but you refuse to open the door again and call down the hall for him to come back, share a meal with you, liven up this tiny space you live in. you keep your back pressed to the door, palms flattening against the wood. last night, after he’d confessed, you’d stared at your ceiling until dawn, convincing yourself seungcheol wouldn’t come back into your life once you’d set a hard line with him. convinced yourself of the worst so you could prepare for it, and if you were prepared, then none of your expectations could shatter. you can still survive. 

but the smallest part of you knew. you know seungcheol’s a better man than that. your friendship with him isn’t contingent on whether or not you can reciprocate his feelings, and the part of you that doesn’t bank on endless series of disappointments knew that he’d show up at your door today. just so he could see you again. 

it’s why you placed your bets on the safe side. when he’d leaned a little closer, when his eyes had dipped to your lips, when his hands had brushed against your waist, pulling you towards him. when you’d almost let him, until the excuses came filtering in. 

lovers come and go. 

friends stay. 

and selfishly, you want him to stay. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2022

with christmas around the corner, you finally cave about that damn floating shelf jeonghan keeps talking about. 

your sister is coming over, the way she has every year since she started university. she’s been telling you since she was eighteen that she wants to spend the holidays with you, doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how, as long as it’s with you. she doesn’t want to go back to your mom’s cold, lonely house either, not when she could be happier in your small apartment, doing nothing together. 

in the past years, your shitty apartments had mostly led to a lot of muffled screams whenever a bug crawled by, but this year, your apartment is nice. clean. there’s space. she deserves a good christmas, so you take the extra bit of money you’ve been saving up, and buy the stupid shelf, along with a variety of christmas decorations. 

seungcheol went with you. he was pink from how happy he was to be there, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering, enthusiastic with every item you asked for his opinion on. “yes,” he’d nod. “i think she’ll love it.”

so now you’re here, with a variety of christmas ornaments and other decorations scattered across your kitchen table and coffee table, boxes of things littered across the floor, with seungcheol drilling a screw into your wall to hold up your shelf. you hover near him, anxious with nothing to do to help him, while he moves with familiar ease and practice. 

“you look like you’ve done that a lot,” you comment, and he glances at you. 

“i have,” he replies, bemused. “the rest of those idiots can’t figure out a power drill to save their life.” 

“i feel like mingyu might know,” you say it without thinking twice, wincing a little when you see the immediate frown on his face. 

“you think mingyu can do a lot of things,” seungcheol mutters, and you have to bite your lip to hide a smile. his petulance is short-lived as he gets the shelf secured into place, setting the drill down. 

he dusts off the top, satisfied with his handiwork. “all done.” 

it’s only when he turns that you realize how close you’ve gotten to him. in a rush, you step backwards out of his space, tripping over packaging from all the other things you’ve bought, an embarrassing squeak escaping you. seungcheol’s arms shoot out to catch you, reflexes quick, instinctive as his hands grab your waist and yank you to him, your breath catching when your chest meets his, your hands latching to the back of his shirt. you lift your head, your wide eyes matching his, and suddenly you’re not breathing, heart rate doing double time in your chest. 

he’s so close. you can’t think. his breaths are shallow, lips parted, and you can’t focus. fuck, you can’t focus at all. seungcheol just does this to you, does it every time he’s nearby. it’s why you can’t let him stand too close. why you shouldn’t have let him back into your life. into your apartment. 

but right now, with the way his palm slides against your back, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. 

his eyes are half-lidded, gaze dragging from your eyes to your lips and back, like he’s trying to keep himself in check but can’t. you’re not sure you want him to. you don’t think you do. 

he leans closer. every movement feels like an echo from the past, and there’s a buzzing in the back of your head that you simply ignore. it feels too good to have him here, looking at you like you’re the only person who exists on this planet. like he wants nothing and no one else but you. 

you blink slow, so tempted to let your eyes shut, to feel only him, let him surround you wholly. you missed him. in all these years, you just… missed him. missed feeling him. missed the way he loved you, so softly, so endlessly. like nothing else mattered. 

you feel his breath ghost over your lips, and yours hitches. your hands tighten in his shirt, and your eyes slam shut before you’re releasing him, hands braced against his chest, pushing him away just enough so that you can lower your head in the space between the two of you, sucking in a shaky breath. 

he doesn’t move. your fingers curl against his shirt, holding tight onto him. you don’t want to let go. you don’t want him to go. 

the tears are rising, and they’re rising fast. your hands are shaking from how hard you’re gripping his shirt. he tries to soothe you, one hand running against your back but you shake your head furiously, unable to speak. 

“okay. okay,” he whispers, letting his hands hover away from your body. still there, just not touching you. just close enough so you know he’s there. 

you want his hands back on you. you don’t want him to hold you at all. there’s a knife in your chest that twists, and you’re gritting your teeth so hard you think they might crack. 

“i need you to breathe,” he murmurs. you hadn’t realized you’d stopped. “please, baby. we’ll do it together.” 

please, baby. 

against your will, a sob chokes out of you. a wretched sound, one you swallow immediately. the tears don’t escape. you make sure of it. you blink them back down, steady your breathing, just like seungcheol asks for. in, out. slow. 

little by little, your fingers loosen. your breaths even out, fingers still splayed across his chest, using him to hold yourself up. “that’s it,” he says softly. “it’s okay.” 

you don’t lift your head. you think if you do right now, you won’t be able to hold the tears back. so you stay where you are, fingers weakly curling against his shirt, then straightening out. it feels safer, your hands against his clothes. a layer of separation. you can argue that it’s not him you’re holding onto. just his clothes. 

when your heart rate has calmed, and the burning behind your eyes has receded, you finally raise your head, eyes finding his. he’s smiling at you, but his eyes are sad, and there’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him. you force yourself to pull away, returning your hands to your sides. you don’t know what to say, which makes everything feel worse. 

you watch his smile fade. he tries to say something, but the words must escape him too, because all that comes out is empty air, and he stops. 

for a few minutes, there’s only heavy silence. he finds his words before you do, and they come out quiet, honest. “i don’t want to apologize.” he holds your gaze, certain. “because i’m not sorry. i’m not sorry for the way that i feel. i’m sorry i scared you, but i’m not sorry for wanting you. for always wanting you.” 

he runs a tired hand through his hair, brushing through the strands. they’ve grown out a bit since the first time you bumped into him back in may, long enough that he’s able to pull them back, out of his eyes. so terribly reminiscent of when you saw him last, five years ago. 

he inhales, slow and deep. “i wish… i wish i knew how to make it less terrifying for you. i wish i knew how to - how to make it not hurt you. because i know it does. i see it every single time you look at me. how much it hurts you.” 

sometimes, you forget. for as well as you know him, he knows you. it’s why the two of you always felt like you fit together so seamlessly, how all of his soft edges could still find a way to mold to all of your rough, sharp ones. because he knew how to find the gentle slopes, the parts of you that you wanted him to have. the parts of you that were better. 

“it took me a really long time, you know,” his voice has dropped, barely audible. “to figure it out. why you left. i thought i did something wrong. rushed you. pushed you too much, maybe. and maybe that’s still true, at least a little bit. but…” he swallows. “but you left jeonghan, too. joshua. mingyu. you left all of them, not just me. so it couldn’t have just been about me. about us. but i could never really be sure, not until i saw you outside of mingyu’s apartment.” 

you should kick him out. whatever it takes to make him stop talking. 

“but you still look at me like that, y/n.” 

you can’t move. 

“you still hold onto me when i touch you.” 

the thing about the knife that stays buried in your chest, is that it was never seungcheol’s hand digging it deeper. it isn’t even your mother’s, or your father’s. 

it has always been yours. 

“i’m not going away this time, baby,” seungcheol promises. “i don’t care. i’ll figure it out. until it stops being scary. until it stops hurting. whatever it takes.” 

the worst thing, you think, about being in seungcheol’s presence, is that he’s so convincing. so much so that he makes you want for more than what you think you’re allowed to have. makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have it. have him, without leaving behind a wreckage, disaster. 

the sharp pain is so familiar, that letting your hand slip off the hilt feels unnatural. to not have to live every single day with the reminder of what kind of person you are, and where you stand in anyone’s life. but when seungcheol is nearby, he always finds a way to pull you closer. refuses to let you stay at a distance. no matter how far you step back, seungcheol doesn’t ever let you go. 

JUNIOR YEAR | THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY 16, 2016 

seungcheol is impossible to stay away from, you realize. 

even as just friends, seungcheol is good to you. when you rejected his confession a few months back, nothing outwardly changed, except for the fact that you could no longer pretend you didn’t know. you didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but no one seemed to notice the difference. seungcheol pre-confession was no different than seungcheol post-confession. only you remained in silent turmoil. 

when you lock the convenience store door behind you, you turn to find seungcheol waiting for you outside. winter this year is harsh, seungcheol’s nose red from the cold in spite of being bundled up, a beanie flattening his hair, scarf pulled up high. he brightens when he sees you, digging through his pockets for something. 

“cheol?”

“hand warmers,” he presents them to you proudly. “for you.” 

you stare at them. the cheap little packets, that knowing him, he’s bought an entire case of, just to give to you. to make sure you stay warm in the deep winter chill, because he knows you’re always out in the dead of night, a direct result of having closing shifts regularly. the longer you stare, the angrier you get. you don’t need hand warmers, you’re plenty warm right now, from the mix of anger and sheer want. 

without warning, you yank him to you, hands fisting his jacket as you pull him down to your height. seungcheol squawks, a sound he will vehemently deny making later, completely baffled by the way you glare at him, lips turned downwards in a frustrated frown. “stop it,” you demand, but there’s no heat to it. no strength behind your words. “stop it, choi seungcheol.” 

“hey,” he whines. “you know how i feel about you using my full name.” 

“i know. i know how you feel about it. i know how you feel about me. it’s not fair, cheol. it’s not fair,” your brows furrow deeper. you’re breathing harder, and he looks even more confused now, but his expression has softened. you hate how he looks at you. like you’re all that’s worth focusing on. like he understands why you’re so angry with him right now, and why none of it really feels like anger at all. 

“you’re so unfair,” you whisper, tracing every line of his features, from his chin to his lips to his nose and cheekbones, up to those eyes you adore so much. “why do i like you so much?” 

his smile is a bit cheeky. “because i’m so cute?” 

“annoying,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, more affection than anything else. seungcheol is still bent at an awkward angle, but you haven’t let him go and he likes exactly where he is, right now. you don’t want to let him go, either, because you also like him exactly where he is, right now. close to you. centimeters away from you, but still a little too far, so you tug him even closer, till your nose brushes his. “i said no,” your voice trembles a little, but your head tilts, angling towards him. “i said i wanted to be friends.” 

“we can be friends,” seungcheol breathes, but he’s finally remembered how to move, hand warmers forgotten in his pockets as his gloved hands find your waist, tugging you against him. “we can be whatever you want, y/n.” 

your feelings are a mess. your life is a mess. but seungcheol cuts straight through it, a direct path to your heart. “i don’t wanna be friends.” your hands tighten in his jacket. “i…” 

it’s hard to think straight. so you opt against it entirely, running on instinct instead, on purely what you want. 

him. 

you want him. 

you close the distance, and seungcheol melts right into you, hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulls you in closer. your eyes flutter shut, and every thought dissipates. there’s only seungcheol, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way his hands feel on you, the way you only want to keep bringing him closer, closer, closer. 

your hand reaches up to his face, and it’s the only reason the two of you break apart, seungcheol yelping at the cold of your fingers when they brush his cheeks, and you both burst into giggles. “sorry,” you start to pull away, but seungcheol’s hands wrap around yours immediately. 

“keep ‘em there,” he presses his cheek to your hand. “maybe you don’t need hand warmers. you can just have me instead.” 

you pinch his cheek. “cheesy.” 

he hums. “yours,” he answers. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2022

“you decorated!” your sister’s delighted squeal makes it worth it, as she drops her bags on your floor and takes in your apartment. it wasn’t much, but you’d managed to find a small tree, one of those little bendable plastic ones, and you bought two stockings from the dollar store that you hung off the floating shelf seungcheol helped you put up. you can’t look at it too long, the memory still fresh in your head of his hands on your waist, his voice low, sincere. so determined to love you again. 

you watch your sister flit about your apartment, excited over every new detail she spots. she’s visited before throughout the past half-year or so, but never overnight. she shakes the snowglobe on your bookshelf, and for a second she looks six years old again, giddy and young. 

you smile. the softest part of your heart is always her, your headstrong sister with her boundless energy. so much smarter than you, popular around campus and so beloved by everyone. 

“go put your things in the room,” you call, heading into the kitchen. 

“i can sleep on the couch,” she tries, but you point at the bedroom door. 

“room,” you repeat sternly, and she shrugs and flounces off, taking her weekender bag with her. you rummage through the cabinets, preparing for dinner. 

she comes back out of the room with your laptop hoisted above her head. “netflix?” she beams at you, and you gesture to the kitchen table for her to set up, while you cook. when she sidles up to you, you swing an arm around her, squeezing her tight to you until she complains. 

“missed you, berry,” you coo, keeping her held tight in place even as she squirms. the old nickname comes from before she was even born, from a trip you made to the doctor’s office back when your parents were still together, and the doctor said she was the size of a strawberry. 

“let go,” she whines. “miss me from like two feet away, oh my god.” 

you snicker and release her, letting her go back to your laptop to scroll through nayeon’s netflix account for something to watch. dinner is plated within thirty minutes, the two of you sitting side by side, watching ‘business proposal’, laughing and talking with your mouths full, falling silent together at more intense scenes, chopsticks mid-air. the evening goes quietly, comfortably, until the two of you are curled up on the couch, both showered and clean, your sister’s head on your shoulder while you both scroll aimlessly through your phones. 

with how late it’s gotten, you’ve turned the overhead lights off, leaving only the twinkling from the little tree you set up, and a floor lamp in the corner, the room awash in a dim yellow glow, just enough for the two of you. it’s peaceful, a slow night with your favorite person on this earth, her giggling at silly reels on her phone, pressed warm against you. 

you’re flicking through photos you took with her earlier in the day when your phone buzzes. the message flashes across the top of your screen but before you get a chance to swipe it away, your sister catches sight of it and jolts upright. 

[12:02am] seungcheol: merry christmas, y/n 

oh, boy. 

“you’re back together?” 

you flounder, unsure what to do with the fact that she sounds excited about it. “no,” you deny, a little more forceful than absolutely necessary. you soften your voice. “we’re - no. we’re… reacquainted. his - our -” you suddenly can’t figure out how to describe mingyu. “my neighbor is a mutual friend.” 

your sister hmphs, picking her hot chocolate up from off the coffee table. “you never told me why you broke up with him. i thought he was nice.” 

you flick her forehead. “none of your business. drink your hot chocolate.”

she pouts but obeys, going back to her phone while you stare at yours, at the simple message seungcheol had left you. your eyes drift from your phone to your sister, how young she still looks, yet she’s here, with you, instead of your mom on christmas day. 

your sister is 21 now, but back then she was only a teenager. a teenager you could no longer protect, because you were away at college doing everything you could to make enough to secure her future, with or without a scholarship. you didn’t want her to worry about the money like you did. you didn’t want her to have to worry about anything, but it was inevitable. 

in the end, she was the one who’d encouraged you to stop talking to your mom. to stop coming home. at eighteen years old, your sister had no right being as mature as she was, already so much better than you when you were her age. so much less naive, so much stronger, so much quick wit and a straight back, head held high. you’re so proud of her, it makes your heart ache. 

maybe it’s because she watched you fight for your place in a home that no longer belonged to you. maybe because she was too young to remember when it did, when you were the apple of your parents’ eyes, an adorable toddler with a mischievous streak. 

because unlike you, she only knew one outcome. that no matter what you did, nothing ever changed. there were no amount of accomplishments, no feats, nothing that could change your mother’s mind about you. you were the problem. 

“and i’m okay,” she’d said, so earnest it broke your heart. “you don’t have to come home just to check on me. i’m going to college soon. i won’t have to be here. we can just see each other on campus, or at your apartment.” 

she was trying so hard not to be a part of the reason you kept picking open the same wound, every time you came home. 

but the thing is, some days, most days, even, you understand your mom. it’s why you kept going home, again and again, in the hopes that something would change. that one day you’d be enough. that your mother could look at you and see just you, and not the man who abandoned you both. 

it takes you a long time to learn, but you can’t beg someone to love you. you can’t beg your mom to see past your dad’s betrayal and realize that you were just a kid. she needed someone to blame for the hurt and it was easy when you look so much like him. it takes you a long time to learn that that isn’t your fault. 

you run a fond hand through your sister’s hair, brushing it back away from her face. she’s used to your affectionate touches, doesn’t even look up from her phone. but she does eventually tilt her face towards you. in the late night, there’s a bit of melancholy when she says, “it’d be nice, if you got back together with him.” 

you mask the feelings that come with that statement, choosing instead to arch your eyebrow. “why?” 

“he was good to you. i could tell. and he made you happy.” she pauses, contemplative. “when you were with him… it was like you got a chance to think of yourself, for once, too. i liked that he could do that.” 

she goes back to her phone, leaving you to sit with that thought. the idea that you could put yourself first, because of seungcheol. because that was all he ever wanted of you. for you to choose you. 

you swipe back to your messages with him. you scroll through them, the past few months of him messaging you every errant thought, blurry photos of that neighborhood orange cat. all the times you ignored the majority of his messages, and how he responded to all of yours within minutes.  

when you type your message back, you miss the way your sister peers over at your phone, and the small, secret smile she wears when she sees it’s his chat. how she glances at you, spots the faint smile on your face, the soft look in your eyes. the one you only get with him. 

[12:34am] y/n: merry christmas, cheol 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2022

every year, seungcheol had told you, his parents hold a new years party. 

it’s a full house - his parents’ friends, his brother’s family, his brother’s friends, seungcheol’s friends. everyone the chois know gather at their house to drink and eat and talk, different friend groups and family members taking up different sections of the house, occasionally mingling together and making new friends, too. 

it sounds… unreal, if you’re being honest. it sounds like something out of a movie. or a book. nobody’s life is this picturesque. nobody actually has a home so warm, so welcoming. 

up until you stepped into seungcheol’s family home five years ago, you didn’t think it was possible. 

you haven’t celebrated new years with them before, only christmas, but the love had been palpable. seungcheol was raised on adoration and affection, and this fact was amplified the instant you’d entered his home. 

after breaking up with him, though, you didn’t think you’d be back here. 

“we took the train and still beat you here,” mingyu laughs, leaning against the doorway of seungcheol’s house. you can spot nayeon behind him, waving at you, as you climb out of seungcheol’s car. his family home isn’t far from the city, maybe an hour out, and seungcheol had offered the ride. offered all of it, actually. the invite to the party, the ride to his parents’ place, a guest room in his house overnight. 

it’d taken a bit of convincing. from everyone. they were all going - mingyu, jeonghan, joshua, nayeon. mingyu was bringing wonwoo with him. but none of them were you. none of them had the history you had. none of them were seungcheol’s ex. 

“you should go,” your sister was the nail in the coffin. “i think it could be fun. i’m gonna go hang out with my friends on new years so you should hang out with yours.” 

“they’re his parents,” you’d argued, and she’d shrugged. 

“is seungcheol dense?” 

“not particularly, no.” 

“then i don’t think he’d invite you unless he thought it’d be okay.” 

so, here you are. one hour of only a moderately awkward drive later, and you’re in front of the choi family home again, staring at the white paneling and the christmas lights still strung up. 

his home is as lovely as you remember it being. all warm, golden lights, decorations in the windowsills, the fireplace lit up. there’s toys scattered across the living room where his brother’s kids have taken to playing, seungcheol’s brother, sister-in-law, and their friends crowded around the kids. the kitchen is overflowing with drinks and food, seungcheol’s dad running back and forth, laughing loudly with seungcheol’s uncle, while his mom sits at the dining table, amusedly listening to jeonghan lament over the girl who won’t give him the time of day. 

it’s so.. busy. loud. you don’t even know who took your jacket and scarf, but before you can even politely greet his parents with the box of oranges you brought (which also mysteriously disappeared from your hands), you’re whisked off upstairs, where seungcheol’s friends have commandeered his childhood bedroom. 

“i should-” 

“don’t worry about it,” seungcheol reassures. “there’s too many people downstairs. even if you say hi, they’ll forget you did within the next five seconds.” 

so you let him guide you into his room, hyperaware of his hand against your back, his touch barely there. 

nothing about his room has changed. you suppose it wouldn’t, considering he lives in the city now. his walls are painted a standard eggshell white, the dresser opposite his bed still displaying his taekwondo trophies atop it. there’s a desk in the corner that joshua’s sitting at, fiddling with seungcheol’s thousand-year-old monitor. he gives you both a quick greeting when you enter. 

you don’t recognize the man laying in his bed, though. lazy eyes peer back at you before blinking twice and sitting up, curious. 

“jihoon,” seungcheol introduces. “y/n. y/n, jihoon. jihoon’s my neighbor. y/n’s my… uh, my friend.” seungcheol clears his throat. you ask yourself for the millionth time why you came. 

jihoon smirks, clearly aware of who you are. “hi,” he sticks out a hand. “nice to meet you.” 

you shake his hand, nodding and trying to smile. it’s like your facial muscles have decided they don’t remember how to work today. 

seungcheol pivots. “what are you doing with my computer?” 

“you mean your relic from the dinosaur age?” joshua snorts. “i’m just wondering if it even still boots up. why do you still have this thing?” 

seungcheol swats at joshua’s hands. “leave it.” 

“he has porn on there,” jeonghan drawls, and you turn to find him with mingyu, nayeon, and who you assume is wonwoo all crowding into seungcheol’s room. you’d think at your age, you can handle jeonghan’s shameless jokes, but you still turn red. 

seungcheol notices. instead of pouting at jeonghan for the slander like he normally would, he leans down to you, murmuring so only you can hear. “still shy, hm?” 

on pure instinct, you shove him away, then walk as nonchalant as possible to stand beside nayeon, ignoring the wide grin on seungcheol’s face for successfully flustering you. “smooth,” nayeon mutters under her breath. you elbow her for good measure. 

in your defense, neither of you have talked about the almost-kiss. if it wasn’t constantly running a loop in the back of your mind, you would think you dreamt it up. but every casual brush of seungcheol’s hands against your waist, your back, your arm - and it’s all you can think about. that edge of desperation in his voice, pleading. that stubborn streak in him, so insistent. i’m not going away this time, baby. 

if there’s anything about seungcheol, it’s that he’s straightforward with how he feels. 

your head’s a mess, around him. your heart’s less confused, but you don’t lead with it. could never afford to. still might not. 

everyone finds a way to shuffle into the room. somehow, you, nayeon, mingyu, and wonwoo fill the space on the floor, near seungcheol’s closet. jeonghan flops down next to jihoon on the bed, and seungcheol sits by his nightstand, leaning against his bed, facing your direction. 

it’s not quite what you expect a party to be. there’s brief exchanges - mingyu introduces wonwoo, and he gives you a kind smile that catches you off guard. when you first saw him, he seemed strict, a bit cold. adverse to people. but when he smiles, the entirety of him warms. 

seungcheol nudges your foot with his. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring at wonwoo. after all, this is the guy everyone says is like you. but from what you can tell, wonwoo is good-natured, a little goofy, clearly attentive. he laughs at mingyu’s jokes even when everyone else groans, and bounces his attention from person to person, intent on listening to everyone. 

you glance at seungcheol. he’s trying not to, but you can tell he’s sulking. you tilt your head at him, and his eyes dart to wonwoo so quick you almost don’t catch it. he nudges you again, lower lip jutting out just slightly as he eyes you, looking for your attention. 

as subtly as you can, you scoot to his side. nayeon catches your eye and raises her eyebrows, eyes twinkling. shut up, you narrow your eyes at her. make me, she smiles innocently. 

“doing okay?” seungcheol’s voice is low, for only you to hear. you turn to him, stopping short when you see how close he is, eyes widening slightly. his lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment on the way your cheeks color, ever so slightly. you nod in response. 

“good,” he sounds happy. “thank you for coming.” 

for a striking moment, you wish you weren’t the person you are. you wish you could let go of all inhibition, forget history, forget habit. you want to lean into him. you want to feel his fingers curl around yours, you want to breathe him in, let your head rest on his shoulder. make it so he doesn’t have to be jealous when you stare at wonwoo, and how carefree wonwoo seems even though mingyu said he had a hard life, like you. you want to be that way too. carefree. enough to make it evident that seungcheol is the only person you want. the only person you have ever wanted. 

he can see it on your face, and his breath catches. he swallows, but he draws back, giving you space. even when his eyes always give him away. 

he wants to kiss you, and your heart races in your chest at the thought. anxiety or anticipation, you can’t decide. 

until it stops being scary, he’d promised. until it stops hurting. 

you wonder if bravery looks like falling all in. you glance at wonwoo again. 

maybe it just looks like defying misery in favor of choosing happiness. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

every person in the house somehow manages to squeeze into the living room to ring in the new year. you manage to greet seungcheol’s family beforehand, seungcheol’s dad shocking you when he pulls you into a quick hug, like he’s completely forgotten that you’re seungcheol’s ex-girlfriend. 

new years lands with you standing between seungcheol and nayeon, nayeon holding your hand tight as she cheers with everybody else, raucous and loud, shouting “happy new year!” you laugh and wince at the same time, her voice practically directly in your ear, instinctively shifting towards seungcheol. his arm comes to rest around your waist while it’s still chaotic and overcrowded, pulling you close to him, you releasing nayeon’s hand when he does so. it’s just a minute - just long enough for him to lean down and murmur for you, and you only: “happy new year, y/n.” 

only seungcheol knows how to get your heart going. 

he lets you go, and you find yourself missing the warmth. it’s hypocritical of you to want it, when you’re the one who pushed him away when he almost kissed you two weeks ago. he seems to know it, too, he just doesn’t seem to care. he’s spent this entire day at your side, from the drive in, to the evening spent in his bedroom with all your friends, to now, with the clock ringing midnight. 

you don’t know why, but you’re suddenly conscious of it. hasn’t he been here since you bumped into him in front of your apartment? running to you as soon as he’s called, standing at your kitchen table, sitting on your living room couch? why does it suddenly feel different?

the night draws deeper, people slowly beginning to leave the party. his extended family leaves first, cars pulling out of the driveway. the volume lowers to a comfortable hum, voices drifting from the kitchen where his parents sit with jihoon’s parents, still talking and laughing. 

out of habit, you start cleaning. it starts with you folding the blankets and quilts on the couch you’re sitting on, mingyu and joshua glancing at you and following after you. by accident, you start a train of clean-ups, wonwoo picking up toys that were left behind by seungcheol’s niece, tucking them with the rest of the toys in the box in the corner, jihoon helping him. you gather mugs off the table, nayeon sweeping the crumbs from cookies and other snacks into her palm once the surface is cleared. 

“you don’t have to do that,” seungcheol tries to stop all of you, but halfway through his sentence and he ends on a defeated, affectionate sigh, bending down to pick up a block that got kicked towards the couch, tossing it to jeonghan, who’s closer to the toy box. 

he helps you carry the rest of the mugs into the kitchen, depositing them into the sink. letting you wash them is where seungcheol draws the line, both hands landing on your waist to shift you to the side, the movement so easy and natural for him that you buffer for a good minute, confused. he takes your place in front of the sink, grabbing the sponge and trying not to smile too hard. 

“i-” 

“nope,” he cuts you off, scrubbing the mugs. “when you’re here, you’re the princess. house rules.” he says it so confidently, so self-assured, that you swallow and stand down. 

he knows you can’t sit still, though, certainly not while watching him, so after a beat of watching you fidget, he nods towards the towels hanging off the oven handle. “help me dry?” 

while you dry dishes, jeonghan comes in, patting seungcheol’s shoulder. “they’re gonna head out soon. take the last train out.” 

“they need a ride?” 

“jihoon said he’d drive. just came to say bye, i’m gonna go home with my parents.” jeonghan smiles at you like you’re not going with them. confused, you set the mug down. 

“when are they leaving?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“five, ten minutes, i think. but his car can only fit four.” he arches his eyebrows. you count off your friends. shua, gyu, nayeon. wonwoo. four. 

when he sees the frown on your face, he chuckles. “cheol will take you back in the morning. won’t you, cheol?” 

“i can just uber-” 

“i’ll take you in the morning. let’s go say bye to them.” seungcheol finishes washing the last mug, leaving it on the dish rack to dry and toweling off his hands. the two of them pull you towards the front door before you can even get a word in edgewise, bewildered. it’s a rush of hugs, mingyu lifting you off the ground just to hear you squeak in surprise, nayeon promising to text when she’s home. then they’re gone, leaving you blinking rapidly in seungcheol’s entryway. 

somewhat dazed, you turn to seungcheol. everyone has gone, seungcheol’s parents having sent off jeonghan and his family too, then retiring to their bedroom, leaving only the two of you. 

“i… i didn’t bring clothes,” is what finally comes out of your mouth. it feels silly to point out something obvious, but it kicks seungcheol back into action. 

the two of you head back upstairs, where seungcheol tugs out a t-shirt and sweatpants from his dresser while you hover awkwardly in his doorway. he hands them to you, and you spot his high school logo stamped across them. “thank you,” you mumble. 

“i can set up the guest bedroom,” seungcheol clears his throat. “or… or you can just stay in my room. with me.” 

you stare at him, unsure. he has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, eyebrows pulling together. when you hesitate, he lifts a hand, fingers brushing your forearm, sliding down until they slowly wrap around your wrist, tugging you to him, until you’re centimeters apart. his palm feels warm on your skin, and your eyes flutter closed. 

without all of his friends and family, the house is quiet. the peaceful kind, one you can sink into, not the kind that leaves you on edge, careful not to make a sound. you can hear the faint hum of the heater running, the air still. 

you lift your head and open your eyes, finding his. his eyes were always your favorite. a captivating shade of brown, always full of emotion. he never hid from you. not once. 

“stay with me,” he whispers, just shy of begging you. “please, baby.” 

when he asks like that, you can never tell him no. 

“okay.”

you fall asleep that night in his clothes, in his bed, on his sheets. with him tucked close to you, your back to his chest. before you fall asleep though, you hear him murmur, “missed you. more than anything.” 

in his sleep, his arm drapes heavy around your waist, like it’s instinct. how naturally he holds you against him, burying his nose against you. that’s how you fall asleep, with the familiar comfort of him wrapped around you. where it feels like coming home. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2016 - SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2016 

with seungcheol’s personality, you sort of just assumed his mother was a bustler. the kind of woman who never stopped moving, like there was always something to clean or cook or wash or serve. food to offer, dishes to clear, drinks to pour. you assumed she was like the mothers you saw in hallmark movies, constantly yammering on about something or another, but never in a way that felt annoying, only comforting. somebody who made soup whenever one of her kids so much as shivered, to fend off a cold. 

but when you step through the doors of seungcheol’s family home, you’re greeted by his dad first. he’s quick, helps you slide your coat off before you can even register what’s happening, and he’s talking the whole while, a steady, if quick beat of welcoming words as he ushers you in, rattling off something about it’s cold outside, there’s hot chocolate in the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready, do you need a blanket? you should stand by the heater, or we can get the fireplace going - 

“dad,” seungcheol says, amusingly exasperated. he puts his hands on his dad’s shoulders, redirecting him into the house. “let her breathe, would you?” 

mr. choi grumbles but it’s all fond, letting seungcheol push him back towards the kitchen, but not before he gets a chance to give you another smile, earnest and pleased, in a way you’re not sure anyone has ever been at just the mere fact that you’ve showed up in their home. you force a smile in return, hope it looks sincere, want it to be, because you realize it’s not his mom where seungcheol got his warmth and energy from, but his dad. 

“is that my baby?” you hear her before you see her, the soft lilt of her voice, so full of affection as she calls for her son. 

“the one and only,” seungcheol calls back, grin wide as his mom appears at the entryway of the hall, seungcheol bending down to wrap her in a tight hug, one that she returns with small pats on his back, pulling away from him with a smile. it becomes immediately clear that seungcheol’s dad was the loud one and his mom the quiet one, but both with a deep love for their kids. her eyes are warm, kind, her love no less muted, and when her gaze lands on you, her eyes widen ever so slightly, lips turning upwards. 

“y/n?” she guesses, and something in your heart stumbles at the way she says your name. you swallow down the feeling and stand straighter, hope that she doesn’t notice the slight shake in your fingers. 

“hi, mrs. choi,” you lower your head in a slight bow, but she simply straightens you back up, fingers gentle on your arms as she peers at you, like she wants to get a better look. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” she brushes a hand against a strand of your hair, pushing it back slightly, away from your face. “so many good things. cheol likes you very much.” 

“very much,” seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which heats from the attention. his mom chuckles.

“we brought pears, if you’d like,” you tell her. “seungcheol helped carry them in.”  you hope she can’t see how nervous you are. you feel jittery, like you’ve had too much caffeine. 

his mom rubs a comforting hand against your arm. “thank you. that’s sweet of you.” 

you’d googled a lot before coming here. what to do. what to bring. what the right etiquette is, how to behave. you’re still not really sure, but his parents don’t seem to mind, or even notice, as seungcheol sets the table, his dad urging you to sit and just let his kid handle it all. “we wanted a daughter, y’know,” he tells you. “so we could spoil her. a little princess. spoiled him instead.” he pinches seungcheol’s cheek, tone all affection and fondness. seungcheol scrunches his nose but you can see the happy glow on him, how much he enjoys his parents’ attention. 

when seungcheol passes by your seat, setting down your utensils, he leans to whisper in your ear, “you can be the princess, instead.” when you turn red, he relishes in it, grin completely unashamed. 

dinner is loud, between seungcheol and his dad, mostly. his dad regales you with stories from seungcheol’s childhood, seungcheol whining back over every embarrassing memory. you feel yourself slowly ease up, less and less conscious of how you hold your chopsticks, or how fast you eat your food, or how much of it you take. not that it matters, because even as he’s talking, his dad manages to pile your plate the instant you’ve finished even a small portion of it, almost like he’s not even thinking about it. it takes seungcheol’s mom subtly sneaking the tongs out of her husband’s grasp for him to stop, and she gives you a secret, knowing smile when you accidentally let the relief show on your face. 

you try to wash the dishes after dinner, but seungcheol’s mom pulls you away. “his dad will do it. you rest,” she guides you towards the living room. “seungcheol mentioned you work a lot. it’s okay.” 

“you don’t need to lift a finger when you’re here,” seungcheol’s dad proclaims, tugging on dish gloves. “don’t you worry one bit.” 

they mean well, but the embarrassment floods you anyway. of course they know. seungcheol is close with his parents. open with them. probably tells them everything. “i don’t mind,” you try, but she shakes her head, firm. 

seungcheol’s brother arrives on christmas day with his wife. he’s as casual as seungcheol is, if a little quieter, quick to attempt to put seungcheol in a headlock, which gets them both scolded by his wife. it makes you laugh, seeing two tall, fit men with their head bowed low in front of a woman who at best is maybe 5’2”. 

she’s charming and clearly wields command over the choi brothers, both of them at her beck and call. one because he’s so obviously head over heels for her, and the other out of respect. seungcheol most days is whiny and pouty, but just as easily flips the switch whenever he crosses his arms, eyes dark and stern. around his sister-in-law, he’s the definition of a kid brother. a little annoying, but obedient. it’s endearing to watch. 

he’s never far from your side. always a hand around your waist, lips brushing against your ear to whisper something for just the two of you. he sneaks kisses when no one’s looking, but his lips linger just long enough that you always feel a little winded. his affection is so consuming, so open. he loves you, so unashamedly, so fully. there’s no question about it. 

you wonder, if you match him. can they tell? how much seungcheol means to you? it’s all you have to offer, is how much you love him. 

you spend the entire weekend waiting. you’re so convinced - any moment now, and they’ll all realize. they’ll see through the pristine smile you wear, every careful movement you make. they’ll notice the wrinkles you can’t get out of the best set of clothes you own no matter how hard you try, how cheap the material is. they’ll spot the awkward way you move around their home, how every slight noise makes you jump a little. how tense you are, how unused to the only life seungcheol has ever known, in this home so full of love that he grew up in.

then it’ll all be over. they’ll see you, the nervous way your fingers clutch at the ends of your sweater, or how you can’t talk about your family for too long. the gaping hole in the family photo you don’t have, because your father fled from you. six years old and already so unlovable, so easily left behind. no second glances. no second thoughts. 

their disappointment will sink in deep. hushed whispers when they think you can’t hear. seungcheol, are you sure? it’s not too late to break things off. 

but it never comes. they don’t ask about any of the things you expect them to ask about. only, do you like your professors? or, how old is your sister? and, are you full? would you like more? cheol-ah, go get her some hot water. do you like tangerines? 

a few hours before you’re set to leave, back to the city to work a few shifts in between the holidays and to see your sister for new years, seungcheol snags you by the arm, shutting his bedroom door to lean you against it. he dips his head, skims his nose against your cheek, down to your neck, pressing a quick kiss to the small gap of skin between your shoulder and your neck. he pulls you against him, chest to chest, doesn’t ever want any distance between the two of you. a quiet, private moment, just for the two of you, one you sink into, burying your face against his shoulder. the tension melts off of you, when you’re alone with him. 

he pulls away only enough so he can murmur, “are you okay, baby?” 

you didn’t think he’d noticed. but of course he did. there’s no hiding from him, not when everything he does is in an active effort to make you comfortable. you keep your head on his shoulder, holding him tight to you. 

one day, you think. one day he’ll be tired of reassuring you. one day he’ll be sick of mending wounds he didn’t cause, of learning what things set you off that even you didn’t know set you off. one day he’ll be tired of waiting for you to let him all the way in, of having to carefully pry you open, slow and easy, so you don’t shatter. 

“do you think your parents like me?” 

his lips pull upwards. “is that what you’ve been worrying about?” 

no. yes. yes and no. you worry about everything. it’s chronic, unavoidable. the more you learn about seungcheol, the more you love him. and the more you think he’s unattainable. 

it doesn’t matter how close he is, that he’s already yours. doesn’t matter that he presses kisses into your skin, his form of comfort. how he whispers they love you. like i knew they would, promising that you’ve made a good impression. 

all you can think about is the way his mom put a gentle hand on your wrist, pulling you away from the sink. how kind. suffocatingly so. 

no expectation of you, only that you love her son. 

seungcheol’s dad is where he gets his brightness from. his clingy affection, his childish sulking, his easy nature. but his mom, his mom must be where he gets all his patience from. the calm way he addresses you even when you get frustrated. the gentle way he holds you, like you’re precious. 

it turns out, when seungcheol loves you, it feels suffocating, too. 

after all, you’ve never been loved without conditions, before. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2016

new year’s eve is surprisingly calm. your mom’s in a good mood, a shocking change of pace after years of silence and quiet celebrations between just you and your sister. but she’s awake this time, eating at the dinner table together, the curtains pulled open to see the fireworks people have already started setting off outside. 

maybe it has something to do with the wine in her system. not that she’s drunk, but she seems more relaxed, peering out the window and watching the fireworks burst across the sky. “back when i was a kid, we used to set off our own fireworks, you know,” she tells you and your sister. “not those big ones, but the little firecrackers, out on the streets. and the handheld sparklers.” 

“we should do that together one year,” your sister suggests. your mom smiles at her, and your sister brightens, back straightening with the attention. 

“i’d like that,” you agree, your sister leaning over to rest her head on your shoulder. 

the evening is quiet, comfortable. the table has been cleared, dishes washed, leaving behind only glasses for drinks. your sister texts her friends, while you watch the sky flood with colors every so often, waiting as the time ticks by, counting slowly down to the new year. 

with only a few minutes left till midnight, you rise to refill everyone’s drinks. you set the glasses down on the table and dig your phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick skim for new notifications from your friends, who are loud as ever in the group chat in spite of most of them being at seungcheol’s family’s new years party, before leaving it on the table, a faint smile on your face. 

taking the wine, you ask over your shoulder, “how much would you like?” 

you hear your mom stand, walking towards you, and you turn to face her. 

it’s like it happens in slow motion. your arm catches on the glass, and you watch it topple, reflexes too slow to catch it, as it rolls and falls over the ledge, shattering when it hits the ground, glass spraying across the floor. 

your heart is in your throat, racing. your eyes snap up, wide and fearful, and you watch the way her lip curls, all the loose, happy feeling from the wine erased in seconds. “you’re kidding me, y/n.” 

“i’ll clean it up-” 

“are you serious?” her voice cuts through you, one hand raising and you flinch, lowering your gaze. “you can’t even pour a drink right?” 

all your hope sinks low, drowns deep. you keep still as your mom berates you, “are you six years old? you can’t watch what you’re doing? do you know how expensive that glass was?” 

“i’m sorry,” your head lowers, every muscle tense. she throws her hands in the air, a sardonic smile on her face. 

“sorry. sure. no, no i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t raise you right. i was a single mother, working my hardest to keep this roof over your head, and you-” 

the phone you left on the counter buzzes with a text. in a panic, your head jerks towards the sound, then back to your mom, and you watch her turn towards it. you’re not fast enough - you reach for it, want to shove it back into your pockets, curse yourself for being so stupid - but it’s too late. his name sits at the top of your notifications, cheol <3 and she sees it. she scoffs, caustic and angry. “of course,” her tone is light. like she expected it. like it doesn’t even really matter, but the words feel sharp all the same. “that’s why, right? that’s why your head isn’t in it? that’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? the one you spent christmas with? you just can’t wait to get back to him, that’s why you aren’t paying attention.”

her hands on the kitchen towel are tight, mouth twisting. “mom-” your sister tries to speak, but your mom cuts her off, throwing the towel down on the counter. 

“we were having a good time, you know. like a family. but you always do this. you don’t care about us. you know your sister was in the hospital only a couple months ago? but you can’t even pay attention to your family for a couple hours. your head’s always somewhere else. you ruin it all. you’re just like your father, y/n.” 

you keep your expression clear. your mother backs away, shaking her head, sighing. quietly, stiffly, you say, “careful where you step,” as she walks past you, ignoring you. 

clench, unclench. clench, unclench. your eyes burn but your sister is right there, and she deserves better. you inhale through your nose then breath out slowly from your mouth. 

“y/n-” your sister tries to get up from her chair, but you put a hand up, cutting a sharp glare at her. 

“sit down. you’re gonna step on glass. don’t move.” you soften your voice at the end, trying to unclench your jaw. “i don’t want you to get hurt. stay there, okay?” 

you clean the glass. your sister bites her lip and rounds her shoulders, staring at her hands in her lap. when you’re sure the floor is clear, you walk to her, gently pull her against you, her head resting against your chest. “i’m sorry, berry.” 

she shakes her head, arms wrapped around your waist. “it’s not your fault.” she lifts her head to look at you. “you know that, right?” 

you should. it was an accident. 

but you were so close. so close to being enough. so close to having one good evening, without mistakes, without stepping out of line. you can almost taste it, what it could be like. 

what a fucking joke. 

you tuck your chin against your sister’s head, humming your acknowledgement. “go call your friends,” you say, softly. “tell them happy new years, hm?” 

your sister goes to her room, and you collapse into the chair, running a hand against your face. anger thrums under your skin, the devil on your shoulder whispering break it all. fuck it, why not? shatter every glass. every plate. then walk away. 

you’re just like your father, y/n. 

god, you should know better by now. twenty-one is too old to still be this gullible, to be this fucking naive, to think you can still make it work. still change your mom’s opinion of you. to still think she might give a shit about you, that you might even be capable of getting away with not making any mistakes just so she might look at you like she did when you were still young and your father was still around. before he walked out. before it all went to fucking shit. 

the worst part, is that you can’t stop thinking about one week ago, sitting in seungcheol’s home, with his parents so eager to talk to you, barely letting you walk two steps without appearing with something to eat, or to hand you a blanket in case you were cold, or to offer a drink. how his dad gave you a hug before you left and his mom sent you off with a pint of peeled fruit for the trip back, promising to send seungcheol back to the dorms with plenty of packed banchans to share with you, that she’ll make extra seasoned cucumbers just for you. 

you grind the heel of your palms against your eyes. how could you possibly subject seungcheol to something like this? air that fractures, tension that creeps around every corner of this haunted fucking house. the ghost of your childhood lingers in the living room only to be slashed through by the reality of how you grew up. 

when you were little, everything must’ve glowed. golden, lovely. but the paint on the walls is cracked. the cabinet doors are always a little crooked because there’s no one to fix the screws they’re barely hanging on by. seungcheol’s home is lived in, loved, while your house is deteriorating, falling in on itself. 

the difference is so stark, it’s laughable. 

seungcheol, the product of affection and care and assurance, who spends money like it means nothing, who calls his mom at least once a week just to see what she’s up to, who is gentle even when you’re rough and careless. who doesn’t push even when you shut him out, who looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. 

and you. with your mother’s disdain ringing in your ears, and your father’s footsteps echoing in the entire house, through your entire life, the sound of being shut out and left behind. unwanted. of never being enough. 

your breath shudders. seungcheol deserves better than you. you don’t fit into a life like his. you waited that entire weekend for the other shoe to drop, and here it is. here, not there, in his home with his pictures on the wall, photo albums thick with photos from when he was a baby. 

where he is, all your worries slide off your shoulders. where he is, you can take a full breath, lungs filled with relief. the world fades into the background. but you… 

all the days you spent working till far too late, but he stayed up to walk you home, just to see you. you watched the bags grow under his eyes, but you liked seeing him so much that you pretended not to notice. all the gifts you refused, even when he pouted and promised that he just wanted to get you something nice, but you felt a strange sort of jealousy rip through you at how effortlessly he spent his money, without even a second thought. all the fights you picked, that he refused to fall into, so rarely ever arguing with you, smothering you in kisses until you forgot what you were fighting about. doing it again, and again, and again, testing his patience, searching for that temper he so famously has with everyone but you.  

all the cracks you created, in the past year of being selfish enough to want him, forming into ledges you know you’ll jump off of. 

two weeks later, you call seungcheol and tell him it’s over. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

you wake surrounded by seungcheol’s warmth. your eyes blink slowly open, still heavy with sleep as you adjust to your surroundings, hazy thoughts gathering until you remember you slept over in seungcheol’s room. judging from the light pouring in through the windows, it’s much later than when you typically wake up, something you choose to attribute to how late you were up last night, and not the fact that you’re still in seungcheol’s arms. 

he’s awake. you can tell, considering he’s trying very hard not to move. but you’re not ready to face him, so you keep still too, ignoring how comfortable it is to lean against him, to sink into sheets that smell entirely like him. if he knows you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything. 

neither of you want to leave this moment. 

you can hear his parents shuffling around the kitchen downstairs, the occasional burst of laughter from his dad. his mom is much quieter, but you know she’s likely to be smiling too. you only met them less than a handful of times - twice, to be exact - but their love was palpable. it shows. it shows because seungcheol exists. 

eventually, you know you have to get up. you shift in the bed, bracing yourself to look at him, but nothing could prepare you for the way seungcheol looks in the morning. rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, his cheeks a little puffy as he lies on his side, looking at you. you’re still conscious of his hand resting on your stomach, where it slid to after you moved onto your back. 

“hi,” his voice is gravelly from disuse, deep enough to send your pulse running. without thinking, your hand lifts to his chest, sliding up behind his neck, fingers threading through the ends of his hair. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, a pleased hum escaping him. 

you should pull away. 

you don’t want to, though. 

“hi,” you whisper back, his eyes opening at the sound of your voice. like this, it feels like there’s only you and him. no past, no future. just now. 

your sister was right. around him, you can only think of yourself. of what you want. 

him. 

there’s a clanging noise in the kitchen that startles you both, jolting upright and away from each other. seungcheol coughs, hands tangling in the sheets before shaking them off, embarrassed. 

“you can wash up first,” he suggests, dragging his hand through his unruly hair. you decide its best if you do just that. 

within thirty minutes, you’re both washed up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and downstairs, where seungcheol’s dad has managed to make breakfast, despite it being well past noon. the clanging was apparently his dad digging for a specific pan and clumsily dropping half of them out of their overstuffed kitchen cabinet, something you’re fairly certain seungcheol has mentioned as something they should really organize since long before you even dated. his parents (well, his dad) greets you brightly, and his mom gives you a kind smile, eyes crinkling the same way seungcheol’s does. 

you awkwardly bow your head in return. they let the two of you eat alone, having been up much earlier than both of you, and when breakfast is over, seungcheol washes the dishes while you dry. it’s quiet, monotonous. 

without looking at you, seungcheol admits, “i’m really glad you came.” his head turns towards you. “and stayed.” 

me too. the words are on the tip of your tongue, more honest than you’ve been with yourself for years. your lips part, and- 

“cheol-ah,” his dad comes into the kitchen, and you almost drop the plate you’re drying, seungcheol’s quick reflexes helping to catch it. you freeze, panicked, but his dad just laughs, sheepish. “sorry. didn’t mean to scare you. cheol, can you come help me look at the garage door real quick? that thing’s been half-broken for months.” 

you don’t realize how tight your grip is on the plate until seungcheol is gently prying it from your fingers, setting it on the table. he casts a worried look at you, before turning back to his dad. “yeah, sure.” he turns back to you, head ducking until you’re eye level. “wait in the living room? we can leave after.” 

you nod, following him from the kitchen into the living room, where his mom is sitting on the couch, wearing her glasses and scrolling through her phone. like it’s second nature, her hand stretches out, so that her husband’s hands tangle with hers for a minute, a small, sweet exchange, before he heads down the hall towards the garage. 

“sit,” seungcheol’s hand is firm against your back, nudging you towards the couch. “i’ll be right back.” 

his mom looks up from her phone, adjusting her glasses. she smiles, lowering her phone. “sit, dear. they’ll probably be awhile. his dad’s been trying to fix that door for ages.” 

you nod. except you can’t seem to move, body frozen in place. you can’t explain the way the tension starts to leak in. anxiety bleeds into you, lacing tension through your shoulders, stomach twisting into knots. your feet are rooted to the ground, watching seungcheol disappear around the corner. you should sit down. your brain reminds you, twice. stop awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. don’t just stand there. sit down. 

his mom tilts her head at you, concern beginning to form between her brows. “y/n?” 

do you think your parents like me? 

they love you. like i knew they would. 

when you look at her, you almost want to apologize. but apologizing would mean admitting that you’ve been here before, that you came into their house and ate their food and drank out of their glasses and slept in their son’s childhood bedroom and let them see the way the son they love so dearly, loved you, only to rip his heart out two weeks later when you ran from him. ran from this, precisely this, this house with their family photos lining the shelves, an old quilt tossed over the arm of the couch, family dvds visible through the glass of the tv stand. 

five years have passed in between. you’re no longer a student clinging to every paycheck, carefully calculating what you need to give up this month in order to pay off the tuition, and smart enough now to stop going home and letting old wounds tear open every time you visit your mother. you have a bank account padded with enough money to cleanly pay off your sister’s tuition every semester, and your own apartment, with a cup you can designate as yours, and a mug you can label as your sister’s, and a fridge you can decorate with print-outs of photos you’ve taken with her. you can be different. you can be stable. reliable. 

but the instant seungcheol left your side, you felt yourself start to unravel. you wonder if it’s right of you to want this. if it’s fair for you to dare to come back into seungcheol’s home and stand in front of his mother, and ask of her to accept you again, even after all the damage you did. 

would any rational mother, who dotes on her son the way seungcheol’s mom dotes on him, forgive you? you look like any other flight risk, constantly ready to bolt. never fully unpacked, always one foot out the door. you look like the start to an argument, a series of questions about commitment and history. you look like the beginning of the end. 

can you do that to seungcheol? become the reason he and his parents fight, a never-ending debate on whether or not you’re worth the trouble? you can already hear the echoes in the halls, i love her, seungcheol’s firm resistance even in the face of straining his relationship with his family. stubborn, the one trait you don’t think he inherited from them. 

you can’t do that. maybe you should leave. maybe this was all a mistake, and your instincts were right. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong in a house that actually fits within the definition of home, even if your bones ache with the desire to want it. the audacity to dream of it being yours. 

your breaths come out shallow, soundless. but a mother is as a mother does, perception sharp, and seungcheol’s mom spots it before you even register that breathing is difficult. her expression softens as she stands, setting her glasses aside and stepping towards you. “honey,” she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers brushing against your wrist. “i know.” 

i know. 

i know? 

“i know how hard it is for you,” she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch gentle and warm. her eyes grow wistful, somber. “it’s scary, right? in a house like this?” 

it doesn’t make sense. how could it? seungcheol’s home, seungcheol’s family - this is what normal looks like. you’re the outlier. you’re the one with all the wrong instincts, all of it twisted completely backwards, warding off anything that looks even remotely close to good intentions. every minute, every instance of your friends, of seungcheol, drawing closer, of mingyu feeding you dinners and jeonghan refusing to leave you alone, and joshua lending you clothes - why does it all leave you terrified? 

“i understand.” her eyes cloud, bittersweet. “but do me one favor. let the people who love you, love you. it’s okay.” the way she looks at you feels like string being pulled direct from your heart, tugging loose a mess of emotions that you’ve wrapped tightly, knotted and twisted and tangled as much as you can just to prevent anyone from ever being able to understand you. but she looks at you like she does. like she recognizes the hurt that lays at the center of it all, the damage that’s been done to you, decades worth of pain that you can’t erase or hide no matter how you try. 

you search her gaze, trying to find what you expect. anger, frustration, betrayal, disgust, contempt. anything. the normal things. but there’s only her favor posed as a question, asking you. can you let the people who love you, love you? 

your breath shudders and the tears rush to the surface so fast, you don’t get the chance to stop them. they linger on your waterline as you try to blink them away, hands shaky as you clench, unclench, clench, unclench, head turning when you realize it’s not working. but she brings a hand to your cheek and gently turns you back towards her, eyes sad when she looks at you. 

“it’s okay,” she repeats, lowering her chin and holding your gaze. like she wants to make sure you understand her. “it’s okay, my dear. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to make mistakes. it’s okay to get frustrated and feel jealous and like you’ve been wronged. like the world dealt their hand but they made sure to make yours as bad as it can get. that’s unfair. it is. but…” she inhales deeply, her smile kind, so reminiscent of seungcheol’s that it stings. “but after that. and in between that. it is also okay to feel loved. to be loved. to be taken care of and to do the things that aren’t just borne out of survival. you came back, and i’m grateful, and i hope the next time you feel scared, you just… come home, instead.” 

she says it like here, this place, her, is home for you. like seungcheol and his parents and his family and this house that he grew up in is yours, too. like there’s a space they set aside, waiting for you to return. 

her thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping a stray tear. you make a choked noise, breath shuddering in your chest, lips rolling out of habit, still trying to bite down to stop the crying. to hold it, to not make a scene, not make a sound, to never act out of line. 

“it’s okay,” she whispers, and the sob ruptures out of you, a quick gasp, tears that blur your vision until you’re shaking, seungcheol’s mom pulling you into her shoulder, the same gentle hug you’ve watched her give her son before, replayed a thousand times on the nights you can’t sleep, her hand patting a soothing, slow rhythm on your back. a reminder that she’s here. 

you don’t know how long you stand there. you feel hands pull you away, eyes lifting to find seungcheol, getting only a brief glimpse of his face before he’s tugging you into his chest, holding you tightly. you try to explain, but your voice catches and he hushes you, one hand smoothing your hair down, the other a steady lock against your back, pressing you against him. he whispers comfort against your hair, i love you’s slipped in between, almost like he can’t help it. like he needs you to know. 

you cry into his chest, fingers curled into a tight fist clutching at his shirt. distantly, you hear seungcheol murmur a short conversation with his mom, but his hold doesn’t falter, not once. rocks you against him, pressing kisses against your cheek and burying his nose into your neck. “it’s okay,” he promises, and for the first time, you finally believe him. 

PRESENT DAY | THURSDAY, JANUARY 05, 2023

seungcheol shows up alone on your doorstep. he’s sitting in the hallway when you come home, his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, a faraway stare. 

“you could’ve waited at mingyu’s, you know.” 

his head snaps up at your voice, lips parting in surprise. he clambers to his feet, a little clumsy, one hand placed against the wall to balance himself. “i…” he trails off. his shoulders lower. you know what it is he can’t say. i didn’t want you to run away. 

you don’t blame him for it. you’ve got a pretty strong track record of running first, when it comes to him. always pushing him away. never letting him all the way in. every time he gets close, every time you think you can handle it, flying so close to the sun - the fear wins out. you love him too much to stay. 

but you’ve had a few days to think it over. to replay not only everything his mother said to you, but all of it - from the very start. from the day seungcheol entered your life. 

you unlock your door, seungcheol quietly following in after you. he trails you around even as you shrug off your jacket and set your belongings down, like being even a step away means he might lose sight of you. you stop inside your kitchen, finally turning to face him, bracing your hands against the countertop. 

his eyes don’t leave you. he’s still hurt, you can tell. for which reason, you’re not sure. because you broke up with him two weeks after new years, five years ago? because you did it without giving him a proper explanation, did it just shy of your one year anniversary? because when you arguably needed someone the most, you let your phone die while your friends spent the night searching for you, worried sick out of their minds, and instead of being grateful for him wanting to help, you were cruel to him? 

because, even after letting him come back into your life, even after calling him your friend, even after sleeping in his bed again, crying in his mom’s arms, crying in his arms, you left him on read for the past four days? 

he had every right to resent you, when you broke up. to never want to see you again. to move on, find someone better, more suited, less fucked in the head. but the instant you re-entered his life - a sheer coincidence - he made every effort to stay. even when you hurt him. 

what must it be like, to be soft around the edges even when you are hurt? 

he moves only when he sees the tears well up in your eyes again, so quick to come to you, brush a thumb against your cheek, wiping the tears away. “baby,” he starts, but you shake your head, one hand coming up to hold his wrist, grip just a little too tight, trembling. 

you stare up at him. he looks helpless, could never stand to see you cry. would do anything to make it better. 

“i’m sorry,” you’re barely audible, say it twice, knowing you probably owe him a lifetime of apologies. “i’m sorry, seungcheol.” 

he shakes his head, voice shaky when he tries to joke, “what did i tell you about my name?” 

you let out a watery laugh. “i didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

“i know.” 

“i just needed some time to think.” 

“i know, baby.” 

you drop your head to his chest, arms hanging limp at your sides, weary. but he pulls you to him, flush against his body, your arms wrapping around his waist. so sturdy, choi seungcheol. dependable. in all these years, he never changed. his head rests against yours, cheek pressing against your hair. “i didn’t think you were running again, you know,” he murmurs. “but you get into your head, sometimes. get stuck there, and i… i didn’t want you to be alone.” 

the two of you fall into silence, entwined around each other in the dim lighting of your kitchen. quietly, you admit, “i stopped going home. couple years ago.” 

he pulls away to look at you. he’s so focused, attention entirely on you. you continue, “leaving didn’t hurt any less.” you smile bitterly. “‘cause now she can really say i’m just like my father.” 

his brows pull in. “he abandoned his kids, y/n. kids who needed him. then your mom forced you into the part, because she decided not to move on and blame her children instead of the person who left. you took care of your sister. you worked three times as hard as anybody around you, just so you could go to and stay in college. you were there when your sister got into her accident. you’re the one putting her through college. you’re the one she goes to when she needs someone. you’re nothing like him, y/n. you’ve never once abandoned someone when they needed you.” 

“i left you,” you say, and his grip on you tightens. 

“don’t take this the wrong way, baby, but i didn’t need you.” he brushes your hair back, cupping the back of your neck. “i wasn’t a child, and i had a support system. i wanted you. even if you didn’t want me. even if you still don’t.” 

the words escape you before you can stop them: “how could i not want you?” 

he smiles, unable to stop it. his thumb swipes against your skin, slow and soothing. his smile falls slowly, something more intense stirring as you lift your chin. he can sense it, his gaze hooded as he lowers his head to meet you, nose brushing against yours. his hand slips to your side, grip a touch firmer, pulling you to him. you’re so close that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

when he kisses you, he does it slowly, a soft sigh escaping as soon as your lips brush. warmth glows from inside you, spreading through your limbs, making your fingers tingle. your hands find their way onto seungcheol’s neck, pushing through the hair at his nape, and he crowds you even more against the counter, like he needs you as close as he can get you. you follow, willingly. you need him as close as you can get him. 

when he pulls away, it’s only because both of you need air. his breaths are a little uneven and his eyes are closed, forehead pressed against yours. “yours,” he mumbles, not an ounce of shyness in the way he says it. confident, assured. like there’s nothing else he can be. “always been yours. always wanna be yours.” his eyes flutter open and he smiles at you, and you feel a little (a lot) like you could melt, grateful suddenly for his hands keeping you upright. 

your fingers brush against his hair lightly, and he leans into your touch. one hand slides down against his neck, then up against his cheek, cupping his face as you stare at him. you want to look at him forever. long lashes, thick eyebrows, a pretty nose, pouty lips. seungcheol has always been handsome, so utterly undeniably so. heartstoppingly so. 

he presses a kiss to your palm. “i love you.” his hand comes to rest over yours, pulling you gently away so he can lean towards you again, nosing against your cheek. lips press against your cheek, against your jaw, then find their way back to your lips, soft and chaste. “i love you,” he repeats, reverent. “always.” 

seungcheol is the safest place you have ever been, you think. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 2023 

“okay,” mingyu carefully adjusts the projector, making sure it’s well balanced as it lights up your living room wall. “i think we’re good.” 

“i don’t understand why we can’t just go to your place,” you whine. “if you all just wanted to watch tv, there’s an actual tv right across the hall.” 

“that’s not the point,” joshua ruffles your hair, teasing. “the point is to be here. with you.” 

“you can be here, with me, over there-” 

“will you just accept the very extremely late housewarming gift?” nayeon complains, and you clamp your mouth shut, though seungcheol coos at the small pout on your face. 

“we all split this, by the way,” jeonghan gestures to each person in the room, bar you. “so don’t just give seungcheol special treatment for it. or mingyu, for that matter.” 

“i deserve special tr- mingyu?” seungcheol’s brain catches up to jeonghan’s sentence. he looks affronted, eyes widening, and jeonghan smirks when you narrow your eyes at him. 

“mingyu,” jeonghan confirms, snickering as seungcheol sulks, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch. you run your hand through his hair to appease him, seungcheol leaning into your touch, eyelids fluttering. you bite your cheek. he’s so easy, sometimes. 

your friends settle in for the movie, jeonghan taking the space on seungcheol’s other side, while joshua, mingyu, and nayeon get comfortable on the floor. with your feet tucked up on the couch, joshua leans back, tilting his head towards you. “hi.” 

you peer down at him, unable to prevent a smile. “hi, shua.” 

his eyes crinkle in the corners, happy. “for the record, i’m very glad you didn’t turn out to be a hallucination.” 

you roll your eyes, but you lean down, whispering, as if it’s a secret, “me too.” 

he grins. the movie starts, and you lean back into your cushions. seungcheol not so subtly shifts closer to you, and with a smile, you curl into him, pressing into his warmth. 

you glance up at him. trace the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. in the past half-year or so, he’s put a careful distance between you and him, watching from the sidelines as you slowly reach for your old friends. content to see you as long as you’re smiling, the roll of your eyes around jeonghan, the joking with shua, the fond exasperation with mingyu. it isn’t until now that he’s started to beg for your attention, your closeness. 

all this time, he’s just been trying to bring you home. it didn’t matter if you were his, as long as you were here. 

you are, though. here, and his. 

your hand finds his, fingers intertwining. you press your cheek against his shoulder, murmur for only him to hear. “i love you, cheol.” 

he tilts his head towards you, gaze meeting yours, soft and adoring. 

“yours,” he promises. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2022

SEUNGCHEOL IS STUBBORN. and persistent. you knew this from the get-go, but living through it again is something else entirely altogether. 

[11:28am] seungcheol: have you tried the bakery like two blocks down? i think you’d really like it [11:28am] seungcheol: lots of black sesame stuff  [12:36pm] seungcheol: there’s also a ramen place nearby [12:36pm] seungcheol: mingyu really likes it, so that’s how you know it’s good  [02:12pm] seungcheol: saw a stray cat [02:12pm] seungcheol: looked round [02:12pm] seungcheol: probably all the neighbors are feeding it [02:12pm] seungcheol: maybe i should buy cat treats too?

seungcheol has never had any qualms with double texting. or in this case, double-triple-quadruple-whatever texting. it doesn’t matter that it’s a saturday and he probably knows you’re awake, incapable of sleeping in, your body too accustomed to waking up at ungodly early hours for work even years after graduating, yet you still aren’t texting him back. nothing in his messages even suggests he’s upset that you’re not replying, though just as he likely knows you’re awake and reading his messages, you know he’s probably whining in a group chat to mingyu, jeonghan, and joshua. 

[03:08pm] y/n: picture?  [03:08pm] seungcheol: [image.jpg]

the cat is round. it’s cute and orange, lounging on someone’s doorsteps. it looks awfully at peace, sunbathing with its eyes closed, and it makes you smile. 

[03:08pm] seungcheol: cute, right?  [03:09pm] y/n: yeah  [03:09pm] seungcheol: are you home? 

you hesitate. you pull yourself off the couch and stand in front of the mirror you’d hung near your door. an old t-shirt, sweatpants that you thought were just too big but now that you’re looking at them again, they might actually be joshua’s from years back, and your hair still tangled from not combing it when you woke up. 

the small luxuries of no longer being in severe debt and solo living: you can look like a complete and utter slob, with no one to report to. 

you stare at your phone again. seungcheol walks fast. your phone drops to the couch while you’re tugging your shirt off, rummaging through your dresser for one that is moderately less ancient and infinitely less wrinkled, then head to your bathroom to yank a brush through your hair. you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, then glance down at the sweatpants. 

you consider changing out of those, too, but no one lounges in their own apartment in jeans, and you don’t want to look like you changed just for him. a strangled sound escapes you, and you give up and go back to your phone, picking it up off the couch. 

you hold it, frowning. you can just say no to him. how is he gonna know if you’re actually home or not? as far as he’s concerned, you could be busy. you could be at nayeon’s. or you could be visiting your sister. or- 

fuck it. 

[03:18pm] y/n: yeah

you stare at the screen. seungcheol’s response is immediate. 

[03:18pm] seungcheol: can i come over? 

you stare harder. this might actually be worse than the first time around when you were friends. no, actually, you’re sure this is worse. 

[03:19pm] y/n: ok 

you throw your phone back onto the couch and pace the length of the room, back and forth. there’s nervous energy just bouncing through you, waiting for him to knock. is your apartment clean? you do a quick scan, but you honestly don’t own much, which makes it difficult to be messy to begin with. do you set out a glass of water? you don’t for nayeon, she just grabs it on her own when she’s here. but is that because you’re close, or because you don’t know any better? 

your head snaps to the door when you hear the knock. you inhale a steadying breath, then calmly walk to it, bracing yourself as you open it. 

every time you see seungcheol, it’s like your heart goes back to 2016. you come face to face with his chest first, gaze slowly rising up to his face, to his dimpled smile, his long lashes. there’s a tiny voice in your head deeply unhappy about how handsome he irrefutably is. there’s also a tiny voice in your head deeply happy about how handsome he irrefutably is. you firmly ignore both. 

“hey,” he beams. one hand lifts a plastic bag. “i come bearing gifts.” his smile drops, remembering how little you liked gifts years ago. “snacks,” he clarifies quickly. “baked goods. i mean, not that i baked them. they’re from the bakery i was telling you about. the one with the black sesame stuff. i stopped by. and they’re not even that expensive, which is partly why they’re so good. and- uh- can i come in?” 

you unfreeze, taking a step back to let him in. his eyes wander immediately, hand lowering as he shuts the door, toeing his shoes off in the entryway, nudging them neatly to one side. your walls are blank, your apartment hardly any different than the last time he’d been here. a couch in front of a coffee table, no tv. just a small stack of old, yellowed books on a shelf in the corner, trinkets from your sister and nayeon from over the years scattered in between. a polaroid nayeon had taken with you, propped against the books. 

he gestures towards it, before moving to set the bag down at your kitchen table. “when’d you guys take that one?” 

you don’t know what to do with your hands. plates seems like a good enough idea, so you walk past him to rummage through your cabinets. “after i got my first real job,” you tell him. “she made me celebrate.” 

he glances at you. “you deserved it.” 

you shrug, pulling the plates down and setting them on the table. standing next to seungcheol is all warmth, radiating off him. he’s always run hot, and a quick scan of him tells you that you should probably crank the air conditioning a little higher. you start to move towards the thermostat, then stop again. “do you want water?” 

he nods. “thanks.” 

you fill a glass for him and hand it to him before heading to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature. he watches you as you go - you can feel his eyes on you the whole time, and when you turn back to him, his eyes have drifted down to your pants and their rolled up hems, his eyebrows drawn in a little, lips tugging downwards. 

“those are shua’s.” a statement, not a question. 

you look down at your pants, like you didn’t already know you’re wearing them. “oh.” 

seungcheol doesn’t continue. when you look back at him, he’s still staring at your sweatpants, frowning. like the rolled up ends are a personal affront to him. 

you have no reason to explain yourself. you do it anyway. “i thought they were maybe, just, i bought the wrong size,” you try, stumbling over your words. “but i guess i just- forgot. or.. i mean, they all look the same, to me.” 

seungcheol blinks. “oh,” he echoes you. “yeah. maybe.” he looks sheepish, but finally lifts his gaze back to your face. “you just used to wear joshua’s sweatpants all the time.” 

seungcheol was always a jealous guy, huffy whenever you got too affectionate with mingyu, pouty whenever he found you hanging out at joshua’s with nayeon, without him. but never possessive, only ever a bit whiny and needy, always wanting your attention the most. he didn’t mind how close you were with them, as long as you promised he was your favorite. with that, there was never any contest. 

he never said anything about you wearing joshua’s sweatpants, but when you started dating, you suddenly discovered your closet was a lot fuller, seungcheol’s sweatshirts somehow finding their way in between your clothes. he knew you were only wearing joshua’s clothes because joshua snuck them into your closet as his own way of making sure you stayed warm, since you refused to accept gifts, and he didn’t want you to spend what little money you made on new clothes. but that never stopped seungcheol from wanting to see you in his clothes, instead. 

you always obliged. joshua’s pants were useful, sure, a well-intentioned hand-me-down. but seungcheol’s clothes smelled like him. which is why you left all of them in a box outside his door after the breakup. it was too easy to want to keep them. to breathe them in, to hold onto something that didn’t belong to you. 

keeping joshua’s clothes didn’t feel like crossing a line. you could still pretend you didn’t remember who they belonged to, until you really did stop remembering who they belonged to. you kick idly at the ground, watching the hems shake, though they don’t unroll. “he meant well,” you finally say. “letting me keep his old clothes.” 

“i think he didn’t know how else to help,” seungcheol responds quietly. his hands have stilled, no longer emptying pastries out of the bag. he simply watches you, and you wish he wouldn’t. not when there’s no one else in this suddenly stifling apartment. 

you move back towards him, despite wanting to run. you’re the one who agreed to being friends. you’re the one who told him he could come over. so you can’t run, on sheer principle. 

using the dining table between you as a buffer, you rummage through all the things he bought, ranging from cakes to breads to cookies. a little bit of everything. not because he doesn’t know what you like - because you see all your favorites, too - but because seungcheol always wants you to try everything. wants you to have everything. 

“that’s not his fault,” you try for casual when you answer him, picking up the melon bread and setting it to the side. “i didn’t want help.” seungcheol eyes the melon bread. his favorite. one corner of his lips hike up. 

he takes the sesame ball and sets it on your side of the table. switches the topic. “are you settling into the apartment well?” 

“yeah. mingyu keeps finding new ways to feed me. he must get paid really well, because i think most of his paycheck goes to buying extra food for me,” you huff a laugh. you still can’t quite look at him, so you don’t know how he reacts, but the two of you continue splitting pastries. back and forth, one at a time. 

“he likes it,” seungcheol shrugs. “i think he feeds wonwoo, too.” 

that’s when you glance up, curious. “have you met him?” 

“wonwoo?” seungcheol hums, nodding. “yeah, we play games together sometimes. he’s a nice guy. a little strange,” he frowns. “but in a good way.” 

you bite your cheek to hide a smile, but seungcheol catches it anyways. “what?” 

“nothing,” you shake your head. “mingyu said the same thing when i asked. a little weird, but in a good way. he said-” you cut yourself off, hesitating. “he said.. wonwoo was a little like me.” 

seungcheol studies you. by now all of the pastries have been split - all your favorites on your side, hand-picked by him. all his favorites on his side, hand-picked by you. like habit. muscle memory. 

you shift, uncomfortable. then he smiles, so disarmingly, nose scrunching when he declares, “wonwoo’s weirder. trust me.” 

a laugh stumbles out of you, so surprising that you don’t catch the way seungcheol’s eyes light up at the sound. he craves it, loves seeing you smile, loves even more to make you laugh. in college it was easy. giggles would spill out at almost anything he said, and you’d give him adoring smiles whenever he pouted and sulked over something. your touches came easy, too, even if you pretended they didn’t. but he remembers. they weren’t grand, not the bear hugs he’d give you, or the dramatic way mingyu liked to lift you off the ground. your touches were smaller, lighter - your hand running through his hair, pushing it out of his face, or the teasing tap of your finger to his cheek. your head, leaning against his shoulder as you drifted to sleep, and your hands always searching for his on instinct. 

your love was quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you. you were quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you still do. 

JUNIOR YEAR | SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2015

it happens in a moment of peace. 

your shoulders are relaxed, head tipped back in laughter from something he says. seungcheol is good at that - making you forget. forget to be stressed. forget all the responsibilities. forget to put him at arm’s length. for just a second in time, you can just be. 

but the moment lasts longer than a second. your laughter subsides, your gaze meets his, and something in the air changes, sparks. a low tension that feels good enough to ignore every warning sign you’ve ever placed on every wall you’ve ever built. 

for a couple extra, selfish seconds, you want to keep forgetting. 

he’s close, closer than you realized, and you don’t know when that started happening, either. how his space blends into yours, until every brush of his skin, his clothes, him, feels natural. it would be stranger for him to be a step away, a polite distance, and stranger still for him not to lean into the spaces you let him (and only him) occupy. 

when he leans toward you, you don’t question it. when his eyes drop to your lips, a little hooded, longing, your heart rate kicks up in anticipation. you want it. you didn’t know you wanted it, not this bad, not until now, when he’s showing you what he could give you if you just let him. 

you feel his hands brush your waist, a featherlight touch, like he knows you scare easy. of course he knows. seungcheol knows more about you than you care to admit. he pulls you in, slow, meeting you halfway. his head tilts, nose brushing against yours. you breathe him in, almost let your eyes flutter shut, almost give into the overwhelming desire to know what those plush lips would feel like on yours, and maybe if seungcheol had been even a beat faster, you both would’ve found out. 

but he isn’t, and you snap out of it, pulling away. at the very last second, backing out of the one and possibly the only thing you’ve ever wanted this badly. 

but you’re still bruising. you’re still reeling from seeing your dad and his new family, even if seungcheol burned the letters almost a month ago. being this close to seungcheol feels a little like having that sore spot pressed on, even if you can’t pinpoint why. 

he calls your name, gentle, neither a question nor an accusation, and you look away from him. but seungcheol is stubborn, and determined, and so very, very close. you can’t blame him for taking what he probably thinks is his first and last chance to tell you. 

“i get it,” he says, voice soft. never loud. not with you. unbearably understanding, his tone just shy of being coddling, except seungcheol is anything but. “i understand. i swear. but we both know what almost just happened, so you should also know i mean it when i say i like you, and i’m not going anywhere, y/n. we can go as slow as you want. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here.” 

so you tell him, in no uncertain terms, that you want to stay friends. he smiles, and you’re too young to realize that friends is a joke. friends don’t almost kiss. friends don’t look at seungcheol the way you look at him even as you’re turning him down. 

you want him, and you’re obvious about it, and you’re scared, and he knows it. 

knows it enough to show up at your door the next day like nothing’s changed. 

everything’s changed. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2022

“you know what you should do?” jeonghan observes the walls of your apartment. 

“kick you out?” 

“decorate,” he ignores you, getting way too comfortable on your couch. “that’s what this place is missing. well, besides a tv.” 

“i have a laptop,” you argue. “and nayeon’s netflix password.” 

“we can get you one of those little projectors,” mingyu suggests. “then you can just hook it up to the projector and watch it on the wall. way cheaper than a tv.” 

“i don’t need-” mingyu is lucky he’s been feeding you for months now. you let out a strangled sound. “if you want a tv, go back to your own apartment. it’s literally right there.” 

you really can’t figure out how they all ended up here. it wasn’t even mingyu who entered first, which would at least be reasonable, considering he’s your neighbor, but you’re pretty sure it’s jeonghan who shouldered his way into your apartment unannounced, and within twenty minutes, the rest of them had followed. 

“we could put a shelf here,” joshua taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“i don’t want to put holes in the wall-” 

“cheol can help you patch them later,” jeonghan waves you off, like having seungcheol become your personal handyman is just the natural solution. sitting beside him, seungcheol nods his head vigorously. 

you’re going to develop a headache, at this rate. nayeon sits at your dining table with a hand over her mouth, hiding what you’re sure is a shit-eating grin. she’s loving this. fucking traitor. 

“in fact,” jeonghan’s grin is wicked. “i bet the labor day sales next week will be great for finding shelves. you could go to ikea.” 

“and bring cheol,” nayeon calls out. “he can help you carry everything. plus he’s got a car.” 

“you can’t just offer him up-” 

“i’m okay with it,” seungcheol cuts in quickly, and you close your eyes, trying to find the last thread of your patience. 

“excellent,” jeonghan claps his hands, pleased. “it’s a date.” 

seungcheol turns pink and you refuse to give jeonghan the satisfaction of hearing you say it’s not a date, because you know that’s exactly what he wants to hear, and he probably has something worse lined up in response. so you bite your tongue and march into your kitchen, yanking open your fridge in the hopes of finding something to eat away the nerves spontaneously fluttering inside you, while your friends noisily move onto other conversation topics, filling your small living room with their nonsense. 

nayeon joins you by the fridge, nudging your foot with hers. “isn’t it nice?” 

you shove your head further into your fridge. “isn’t what nice?” 

“friends,” she says plainly. you straighten, turning to look at her. she’s watching you carefully, and you glance past her to your living room, where mingyu has taken up residence across the floor, and joshua sits beside him, legs stretched out. mingyu is giggling about something he must’ve said, because seungcheol is whining at him, kicking his leg because it’s the only thing within reach. 

“whatever,” you mutter, settling on a yakult and shutting the fridge door. but you peer back over at the boys, and jeonghan meets your eyes, his own half-lidded, already well on his way to falling asleep in the midst of the chaos. he gives you a crooked smile and a two-finger salute. 

the nerves quiet, something fond taking over. a small, hopeful part of you thinks maybe, you could keep this. maybe you could have this, this time. you crawled and scraped your way out of debt and into this nice, new apartment, with vinyl flooring and granite counters. you sacrificed everything to get here. gave up everything just to find a sense of stability. normalcy. 

your gaze drifts back to seungcheol. he’s sulking on the couch while mingyu and joshua poke fun at him, arms crossed over his chest. he looks right at home, like he belongs there, pouting on your couch in your apartment. you don’t need new shelves, or decorations, posters and plants and fairy lights. 

still, you can’t bring yourself to admit it yet. 

that the only thing really missing from your apartment, from your life, is him. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 04, 2022

you actually really don’t recall agreeing to this. 

seungcheol is bright as ever, pushing a cart beside you as the two of you wander through the ikea. you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be looking for, but it seems seungcheol came with ideas in mind, because he stops every so often to consider one item or another. 

he turns to you. “do you want a rug?” you stare blankly back at him. “for your living room floor,” he elaborates. “it might look nice. but maybe ikea isn’t the place to find a rug. we could probably get one at target or something.” 

“uh,” you say intelligently. “...sure.” 

he smiles, the one that makes your brain glitch a little, and you’re not entirely sure you’re going to survive what is supposed to be a harmless trip through ikea. you barely survived the trip here, in seungcheol’s luxury car with the cup of coffee he’d picked up on his way over. watching seungcheol turn his steering wheel is something you should not be thinking about, because seungcheol, as you have so firmly placed him, is your friend. 

god, he stresses you out. 

you follow after him, glancing around the store and their room mock-ups, just for anything to focus on that isn’t him. seungcheol points out various pieces of furniture, undeterred even when you shake your head each time. your apartment has all the necessities. you’re also not completely convinced another armchair will even fit in your apartment anyways. 

when you hit the cafeteria, seungcheol parks the empty cart next to a table. “wait here.” 

he doesn’t give you the option to go with him or say otherwise, because he’s turned and joined the line before you can even open your mouth. you roll the cart back and forth idly, then sit down, glancing around the room. there’s a lot of parents here, couples young and old, sitting at tables or grabbing utensils. 

like always, your eyes find seungcheol. his broad back, posture straight, one hand in his pocket while his other hand rests against his mouth, pointer finger tracing his lip mindlessly as he scans his options. he’s in a plain black tee today, partially tucked into a loose pair of jeans. his sunglasses are hooked in his collar, drawing the neckline down slightly. 

even in such simple clothes, he draws attention. customers passing by him give him a second glance when they catch sight of his face. 

you wish seungcheol was just handsome. it’d be easier if the physical was the only thing drawing you to him. but seungcheol is a good many things - polite, if a little impatient. stubbornly responsible, from his finances to his workout routine. habitual, but still ever-willing to follow along in his friends’ antics. his temper around others short-circuits a bit, but with you, he was gentle. affectionate, prone to clinging to you whenever you let him. and you always let him. 

seungcheol is the most dangerous for you to want for. his sweet smile, soft touch in spite of all his underlying strength. so eager to help, as long as you’ll have him. so willing to take whatever you have to give. around him, the world had a tendency to melt away. 

but around you, his world drew sharper into focus. always something to take care of, another hole tearing open in an already sinking ship. so you tried to keep him out of it. your train wreck of a life wasn’t his responsibility to fix, but he’d try, anyways. 

you still remember. you didn’t fight with seungcheol often, at least not in ways where seungcheol fought back. seungcheol always took your anger and met it with calm, soothing your raised bristles with a sweep of his hand through your hair, a soft press of his lips to yours. “okay,” he’d say. “i’m sorry. let me make it up to you, hm?” 

the night of your sister’s car accident was the only time his temper spiked with you. the only time he ever raised his voice, and even then, he wasn’t shouting so much as trying to be heard over your stubborn refusal to admit you might’ve been wrong. 

you hadn’t come back to the dorms that night. no one could get ahold of you, at first because you weren’t paying attention to your phone, then later because it had died and you didn’t have a charger on you. eventually, hospital staff dug one out for you, but it wasn’t till well past 3am that you finally managed to get your phone up to an acceptable battery percentage. 

you’d flipped through all your messages and missed calls. you knew you should call them back. or at least tell them you were okay. but doing so would invite questions, and you were so tired. the nurses let you stay overnight because you were immediate family, yet you couldn’t sleep. not with your baby sister laying in hospital sheets, an iv running through her arm. lucky, they’d called her. compared to what could’ve been, she came out of the accident fairly unscathed. 

she’d been so young. when you look at her even now, you still see her when she was an infant. a toddler. when she could barely walk and talk. when the accident happened, she’d been only fifteen. 

you’d held your head in your hands and refused to cry. not with the chance of her waking up and seeing you. steady breaths, your hands curling into fists so tight you left marks in your palms. all the things you taught yourself - counting backwards from one hundred, just to keep your emotions under lock. 

when she woke up is when you finally went back to the dorms. you’d fussed over her until she complained, “go away, i’m fine,” and when your mom arrived to the hospital, you slipped out of the room before she could see you. 

you came back to the dorms running on shitty hospital coffee and maybe half a sandwich. when nayeon burst, “where the hell have you been?” you’d muttered, “hospital,” before promptly passing out in your sheets. 

that response hadn’t really gone over well. you woke to seungcheol sitting at your desk, jaw tense. his entire body was lined with anger. the older version of you now recognizes it as worry - worry so bone deep, it forced its way out as frustration. 

still, he’d softened when you sat up, jumping to his feet. “are you okay?” 

“i’m fine.” 

“nayeon said you were at the hospital.” 

you’d stiffened. an old instinct. “my sister got into an accident.” 

seungcheol had reached for you, and you’d shied away, a subtle shift of your blankets, pretending not to see the hurt that flashed through his eyes. “is she okay?” 

“she will be.” 

despite the sleep, the exhaustion remained. all the adrenaline had worn off, the shitty coffee, the half-sandwich. your mind felt blank, but the gears still turned, unable to stop pushing. 

so tired. so worn. 

but for someone like you, stopping wasn’t an option. a hospital meant bills, care, decisions you’d need to make. you didn’t know how much insurance would cover. you couldn’t count on your mom to show up enough to take care of your sister. 

“you should’ve called.” 

maybe it was the years of raising your sister. maybe it was the years of learning how to do it on your own, with no one to show you or help you. of picking up odd jobs by the time you were twelve, or the image of your father and his white picket fence family still splitting open a wound that was never going to close. maybe it was just how tired you felt, all the damn time, but ‘you should’ve’ cut straight to the resentment you tried so hard to live past. 

you don’t really remember what you said to him. you just knew that you’d finally done it, a sick satisfaction tearing through you watching seungcheol lose his patience - i knew it, i knew it, i knew it, you’re tired of me, too - and you wanted that fight. you needed it, no matter how it hurt. even if some part of you felt like it was watching from the outside in, begging you to stop, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

we were worried, y/n, did it ever fucking occur to you? 

maybe, if you let us fucking help, things could be a little easier on you, have you tried that? 

fuck. fuck, y/n, wait. that’s not what i meant - 

i can help. we can help. why don’t you ever let us help? 

i’m sorry. 

let me help. please, baby. 

you have too much pride, you know this. but you’ve always hated letting the curtain draw too wide, letting anyone else see the wreckage of your life. you’d gotten so good at patching back then, you didn’t even notice the foundation had already fallen apart. bandaid on a bullet wound. 

it was the beginning of the end. your vice is starving on an island even with the rescue team on your shores, yet you just keep digging through the forest for something to keep you alive. it’s all you know how to do. 

when seungcheol returns with trays of food, placing them atop the table, you ask, “how much was it?” 

he knows you well enough not to look you in the eye, pretending like splitting utensils and napkins requires his utmost focus. “don’t remember. it’s okay.” 

you want to fight him on it. your eyes flick to the menu screens but they’re too far for you to read the prices. you glance back at him, and he’s deeply invested in arranging the trays as if he’s personally responsible for making ikea into fine dining. 

“okay.” 

his eyes snap to yours. he’s so surprised he forgets to hide it, but covers it with a smile, sliding over a bottle of juice to you. “okay,” he repeats, but he can’t keep the happiness out of it. 

you wish you could tell him. you wish you could rewrite history. say, i’m sorry. it wasn’t your fault. you were right, i scared you that night and i shut you out. i shouldn’t have. but i did it again and again and again, until i made sure you were gone. i’m sorry, seungcheol. it wasn’t fair. 

too little, too late. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2022 

“i can’t believe you went to ikea and bought nothing.” 

jeonghan has said this almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you’re pretty sure you’re gonna start hearing it in your sleep, soon. 

“it was cheaper at target,” you drone, the same thing you’ve said almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you don’t know if it’s good or bad that you’re getting used to being hassled by jeonghan. also, when did your apartment become the default hang-out location? when did it even become a hang-out location? you don’t even own a tv. 

“yeah, yeah. then where is the floating shelf that we agreed on?” 

you wish you had a throw pillow to launch at him. if mingyu wasn’t still feeding you at least once a week, you’d steal one from him. “we didn’t agree to anything, including that ikea trip, actually.” 

jeonghan rolls his eyes, ambling his way over to your couch. he slumps into the cushions, kicking his legs up over seungcheol’s thighs and throwing an arm over his eyes, sighing contently. “at least your couch is comfy.” 

you scoff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. more than you care to admit, you like seeing them there. the atmosphere is mostly quiet today, less ruckus and teasing and more comfortable companionship, with jeonghan already half asleep, seungcheol scrolling through his phone. mingyu sits on the floor by jeonghan, nursing an iced coffee he made seungcheol buy him on the way over. you can hear murmurs from joshua and nayeon chatting at the kitchen table, as you settle yourself on the floor next to mingyu, by seungcheol’s side of the couch. seungcheol peers at you over his phone, giving you a tiny, adorable smile that you can’t help but shyly return. 

“holy shit- oh, fuck,” mingyu startles all of you with his outburst, jeonghan letting out a disgruntled noise. “oh no. sorry- oh my god-” 

seungcheol grabs jeonghan before he can get his fingers on mingyu’s hair. you clap a hand over your mouth when you realize why - half of mingyu’s iced coffee is now on jeonghan’s shirt, having spilled when mingyu got over-excited courtesy of god-knows-what on his phone. 

“at least y/n’s couch is clean,” mingyu tries, bolting to his feet when jeonghan lets out a screech, held back only by seungcheol’s hand on his collar, seungcheol’s other hand held up and away from himself, a grimace on his face from the sticky feeling he must have after grabbing jeonghan the first time around. 

you giggle before you can help yourself, seungcheol’s head snapping to you at the sound. it’s not enough of a distraction that jeonghan can free himself, still prying at seungcheol’s fingers on his collar. 

“alright, relax,” you clamber to your feet, beckoning to jeonghan. “come on. i probably have a shirt you can borrow.” 

“i’m sticky,” jeonghan huffs in disgust, holding his hands away from himself as he looks down at his shirt. seungcheol loosens his hold on jeonghan to let him get up and follow you, seungcheol himself moving to your kitchen sink to rinse his hands off. 

“it’s just coffee,” you roll your eyes, pushing the door open to your bedroom. “you’ll live.” 

jeonghan grumbles, though his complaints peter off as he surveys your room. 

it’s a small, utilitarian space, much like the rest of your apartment. there’s little to even suggest you live here, with a standard, full-size bed sitting atop the simple bedframe seungcheol had built when you first moved in. a nightstand sits to the right of the bed, with a small lamp and a roll of toilet paper that you use in lieu of tissues. the only thing that makes this room yours is the photo you have with your sister on your nightstand, taken by her friend at her high school graduation a few years back. 

your dresser sits on the left side of your room, closer to the door. you pull open a drawer, digging for an old, oversized shirt that probably yet again once belonged to joshua. 

“hm,” jeonghan lets out an amused noise. he’s spotted the teddy bear on your bed, walking over and picking it up, shaking it in your direction. “so you did buy something from ikea.” 

you flush. you hide it by turning back to your drawers, rifling through the clothes to find one that’ll fit him. you know he knows you didn’t buy that bear. jeonghan is too smart for that. 

“seungcheol bought it.” you tell him out loud anyways. 

when you’d hit the kids section that day, your hands had run over the stuffed animals they had, fingers skimming through soft fur. seungcheol must’ve watched you, saw the way you picked up ikea’s trademark brown bear, how you looked at it, a bit wistful. 

you have no need for plush toys. you’re not a child anymore. but it’s cute, and so soft. you’d set it back down, but seungcheol snagged it before you could fully let go. when you’d stared at him questioningly, he’d lied, telling you he was getting it for his niece. 

but a couple weeks later, on a day seungcheol visited by himself - something he’s been doing more and more lately, without all your friends to crowd the apartment - you found the bear tucked into the corner of your couch. he’d left by then, and you don’t really know how he could have possibly hidden it the whole time he was here, but he managed it. 

you never thanked him for it. but you did send him a picture of the bear tucked into your bed, just so he would know that you didn’t throw it out. that you’d just moved it into your bedroom. 

jeonghan leans against your nightstand, tilting his head, observing the bear. you’re pulling out a band tee when, quietly, he mentions, “he never really got over you, you know.” 

you freeze. your grip tightens on the shirt, unable to turn around. 

no one’s talked about it. not outright, at least, except for nayeon, who saw you through the worst of it, all the sleepless nights, the breakdowns that would come out of nowhere. you’d hated yourself for it, convinced your priorities were twisted out of order. how come you can hide most of what hurts when it comes to your father - your mother, even, but the tragedy of your own making has you on your knees at three in the morning, hands curled tight against your chest as you bend your body as small as you can, feeling the pain ricochet through you? 

how can that be, when you were so sure you did the right thing? 

you hear jeonghan move, rounding the bed to walk closer to you. there’s no anger in his voice, no accusation in the way he speaks to you. “he couldn’t, y/n.” 

he lets the words hang in the still air, until you draw the courage to face him, even when you’re unable to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. jeonghan smiles, but it’s sad and knowing, and he looks down at the bear in his hand, fiddling with it. “to be honest,” he lifts his eyes back to yours. “in a way, none of us really did. i mean - you ran away, y/n. you explained nothing, and then you just… left.” 

he looks hurt. more openly than anyone else has looked at you, not mingyu, not joshua. not even seungcheol. jeonghan’s pain is written clear across his face, and you bow your head, the shame sinking you lower. it’s the same feeling that’s colored every single day since you broke up with seungcheol and abandoned the people you called your friends. the people you loved. the people who loved you. 

jeonghan sets the bear down on your bed. “i’m not saying i don’t understand. or that we don’t understand. we knew how hard it was for you with your mom. your dad, too.” his voice falters for a second, and he inhales, slow. “but we could’ve just talked about it. i… i wish you would’ve just talked about it.” 

nothing he says is meant to hurt you. he doesn’t say it to make you feel guilty. but it does, anyway. 

it hurts, anyway. 

gently, jeonghan takes the shirt from your hand, forcing you to look up at him. “he loved you. maybe still does. and i’m not asking you to love him again, but if nothing else…” 

he holds your gaze, half-pleading, half-hoping. “stay, this time. even when it gets hard. especially if it gets hard. because i don’t think any of us can handle it if you leave a second time.” 

JUNIOR YEAR | MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2015

when you told seungcheol you just wanted to be friends after his confession, you sort of expected him to disappear for a little while. or maybe even a long while, until he slowly faded out of your life, moving farther and farther into the distance, until one day, he was simply a speck from a time long past. 

after all, you’ve been through this song and dance before. it’s cliché, but a disappearing father really set the stage for your life, the first in a long line of people who always got to be the one to decide they no longer have a use for you. your college friends are the first people who have even tried to stay, but maybe that’s because they haven’t been given the opportunity to leave yet. 

still, you’re used to being left behind. easy to leave, disappointment a feeling so recurring, you could call it home. classify it as a habit. people slip out of your life like it’s effortless, and you can’t blame them, so you wouldn’t blame seungcheol, either. not when you’re always so busy, not when your life is as messy as it is. if seungcheol leaves, jeonghan and joshua probably do, too. nayeon will find ways to stay out of the dorm until she can get a new roommate, and you’ll go back to what you know. 

you’ve always done a decent job keeping yourself company, and it’s not like you don’t have a laundry list of responsibilities to keep you occupied. you’ll soothe the sting over on your own and move on. you won’t beg for someone to stay, nor do you have any good reasons to ask them to, anyways. 

so when seungcheol shows up outside your dorm the day after confessing, you stare blankly at him. his lips quirk in amusement at the obvious bewilderment on your face, and he slides past you, letting himself in the way he has a hundred times before. 

“hi,” he says, looking entirely relaxed. “did you eat yet?” 

“n-no,” you stammer, closing the door behind you. you’re so confused. you know the routine. you know how it goes. yet he’s standing before you, casual and relaxed, like it’s just another monday. 

“great. i haven’t eaten either. let’s order something, my treat.” he pulls out his phone, absently listing out options as he scrolls through restaurants in the area. 

with a start, your heart clenches, hard, the kind of painful ache you’ve shoved down time and again because you can’t afford to dissect it. this time, you let it burn for a little bit, just a little longer, enough time to trace the broadness of seungcheol’s shoulders, the sweep of his hair across his forehead, to the flex of his hands as he continues to scroll. you let the feeling spread, just for a chance to watch him. then, you call his name. “cheol.” 

it’s his eyes that betray him. seungcheol’s smile is the same as it’s always been, dimpled and handsome. but his eyes are soft on you, now that you know to look. there’s a certain adoration there that, if you’re being honest, you’ve pretended not to know existed for almost all the years you’ve been his friend. seungcheol, who always seems a bit stern, between the thick eyebrows and the strong line of his jaw, has only ever relented with you. 

you watch it happen again, how his smile hesitates, and the resignation starts to settle in. he knows you’re going to draw the line again. it’d started months ago, when you shut all your friends out, and never quite let them back in. but it hasn’t stopped him from trying to sneak over it, hoping to reach you, knowing you’ll slip through his fingers like water. 

you don’t know why he keeps coming back. if you were a better person, you wouldn’t let him. 

but his dark hair, his full lips, those wide, brown eyes - you’re selfish enough to want to keep him here. seungcheol is steady and reliable, and he makes you laugh, and that’s more than you can say about most people who have passed through your life. his friendship is perhaps the most meaningful thing you have, second only to your little sister, and even though you braced yourself for giving it up, now that he’s here, you know you aren’t ready to let him go. 

which means you also can’t let him linger for more than he already has. 

“go home,” you say softly. “break’s started. i’m sure your parents are missing you.” 

his shoulders fall, and he fidgets with the phone in his hand before pocketing it. “right,” he responds quietly. “yeah.” 

he doesn’t move, though. when your fingers brush against him, his eyes focus on the way they curl around his wrist, gently tugging him back towards the door. he follows you willingly, simply for the fact that you’re the one pulling him. 

for a moment, even when he’s standing in your doorway with you, you don’t drop your hands. you keep them there, just holding him lightly. 

you let him go. say your goodbyes and close the door behind you. 

his missing presence is immediately palpable in your quiet dorm. but you refuse to open the door again and call down the hall for him to come back, share a meal with you, liven up this tiny space you live in. you keep your back pressed to the door, palms flattening against the wood. last night, after he’d confessed, you’d stared at your ceiling until dawn, convincing yourself seungcheol wouldn’t come back into your life once you’d set a hard line with him. convinced yourself of the worst so you could prepare for it, and if you were prepared, then none of your expectations could shatter. you can still survive. 

but the smallest part of you knew. you know seungcheol’s a better man than that. your friendship with him isn’t contingent on whether or not you can reciprocate his feelings, and the part of you that doesn’t bank on endless series of disappointments knew that he’d show up at your door today. just so he could see you again. 

it’s why you placed your bets on the safe side. when he’d leaned a little closer, when his eyes had dipped to your lips, when his hands had brushed against your waist, pulling you towards him. when you’d almost let him, until the excuses came filtering in. 

lovers come and go. 

friends stay. 

and selfishly, you want him to stay. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2022

with christmas around the corner, you finally cave about that damn floating shelf jeonghan keeps talking about. 

your sister is coming over, the way she has every year since she started university. she’s been telling you since she was eighteen that she wants to spend the holidays with you, doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how, as long as it’s with you. she doesn’t want to go back to your mom’s cold, lonely house either, not when she could be happier in your small apartment, doing nothing together. 

in the past years, your shitty apartments had mostly led to a lot of muffled screams whenever a bug crawled by, but this year, your apartment is nice. clean. there’s space. she deserves a good christmas, so you take the extra bit of money you’ve been saving up, and buy the stupid shelf, along with a variety of christmas decorations. 

seungcheol went with you. he was pink from how happy he was to be there, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering, enthusiastic with every item you asked for his opinion on. “yes,” he’d nod. “i think she’ll love it.”

so now you’re here, with a variety of christmas ornaments and other decorations scattered across your kitchen table and coffee table, boxes of things littered across the floor, with seungcheol drilling a screw into your wall to hold up your shelf. you hover near him, anxious with nothing to do to help him, while he moves with familiar ease and practice. 

“you look like you’ve done that a lot,” you comment, and he glances at you. 

“i have,” he replies, bemused. “the rest of those idiots can’t figure out a power drill to save their life.” 

“i feel like mingyu might know,” you say it without thinking twice, wincing a little when you see the immediate frown on his face. 

“you think mingyu can do a lot of things,” seungcheol mutters, and you have to bite your lip to hide a smile. his petulance is short-lived as he gets the shelf secured into place, setting the drill down. 

he dusts off the top, satisfied with his handiwork. “all done.” 

it’s only when he turns that you realize how close you’ve gotten to him. in a rush, you step backwards out of his space, tripping over packaging from all the other things you’ve bought, an embarrassing squeak escaping you. seungcheol’s arms shoot out to catch you, reflexes quick, instinctive as his hands grab your waist and yank you to him, your breath catching when your chest meets his, your hands latching to the back of his shirt. you lift your head, your wide eyes matching his, and suddenly you’re not breathing, heart rate doing double time in your chest. 

he’s so close. you can’t think. his breaths are shallow, lips parted, and you can’t focus. fuck, you can’t focus at all. seungcheol just does this to you, does it every time he’s nearby. it’s why you can’t let him stand too close. why you shouldn’t have let him back into your life. into your apartment. 

but right now, with the way his palm slides against your back, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. 

his eyes are half-lidded, gaze dragging from your eyes to your lips and back, like he’s trying to keep himself in check but can’t. you’re not sure you want him to. you don’t think you do. 

he leans closer. every movement feels like an echo from the past, and there’s a buzzing in the back of your head that you simply ignore. it feels too good to have him here, looking at you like you’re the only person who exists on this planet. like he wants nothing and no one else but you. 

you blink slow, so tempted to let your eyes shut, to feel only him, let him surround you wholly. you missed him. in all these years, you just… missed him. missed feeling him. missed the way he loved you, so softly, so endlessly. like nothing else mattered. 

you feel his breath ghost over your lips, and yours hitches. your hands tighten in his shirt, and your eyes slam shut before you’re releasing him, hands braced against his chest, pushing him away just enough so that you can lower your head in the space between the two of you, sucking in a shaky breath. 

he doesn’t move. your fingers curl against his shirt, holding tight onto him. you don’t want to let go. you don’t want him to go. 

the tears are rising, and they’re rising fast. your hands are shaking from how hard you’re gripping his shirt. he tries to soothe you, one hand running against your back but you shake your head furiously, unable to speak. 

“okay. okay,” he whispers, letting his hands hover away from your body. still there, just not touching you. just close enough so you know he’s there. 

you want his hands back on you. you don’t want him to hold you at all. there’s a knife in your chest that twists, and you’re gritting your teeth so hard you think they might crack. 

“i need you to breathe,” he murmurs. you hadn’t realized you’d stopped. “please, baby. we’ll do it together.” 

please, baby. 

against your will, a sob chokes out of you. a wretched sound, one you swallow immediately. the tears don’t escape. you make sure of it. you blink them back down, steady your breathing, just like seungcheol asks for. in, out. slow. 

little by little, your fingers loosen. your breaths even out, fingers still splayed across his chest, using him to hold yourself up. “that’s it,” he says softly. “it’s okay.” 

you don’t lift your head. you think if you do right now, you won’t be able to hold the tears back. so you stay where you are, fingers weakly curling against his shirt, then straightening out. it feels safer, your hands against his clothes. a layer of separation. you can argue that it’s not him you’re holding onto. just his clothes. 

when your heart rate has calmed, and the burning behind your eyes has receded, you finally raise your head, eyes finding his. he’s smiling at you, but his eyes are sad, and there’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him. you force yourself to pull away, returning your hands to your sides. you don’t know what to say, which makes everything feel worse. 

you watch his smile fade. he tries to say something, but the words must escape him too, because all that comes out is empty air, and he stops. 

for a few minutes, there’s only heavy silence. he finds his words before you do, and they come out quiet, honest. “i don’t want to apologize.” he holds your gaze, certain. “because i’m not sorry. i’m not sorry for the way that i feel. i’m sorry i scared you, but i’m not sorry for wanting you. for always wanting you.” 

he runs a tired hand through his hair, brushing through the strands. they’ve grown out a bit since the first time you bumped into him back in may, long enough that he’s able to pull them back, out of his eyes. so terribly reminiscent of when you saw him last, five years ago. 

he inhales, slow and deep. “i wish… i wish i knew how to make it less terrifying for you. i wish i knew how to - how to make it not hurt you. because i know it does. i see it every single time you look at me. how much it hurts you.” 

sometimes, you forget. for as well as you know him, he knows you. it’s why the two of you always felt like you fit together so seamlessly, how all of his soft edges could still find a way to mold to all of your rough, sharp ones. because he knew how to find the gentle slopes, the parts of you that you wanted him to have. the parts of you that were better. 

“it took me a really long time, you know,” his voice has dropped, barely audible. “to figure it out. why you left. i thought i did something wrong. rushed you. pushed you too much, maybe. and maybe that’s still true, at least a little bit. but…” he swallows. “but you left jeonghan, too. joshua. mingyu. you left all of them, not just me. so it couldn’t have just been about me. about us. but i could never really be sure, not until i saw you outside of mingyu’s apartment.” 

you should kick him out. whatever it takes to make him stop talking. 

“but you still look at me like that, y/n.” 

you can’t move. 

“you still hold onto me when i touch you.” 

the thing about the knife that stays buried in your chest, is that it was never seungcheol’s hand digging it deeper. it isn’t even your mother’s, or your father’s. 

it has always been yours. 

“i’m not going away this time, baby,” seungcheol promises. “i don’t care. i’ll figure it out. until it stops being scary. until it stops hurting. whatever it takes.” 

the worst thing, you think, about being in seungcheol’s presence, is that he’s so convincing. so much so that he makes you want for more than what you think you’re allowed to have. makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have it. have him, without leaving behind a wreckage, disaster. 

the sharp pain is so familiar, that letting your hand slip off the hilt feels unnatural. to not have to live every single day with the reminder of what kind of person you are, and where you stand in anyone’s life. but when seungcheol is nearby, he always finds a way to pull you closer. refuses to let you stay at a distance. no matter how far you step back, seungcheol doesn’t ever let you go. 

JUNIOR YEAR | THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY 16, 2016 

seungcheol is impossible to stay away from, you realize. 

even as just friends, seungcheol is good to you. when you rejected his confession a few months back, nothing outwardly changed, except for the fact that you could no longer pretend you didn’t know. you didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but no one seemed to notice the difference. seungcheol pre-confession was no different than seungcheol post-confession. only you remained in silent turmoil. 

when you lock the convenience store door behind you, you turn to find seungcheol waiting for you outside. winter this year is harsh, seungcheol’s nose red from the cold in spite of being bundled up, a beanie flattening his hair, scarf pulled up high. he brightens when he sees you, digging through his pockets for something. 

“cheol?”

“hand warmers,” he presents them to you proudly. “for you.” 

you stare at them. the cheap little packets, that knowing him, he’s bought an entire case of, just to give to you. to make sure you stay warm in the deep winter chill, because he knows you’re always out in the dead of night, a direct result of having closing shifts regularly. the longer you stare, the angrier you get. you don’t need hand warmers, you’re plenty warm right now, from the mix of anger and sheer want. 

without warning, you yank him to you, hands fisting his jacket as you pull him down to your height. seungcheol squawks, a sound he will vehemently deny making later, completely baffled by the way you glare at him, lips turned downwards in a frustrated frown. “stop it,” you demand, but there’s no heat to it. no strength behind your words. “stop it, choi seungcheol.” 

“hey,” he whines. “you know how i feel about you using my full name.” 

“i know. i know how you feel about it. i know how you feel about me. it’s not fair, cheol. it’s not fair,” your brows furrow deeper. you’re breathing harder, and he looks even more confused now, but his expression has softened. you hate how he looks at you. like you’re all that’s worth focusing on. like he understands why you’re so angry with him right now, and why none of it really feels like anger at all. 

“you’re so unfair,” you whisper, tracing every line of his features, from his chin to his lips to his nose and cheekbones, up to those eyes you adore so much. “why do i like you so much?” 

his smile is a bit cheeky. “because i’m so cute?” 

“annoying,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, more affection than anything else. seungcheol is still bent at an awkward angle, but you haven’t let him go and he likes exactly where he is, right now. you don’t want to let him go, either, because you also like him exactly where he is, right now. close to you. centimeters away from you, but still a little too far, so you tug him even closer, till your nose brushes his. “i said no,” your voice trembles a little, but your head tilts, angling towards him. “i said i wanted to be friends.” 

“we can be friends,” seungcheol breathes, but he’s finally remembered how to move, hand warmers forgotten in his pockets as his gloved hands find your waist, tugging you against him. “we can be whatever you want, y/n.” 

your feelings are a mess. your life is a mess. but seungcheol cuts straight through it, a direct path to your heart. “i don’t wanna be friends.” your hands tighten in his jacket. “i…” 

it’s hard to think straight. so you opt against it entirely, running on instinct instead, on purely what you want. 

him. 

you want him. 

you close the distance, and seungcheol melts right into you, hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulls you in closer. your eyes flutter shut, and every thought dissipates. there’s only seungcheol, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way his hands feel on you, the way you only want to keep bringing him closer, closer, closer. 

your hand reaches up to his face, and it’s the only reason the two of you break apart, seungcheol yelping at the cold of your fingers when they brush his cheeks, and you both burst into giggles. “sorry,” you start to pull away, but seungcheol’s hands wrap around yours immediately. 

“keep ‘em there,” he presses his cheek to your hand. “maybe you don’t need hand warmers. you can just have me instead.” 

you pinch his cheek. “cheesy.” 

he hums. “yours,” he answers. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2022

“you decorated!” your sister’s delighted squeal makes it worth it, as she drops her bags on your floor and takes in your apartment. it wasn’t much, but you’d managed to find a small tree, one of those little bendable plastic ones, and you bought two stockings from the dollar store that you hung off the floating shelf seungcheol helped you put up. you can’t look at it too long, the memory still fresh in your head of his hands on your waist, his voice low, sincere. so determined to love you again. 

you watch your sister flit about your apartment, excited over every new detail she spots. she’s visited before throughout the past half-year or so, but never overnight. she shakes the snowglobe on your bookshelf, and for a second she looks six years old again, giddy and young. 

you smile. the softest part of your heart is always her, your headstrong sister with her boundless energy. so much smarter than you, popular around campus and so beloved by everyone. 

“go put your things in the room,” you call, heading into the kitchen. 

“i can sleep on the couch,” she tries, but you point at the bedroom door. 

“room,” you repeat sternly, and she shrugs and flounces off, taking her weekender bag with her. you rummage through the cabinets, preparing for dinner. 

she comes back out of the room with your laptop hoisted above her head. “netflix?” she beams at you, and you gesture to the kitchen table for her to set up, while you cook. when she sidles up to you, you swing an arm around her, squeezing her tight to you until she complains. 

“missed you, berry,” you coo, keeping her held tight in place even as she squirms. the old nickname comes from before she was even born, from a trip you made to the doctor’s office back when your parents were still together, and the doctor said she was the size of a strawberry. 

“let go,” she whines. “miss me from like two feet away, oh my god.” 

you snicker and release her, letting her go back to your laptop to scroll through nayeon’s netflix account for something to watch. dinner is plated within thirty minutes, the two of you sitting side by side, watching ‘business proposal’, laughing and talking with your mouths full, falling silent together at more intense scenes, chopsticks mid-air. the evening goes quietly, comfortably, until the two of you are curled up on the couch, both showered and clean, your sister’s head on your shoulder while you both scroll aimlessly through your phones. 

with how late it’s gotten, you’ve turned the overhead lights off, leaving only the twinkling from the little tree you set up, and a floor lamp in the corner, the room awash in a dim yellow glow, just enough for the two of you. it’s peaceful, a slow night with your favorite person on this earth, her giggling at silly reels on her phone, pressed warm against you. 

you’re flicking through photos you took with her earlier in the day when your phone buzzes. the message flashes across the top of your screen but before you get a chance to swipe it away, your sister catches sight of it and jolts upright. 

[12:02am] seungcheol: merry christmas, y/n 

oh, boy. 

“you’re back together?” 

you flounder, unsure what to do with the fact that she sounds excited about it. “no,” you deny, a little more forceful than absolutely necessary. you soften your voice. “we’re - no. we’re… reacquainted. his - our -” you suddenly can’t figure out how to describe mingyu. “my neighbor is a mutual friend.” 

your sister hmphs, picking her hot chocolate up from off the coffee table. “you never told me why you broke up with him. i thought he was nice.” 

you flick her forehead. “none of your business. drink your hot chocolate.”

she pouts but obeys, going back to her phone while you stare at yours, at the simple message seungcheol had left you. your eyes drift from your phone to your sister, how young she still looks, yet she’s here, with you, instead of your mom on christmas day. 

your sister is 21 now, but back then she was only a teenager. a teenager you could no longer protect, because you were away at college doing everything you could to make enough to secure her future, with or without a scholarship. you didn’t want her to worry about the money like you did. you didn’t want her to have to worry about anything, but it was inevitable. 

in the end, she was the one who’d encouraged you to stop talking to your mom. to stop coming home. at eighteen years old, your sister had no right being as mature as she was, already so much better than you when you were her age. so much less naive, so much stronger, so much quick wit and a straight back, head held high. you’re so proud of her, it makes your heart ache. 

maybe it’s because she watched you fight for your place in a home that no longer belonged to you. maybe because she was too young to remember when it did, when you were the apple of your parents’ eyes, an adorable toddler with a mischievous streak. 

because unlike you, she only knew one outcome. that no matter what you did, nothing ever changed. there were no amount of accomplishments, no feats, nothing that could change your mother’s mind about you. you were the problem. 

“and i’m okay,” she’d said, so earnest it broke your heart. “you don’t have to come home just to check on me. i’m going to college soon. i won’t have to be here. we can just see each other on campus, or at your apartment.” 

she was trying so hard not to be a part of the reason you kept picking open the same wound, every time you came home. 

but the thing is, some days, most days, even, you understand your mom. it’s why you kept going home, again and again, in the hopes that something would change. that one day you’d be enough. that your mother could look at you and see just you, and not the man who abandoned you both. 

it takes you a long time to learn, but you can’t beg someone to love you. you can’t beg your mom to see past your dad’s betrayal and realize that you were just a kid. she needed someone to blame for the hurt and it was easy when you look so much like him. it takes you a long time to learn that that isn’t your fault. 

you run a fond hand through your sister’s hair, brushing it back away from her face. she’s used to your affectionate touches, doesn’t even look up from her phone. but she does eventually tilt her face towards you. in the late night, there’s a bit of melancholy when she says, “it’d be nice, if you got back together with him.” 

you mask the feelings that come with that statement, choosing instead to arch your eyebrow. “why?” 

“he was good to you. i could tell. and he made you happy.” she pauses, contemplative. “when you were with him… it was like you got a chance to think of yourself, for once, too. i liked that he could do that.” 

she goes back to her phone, leaving you to sit with that thought. the idea that you could put yourself first, because of seungcheol. because that was all he ever wanted of you. for you to choose you. 

you swipe back to your messages with him. you scroll through them, the past few months of him messaging you every errant thought, blurry photos of that neighborhood orange cat. all the times you ignored the majority of his messages, and how he responded to all of yours within minutes.  

when you type your message back, you miss the way your sister peers over at your phone, and the small, secret smile she wears when she sees it’s his chat. how she glances at you, spots the faint smile on your face, the soft look in your eyes. the one you only get with him. 

[12:34am] y/n: merry christmas, cheol 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2022

every year, seungcheol had told you, his parents hold a new years party. 

it’s a full house - his parents’ friends, his brother’s family, his brother’s friends, seungcheol’s friends. everyone the chois know gather at their house to drink and eat and talk, different friend groups and family members taking up different sections of the house, occasionally mingling together and making new friends, too. 

it sounds… unreal, if you’re being honest. it sounds like something out of a movie. or a book. nobody’s life is this picturesque. nobody actually has a home so warm, so welcoming. 

up until you stepped into seungcheol’s family home five years ago, you didn’t think it was possible. 

you haven’t celebrated new years with them before, only christmas, but the love had been palpable. seungcheol was raised on adoration and affection, and this fact was amplified the instant you’d entered his home. 

after breaking up with him, though, you didn’t think you’d be back here. 

“we took the train and still beat you here,” mingyu laughs, leaning against the doorway of seungcheol’s house. you can spot nayeon behind him, waving at you, as you climb out of seungcheol’s car. his family home isn’t far from the city, maybe an hour out, and seungcheol had offered the ride. offered all of it, actually. the invite to the party, the ride to his parents’ place, a guest room in his house overnight. 

it’d taken a bit of convincing. from everyone. they were all going - mingyu, jeonghan, joshua, nayeon. mingyu was bringing wonwoo with him. but none of them were you. none of them had the history you had. none of them were seungcheol’s ex. 

“you should go,” your sister was the nail in the coffin. “i think it could be fun. i’m gonna go hang out with my friends on new years so you should hang out with yours.” 

“they’re his parents,” you’d argued, and she’d shrugged. 

“is seungcheol dense?” 

“not particularly, no.” 

“then i don’t think he’d invite you unless he thought it’d be okay.” 

so, here you are. one hour of only a moderately awkward drive later, and you’re in front of the choi family home again, staring at the white paneling and the christmas lights still strung up. 

his home is as lovely as you remember it being. all warm, golden lights, decorations in the windowsills, the fireplace lit up. there’s toys scattered across the living room where his brother’s kids have taken to playing, seungcheol’s brother, sister-in-law, and their friends crowded around the kids. the kitchen is overflowing with drinks and food, seungcheol’s dad running back and forth, laughing loudly with seungcheol’s uncle, while his mom sits at the dining table, amusedly listening to jeonghan lament over the girl who won’t give him the time of day. 

it’s so.. busy. loud. you don’t even know who took your jacket and scarf, but before you can even politely greet his parents with the box of oranges you brought (which also mysteriously disappeared from your hands), you’re whisked off upstairs, where seungcheol’s friends have commandeered his childhood bedroom. 

“i should-” 

“don’t worry about it,” seungcheol reassures. “there’s too many people downstairs. even if you say hi, they’ll forget you did within the next five seconds.” 

so you let him guide you into his room, hyperaware of his hand against your back, his touch barely there. 

nothing about his room has changed. you suppose it wouldn’t, considering he lives in the city now. his walls are painted a standard eggshell white, the dresser opposite his bed still displaying his taekwondo trophies atop it. there’s a desk in the corner that joshua’s sitting at, fiddling with seungcheol’s thousand-year-old monitor. he gives you both a quick greeting when you enter. 

you don’t recognize the man laying in his bed, though. lazy eyes peer back at you before blinking twice and sitting up, curious. 

“jihoon,” seungcheol introduces. “y/n. y/n, jihoon. jihoon’s my neighbor. y/n’s my… uh, my friend.” seungcheol clears his throat. you ask yourself for the millionth time why you came. 

jihoon smirks, clearly aware of who you are. “hi,” he sticks out a hand. “nice to meet you.” 

you shake his hand, nodding and trying to smile. it’s like your facial muscles have decided they don’t remember how to work today. 

seungcheol pivots. “what are you doing with my computer?” 

“you mean your relic from the dinosaur age?” joshua snorts. “i’m just wondering if it even still boots up. why do you still have this thing?” 

seungcheol swats at joshua’s hands. “leave it.” 

“he has porn on there,” jeonghan drawls, and you turn to find him with mingyu, nayeon, and who you assume is wonwoo all crowding into seungcheol’s room. you’d think at your age, you can handle jeonghan’s shameless jokes, but you still turn red. 

seungcheol notices. instead of pouting at jeonghan for the slander like he normally would, he leans down to you, murmuring so only you can hear. “still shy, hm?” 

on pure instinct, you shove him away, then walk as nonchalant as possible to stand beside nayeon, ignoring the wide grin on seungcheol’s face for successfully flustering you. “smooth,” nayeon mutters under her breath. you elbow her for good measure. 

in your defense, neither of you have talked about the almost-kiss. if it wasn’t constantly running a loop in the back of your mind, you would think you dreamt it up. but every casual brush of seungcheol’s hands against your waist, your back, your arm - and it’s all you can think about. that edge of desperation in his voice, pleading. that stubborn streak in him, so insistent. i’m not going away this time, baby. 

if there’s anything about seungcheol, it’s that he’s straightforward with how he feels. 

your head’s a mess, around him. your heart’s less confused, but you don’t lead with it. could never afford to. still might not. 

everyone finds a way to shuffle into the room. somehow, you, nayeon, mingyu, and wonwoo fill the space on the floor, near seungcheol’s closet. jeonghan flops down next to jihoon on the bed, and seungcheol sits by his nightstand, leaning against his bed, facing your direction. 

it’s not quite what you expect a party to be. there’s brief exchanges - mingyu introduces wonwoo, and he gives you a kind smile that catches you off guard. when you first saw him, he seemed strict, a bit cold. adverse to people. but when he smiles, the entirety of him warms. 

seungcheol nudges your foot with his. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring at wonwoo. after all, this is the guy everyone says is like you. but from what you can tell, wonwoo is good-natured, a little goofy, clearly attentive. he laughs at mingyu’s jokes even when everyone else groans, and bounces his attention from person to person, intent on listening to everyone. 

you glance at seungcheol. he’s trying not to, but you can tell he’s sulking. you tilt your head at him, and his eyes dart to wonwoo so quick you almost don’t catch it. he nudges you again, lower lip jutting out just slightly as he eyes you, looking for your attention. 

as subtly as you can, you scoot to his side. nayeon catches your eye and raises her eyebrows, eyes twinkling. shut up, you narrow your eyes at her. make me, she smiles innocently. 

“doing okay?” seungcheol’s voice is low, for only you to hear. you turn to him, stopping short when you see how close he is, eyes widening slightly. his lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment on the way your cheeks color, ever so slightly. you nod in response. 

“good,” he sounds happy. “thank you for coming.” 

for a striking moment, you wish you weren’t the person you are. you wish you could let go of all inhibition, forget history, forget habit. you want to lean into him. you want to feel his fingers curl around yours, you want to breathe him in, let your head rest on his shoulder. make it so he doesn’t have to be jealous when you stare at wonwoo, and how carefree wonwoo seems even though mingyu said he had a hard life, like you. you want to be that way too. carefree. enough to make it evident that seungcheol is the only person you want. the only person you have ever wanted. 

he can see it on your face, and his breath catches. he swallows, but he draws back, giving you space. even when his eyes always give him away. 

he wants to kiss you, and your heart races in your chest at the thought. anxiety or anticipation, you can’t decide. 

until it stops being scary, he’d promised. until it stops hurting. 

you wonder if bravery looks like falling all in. you glance at wonwoo again. 

maybe it just looks like defying misery in favor of choosing happiness. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

every person in the house somehow manages to squeeze into the living room to ring in the new year. you manage to greet seungcheol’s family beforehand, seungcheol’s dad shocking you when he pulls you into a quick hug, like he’s completely forgotten that you’re seungcheol’s ex-girlfriend. 

new years lands with you standing between seungcheol and nayeon, nayeon holding your hand tight as she cheers with everybody else, raucous and loud, shouting “happy new year!” you laugh and wince at the same time, her voice practically directly in your ear, instinctively shifting towards seungcheol. his arm comes to rest around your waist while it’s still chaotic and overcrowded, pulling you close to him, you releasing nayeon’s hand when he does so. it’s just a minute - just long enough for him to lean down and murmur for you, and you only: “happy new year, y/n.” 

only seungcheol knows how to get your heart going. 

he lets you go, and you find yourself missing the warmth. it’s hypocritical of you to want it, when you’re the one who pushed him away when he almost kissed you two weeks ago. he seems to know it, too, he just doesn’t seem to care. he’s spent this entire day at your side, from the drive in, to the evening spent in his bedroom with all your friends, to now, with the clock ringing midnight. 

you don’t know why, but you’re suddenly conscious of it. hasn’t he been here since you bumped into him in front of your apartment? running to you as soon as he’s called, standing at your kitchen table, sitting on your living room couch? why does it suddenly feel different?

the night draws deeper, people slowly beginning to leave the party. his extended family leaves first, cars pulling out of the driveway. the volume lowers to a comfortable hum, voices drifting from the kitchen where his parents sit with jihoon’s parents, still talking and laughing. 

out of habit, you start cleaning. it starts with you folding the blankets and quilts on the couch you’re sitting on, mingyu and joshua glancing at you and following after you. by accident, you start a train of clean-ups, wonwoo picking up toys that were left behind by seungcheol’s niece, tucking them with the rest of the toys in the box in the corner, jihoon helping him. you gather mugs off the table, nayeon sweeping the crumbs from cookies and other snacks into her palm once the surface is cleared. 

“you don’t have to do that,” seungcheol tries to stop all of you, but halfway through his sentence and he ends on a defeated, affectionate sigh, bending down to pick up a block that got kicked towards the couch, tossing it to jeonghan, who’s closer to the toy box. 

he helps you carry the rest of the mugs into the kitchen, depositing them into the sink. letting you wash them is where seungcheol draws the line, both hands landing on your waist to shift you to the side, the movement so easy and natural for him that you buffer for a good minute, confused. he takes your place in front of the sink, grabbing the sponge and trying not to smile too hard. 

“i-” 

“nope,” he cuts you off, scrubbing the mugs. “when you’re here, you’re the princess. house rules.” he says it so confidently, so self-assured, that you swallow and stand down. 

he knows you can’t sit still, though, certainly not while watching him, so after a beat of watching you fidget, he nods towards the towels hanging off the oven handle. “help me dry?” 

while you dry dishes, jeonghan comes in, patting seungcheol’s shoulder. “they’re gonna head out soon. take the last train out.” 

“they need a ride?” 

“jihoon said he’d drive. just came to say bye, i’m gonna go home with my parents.” jeonghan smiles at you like you’re not going with them. confused, you set the mug down. 

“when are they leaving?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“five, ten minutes, i think. but his car can only fit four.” he arches his eyebrows. you count off your friends. shua, gyu, nayeon. wonwoo. four. 

when he sees the frown on your face, he chuckles. “cheol will take you back in the morning. won’t you, cheol?” 

“i can just uber-” 

“i’ll take you in the morning. let’s go say bye to them.” seungcheol finishes washing the last mug, leaving it on the dish rack to dry and toweling off his hands. the two of them pull you towards the front door before you can even get a word in edgewise, bewildered. it’s a rush of hugs, mingyu lifting you off the ground just to hear you squeak in surprise, nayeon promising to text when she’s home. then they’re gone, leaving you blinking rapidly in seungcheol’s entryway. 

somewhat dazed, you turn to seungcheol. everyone has gone, seungcheol’s parents having sent off jeonghan and his family too, then retiring to their bedroom, leaving only the two of you. 

“i… i didn’t bring clothes,” is what finally comes out of your mouth. it feels silly to point out something obvious, but it kicks seungcheol back into action. 

the two of you head back upstairs, where seungcheol tugs out a t-shirt and sweatpants from his dresser while you hover awkwardly in his doorway. he hands them to you, and you spot his high school logo stamped across them. “thank you,” you mumble. 

“i can set up the guest bedroom,” seungcheol clears his throat. “or… or you can just stay in my room. with me.” 

you stare at him, unsure. he has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, eyebrows pulling together. when you hesitate, he lifts a hand, fingers brushing your forearm, sliding down until they slowly wrap around your wrist, tugging you to him, until you’re centimeters apart. his palm feels warm on your skin, and your eyes flutter closed. 

without all of his friends and family, the house is quiet. the peaceful kind, one you can sink into, not the kind that leaves you on edge, careful not to make a sound. you can hear the faint hum of the heater running, the air still. 

you lift your head and open your eyes, finding his. his eyes were always your favorite. a captivating shade of brown, always full of emotion. he never hid from you. not once. 

“stay with me,” he whispers, just shy of begging you. “please, baby.” 

when he asks like that, you can never tell him no. 

“okay.”

you fall asleep that night in his clothes, in his bed, on his sheets. with him tucked close to you, your back to his chest. before you fall asleep though, you hear him murmur, “missed you. more than anything.” 

in his sleep, his arm drapes heavy around your waist, like it’s instinct. how naturally he holds you against him, burying his nose against you. that’s how you fall asleep, with the familiar comfort of him wrapped around you. where it feels like coming home. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2016 - SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2016 

with seungcheol’s personality, you sort of just assumed his mother was a bustler. the kind of woman who never stopped moving, like there was always something to clean or cook or wash or serve. food to offer, dishes to clear, drinks to pour. you assumed she was like the mothers you saw in hallmark movies, constantly yammering on about something or another, but never in a way that felt annoying, only comforting. somebody who made soup whenever one of her kids so much as shivered, to fend off a cold. 

but when you step through the doors of seungcheol’s family home, you’re greeted by his dad first. he’s quick, helps you slide your coat off before you can even register what’s happening, and he’s talking the whole while, a steady, if quick beat of welcoming words as he ushers you in, rattling off something about it’s cold outside, there’s hot chocolate in the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready, do you need a blanket? you should stand by the heater, or we can get the fireplace going - 

“dad,” seungcheol says, amusingly exasperated. he puts his hands on his dad’s shoulders, redirecting him into the house. “let her breathe, would you?” 

mr. choi grumbles but it’s all fond, letting seungcheol push him back towards the kitchen, but not before he gets a chance to give you another smile, earnest and pleased, in a way you’re not sure anyone has ever been at just the mere fact that you’ve showed up in their home. you force a smile in return, hope it looks sincere, want it to be, because you realize it’s not his mom where seungcheol got his warmth and energy from, but his dad. 

“is that my baby?” you hear her before you see her, the soft lilt of her voice, so full of affection as she calls for her son. 

“the one and only,” seungcheol calls back, grin wide as his mom appears at the entryway of the hall, seungcheol bending down to wrap her in a tight hug, one that she returns with small pats on his back, pulling away from him with a smile. it becomes immediately clear that seungcheol’s dad was the loud one and his mom the quiet one, but both with a deep love for their kids. her eyes are warm, kind, her love no less muted, and when her gaze lands on you, her eyes widen ever so slightly, lips turning upwards. 

“y/n?” she guesses, and something in your heart stumbles at the way she says your name. you swallow down the feeling and stand straighter, hope that she doesn’t notice the slight shake in your fingers. 

“hi, mrs. choi,” you lower your head in a slight bow, but she simply straightens you back up, fingers gentle on your arms as she peers at you, like she wants to get a better look. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” she brushes a hand against a strand of your hair, pushing it back slightly, away from your face. “so many good things. cheol likes you very much.” 

“very much,” seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which heats from the attention. his mom chuckles.

“we brought pears, if you’d like,” you tell her. “seungcheol helped carry them in.”  you hope she can’t see how nervous you are. you feel jittery, like you’ve had too much caffeine. 

his mom rubs a comforting hand against your arm. “thank you. that’s sweet of you.” 

you’d googled a lot before coming here. what to do. what to bring. what the right etiquette is, how to behave. you’re still not really sure, but his parents don’t seem to mind, or even notice, as seungcheol sets the table, his dad urging you to sit and just let his kid handle it all. “we wanted a daughter, y’know,” he tells you. “so we could spoil her. a little princess. spoiled him instead.” he pinches seungcheol’s cheek, tone all affection and fondness. seungcheol scrunches his nose but you can see the happy glow on him, how much he enjoys his parents’ attention. 

when seungcheol passes by your seat, setting down your utensils, he leans to whisper in your ear, “you can be the princess, instead.” when you turn red, he relishes in it, grin completely unashamed. 

dinner is loud, between seungcheol and his dad, mostly. his dad regales you with stories from seungcheol’s childhood, seungcheol whining back over every embarrassing memory. you feel yourself slowly ease up, less and less conscious of how you hold your chopsticks, or how fast you eat your food, or how much of it you take. not that it matters, because even as he’s talking, his dad manages to pile your plate the instant you’ve finished even a small portion of it, almost like he’s not even thinking about it. it takes seungcheol’s mom subtly sneaking the tongs out of her husband’s grasp for him to stop, and she gives you a secret, knowing smile when you accidentally let the relief show on your face. 

you try to wash the dishes after dinner, but seungcheol’s mom pulls you away. “his dad will do it. you rest,” she guides you towards the living room. “seungcheol mentioned you work a lot. it’s okay.” 

“you don’t need to lift a finger when you’re here,” seungcheol’s dad proclaims, tugging on dish gloves. “don’t you worry one bit.” 

they mean well, but the embarrassment floods you anyway. of course they know. seungcheol is close with his parents. open with them. probably tells them everything. “i don’t mind,” you try, but she shakes her head, firm. 

seungcheol’s brother arrives on christmas day with his wife. he’s as casual as seungcheol is, if a little quieter, quick to attempt to put seungcheol in a headlock, which gets them both scolded by his wife. it makes you laugh, seeing two tall, fit men with their head bowed low in front of a woman who at best is maybe 5’2”. 

she’s charming and clearly wields command over the choi brothers, both of them at her beck and call. one because he’s so obviously head over heels for her, and the other out of respect. seungcheol most days is whiny and pouty, but just as easily flips the switch whenever he crosses his arms, eyes dark and stern. around his sister-in-law, he’s the definition of a kid brother. a little annoying, but obedient. it’s endearing to watch. 

he’s never far from your side. always a hand around your waist, lips brushing against your ear to whisper something for just the two of you. he sneaks kisses when no one’s looking, but his lips linger just long enough that you always feel a little winded. his affection is so consuming, so open. he loves you, so unashamedly, so fully. there’s no question about it. 

you wonder, if you match him. can they tell? how much seungcheol means to you? it’s all you have to offer, is how much you love him. 

you spend the entire weekend waiting. you’re so convinced - any moment now, and they’ll all realize. they’ll see through the pristine smile you wear, every careful movement you make. they’ll notice the wrinkles you can’t get out of the best set of clothes you own no matter how hard you try, how cheap the material is. they’ll spot the awkward way you move around their home, how every slight noise makes you jump a little. how tense you are, how unused to the only life seungcheol has ever known, in this home so full of love that he grew up in.

then it’ll all be over. they’ll see you, the nervous way your fingers clutch at the ends of your sweater, or how you can’t talk about your family for too long. the gaping hole in the family photo you don’t have, because your father fled from you. six years old and already so unlovable, so easily left behind. no second glances. no second thoughts. 

their disappointment will sink in deep. hushed whispers when they think you can’t hear. seungcheol, are you sure? it’s not too late to break things off. 

but it never comes. they don’t ask about any of the things you expect them to ask about. only, do you like your professors? or, how old is your sister? and, are you full? would you like more? cheol-ah, go get her some hot water. do you like tangerines? 

a few hours before you’re set to leave, back to the city to work a few shifts in between the holidays and to see your sister for new years, seungcheol snags you by the arm, shutting his bedroom door to lean you against it. he dips his head, skims his nose against your cheek, down to your neck, pressing a quick kiss to the small gap of skin between your shoulder and your neck. he pulls you against him, chest to chest, doesn’t ever want any distance between the two of you. a quiet, private moment, just for the two of you, one you sink into, burying your face against his shoulder. the tension melts off of you, when you’re alone with him. 

he pulls away only enough so he can murmur, “are you okay, baby?” 

you didn’t think he’d noticed. but of course he did. there’s no hiding from him, not when everything he does is in an active effort to make you comfortable. you keep your head on his shoulder, holding him tight to you. 

one day, you think. one day he’ll be tired of reassuring you. one day he’ll be sick of mending wounds he didn’t cause, of learning what things set you off that even you didn’t know set you off. one day he’ll be tired of waiting for you to let him all the way in, of having to carefully pry you open, slow and easy, so you don’t shatter. 

“do you think your parents like me?” 

his lips pull upwards. “is that what you’ve been worrying about?” 

no. yes. yes and no. you worry about everything. it’s chronic, unavoidable. the more you learn about seungcheol, the more you love him. and the more you think he’s unattainable. 

it doesn’t matter how close he is, that he’s already yours. doesn’t matter that he presses kisses into your skin, his form of comfort. how he whispers they love you. like i knew they would, promising that you’ve made a good impression. 

all you can think about is the way his mom put a gentle hand on your wrist, pulling you away from the sink. how kind. suffocatingly so. 

no expectation of you, only that you love her son. 

seungcheol’s dad is where he gets his brightness from. his clingy affection, his childish sulking, his easy nature. but his mom, his mom must be where he gets all his patience from. the calm way he addresses you even when you get frustrated. the gentle way he holds you, like you’re precious. 

it turns out, when seungcheol loves you, it feels suffocating, too. 

after all, you’ve never been loved without conditions, before. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2016

new year’s eve is surprisingly calm. your mom’s in a good mood, a shocking change of pace after years of silence and quiet celebrations between just you and your sister. but she’s awake this time, eating at the dinner table together, the curtains pulled open to see the fireworks people have already started setting off outside. 

maybe it has something to do with the wine in her system. not that she’s drunk, but she seems more relaxed, peering out the window and watching the fireworks burst across the sky. “back when i was a kid, we used to set off our own fireworks, you know,” she tells you and your sister. “not those big ones, but the little firecrackers, out on the streets. and the handheld sparklers.” 

“we should do that together one year,” your sister suggests. your mom smiles at her, and your sister brightens, back straightening with the attention. 

“i’d like that,” you agree, your sister leaning over to rest her head on your shoulder. 

the evening is quiet, comfortable. the table has been cleared, dishes washed, leaving behind only glasses for drinks. your sister texts her friends, while you watch the sky flood with colors every so often, waiting as the time ticks by, counting slowly down to the new year. 

with only a few minutes left till midnight, you rise to refill everyone’s drinks. you set the glasses down on the table and dig your phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick skim for new notifications from your friends, who are loud as ever in the group chat in spite of most of them being at seungcheol’s family’s new years party, before leaving it on the table, a faint smile on your face. 

taking the wine, you ask over your shoulder, “how much would you like?” 

you hear your mom stand, walking towards you, and you turn to face her. 

it’s like it happens in slow motion. your arm catches on the glass, and you watch it topple, reflexes too slow to catch it, as it rolls and falls over the ledge, shattering when it hits the ground, glass spraying across the floor. 

your heart is in your throat, racing. your eyes snap up, wide and fearful, and you watch the way her lip curls, all the loose, happy feeling from the wine erased in seconds. “you’re kidding me, y/n.” 

“i’ll clean it up-” 

“are you serious?” her voice cuts through you, one hand raising and you flinch, lowering your gaze. “you can’t even pour a drink right?” 

all your hope sinks low, drowns deep. you keep still as your mom berates you, “are you six years old? you can’t watch what you’re doing? do you know how expensive that glass was?” 

“i’m sorry,” your head lowers, every muscle tense. she throws her hands in the air, a sardonic smile on her face. 

“sorry. sure. no, no i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t raise you right. i was a single mother, working my hardest to keep this roof over your head, and you-” 

the phone you left on the counter buzzes with a text. in a panic, your head jerks towards the sound, then back to your mom, and you watch her turn towards it. you’re not fast enough - you reach for it, want to shove it back into your pockets, curse yourself for being so stupid - but it’s too late. his name sits at the top of your notifications, cheol <3 and she sees it. she scoffs, caustic and angry. “of course,” her tone is light. like she expected it. like it doesn’t even really matter, but the words feel sharp all the same. “that’s why, right? that’s why your head isn’t in it? that’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? the one you spent christmas with? you just can’t wait to get back to him, that’s why you aren’t paying attention.”

her hands on the kitchen towel are tight, mouth twisting. “mom-” your sister tries to speak, but your mom cuts her off, throwing the towel down on the counter. 

“we were having a good time, you know. like a family. but you always do this. you don’t care about us. you know your sister was in the hospital only a couple months ago? but you can’t even pay attention to your family for a couple hours. your head’s always somewhere else. you ruin it all. you’re just like your father, y/n.” 

you keep your expression clear. your mother backs away, shaking her head, sighing. quietly, stiffly, you say, “careful where you step,” as she walks past you, ignoring you. 

clench, unclench. clench, unclench. your eyes burn but your sister is right there, and she deserves better. you inhale through your nose then breath out slowly from your mouth. 

“y/n-” your sister tries to get up from her chair, but you put a hand up, cutting a sharp glare at her. 

“sit down. you’re gonna step on glass. don’t move.” you soften your voice at the end, trying to unclench your jaw. “i don’t want you to get hurt. stay there, okay?” 

you clean the glass. your sister bites her lip and rounds her shoulders, staring at her hands in her lap. when you’re sure the floor is clear, you walk to her, gently pull her against you, her head resting against your chest. “i’m sorry, berry.” 

she shakes her head, arms wrapped around your waist. “it’s not your fault.” she lifts her head to look at you. “you know that, right?” 

you should. it was an accident. 

but you were so close. so close to being enough. so close to having one good evening, without mistakes, without stepping out of line. you can almost taste it, what it could be like. 

what a fucking joke. 

you tuck your chin against your sister’s head, humming your acknowledgement. “go call your friends,” you say, softly. “tell them happy new years, hm?” 

your sister goes to her room, and you collapse into the chair, running a hand against your face. anger thrums under your skin, the devil on your shoulder whispering break it all. fuck it, why not? shatter every glass. every plate. then walk away. 

you’re just like your father, y/n. 

god, you should know better by now. twenty-one is too old to still be this gullible, to be this fucking naive, to think you can still make it work. still change your mom’s opinion of you. to still think she might give a shit about you, that you might even be capable of getting away with not making any mistakes just so she might look at you like she did when you were still young and your father was still around. before he walked out. before it all went to fucking shit. 

the worst part, is that you can’t stop thinking about one week ago, sitting in seungcheol’s home, with his parents so eager to talk to you, barely letting you walk two steps without appearing with something to eat, or to hand you a blanket in case you were cold, or to offer a drink. how his dad gave you a hug before you left and his mom sent you off with a pint of peeled fruit for the trip back, promising to send seungcheol back to the dorms with plenty of packed banchans to share with you, that she’ll make extra seasoned cucumbers just for you. 

you grind the heel of your palms against your eyes. how could you possibly subject seungcheol to something like this? air that fractures, tension that creeps around every corner of this haunted fucking house. the ghost of your childhood lingers in the living room only to be slashed through by the reality of how you grew up. 

when you were little, everything must’ve glowed. golden, lovely. but the paint on the walls is cracked. the cabinet doors are always a little crooked because there’s no one to fix the screws they’re barely hanging on by. seungcheol’s home is lived in, loved, while your house is deteriorating, falling in on itself. 

the difference is so stark, it’s laughable. 

seungcheol, the product of affection and care and assurance, who spends money like it means nothing, who calls his mom at least once a week just to see what she’s up to, who is gentle even when you’re rough and careless. who doesn’t push even when you shut him out, who looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. 

and you. with your mother’s disdain ringing in your ears, and your father’s footsteps echoing in the entire house, through your entire life, the sound of being shut out and left behind. unwanted. of never being enough. 

your breath shudders. seungcheol deserves better than you. you don’t fit into a life like his. you waited that entire weekend for the other shoe to drop, and here it is. here, not there, in his home with his pictures on the wall, photo albums thick with photos from when he was a baby. 

where he is, all your worries slide off your shoulders. where he is, you can take a full breath, lungs filled with relief. the world fades into the background. but you… 

all the days you spent working till far too late, but he stayed up to walk you home, just to see you. you watched the bags grow under his eyes, but you liked seeing him so much that you pretended not to notice. all the gifts you refused, even when he pouted and promised that he just wanted to get you something nice, but you felt a strange sort of jealousy rip through you at how effortlessly he spent his money, without even a second thought. all the fights you picked, that he refused to fall into, so rarely ever arguing with you, smothering you in kisses until you forgot what you were fighting about. doing it again, and again, and again, testing his patience, searching for that temper he so famously has with everyone but you.  

all the cracks you created, in the past year of being selfish enough to want him, forming into ledges you know you’ll jump off of. 

two weeks later, you call seungcheol and tell him it’s over. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

you wake surrounded by seungcheol’s warmth. your eyes blink slowly open, still heavy with sleep as you adjust to your surroundings, hazy thoughts gathering until you remember you slept over in seungcheol’s room. judging from the light pouring in through the windows, it’s much later than when you typically wake up, something you choose to attribute to how late you were up last night, and not the fact that you’re still in seungcheol’s arms. 

he’s awake. you can tell, considering he’s trying very hard not to move. but you’re not ready to face him, so you keep still too, ignoring how comfortable it is to lean against him, to sink into sheets that smell entirely like him. if he knows you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything. 

neither of you want to leave this moment. 

you can hear his parents shuffling around the kitchen downstairs, the occasional burst of laughter from his dad. his mom is much quieter, but you know she’s likely to be smiling too. you only met them less than a handful of times - twice, to be exact - but their love was palpable. it shows. it shows because seungcheol exists. 

eventually, you know you have to get up. you shift in the bed, bracing yourself to look at him, but nothing could prepare you for the way seungcheol looks in the morning. rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, his cheeks a little puffy as he lies on his side, looking at you. you’re still conscious of his hand resting on your stomach, where it slid to after you moved onto your back. 

“hi,” his voice is gravelly from disuse, deep enough to send your pulse running. without thinking, your hand lifts to his chest, sliding up behind his neck, fingers threading through the ends of his hair. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, a pleased hum escaping him. 

you should pull away. 

you don’t want to, though. 

“hi,” you whisper back, his eyes opening at the sound of your voice. like this, it feels like there’s only you and him. no past, no future. just now. 

your sister was right. around him, you can only think of yourself. of what you want. 

him. 

there’s a clanging noise in the kitchen that startles you both, jolting upright and away from each other. seungcheol coughs, hands tangling in the sheets before shaking them off, embarrassed. 

“you can wash up first,” he suggests, dragging his hand through his unruly hair. you decide its best if you do just that. 

within thirty minutes, you’re both washed up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and downstairs, where seungcheol’s dad has managed to make breakfast, despite it being well past noon. the clanging was apparently his dad digging for a specific pan and clumsily dropping half of them out of their overstuffed kitchen cabinet, something you’re fairly certain seungcheol has mentioned as something they should really organize since long before you even dated. his parents (well, his dad) greets you brightly, and his mom gives you a kind smile, eyes crinkling the same way seungcheol’s does. 

you awkwardly bow your head in return. they let the two of you eat alone, having been up much earlier than both of you, and when breakfast is over, seungcheol washes the dishes while you dry. it’s quiet, monotonous. 

without looking at you, seungcheol admits, “i’m really glad you came.” his head turns towards you. “and stayed.” 

me too. the words are on the tip of your tongue, more honest than you’ve been with yourself for years. your lips part, and- 

“cheol-ah,” his dad comes into the kitchen, and you almost drop the plate you’re drying, seungcheol’s quick reflexes helping to catch it. you freeze, panicked, but his dad just laughs, sheepish. “sorry. didn’t mean to scare you. cheol, can you come help me look at the garage door real quick? that thing’s been half-broken for months.” 

you don’t realize how tight your grip is on the plate until seungcheol is gently prying it from your fingers, setting it on the table. he casts a worried look at you, before turning back to his dad. “yeah, sure.” he turns back to you, head ducking until you’re eye level. “wait in the living room? we can leave after.” 

you nod, following him from the kitchen into the living room, where his mom is sitting on the couch, wearing her glasses and scrolling through her phone. like it’s second nature, her hand stretches out, so that her husband’s hands tangle with hers for a minute, a small, sweet exchange, before he heads down the hall towards the garage. 

“sit,” seungcheol’s hand is firm against your back, nudging you towards the couch. “i’ll be right back.” 

his mom looks up from her phone, adjusting her glasses. she smiles, lowering her phone. “sit, dear. they’ll probably be awhile. his dad’s been trying to fix that door for ages.” 

you nod. except you can’t seem to move, body frozen in place. you can’t explain the way the tension starts to leak in. anxiety bleeds into you, lacing tension through your shoulders, stomach twisting into knots. your feet are rooted to the ground, watching seungcheol disappear around the corner. you should sit down. your brain reminds you, twice. stop awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. don’t just stand there. sit down. 

his mom tilts her head at you, concern beginning to form between her brows. “y/n?” 

do you think your parents like me? 

they love you. like i knew they would. 

when you look at her, you almost want to apologize. but apologizing would mean admitting that you’ve been here before, that you came into their house and ate their food and drank out of their glasses and slept in their son’s childhood bedroom and let them see the way the son they love so dearly, loved you, only to rip his heart out two weeks later when you ran from him. ran from this, precisely this, this house with their family photos lining the shelves, an old quilt tossed over the arm of the couch, family dvds visible through the glass of the tv stand. 

five years have passed in between. you’re no longer a student clinging to every paycheck, carefully calculating what you need to give up this month in order to pay off the tuition, and smart enough now to stop going home and letting old wounds tear open every time you visit your mother. you have a bank account padded with enough money to cleanly pay off your sister’s tuition every semester, and your own apartment, with a cup you can designate as yours, and a mug you can label as your sister’s, and a fridge you can decorate with print-outs of photos you’ve taken with her. you can be different. you can be stable. reliable. 

but the instant seungcheol left your side, you felt yourself start to unravel. you wonder if it’s right of you to want this. if it’s fair for you to dare to come back into seungcheol’s home and stand in front of his mother, and ask of her to accept you again, even after all the damage you did. 

would any rational mother, who dotes on her son the way seungcheol’s mom dotes on him, forgive you? you look like any other flight risk, constantly ready to bolt. never fully unpacked, always one foot out the door. you look like the start to an argument, a series of questions about commitment and history. you look like the beginning of the end. 

can you do that to seungcheol? become the reason he and his parents fight, a never-ending debate on whether or not you’re worth the trouble? you can already hear the echoes in the halls, i love her, seungcheol’s firm resistance even in the face of straining his relationship with his family. stubborn, the one trait you don’t think he inherited from them. 

you can’t do that. maybe you should leave. maybe this was all a mistake, and your instincts were right. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong in a house that actually fits within the definition of home, even if your bones ache with the desire to want it. the audacity to dream of it being yours. 

your breaths come out shallow, soundless. but a mother is as a mother does, perception sharp, and seungcheol’s mom spots it before you even register that breathing is difficult. her expression softens as she stands, setting her glasses aside and stepping towards you. “honey,” she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers brushing against your wrist. “i know.” 

i know. 

i know? 

“i know how hard it is for you,” she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch gentle and warm. her eyes grow wistful, somber. “it’s scary, right? in a house like this?” 

it doesn’t make sense. how could it? seungcheol’s home, seungcheol’s family - this is what normal looks like. you’re the outlier. you’re the one with all the wrong instincts, all of it twisted completely backwards, warding off anything that looks even remotely close to good intentions. every minute, every instance of your friends, of seungcheol, drawing closer, of mingyu feeding you dinners and jeonghan refusing to leave you alone, and joshua lending you clothes - why does it all leave you terrified? 

“i understand.” her eyes cloud, bittersweet. “but do me one favor. let the people who love you, love you. it’s okay.” the way she looks at you feels like string being pulled direct from your heart, tugging loose a mess of emotions that you’ve wrapped tightly, knotted and twisted and tangled as much as you can just to prevent anyone from ever being able to understand you. but she looks at you like she does. like she recognizes the hurt that lays at the center of it all, the damage that’s been done to you, decades worth of pain that you can’t erase or hide no matter how you try. 

you search her gaze, trying to find what you expect. anger, frustration, betrayal, disgust, contempt. anything. the normal things. but there’s only her favor posed as a question, asking you. can you let the people who love you, love you? 

your breath shudders and the tears rush to the surface so fast, you don’t get the chance to stop them. they linger on your waterline as you try to blink them away, hands shaky as you clench, unclench, clench, unclench, head turning when you realize it’s not working. but she brings a hand to your cheek and gently turns you back towards her, eyes sad when she looks at you. 

“it’s okay,” she repeats, lowering her chin and holding your gaze. like she wants to make sure you understand her. “it’s okay, my dear. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to make mistakes. it’s okay to get frustrated and feel jealous and like you’ve been wronged. like the world dealt their hand but they made sure to make yours as bad as it can get. that’s unfair. it is. but…” she inhales deeply, her smile kind, so reminiscent of seungcheol’s that it stings. “but after that. and in between that. it is also okay to feel loved. to be loved. to be taken care of and to do the things that aren’t just borne out of survival. you came back, and i’m grateful, and i hope the next time you feel scared, you just… come home, instead.” 

she says it like here, this place, her, is home for you. like seungcheol and his parents and his family and this house that he grew up in is yours, too. like there’s a space they set aside, waiting for you to return. 

her thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping a stray tear. you make a choked noise, breath shuddering in your chest, lips rolling out of habit, still trying to bite down to stop the crying. to hold it, to not make a scene, not make a sound, to never act out of line. 

“it’s okay,” she whispers, and the sob ruptures out of you, a quick gasp, tears that blur your vision until you’re shaking, seungcheol’s mom pulling you into her shoulder, the same gentle hug you’ve watched her give her son before, replayed a thousand times on the nights you can’t sleep, her hand patting a soothing, slow rhythm on your back. a reminder that she’s here. 

you don’t know how long you stand there. you feel hands pull you away, eyes lifting to find seungcheol, getting only a brief glimpse of his face before he’s tugging you into his chest, holding you tightly. you try to explain, but your voice catches and he hushes you, one hand smoothing your hair down, the other a steady lock against your back, pressing you against him. he whispers comfort against your hair, i love you’s slipped in between, almost like he can’t help it. like he needs you to know. 

you cry into his chest, fingers curled into a tight fist clutching at his shirt. distantly, you hear seungcheol murmur a short conversation with his mom, but his hold doesn’t falter, not once. rocks you against him, pressing kisses against your cheek and burying his nose into your neck. “it’s okay,” he promises, and for the first time, you finally believe him. 

PRESENT DAY | THURSDAY, JANUARY 05, 2023

seungcheol shows up alone on your doorstep. he’s sitting in the hallway when you come home, his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, a faraway stare. 

“you could’ve waited at mingyu’s, you know.” 

his head snaps up at your voice, lips parting in surprise. he clambers to his feet, a little clumsy, one hand placed against the wall to balance himself. “i…” he trails off. his shoulders lower. you know what it is he can’t say. i didn’t want you to run away. 

you don’t blame him for it. you’ve got a pretty strong track record of running first, when it comes to him. always pushing him away. never letting him all the way in. every time he gets close, every time you think you can handle it, flying so close to the sun - the fear wins out. you love him too much to stay. 

but you’ve had a few days to think it over. to replay not only everything his mother said to you, but all of it - from the very start. from the day seungcheol entered your life. 

you unlock your door, seungcheol quietly following in after you. he trails you around even as you shrug off your jacket and set your belongings down, like being even a step away means he might lose sight of you. you stop inside your kitchen, finally turning to face him, bracing your hands against the countertop. 

his eyes don’t leave you. he’s still hurt, you can tell. for which reason, you’re not sure. because you broke up with him two weeks after new years, five years ago? because you did it without giving him a proper explanation, did it just shy of your one year anniversary? because when you arguably needed someone the most, you let your phone die while your friends spent the night searching for you, worried sick out of their minds, and instead of being grateful for him wanting to help, you were cruel to him? 

because, even after letting him come back into your life, even after calling him your friend, even after sleeping in his bed again, crying in his mom’s arms, crying in his arms, you left him on read for the past four days? 

he had every right to resent you, when you broke up. to never want to see you again. to move on, find someone better, more suited, less fucked in the head. but the instant you re-entered his life - a sheer coincidence - he made every effort to stay. even when you hurt him. 

what must it be like, to be soft around the edges even when you are hurt? 

he moves only when he sees the tears well up in your eyes again, so quick to come to you, brush a thumb against your cheek, wiping the tears away. “baby,” he starts, but you shake your head, one hand coming up to hold his wrist, grip just a little too tight, trembling. 

you stare up at him. he looks helpless, could never stand to see you cry. would do anything to make it better. 

“i’m sorry,” you’re barely audible, say it twice, knowing you probably owe him a lifetime of apologies. “i’m sorry, seungcheol.” 

he shakes his head, voice shaky when he tries to joke, “what did i tell you about my name?” 

you let out a watery laugh. “i didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

“i know.” 

“i just needed some time to think.” 

“i know, baby.” 

you drop your head to his chest, arms hanging limp at your sides, weary. but he pulls you to him, flush against his body, your arms wrapping around his waist. so sturdy, choi seungcheol. dependable. in all these years, he never changed. his head rests against yours, cheek pressing against your hair. “i didn’t think you were running again, you know,” he murmurs. “but you get into your head, sometimes. get stuck there, and i… i didn’t want you to be alone.” 

the two of you fall into silence, entwined around each other in the dim lighting of your kitchen. quietly, you admit, “i stopped going home. couple years ago.” 

he pulls away to look at you. he’s so focused, attention entirely on you. you continue, “leaving didn’t hurt any less.” you smile bitterly. “‘cause now she can really say i’m just like my father.” 

his brows pull in. “he abandoned his kids, y/n. kids who needed him. then your mom forced you into the part, because she decided not to move on and blame her children instead of the person who left. you took care of your sister. you worked three times as hard as anybody around you, just so you could go to and stay in college. you were there when your sister got into her accident. you’re the one putting her through college. you’re the one she goes to when she needs someone. you’re nothing like him, y/n. you’ve never once abandoned someone when they needed you.” 

“i left you,” you say, and his grip on you tightens. 

“don’t take this the wrong way, baby, but i didn’t need you.” he brushes your hair back, cupping the back of your neck. “i wasn’t a child, and i had a support system. i wanted you. even if you didn’t want me. even if you still don’t.” 

the words escape you before you can stop them: “how could i not want you?” 

he smiles, unable to stop it. his thumb swipes against your skin, slow and soothing. his smile falls slowly, something more intense stirring as you lift your chin. he can sense it, his gaze hooded as he lowers his head to meet you, nose brushing against yours. his hand slips to your side, grip a touch firmer, pulling you to him. you’re so close that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

when he kisses you, he does it slowly, a soft sigh escaping as soon as your lips brush. warmth glows from inside you, spreading through your limbs, making your fingers tingle. your hands find their way onto seungcheol’s neck, pushing through the hair at his nape, and he crowds you even more against the counter, like he needs you as close as he can get you. you follow, willingly. you need him as close as you can get him. 

when he pulls away, it’s only because both of you need air. his breaths are a little uneven and his eyes are closed, forehead pressed against yours. “yours,” he mumbles, not an ounce of shyness in the way he says it. confident, assured. like there’s nothing else he can be. “always been yours. always wanna be yours.” his eyes flutter open and he smiles at you, and you feel a little (a lot) like you could melt, grateful suddenly for his hands keeping you upright. 

your fingers brush against his hair lightly, and he leans into your touch. one hand slides down against his neck, then up against his cheek, cupping his face as you stare at him. you want to look at him forever. long lashes, thick eyebrows, a pretty nose, pouty lips. seungcheol has always been handsome, so utterly undeniably so. heartstoppingly so. 

he presses a kiss to your palm. “i love you.” his hand comes to rest over yours, pulling you gently away so he can lean towards you again, nosing against your cheek. lips press against your cheek, against your jaw, then find their way back to your lips, soft and chaste. “i love you,” he repeats, reverent. “always.” 

seungcheol is the safest place you have ever been, you think. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, JANUARY 21, 2023 

“okay,” mingyu carefully adjusts the projector, making sure it’s well balanced as it lights up your living room wall. “i think we’re good.” 

“i don’t understand why we can’t just go to your place,” you whine. “if you all just wanted to watch tv, there’s an actual tv right across the hall.” 

“that’s not the point,” joshua ruffles your hair, teasing. “the point is to be here. with you.” 

“you can be here, with me, over there-” 

“will you just accept the very extremely late housewarming gift?” nayeon complains, and you clamp your mouth shut, though seungcheol coos at the small pout on your face. 

“we all split this, by the way,” jeonghan gestures to each person in the room, bar you. “so don’t just give seungcheol special treatment for it. or mingyu, for that matter.” 

“i deserve special tr- mingyu?” seungcheol’s brain catches up to jeonghan’s sentence. he looks affronted, eyes widening, and jeonghan smirks when you narrow your eyes at him. 

“mingyu,” jeonghan confirms, snickering as seungcheol sulks, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the couch. you run your hand through his hair to appease him, seungcheol leaning into your touch, eyelids fluttering. you bite your cheek. he’s so easy, sometimes. 

your friends settle in for the movie, jeonghan taking the space on seungcheol’s other side, while joshua, mingyu, and nayeon get comfortable on the floor. with your feet tucked up on the couch, joshua leans back, tilting his head towards you. “hi.” 

you peer down at him, unable to prevent a smile. “hi, shua.” 

his eyes crinkle in the corners, happy. “for the record, i’m very glad you didn’t turn out to be a hallucination.” 

you roll your eyes, but you lean down, whispering, as if it’s a secret, “me too.” 

he grins. the movie starts, and you lean back into your cushions. seungcheol not so subtly shifts closer to you, and with a smile, you curl into him, pressing into his warmth. 

you glance up at him. trace the line of his jaw, the slope of his nose. in the past half-year or so, he’s put a careful distance between you and him, watching from the sidelines as you slowly reach for your old friends. content to see you as long as you’re smiling, the roll of your eyes around jeonghan, the joking with shua, the fond exasperation with mingyu. it isn’t until now that he’s started to beg for your attention, your closeness. 

all this time, he’s just been trying to bring you home. it didn’t matter if you were his, as long as you were here. 

you are, though. here, and his. 

your hand finds his, fingers intertwining. you press your cheek against his shoulder, murmur for only him to hear. “i love you, cheol.” 

he tilts his head towards you, gaze meeting yours, soft and adoring. 

“yours,” he promises. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 20, 2022

SEUNGCHEOL IS STUBBORN. and persistent. you knew this from the get-go, but living through it again is something else entirely altogether. 

[11:28am] seungcheol: have you tried the bakery like two blocks down? i think you’d really like it [11:28am] seungcheol: lots of black sesame stuff  [12:36pm] seungcheol: there’s also a ramen place nearby [12:36pm] seungcheol: mingyu really likes it, so that’s how you know it’s good  [02:12pm] seungcheol: saw a stray cat [02:12pm] seungcheol: looked round [02:12pm] seungcheol: probably all the neighbors are feeding it [02:12pm] seungcheol: maybe i should buy cat treats too?

seungcheol has never had any qualms with double texting. or in this case, double-triple-quadruple-whatever texting. it doesn’t matter that it’s a saturday and he probably knows you’re awake, incapable of sleeping in, your body too accustomed to waking up at ungodly early hours for work even years after graduating, yet you still aren’t texting him back. nothing in his messages even suggests he’s upset that you’re not replying, though just as he likely knows you’re awake and reading his messages, you know he’s probably whining in a group chat to mingyu, jeonghan, and joshua. 

[03:08pm] y/n: picture?  [03:08pm] seungcheol: [image.jpg]

the cat is round. it’s cute and orange, lounging on someone’s doorsteps. it looks awfully at peace, sunbathing with its eyes closed, and it makes you smile. 

[03:08pm] seungcheol: cute, right?  [03:09pm] y/n: yeah  [03:09pm] seungcheol: are you home? 

you hesitate. you pull yourself off the couch and stand in front of the mirror you’d hung near your door. an old t-shirt, sweatpants that you thought were just too big but now that you’re looking at them again, they might actually be joshua’s from years back, and your hair still tangled from not combing it when you woke up. 

the small luxuries of no longer being in severe debt and solo living: you can look like a complete and utter slob, with no one to report to. 

you stare at your phone again. seungcheol walks fast. your phone drops to the couch while you’re tugging your shirt off, rummaging through your dresser for one that is moderately less ancient and infinitely less wrinkled, then head to your bathroom to yank a brush through your hair. you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, then glance down at the sweatpants. 

you consider changing out of those, too, but no one lounges in their own apartment in jeans, and you don’t want to look like you changed just for him. a strangled sound escapes you, and you give up and go back to your phone, picking it up off the couch. 

you hold it, frowning. you can just say no to him. how is he gonna know if you’re actually home or not? as far as he’s concerned, you could be busy. you could be at nayeon’s. or you could be visiting your sister. or- 

fuck it. 

[03:18pm] y/n: yeah

you stare at the screen. seungcheol’s response is immediate. 

[03:18pm] seungcheol: can i come over? 

you stare harder. this might actually be worse than the first time around when you were friends. no, actually, you’re sure this is worse. 

[03:19pm] y/n: ok 

you throw your phone back onto the couch and pace the length of the room, back and forth. there’s nervous energy just bouncing through you, waiting for him to knock. is your apartment clean? you do a quick scan, but you honestly don’t own much, which makes it difficult to be messy to begin with. do you set out a glass of water? you don’t for nayeon, she just grabs it on her own when she’s here. but is that because you’re close, or because you don’t know any better? 

your head snaps to the door when you hear the knock. you inhale a steadying breath, then calmly walk to it, bracing yourself as you open it. 

every time you see seungcheol, it’s like your heart goes back to 2016. you come face to face with his chest first, gaze slowly rising up to his face, to his dimpled smile, his long lashes. there’s a tiny voice in your head deeply unhappy about how handsome he irrefutably is. there’s also a tiny voice in your head deeply happy about how handsome he irrefutably is. you firmly ignore both. 

“hey,” he beams. one hand lifts a plastic bag. “i come bearing gifts.” his smile drops, remembering how little you liked gifts years ago. “snacks,” he clarifies quickly. “baked goods. i mean, not that i baked them. they’re from the bakery i was telling you about. the one with the black sesame stuff. i stopped by. and they’re not even that expensive, which is partly why they’re so good. and- uh- can i come in?” 

you unfreeze, taking a step back to let him in. his eyes wander immediately, hand lowering as he shuts the door, toeing his shoes off in the entryway, nudging them neatly to one side. your walls are blank, your apartment hardly any different than the last time he’d been here. a couch in front of a coffee table, no tv. just a small stack of old, yellowed books on a shelf in the corner, trinkets from your sister and nayeon from over the years scattered in between. a polaroid nayeon had taken with you, propped against the books. 

he gestures towards it, before moving to set the bag down at your kitchen table. “when’d you guys take that one?” 

you don’t know what to do with your hands. plates seems like a good enough idea, so you walk past him to rummage through your cabinets. “after i got my first real job,” you tell him. “she made me celebrate.” 

he glances at you. “you deserved it.” 

you shrug, pulling the plates down and setting them on the table. standing next to seungcheol is all warmth, radiating off him. he’s always run hot, and a quick scan of him tells you that you should probably crank the air conditioning a little higher. you start to move towards the thermostat, then stop again. “do you want water?” 

he nods. “thanks.” 

you fill a glass for him and hand it to him before heading to the thermostat, adjusting the temperature. he watches you as you go - you can feel his eyes on you the whole time, and when you turn back to him, his eyes have drifted down to your pants and their rolled up hems, his eyebrows drawn in a little, lips tugging downwards. 

“those are shua’s.” a statement, not a question. 

you look down at your pants, like you didn’t already know you’re wearing them. “oh.” 

seungcheol doesn’t continue. when you look back at him, he’s still staring at your sweatpants, frowning. like the rolled up ends are a personal affront to him. 

you have no reason to explain yourself. you do it anyway. “i thought they were maybe, just, i bought the wrong size,” you try, stumbling over your words. “but i guess i just- forgot. or.. i mean, they all look the same, to me.” 

seungcheol blinks. “oh,” he echoes you. “yeah. maybe.” he looks sheepish, but finally lifts his gaze back to your face. “you just used to wear joshua’s sweatpants all the time.” 

seungcheol was always a jealous guy, huffy whenever you got too affectionate with mingyu, pouty whenever he found you hanging out at joshua’s with nayeon, without him. but never possessive, only ever a bit whiny and needy, always wanting your attention the most. he didn’t mind how close you were with them, as long as you promised he was your favorite. with that, there was never any contest. 

he never said anything about you wearing joshua’s sweatpants, but when you started dating, you suddenly discovered your closet was a lot fuller, seungcheol’s sweatshirts somehow finding their way in between your clothes. he knew you were only wearing joshua’s clothes because joshua snuck them into your closet as his own way of making sure you stayed warm, since you refused to accept gifts, and he didn’t want you to spend what little money you made on new clothes. but that never stopped seungcheol from wanting to see you in his clothes, instead. 

you always obliged. joshua’s pants were useful, sure, a well-intentioned hand-me-down. but seungcheol’s clothes smelled like him. which is why you left all of them in a box outside his door after the breakup. it was too easy to want to keep them. to breathe them in, to hold onto something that didn’t belong to you. 

keeping joshua’s clothes didn’t feel like crossing a line. you could still pretend you didn’t remember who they belonged to, until you really did stop remembering who they belonged to. you kick idly at the ground, watching the hems shake, though they don’t unroll. “he meant well,” you finally say. “letting me keep his old clothes.” 

“i think he didn’t know how else to help,” seungcheol responds quietly. his hands have stilled, no longer emptying pastries out of the bag. he simply watches you, and you wish he wouldn’t. not when there’s no one else in this suddenly stifling apartment. 

you move back towards him, despite wanting to run. you’re the one who agreed to being friends. you’re the one who told him he could come over. so you can’t run, on sheer principle. 

using the dining table between you as a buffer, you rummage through all the things he bought, ranging from cakes to breads to cookies. a little bit of everything. not because he doesn’t know what you like - because you see all your favorites, too - but because seungcheol always wants you to try everything. wants you to have everything. 

“that’s not his fault,” you try for casual when you answer him, picking up the melon bread and setting it to the side. “i didn’t want help.” seungcheol eyes the melon bread. his favorite. one corner of his lips hike up. 

he takes the sesame ball and sets it on your side of the table. switches the topic. “are you settling into the apartment well?” 

“yeah. mingyu keeps finding new ways to feed me. he must get paid really well, because i think most of his paycheck goes to buying extra food for me,” you huff a laugh. you still can’t quite look at him, so you don’t know how he reacts, but the two of you continue splitting pastries. back and forth, one at a time. 

“he likes it,” seungcheol shrugs. “i think he feeds wonwoo, too.” 

that’s when you glance up, curious. “have you met him?” 

“wonwoo?” seungcheol hums, nodding. “yeah, we play games together sometimes. he’s a nice guy. a little strange,” he frowns. “but in a good way.” 

you bite your cheek to hide a smile, but seungcheol catches it anyways. “what?” 

“nothing,” you shake your head. “mingyu said the same thing when i asked. a little weird, but in a good way. he said-” you cut yourself off, hesitating. “he said.. wonwoo was a little like me.” 

seungcheol studies you. by now all of the pastries have been split - all your favorites on your side, hand-picked by him. all his favorites on his side, hand-picked by you. like habit. muscle memory. 

you shift, uncomfortable. then he smiles, so disarmingly, nose scrunching when he declares, “wonwoo’s weirder. trust me.” 

a laugh stumbles out of you, so surprising that you don’t catch the way seungcheol’s eyes light up at the sound. he craves it, loves seeing you smile, loves even more to make you laugh. in college it was easy. giggles would spill out at almost anything he said, and you’d give him adoring smiles whenever he pouted and sulked over something. your touches came easy, too, even if you pretended they didn’t. but he remembers. they weren’t grand, not the bear hugs he’d give you, or the dramatic way mingyu liked to lift you off the ground. your touches were smaller, lighter - your hand running through his hair, pushing it out of his face, or the teasing tap of your finger to his cheek. your head, leaning against his shoulder as you drifted to sleep, and your hands always searching for his on instinct. 

your love was quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you. you were quiet, insistent, and meant everything to him. 

you still do. 

JUNIOR YEAR | SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2015

it happens in a moment of peace. 

your shoulders are relaxed, head tipped back in laughter from something he says. seungcheol is good at that - making you forget. forget to be stressed. forget all the responsibilities. forget to put him at arm’s length. for just a second in time, you can just be. 

but the moment lasts longer than a second. your laughter subsides, your gaze meets his, and something in the air changes, sparks. a low tension that feels good enough to ignore every warning sign you’ve ever placed on every wall you’ve ever built. 

for a couple extra, selfish seconds, you want to keep forgetting. 

he’s close, closer than you realized, and you don’t know when that started happening, either. how his space blends into yours, until every brush of his skin, his clothes, him, feels natural. it would be stranger for him to be a step away, a polite distance, and stranger still for him not to lean into the spaces you let him (and only him) occupy. 

when he leans toward you, you don’t question it. when his eyes drop to your lips, a little hooded, longing, your heart rate kicks up in anticipation. you want it. you didn’t know you wanted it, not this bad, not until now, when he’s showing you what he could give you if you just let him. 

you feel his hands brush your waist, a featherlight touch, like he knows you scare easy. of course he knows. seungcheol knows more about you than you care to admit. he pulls you in, slow, meeting you halfway. his head tilts, nose brushing against yours. you breathe him in, almost let your eyes flutter shut, almost give into the overwhelming desire to know what those plush lips would feel like on yours, and maybe if seungcheol had been even a beat faster, you both would’ve found out. 

but he isn’t, and you snap out of it, pulling away. at the very last second, backing out of the one and possibly the only thing you’ve ever wanted this badly. 

but you’re still bruising. you’re still reeling from seeing your dad and his new family, even if seungcheol burned the letters almost a month ago. being this close to seungcheol feels a little like having that sore spot pressed on, even if you can’t pinpoint why. 

he calls your name, gentle, neither a question nor an accusation, and you look away from him. but seungcheol is stubborn, and determined, and so very, very close. you can’t blame him for taking what he probably thinks is his first and last chance to tell you. 

“i get it,” he says, voice soft. never loud. not with you. unbearably understanding, his tone just shy of being coddling, except seungcheol is anything but. “i understand. i swear. but we both know what almost just happened, so you should also know i mean it when i say i like you, and i’m not going anywhere, y/n. we can go as slow as you want. whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here.” 

so you tell him, in no uncertain terms, that you want to stay friends. he smiles, and you’re too young to realize that friends is a joke. friends don’t almost kiss. friends don’t look at seungcheol the way you look at him even as you’re turning him down. 

you want him, and you’re obvious about it, and you’re scared, and he knows it. 

knows it enough to show up at your door the next day like nothing’s changed. 

everything’s changed. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 2022

“you know what you should do?” jeonghan observes the walls of your apartment. 

“kick you out?” 

“decorate,” he ignores you, getting way too comfortable on your couch. “that’s what this place is missing. well, besides a tv.” 

“i have a laptop,” you argue. “and nayeon’s netflix password.” 

“we can get you one of those little projectors,” mingyu suggests. “then you can just hook it up to the projector and watch it on the wall. way cheaper than a tv.” 

“i don’t need-” mingyu is lucky he’s been feeding you for months now. you let out a strangled sound. “if you want a tv, go back to your own apartment. it’s literally right there.” 

you really can’t figure out how they all ended up here. it wasn’t even mingyu who entered first, which would at least be reasonable, considering he’s your neighbor, but you’re pretty sure it’s jeonghan who shouldered his way into your apartment unannounced, and within twenty minutes, the rest of them had followed. 

“we could put a shelf here,” joshua taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“i don’t want to put holes in the wall-” 

“cheol can help you patch them later,” jeonghan waves you off, like having seungcheol become your personal handyman is just the natural solution. sitting beside him, seungcheol nods his head vigorously. 

you’re going to develop a headache, at this rate. nayeon sits at your dining table with a hand over her mouth, hiding what you’re sure is a shit-eating grin. she’s loving this. fucking traitor. 

“in fact,” jeonghan’s grin is wicked. “i bet the labor day sales next week will be great for finding shelves. you could go to ikea.” 

“and bring cheol,” nayeon calls out. “he can help you carry everything. plus he’s got a car.” 

“you can’t just offer him up-” 

“i’m okay with it,” seungcheol cuts in quickly, and you close your eyes, trying to find the last thread of your patience. 

“excellent,” jeonghan claps his hands, pleased. “it’s a date.” 

seungcheol turns pink and you refuse to give jeonghan the satisfaction of hearing you say it’s not a date, because you know that’s exactly what he wants to hear, and he probably has something worse lined up in response. so you bite your tongue and march into your kitchen, yanking open your fridge in the hopes of finding something to eat away the nerves spontaneously fluttering inside you, while your friends noisily move onto other conversation topics, filling your small living room with their nonsense. 

nayeon joins you by the fridge, nudging your foot with hers. “isn’t it nice?” 

you shove your head further into your fridge. “isn’t what nice?” 

“friends,” she says plainly. you straighten, turning to look at her. she’s watching you carefully, and you glance past her to your living room, where mingyu has taken up residence across the floor, and joshua sits beside him, legs stretched out. mingyu is giggling about something he must’ve said, because seungcheol is whining at him, kicking his leg because it’s the only thing within reach. 

“whatever,” you mutter, settling on a yakult and shutting the fridge door. but you peer back over at the boys, and jeonghan meets your eyes, his own half-lidded, already well on his way to falling asleep in the midst of the chaos. he gives you a crooked smile and a two-finger salute. 

the nerves quiet, something fond taking over. a small, hopeful part of you thinks maybe, you could keep this. maybe you could have this, this time. you crawled and scraped your way out of debt and into this nice, new apartment, with vinyl flooring and granite counters. you sacrificed everything to get here. gave up everything just to find a sense of stability. normalcy. 

your gaze drifts back to seungcheol. he’s sulking on the couch while mingyu and joshua poke fun at him, arms crossed over his chest. he looks right at home, like he belongs there, pouting on your couch in your apartment. you don’t need new shelves, or decorations, posters and plants and fairy lights. 

still, you can’t bring yourself to admit it yet. 

that the only thing really missing from your apartment, from your life, is him. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 04, 2022

you actually really don’t recall agreeing to this. 

seungcheol is bright as ever, pushing a cart beside you as the two of you wander through the ikea. you don’t even know what you’re supposed to be looking for, but it seems seungcheol came with ideas in mind, because he stops every so often to consider one item or another. 

he turns to you. “do you want a rug?” you stare blankly back at him. “for your living room floor,” he elaborates. “it might look nice. but maybe ikea isn’t the place to find a rug. we could probably get one at target or something.” 

“uh,” you say intelligently. “...sure.” 

he smiles, the one that makes your brain glitch a little, and you’re not entirely sure you’re going to survive what is supposed to be a harmless trip through ikea. you barely survived the trip here, in seungcheol’s luxury car with the cup of coffee he’d picked up on his way over. watching seungcheol turn his steering wheel is something you should not be thinking about, because seungcheol, as you have so firmly placed him, is your friend. 

god, he stresses you out. 

you follow after him, glancing around the store and their room mock-ups, just for anything to focus on that isn’t him. seungcheol points out various pieces of furniture, undeterred even when you shake your head each time. your apartment has all the necessities. you’re also not completely convinced another armchair will even fit in your apartment anyways. 

when you hit the cafeteria, seungcheol parks the empty cart next to a table. “wait here.” 

he doesn’t give you the option to go with him or say otherwise, because he’s turned and joined the line before you can even open your mouth. you roll the cart back and forth idly, then sit down, glancing around the room. there’s a lot of parents here, couples young and old, sitting at tables or grabbing utensils. 

like always, your eyes find seungcheol. his broad back, posture straight, one hand in his pocket while his other hand rests against his mouth, pointer finger tracing his lip mindlessly as he scans his options. he’s in a plain black tee today, partially tucked into a loose pair of jeans. his sunglasses are hooked in his collar, drawing the neckline down slightly. 

even in such simple clothes, he draws attention. customers passing by him give him a second glance when they catch sight of his face. 

you wish seungcheol was just handsome. it’d be easier if the physical was the only thing drawing you to him. but seungcheol is a good many things - polite, if a little impatient. stubbornly responsible, from his finances to his workout routine. habitual, but still ever-willing to follow along in his friends’ antics. his temper around others short-circuits a bit, but with you, he was gentle. affectionate, prone to clinging to you whenever you let him. and you always let him. 

seungcheol is the most dangerous for you to want for. his sweet smile, soft touch in spite of all his underlying strength. so eager to help, as long as you’ll have him. so willing to take whatever you have to give. around him, the world had a tendency to melt away. 

but around you, his world drew sharper into focus. always something to take care of, another hole tearing open in an already sinking ship. so you tried to keep him out of it. your train wreck of a life wasn’t his responsibility to fix, but he’d try, anyways. 

you still remember. you didn’t fight with seungcheol often, at least not in ways where seungcheol fought back. seungcheol always took your anger and met it with calm, soothing your raised bristles with a sweep of his hand through your hair, a soft press of his lips to yours. “okay,” he’d say. “i’m sorry. let me make it up to you, hm?” 

the night of your sister’s car accident was the only time his temper spiked with you. the only time he ever raised his voice, and even then, he wasn’t shouting so much as trying to be heard over your stubborn refusal to admit you might’ve been wrong. 

you hadn’t come back to the dorms that night. no one could get ahold of you, at first because you weren’t paying attention to your phone, then later because it had died and you didn’t have a charger on you. eventually, hospital staff dug one out for you, but it wasn’t till well past 3am that you finally managed to get your phone up to an acceptable battery percentage. 

you’d flipped through all your messages and missed calls. you knew you should call them back. or at least tell them you were okay. but doing so would invite questions, and you were so tired. the nurses let you stay overnight because you were immediate family, yet you couldn’t sleep. not with your baby sister laying in hospital sheets, an iv running through her arm. lucky, they’d called her. compared to what could’ve been, she came out of the accident fairly unscathed. 

she’d been so young. when you look at her even now, you still see her when she was an infant. a toddler. when she could barely walk and talk. when the accident happened, she’d been only fifteen. 

you’d held your head in your hands and refused to cry. not with the chance of her waking up and seeing you. steady breaths, your hands curling into fists so tight you left marks in your palms. all the things you taught yourself - counting backwards from one hundred, just to keep your emotions under lock. 

when she woke up is when you finally went back to the dorms. you’d fussed over her until she complained, “go away, i’m fine,” and when your mom arrived to the hospital, you slipped out of the room before she could see you. 

you came back to the dorms running on shitty hospital coffee and maybe half a sandwich. when nayeon burst, “where the hell have you been?” you’d muttered, “hospital,” before promptly passing out in your sheets. 

that response hadn’t really gone over well. you woke to seungcheol sitting at your desk, jaw tense. his entire body was lined with anger. the older version of you now recognizes it as worry - worry so bone deep, it forced its way out as frustration. 

still, he’d softened when you sat up, jumping to his feet. “are you okay?” 

“i’m fine.” 

“nayeon said you were at the hospital.” 

you’d stiffened. an old instinct. “my sister got into an accident.” 

seungcheol had reached for you, and you’d shied away, a subtle shift of your blankets, pretending not to see the hurt that flashed through his eyes. “is she okay?” 

“she will be.” 

despite the sleep, the exhaustion remained. all the adrenaline had worn off, the shitty coffee, the half-sandwich. your mind felt blank, but the gears still turned, unable to stop pushing. 

so tired. so worn. 

but for someone like you, stopping wasn’t an option. a hospital meant bills, care, decisions you’d need to make. you didn’t know how much insurance would cover. you couldn’t count on your mom to show up enough to take care of your sister. 

“you should’ve called.” 

maybe it was the years of raising your sister. maybe it was the years of learning how to do it on your own, with no one to show you or help you. of picking up odd jobs by the time you were twelve, or the image of your father and his white picket fence family still splitting open a wound that was never going to close. maybe it was just how tired you felt, all the damn time, but ‘you should’ve’ cut straight to the resentment you tried so hard to live past. 

you don’t really remember what you said to him. you just knew that you’d finally done it, a sick satisfaction tearing through you watching seungcheol lose his patience - i knew it, i knew it, i knew it, you’re tired of me, too - and you wanted that fight. you needed it, no matter how it hurt. even if some part of you felt like it was watching from the outside in, begging you to stop, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. 

we were worried, y/n, did it ever fucking occur to you? 

maybe, if you let us fucking help, things could be a little easier on you, have you tried that? 

fuck. fuck, y/n, wait. that’s not what i meant - 

i can help. we can help. why don’t you ever let us help? 

i’m sorry. 

let me help. please, baby. 

you have too much pride, you know this. but you’ve always hated letting the curtain draw too wide, letting anyone else see the wreckage of your life. you’d gotten so good at patching back then, you didn’t even notice the foundation had already fallen apart. bandaid on a bullet wound. 

it was the beginning of the end. your vice is starving on an island even with the rescue team on your shores, yet you just keep digging through the forest for something to keep you alive. it’s all you know how to do. 

when seungcheol returns with trays of food, placing them atop the table, you ask, “how much was it?” 

he knows you well enough not to look you in the eye, pretending like splitting utensils and napkins requires his utmost focus. “don’t remember. it’s okay.” 

you want to fight him on it. your eyes flick to the menu screens but they’re too far for you to read the prices. you glance back at him, and he’s deeply invested in arranging the trays as if he’s personally responsible for making ikea into fine dining. 

“okay.” 

his eyes snap to yours. he’s so surprised he forgets to hide it, but covers it with a smile, sliding over a bottle of juice to you. “okay,” he repeats, but he can’t keep the happiness out of it. 

you wish you could tell him. you wish you could rewrite history. say, i’m sorry. it wasn’t your fault. you were right, i scared you that night and i shut you out. i shouldn’t have. but i did it again and again and again, until i made sure you were gone. i’m sorry, seungcheol. it wasn’t fair. 

too little, too late. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2022 

“i can’t believe you went to ikea and bought nothing.” 

jeonghan has said this almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you’re pretty sure you’re gonna start hearing it in your sleep, soon. 

“it was cheaper at target,” you drone, the same thing you’ve said almost every weekend since labor day weekend. you don’t know if it’s good or bad that you’re getting used to being hassled by jeonghan. also, when did your apartment become the default hang-out location? when did it even become a hang-out location? you don’t even own a tv. 

“yeah, yeah. then where is the floating shelf that we agreed on?” 

you wish you had a throw pillow to launch at him. if mingyu wasn’t still feeding you at least once a week, you’d steal one from him. “we didn’t agree to anything, including that ikea trip, actually.” 

jeonghan rolls his eyes, ambling his way over to your couch. he slumps into the cushions, kicking his legs up over seungcheol’s thighs and throwing an arm over his eyes, sighing contently. “at least your couch is comfy.” 

you scoff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. more than you care to admit, you like seeing them there. the atmosphere is mostly quiet today, less ruckus and teasing and more comfortable companionship, with jeonghan already half asleep, seungcheol scrolling through his phone. mingyu sits on the floor by jeonghan, nursing an iced coffee he made seungcheol buy him on the way over. you can hear murmurs from joshua and nayeon chatting at the kitchen table, as you settle yourself on the floor next to mingyu, by seungcheol’s side of the couch. seungcheol peers at you over his phone, giving you a tiny, adorable smile that you can’t help but shyly return. 

“holy shit- oh, fuck,” mingyu startles all of you with his outburst, jeonghan letting out a disgruntled noise. “oh no. sorry- oh my god-” 

seungcheol grabs jeonghan before he can get his fingers on mingyu’s hair. you clap a hand over your mouth when you realize why - half of mingyu’s iced coffee is now on jeonghan’s shirt, having spilled when mingyu got over-excited courtesy of god-knows-what on his phone. 

“at least y/n’s couch is clean,” mingyu tries, bolting to his feet when jeonghan lets out a screech, held back only by seungcheol’s hand on his collar, seungcheol’s other hand held up and away from himself, a grimace on his face from the sticky feeling he must have after grabbing jeonghan the first time around. 

you giggle before you can help yourself, seungcheol’s head snapping to you at the sound. it’s not enough of a distraction that jeonghan can free himself, still prying at seungcheol’s fingers on his collar. 

“alright, relax,” you clamber to your feet, beckoning to jeonghan. “come on. i probably have a shirt you can borrow.” 

“i’m sticky,” jeonghan huffs in disgust, holding his hands away from himself as he looks down at his shirt. seungcheol loosens his hold on jeonghan to let him get up and follow you, seungcheol himself moving to your kitchen sink to rinse his hands off. 

“it’s just coffee,” you roll your eyes, pushing the door open to your bedroom. “you’ll live.” 

jeonghan grumbles, though his complaints peter off as he surveys your room. 

it’s a small, utilitarian space, much like the rest of your apartment. there’s little to even suggest you live here, with a standard, full-size bed sitting atop the simple bedframe seungcheol had built when you first moved in. a nightstand sits to the right of the bed, with a small lamp and a roll of toilet paper that you use in lieu of tissues. the only thing that makes this room yours is the photo you have with your sister on your nightstand, taken by her friend at her high school graduation a few years back. 

your dresser sits on the left side of your room, closer to the door. you pull open a drawer, digging for an old, oversized shirt that probably yet again once belonged to joshua. 

“hm,” jeonghan lets out an amused noise. he’s spotted the teddy bear on your bed, walking over and picking it up, shaking it in your direction. “so you did buy something from ikea.” 

you flush. you hide it by turning back to your drawers, rifling through the clothes to find one that’ll fit him. you know he knows you didn’t buy that bear. jeonghan is too smart for that. 

“seungcheol bought it.” you tell him out loud anyways. 

when you’d hit the kids section that day, your hands had run over the stuffed animals they had, fingers skimming through soft fur. seungcheol must’ve watched you, saw the way you picked up ikea’s trademark brown bear, how you looked at it, a bit wistful. 

you have no need for plush toys. you’re not a child anymore. but it’s cute, and so soft. you’d set it back down, but seungcheol snagged it before you could fully let go. when you’d stared at him questioningly, he’d lied, telling you he was getting it for his niece. 

but a couple weeks later, on a day seungcheol visited by himself - something he’s been doing more and more lately, without all your friends to crowd the apartment - you found the bear tucked into the corner of your couch. he’d left by then, and you don’t really know how he could have possibly hidden it the whole time he was here, but he managed it. 

you never thanked him for it. but you did send him a picture of the bear tucked into your bed, just so he would know that you didn’t throw it out. that you’d just moved it into your bedroom. 

jeonghan leans against your nightstand, tilting his head, observing the bear. you’re pulling out a band tee when, quietly, he mentions, “he never really got over you, you know.” 

you freeze. your grip tightens on the shirt, unable to turn around. 

no one’s talked about it. not outright, at least, except for nayeon, who saw you through the worst of it, all the sleepless nights, the breakdowns that would come out of nowhere. you’d hated yourself for it, convinced your priorities were twisted out of order. how come you can hide most of what hurts when it comes to your father - your mother, even, but the tragedy of your own making has you on your knees at three in the morning, hands curled tight against your chest as you bend your body as small as you can, feeling the pain ricochet through you? 

how can that be, when you were so sure you did the right thing? 

you hear jeonghan move, rounding the bed to walk closer to you. there’s no anger in his voice, no accusation in the way he speaks to you. “he couldn’t, y/n.” 

he lets the words hang in the still air, until you draw the courage to face him, even when you’re unable to hide the vulnerability in your eyes. jeonghan smiles, but it’s sad and knowing, and he looks down at the bear in his hand, fiddling with it. “to be honest,” he lifts his eyes back to yours. “in a way, none of us really did. i mean - you ran away, y/n. you explained nothing, and then you just… left.” 

he looks hurt. more openly than anyone else has looked at you, not mingyu, not joshua. not even seungcheol. jeonghan’s pain is written clear across his face, and you bow your head, the shame sinking you lower. it’s the same feeling that’s colored every single day since you broke up with seungcheol and abandoned the people you called your friends. the people you loved. the people who loved you. 

jeonghan sets the bear down on your bed. “i’m not saying i don’t understand. or that we don’t understand. we knew how hard it was for you with your mom. your dad, too.” his voice falters for a second, and he inhales, slow. “but we could’ve just talked about it. i… i wish you would’ve just talked about it.” 

nothing he says is meant to hurt you. he doesn’t say it to make you feel guilty. but it does, anyway. 

it hurts, anyway. 

gently, jeonghan takes the shirt from your hand, forcing you to look up at him. “he loved you. maybe still does. and i’m not asking you to love him again, but if nothing else…” 

he holds your gaze, half-pleading, half-hoping. “stay, this time. even when it gets hard. especially if it gets hard. because i don’t think any of us can handle it if you leave a second time.” 

JUNIOR YEAR | MONDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2015

when you told seungcheol you just wanted to be friends after his confession, you sort of expected him to disappear for a little while. or maybe even a long while, until he slowly faded out of your life, moving farther and farther into the distance, until one day, he was simply a speck from a time long past. 

after all, you’ve been through this song and dance before. it’s cliché, but a disappearing father really set the stage for your life, the first in a long line of people who always got to be the one to decide they no longer have a use for you. your college friends are the first people who have even tried to stay, but maybe that’s because they haven’t been given the opportunity to leave yet. 

still, you’re used to being left behind. easy to leave, disappointment a feeling so recurring, you could call it home. classify it as a habit. people slip out of your life like it’s effortless, and you can’t blame them, so you wouldn’t blame seungcheol, either. not when you’re always so busy, not when your life is as messy as it is. if seungcheol leaves, jeonghan and joshua probably do, too. nayeon will find ways to stay out of the dorm until she can get a new roommate, and you’ll go back to what you know. 

you’ve always done a decent job keeping yourself company, and it’s not like you don’t have a laundry list of responsibilities to keep you occupied. you’ll soothe the sting over on your own and move on. you won’t beg for someone to stay, nor do you have any good reasons to ask them to, anyways. 

so when seungcheol shows up outside your dorm the day after confessing, you stare blankly at him. his lips quirk in amusement at the obvious bewilderment on your face, and he slides past you, letting himself in the way he has a hundred times before. 

“hi,” he says, looking entirely relaxed. “did you eat yet?” 

“n-no,” you stammer, closing the door behind you. you’re so confused. you know the routine. you know how it goes. yet he’s standing before you, casual and relaxed, like it’s just another monday. 

“great. i haven’t eaten either. let’s order something, my treat.” he pulls out his phone, absently listing out options as he scrolls through restaurants in the area. 

with a start, your heart clenches, hard, the kind of painful ache you’ve shoved down time and again because you can’t afford to dissect it. this time, you let it burn for a little bit, just a little longer, enough time to trace the broadness of seungcheol’s shoulders, the sweep of his hair across his forehead, to the flex of his hands as he continues to scroll. you let the feeling spread, just for a chance to watch him. then, you call his name. “cheol.” 

it’s his eyes that betray him. seungcheol’s smile is the same as it’s always been, dimpled and handsome. but his eyes are soft on you, now that you know to look. there’s a certain adoration there that, if you’re being honest, you’ve pretended not to know existed for almost all the years you’ve been his friend. seungcheol, who always seems a bit stern, between the thick eyebrows and the strong line of his jaw, has only ever relented with you. 

you watch it happen again, how his smile hesitates, and the resignation starts to settle in. he knows you’re going to draw the line again. it’d started months ago, when you shut all your friends out, and never quite let them back in. but it hasn’t stopped him from trying to sneak over it, hoping to reach you, knowing you’ll slip through his fingers like water. 

you don’t know why he keeps coming back. if you were a better person, you wouldn’t let him. 

but his dark hair, his full lips, those wide, brown eyes - you’re selfish enough to want to keep him here. seungcheol is steady and reliable, and he makes you laugh, and that’s more than you can say about most people who have passed through your life. his friendship is perhaps the most meaningful thing you have, second only to your little sister, and even though you braced yourself for giving it up, now that he’s here, you know you aren’t ready to let him go. 

which means you also can’t let him linger for more than he already has. 

“go home,” you say softly. “break’s started. i’m sure your parents are missing you.” 

his shoulders fall, and he fidgets with the phone in his hand before pocketing it. “right,” he responds quietly. “yeah.” 

he doesn’t move, though. when your fingers brush against him, his eyes focus on the way they curl around his wrist, gently tugging him back towards the door. he follows you willingly, simply for the fact that you’re the one pulling him. 

for a moment, even when he’s standing in your doorway with you, you don’t drop your hands. you keep them there, just holding him lightly. 

you let him go. say your goodbyes and close the door behind you. 

his missing presence is immediately palpable in your quiet dorm. but you refuse to open the door again and call down the hall for him to come back, share a meal with you, liven up this tiny space you live in. you keep your back pressed to the door, palms flattening against the wood. last night, after he’d confessed, you’d stared at your ceiling until dawn, convincing yourself seungcheol wouldn’t come back into your life once you’d set a hard line with him. convinced yourself of the worst so you could prepare for it, and if you were prepared, then none of your expectations could shatter. you can still survive. 

but the smallest part of you knew. you know seungcheol’s a better man than that. your friendship with him isn’t contingent on whether or not you can reciprocate his feelings, and the part of you that doesn’t bank on endless series of disappointments knew that he’d show up at your door today. just so he could see you again. 

it’s why you placed your bets on the safe side. when he’d leaned a little closer, when his eyes had dipped to your lips, when his hands had brushed against your waist, pulling you towards him. when you’d almost let him, until the excuses came filtering in. 

lovers come and go. 

friends stay. 

and selfishly, you want him to stay. 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2022

with christmas around the corner, you finally cave about that damn floating shelf jeonghan keeps talking about. 

your sister is coming over, the way she has every year since she started university. she’s been telling you since she was eighteen that she wants to spend the holidays with you, doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how, as long as it’s with you. she doesn’t want to go back to your mom’s cold, lonely house either, not when she could be happier in your small apartment, doing nothing together. 

in the past years, your shitty apartments had mostly led to a lot of muffled screams whenever a bug crawled by, but this year, your apartment is nice. clean. there’s space. she deserves a good christmas, so you take the extra bit of money you’ve been saving up, and buy the stupid shelf, along with a variety of christmas decorations. 

seungcheol went with you. he was pink from how happy he was to be there, cheeks rosy and eyes glittering, enthusiastic with every item you asked for his opinion on. “yes,” he’d nod. “i think she’ll love it.”

so now you’re here, with a variety of christmas ornaments and other decorations scattered across your kitchen table and coffee table, boxes of things littered across the floor, with seungcheol drilling a screw into your wall to hold up your shelf. you hover near him, anxious with nothing to do to help him, while he moves with familiar ease and practice. 

“you look like you’ve done that a lot,” you comment, and he glances at you. 

“i have,” he replies, bemused. “the rest of those idiots can’t figure out a power drill to save their life.” 

“i feel like mingyu might know,” you say it without thinking twice, wincing a little when you see the immediate frown on his face. 

“you think mingyu can do a lot of things,” seungcheol mutters, and you have to bite your lip to hide a smile. his petulance is short-lived as he gets the shelf secured into place, setting the drill down. 

he dusts off the top, satisfied with his handiwork. “all done.” 

it’s only when he turns that you realize how close you’ve gotten to him. in a rush, you step backwards out of his space, tripping over packaging from all the other things you’ve bought, an embarrassing squeak escaping you. seungcheol’s arms shoot out to catch you, reflexes quick, instinctive as his hands grab your waist and yank you to him, your breath catching when your chest meets his, your hands latching to the back of his shirt. you lift your head, your wide eyes matching his, and suddenly you’re not breathing, heart rate doing double time in your chest. 

he’s so close. you can’t think. his breaths are shallow, lips parted, and you can’t focus. fuck, you can’t focus at all. seungcheol just does this to you, does it every time he’s nearby. it’s why you can’t let him stand too close. why you shouldn’t have let him back into your life. into your apartment. 

but right now, with the way his palm slides against your back, you can’t seem to find it in you to care. 

his eyes are half-lidded, gaze dragging from your eyes to your lips and back, like he’s trying to keep himself in check but can’t. you’re not sure you want him to. you don’t think you do. 

he leans closer. every movement feels like an echo from the past, and there’s a buzzing in the back of your head that you simply ignore. it feels too good to have him here, looking at you like you’re the only person who exists on this planet. like he wants nothing and no one else but you. 

you blink slow, so tempted to let your eyes shut, to feel only him, let him surround you wholly. you missed him. in all these years, you just… missed him. missed feeling him. missed the way he loved you, so softly, so endlessly. like nothing else mattered. 

you feel his breath ghost over your lips, and yours hitches. your hands tighten in his shirt, and your eyes slam shut before you’re releasing him, hands braced against his chest, pushing him away just enough so that you can lower your head in the space between the two of you, sucking in a shaky breath. 

he doesn’t move. your fingers curl against his shirt, holding tight onto him. you don’t want to let go. you don’t want him to go. 

the tears are rising, and they’re rising fast. your hands are shaking from how hard you’re gripping his shirt. he tries to soothe you, one hand running against your back but you shake your head furiously, unable to speak. 

“okay. okay,” he whispers, letting his hands hover away from your body. still there, just not touching you. just close enough so you know he’s there. 

you want his hands back on you. you don’t want him to hold you at all. there’s a knife in your chest that twists, and you’re gritting your teeth so hard you think they might crack. 

“i need you to breathe,” he murmurs. you hadn’t realized you’d stopped. “please, baby. we’ll do it together.” 

please, baby. 

against your will, a sob chokes out of you. a wretched sound, one you swallow immediately. the tears don’t escape. you make sure of it. you blink them back down, steady your breathing, just like seungcheol asks for. in, out. slow. 

little by little, your fingers loosen. your breaths even out, fingers still splayed across his chest, using him to hold yourself up. “that’s it,” he says softly. “it’s okay.” 

you don’t lift your head. you think if you do right now, you won’t be able to hold the tears back. so you stay where you are, fingers weakly curling against his shirt, then straightening out. it feels safer, your hands against his clothes. a layer of separation. you can argue that it’s not him you’re holding onto. just his clothes. 

when your heart rate has calmed, and the burning behind your eyes has receded, you finally raise your head, eyes finding his. he’s smiling at you, but his eyes are sad, and there’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him. you force yourself to pull away, returning your hands to your sides. you don’t know what to say, which makes everything feel worse. 

you watch his smile fade. he tries to say something, but the words must escape him too, because all that comes out is empty air, and he stops. 

for a few minutes, there’s only heavy silence. he finds his words before you do, and they come out quiet, honest. “i don’t want to apologize.” he holds your gaze, certain. “because i’m not sorry. i’m not sorry for the way that i feel. i’m sorry i scared you, but i’m not sorry for wanting you. for always wanting you.” 

he runs a tired hand through his hair, brushing through the strands. they’ve grown out a bit since the first time you bumped into him back in may, long enough that he’s able to pull them back, out of his eyes. so terribly reminiscent of when you saw him last, five years ago. 

he inhales, slow and deep. “i wish… i wish i knew how to make it less terrifying for you. i wish i knew how to - how to make it not hurt you. because i know it does. i see it every single time you look at me. how much it hurts you.” 

sometimes, you forget. for as well as you know him, he knows you. it’s why the two of you always felt like you fit together so seamlessly, how all of his soft edges could still find a way to mold to all of your rough, sharp ones. because he knew how to find the gentle slopes, the parts of you that you wanted him to have. the parts of you that were better. 

“it took me a really long time, you know,” his voice has dropped, barely audible. “to figure it out. why you left. i thought i did something wrong. rushed you. pushed you too much, maybe. and maybe that’s still true, at least a little bit. but…” he swallows. “but you left jeonghan, too. joshua. mingyu. you left all of them, not just me. so it couldn’t have just been about me. about us. but i could never really be sure, not until i saw you outside of mingyu’s apartment.” 

you should kick him out. whatever it takes to make him stop talking. 

“but you still look at me like that, y/n.” 

you can’t move. 

“you still hold onto me when i touch you.” 

the thing about the knife that stays buried in your chest, is that it was never seungcheol’s hand digging it deeper. it isn’t even your mother’s, or your father’s. 

it has always been yours. 

“i’m not going away this time, baby,” seungcheol promises. “i don’t care. i’ll figure it out. until it stops being scary. until it stops hurting. whatever it takes.” 

the worst thing, you think, about being in seungcheol’s presence, is that he’s so convincing. so much so that he makes you want for more than what you think you’re allowed to have. makes you believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have it. have him, without leaving behind a wreckage, disaster. 

the sharp pain is so familiar, that letting your hand slip off the hilt feels unnatural. to not have to live every single day with the reminder of what kind of person you are, and where you stand in anyone’s life. but when seungcheol is nearby, he always finds a way to pull you closer. refuses to let you stay at a distance. no matter how far you step back, seungcheol doesn’t ever let you go. 

JUNIOR YEAR | THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY 16, 2016 

seungcheol is impossible to stay away from, you realize. 

even as just friends, seungcheol is good to you. when you rejected his confession a few months back, nothing outwardly changed, except for the fact that you could no longer pretend you didn’t know. you didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but no one seemed to notice the difference. seungcheol pre-confession was no different than seungcheol post-confession. only you remained in silent turmoil. 

when you lock the convenience store door behind you, you turn to find seungcheol waiting for you outside. winter this year is harsh, seungcheol’s nose red from the cold in spite of being bundled up, a beanie flattening his hair, scarf pulled up high. he brightens when he sees you, digging through his pockets for something. 

“cheol?”

“hand warmers,” he presents them to you proudly. “for you.” 

you stare at them. the cheap little packets, that knowing him, he’s bought an entire case of, just to give to you. to make sure you stay warm in the deep winter chill, because he knows you’re always out in the dead of night, a direct result of having closing shifts regularly. the longer you stare, the angrier you get. you don’t need hand warmers, you’re plenty warm right now, from the mix of anger and sheer want. 

without warning, you yank him to you, hands fisting his jacket as you pull him down to your height. seungcheol squawks, a sound he will vehemently deny making later, completely baffled by the way you glare at him, lips turned downwards in a frustrated frown. “stop it,” you demand, but there’s no heat to it. no strength behind your words. “stop it, choi seungcheol.” 

“hey,” he whines. “you know how i feel about you using my full name.” 

“i know. i know how you feel about it. i know how you feel about me. it’s not fair, cheol. it’s not fair,” your brows furrow deeper. you’re breathing harder, and he looks even more confused now, but his expression has softened. you hate how he looks at you. like you’re all that’s worth focusing on. like he understands why you’re so angry with him right now, and why none of it really feels like anger at all. 

“you’re so unfair,” you whisper, tracing every line of his features, from his chin to his lips to his nose and cheekbones, up to those eyes you adore so much. “why do i like you so much?” 

his smile is a bit cheeky. “because i’m so cute?” 

“annoying,” you say, but there’s no bite to it, more affection than anything else. seungcheol is still bent at an awkward angle, but you haven’t let him go and he likes exactly where he is, right now. you don’t want to let him go, either, because you also like him exactly where he is, right now. close to you. centimeters away from you, but still a little too far, so you tug him even closer, till your nose brushes his. “i said no,” your voice trembles a little, but your head tilts, angling towards him. “i said i wanted to be friends.” 

“we can be friends,” seungcheol breathes, but he’s finally remembered how to move, hand warmers forgotten in his pockets as his gloved hands find your waist, tugging you against him. “we can be whatever you want, y/n.” 

your feelings are a mess. your life is a mess. but seungcheol cuts straight through it, a direct path to your heart. “i don’t wanna be friends.” your hands tighten in his jacket. “i…” 

it’s hard to think straight. so you opt against it entirely, running on instinct instead, on purely what you want. 

him. 

you want him. 

you close the distance, and seungcheol melts right into you, hand sliding to the small of your back as he pulls you in closer. your eyes flutter shut, and every thought dissipates. there’s only seungcheol, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way his hands feel on you, the way you only want to keep bringing him closer, closer, closer. 

your hand reaches up to his face, and it’s the only reason the two of you break apart, seungcheol yelping at the cold of your fingers when they brush his cheeks, and you both burst into giggles. “sorry,” you start to pull away, but seungcheol’s hands wrap around yours immediately. 

“keep ‘em there,” he presses his cheek to your hand. “maybe you don’t need hand warmers. you can just have me instead.” 

you pinch his cheek. “cheesy.” 

he hums. “yours,” he answers. 

yours. 

PRESENT DAY | FRIDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2022

“you decorated!” your sister’s delighted squeal makes it worth it, as she drops her bags on your floor and takes in your apartment. it wasn’t much, but you’d managed to find a small tree, one of those little bendable plastic ones, and you bought two stockings from the dollar store that you hung off the floating shelf seungcheol helped you put up. you can’t look at it too long, the memory still fresh in your head of his hands on your waist, his voice low, sincere. so determined to love you again. 

you watch your sister flit about your apartment, excited over every new detail she spots. she’s visited before throughout the past half-year or so, but never overnight. she shakes the snowglobe on your bookshelf, and for a second she looks six years old again, giddy and young. 

you smile. the softest part of your heart is always her, your headstrong sister with her boundless energy. so much smarter than you, popular around campus and so beloved by everyone. 

“go put your things in the room,” you call, heading into the kitchen. 

“i can sleep on the couch,” she tries, but you point at the bedroom door. 

“room,” you repeat sternly, and she shrugs and flounces off, taking her weekender bag with her. you rummage through the cabinets, preparing for dinner. 

she comes back out of the room with your laptop hoisted above her head. “netflix?” she beams at you, and you gesture to the kitchen table for her to set up, while you cook. when she sidles up to you, you swing an arm around her, squeezing her tight to you until she complains. 

“missed you, berry,” you coo, keeping her held tight in place even as she squirms. the old nickname comes from before she was even born, from a trip you made to the doctor’s office back when your parents were still together, and the doctor said she was the size of a strawberry. 

“let go,” she whines. “miss me from like two feet away, oh my god.” 

you snicker and release her, letting her go back to your laptop to scroll through nayeon’s netflix account for something to watch. dinner is plated within thirty minutes, the two of you sitting side by side, watching ‘business proposal’, laughing and talking with your mouths full, falling silent together at more intense scenes, chopsticks mid-air. the evening goes quietly, comfortably, until the two of you are curled up on the couch, both showered and clean, your sister’s head on your shoulder while you both scroll aimlessly through your phones. 

with how late it’s gotten, you’ve turned the overhead lights off, leaving only the twinkling from the little tree you set up, and a floor lamp in the corner, the room awash in a dim yellow glow, just enough for the two of you. it’s peaceful, a slow night with your favorite person on this earth, her giggling at silly reels on her phone, pressed warm against you. 

you’re flicking through photos you took with her earlier in the day when your phone buzzes. the message flashes across the top of your screen but before you get a chance to swipe it away, your sister catches sight of it and jolts upright. 

[12:02am] seungcheol: merry christmas, y/n 

oh, boy. 

“you’re back together?” 

you flounder, unsure what to do with the fact that she sounds excited about it. “no,” you deny, a little more forceful than absolutely necessary. you soften your voice. “we’re - no. we’re… reacquainted. his - our -” you suddenly can’t figure out how to describe mingyu. “my neighbor is a mutual friend.” 

your sister hmphs, picking her hot chocolate up from off the coffee table. “you never told me why you broke up with him. i thought he was nice.” 

you flick her forehead. “none of your business. drink your hot chocolate.”

she pouts but obeys, going back to her phone while you stare at yours, at the simple message seungcheol had left you. your eyes drift from your phone to your sister, how young she still looks, yet she’s here, with you, instead of your mom on christmas day. 

your sister is 21 now, but back then she was only a teenager. a teenager you could no longer protect, because you were away at college doing everything you could to make enough to secure her future, with or without a scholarship. you didn’t want her to worry about the money like you did. you didn’t want her to have to worry about anything, but it was inevitable. 

in the end, she was the one who’d encouraged you to stop talking to your mom. to stop coming home. at eighteen years old, your sister had no right being as mature as she was, already so much better than you when you were her age. so much less naive, so much stronger, so much quick wit and a straight back, head held high. you’re so proud of her, it makes your heart ache. 

maybe it’s because she watched you fight for your place in a home that no longer belonged to you. maybe because she was too young to remember when it did, when you were the apple of your parents’ eyes, an adorable toddler with a mischievous streak. 

because unlike you, she only knew one outcome. that no matter what you did, nothing ever changed. there were no amount of accomplishments, no feats, nothing that could change your mother’s mind about you. you were the problem. 

“and i’m okay,” she’d said, so earnest it broke your heart. “you don’t have to come home just to check on me. i’m going to college soon. i won’t have to be here. we can just see each other on campus, or at your apartment.” 

she was trying so hard not to be a part of the reason you kept picking open the same wound, every time you came home. 

but the thing is, some days, most days, even, you understand your mom. it’s why you kept going home, again and again, in the hopes that something would change. that one day you’d be enough. that your mother could look at you and see just you, and not the man who abandoned you both. 

it takes you a long time to learn, but you can’t beg someone to love you. you can’t beg your mom to see past your dad’s betrayal and realize that you were just a kid. she needed someone to blame for the hurt and it was easy when you look so much like him. it takes you a long time to learn that that isn’t your fault. 

you run a fond hand through your sister’s hair, brushing it back away from her face. she’s used to your affectionate touches, doesn’t even look up from her phone. but she does eventually tilt her face towards you. in the late night, there’s a bit of melancholy when she says, “it’d be nice, if you got back together with him.” 

you mask the feelings that come with that statement, choosing instead to arch your eyebrow. “why?” 

“he was good to you. i could tell. and he made you happy.” she pauses, contemplative. “when you were with him… it was like you got a chance to think of yourself, for once, too. i liked that he could do that.” 

she goes back to her phone, leaving you to sit with that thought. the idea that you could put yourself first, because of seungcheol. because that was all he ever wanted of you. for you to choose you. 

you swipe back to your messages with him. you scroll through them, the past few months of him messaging you every errant thought, blurry photos of that neighborhood orange cat. all the times you ignored the majority of his messages, and how he responded to all of yours within minutes.  

when you type your message back, you miss the way your sister peers over at your phone, and the small, secret smile she wears when she sees it’s his chat. how she glances at you, spots the faint smile on your face, the soft look in your eyes. the one you only get with him. 

[12:34am] y/n: merry christmas, cheol 

PRESENT DAY | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2022

every year, seungcheol had told you, his parents hold a new years party. 

it’s a full house - his parents’ friends, his brother’s family, his brother’s friends, seungcheol’s friends. everyone the chois know gather at their house to drink and eat and talk, different friend groups and family members taking up different sections of the house, occasionally mingling together and making new friends, too. 

it sounds… unreal, if you’re being honest. it sounds like something out of a movie. or a book. nobody’s life is this picturesque. nobody actually has a home so warm, so welcoming. 

up until you stepped into seungcheol’s family home five years ago, you didn’t think it was possible. 

you haven’t celebrated new years with them before, only christmas, but the love had been palpable. seungcheol was raised on adoration and affection, and this fact was amplified the instant you’d entered his home. 

after breaking up with him, though, you didn’t think you’d be back here. 

“we took the train and still beat you here,” mingyu laughs, leaning against the doorway of seungcheol’s house. you can spot nayeon behind him, waving at you, as you climb out of seungcheol’s car. his family home isn’t far from the city, maybe an hour out, and seungcheol had offered the ride. offered all of it, actually. the invite to the party, the ride to his parents’ place, a guest room in his house overnight. 

it’d taken a bit of convincing. from everyone. they were all going - mingyu, jeonghan, joshua, nayeon. mingyu was bringing wonwoo with him. but none of them were you. none of them had the history you had. none of them were seungcheol’s ex. 

“you should go,” your sister was the nail in the coffin. “i think it could be fun. i’m gonna go hang out with my friends on new years so you should hang out with yours.” 

“they’re his parents,” you’d argued, and she’d shrugged. 

“is seungcheol dense?” 

“not particularly, no.” 

“then i don’t think he’d invite you unless he thought it’d be okay.” 

so, here you are. one hour of only a moderately awkward drive later, and you’re in front of the choi family home again, staring at the white paneling and the christmas lights still strung up. 

his home is as lovely as you remember it being. all warm, golden lights, decorations in the windowsills, the fireplace lit up. there’s toys scattered across the living room where his brother’s kids have taken to playing, seungcheol’s brother, sister-in-law, and their friends crowded around the kids. the kitchen is overflowing with drinks and food, seungcheol’s dad running back and forth, laughing loudly with seungcheol’s uncle, while his mom sits at the dining table, amusedly listening to jeonghan lament over the girl who won’t give him the time of day. 

it’s so.. busy. loud. you don’t even know who took your jacket and scarf, but before you can even politely greet his parents with the box of oranges you brought (which also mysteriously disappeared from your hands), you’re whisked off upstairs, where seungcheol’s friends have commandeered his childhood bedroom. 

“i should-” 

“don’t worry about it,” seungcheol reassures. “there’s too many people downstairs. even if you say hi, they’ll forget you did within the next five seconds.” 

so you let him guide you into his room, hyperaware of his hand against your back, his touch barely there. 

nothing about his room has changed. you suppose it wouldn’t, considering he lives in the city now. his walls are painted a standard eggshell white, the dresser opposite his bed still displaying his taekwondo trophies atop it. there’s a desk in the corner that joshua’s sitting at, fiddling with seungcheol’s thousand-year-old monitor. he gives you both a quick greeting when you enter. 

you don’t recognize the man laying in his bed, though. lazy eyes peer back at you before blinking twice and sitting up, curious. 

“jihoon,” seungcheol introduces. “y/n. y/n, jihoon. jihoon’s my neighbor. y/n’s my… uh, my friend.” seungcheol clears his throat. you ask yourself for the millionth time why you came. 

jihoon smirks, clearly aware of who you are. “hi,” he sticks out a hand. “nice to meet you.” 

you shake his hand, nodding and trying to smile. it’s like your facial muscles have decided they don’t remember how to work today. 

seungcheol pivots. “what are you doing with my computer?” 

“you mean your relic from the dinosaur age?” joshua snorts. “i’m just wondering if it even still boots up. why do you still have this thing?” 

seungcheol swats at joshua’s hands. “leave it.” 

“he has porn on there,” jeonghan drawls, and you turn to find him with mingyu, nayeon, and who you assume is wonwoo all crowding into seungcheol’s room. you’d think at your age, you can handle jeonghan’s shameless jokes, but you still turn red. 

seungcheol notices. instead of pouting at jeonghan for the slander like he normally would, he leans down to you, murmuring so only you can hear. “still shy, hm?” 

on pure instinct, you shove him away, then walk as nonchalant as possible to stand beside nayeon, ignoring the wide grin on seungcheol’s face for successfully flustering you. “smooth,” nayeon mutters under her breath. you elbow her for good measure. 

in your defense, neither of you have talked about the almost-kiss. if it wasn’t constantly running a loop in the back of your mind, you would think you dreamt it up. but every casual brush of seungcheol’s hands against your waist, your back, your arm - and it’s all you can think about. that edge of desperation in his voice, pleading. that stubborn streak in him, so insistent. i’m not going away this time, baby. 

if there’s anything about seungcheol, it’s that he’s straightforward with how he feels. 

your head’s a mess, around him. your heart’s less confused, but you don’t lead with it. could never afford to. still might not. 

everyone finds a way to shuffle into the room. somehow, you, nayeon, mingyu, and wonwoo fill the space on the floor, near seungcheol’s closet. jeonghan flops down next to jihoon on the bed, and seungcheol sits by his nightstand, leaning against his bed, facing your direction. 

it’s not quite what you expect a party to be. there’s brief exchanges - mingyu introduces wonwoo, and he gives you a kind smile that catches you off guard. when you first saw him, he seemed strict, a bit cold. adverse to people. but when he smiles, the entirety of him warms. 

seungcheol nudges your foot with his. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring at wonwoo. after all, this is the guy everyone says is like you. but from what you can tell, wonwoo is good-natured, a little goofy, clearly attentive. he laughs at mingyu’s jokes even when everyone else groans, and bounces his attention from person to person, intent on listening to everyone. 

you glance at seungcheol. he’s trying not to, but you can tell he’s sulking. you tilt your head at him, and his eyes dart to wonwoo so quick you almost don’t catch it. he nudges you again, lower lip jutting out just slightly as he eyes you, looking for your attention. 

as subtly as you can, you scoot to his side. nayeon catches your eye and raises her eyebrows, eyes twinkling. shut up, you narrow your eyes at her. make me, she smiles innocently. 

“doing okay?” seungcheol’s voice is low, for only you to hear. you turn to him, stopping short when you see how close he is, eyes widening slightly. his lips twitch, but he doesn’t comment on the way your cheeks color, ever so slightly. you nod in response. 

“good,” he sounds happy. “thank you for coming.” 

for a striking moment, you wish you weren’t the person you are. you wish you could let go of all inhibition, forget history, forget habit. you want to lean into him. you want to feel his fingers curl around yours, you want to breathe him in, let your head rest on his shoulder. make it so he doesn’t have to be jealous when you stare at wonwoo, and how carefree wonwoo seems even though mingyu said he had a hard life, like you. you want to be that way too. carefree. enough to make it evident that seungcheol is the only person you want. the only person you have ever wanted. 

he can see it on your face, and his breath catches. he swallows, but he draws back, giving you space. even when his eyes always give him away. 

he wants to kiss you, and your heart races in your chest at the thought. anxiety or anticipation, you can’t decide. 

until it stops being scary, he’d promised. until it stops hurting. 

you wonder if bravery looks like falling all in. you glance at wonwoo again. 

maybe it just looks like defying misery in favor of choosing happiness. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

every person in the house somehow manages to squeeze into the living room to ring in the new year. you manage to greet seungcheol’s family beforehand, seungcheol’s dad shocking you when he pulls you into a quick hug, like he’s completely forgotten that you’re seungcheol’s ex-girlfriend. 

new years lands with you standing between seungcheol and nayeon, nayeon holding your hand tight as she cheers with everybody else, raucous and loud, shouting “happy new year!” you laugh and wince at the same time, her voice practically directly in your ear, instinctively shifting towards seungcheol. his arm comes to rest around your waist while it’s still chaotic and overcrowded, pulling you close to him, you releasing nayeon’s hand when he does so. it’s just a minute - just long enough for him to lean down and murmur for you, and you only: “happy new year, y/n.” 

only seungcheol knows how to get your heart going. 

he lets you go, and you find yourself missing the warmth. it’s hypocritical of you to want it, when you’re the one who pushed him away when he almost kissed you two weeks ago. he seems to know it, too, he just doesn’t seem to care. he’s spent this entire day at your side, from the drive in, to the evening spent in his bedroom with all your friends, to now, with the clock ringing midnight. 

you don’t know why, but you’re suddenly conscious of it. hasn’t he been here since you bumped into him in front of your apartment? running to you as soon as he’s called, standing at your kitchen table, sitting on your living room couch? why does it suddenly feel different?

the night draws deeper, people slowly beginning to leave the party. his extended family leaves first, cars pulling out of the driveway. the volume lowers to a comfortable hum, voices drifting from the kitchen where his parents sit with jihoon’s parents, still talking and laughing. 

out of habit, you start cleaning. it starts with you folding the blankets and quilts on the couch you’re sitting on, mingyu and joshua glancing at you and following after you. by accident, you start a train of clean-ups, wonwoo picking up toys that were left behind by seungcheol’s niece, tucking them with the rest of the toys in the box in the corner, jihoon helping him. you gather mugs off the table, nayeon sweeping the crumbs from cookies and other snacks into her palm once the surface is cleared. 

“you don’t have to do that,” seungcheol tries to stop all of you, but halfway through his sentence and he ends on a defeated, affectionate sigh, bending down to pick up a block that got kicked towards the couch, tossing it to jeonghan, who’s closer to the toy box. 

he helps you carry the rest of the mugs into the kitchen, depositing them into the sink. letting you wash them is where seungcheol draws the line, both hands landing on your waist to shift you to the side, the movement so easy and natural for him that you buffer for a good minute, confused. he takes your place in front of the sink, grabbing the sponge and trying not to smile too hard. 

“i-” 

“nope,” he cuts you off, scrubbing the mugs. “when you’re here, you’re the princess. house rules.” he says it so confidently, so self-assured, that you swallow and stand down. 

he knows you can’t sit still, though, certainly not while watching him, so after a beat of watching you fidget, he nods towards the towels hanging off the oven handle. “help me dry?” 

while you dry dishes, jeonghan comes in, patting seungcheol’s shoulder. “they’re gonna head out soon. take the last train out.” 

“they need a ride?” 

“jihoon said he’d drive. just came to say bye, i’m gonna go home with my parents.” jeonghan smiles at you like you’re not going with them. confused, you set the mug down. 

“when are they leaving?” you ask, and he shrugs. 

“five, ten minutes, i think. but his car can only fit four.” he arches his eyebrows. you count off your friends. shua, gyu, nayeon. wonwoo. four. 

when he sees the frown on your face, he chuckles. “cheol will take you back in the morning. won’t you, cheol?” 

“i can just uber-” 

“i’ll take you in the morning. let’s go say bye to them.” seungcheol finishes washing the last mug, leaving it on the dish rack to dry and toweling off his hands. the two of them pull you towards the front door before you can even get a word in edgewise, bewildered. it’s a rush of hugs, mingyu lifting you off the ground just to hear you squeak in surprise, nayeon promising to text when she’s home. then they’re gone, leaving you blinking rapidly in seungcheol’s entryway. 

somewhat dazed, you turn to seungcheol. everyone has gone, seungcheol’s parents having sent off jeonghan and his family too, then retiring to their bedroom, leaving only the two of you. 

“i… i didn’t bring clothes,” is what finally comes out of your mouth. it feels silly to point out something obvious, but it kicks seungcheol back into action. 

the two of you head back upstairs, where seungcheol tugs out a t-shirt and sweatpants from his dresser while you hover awkwardly in his doorway. he hands them to you, and you spot his high school logo stamped across them. “thank you,” you mumble. 

“i can set up the guest bedroom,” seungcheol clears his throat. “or… or you can just stay in my room. with me.” 

you stare at him, unsure. he has his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, eyebrows pulling together. when you hesitate, he lifts a hand, fingers brushing your forearm, sliding down until they slowly wrap around your wrist, tugging you to him, until you’re centimeters apart. his palm feels warm on your skin, and your eyes flutter closed. 

without all of his friends and family, the house is quiet. the peaceful kind, one you can sink into, not the kind that leaves you on edge, careful not to make a sound. you can hear the faint hum of the heater running, the air still. 

you lift your head and open your eyes, finding his. his eyes were always your favorite. a captivating shade of brown, always full of emotion. he never hid from you. not once. 

“stay with me,” he whispers, just shy of begging you. “please, baby.” 

when he asks like that, you can never tell him no. 

“okay.”

you fall asleep that night in his clothes, in his bed, on his sheets. with him tucked close to you, your back to his chest. before you fall asleep though, you hear him murmur, “missed you. more than anything.” 

in his sleep, his arm drapes heavy around your waist, like it’s instinct. how naturally he holds you against him, burying his nose against you. that’s how you fall asleep, with the familiar comfort of him wrapped around you. where it feels like coming home. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 24, 2016 - SUNDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2016 

with seungcheol’s personality, you sort of just assumed his mother was a bustler. the kind of woman who never stopped moving, like there was always something to clean or cook or wash or serve. food to offer, dishes to clear, drinks to pour. you assumed she was like the mothers you saw in hallmark movies, constantly yammering on about something or another, but never in a way that felt annoying, only comforting. somebody who made soup whenever one of her kids so much as shivered, to fend off a cold. 

but when you step through the doors of seungcheol’s family home, you’re greeted by his dad first. he’s quick, helps you slide your coat off before you can even register what’s happening, and he’s talking the whole while, a steady, if quick beat of welcoming words as he ushers you in, rattling off something about it’s cold outside, there’s hot chocolate in the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready, do you need a blanket? you should stand by the heater, or we can get the fireplace going - 

“dad,” seungcheol says, amusingly exasperated. he puts his hands on his dad’s shoulders, redirecting him into the house. “let her breathe, would you?” 

mr. choi grumbles but it’s all fond, letting seungcheol push him back towards the kitchen, but not before he gets a chance to give you another smile, earnest and pleased, in a way you’re not sure anyone has ever been at just the mere fact that you’ve showed up in their home. you force a smile in return, hope it looks sincere, want it to be, because you realize it’s not his mom where seungcheol got his warmth and energy from, but his dad. 

“is that my baby?” you hear her before you see her, the soft lilt of her voice, so full of affection as she calls for her son. 

“the one and only,” seungcheol calls back, grin wide as his mom appears at the entryway of the hall, seungcheol bending down to wrap her in a tight hug, one that she returns with small pats on his back, pulling away from him with a smile. it becomes immediately clear that seungcheol’s dad was the loud one and his mom the quiet one, but both with a deep love for their kids. her eyes are warm, kind, her love no less muted, and when her gaze lands on you, her eyes widen ever so slightly, lips turning upwards. 

“y/n?” she guesses, and something in your heart stumbles at the way she says your name. you swallow down the feeling and stand straighter, hope that she doesn’t notice the slight shake in your fingers. 

“hi, mrs. choi,” you lower your head in a slight bow, but she simply straightens you back up, fingers gentle on your arms as she peers at you, like she wants to get a better look. 

“i’ve heard a lot about you,” she brushes a hand against a strand of your hair, pushing it back slightly, away from your face. “so many good things. cheol likes you very much.” 

“very much,” seungcheol presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which heats from the attention. his mom chuckles.

“we brought pears, if you’d like,” you tell her. “seungcheol helped carry them in.”  you hope she can’t see how nervous you are. you feel jittery, like you’ve had too much caffeine. 

his mom rubs a comforting hand against your arm. “thank you. that’s sweet of you.” 

you’d googled a lot before coming here. what to do. what to bring. what the right etiquette is, how to behave. you’re still not really sure, but his parents don’t seem to mind, or even notice, as seungcheol sets the table, his dad urging you to sit and just let his kid handle it all. “we wanted a daughter, y’know,” he tells you. “so we could spoil her. a little princess. spoiled him instead.” he pinches seungcheol’s cheek, tone all affection and fondness. seungcheol scrunches his nose but you can see the happy glow on him, how much he enjoys his parents’ attention. 

when seungcheol passes by your seat, setting down your utensils, he leans to whisper in your ear, “you can be the princess, instead.” when you turn red, he relishes in it, grin completely unashamed. 

dinner is loud, between seungcheol and his dad, mostly. his dad regales you with stories from seungcheol’s childhood, seungcheol whining back over every embarrassing memory. you feel yourself slowly ease up, less and less conscious of how you hold your chopsticks, or how fast you eat your food, or how much of it you take. not that it matters, because even as he’s talking, his dad manages to pile your plate the instant you’ve finished even a small portion of it, almost like he’s not even thinking about it. it takes seungcheol’s mom subtly sneaking the tongs out of her husband’s grasp for him to stop, and she gives you a secret, knowing smile when you accidentally let the relief show on your face. 

you try to wash the dishes after dinner, but seungcheol’s mom pulls you away. “his dad will do it. you rest,” she guides you towards the living room. “seungcheol mentioned you work a lot. it’s okay.” 

“you don’t need to lift a finger when you’re here,” seungcheol’s dad proclaims, tugging on dish gloves. “don’t you worry one bit.” 

they mean well, but the embarrassment floods you anyway. of course they know. seungcheol is close with his parents. open with them. probably tells them everything. “i don’t mind,” you try, but she shakes her head, firm. 

seungcheol’s brother arrives on christmas day with his wife. he’s as casual as seungcheol is, if a little quieter, quick to attempt to put seungcheol in a headlock, which gets them both scolded by his wife. it makes you laugh, seeing two tall, fit men with their head bowed low in front of a woman who at best is maybe 5’2”. 

she’s charming and clearly wields command over the choi brothers, both of them at her beck and call. one because he’s so obviously head over heels for her, and the other out of respect. seungcheol most days is whiny and pouty, but just as easily flips the switch whenever he crosses his arms, eyes dark and stern. around his sister-in-law, he’s the definition of a kid brother. a little annoying, but obedient. it’s endearing to watch. 

he’s never far from your side. always a hand around your waist, lips brushing against your ear to whisper something for just the two of you. he sneaks kisses when no one’s looking, but his lips linger just long enough that you always feel a little winded. his affection is so consuming, so open. he loves you, so unashamedly, so fully. there’s no question about it. 

you wonder, if you match him. can they tell? how much seungcheol means to you? it’s all you have to offer, is how much you love him. 

you spend the entire weekend waiting. you’re so convinced - any moment now, and they’ll all realize. they’ll see through the pristine smile you wear, every careful movement you make. they’ll notice the wrinkles you can’t get out of the best set of clothes you own no matter how hard you try, how cheap the material is. they’ll spot the awkward way you move around their home, how every slight noise makes you jump a little. how tense you are, how unused to the only life seungcheol has ever known, in this home so full of love that he grew up in.

then it’ll all be over. they’ll see you, the nervous way your fingers clutch at the ends of your sweater, or how you can’t talk about your family for too long. the gaping hole in the family photo you don’t have, because your father fled from you. six years old and already so unlovable, so easily left behind. no second glances. no second thoughts. 

their disappointment will sink in deep. hushed whispers when they think you can’t hear. seungcheol, are you sure? it’s not too late to break things off. 

but it never comes. they don’t ask about any of the things you expect them to ask about. only, do you like your professors? or, how old is your sister? and, are you full? would you like more? cheol-ah, go get her some hot water. do you like tangerines? 

a few hours before you’re set to leave, back to the city to work a few shifts in between the holidays and to see your sister for new years, seungcheol snags you by the arm, shutting his bedroom door to lean you against it. he dips his head, skims his nose against your cheek, down to your neck, pressing a quick kiss to the small gap of skin between your shoulder and your neck. he pulls you against him, chest to chest, doesn’t ever want any distance between the two of you. a quiet, private moment, just for the two of you, one you sink into, burying your face against his shoulder. the tension melts off of you, when you’re alone with him. 

he pulls away only enough so he can murmur, “are you okay, baby?” 

you didn’t think he’d noticed. but of course he did. there’s no hiding from him, not when everything he does is in an active effort to make you comfortable. you keep your head on his shoulder, holding him tight to you. 

one day, you think. one day he’ll be tired of reassuring you. one day he’ll be sick of mending wounds he didn’t cause, of learning what things set you off that even you didn’t know set you off. one day he’ll be tired of waiting for you to let him all the way in, of having to carefully pry you open, slow and easy, so you don’t shatter. 

“do you think your parents like me?” 

his lips pull upwards. “is that what you’ve been worrying about?” 

no. yes. yes and no. you worry about everything. it’s chronic, unavoidable. the more you learn about seungcheol, the more you love him. and the more you think he’s unattainable. 

it doesn’t matter how close he is, that he’s already yours. doesn’t matter that he presses kisses into your skin, his form of comfort. how he whispers they love you. like i knew they would, promising that you’ve made a good impression. 

all you can think about is the way his mom put a gentle hand on your wrist, pulling you away from the sink. how kind. suffocatingly so. 

no expectation of you, only that you love her son. 

seungcheol’s dad is where he gets his brightness from. his clingy affection, his childish sulking, his easy nature. but his mom, his mom must be where he gets all his patience from. the calm way he addresses you even when you get frustrated. the gentle way he holds you, like you’re precious. 

it turns out, when seungcheol loves you, it feels suffocating, too. 

after all, you’ve never been loved without conditions, before. 

SENIOR YEAR | SATURDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2016

new year’s eve is surprisingly calm. your mom’s in a good mood, a shocking change of pace after years of silence and quiet celebrations between just you and your sister. but she’s awake this time, eating at the dinner table together, the curtains pulled open to see the fireworks people have already started setting off outside. 

maybe it has something to do with the wine in her system. not that she’s drunk, but she seems more relaxed, peering out the window and watching the fireworks burst across the sky. “back when i was a kid, we used to set off our own fireworks, you know,” she tells you and your sister. “not those big ones, but the little firecrackers, out on the streets. and the handheld sparklers.” 

“we should do that together one year,” your sister suggests. your mom smiles at her, and your sister brightens, back straightening with the attention. 

“i’d like that,” you agree, your sister leaning over to rest her head on your shoulder. 

the evening is quiet, comfortable. the table has been cleared, dishes washed, leaving behind only glasses for drinks. your sister texts her friends, while you watch the sky flood with colors every so often, waiting as the time ticks by, counting slowly down to the new year. 

with only a few minutes left till midnight, you rise to refill everyone’s drinks. you set the glasses down on the table and dig your phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick skim for new notifications from your friends, who are loud as ever in the group chat in spite of most of them being at seungcheol’s family’s new years party, before leaving it on the table, a faint smile on your face. 

taking the wine, you ask over your shoulder, “how much would you like?” 

you hear your mom stand, walking towards you, and you turn to face her. 

it’s like it happens in slow motion. your arm catches on the glass, and you watch it topple, reflexes too slow to catch it, as it rolls and falls over the ledge, shattering when it hits the ground, glass spraying across the floor. 

your heart is in your throat, racing. your eyes snap up, wide and fearful, and you watch the way her lip curls, all the loose, happy feeling from the wine erased in seconds. “you’re kidding me, y/n.” 

“i’ll clean it up-” 

“are you serious?” her voice cuts through you, one hand raising and you flinch, lowering your gaze. “you can’t even pour a drink right?” 

all your hope sinks low, drowns deep. you keep still as your mom berates you, “are you six years old? you can’t watch what you’re doing? do you know how expensive that glass was?” 

“i’m sorry,” your head lowers, every muscle tense. she throws her hands in the air, a sardonic smile on her face. 

“sorry. sure. no, no i’m sorry. i’m sorry i couldn’t raise you right. i was a single mother, working my hardest to keep this roof over your head, and you-” 

the phone you left on the counter buzzes with a text. in a panic, your head jerks towards the sound, then back to your mom, and you watch her turn towards it. you’re not fast enough - you reach for it, want to shove it back into your pockets, curse yourself for being so stupid - but it’s too late. his name sits at the top of your notifications, cheol <3 and she sees it. she scoffs, caustic and angry. “of course,” her tone is light. like she expected it. like it doesn’t even really matter, but the words feel sharp all the same. “that’s why, right? that’s why your head isn’t in it? that’s your boyfriend, isn’t it? the one you spent christmas with? you just can’t wait to get back to him, that’s why you aren’t paying attention.”

her hands on the kitchen towel are tight, mouth twisting. “mom-” your sister tries to speak, but your mom cuts her off, throwing the towel down on the counter. 

“we were having a good time, you know. like a family. but you always do this. you don’t care about us. you know your sister was in the hospital only a couple months ago? but you can’t even pay attention to your family for a couple hours. your head’s always somewhere else. you ruin it all. you’re just like your father, y/n.” 

you keep your expression clear. your mother backs away, shaking her head, sighing. quietly, stiffly, you say, “careful where you step,” as she walks past you, ignoring you. 

clench, unclench. clench, unclench. your eyes burn but your sister is right there, and she deserves better. you inhale through your nose then breath out slowly from your mouth. 

“y/n-” your sister tries to get up from her chair, but you put a hand up, cutting a sharp glare at her. 

“sit down. you’re gonna step on glass. don’t move.” you soften your voice at the end, trying to unclench your jaw. “i don’t want you to get hurt. stay there, okay?” 

you clean the glass. your sister bites her lip and rounds her shoulders, staring at her hands in her lap. when you’re sure the floor is clear, you walk to her, gently pull her against you, her head resting against your chest. “i’m sorry, berry.” 

she shakes her head, arms wrapped around your waist. “it’s not your fault.” she lifts her head to look at you. “you know that, right?” 

you should. it was an accident. 

but you were so close. so close to being enough. so close to having one good evening, without mistakes, without stepping out of line. you can almost taste it, what it could be like. 

what a fucking joke. 

you tuck your chin against your sister’s head, humming your acknowledgement. “go call your friends,” you say, softly. “tell them happy new years, hm?” 

your sister goes to her room, and you collapse into the chair, running a hand against your face. anger thrums under your skin, the devil on your shoulder whispering break it all. fuck it, why not? shatter every glass. every plate. then walk away. 

you’re just like your father, y/n. 

god, you should know better by now. twenty-one is too old to still be this gullible, to be this fucking naive, to think you can still make it work. still change your mom’s opinion of you. to still think she might give a shit about you, that you might even be capable of getting away with not making any mistakes just so she might look at you like she did when you were still young and your father was still around. before he walked out. before it all went to fucking shit. 

the worst part, is that you can’t stop thinking about one week ago, sitting in seungcheol’s home, with his parents so eager to talk to you, barely letting you walk two steps without appearing with something to eat, or to hand you a blanket in case you were cold, or to offer a drink. how his dad gave you a hug before you left and his mom sent you off with a pint of peeled fruit for the trip back, promising to send seungcheol back to the dorms with plenty of packed banchans to share with you, that she’ll make extra seasoned cucumbers just for you. 

you grind the heel of your palms against your eyes. how could you possibly subject seungcheol to something like this? air that fractures, tension that creeps around every corner of this haunted fucking house. the ghost of your childhood lingers in the living room only to be slashed through by the reality of how you grew up. 

when you were little, everything must’ve glowed. golden, lovely. but the paint on the walls is cracked. the cabinet doors are always a little crooked because there’s no one to fix the screws they’re barely hanging on by. seungcheol’s home is lived in, loved, while your house is deteriorating, falling in on itself. 

the difference is so stark, it’s laughable. 

seungcheol, the product of affection and care and assurance, who spends money like it means nothing, who calls his mom at least once a week just to see what she’s up to, who is gentle even when you’re rough and careless. who doesn’t push even when you shut him out, who looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky. 

and you. with your mother’s disdain ringing in your ears, and your father’s footsteps echoing in the entire house, through your entire life, the sound of being shut out and left behind. unwanted. of never being enough. 

your breath shudders. seungcheol deserves better than you. you don’t fit into a life like his. you waited that entire weekend for the other shoe to drop, and here it is. here, not there, in his home with his pictures on the wall, photo albums thick with photos from when he was a baby. 

where he is, all your worries slide off your shoulders. where he is, you can take a full breath, lungs filled with relief. the world fades into the background. but you… 

all the days you spent working till far too late, but he stayed up to walk you home, just to see you. you watched the bags grow under his eyes, but you liked seeing him so much that you pretended not to notice. all the gifts you refused, even when he pouted and promised that he just wanted to get you something nice, but you felt a strange sort of jealousy rip through you at how effortlessly he spent his money, without even a second thought. all the fights you picked, that he refused to fall into, so rarely ever arguing with you, smothering you in kisses until you forgot what you were fighting about. doing it again, and again, and again, testing his patience, searching for that temper he so famously has with everyone but you.  

all the cracks you created, in the past year of being selfish enough to want him, forming into ledges you know you’ll jump off of. 

two weeks later, you call seungcheol and tell him it’s over. 

PRESENT DAY | SUNDAY, JANUARY 01, 2023

you wake surrounded by seungcheol’s warmth. your eyes blink slowly open, still heavy with sleep as you adjust to your surroundings, hazy thoughts gathering until you remember you slept over in seungcheol’s room. judging from the light pouring in through the windows, it’s much later than when you typically wake up, something you choose to attribute to how late you were up last night, and not the fact that you’re still in seungcheol’s arms. 

he’s awake. you can tell, considering he’s trying very hard not to move. but you’re not ready to face him, so you keep still too, ignoring how comfortable it is to lean against him, to sink into sheets that smell entirely like him. if he knows you’re awake, he doesn’t say anything. 

neither of you want to leave this moment. 

you can hear his parents shuffling around the kitchen downstairs, the occasional burst of laughter from his dad. his mom is much quieter, but you know she’s likely to be smiling too. you only met them less than a handful of times - twice, to be exact - but their love was palpable. it shows. it shows because seungcheol exists. 

eventually, you know you have to get up. you shift in the bed, bracing yourself to look at him, but nothing could prepare you for the way seungcheol looks in the morning. rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, his cheeks a little puffy as he lies on his side, looking at you. you’re still conscious of his hand resting on your stomach, where it slid to after you moved onto your back. 

“hi,” his voice is gravelly from disuse, deep enough to send your pulse running. without thinking, your hand lifts to his chest, sliding up behind his neck, fingers threading through the ends of his hair. his eyes flutter shut at the feeling, a pleased hum escaping him. 

you should pull away. 

you don’t want to, though. 

“hi,” you whisper back, his eyes opening at the sound of your voice. like this, it feels like there’s only you and him. no past, no future. just now. 

your sister was right. around him, you can only think of yourself. of what you want. 

him. 

there’s a clanging noise in the kitchen that startles you both, jolting upright and away from each other. seungcheol coughs, hands tangling in the sheets before shaking them off, embarrassed. 

“you can wash up first,” he suggests, dragging his hand through his unruly hair. you decide its best if you do just that. 

within thirty minutes, you’re both washed up, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and downstairs, where seungcheol’s dad has managed to make breakfast, despite it being well past noon. the clanging was apparently his dad digging for a specific pan and clumsily dropping half of them out of their overstuffed kitchen cabinet, something you’re fairly certain seungcheol has mentioned as something they should really organize since long before you even dated. his parents (well, his dad) greets you brightly, and his mom gives you a kind smile, eyes crinkling the same way seungcheol’s does. 

you awkwardly bow your head in return. they let the two of you eat alone, having been up much earlier than both of you, and when breakfast is over, seungcheol washes the dishes while you dry. it’s quiet, monotonous. 

without looking at you, seungcheol admits, “i’m really glad you came.” his head turns towards you. “and stayed.” 

me too. the words are on the tip of your tongue, more honest than you’ve been with yourself for years. your lips part, and- 

“cheol-ah,” his dad comes into the kitchen, and you almost drop the plate you’re drying, seungcheol’s quick reflexes helping to catch it. you freeze, panicked, but his dad just laughs, sheepish. “sorry. didn’t mean to scare you. cheol, can you come help me look at the garage door real quick? that thing’s been half-broken for months.” 

you don’t realize how tight your grip is on the plate until seungcheol is gently prying it from your fingers, setting it on the table. he casts a worried look at you, before turning back to his dad. “yeah, sure.” he turns back to you, head ducking until you’re eye level. “wait in the living room? we can leave after.” 

you nod, following him from the kitchen into the living room, where his mom is sitting on the couch, wearing her glasses and scrolling through her phone. like it’s second nature, her hand stretches out, so that her husband’s hands tangle with hers for a minute, a small, sweet exchange, before he heads down the hall towards the garage. 

“sit,” seungcheol’s hand is firm against your back, nudging you towards the couch. “i’ll be right back.” 

his mom looks up from her phone, adjusting her glasses. she smiles, lowering her phone. “sit, dear. they’ll probably be awhile. his dad’s been trying to fix that door for ages.” 

you nod. except you can’t seem to move, body frozen in place. you can’t explain the way the tension starts to leak in. anxiety bleeds into you, lacing tension through your shoulders, stomach twisting into knots. your feet are rooted to the ground, watching seungcheol disappear around the corner. you should sit down. your brain reminds you, twice. stop awkwardly hovering in the middle of the room. don’t just stand there. sit down. 

his mom tilts her head at you, concern beginning to form between her brows. “y/n?” 

do you think your parents like me? 

they love you. like i knew they would. 

when you look at her, you almost want to apologize. but apologizing would mean admitting that you’ve been here before, that you came into their house and ate their food and drank out of their glasses and slept in their son’s childhood bedroom and let them see the way the son they love so dearly, loved you, only to rip his heart out two weeks later when you ran from him. ran from this, precisely this, this house with their family photos lining the shelves, an old quilt tossed over the arm of the couch, family dvds visible through the glass of the tv stand. 

five years have passed in between. you’re no longer a student clinging to every paycheck, carefully calculating what you need to give up this month in order to pay off the tuition, and smart enough now to stop going home and letting old wounds tear open every time you visit your mother. you have a bank account padded with enough money to cleanly pay off your sister’s tuition every semester, and your own apartment, with a cup you can designate as yours, and a mug you can label as your sister’s, and a fridge you can decorate with print-outs of photos you’ve taken with her. you can be different. you can be stable. reliable. 

but the instant seungcheol left your side, you felt yourself start to unravel. you wonder if it’s right of you to want this. if it’s fair for you to dare to come back into seungcheol’s home and stand in front of his mother, and ask of her to accept you again, even after all the damage you did. 

would any rational mother, who dotes on her son the way seungcheol’s mom dotes on him, forgive you? you look like any other flight risk, constantly ready to bolt. never fully unpacked, always one foot out the door. you look like the start to an argument, a series of questions about commitment and history. you look like the beginning of the end. 

can you do that to seungcheol? become the reason he and his parents fight, a never-ending debate on whether or not you’re worth the trouble? you can already hear the echoes in the halls, i love her, seungcheol’s firm resistance even in the face of straining his relationship with his family. stubborn, the one trait you don’t think he inherited from them. 

you can’t do that. maybe you should leave. maybe this was all a mistake, and your instincts were right. you don’t belong here. you don’t belong in a house that actually fits within the definition of home, even if your bones ache with the desire to want it. the audacity to dream of it being yours. 

your breaths come out shallow, soundless. but a mother is as a mother does, perception sharp, and seungcheol’s mom spots it before you even register that breathing is difficult. her expression softens as she stands, setting her glasses aside and stepping towards you. “honey,” she smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, fingers brushing against your wrist. “i know.” 

i know. 

i know? 

“i know how hard it is for you,” she reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her touch gentle and warm. her eyes grow wistful, somber. “it’s scary, right? in a house like this?” 

it doesn’t make sense. how could it? seungcheol’s home, seungcheol’s family - this is what normal looks like. you’re the outlier. you’re the one with all the wrong instincts, all of it twisted completely backwards, warding off anything that looks even remotely close to good intentions. every minute, every instance of your friends, of seungcheol, drawing closer, of mingyu feeding you dinners and jeonghan refusing to leave you alone, and joshua lending you clothes - why does it all leave you terrified? 

“i understand.” her eyes cloud, bittersweet. “but do me one favor. let the people who love you, love you. it’s okay.” the way she looks at you feels like string being pulled direct from your heart, tugging loose a mess of emotions that you’ve wrapped tightly, knotted and twisted and tangled as much as you can just to prevent anyone from ever being able to understand you. but she looks at you like she does. like she recognizes the hurt that lays at the center of it all, the damage that’s been done to you, decades worth of pain that you can’t erase or hide no matter how you try. 

you search her gaze, trying to find what you expect. anger, frustration, betrayal, disgust, contempt. anything. the normal things. but there’s only her favor posed as a question, asking you. can you let the people who love you, love you? 

your breath shudders and the tears rush to the surface so fast, you don’t get the chance to stop them. they linger on your waterline as you try to blink them away, hands shaky as you clench, unclench, clench, unclench, head turning when you realize it’s not working. but she brings a hand to your cheek and gently turns you back towards her, eyes sad when she looks at you. 

“it’s okay,” she repeats, lowering her chin and holding your gaze. like she wants to make sure you understand her. “it’s okay, my dear. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to make mistakes. it’s okay to get frustrated and feel jealous and like you’ve been wronged. like the world dealt their hand but they made sure to make yours as bad as it can get. that’s unfair. it is. but…” she inhales deeply, her smile kind, so reminiscent of seungcheol’s that it stings. “but after that. and in between that. it is also okay to feel loved. to be loved. to be taken care of and to do the things that aren’t just borne out of survival. you came back, and i’m grateful, and i hope the next time you feel scared, you just… come home, instead.” 

she says it like here, this place, her, is home for you. like seungcheol and his parents and his family and this house that he grew up in is yours, too. like there’s a space they set aside, waiting for you to return. 

her thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping a stray tear. you make a choked noise, breath shuddering in your chest, lips rolling out of habit, still trying to bite down to stop the crying. to hold it, to not make a scene, not make a sound, to never act out of line. 

“it’s okay,” she whispers, and the sob ruptures out of you, a quick gasp, tears that blur your vision until you’re shaking, seungcheol’s mom pulling you into her shoulder, the same gentle hug you’ve watched her give her son before, replayed a thousand times on the nights you can’t sleep, her hand patting a soothing, slow rhythm on your back. a reminder that she’s here. 

you don’t know how long you stand there. you feel hands pull you away, eyes lifting to find seungcheol, getting only a brief glimpse of his face before he’s tugging you into his chest, holding you tightly. you try to explain, but your voice catches and he hushes you, one hand smoothing your hair down, the other a steady lock against your back, pressing you against him. he whispers comfort against your hair, i love you’s slipped in between, almost like he can’t help it. like he needs you to know. 

you cry into his chest, fingers curled into a tight fist clutching at his shirt. distantly, you hear seungcheol murmur a short conversation with his mom, but his hold doesn’t falter, not once. rocks you against him, pressing kisses against your cheek and burying his nose into your neck. “it’s okay,” he promises, and for the first time, you finally believe him. 

PRESENT DAY | THURSDAY, JANUARY 05, 2023

seungcheol shows up alone on your doorstep. he’s sitting in the hallway when you come home, his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, a faraway stare. 

“you could’ve waited at mingyu’s, you know.” 

his head snaps up at your voice, lips parting in surprise. he clambers to his feet, a little clumsy, one hand placed against the wall to balance himself. “i…” he trails off. his shoulders lower. you know what it is he can’t say. i didn’t want you to run away. 

you don’t blame him for it. you’ve got a pretty strong track record of running first, when it comes to him. always pushing him away. never letting him all the way in. every time he gets close, every time you think you can handle it, flying so close to the sun - the fear wins out. you love him too much to stay. 

but you’ve had a few days to think it over. to replay not only everything his mother said to you, but all of it - from the very start. from the day seungcheol entered your life. 

you unlock your door, seungcheol quietly following in after you. he trails you around even as you shrug off your jacket and set your belongings down, like being even a step away means he might lose sight of you. you stop inside your kitchen, finally turning to face him, bracing your hands against the countertop. 

his eyes don’t leave you. he’s still hurt, you can tell. for which reason, you’re not sure. because you broke up with him two weeks after new years, five years ago? because you did it without giving him a proper explanation, did it just shy of your one year anniversary? because when you arguably needed someone the most, you let your phone die while your friends spent the night searching for you, worried sick out of their minds, and instead of being grateful for him wanting to help, you were cruel to him? 

because, even after letting him come back into your life, even after calling him your friend, even after sleeping in his bed again, crying in his mom’s arms, crying in his arms, you left him on read for the past four days? 

he had every right to resent you, when you broke up. to never want to see you again. to move on, find someone better, more suited, less fucked in the head. but the instant you re-entered his life - a sheer coincidence - he made every effort to stay. even when you hurt him. 

what must it be like, to be soft around the edges even when you are hurt? 

he moves only when he sees the tears well up in your eyes again, so quick to come to you, brush a thumb against your cheek, wiping the tears away. “baby,” he starts, but you shake your head, one hand coming up to hold his wrist, grip just a little too tight, trembling. 

you stare up at him. he looks helpless, could never stand to see you cry. would do anything to make it better. 

“i’m sorry,” you’re barely audible, say it twice, knowing you probably owe him a lifetime of apologies. “i’m sorry, seungcheol.” 

he shakes his head, voice shaky when he tries to joke, “what did i tell you about my name?” 

you let out a watery laugh. “i didn’t mean to ignore you.” 

“i know.” 

“i just needed some time to think.” 

“i know, baby.” 

you drop your head to his chest, arms hanging limp at your sides, weary. but he pulls you to him, flush against his body, your arms wrapping around his waist. so sturdy, choi seungcheol. dependable. in all these years, he never changed. his head rests against yours, cheek pressing against your hair. “i didn’t think you were running again, you know,” he murmurs. “but you get into your head, sometimes. get stuck there, and i… i didn’t want you to be alone.” 

the two of you fall into silence, entwined around each other in the dim lighting of your kitchen. quietly, you admit, “i stopped going home. couple years ago.” 

he pulls away to look at you. he’s so focused, attention entirely on you. you continue, “leaving didn’t hurt any less.” you smile bitterly. “‘cause now she can really say i’m just like my father.” 

his brows pull in. “he abandoned his kids, y/n. kids who needed him. then your mom forced you into the part, because she decided not to move on and blame her children instead of the person who left. you took care of your sister. you worked three times as hard as anybody around you, just so you could go to and stay in college. you were there when your sister got into her accident. you’re the one putting her through college. you’re the one she goes to when she needs someone. you’re nothing like him, y/n. you’ve never once abandoned someone when they needed you.” 

“i left you,” you say, and his grip on you tightens. 

“don’t take this the wrong way, baby, but i didn’t need you.” he brushes your hair back, cupping the back of your neck. “i wasn’t a child, and i had a support system. i wanted you. even if you didn’t want me. even if you still don’t.” 

the words escape you before you can stop them: “how could i not want you?” 

he smiles, unable to stop it. his thumb swipes against your skin, slow and soothing. his smile falls slowly, something more intense stirring as you lift your chin. he can sense it, his gaze hooded as he lowers his head to meet you, nose brushing against yours. his hand slips to your side, grip a touch firmer, pulling you to him. you’re so close that you can feel his breath against your lips. 

when he kisses you, he does it slowly, a soft sigh escaping as soon as your lips brush. warmth glows from inside you, spreading through your limbs, making your fingers tingle. your hands find their way onto seungcheol’s neck, pushing through the hair at his nape, and he crowds you even more against the counter, like he needs you as close as he can get you. you follow, willingly. you need him as close as you can get him. 

when he pulls away, it’s only because both of you need air. his breaths are a little uneven and his eyes are closed, forehead pressed against yours. “yours,” he mumbles, not an ounce of shyness in the way he says it. confident, assured. like there’s nothing else he can be. “always been yours. always wanna be yours.” his eyes flutter open and he smiles at you, and you feel a little (a lot) like you could melt, grateful suddenly for his hands keeping you upright. 

your fingers brush against his hair lightly, and he leans into your touch. one hand slides down against his neck, then up against his cheek, cupping his face as you stare at him. you want to look at him forever. long lashes, thick eyebrows, a pretty nose, pouty lips. seungcheol has always been handsome, so utterly undeniably so. heartstoppingly so. 

he presses a kiss to your palm. “i love you.” his hand comes to rest over yours, pulling you gently away so he can lean towards you again, nosing against your cheek. lips press against your cheek, against your jaw, then find their way back to your lips, soft and chaste. “i love you,” he repeats, reverent. “always.” 

seungcheol is the safest place you have ever been, you think.