i did: bloom

Reality however looked quite different: You'd eaten too much pizza, barely left the house, binge watched not only one but two TV shows, barely finished your assignments on time and spent an embarrassing amount of time crying over your boyfriend. Needless to say, you were most definitely still hung up on him.

Consequently, going back to school left you with mixed feelings. It all came down to a simple list of pros and cons, and you weren’t sure which side was weighing heavier.

Pros:

Getting away from your nagging parents.

Seeing your friends again.

Spending a fun last summer with them.

Cons:

Seeing Jongho.

Your friends are his friends too.

Whatever fun activities are planned, he’ll inevitably be there too.

It wasn’t that you suddenly hated him (surely, life would be easier if you could). But just the mere thought of facing him again ripped your heart in two. His words were still ringing in your head like he’d said them just yesterday. ‘Might as well end it now.’ As if it barely even concerned him. And just like that, it’d been over. 

While it felt suffocating to be at home, you wanted to prolong your return as much as possible. For one to avoid Jongho for as long as you could. And then also to avoid your friends, most importantly your best friends. Because you hadn’t told them about the break up. You’d just pretended everything was fine right up until you sat in your train home. And then, the moment it had left the station you’d crumbled pathetically, sobbing so hard that a woman sitting in the seat before you handed you some tissues.

Of course you knew you couldn’t keep the break up a secret forever, but somehow talking about it was scary. Talking about it would make it real. Talking about it would maybe prompt your friends to tell you that you’d been stupid and that it was your fault, and you weren’t quite ready to hear that yet. Still, you couldn’t just postpone it all indefinitely and take the semester off, so you arrived back at the dorm one day before the lectures were starting again. Your room looked the way you’d left it. You hadn’t bothered taking any of your personal bits down while you were away, just packed what you needed and left—but when you set foot inside now, you were starting to regret that. You’d never noticed how much space Jongho had taken up in your room. There were pictures of him and you and your friends all over your pin board, along with tickets from when you’d been to the theater together. On your desk was a clover he’d given you before one of your exams (three leaves, not four, despite his best efforts to find one), that you’d pressed and safely displayed in a tiny picture frame. And then of course, on your bed, right next to your pillow was that teddy with its tiny head and broad shoulders that he’d gifted you for your last birthday and that you’d always joked looked exactly like him.

You wanted to throw it all away just so you didn’t have to look at it anymore. Instead, you curled up in bed, jeans and all, and cuddled that teddy close to your chest. You buried your nose in the soft material, pretending you could still smell him on it, when really it only smelled like you.

You must have fallen asleep at some point, because you woke up in the middle of the night, still in the clothes you’d worn all day, and with a terrible headache that kept you from falling asleep again. Since it seemed you weren’t going to catch much more sleep anyway, you stepped outside. The halls of the dormitory had been noisy and bustling earlier, everyone eagerly greeting each other and catching up after the long break. But now it was eerily quiet. Maybe everyone had suddenly come to respect the curfew, or maybe they’d decided to take it easy tonight since lectures would start tomorrow, and there’d be a huge party to kick off the semester on Friday anyway. 

As you wandered the corridor, it took you back to the last day before the break. You’d aimlessly wandered back then too, unable to sleep after your conversation with Jongho, but not able to cry either. Not yet, anyway, because it hadn’t sunken in yet. It’d felt surreal at the time, like you half expected Jongho to show up at your dorm the next day to inform you that the break up was of course not actually happening. You could picture it so well, him standing there first thing in the morning, early enough to still catch the 9 AM train to his family home, making sure to tell you that you’re still dating, so you wouldn’t have stupid thoughts while on break. Jongho was like that, preferring clarity over leaving you guessing. That day though, he hadn’t shown up, and maybe that was a way of making things clear, too. You’d watched the clock ticking away, 9 AM passing you by, but you’d still held onto some hope until the afternoon, when it was time for your own departure. And even then, a delusional part of you was thinking maybe he’d show up at the platform to apologize and he’d hold you so close and you’d hug him right back, and he’d tell you to let go because you’d miss your train, but you wouldn’t even care because all that mattered was that Jongho still loved you.

It was only when the train had started departing and the people at the platform started blurring behind the window as you passed them by, that it finally sunk in. Jongho hadn’t come. He’d let you leave just like that, with a two month break ahead of you to cement the fact that you’d broken up. He was no longer your boyfriend. And with that realization came the tears, and it seemed they hadn’t really stopped since then.

By the time you wandered back to your room, it was already getting light outside, the sunrise dying the sky in shades of pink and purple that were too beautiful to match your mood. You closed the blinds to shut them out and sunk back into your bed.

It seemed sleep had eventually found you again. In fact, you slept so deeply that you didn’t hear any of your three alarms and completely missed your first lecture. Luckily, you had a really good friend, and he wasn’t shy to remind you when you met him at the cafeteria in between classes.

“You’d be so doomed without me,” he said instead of a greeting, “but of course, your best friend in the world made sure to answer roll call for you and even signed you up for the group project.”

“Thanks, Wooyoung,” you set down a cup of coffee in front of him as a means of compensation, “I owe you my life.”

“You really do. That prof is no joke, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed, taking a sip of your own cup. 

“What’s been up with you anyway? We’ve barely heard of you all break. San was this,” he made a pinching motion with his fingers, “close to borrowing his mom’s car and driving over there to make sure you’re still alive.”

“That’d be a 10 hour ride.”

“That’s how much we love you.” Wooyoung rested his chin on his hand and eyed you intensely, “So, will you tell me what’s up?”

“I’ve been stressed out over the assignments?” You already knew it was a poor excuse before he called you out for it.

“I know that’s not it. Just tell me. I promise it will be okay.”

All his silly jokes and teasing aside, Wooyoung was a good friend and a good listener. But it still felt hard to put the words out there. It made you fell as if you were sitting in that train all over again, watching the people and the platform disappear, and your relationship with them. 

“We broke up,” you finally said, immediately taking another sip of your coffee hoping it could wash down the taste of heartbreak lingering on your tongue. 

“You—what?” Wooyoung looked flabbergasted. “When?”

“On the last day of the semester.”

“Are you—this isn’t some weird joke, is it?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “Who would joke about something like that?” 

He shrugged, “You’ve become pretty unpredictable, so who knows?”

“Oh, yes, I’m an enigma.” You rolled your eyes and the little banter helped you shove your actual feelings aside, pretending it all didn’t phase you as much as it really did. Wooyoung looked at you for another moment, clearly seeing right through you, but not commenting on it.

“But, uhm, if it’s true, then I have some sort of bad news for you,” he admitted reluctantly, his expression sheepish.

“Spill.”

“So, uh, remember how I said I signed you up for the group project?”

“No.”

“It’s supposed to be groups of four—”

“No, Wooyoung, please.”

“And San and I didn’t know—remember? You kept this incredibly relevant information from us, your best friends in the world—and we had to make a decision—”

“No, no, no—”

“It just made sense to group up.”

Great. Amazing. Splendid. You were stuck working on an assignment with your ex-boyfriend. all. semester. 

“How is this my life?” You dropped your head in your hands, “And how come he didn’t protest either?”

“Ah, right,” Wooyoung seemed to only realize now that you were lacking this information, “Jongho wasn’t present either. Saved his ass during roll call, too, but I guess that’s not really of much interest to you.”

“No, Jung Wooyoung, it is not of much interest to me in the face of this whole group project disaster.” Though, you did have to admit that it was highly unusual for Jongho, ambitious, diligent Jongho, to miss a class unexcused.

“Understandable,” he nodded, “But maybe we can still switch groups?”

“Who would even switch with me? I don’t have other friends.”

He grinned. “But I do. Changbin is in that class too, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking your place. And he’s grouped up with Felix, you know Felix, right?”

You do know Felix. You like him too, though you wouldn’t go as far as to call him a friend. Still, being grouped with sweet, kind Felix would be much better than having to spend the whole semester working with Jongho.

“Would you ask him?”

“Anything for my bestie,” Wooyoung looked at you with an encouraging smile, “I’m sure it will work out just fine.”

Maybe switching groups wasn’t all that big of a deal, or maybe Changbin just liked Wooyoung enough to agree easily—either way, just two days later your friend assured you that the groups were changed without any issues, and Felix had even notified the professor of the changes already. He generally seemed to have taken up some kind of leading role, because you received a message from him that same day, informing you that the group had agreed to meet up the next Tuesday to make a plan for the semester, and asked if you could make it as well. Tuesday was fine with you, and honestly, even if it weren’t you would’ve tried your best to adjust your schedule to them out of gratitude for taking you in. According to Wooyoung, aside from Felix it was Eric and Sanha in that group, and because they were close to Jongho, you’d already talked to them quite a few times back when you’d still been dating. You remembered them as being pretty friendly and fun to be around and you just hoped their friendship with your ex-boyfriend didn’t make things awkward. Though, even then, it seemed like a much better choice to work with his friends instead of the man himself.

Maybe it was that silly optimism of yours that jinxed your demise. Because surely enough, when you stepped into the café across campus on Tuesday, the guy sitting next to Eric at the table Felix had reserved looked uncomfortably familiar: It was Jongho. Even from a distance and a slightly awkward angle, you recognized him right away. His dark brown hair, the black frames of his glasses, the neatly ironed collar of his shirt. It didn’t make sense. Why would Jongho bother showing up to the meeting of your project group? Even if he was friends with Eric and Sanha—shouldn’t he have the tactfulness to stay away after you went as far as to switch groups (something you were safe to assume wasn’t only in your interest, but his as well)?

 You wanted to turn around and leave, maybe send a message that you’d suddenly started to feel unwell, or at least come back with a little delay in hopes Jongho would’ve left by then, but before you could do any of that, someone called your name.

“Hey there!” Felix greeted you with a bright smile, looking genuinely happy to see you again. He had a tray in his hands, four cups you noted, which meant either they’d already ordered for you as well, or a certain guest was planning to stick around for at least one coffee. You hadn’t seen Sanha around yet either, which filled your stomach with a feeling of unease.

“Hey,” you nodded awkwardly, “do you need help carrying that?”

“Nah, don’t worry. Just follow me, the rest is already there,” he naturally leads the way towards the dreaded table, “I hope you don’t mind we ordered for you,” he added, “Matcha with oat milk.”

“Oh.” Your gaze lingered on the cup you assumed to be yours, “Thank you.” Jongho must’ve told him your usual order. How else would Felix, or Eric for that matter, know? And despite the anger you still felt about Jongho being there in the first place, knowing he cared enough to order for you, knowing he cared enough to remember, awakened something else in the depth of your stomach. You quickly pushed it aside. It was just routine, it didn’t mean anything. Felix must’ve asked him if he knew your order, and he must’ve replied automatically, without giving it much thought or care. (But didn’t that have its own value too? Didn’t it feel inherently meaningful that your habits have become so ingrained in his very being, that he could recite them without thinking?)

“Y/n!” Eric pulled you out of your thoughts as you approached the table, a wide grin on his face, “Man, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you last, how have you been?” He got up and hugged you so naturally and friendly, it made you wonder if he even knew about the break up. You didn’t dare to ask though, didn’t want to bring up that awful topic so you just hugged him back, told him you’d been great and left it at that. You sat down across from him, next to Felix and at the biggest possible distance from Jongho. You’d wanted to glare at him, ask him why the fuck he was here, but now that you were actually close enough to talk to him for the first time since the end of last semester, it suddenly felt hard to even look at him. So, you focused on your matcha instead that Felix had placed in front of you, appreciating the latte art that fittingly almost looked like a clover.

“When’s Sanha joining us?” You asked, trying to come off as casual and relaxed and driving home that air of nonchalance by taking a sip of your drink.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Eric sounded surprised. “Him and Jongho switched groups.”

You choked so badly on your matcha you almost spat it in his face, and gratefully accepted the tissue that was handed to you, before even realizing it was Jongho who handed it to you.

“It’s a good thing though,” Eric easily continued, “I love Sanha, but I think with Jongho in our group we have a pretty good chance of getting an A+, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you were still barely able to breathe, “Right.”

You tried your best to keep it together while Eric and Felix were there, focusing on the project and assigning tasks for everyone until the next meet up. The moment they left though, and it was just you, who’d purposely lingered, and Jongho who, for some reason, had stayed behind as well, you exploded.

“What the fuck?!” You hissed, quiet enough not to make a scene, but not holding back any of the anger seeping into your voice.

“Someone’s angry, huh?”

You wanted to spit in his annoyingly composed face. How could he remain this calm? Did seeing you again not phase him at all?

“Of course I’m angry! Why did you change groups?!”

He shrugged, “I could ask you the same, no?”

“You could’ve at least said something! Then I wouldn’t have bothered switching!” 

“You didn’t say anything either,” A grin slipped onto his features, “And considering these are my friends, couldn’t you have anticipated this to happen? Did you maybe want to work with me?”

Maybe you hadn’t thought this through. Why hadn’t this occurred to you? But then why didn’t he tell anyone? If not you, why not at least Wooyoung and San? After all, it concerned them, too! You shoved the last of your notes into your bag, not caring at all about the way the paper crinkled beneath your fingers.

“Whatever, guess I’ll just have to change back.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure the professor will love that. He already seemed mildly annoyed about switching the groups once, I’m sure doing it again will leave a great impression,” he handed you your ballpoint pen that you hadn’t realized was still laying on the table, “We’ve already distributed tasks anyway, just roll with it. Switching now will just make more work for everyone.”

He was right. Of course, he was right. Perfect, smart Jongho tended to be right about everything. Guess you were stuck with Jongho in your project group, again.

“Don’t kill me for saying this, and I do feel so sorry—but this situation is also kind of hilarious,” Wooyoung looked at you with mirth in his eyes, while San next to him was slurping up his ramyeon without much care. 

“No, I absolutely will kill you, how is this hilarious?!”

“I mean—both of you switching groups to avoid each other and then ending up in the same group again? That must be some crazy fate.”

“Yeah, right, fate, or maybe a certain someone,” you stared him down extra hard, “isn’t as close to his friends as he thinks he is, or else I’m sure Changbin would’ve told you about this and we could’ve avoided the whole mess.”

“Honestly,” San intervened, mouth still full, “even Changbin seemed surprised when Sanha showed up to the group meet up. Jongho must’ve just given him the time and place and left it at that.”

Huh. “That’s—weird.” Jongho was usually a bit more…organized? Than that? Normally, he would’ve at least given someone in his group a heads up, wouldn’t he?

“Hm,” Wooyoung hummed, a small encouraging smile on his face, “I suppose he’s struggling with the break up just as much as you are.”

That thought honestly made you feel a little better. You weren’t the only one having a hard time. Jongho was struggling too. Why else would he have bothered to switch groups in the first place?

“To be honest though—I’m still confused about the break up. I get if you don’t want to talk about it, but it feels so sudden. Weren’t you still all over each other at the end of the semester? What happened?”

“Yeah,” San echoed as he finished the last of his noodles, “What happened?”

You chewed on your lower lip, unsure what to say, “It’s just…. He’s an ass?”

“Oh, god,” Wooyoung’s jaw tensed, “if he cheated on you I’ll literally kill him.”

“No!” You sighed. “He didn’t cheat.”

“Thank god, I’m not ready to defend someone in court,” San let out a breath of relief, “Especially not for murder. Because, legally, this wouldn’t even be manslaughter.”

“It’d definitely be manslaughter. It’d be all the heat of the moment, a non-malicious crime of passion. Not that I’d be dumb enough to get caught.”

“It would not be manslaughter,” you agreed with San, “but there’s no killing happening anyway. As I said, he didn’t cheat.”

Wooyoung didn’t seem really convinced as he eyed you critically. “Then why? What happened?”

“It just wasn’t meant to be,” you shrugged, unable to meet his gaze, in fear he’d see right through you and the fact that the break up was all your fault. “Why are you so surprised? You didn’t even like him when we first started dating.”

“I didn’t not like him!”

“You called him a stuck up prick.”

“A silver spoon snob, too,” San added.

“Why are y’all ganging up on me?” He huffed in offense, “And that was all just because I thought I needed to protect you! Before I knew how cute he actually is behind that serious face.”

“You date him then.”

“Nah, my bestie’s ex is off limits.”

“Right,” you rolled your eyes at him, “If that’s all that’s stopping you, then you have my blessings.”

Wooyoung grinned, “Don’t regret that later when you’ll inevitably want him back.”

“I won’t.” What a stupid lie, when you’d never wanted to break up in the first place. But what right did you even have to want him back?

“Besides,” Wooyoung added, “until I hear a proper reason for the break up, I doubt the legal validity of it. In my books you’re still married until proven otherwise.” 

“Isn’t the fact that we both wanted to avoid each other so bad we switched groups proof enough that we’re over for good?” 

“Nice try, mittens. You switched groups precisely because you’re not over at all.” 

Working in a group with Jongho was exhausting. Eric had a point—chances of getting an A+ with Jongho wasn’t unlikely, after all he was a perfectionist. Unfortunately though, he made that everyone’s business. As you analyzed the case your group was given for the assignment, he nitpicked every little detail, to make sure you weren’t missing anything. And maybe, under different circumstances, you could’ve appreciated it. Jongho wasn’t usually rude or harsh about his criticism, just honest. But with everything that had happened between the two of you, it felt hard not to take every little comment personally. Even when you knew his criticism was valid, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling like he was judging your work more harshly than anyone else’s out of the grudge he held for you. So, you argued back, pathetically defended your stance as if it was a client you knew all too well was guilty and yet pleaded innocent. 

“The buildings shared a wall, Neighbour B should’ve informed Neighbour A before tearing it down,” Jongho calmly stated and you knew he had a point. You knew, and yet—

“It was B’s property, why would they have to inform anyone about a decision that only concerns their building?” you shot back, less calm, less collected, less fit to be a good lawyer.

“It does concern the other party, though. They suffered damages,” Jongho frowned, and you could tell by the expression on Felix’ and Eric’s faces that they felt uncomfortable, but you couldn’t bring yourself to back down. 

“It’s not like A would’ve had any right to stop them, so why make a big deal out of it before anything even happened? It wouldn’t have changed anything!” 

“Right,” he huffed, “Why bother talking about things, when the decision was already made, huh?” Something flashed through Jongho’s eyes, bitter, hurt, angry.

Felix cleared his throat, “Uhm, guys, are we still talking about the case?” 

The mask of indifference returned to Jongho’s face, “Obviously.”

“What else would we be talking about,” you added, but your voice was barely convincing. Truthfully, you didn’t know. It didn’t feel like it. 

Once the group session was concluded you hurried to pack up your things, this time not at all interested in staying back with Jongho again, but it seemed you weren’t getting much of a choice. The second you’d stuffed everything into your back, you bid them farewell and rushed out of the café, but Jongho easily caught up to you. 

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t have anything to talk about,” you replied with a dry voice, starting to make your way towards the campus.

“Well, then just listen. Because I have something to talk about.”

You rolled your eyes but still stopped and turned around to look at him. “Let’s hear it then.”

“I know we broke up,” he started and it felt like the worst way to start a conversation, honestly, “But that doesn’t mean you can sabotage the group.”

“I’m not sabotaging anything.”

“You get snippy whenever I criticize anything.”

You want to kill him. For a brief moment you feel like maybe, breaking up was the right choice. “Maybe your criticism isn’t all that great, Jongho, ever considered that? Maybe you are not actually smarter than everyone else.”

You didn’t truly believe what you were saying but he was stunned for a moment and then, to your surprise, shrugged. “Fair enough. Still, I’d prefer not to have arguments in the group that feel so personal.”

“Well, I’m sorry for having feelings. Not surprising that you can’t relate to that though.”

His face hardened ever so slightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that just because you can pretend the break up didn’t happen and are completely fine, the same doesn’t have to apply to me.”

“Well, just because I’m not dealing with it the same way as you doesn’t mean I don’t care at all!” His face was gleaming with an anger so intense, it might’ve scared you under different circumstances. But right now you felt smug about finally breaking his mask of calm indifference. It was satisfying. Maybe you couldn’t make him love you, but you at least still mattered enough to make him angry.

“And besides,” he continued, “Y/n, you broke up with me! You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

And he was right. It was you who'd said the words first. But you'd never meant them, not really. You'd just felt so inadequate, like a stain on Jongho's perfect life. He'd always been just a little bit too perfect to be a real person; prestigous family, flawless CV, perfect grades, and despite all that somehow still a loveable personality. You on the other hand were lacking both brains and ambition, only studying law to somehow satisfy your parents despite knowing they would never be satisfied anyway. And then, when Jongho had gotten a job offer at a renown law firm at the end of last semester while you struggled to even get internships, you'd felt you'd lost your place next to him once and for all. So you'd asked him to break up, not because that was what you'd wanted, but because you'd hoped he would stop you and assure you of your right to remain by his side. But instead, when you'd spit your stupid lies about how we'd never last in the real world anyway, he'd just huffed a laugh. Sure, he'd said, Might as well end it now.

You swallowed around the lump clogging your throat. “Maybe I broke up, but you sure had no qualms agreeing to it."

"What?” He let out a sarcastic laugh, “Should I have begged for you to stay?"

"Yes! Yes, you should have!" A timid ‘why didn’t you?’ hung in the air, unspoken.

There was defeat in his voice when he finally spoke up again, "You didn't want me, y/n."

He couldn’t be further from the truth. "I always wanted you." You’d just needed assurance, needed to know he wanted you enough to fight for you. But he didn’t.

In your peripheral vision, you spotted Felix and Eric coming out of the café as well. Felix headed down the street, but Eric was coming your way. Jongho must’ve spotted him too, by the way his demeanor seemed to change at the blink of an eye. It was a subtle shift, maybe not even noticeable to anyone else. But you noticed in the way he let go of the tension in his jaw, in the way the anger disappeared from his eyes.

"Then you shouldn’t have broken up with me," was all he said, calm, definite, the end of a conversation. And of course he was right, as he always was: you shouldn’t have. But why didn’t he call you out on it? Why didn’t he say you don’t mean that, so you could’ve said you’re right, you always are. But maybe the fact you wanted him to take responsibility for your behavior, wanted him to make up for the mistake you made, was one of the reasons he’d decided to go along with it instead.Because who would want to date a person like that?

"All good?" You heard Eric ask as he approached the two of you.

"Yeah, no worries." Jongho’s response barely reached you, like the tears welling up in your eyes were clogging your ears, too.

Right. You trailed behind them, not particularly caring about joining their conversation and rather focusing on keeping yourself from crying. No worries. The words rang in your head like they were mocking you. As if all of this meant nothing, was nothing to worry about. But maybe those were his true feelings. Might as well end it now, right?

When you got out of your last lecture of the day, still sorta out of it, you were suddenly met with a bubbly Eric jogging up next to you.

He grinned, “Did you enjoy the lecture as much as I did?”

“Uh, yeah, totally.”

“I especially loved the part where he talked about penguins.”

Why would your criminal law professor talk about penguins? “To be honest I was only physically there,” you admitted sheepishly and Eric laughed.

“Yeah, I could tell. I was sitting like, right behind you. You didn’t even notice.”

“Sorry,” you scrunched up your face in apology.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he naturally fell into step with you, “Are you headed home?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Got another lecture.”

“I see.”

For a moment it was quiet between the two of you, before Eric picked the conversation back up, “What are you doing Thursday?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Am I supposed to be doing something on Thursday?”

“My roomie and I are hosting a party, you should come.”

“I—uh,” your brain was already coming up with an excuse, but Eric wasn’t done talking yet,

“It seemed like you could use some distraction? And Jongho already said he wouldn’t be there, don’t worry—you know how he isn’t one to go out on a weekday.”

Neither am I, you wanted to argue, but Eric was right, wasn’t he? Maybe you could use some distraction. You yearned for a night of dancing and laughing and partying and not thinking about your ex.

“I’ll think about it?”

“Nice!” He grinned widely, “I’ll text you the address. Oh, and you should bring your friends along too—Wooyoung and San, right?”

“I just said I—” but he suddenly seemed to be in a rush to get to his lecture, 

“I’ll see you there!” he said as if it was already a sure fact, and perhaps it was.

“Yeah, sure,” you sighed and watched him disappear, before you fished out your phone and opened the group chat.

Party on thursday @ eric’s you texted and it didn’t even take a minute before the replies came in

woo: noice

san: pregame at our place? 

woo: U can come by at 6 y/nnie

The party was nice. The music was good and the people were friendly enough that it felt easy to mingle. Felix was there, too, as well as Changbin who immediately roped Wooyoung into a round of beer pong. They played against some of his friends that you didn’t know at first, before you were convinced to go up against them together with Eric’s roommate, Juyeon, in the next round. 

Unfortunately you weren’t gifted at all and Juyeon wasn’t gifted enough to balance it out. You let out a sigh as your ball once again bounced off the rim of a cup before ultimately falling onto the table. 

“We’ll get the next one,” Juyeon assured, but you both knew there wouldn’t be a next one, unless Wooyoung missed his shot too. He and Changbin already had you down to the last cup, and you could already feel the slight dizziness of the alcohol in your body.

“Hope you’re still thirsty,” Wooyoung teased with a grin as he lifted his hand to aim. You wanted to say something back, but right then someone walked through the door behind him. Jongho. What was he doing here? It was so unlike him to go out during the week. Why would he suddenly change things up?

His gaze flitted over the people in the room. 

Wooyoung made his toss. The ball hit the rim of the cup, circling it once, twice.

Jongho’s eyes landed on you.

The ball dropped into the cup.

Juyeon said something consoling. Wooyoung and Changbin celebrated with a loud cheer and a tight hug. You felt like throwing up.

The winning team slid their remaining cups to your side of the table, while Jongho averted his gaze and made his way over to the kitchen area. You grabbed the first cup and downed it, hoping to swallow the sick feeling along with it, then the next and the next until there wasn’t a single one left. There was cheering and hollering, but you didn’t listen, nor did you care, because all that mattered was that Jongho was here. 

“I could’ve emptied some too, you know? You didn’t have to drink by yourself,” Juyeon looked at you with a mixture of surprise and worry.

“I was just so thirsty?” You forced and laugh and wanted to playfully nudge his side, but the movement made you lose your balance that you only regained by grabbing onto the edge of the table, “Oh, oops,” you tried not to slur your speech, but you suddenly realized how drunk you were. It made you feel pathetic and embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” Juyeon’s hand hovered over your back, not quite touching you but ready to steady you if needed.

“I—uhm,” you still felt so sick, probably more so than before, because, unsurprisingly, beer wasn’t the best medicine for an upset stomach. You blinked, slowly. The world was spinning.

“I think you could use some fresh air,” Juyeon concluded and you just nodded stupidly. He led you towards one of the closed doors in the apartment, a bedroom, you realized, and then towards the full height window, that turned out to be a balcony door as you got closer.

You let out a marvelling “Oooh” as he opened the door and maneuvered you onto the bench outside. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you a glass of water, alright?” 

You nodded and somewhat registered him leaving, but your eyes were fixed onto the blinking lights of the city that laid before you like a carpet of stars. It was really beautiful. There was a flowerpot in the corner. Maybe you had to puke.

Jongho was on his way home when Sanha called him. He already figured it would be about Eric’s party before he even picked up—he’d seen the messages in their 00z group chat. He picked up with a sigh.

“Why are you even bothering? You know I won’t come,” he said instead of a greeting. Jongho didn’t like going out during the week, especially if he had an early lecture the next day like he did tomorrow.

Sanha huffed and Jongho could see his grin before his inner eye.

“What?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to change your mind,” his friend replied. Jongho could hear music and voices in the background, Sanha must’ve already arrived at Eric’s.

“How so?” He doubted there was anything Sanha could say now to make him come running, but he couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued, if only ever so slightly.

“Y/n is here.”

Jongho stopped in his tracks. That couldn’t be. Why would you be at Eric’s party? When he asked Sanha that exact question, the other seemed a lot less irritated by the fact.

“I suppose she was invited?”

“But why?! And why would she come?!”

“She probably accurately assumed that you wouldn’t come.”

No, fuck that. Jongho was definitely going. He had to. He turned around on the spot and walked back towards the bus station with quick steps. He wouldn’t make the next bus, but the one after it should work.  “I’ll be there in 15, maybe 20 minutes.”

Sanha let out a laugh at the other end of the line, “I knew you’d say that. After all you even made me switch groups just to be on the s—”

“Shut up,” Jongho interrupted him, “Don’t talk about that when you and the whole world are at Eric’s right now. I don’t really need anyone to know.”

“Mhm,” Sanha hummed, “Just remember you still owe me that coffee.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jongho rolled his eyes. He’d reached the main street now and he could see the earlier bus at the intersection. As expected, he wasn’t going to make that one unless he ran.

“By the way, when did y/n get so chummy with Juyeon? Did they know each other?”

Jongho felt the breath being knocked out of his lungs, “What?”

“They’ve been talking for quite a while now, and she’s been laughing a lot. Since when is Juyeon funny?”

“He’s not.” Jongho hastened his steps, eyes fixed on the bus getting closer. Actually, he could probably still make that one.

“Right? Anyway it seems they’ve teamed up at beer pong.”

You sucked at beer pong. You’d probably get drunk. Or Juyeon could play the gentleman and drink for you and make you fall for his stupidly pretty face and tall frame. Yeah, no. 

Jongho fell into a jog before he straight up started running while the bus was rolling into the stop. He made it just in time before the doors closed.

“You good?” Sanha asked when he heard his heavy breathing through the line.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Ten suddenly?”

“Caught a bus earlier than expected.”

Sanha laughed. “Someone’s desperate.”

“Just shut up and have a drink ready for me.”

“Of course. See you in ten.” There was still amusement in his voice. Sanha seemed to be having a lot of fun at his expense. 

When he arrived he marched right into a game of beer pong—Wooyoung and Changbin against you and Juyeon. Sanha was right, the two of you seemed chummy. Why? Since when? Did you get to know each other during the break? Your eyes met his for a brief moment. You seemed shocked, as if you truly hadn’t expected Jongho to be here, and if he was being truthful that hurt a little. A part of him had entertained this secret fantasy that maybe, possibly, you came tonight hoping to see him. After all, Eric was his friend. It made sense for Jongho to be here, more sense for him than for you. But you looked truly caught off guard with your wide eyes. And also a little drunk; Jongho could tell from the slight redness on your cheeks and forehead. It was cute—

He tore his gaze away. He needed a drink. And so did you it seemed, because he could see you emptying one cup after the other from his peripheral vision. He hadn’t wanted Juyeon to be your shining knight, hadn’t wanted you to have a chance to witness Juyeon’s cool side. But now, seeing you drink them all by yourself made him angry too. You were clearly drunk already, why was no one drinking for you?

Sanha pulled him out of his thoughts as he held a cup under Jongho’s nose.

“Your drink, as promised.”

Jongho took a huge swig of whatever was in there, “Yeah, thanks.” It left a slight burn in his throat.

“You just arrived and you already look ready to go home.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to walk straight into that.” He nodded towards the beer pong table. Juyeon’s hand was at the small of your back. The plastic cup crinkled under Jongho’s tightening grip.

“Easy, cowboy, you know you’re not y/n’s boyfriend anymore, right?”

Jongho shot him a death glare, “You know as well as I do that that whole break-up was bullshit.”

“I don’t think I’m equipped to have an opinion here,” Sanha replied vaguely, taking a sip of his own drink, “but whatever the case, you’re not back together.”

“Yet,” Jongho corrected. His eyes followed you as Juyeon led you away and Jongho had been at this apartment often enough to know the room you were just entering was Juyeon’s bedroom. His cup got crushed further beneath his fingers. That asshole. You were clearly way too drunk to consent.

“Hold this for a second,” he shoved his mangled cup at Sanha and then took big strides through the crowd of the party guests towards the door you just disappeared behind. Before he reached it though, it swung open again and Juyeon came out, almost stumbling into him. “Oh, sorry,” He looked slightly startled but seemed to catch up on Jongho having purposely followed him when the latter didn’t budge.

“Y/n is quite drunk,” Juyeon said as if it was a good explanation.

“I saw that,” His response was unnecessarily harsh, something he was aware of, but didn’t care to change.

“She’s out on the balcony. I was gonna get her some wa—”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jongho interrupted.

Juyeon seemed unsure for a moment, probably figuring out in his head if Jongho, the ex-boyfriend, could be trusted to take care of you, but ultimately nodded, perhaps driven by the insight that he himself, an almost stranger to you, was definitely a lesser choice. “Let me know if you need something e—”

“I won’t, thanks.” Jongho was already on his way back to the kitchen area to get a glass of water for you.

“Maybe take a bucket with you as well—”

“I can handle it.” Jongho didn’t know himself to be this snippy. But alas.

A few minutes later, he stepped out onto the balcony, glass of water in one hand and a big mixing bowl in the other (how was he supposed to know where they kept their buckets? And Eric was god-knows where and he definitely wasn’t going to ask Juyeon, because despite having been wrong about him taking advantage of your drunk state, he still felt somewhat upset just looking at the guy). 

You were sitting on the bench, hugging one of the seat cushions to your chest as you stared into the night sky. You didn’t immediately turn your head to look at him, and even when you finally did it seemed to take you a moment to register that it was him. You blinked slowly, your gaze dropping to the glass in his hands and then back up to his face.

“Juyeon will bring me water,” you said and even though Jongho knew it was probably just because you were drunk, he was surprised by the softness in your voice. It’d been a while since you spoke to him without any underlying anger. Not that he’d been much better, though.

“I told him I’d do it.” 

“Why would you?” Your speech was slightly slurred.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He handed you the glass and took it without letting go of the cushion, which made it look quite cumbersome. Still you managed to take a sip before trying to hand it back to him.

“Have some more,” Jongho suggested and you did so without complaints. He sat down on the bench next to you, on the side without a cushion, and wondered what he was doing here. 

“Are you disappointed? That I showed up instead?”

You didn’t look up from the empty glass as you carefully placed it on the ground in front of your feet, only for Jongho to put it on the window sill instead to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break it. 

“No,” you finally replied.

Relief washed over him, as well as a sense of reason. If you didn’t mind him being here, if you didn’t prefer someone else taking care of you, then there was nothing wrong with him doing so. 

“I puked into the flower pot,” you admitted out of nowhere, in between tiny sips of water, and Jongho was so caught off guard he let out a laugh. In a petty bout of jealousy he thought that Juyeon deserved the vomit in his flower pot.

“I missed that.”

He raised his eyebrow, “Missed what?”

“Your laugh.”

His chest hurt. “You don’t have to miss it.” You can have as much of it as you want. I’ll laugh all the time if that makes you come back.

“No, I do,” you closed your eyes and leaned back against the bench, “I can’t help myself.”

He wanted to hug you but he knew he couldn’t, so he just remained silent and looked at you.

Your eyelids fluttered before you opened them again, an odd determination in your eyes. You shoved the pillow aside and it fell to the floor. “Can you take me home?”

“Of course.” 

He took your hand and helped you up from the bench and when he realized how wobbly you were on your feet, he wrapped one arm around your waist to steady you. He grabbed his things and your jacket on the way out, and then you were already in the elevator down. You didn’t run into anyone of interest (aside from Sanha who met his gaze with a raised eyebrow) and he was glad for that. He didn’t want to explain to anyone why he was here, why he was taking you home, and what he wanted even less was to hand you over to Wooyoung or San, who would surely think it was better for them to take you home. And maybe it was, but Jongho didn’t want to hand you over to anyone, didn’t want to give up this fragile moment of peace between the two of you.

When you stepped outside the building you took a deep breath, as if you hadn’t breathed fresh air in ages, as if you hadn’t just been on the balcony.

“This is nice.”

“Mhm,” he hummed.

“I’m gonna be sick,” and without warning you hunched over and puked in between the trash cans. He tried his best to keep your hair out of your face and slowly rubbed your back until you were done. It was gross, obviously, but a part of him felt nostalgic. It made him feel like your boyfriend again. Like a few semesters back, when you hadn’t quite figured out your tolerance yet and ended parties like this more often than not. And he would take care of you until you felt stable enough to walk home, and when you didn’t he’d carry you on his back and you’d whisper silly little I love you’s into his ear. As he rubbed your back, he wondered when you’d said it last, and if he’d hear it again.

He wiped your mouth with a tissue and gave you the bottle of water he’d still had in his backpack to let you rinse your mouth.

“Better?”

You nodded, “Better.”

“Can you walk?”

You seemed to consider for a moment, as if you were contemplating the correct answer, before you finally shook your head. He huffed a laugh. “Fine then.”

Jongho crouched down in front of you, the way he’d always done, making it easier for you to get on his back. His chest felt tight when you wrapped your arms around him.

And then he started walking, carrying you home because it wasn’t terribly far from here, and because that was what he’d always done. He felt you snuggle into him, tucking your face into his neck, and it was such a small gesture, something he’d considered so normal that he’d barely even noticed it, but now it felt like the world.

“Why didn’t you beg?” You mumble into the collar of his hoodie.

“What?”

“Why didn’t you say no? You could’ve—you could’ve just said no.”

“Hadn’t you already made up your mind? Weren’t you going to tear down the building either way?”

You shook your head, he assumed, and the movement of your hair felt ticklish against his skin. “I just—I wanted you to want me.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” He looks straight ahead at the streetlights cutting through the darkness. “You know I wanted you.”

“But that’s different. You wanted me in a college way, not in a future wife way.”

It sounded so ridiculous he wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t, because this was about you and about his relationship and it was too important to laugh, no matter how ridiculous. “What does that mean?”

“It means you would’ve always left me, so I did it first.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah,” you snuggled further into his neck as if your words weren’t even contradicting that display of affection in the slightest. Though, in your drunk and tired eyes it was probably more about being comfortable and less about showing any kind of affection. “You have your whole life ahead of you after all.”

“Y/n, we’re the same age.”

“But your future is worth more than mine.” You said it so matter of factly, like a truth you’d always known and secretly held onto, and maybe that was the most shocking part. Jongho stopped walking. He even almost dropped you, but remembered to hold on just in time. 

“That’s bullshit,” he replied, but he already knew you’d disagree. You’d disagree and then explain to him the ways in which you were right, give arguments that had never even occurred to him. He’d never even considered the value of his life or future, nor had he ever thought to weigh it up against yours. And by what measure, anyway? What made a future more valuable? Who decided that?

You, apparently.

“It’s not. You’ll have your fancy,” you were interrupted by a hiccup, “job and drive a fancy,” another hiccup, “car and I will just,” another, “be me.” The last word slipped from your lips like an insult. “You would’ve left me anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have,” he insisted, “There is no just you. There is you. And I like you.”

“You used to love me, though.”

He did let out a small, huffed laugh now. “And I would say that I still do, if I thought you wanted to hear it.”

“I want to hear it.” Your breathing sounded really calm now, as if you were on the brink of falling asleep.

“I love you.”

He heard the sleepy smile in your voice as you replied, “Me too.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the excruciating headache that only got worsened by the shrill sound of your alarm. You groaned and aimlessly fumbled with your phone until it finally stopped. This was why you didn’t like going out on weekdays.

After another ten minutes of drifting back to sleep, you tapped your phone screen to check the time. Almost 9. Fuck. You were going to miss the lecture. When you closed your eyes once more, hazy memories came back to you. Playing beer pong. Puking into Juyeon’s flower pot. Someone giving you water. Someone holding your hair. Someone carrying you on his back. Someone saying he loves you.

Jongho? You suddenly felt awake. Did that actually happen? Did you just dream it?

A message popped up on your phone screen.

Jongho: we need to talk

Double fuck.

You didn’t want to, but you forced yourself out of bed and into your shower. There’d been painkillers on the nightstand that you’d swallowed down with a big gulp of water and you thought they were already helping. When you finally got dressed and ready to go, your lecture was already halfway over. But you weren’t driving to campus for that lecture anyway.

You sat down on some stairs and waited for Jongho to come out. You needed this talk, as much as he did, probably. But you dreaded it too, confused by your own patchy memories and scared of that small hope inside of you getting crushed again. Still, you waited.

He didn’t smile when he spotted you, but he didn’t look upset either. It was something else, like insecurity and openness, feelings Jongho didn’t tend to wear on his sleeve.

“How are you feeling?” he asked when he plopped down beside you.

“Hungover.”

He chuckled, “I can imagine.”

“Scared, also.”

He frowned, “Of what?”

That you didn’t mean what you said yesterday. Or worse, that it was just a dream. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. Not even now, so you shrugged instead.

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on his own hands. Speaking didn’t seem to come easy to him either, and it made you feel closer to him, reminded you that he wasn’t this perfect entity but rather also just a person.

“Did you mean what you said yesterday?” he finally asked.

You didn’t remember half the things you said. “Which part?”

“All of them. That you wanted me to stop you. That you thought I’d be leaving you anyway,” he took a small breath, “That you love me.”

It felt like a now or never type of situation. If you weren’t going to be honest now, when would you? So you nodded. “Yes.”

“All of them?”

“...Yes.”

Jongho turned to look at you and there was so much hurt and vulnerability and desperation in his eyes, it almost made you feel sick to look at him because you knew this was your fault.

“I wasn’t going to leave,” he said and you think he said something like that yesterday too. 

“I’m sorry,” you replied because it was the only thing you could come up with, “I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

“And I won’t leave now, either, if you don’t want me to.”

Your eyes widened, unable to quite grasp the meaning of his words.

“But you can’t break up with me again. Not unless you mean it.”

Tears were welling up in your eyes, and you knew you were still on campus and it wasn’t the best place to get emotional, but you didn’t care. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again with a wobbly voice.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sniffed, “I won’t. I won’t break up with you again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding onto it for a long time.

“Good.” He took your hand and intertwined your fingers and it felt so good, so reassuring, so much like home to be connected to him like that again. He stared at your hands long and hard and it made you think he was probably thinking about the same thing. But then he said “You know your future isn’t actually less valuable than mine, right?”

You almost felt ashamed. Like a child that’d messed up. You knew the answer would be Yes but it would also be a lie, so you stayed silent.

“And to be honest, I’d much prefer to think of it as our future anyway.”

Ours. That sounded pretty nice. It sounded like a shared apartment and getting groceries and taking vacations together. It sounded like building a home. It sounded like being together.

“I’d like that.”

A smile spread on his lips before he connected them with yours. “Good,” he said again.

“Good,” you repeated.

masterlist | collab masterlist

“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It seems that our region has been hit with an unexpected storm. Get your umbrellas and raincoats out, everyone—especially if you're in the KQ University area—we’ll be in for a very wet evening,” came the voice of the news anchor from the local channel. It was broadcast on the small flatscreen hoisted up in the corner of the corridor behind you. He sounded all-too jolly for the current state of your world.

You let the front door to the sociology building slam shut behind you—not before it whipped one last gust of air conditioning at your back—leaving you to the storm, the heat, and your own devices. How the hell were you supposed to walk home in this?

The day had commenced rather uneventfully, as most mundane days in the middle of the week did. Spring quarter was in full swing with midterms creeping up faster than you could run out of this obscene amount of rain.

You racked your brain for any friends with a car who might have still been on campus. There was a decent chance there was someone around who could give you a ride back to the house, right?

BEEP BEEP!

You nearly flew out of your skin at the sound of a car honk going off down the steps from where you stood. In this small back street on campus, there weren't many cars that passed by who weren't instructors or TAs.

You squinted out into the heavy downpour as the passenger window to the silver sedan rolled down. “Oy! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me drown before you get in here?”

“Wooyoung?” you shouted back, disbelief stark on your face. If he was in the passenger seat, then who was…

There was a blur of dark hair behind Wooyoung's head in the driver's seat, and you cursed under your breath. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that you got out of this rain. Any friend of Wooyoung's was a friend of yours.

You made a mad dash down the stairs and out to the street with your hand shielding your eyes and your head ducked to keep from being blinded by the fat splotches of rain. You crashed into the backseat of the car, hair slightly damp, skin a little damper. The AC was blasting from the front vents, blowing back a mixture of Wooyoung's signature oak and vanilla-bourbon, as well as a hint of something softer and sweet from the driver's side. AOA's Miniskirt shimmied out from the speakers under the loud accompaniment of the rain drumming overhead as you clocked the C-3PO Lego figurine on the dash.

“Hey, thanks,” you exhaled out sharply as you maneuvered around to deposit your backpack at your feet and get yourself strapped into the seat. Your eyes went to the driver's side, eyeing the dark hair at the back of his head. He looked familiar—

“If you don't buckle your seatbelt in ten seconds, the car will start yelling at you,” drawled a voice that made your stomach drop.

Swiftly, that realization shifted into a hot flash of annoyance, one that made your nose wrinkle and the corner of your mouth dig into your cheek with disdain. The C-3PO made sense all of a sudden. “Oh,” you droned as your seatbelt clicked into place, “it's you.”

Wooyoung's head hit the back of his seat with a loud groan. “Please, God.”

“The rain is waiting for you if you'd prefer that to me,” Park Seonghwa said to you through the sharp slant of his eyes in the rear view mirror. You didn't need to see his face to hear the saccharinity lacing his words like venom. “It wasn't my idea to—”

“Enough!” Wooyoung screeched, fingers digging into his hair. “You two are so loud sometimes, and that's coming from me!”

You folded your arms over your chest in the manner of a petulant child. You had been in the backseat of Seonghwa's car a total of five times—and you would attest to everyone you knew that it was at least somewhat unwilling each time.

“Sorry,” both you and Seonghwa grumbled under your breaths. At this rate, you knew how annoying yours and Seonghwa's pettiness could be to your friends. It was something that couldn't be helped, even at the ripe age of twenty-something—some things just could not be forgotten. And some people were just meant to ruin your day.

Wooyoung loosened a sigh from his breath that sounded so akin to your mother's. “Yeah, yeah. Let's go, I'm hungry.”

Seonghwa tugged the car into drive and the wheels peeled away from the curbside.

The drive from campus to where your house was located wasn't a long one by any means. Walking took far longer than driving, and if it wasn't raining like the world was ending, you wouldn't have minded the walk. You stared out the window to your right, watching the university district pass by behind a curtain of raindrops chasing one another down the glass pane.

“So I'm guessing this means the car wash fundraiser is gonna be cancelled,” Wooyoung piped up after the last song ended. The synthesizer of the next song began to drift out from the speakers.

You turned to look at the back of his head in front of you. “Oh shit, you're totally right,” you said. “I mean, the rain kind of beat us to it.”

There was a click of a tongue from the driver's seat. “Sucks,” he muttered. “I was looking forward to raking in more cash than you, Ln.”

You didn't bother to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Park,” you shot back. A spare raindrop rolled down from your hairline, and you reached up to swipe it away just as it dribbled down the side of your face. When you glanced up to meet Seonghwa's eyes in the rearview mirror, he darted back to look out the front windshield, as if burned by the eye contact—or from being caught.

“Aish,” Wooyoung muttered. “I think we all know I'm the moneymaker of our society.”

A snort fell from your lips, and Wooyoung let out a squawk of indignation. “What was that?” He twisted around in his seat, hands clutching the back of the headrest as he scowled back at you. “Say it to my face, Ln.”

You grinned. “Yeesh, so much of my last name today. You know you boys would have lost, right?”

The three of you had all been a part of the same pre-health student society since the beginning of your college careers. In kind, that meant that you also orbited similar social circles. You and Seonghwa had known each other the longest out of everyone here, having hailed from the same high school, the same community, and the same goddamn neighborhood block. (The universe had it out for you, truly.)

As the end of the school year was rolling around, your society was due for its standard round of fundraising. The idea that the leadership came up with before Spring Break had been that of a car wash fundraiser in bathing suits, and a competition between whether the guys or the girls could raise more money. One could always count on the male gaze, right? But now that this unexpected and early summer storm hit your county this week, it was doubtful that the fundraiser would still go on.

You could hear Wooyoung rolling his eyes through his voice. “I guess leadership is gonna pivot to that speed dating idea then, huh?”

“Changing the subject now, are we?”

“Shut up!”

Your mood remained afloat the entire rest of the drive.

When the car began to slow as it neared the apartment complex Wooyoung lived in, you began to gather your things along with him. The rain had yet to let up, but your educated guess told you that you could make it down the street without your backpack flooding.

Seonghwa slid into an empty space along the front curbside, and Wooyoung was already hollering his gratitude, shoulder shoving his door open.

“Hey, where are you going?”

You stopped just before you opened your own door, your backpack half on and making you sit at an awkward angle. You turned slightly toward the man who had spoken up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I'm leaving?” you replied.

His eyebrows furrowed. “But you don't live here.”

Even Wooyoung stalled outside the car as the rain pummeled the top of his hood. “Yeah, Yn, you don't live here—”

“Wooyoung, can you please close the door before half the car gets wet” —SLAM— “thank you.” Seonghwa saluted to his friend through the passenger window as Wooyoung shouted something unintelligible from outside. The rain made it impossible to hear him, but he didn't wait to repeat himself, and ducked his head while sprinting for the apartment door.

The driver returned his attention to the front. “I'm driving you to your house,” he said, and signalled to get out onto the street again.

“You don't have to do that. Your place is, like, the opposite direction—”

“It's just a block away,” he countered. “Do you not want to be dropped off right outside?”

You deflated slightly. You definitely did, but was it not inconvenient to drive further up the street when his own living situation was back the way you just came? You could understand stopping at Wooyoung's apartment because it was in the middle, but enduring not one, but two U-turns in the congested, stormy university streets was not something you were wishing on anyone. Even Park Seonghwa.

He took your hesitation as your answer. “That's what I thought.”

Whatever. If he wanted to drive the extra block, the extra two U-turns, and spend the extra time in the congested rain with people who didn't know how to drive, then that was his prerogative.

The car was silent for the next three minutes, barring the radio being played at a low volume. Just as he said he would, Seonghwa pulled his car right up into the driveway of the house you shared with six other girls.

He let the engine stall as you maneuvered your second backpack strap over your shoulder. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hand lingering on the door handle.

Seonghwa carded a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. I'll see you at Trivia Night then, I guess.”

“See you when I wipe the floor with you again, you mean?” you asked as you climbed out of the car, holding an arm over your head.

“Close my goddamn door, Yn—”

Your laughter was interrupted by the slamming of his backseat door and muted by the downpour.

Trivia Night was held every Thursday evening in the basement of the anthropology building. It was the only classroom available at your required hours equipped for all of the society's needs; plus, its projector was still in working condition and it certainly beat the chemistry laboratory building's No Eating policy.

As a handful of the society's members gathered once again, it was beneath the dense storm clouds of the region's recent summer-like showers. This evening's theme was Homeostasis, an apt topic to study when the temperatures lately were far greater than any this city had ever endured in mid-April. When the sky wasn't unleashing the floodgates of Hell over KQ University, it was inflicting a diabolically humid atmosphere.

“Do I really need to know the technical term for your hair standing erect?” Choi San groaned as he waved a hand at the screen, while the traumatic rhythm of the Kahoot theme song distressed everyone in the room.

Society President, exhausted fourth-year, and medical school-hopeful Kang Seulgi had her boots propped up on the desk at the front, crossed at the ankles. She tossed a chip into her mouth. “Hey,” she said and pointed at him, “don't come cryin’ to me when you see 'piloerection’ on your MCAT and you can't remember why it's relevant.”

From the back row of the desks, Song Mingi hollered out, “Can we switch to physics yet?”

A wave of groans swept through the room in a unanimous objection. The third-year math major widened his eyes at the reaction to his words, expression screaming, 'What'd I do?’ His desk neighbor and best friend, Jeong Yunho, wheezed and slapped a hand onto Mingi's shoulder.

“The only person who actually prefers the physics questions is you, Mingi,” Seonghwa teased from where he sat a few desks to your left. As the only person who had ever ventured past calculus, Mingi was, in turn, the only person in the room who favored math-based topics and was also good at them.

Mingi shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gesticulated wildly between Seonghwa and you. “I can't help that you and Yn suck at math.”

You whirled around in your chair. “Hey! Why am I being pulled into this?” you asked, mouth agape.

“Because you and Hwa have been neck-and-neck for first place for the past twenty questions!”

“It's only 'cause I'm letting her catch up,” came Seonghwa's flippant reply, feigning boredom as he glanced down at his phone screen.

Your head snapped over him so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Oh, you're letting me catch up?”

He met your gaze like a challenge, mouth curling into the kind of smirk that made your heart pump (with absolute malice, of course). “I said what I said.”

“Alright.” Kim Hongjoong clapped his hands from the seat beside Seonghwa while sending his own friend a pointed look. “Seulgi, if you'd please just—let’s move on.”

Seulgi blinked, her chip-equipped hand freezing mid-air. “My show was just getting started.”

“You're so messy,” snorted Soyeon as she slapped a palm over her mouth. She turned to you and placed a placating hand on your arm. “Sorry, babe.”

Your mouth pursed together in an unamused pout, but you were far from being actually offended. Any agitation you might have felt would only be aimed at the guy a few desks down from yours who had yet to wipe that audacious smirk off his face. As your friend and housemate Ronnie liked to remind you, sometimes it felt as if you and Seonghwa bickered like cats for fun. You could not disagree more; the pettiness between you was far more serious than you were proud enough to admit.

Seulgi smiled to herself and shook her head, then clicked something on her keyboard. “Oh, before we move on, I thought we'd take a brief commercial break and talk about our upcoming fundraiser.” She muted the Kahoot theme, and the entire room seemed to deflate, all tension seeping out of your postures.

The tab switched to the one on the far left, revealing a PNG of a graphic copy-and-pasted into a document. You leaned back in your seat, loosely folding your arms over your stomach, as you picked out the words “bracelet-making” and “matchmaking.” The idea was not something you had seen or heard of on campus yet, and you found yourself nodding absentmindedly. Bracelet-making was cute.

“Leadership has decided,” said Seulgi as she wiggled her salty fingers at the screen, “that since the weather has so graciously ruined our plans for this weekend, we would move onto phase two of our fundraising and postpone the car wash idea.”

“So we're not going forth with the speed dating thing?” Wooyoung piped up from somewhere near San, Yeosang, and Jongho's seats.

Madam President shook her head. “Nah. Well, we're just not advertising it as speed dating; it's more like 'friendship matching’ and making friendship bracelets. The student association doesn't like the idea of actual matchmaking for some reason. We'll just be pairing everyone who decides to participate through this” —she scrolled down to highlight a hyperlink— “form. Anyone can join for an entry fee of eight dollars, which includes all of the bracelet-making materials, too.”

Lee Chaeryeong lifted her hand slightly to catch Seulgi's attention. “And this is not happening this weekend, right?”

“No, it'd be too fast of a turnaround, so it'll be hosted two weeks out. Any other questions?”

“What’re your pairing criteria?” Seonghwa posed.

Seulgi shrugged. “That's for me to know and you to never find out. And Hongjoong is sworn to secrecy, so don't even try.”

You chuckled to yourself, glancing over in the pair's direction. Hongjoong was shaking his head and smiling as Seonghwa nudged him in a joking attempt to coax an answer out of him.

When there were no more questions for the moment, Seulgi nodded her head and switched back to the Kahoot host screen. “Remember to repost the announcement on your Instagram stories, or I will make you suffer during our next Trivia Night. Okay! Next question…”

The remainder of Trivia Night went as anyone could predict: you and Seonghwa tied for first place. No one was surprised.

As members began to trickle out of the room following adjournment, it left only a select few. Soyeon, Seulgi, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho remained; all five of whom surrounded the instructor's desk at the front of the room that Seulgi occupied to share her bag of chips.

Seulgi gestured at Soyeon with a vague wave of her chip. “I’m surprised you didn't go home with Yn. Don't you guys share a house?”

“Yeah, but my friend Miyeon's got this rehearsal she's wrapping up soon,” said Soyeon, “so I told Yn to go back before me since she has some things to do.”

“Oh, wait. Don’t you guys have that biochem exam coming up?” Jongho chimed in.

Those around him, barring Seulgi, groaned altogether and Jongho snickered. Though most of the third-years in the society were actively enrolled in a biochemistry course, not all of you were in the same section. You, Soyeon, and Seonghwa were in an earlier section, while everyone else had a later section. Both sections were taught by the same professor, though, so both sections’ pain was quite similar.

“Don't remind me,” Yunho grunted and he slipped another chip past his lips. “That’s what I'll be working on all weekend now that we don't have the car wash fundraiser.”

“Speaking of,” Mingi piped up, nodding to Seulgi, “how are you planning to make pairs for the bracelet-making thing?”

The president narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. “Just because you brought me muffins last week, Song Mingi, does not mean I'm gonna let you pull anything out of me.”

“Okay, but” —Yunho raised his palm, tongue jammed between his grin— “can you at least tell us if you're gonna put Yn and Seonghwa together?”

“So you want whoever's near them to suffer?” Jongho asked incredulously.

Yunho's smile only widened. He lifted both hands now in a gesture. “C'mon! I can't be the only one tired of their back-and-forth. They can't really hate each other. Soyeon” —he shot a finger gun her way, catching the girl mid-chip— “you have to know something about this. You live with Yn.”

Soyeon finished chewing her bite, her expression screwing up into something both contemplative and frankly, disturbed. “I mean, I don't know what you expect me to say…”

“Well, does she bring him up a lot? Because I feel like Hwa definitely brings her up in conversations.” Anyone who was close to Seonghwa could name at least five instances where the man in question spontaneously inserted your name into the conversation. Outsiders who were unfamiliar with your dynamic would think too naively that he was talking about someone he didn't see as his academic rival since the goddamn third grade. (Yunho still shook his head at that. And they called him Mr. Overcompetitive?)

“Yes, but it's to, y'know, complain about him!”

Jongho cocked his head to the side. “We're not counting that then?”

Both Seulgi and Soyeon replied at once, “It's complicated.” They whipped their heads around to look at each other, then bursted out laughing.

The boys present could only blink at them.

“Okay, okay,” Soyeon said through a last huff of laughter, “I do have to admit that there's no way she engages in these verbal sparring matches all the time with him for fun. Maybe I'm delusional, but she… looks at him.”

Yunho thumped his fist against the desk. “So does he! Look at her, I mean.”

“Third grade until now is a long time for a slow burn arc,” Seulgi mused.

“It's about goddamn time though.”

Soyeon waved her hands around to stop the conversation. “Now wait a minute, I'm not saying that she has feelings for him—”

Yunho grinned. “You're not,” he agreed, “but we're just putting two and two together. If you think about it, if they actually just liked each other, wouldn't that make a lot of sense? All the bickering is just foreplay!”

“Good grief.”

“I'm just saying!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I think Seulgi should pair them up for the event, so they'll finally realize that the only tension between them is—”

Soyeon put a hand to her brow. “Don't say what I think you're gonna say.”

“I think they need to make out and get it over with.”

“If they can get over their massive egos first,” Mingi pointed out unenthusiastically.

From her president's chair, Seulgi sucked the remaining salt and crumbs off her thumb and forefinger in deep contemplation. Since the moment you and Seonghwa set foot in this society, there was a feeling prodding at the back of her mind about the two of you; one might call it a hunch, a sixth sense. Maybe you claimed to hate each other's guts, but maybe there was a chance to smooth out that wrinkle and get you both to shut up.

There was another smile curling onto Yunho's face as he regarded her from across the desk. “You have a plan,” he said. It wasn't a question.

Seulgi merely shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

When you were first entering into university—and even when you were still in high school—people’s favorite fearmongering tactic when you expressed your desire to go into medicine was that organic chemistry would suck the life right out of you. Truly, you wondered if the fear they ingrained in you was what made you ace the series last year, or maybe if it was just because Park Seonghwa was in your class.

You were beginning to suspect that the latter was the case, considering biochemistry was not even half as bad as you were expecting it to be.

“Your flashcards must be magic or something,” Soyeon grumbled beside you as she peered over your shoulder at the Quizlet deck you flipped through. The two of you were amongst the school of other students in your biochemistry course loitering outside the examination hall, cramming last minute knowledge into your already-packed craniums. iPads, textbooks, and notebooks were splayed out and poured over; you were certain someone had even brought a tea light to pray over.

You finished the deck you were on, drumming your fingers along the seam of your pants to give your nervous energy somewhere to go. “They're not magic; I just become a hermit when exam weeks come around,” you replied. None of this information came natural to you, and the curve of your spine could attest to the amount of hours you spent hunched over your desk, grinding notes and problem sets.

Soyeon hummed, unconvinced, to herself. She had her own notes she was scrolling through on her tablet, a worried furrow between her brows. “Is it weird that I have a bad feeling about this exam?”

Your stomach twisted at just those words. “No, I feel it too,” you muttered. You shivered then, as if an evil breeze just blew against your neck.

Your eyes coincidentally wandered elsewhere in the building lobby and met the gaze of a familiar opponent.

“Nope,” you drawled as the man approached where you and Soyeon lingered, “it's just Seonghwa.”

Soyeon muffled a laugh by squeezing her lips together and she gave your shoulder a light shove. “You're so petty, oh my god.”

Seonghwa lifted one perfect brow when he drew closer, lowering his headphones to hang them around his neck. “Should I even hazard a guess at what you just said about me?” he asked you directly, understanding full well that Soyeon was not the culprit.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “I have faith that you know.”

Soyeon coughed loudly. “So, Hwa, how're we feeling about this midterm?”

A sigh fell from his mouth and it was a haggard sound that you could relate with down to your exhausted bones. He raked a hand through his hair, eyes flitting to you before going back to Soyeon. “It's… hit or miss, I think,” he said, almost as if he were picking the words carefully.

“That's how we're feeling, too,” you added in with an absent-minded bob of your head. “Dr. Chung has been in a bad mood lately.” This statement was paired with a grimace while you hissed through your teeth.

“I hear you've been locking in hours at Quill all weekend, Ln.”

Quill was the colloquial name of KQ University's largest library, a frequent haunt of students during Finals Week because it was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It had also practically become like your third home over the last few years of your undergraduate career. Truly, that reading room had seen far too much of you. “Are you asking around about me, Park?” you queried.

He flashed you a wry smile. “Don't flatter yourself,” he quipped. “Everything I learn about you is against my will.”

“But you still listen to it, right?”

“Know thy enemy,” he replied simply.

(Soyeon observed the two of you with a new set of eyes. After the conversation shared between five members of the Yn and Seonghwa Need to Get Over Themselves Club, she hated to admit that she was actually seeing Yunho's point—and she hated to admit when a man had a point. There was always this inkling wriggling at the back of her mind that there must have been something deeper between you two, but she knew what it was like to not be able to stand the sight of someone.

The difference in this case was that, as much as you both claimed you loathed the sight of one another, you could not keep your eyes off each other.)

Soyeon leaned her elbow onto your shoulder and flashed the screen of her tablet at the both of you. As much as she was fascinated by this little observational study, there was an exam she needed to pass. “Can we go over glycolysis again? We have five minutes before they let us into the room.”

You and Seonghwa snapped out of your previous conversation. “Shit,” you muttered while pocketing your phone, “yeah, let's go over it.”

Five minutes later, the doors to the Gwang-Yin Hall opened to allow the flood of students into its bowels. The mass shuffled into the spacious room in an unorderly fashion, a mass of nervous jitters and panic that would eventually tighten into a yarn ball only unwoundable by one's graduation date. Even then, the stress would only continue to mount rather than vanish.

All one could do was trudge on.

Two hours later, your hand was cramping and the digits on the clock projected upon the screen were getting closer and closer to zero. Your knee shook under the tiny wooden desk, palms and fingers sweating as you scanned through your answers and fixed one last response.

“Time! Pencils and pens down.”

A mishmash of curses and thumps rattled throughout the lecture hall. You heard sighs and coughs and calculators slam shut (which was weird because you didn't need a calculator on this exam); paper fluttered as exams were passed to the ends of rows and TAs came by to sweep them up. The professor was yelling at someone to stop writing, but you were already folding the desktop between the seats and shuffling out of the row.

Your brain hurt, fuck.

As you made your way toward the exit, your peers were already finding their friends and exchanging answers. This was arguably worse than the exam itself. You tried not to listen to them—what if your answers were different? What if the answer you got wasn't even in the same ballpark?

Exhaustion weighed down on your body from all the stress you'd accumulated over this past week and weekend. You raised your head to let your eyes surf through the crowd. Where was Soyeon…

Your eyes did not snag on Soyeon, but they did catch the back of a familiar head. He was closer to the exit than you were, and you maneuvered through the masses to reach him.

“Yo” —you appeared at Park Seonghwa's side just as you both shoved out into the disgusting and muggy April morning.

He sent you a look, eyebrows pursed in surprise. “Yo,” he said back.

“Thoughts?”

Seonghwa sucked in a breath that sounded very much like a hiss. “Hit or miss, as I said,” he drawled. “I'm not in the mood to compare answers though, Ln.”

“Me neither. I kind of need caffeine though,” you thought aloud. It was only the beginning of the day, after all. You still had to get through a lab and one more lecture before you were due at the university hospital for a volunteer shift.

“That sounds… super good right now actually.” Seonghwa's eyes went from you to the phone in his hand. “Where are you headed?”

“Physics lab,” you grunted with a scrunched-up nose.

His expression shifted. “Oh,” he said. “The wave simulator one?”

“Yeah, the one they made us learn beginner Python for.”

“It's easy,” he told you with a flick of his wrist. “My group finished early and left with like, an hour to spare.”

You cocked a brow at him. “Easy for you to say. You went to that Comp-Sci camp in high school every summer.” You didn't know what inside you suddenly thought to speak the words in your head, but they were out in the open now. Maybe you really were tired—in what reality did you even suggest that he was better than you at something?

Seonghwa made a sound that was suspiciously akin to a laugh. Disbelief filled his face; he shifted a foot toward you. “You remember I went to fuckass Comp-Sci camp?”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” you quipped, squinting one eye at him. Maybe you should not have said that, but there were worse places to be stuck. “My mom just would not shut up about it.” Just like how she would not shut up about how much better Seonghwa was doing in his academics, and in general. The comparisons had gotten so out of hand when you were kids.

He bit his cheek. “Don’t worry, Ln, my mom wouldn't shut up about how you tutored first graders after school everyday. If that makes you feel better.”

Your mouth curved into a frown, albeit incredulously. How much did your mom tell his mom? Neither you nor Seonghwa asked to be pitted against each other, but the dynamic had been ingrained in the two of you like a bad habit, and bad habits died hard. “It's whatever,” was all you managed to say. You shouldn't have brought it up.

Seonghwa looked as if he was going to say something. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, his mind changed. “Yeah, it's whatever.”

In seventh grade, Seonghwa's bike broke down along one of the worn trails behind the school that would take him toward the block you both lived on. The situation ended up with bloodied and scraped-up knees, and an equally bloodied and scraped-up ego, because you had watched it happen in real time.

Middle schoolers were not known for their empathy, but you saw the watery silver lining his eyes as he angrily shoved himself to his feet, tugging his bike along with him. He could barely step without his legs trembling.

Maybe your mom had just reminded you that he won the science fair again, but it didn't exactly feel right to abandon him on this trail, of all places. You slowed your bike to a stop next to him and met his glare with defiance.

“Just leave me alone.”

“So you don't want a ride home?”

He scoffed. “Not from you. I don't need help.”

You could have growled with all of that middle school girl rage. “Get on the dang bike, Seonghwa. You're bleeding.”

He glanced down at his shins. Dark red streamed from the open wounds as if he'd just survived some chainsaw murderer, not Mother Nature from the height of a bike. Seonghwa glanced back over at you on your bike, the foot bars on the back wheel. He couldn't meet your eyes as he abandoned his vehicle on the path and propped one foot onto the corresponding bar of yours. “If I hear you talking about this at school—”

“Yeah, whatever,” you interjected, rolling your eyes. His fingers dug into your shoulders and you felt his weight press down on the wheels. You propelled your foot off the dirt trail and pumped your legs to make it up the small hill ahead. He could do his worst for all you cared.

“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It looks like we're in for another stormy week. Forecast says to expect showers through to the weekend with highs of about 86 degrees Fahrenheit—” SLAM.

You brought an umbrella to your sociology lecture this time.

The accessory popped out like a parachute as you launched it above your head, wincing as raindrops went flying in all directions. The outside world remained a living sauna—hot and wet and miserable. Nobody asked for this.

You paused to select a playlist to listen to, then commenced what you expected would be a long trek in the rain. Wednesdays were usually what you considered your break days; they acted as somewhat of a pause during the middle of the week to give you a moment to breathe. In the morning, you had a very relaxed bioethics seminar, and in the afternoon, it was your sociology lecture. There was a reason you loved Wednesdays—

BEEP BEEP!

Déjà vu washed over you like rainwater being splattered by a car racing past. The familiar silver sedan rolling up next to you in the street sealed the deal.

Park Seonghwa lowered the passenger side window only partially. “You need a ride?”

“Are you purposefully driving down this way or…?” This week and the week before were the only times you ever saw him drive on this road. What class did he even have before this?

“The main road that gets to North campus is closed for reconstruction, remember? They roped it off two weeks ago.” He deadpanned at you, unamused. “Of course, I'm driving this way on purpose.”

You made a face at him. “You don't have to be chivalrous.”

“So that's a no?”

“I don't need a ride from you.” As if it would help your case, you waved your hand up at your umbrella with a flourish. “I have coverage.”

His expression somehow seemed to flatten further. “Get in the car, Yn.”

Your reputation as a Seonghwa hater was suddenly in danger if you got into this car. You had an umbrella, good tunes, and a free afternoon. It was Wednesday, a good day.

You got in the car.

“This could be considered kidnapping,” you hummed with no real malice as you wrestled your umbrella into its closed position, then shut the door.

Alright, Drama Queen. He rolled his eyes and pulled the car forward. “I regret everything.”

As soon as you settled properly into the seat, you realized where exactly you found yourself. The AC was blowing a cool and comfortable breeze at you, rustling up the smell of his flowery-coffee cologne. The song playing on low from the stereo was one that settled on the tip of your tongue, a name you could only remember when you saw its title on the navigation screen. And then there was that damned C-3PO Lego figurine stuck to the dash.

Seonghwa was less than a foot away from you with only the center console separating you. The two of you have sat closer to one another—there was that spelling bee tournament in third grade, that school assembly in sixth grade, that Science Olympiad competition in tenth—but all of those had been assigned. This was something you did on your own, just as you had run after him post-exam yesterday, just as he had walked up to you and Soyeon pre-exam.

You fiddled around on your phone and tucked your earbuds into your backpack, antsy to forget where you were and the choices you'd made.

He coughed. “So,” he said, dragging out the vowel, “how was the physics lab yesterday?”

There was a sudden spike of anxiety in your chest from the question, even though the lab itself had gone pretty okay yesterday. It was as if your body was gearing up for another cat fight on its own, as it seemed to do frequently around him. “Fine,” you said. “I really don't know why they made us do a whole workshop for learning Python, though, when all we did was change two numbers around.”

“Yeah,” he chimed in with a sigh, carding a hand through his hair as he made a turn, “me neither. It was helpful if you wanted to make more advanced adjustments though.”

“Oh.” You couldn't help but think: how much more was Seonghwa learning or gaining from each lab because he had a slightly better foundation than you did in code? There would undoubtedly be future lab situations where you would need to know some kind of code in more depth, but… You dashed the thought away; you could look into an online course later. It would be fine. “You have your physics midterm next week, too, right?”

He grunted, the corner of his mouth pressing into his cheek. “Unfortunately. You?”

“Same.” You glanced out the passenger side window. “Seulgi's probably gonna give into Mingi's demands tomorrow night—for physics questions, I mean.”

Seonghwa chuckled something low. “Yeah,” he agreed with a grimace, “a nice reminder of what we're in for. Maybe this time, I'll even let you beat me.”

You arched a brow at him, unimpressed. “You'll be so low on the rankings tomorrow, you'll never forget what gravity feels like.” A bold statement from someone who could barely punch the right buttons on her calculator. Then again, while Seonghwa went to Computer Science camp, it didn't necessarily mean he was good at math… or computer science. He just knew slightly more than you.

(Maybe it was time to actually look into coding classes.)

“Speaking of gravity.”

Curious, you lifted your head to look at him.

His eyes darted off the road briefly to meet your gaze, before settling on the rain-slicked streets, the car's wipers swishing back and forth over the windshield. “My mom keeps asking about you,” he said, the words coming out terse as if he had to rip them out of his vocal cords.

What did that have to do with gravity?

“Ah,” you vocalized. His mom asks about you, too? You didn't necessarily find yourself in too many situations like this—situations wherein you had time for a full-length conversation. Truth be told, your mom enjoyed asking about Seonghwa, too. “Tell her what I tell my mom about you.”

His brow flicked up when he glanced at you this time. “And what's that?”

“That you're fine—I mean, doing fine.”

The car paused at the red light, the rain continuing to drum overhead. His stare bored into the side of your head, and you couldn't understand why your pulse suddenly leapt. Your heart was doing sprints—no, cartwheels—as his lips pulled into a cheeky sort of grin. You chalked up your racing heartbeat to annoyance. He did have an infuriating face. “How fine am I, Ln?”

Was it hot in here? You could have sworn the air conditioning was on.

You looked back at him blankly and held your poker face for as long as physically possible. “Check your ego, Park.”

The only reason he broke away was because the traffic light turned green.

As a responsible pre-health student with an impending physics midterm, you were stuck in the library on a Friday afternoon. The weeks seemed to tear by fast in the spring quarter, and you weren't sure you could keep up. Rain, as forecasted by the oh-so-helpful Aurora County weatherman, battered the windows of Quill Library, creating a comfortable white noise that nestled between the gaps of your headphones’ shoddy noise cancelling function.

You stretched your arms over your head and pulled your spine up toward the ceiling. That was another practice problem set completed, and yet, you still felt worlds away from where you wanted to be.

With your head raised, you made a cursory scan of your surroundings. In this area of Quill, the tables were slightly larger, big enough to fit four people comfortably, as well as any and all work those four people might find themselves tackling. You were this table's lone occupant, but there were other tables lining the window down the length of this wall of the library, too, all taken up as well. Midterm season made this place popular, no matter the time of day.

It only made sense then that when you turned your head in the direction of the hallway, you made direct eye contact with a pair of fellow students who were undoubtedly in search of an open table, as well.

Kim Hongjoong seemed to physically float at the sight of you—or rather, the sight of your nearly empty table. Seonghwa didn't so much as smile. (You had been seeing a lot of him recently.) The latter had no choice but to follow the former over to where you sat, their wet sneakers tracking over the grey carpet.

You shifted one ear of your headphones. “Hey?”

Hongjoong had his palms pressed together in a prayer position. “Please tell me no one else is sitting here.”

You were tempted to say that Seonghwa might have to go find alternative seating, but even then in this seating climate, that might be too harsh of a joke. “I'm doing well, too, Joong. How are you?” you teased him with a small smile. You made a flourishing gesture to the empty seats across from you. “Yeah no, be my guest.”

“Thank you,” he said, waving Seonghwa over before squeezing into the seat closest to the window. “And sorry, we just had the worst time going through the tables in the reading room. I had no hope.”

You and Seonghwa made brief eye contact as he slid into the seat across from you. “I figured by the defeat on your face,” you mused to Hongjoong. “I just got lucky 'cause my bioethics lecture got out early, so I thought I'd find a place to plant for the afternoon.”

Hongjoong bobbed his head as he rummaged for his iPad in his messenger bag. “Sounds like a plan. I'll probably only be here for a couple hours, really, and then I've got this club meeting to go to.” He nudged Seonghwa with the back of his hand, forcing the man to take out one of his earbuds. “Your plans: go.”

Seonghwa's eyes widened slightly as Hongjoong caught him off guard. His eyes darted to you, then back to his friend. “Uhh,” he said and scratched the side of his jaw, “not sure. I'll see how this goes.” He gestured to the notebook and laptop he'd just pulled out, the notebook cover labeled with a Post-It note that read Phys upside down.

“Yeah,” you drawled with a nod, eyeing him.

“Oh, Yn” —Hongjoong caught you before you moved your headphones back into place and you were lost to the world of fluid mechanics— “Seulgi's hosting a house party tomorrow night. Are you coming?”

Your face lit up with surprise. “That's a little last minute, isn't it?”

He shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You know her,” he replied helplessly. “I know a handful of people from the society will be there—plus, a lot of other people she knows. You should bring your housemates!”

“I dunno, Joong… I do have that midterm on Monday.”

“I already know you'll be studying all weekend,” he parried. “It'll just be for a few hours. You can swing by for a little, catch up, and then head home in time to get enough sleep to cram on Sunday.”

You abhorred that he knew your habits, sleeping and studying. Attending a house party the weekend right before a physics midterm was not a word to the wise, but if people from your society were going to be there, then perhaps they weren't too worried about their exams. It would be a nice, little break from all of the studying you'd been doing lately, as well as a reward for locking in.

Instead of giving Hongjoong a direct response, your eyes flickered to Seonghwa who was pretending like he wasn't listening. “Is he going?” you asked, jabbing the end of your pen in his direction.

“I'm right here,” he muttered.

Hongjoong shrugged. “Don't let a man stop you from having fun, Yn.”

Now that was a word to the wise. You felt your mouth pull into a smirk. “You are so right,” you said to him. “But I'll still have to let you know. If today goes well, then maybe you'll see me.”

A couple of hours came and went, and so too did Hongjoong. He rushed off to his club meeting, wishing both you and Seonghwa luck with your studying.

And then there were two.

You both continued to study independently and silently for a few more hours, coexisting in the same space of the library. At some point, the rain outside had quieted to a misty hush and the majority of the crowd had filed out to spend their Friday evening doing something less depressing.

By the pulsating at your temples, you figured your brain had enough for one afternoon. This session hadn't gone too terribly, you decided, as you drummed your fingers against your notepad. Your eyes lifted up to the man still seated across from you; Seonghwa's cheek was pressed against his fist as he scribbled something out into his notebook before checking it against his calculator.

He felt your flighty gaze, eyes ensnaring yours before you could look away again. “Need something?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.

“Not from you,” was your automatic quip.

He made a show of looking around at the sparsely-populated area of the library. “Well, then you must be looking at a ghost,” he said back with a saccharine sort of smile.

You wrinkled your nose at him before deciding to actually close the lid of your laptop. “I'm going to go now.”

“No one's stopping you.”

“You're not leaving?”

He cocked a brow at you, the hand with his pen stopping on his page. “Just because you are? What do you think I am—obsessed with you?”

The scoff fell out of your mouth before you could stop it, but the heat swarming your cheeks and neck also appeared without permission. “No one mentioned anything about being obsessed with me. I was just asking a question; it's a Friday night, after all.”

“Well, I'm currently on a date with physics.”

“Oh, so you do get action.”

Seonghwa smiled. “More than you, that's for sure.”

“And you say you're not obsessed with me.” You had no idea how the conversation unfolded in this direction, but you were throwing your things into your bag with fervor—anything to get away from him and whatever you were talking about now.

When you picked up your bag, you tucked the chair close to the table. Seonghwa kept his eyes on his laptop screen, cheek against his fist, pen tick-tocking against his finger.

You were only a couple steps away when you heard him say, “See you at the party.”

You whirled around with your mouth open in retort, but you didn't actually know what to say. How could five words evoke such a visceral reaction inside your chest? He heard your response to Hongjoong earlier; he couldn't just assume you would go.

You turned back around without saying anything, and you swore you heard him snicker under his breath as you left. You would not be going to that party, just to make a point.

So maybe you were going to the party.

In your defense, it was not your idea. You were doing it in support of your roommate and good friend Ronnie, who heard her current campus crush was going to be there; thus, the seven of you in the house were going to all attend for a few hours in solidarity.

“It's warm tonight” —a skirt flew at your face, faster than you could realize or catch— “so wear this. You've only worn it, like, what? Once?”

You sputtered as you whipped the skirt out of your eyes and mouth, your expression screwed up in disdain as Ronnie tore your half of the closet apart in search of a suitable top to match. “It’s not like I’m the one about to see my crush,” you said as you lifted the skirt up in front of you to inspect it. Indeed, you had only worn the simple, pleated black garment a total of one time, and you had forgotten it existed ever since.

Ronnie eyed up a big graphic tee in her hand, stripped it from its hanger, then tossed it at you.

“Veronica Shim, I swear to god—”

“Sue me for being nervous,” she squawked. She walked over and grabbed you by the shoulders. “I just need to busy myself before my hands shake so hard, they fall off.”

You peeled the T-shirt she had thrown at you off of your head. “I’m going to get dressed,” you promised, “and then I will let you do my makeup—”

“I love you.” Before you could respond, she was already halfway across the room again, tearing through your makeup box instead. When Ronnie was nervous, there wasn’t very much that could calm her down unless she was physically doing something. It was what made her such an adept physical media artist—the ceramics studio saw her face as often as the library saw yours. The bedroom you shared was covered from ceiling to floor in the origami she folded, from little paper stars to intricate flowers that had taken her days to make.

You were exceptionally fond of her, but if she threw another clothing item at your head, you might lose it.

In about an hour, the seven of you were piled into Lillian's minivan on the way to Seulgi's house. Each passenger, sans Lillian, had each taken a shot of soju Soyeon had found at the back of the kitchen pantry. Suffice to say, Ronnie was ready to actually talk to her crush and you were all prepared to have fun for the first time since midterms started.

You could already hear the music bleeding out from Seulgi's place, accompanied by the warm buzz of laughter and chatter. It was a smaller house at the end of a cul-de-sac a few blocks from where you lived. The driveway and surrounding streets were already chock-full of cars, so Lillian dropped everyone off in front of the house while she and Seeun went to find an open parking spot.

You, Ronnie, and Soyeon had your arms hooked together as Seulgi's housemate Irene let you in. The party was well under way—with it being a little past nine o'clock—and you could already spot some familiar faces in the crowd.

“Wow, it's hot in here,” you shouted over the addicting bass kick of some early 2000s song. There were far too many bodies shoved into the living room; in no way was this within the building’s occupancy capacity.

Ronnie squeezed your hand before letting go. “I just saw my friend Renjun from my design principles class!” she exclaimed, throwing her thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I'm gonna go say hi.”

“Okay, have fun!”

Soyeon tugged you in the direction past the kitchen, toward the stairs. “Mingi just texted—apparently they're in the basement and they have tequila shots.”

“You had me at shots,” you replied back with a grin.

Soyeon let out a hoot of approval, and the two of you turned the corner to take the stairs down into the basement below. As you descended into the bowels of the house, you unconsciously tugged the hem of your skirt down. You were definitely not tipsy enough to be unaware of your flashing risk.

There was still a handful of people in the basement, but it was considerably less congested than upstairs. There was even a fan hoisted up into the nearby corner blowing a draft of wind—not cool wind, but wind nonetheless—down over the basement occupants. Closest to you were a few people surrounding a pool table, while the far end was outfitted with a relaxed layout of rugs, blankets, bean bags, and pillows for people to lounge about in. The latter was where your society members were, their voices and laughter already familiar to you.

Wooyoung was the first to notice yours and Soyeon's entrance. He waved his arm at the two of you, careful not to knock off a very flushed San from his other shoulder. “Oy! Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Had to wait for this one to get home and eat dinner first,” Soyeon said with a thumb pointed in your direction, her lips blowing a raspberry.

You threw her a look of betrayal. “If someone had just called me, I would have been home faster!” You made a cursory scan of the people currently present, eyes looking for no one in particular, or maybe just someone to sit next to.

You happened to make eye contact with Seonghwa at one end of the loosely-formed circle, his legs crisscrossed, hands braced behind him. Hongjoong was on one side of him, but the other side was occupied by a girl you did not recognize. She was not from the society and she wasn't someone whom you had seen at a social function before either.

Before your face could visibly show your confusion, you were tugged down next to Wooyoung.

A clear shot glass was handed over to you, equally clear liquid sloshing over the rim, and it came as a packaged deal with a roughly sliced lime wedge. “Here” —Wooyoung placed one in each of your hands— “you can finish San's shot.”

“I can finish it!” San cried from his other side, lips pouty and face red as tomato soup.

Both you and Wooyoung gave him the same expression. “No way.”

You took one for the team (San), and dunked the shot back, following it swiftly by the lime between your teeth. You grimaced at the initial burn, but it subsided the longer you sucked on the lime wedge.

“Yah, both Soyeon and Yn need extra shots,” Yunho hollered from his seat between Mingi and Lia. He grinned as he liberally poured two more shots, one in a teacup and one in a miniature beaker.

You took the lime out from your mouth. “Says who?”

“Says me!” Seulgi chimed in, clapping her hands. “Minimum two shots to stay in the circle—”

“Unless you're driving,” Jongho called out.

“Truuue,” Seulgi agreed with a nod in his direction. “So drink up, ladies.”

Who were you to argue with your host? You were already technically two shots in, thanks to your light pregaming, but you weren't about to complain. The shot glasses were passed around the circle to where you and Soyeon were seated, and you both dutifully paid your toll.

Just as you finished, you felt Wooyoung sling one of his arms over your shoulders. The movement seemed to make your world spin just a little bit more. “Guys, we should play Hot Seat!”

“Ooh, like the game we played in middle school?” Chaeryeong asked.

“But I don't want my seat to be hot,” San muttered, lips curving into a frown.

You cooed at him, reaching around Wooyoung to pinch San's cheeks together in one hand. “Oh my god, you're so cute. How many drinks have you had?”

(From across the circle, Seonghwa's nose wrinkled. He leaned over toward Hongjoong's ear, muttering, “He's not that cute, is he?” He had certainly thought it to himself a few minutes ago, but that was before you said it out loud.

Hongjoong turned his head, face contorted into pure incredulity. “You're… kidding, right?”)

San’s frown deepened as he slurred, “Only two.”

“And that's the way it's gonna stay,” Wooyoung declared, patting his friend on the head with pursed lips. “Personally, I think Hot Seat is befitting of our current situation. You know, apparently, we're supposed to get a heatwave these next few weeks?”

Soyeon tipped her head back in a groan. “Dude, I cannot take any more of this! I can't even tell if I'm sweating or if it's from the rain.”

“Tell me about it,” Seulgi grumbled. “At this point, we'll need to start planning for the postponed car wash fundraiser on top of the bracelet-making one.”

“Why are we talking business at a party?” Mingi cut in. He had one elbow resting on Yunho's shoulder while the other hand raised a red Solo cup of his poison for the night to his lips. “Let’s play Hot Seat.”

“Take a shot for every question you don't want to answer?” you asked, glancing around the circle.

Only murmurs of agreement met your ears, and someone chimed in with a suggestion of three questions per person.

As the one who proposed the game, Wooyoung had the honor of going first. The only issue was that Wooyoung was the closest thing to an open book out of the entire group; it was hard to find a topic he would feel hesitant to answer out loud. Wooyoung's turn on the hot seat slipped by as fast as a summer breeze, and the baton was passed onto you (to give San a fighting chance, of course).

“Well, this should be good,” you chuckled, hoping your nervousness didn't shine through too much. Maybe an additional shot would actually help you.

Soyeon's grin lit up her face. “Ooh, I've got one!”

“Oh no.”

“If Kim Hongjoong and Jung Wooyoung were each being dangled over a pit of lava—”

Both Hongjoong and Wooyoung jerked to life at the same time from opposite ends of the circle as everyone else erupted into laughter. “Now wait a second!”

“—who would you choose to save?”

You covered your smile with your hand and ignored Wooyoung's eyes burning two holes into the side of your head as best as you could. “Well, that's not fair; I need context!”

Soyeon shrugged. “To save the world, I guess.”

“To save the world?” You let it sink in. “Can't I drop both of them in?” you jested, guffawing at Wooyoung playfully shaking your shoulders and Hongjoong shouting his dissent from across the circle. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Hongjoong—you’re going in the pit!”

“I knew I was your favorite,” Wooyoung sighed and draped himself over your shoulders.

“Her answer was coerced!” Hongjoong flashed you a wry and petulant smile as Seonghwa placated him with a pat on his back. It said everything you needed to know: you would pay for this. “You should've taken the shot, Yn.”

“I've got a question” —Yunho cut in, and there was this boyish sort of smile on his face with an impish twinkle in his eyes. You knew him well enough not to trust that look— “do you actually hate Seonghwa?”

Half the group shot wide-eyed stares at Yunho, with Mingi shoving him in the shoulder, while the other half had their attention darting curiously between you and Seonghwa. There was a smile of disbelief that crawled onto your face as your immediate reaction; your sympathetic nervous system had jumped into high gear, as well, making your heart pound and palms sweat.

What kind of question…?

You tried not to glance in Seonghwa's direction. “Hate is a… strong word,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables of the latter half. Your fingers played around with the empty shot glass sitting on the rug in front of you, index tracing the rim.

“You’ve gotta answer the question, Yn,” Yunho prompted, the smile on his face only widening.

“Yeah, answer the question, Ln.”

That had your head turning. Seonghwa did not look away when you met his gaze, and you couldn't tell from this distance if that was pure stoicism in his face, or if there was something else hidden there. The blood in your veins thrummed, simmered. His tone was so annoying though. This question was so annoying. Who asked this kind of thing in a group setting, let alone when you were barely even drunk?

You picked up the shot glass and wiggled it in the air. “Pour me one.”

A group-wide groan erupted in this corner of Seulgi's basement, cleaving the tension wide open. You ignored everyone’s playful shouts of dissent, their urges for you to hurt Seonghwa’s feelings and bruise his ego with your honesty; you insisted on the shot, and because Yunho was a little butthurt, Mingi took over the role of Keeper of Tequila and poured you one.

You drained the shot with ease—better the bitter burn of fermented agave than the bitter burn of truthful words. (Maybe you just didn’t want to confront the very words you had already spoken, that ‘hate’ really was too strong in describing what you felt for Park Seonghwa.) It was the coward’s way out, but the night was still young and you were still in the hot seat.

The last question you were dealt was dutifully delivered by Kim Hongjoong, as was prophesied by your disservice to him in your earlier answer. He asked if you had really cheated during the Trivia Night three months ago about plant physiology. It had been a point of great contention back then, and it didn’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things; plant physiology night was “for fun,” but everyone here owned at least one competitive bone in their body.

As everyone leaned in, expecting a horrible scandal to be confirmed, you said, “No, but I know who did.”

The group howled once more—you wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn neighbors could hear you all at this point—as they hounded you for answers. They were answers you wouldn’t give, however, because you had fulfilled your turn on the hot seat.

You leaned back onto your palms and the tension in your shoulders loosened slightly now that you were no longer in the spotlight.

A loud giggle cut through all the noise around you. From across the circle, the girl you did not recognize was laughing into her palm, Seonghwa's mouth still moving as he muttered something under his breath so only the people around him heard.

Your face fell. “He's not that funny,” you grumbled to Wooyoung, since Yeosang was busy answering a question on your left.

Your friend snorted loud enough that glances were thrown his way.

“Just admit you're mad you can't hear what he's saying,” he said to you, keeping his volume low enough this time so only you were privy to his words.

What an egregious take! It was hotter than hot, scalding even. “Why would I be mad that I can't hear him? If anything, I'm pissed he's right in my line of sight.”

Wooyoung only lifted a brow at you, his mouth curving into his cheek while he smirked, unconvinced. ‘Jelly,’ was what he mouthed at you in exaggerated movements.

You huffed and shook your head. No way you were mad or jealous.

Park Seonghwa was drunk. At least, he was pretty sure he was on the cusp of tipsy and drunk—inebriated would be an apt term. The room was spinning; that was one standout symptom he was experiencing at the moment. Dim, amber lights swirling with the faces and basement walls around him, voices he recognized. Hongjoong would have definitely added that he giggled way too much to be Sober Seonghwa. It was settled then: he was drunk.

“Guys, be honest with me” —that was San’s voice… no. No, wait. That was definitely Wooyoung’s. He swore he saw his mouth move— “who do we think is gonna get married first out of all of us?”

The group had dwindled down considerably following the conclusion to the game Hot Seat. Though the space taken up remained the same, the blob was far more deformed now. One could not call it a circle if they had even an ounce of integrity.

Seulgi lifted her beer bottle to her lips. “Not me,” she drawled with a snort.

“I think Lia,” said Soyeon.

There was movement next to Wooyoung, and Seonghwa watched you wag your finger in Soyeon's direction. Your head was on Wooyoung's shoulder, alcohol-induced drowsiness hitting you while it was making him think things. “Mmh,” you agreed, “but I raise you: Jung Wooyoung.”

Hongjoong loosened a sound from his lips that made Seonghwa giggle again. “Yah, now you're just doing it on purpose!”

“I can hype up my bestie, Kim!”

“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimed in. “Let her hype me up, Kim!”

“Alright, but,” Yunho said, mouth already stretched in a grin, “he couldn't even ask out his work crush, remember?”

Wooyoung's eyes shot wide open. “Oy—the work environment at Gap was just not confession-friendly! It was actually anti-romance.”

Cutting through Yunho's snickering, a slightly-flushed Mingi raised his fingers for his turn. “Let's not sleep on the real secret romantic, Mr. Choi Jongho.”

A murmur of agreement swept around the group as all eyes went to the only truly sober member of the blob. Jongho lifted his can of ginger ale to his lips for a small sip, but shook his head as he did. “I don't know where you're getting this misinformation from.”

“Wait, no! Mingi's right,” you piped up, even sitting upright to gesture with your arm at Jongho. (Seonghwa shifted in his spot, jerking as you moved. His inhibitions were… not in the building.) “You would totally be in a long term relationship for years and not tell anyone until you're sending out Save the Dates!”

“Exactly,” Seonghwa suddenly said, nodding his head. Oh—people were looking at him—did he say that out loud? He could agree with you sometimes; he just didn't often agree with you aloud. “What?”

Hongjoong blinked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together, lips parting slightly before he pursed them, as if deciding against whatever thought wanted to breathe air.

You were the only one not looking at him like he'd just sprouted another head. There was that familiar neutrality, a slightly warmer version of the crinkle-nosed brattiness that drove him up the walls.

“You guys are weird,” he muttered and flicked his eyebrows up, then took a swig out of the half-empty soju bottle parked between him and Hongjoong.

“What if I think Yn will get married first?” These were San's first, sober words since he had woken up from a brief nap; but considering what he said, maybe he hadn't quite reached sobriety yet.

Everyone's attention flipped to the opposite side of the group again, Seonghwa included. The question was cold gutter water that splashed over him from the street, and any haziness disappeared in an instant.

“No fucking way,” both you and Seonghwa said at once.

Time stilled.

Yunho reacted first, leaning his chin onto his fist. He used his other hand to gesture between you two. “Interesting. Explain.”

Seonghwa leveled his gaze with yours. "I'm not claiming anything. I just don't think she'll be the first to get married.” He clutched the bottleneck in his hand, the glass hanging midway between the ground and his mouth, his elbow propped on top of his knee while he watched your reaction.

“The feeling's mutual,” you replied tersely, a thin smile spread on your face. “What was it you said the other day? That you were on a date with physics?”

“Well, I definitely wasn't on a date with you.”

Out of Seonghwa's periphery, Hongjoong slapped his hand over his mouth.

There was a warm thrill beneath his skin as your eyes narrowed at him. “Funny, 'cause everyone here knows I would rather retake calculus than even think about going on a date with you.”

“I’m touched, Ln, really.”

“Oh, there they are!” Heads turned in the direction of the voice. It cut through all of the buzz and chatter down here in the basement. Seonghwa's mind was yet to be at its sharpest still, but he was able to recognize the familiar faces of two of your and Soyeon's housemates, Seeun and Lillian. They bumbled over, arms linked and faces flushed with the spirits they had consumed tonight. “Yn, Soyeon—we’re stealing you!”

“Recruiting,” Lillian corrected Seeun with a pointed cough. “We are recruiting you to take over the pool table over there.” She thrust an arm in the direction of the opposite end of the room.

Seonghwa took an absent-minded sip of his drink as your friends tugged you and Soyeon to your feet, then stole you away from the group and whatever this conversation had turned into. The conversation blurred into something about long-term relationships again, drifting further away from the initial marriage inquiry and to something more palatable for a bunch of young 20-somethings.

The liquid in his bottle was drained, then replaced by another. To hell with that physics exam on Monday, he supposed.

Hongjoong passed him a glance. “Are you… gonna slow down soon?”

“Maybe after this,” Seonghwa muttered with his lips at the bottle rim. His eyes kept on wandering over toward the opposite end of the room to where you stood at the pool table; and the more he drank, the harder it was for his consciousness to drag his focus back to the people around him.

Your laugh cleaved through any self-control he had left. He leaned back on one hand, catching how you tugged down the hem of your skirt with an instinctive motion, before taking the pool cue from one of the guys there—

“Hwa” —he heard his name, but his head was slow to turn. Seulgi was smiling at him, and maybe if he hadn't had this last bottle, he would have noticed the knowing tilt of her expression— “what about you?”

“Hm?”

“Anybody you're interested in?”

Seonghwa's skin warmed as if he had just been caught. “Not really,” he answered and straightened from his previous position. He resisted the urge to look, to reveal every single one of his cards with one, stupid look. How he managed to bite his tongue this time was a miracle, but if anybody asked him again, he might admit his answer would be “the girl in the skirt.”

When the Parks moved to your neighborhood in the third grade, your mom and Seonghwa’s mom became fast friends. The comparisons did not start immediately, but they were always there, lurking in the shadows of the upstairs hallways, in the whispers echoing from the kitchen when the “adults were talking.” There was almost an instant competition between your mothers on who could praise the other’s child best.

Subsequently, it was not uncommon to find yourself at your new rival’s house. Dinner or lunch or an afternoon snack was often offered at one another’s houses—oranges and peaches washed and sliced with precision, bikes abandoned on the wooden porch (your house) or at the side gate (Seonghwa’s house).

You had only ever been in Seonghwa’s room once, and that was seven years later, in the tenth grade. He was reluctant to let you into his safe space and you were reluctant to be in his space, but your mothers insisted, and their voices dropped into hushed tones as you both disappeared up the stairs in silence.

Seonghwa wordlessly opened the door to his room, and you were whacked in the face by the amount of things there: on the walls, filling the shelves, tucked away in boxes on the floor. It was an explosion of pop culture paraphernalia you were actually familiar with, but the one that was represented the most was—

“I’m more of a Star Trek person myself,” you said, leaning toward a fully-assembled Lego version of the Millenium Falcon.

Seonghwa hung close at your side, hovering, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched you carefully. “Nobody asked.”

You stuck your hand up at him with the Spock salute, index to middle finger and ring to pinky finger.

That drew a half-scoff, half-laugh from his mouth. He shook his head. “You’re such a nerd.”

“As opposed to…?” You straightened and put your arms out to gesture around you at his whole room. There were about a million weird things that tenth grade boys could be into, but there was a huge chunk of you glad that this was his chosen obsession. Star Wars or Star Trek, you would pick a nerd over a creep any day of the week. Not that you would pick him of all people…

“If you think I'm going to say you have a point,” he began.

“You don't have to say it,” you finished for him, turning to inspect the Tai Fighter on a lower shelf. “I already know that I do.”

You could hear him roll his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot. “Can’t believe you like Star Trek better.”

You snorted, twisting around to peer up at him from your squatting position. “What? You can't handle that I have a different opinion?”

“No, I just thought you'd have better taste,” he replied airily.

Something within you paused at that. Though only a flippant parry at your own quip, you thought to yourself how ironic it was that you actually preferred the Star Wars franchise over the Star Trek franchise.

The only reason you bantered with him about it and stood your ground playing the Devil's Advocate was to breach that obvious discomfort you both bore coming in here. Bickering between you was natural, familiar… and the truth behind your words that day would be something you swore you would never reveal to him ever.

“You’re trying to figure out what Seonghwa got on the exam, aren't you?”

You jerked your head to the forward direction and slid down in your seat, moving your pen back over your notebook. Seonghwa was seated on the far right side of the hall, whereas you and Soyeon were somewhere in the middle. There was no way you could see minute details from this distance, but you could certainly try to read his body language from here. “...No, I'm not.”

Soyeon flashed you a sidelong glance that spoke volumes on its own. “Yes, you are. Your eyes aren't very subtle, you know.”

“They're not?”

She snorted, the sound loud enough only to draw the attention of the person seated on her other side.

The week had dragged by at a snail's pace, compared to the prior week and weekend. As soon as you were released from your physics midterm on Monday, it was as if the world set its playback speed at 0.5. Perhaps it was the swath of heat that had descended upon the city that made everyday double in length. With no more gray skies and buckets of rain, the inhabitants of Aurora County were left to not only the unbearable heat, but the wrath of the sun, too.

Unfortunately, now that midterm exams were mostly completed, all that was left to do was await the scores. The atmosphere in your biochemistry lecture this morning had been suffocating in despair over the scores released yesterday afternoon. As customary, your professor was taking the beginning portion of lecture to review exam statistics and frequently missed questions.

Soyeon grumbled under her breath as she pulled her tablet out from her bag. “I think he should have curved it more,” she grunted, logging into the class-wide polling system. “Those questions about the Krebs Cycle were so stupid.”

“Yeah, they were way out of left field,” you agreed. You hadn't done half bad on this past exam, but you weren't about to rub it in. It didn't mean you were the one who fucked the curve or anything; it only meant that you somehow ended up just a little above the average. Maybe those extra hours spent in Quill had been for something.

“Are you going to the meeting tonight?”

You shook your head, glancing between the screen and your own notes as you scribbled a big question mark in the margins by a note. “No, I picked up another shift at the tutor center,” you replied.

As today was Thursday, usually the society would hold a Trivia Night, but Seulgi had made the executive decision to meet about this weekend's bracelet-making event instead. It was a more relaxed meeting meant for celebrating the end of midterm exams, while chatting about any last minute details for the event. You had already informed Seulgi in advance that you wouldn't be able to make it.

Soyeon let out a low whistle. “Another one?”

“Yeah,” you said with a helpless shrug. “But it's to make up for the shifts I missed to study. Apparently, the Gen Chem classes still have an exam next week.”

“Damn. Sucks to be them.”

You grinned and shook your head. “As if we weren't them once.” There had been a time when the lot of you in your pre-health society treaded through the murky and dark waters of the general chemistry series. Venting about the ridiculously-convoluted lab procedures and steep exam curves were rites of passage, at this point.

As Dr. Chung, your biochemistry professor, continued on with his planned lecture for the day, you leaned your cheek against your fist, gaze drifting back over to the right side of the hall. At some point, you were only half-tuned into whatever Chung was saying; the rest of your attention was worlds away.

You hadn't seen Seonghwa after your sociology lecture yesterday, but then again, it hadn't been raining and you had to linger back to chat with your professor about a lecture topic. If he had passed through that alleyway again, he hadn't said anything.

Suddenly, the back of the head you were staring at turned over his shoulder.

He hit his target dead-on, and his eye contact made you shudder out of your daze. Seonghwa made an exaggerated face so you could see it from that distance. What?

You stuck your tongue out at him, then forced yourself to look forward at the board. (Though, that sixth sense you had could tangibly feel his eyes roll at you.)

When the lecture ended, you and Soyeon moved out of the lecture hall with the current of your peers. You were so engrossed in making sure you weren't walking into anybody, you nearly missed the man that fell into step beside you.

“What's your deal this time, Ln?”

You perked up in surprise at the sound of Seonghwa's voice and him. Where he was seated, he should have been clear out of the building by now. He must have hung back then. “I have no idea what you're goin’ on about, Park.”

One of his brows quirked upward at you as he shouldered the door open. “You are not getting away with burning two holes in the back of my head.”

“You know,” you said, feigning thoughtfulness as you tapped your chin, “maybe I can—”

Seonghwa peered around you at Soyeon. “What'd she want?”

“I’m not getting involved,” she declared. She raised her palms up at the both of you, shaking her head vehemently. Once you had all descended the stairs to the pathway below, she began stepping in the direction of her next course. “See you, guys!”

With Soyeon respectfully bowing out, it left you and Seonghwa. Again.

He looked at you expectantly.

“I just wanted to know how you did on the exam,” you said with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “No biggie.”

Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest. “How did you do on the exam?”

“Fine.”

“Well, so did I.”

You nodded. “Cool. Good talk!” You swiveled on the ball of your foot and prepared to take off, but he was swift to latch onto the top handle of your backpack.

“Hold it” —he turned you back around just in time to catch the irritation cross your face— “are you going to the meeting tonight?”

He stopped you for this? “No, I'm working.”

Something flickered in his expression; it was nothing you could label clearly. It was probably just his initial surprise. “Oh. Sucks.”

You nodded again, mouth pressed together. “Yup. See you on Saturday for the fundraiser then.”

“Yeah, see you.”

How interesting that he cared to even ask that, you thought as you went off to your physics lab. Then again, one could ask that of any instance you or he inquired about the other’s movements. At some point, it had become some convoluted game of chess; though, the older the two of you became, the way in which you played the game shifted. It was less capturing the other's pieces to get to checkmate first, and more so flirting with the idea of check. No matter—any lingering curiosities regarding one Park Seonghwa was dashed away and replaced by the remainder of your day.

And just like that, it was Saturday.

The pre-health student society had managed to snag use of a local cafe space for the event, probably thanks to Seulgi’s friend of a friend working as a shift supervisor there. It was of a cozy-modern design complete with smooth, white countertops and furniture, cute character mascots painted on the walls, and complete with the all-encompassing scent of roasted coffee. A late Saturday afternoon found the place packed to the brim with students, not just for your event, but general college students milling by for a weekend treat. It seemed to attract even more people to the event itself though; poor Hongjoong and Taeyong were asked to run to the nearby craft store a few blocks over to purchase some necessary stock of thread and beads.

The cafe was alive with the buzz of chatter, the clanging of coffee-making, and the dull sounds of acrylic beads dribbling off the sides of tables. In all definitions, the event looked and sounded like a success.

“How does anyone do this for fun? Oh—shit—”

You wanted to jump off a roof. Or maybe stick your hand in that canister of boiling milk by the espresso machine ten feet behind you. Or just be anywhere but here. Across the small, two-seater table from you was a man you had only seen in passing and never properly interacted with. He was not a member of the society, so you could only imagine that he was a mutual friend of one of your society-mates. After this dreadful afternoon was over, you were going to find out who this man was connected to and—

“Can you catch that for me? Thanks.” Justin—your partner for the afternoon—took the beads from the center of your palm and squinted his eyes as he tried to string them on his piece of electric blue thread.

The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make a bracelet for shit; the issue was far more personal than that. “Yeah, sure,” you said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that the pair right next to you kept sending glances over at your table. To make it worse, that very pair was Park Seonghwa and that girl from Seulgi’s party last Saturday. Your adept eavesdropping skills managed to pick up that she was vaguely connected to Seulgi through one group project they completed together in a freshman year dance class. (Why was it always Seulgi?)

You straightened, tying off the little loop you had made with a few seed beads. Maybe you should try making conversation again. “So, uhm,” you began, “you mentioned that you’re taking an econ class about… foreign markets?”

The guy nodded. “Yeah, Economics in Cold War Foreign Trade—it’s kind of interesting, actually.”

Oh. Economics wasn’t really your forte, but if he was passionate about this subject, then it would at least make for an engaging conversation. You can work with this, Yn. “Then I’d love to hear more. What’re you guys currently learning?”

“You know, like the drive of U.S. actions during the Cold War,” Justin said with a shrug, not really looking up from his bead struggle. “People always forget that a major part of our foreign policy back then was driven by this need to dominate global markets and defend against communism. I mean, sure there was that thing with Guatemala” —he paused his ramble and spared you a glance— “but you don’t seem like the type to be interested in that.”

Your hand movements paused, your facial features twitching into a confused smile. “I’m sorry?” What was that supposed to mean?

He looked at you again. “I just mean,” he said, “that you don’t look like the kind of person who would understand the nuances of that whole situation.”

For a pregnant moment, you just stared at him. Was he being serious? “You could… give context,” you drawled, curling back all of the rage slowly mounting up inside of you like a tea kettle. “That’s why I asked.”

“Oh.” Justin’s eyes darted back down to his hands and he let out a laugh, the kind of sound that someone made when they were uncomfortable. “There are just a lot of terms, y’know, that I’m not sure you would understand—”

Your eyes went to the ceiling for a second. “Okay, just stop,” you cut in and waved your hands in an accompanying gesture. Why was this fucking business major talking down to you?

The table descended into silence, and your counterpart mercifully shut his mouth. You didn’t know what was more embarrassing: hearing this man effortlessly shut down any will you had left, or that the only other people who were privy to this conversation was Seonghwa and his event partner. Their conversation was much lower in volume, but you’d overheard the occasional chuckle.

You resisted the urge to huff; this was the worst.

“Listen.”

You spoke too soon. When you glanced up from your beads, it was not at the man directly across from you, but the one who sat diagonal to you one table over. You swore he just rolled his own eyes.

Justin, stupidly, continued. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I don’t really go on dates with nerds—”

“Who said you’re on a date?”

“Who said we’re on a date?”

Both you and Justin whipped around to the table beside you. You could recognize that first voice even with your eyes closed and your body running on fumes. Incredulity, embarrassment, and perhaps even gratitude warmed the skin of your neck and face as you and Seonghwa made brief eye contact.

“Sorry?” Justin stammered. “This isn’t your business, dude.”

Your eye twitched again. He wasn’t even talking to you. “Hey!” You snapped your fingers at Justin like he was a dog, and at this point, that was an insult to dogs everywhere. “It isn’t his business, but he’s right. We’re not on a date, and the only reason I even put up with you was for the sake of my society’s event.” Not to mention that you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, something he clearly didn’t deserve.

“If it’s not a date, then why the fuck’s it called matchmaking?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes again before narrowing them into twin slits. “Didn’t you read the flyer, dude? We’re making fuckass friendship bracelets.”

Justin fumbled with the thread in his hands as he struggled to come up with an adequate retort. If your blood wasn’t still simmering from his previous statements, you might have laughed at the way his face flushed, flustered by the lack of support he was getting while Seonghwa backed you up. In his fidgeting, every single bead he managed to string over the past fifteen minutes escaped from their thread, skittering to the floor with the likeness of a thousand dust mites scattering from a sudden beam of light. “Fuck this,” he huffed, throwing down the sad piece of string onto the table. “Can’t believe I paid for this shit.”

He pushed out of his seat, the movement causing an ear-piercing SCREECH to tear through the cafe. A few curious and concerned eyes followed him as he stormed out of the establishment. You half expected him to trip over one of the fallen beads he hadn’t bothered to pick up. (If karma was real, that would have happened.)

Your gaze met that of Seulgi’s, who had been strolling around, socializing and monitoring people’s progress during the event. She hustled over, eyes wide as her head flicked between you and the door swinging open. “What happened?” she asked, not accusatory, but rather greatly concerned.

“He was a prick,” Seonghwa answered matter-of-factly while crossing his arms over his chest.

“He said some not-nice things,” you followed up. The steam in your ears was gradually dissipating, in turn, clearing your vision of your own ire. “Who’s friend was he?”

Seulgi frowned and stood with a hand braced on the back of your chair and the girl next to yours. “I could’ve sworn…” her voice trailed off as she scanned the room. Then a curse tumbled out from her mouth, a hand slapping against her forehead. “Goddamn it,” she said, “your partner was supposed to be Lee Jeno—you know, Taeyong’s friend? He sat down at the wrong table, ugh. JENO!”

You all turned. Across the cafe, a dark head of hair perked up from one of the tables, his eyes as wide as the bottom of a coffee pot from the sound of his name being barked out.

You grimaced. “Hey, Seulgi, it’s fine—”

Seulgi waved her hand. “No, no. I should have micromanaged him; he saw the letter J and went with it! My plan,” she groaned. Despite her initial dismissal, she did not go off to scold Jeno or bring him to his original assignment; she merely turned back around and pinched the space between her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yn. This should have never happened.”

You nodded your head with pursed lips, unsure of what to say. “It’s not your fault, really.” One could not control the audacity that emerged from a man’s mouth.

“Oh my gosh, wait. Let me find someone else for you to sit with.”

“Seulgi” —Seonghwa’s voice drew your attention back to him— “she can just join our table. It’s fine.”

You startled and shook your head, glancing between him and your society president. Become the third wheel to Seonghwa and Sydney (that was her name, if you remembered correctly)? You would rather waltz into the oncoming traffic outside the door. Hadn’t you had enough social anxiety for today? “That’s okay! I really don’t think I’m up to doing this any longer. Can I just, like, monitor or something?”

Seulgi licked her lips. For a long beat, you truly believed she would refuse you. “Okay, yeah,” she said whilst nodding her head. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand as she took a step back. “I was just about to give Taeyong a break from the supply table, if you wanna do that.” How could you ever doubt your easygoing, existentially-exhausted senior?

You pushed out a sigh of relief. The chair legs scraped against the wood floors as you stood, sending any nearby beads tumbling further into motion. “Let me pick up these beads though before someone breaks a leg,” you joked.

“You don't have to—”

“Don't,” Seonghwa cut in and practically waved you away. “Just leave 'em. No one's gonna trip; we'll get them later.”

He sent you a pointed look at your balking and the sternness there sent your toes curling. It wasn't only firm, but you swore there was a tenderness there, too. It was an action not meant to boss you around but to remind you that you did not have to be the one to pick up some asshole's mess.

You gripped the back of your chair, then slowly rose from it, nodding. “Right,” you whispered.

Seulgi led you over to where Taeyong was, all the while apologizing profusely for Jeno's lack of literacy for his own name. You dutifully replaced the vice president at his post, falling into an easy rhythm of organizing beads into small, metal trays, keeping threads from knotting if they were returned, and doling out the appropriate materials.

As the event passed on, you could feel the side of your head tingle, a phantom ache. When one was burned by the sun, the target area of skin often felt distinctly hot and irritated upon touch. You glanced up in the direction of said sun, catching only the movement of Seonghwa's head as he engaged in conversation with Sydney across from him.

You feigned a look away, watching from the corner of your vision as his stare touched you once more. An abrupt bout of tightness flared up in your chest, nerves inflamed and sensitive. Why was he looking over here so much? It had to do with what happened.

For the remainder of your time, you kept your eyes to yourself and tried to ignore the instincts compelling you to meet his gaze.

By the time Seulgi and Taeyong brought the event to a close, the sky had already fallen to darkness, the merciless sun sinking beneath the fold of Earth's horizon. You and the other members of the society made quick work of cleaning up all your messes—it turned out that nearly every table had spilled a handful of beads at some point. You felt a little less horrible about your own situation.

You grabbed your bag from the employee's room in step with Soyeon. “Oh my gosh, wait I have something to tell…” your voice trailed off, vision snagging on the person heading for the exit door. A lightbulb clicked on in your head. Right.

“I'll meet you at home,” you promised her with a hand grazing her shoulder. There was something you needed to do first.

Soyeon's brows twisted at your actions, but she sputtered a good-natured laugh anyway. “Okay? See you at home.”

“Yo—Park! Wait up,” you called after his retreating backside, his body nearly completely over the threshold of the cafe door.

Seonghwa paused in the doorway, angling slightly to watch you catch up to him and keep the door open. “What’s up?” he asked before letting the door fall behind the two of you.

The evening outside was temperate, comfortable. Though the heat remained, it was no longer stifling like its sister, Daytime. Rather, the warmth settled over your skin as a thin shawl with no breeze interrupting. By many definitions, this was a perfect summer’s night despite it still being in the midst of spring. The streetlights flickered to their ‘on’ positions, painting the pavement a nostalgic sodium-orange up and down the university district.

You fell into step beside him and his pace slowed slightly as the two of you walked in the northerly direction toward your separate houses. “I just,” you began, the words needling at the back of your throat like an itch, “wanted to say thanks—for speaking up for me back there.”

Seonghwa glanced at you briefly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants, keys clinking against his thigh with each step he took. “Oh. Well, it was kind of the bare minimum, and that dude was being a class A jackass, so…” his voice trailed off as he took a hand out to rub the back of his neck. He stole another glance at you. “Are we cool? I mean,” he amended, “are you okay? What he was saying was just” —he pushed out a sharp exhale— “not nice, as you said before.”

You pursed your lips in memory of Justin’s words to you. “Yeah, I don’t know. Of course, it struck a nerve at the time, but it was more so that I couldn’t believe that he was actually saying those words.” You laughed, the sound coming out breathy and incredulous. “He was not only stupid, but blatantly ignorant. He was entitled, insensitive, and a fucking piece of shit.”

“I won’t argue with any of that.”

“You better not,” you jested.

You nearly stopped in your tracks. Was this the first time that you and Seonghwa were conducting a conversation of this nature, ever? Of course, both of you had your share of asshole run-ins, but you were never close enough to really have a meaningful conversation about any of it—not the awful people in your lives, not the way your moms made you unofficial rivals, and not the fact that neither of you could get over yourselves for two seconds. It had to be that you were seeing him way more often this quarter compared to every other quarter. Yes, that had to be it.

The silence between you two became too comfortable. The warmth in the air was too comfortable. The oscillating distance between your bodies as you walked side by side was too…

You cleared your throat. “I would choose a nerd over a douchebag any day of the week,” you mused in an attempt to keep the conversation alive. Anything but whatever this was.

Seonghwa released a sound that was akin to a laugh or a choke; you couldn’t tell. “Right,” he murmured. He fiddled around in his right-hand pocket for a moment, and you could hear the fabric rustling. Then it stopped, his head turning away from you like he was changing his mind. “Not to agree with you three times in one day, Ln, but same.”

“High score?” you chimed in weakly.

He faced you again, the amber warmth of the streetlight becoming his backlight, a halo. You couldn’t see his expression clearly with the shadows in the way, but maybe there was a smile there that beheld a softness you didn’t want to believe in. “Yeah, sure. High score, you dork.”

There were moments in time when you decided to be a good person. Objectively, it was more accurate to describe yourself as a good friend—or if one wished to be even more particular—a doormat. Case in point: agreeing to run a phone down to the college’s natatorium when that very building was a good forty-five minute walk from your house on the opposite side of campus. If you took the bus, it might shave your estimated time of arrival down to twenty minutes, or increase it up to an hour, depending on the bus line. Even worse, temperatures were pushing the mid-nineties in Fahrenheit, and the phone's owner was none other than Park Seonghwa.

You were doing this for Mingi and the chocolate chip muffins his mom made—at least, that was what you were telling yourself.

The bus beneath you rattled and squealed with every stretch of road it traversed. Rather than cutting through campus itself, it made a grand loop around its perimeter, catching the students and faculty who were forced to trek to the further reaches of campus rather than its heart. You fiddled with the phone in your hands; his case was a chrome silver vinyl plastic mimicking a quilted fabric. It was an interesting choice, one that you yourself wouldn’t have made, but in your heart, you knew it certainly encompassed his tastes. You scrunched your nose up as you turned it around and the screen lit up, sensing the presence of a face in front of it.

The device didn’t accept your face ID, of course, but you were left staring at the notifications on it. There were one or two text messages from names you vaguely recognized, a message from some group chat labeled “PSYCH202,” and a notification from some mobile game. A thought popped into your head, and you slipped your own phone out from your pocket, weighing the two devices before you.

What were you called in his contacts?

Ding! —Your head shot up and your body jerked in reaction to a particularly rough pothole in the road. “Next stop: East Paradigm and New World Street.”

You twisted in your seat to yank the yellow cord hanging along the side of the bus, eliciting a softer ding! to echo throughout the vehicle, followed by the words STOP REQUESTED displayed at the front.

It was a sign, you decided, to not try your little experiment.

When the bus came to a teetering stop at the E. Paradigm and New World stop, you called out a thanks to the bus driver before taking off in the direction of the natatorium. There was a paved pathway that broke off from the main road and bordered by smartly-trimmed bushes. It wound down the hill, and framed the glorious face of the KQ University indoor pool perfectly. Its wave-like rafters created a lengthened dome akin to the back of a seashell. Between the sandstone frame were pieces of cerulean blue-tinted glass to compliment the off-white building. You did not often find yourself in this area of campus, but you couldn’t deny that the natatorium was a spectacle of its own.

There was a slight pang in your chest, something like nostalgia or bittersweetness—resonating and heavy. It came with that distinct, sinking feeling in one’s stomach of “what could have been.”

You entered into the front doors of the natatorium and sighed at the swath of air conditioning that fell over you. Curiously, there was no one stationed at the reception desk; your original plan had been to drop off his phone here and head out, but with no one present for you to hand it to…

“Great,” you muttered under your breath and made your way to the doors that led deeper into the building.

When you swung open this set of doors, however, your body seemed to deflate at the utter weight of damp, all-encompassing heat in the inner pool chamber. You heard in the winter, when the weather was frigid and snow littered the ground, the floors and pool water in here were actually heated. Why they did not think to turn off the heat during a goddamn heatwave was beyond you. The grander space reached high above your head with the most appropriate acoustics to echo the sounds of water splashing, whistles shrieking, and voices chattering. You brushed a hand through your hair as sweat already began to bead on the back of your neck—you had only been in here for two seconds.

Where the hell could he be? You scanned the immediate area, eyes darting to any male with dark hair and a punk attitude.

According to intel you’d gathered from friends over the years, Seonghwa worked as a lifeguard here. It made logical sense; he was a member of your high school swim team, but was not particularly interested in swimming competitively in the collegiate league. Lifeguarding was not only a good way to continue swimming, but it also provided him with an income and a Basic Life Support certification.

“Hey, you’re Yn, right?”

You blinked, turning to find a shirtless man walking up to you. He had dark hair, too, but none of that so-called punk attitude you were searching for. His abs though… You coughed and fixed your eyes firmly on his face… his bright, smiley face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” was what came out of your mouth instead of something intelligent.

To his credit, he only chuckled. “Kind of,” he said with a sheepish grin, “I’m Mingyu. I don’t know if you remember me, but I went to Pledis Academy.”

You rifled through the files of memories in your brain, referencing the name, the face, and the school. His face had grown more mature since you last saw him, but he was definitely no longer the scrawny swim star you remembered. Recognition flooded into you and a smile stretched across your face. “Oh, shoot! I do remember you, Mingyu, oh my gosh. How have you been? You look” —you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, and you awkwardly trailed off. Of course, he looked good, but that was not why you were here. Get it together!— “great,” you finished, clutching Seonghwa’s phone with both of your hands now.

Mingyu laughed again, ducking his head as he swept a hand through his hair. “Oh, thanks—and you, too,” he swiftly added. “I can’t believe we haven’t bumped into each other all these years.”

“Yeah, that’s crazy,” you agreed, nodding your head. “It’s a pretty big campus.”

“Right? But you’d think we’d see each other at least in passing or at parties,” he said. “I don’t know why I never saw you out with Seonghwa.” Mingyu froze, as if someone had just pinched him (probably his own conscience). “Are you two still—I didn’t know if you were still together or not—”

Your smile hardened into an awkward rictus. There were plenty of people who misunderstood yours and Seonghwa’s relationship, but Mingyu? He knew you both from your high school days, when you were undoubtedly more hostile toward one another. You were suddenly reminded of your primary purpose for being here. “Oh, uh, we were never together or anything,” you drawled. Before Mingyu or you could fully let the mutual uneasiness settle into the grooves and heat of this room, you piped up, “Speaking of: have you seen Seonghwa around? He left his phone” —you lifted the silver-quilt case up as evidence— “at a friend’s and I was asked to deliver it.”

“Ah!” Mingyu’s tell-tale signs of discomfort erupted right in front of our eyes, everything from his adorable stammering to the physical turning of his body as he searched for a way out of this conversation. “Rightrightright! I forgot that Yunho sent me a text as a heads up; it completely slipped my mind.”

The expression on your face softened in sympathy. “It’s all good,” you assured him. Your brows twisted together, though, as you walked back his words. “Yunho told you? I didn’t know you knew each other.”

He bobbed his head in an affirmative. “Yup. We met through Hwa in freshman year, actually.” Mingyu swiveled over his shoulder and leaned closer to you so he could point out the far end of the pool. “He should be over there.”

Oh, easy.

You followed Mingyu’s line of sight toward the far end of the pool, and had to catch your own jaw before it dropped. Nope, not so easy.

As a former member of your high school girl’s swim team, you were no stranger to seeing people come out of a pool; but one thing you had concluded about it was that there was no person on earth who could get out of a pool completely elegantly. So then why the fuck were you gawking at the way Park Seonghwa had just appeared out of the water? As soon as his dark brunet head broke the surface, he was brushing the water out of his eyes and sliding one hand over his face to drag any remaining liquid out of the way. The pool water slipping off the slopes of his muscular back gleamed in the clear sunlight that shone through the glass panels far above as he swam freestyle over to the edge of the pool.

You hadn’t even realized that he had something clutched in his hand, something that he was swift to pass over to a little boy and his mother crouched at the poolside. He nodded and smiled as the mother spoke to him, her hand tapping her son’s shoulder, likely to thank Seonghwa for his service.

With the mother and son pair walking off, he braced his hands against the warm pool deck and pushed himself up and out of the water. Pool water cascaded down each crevice and slope of his body, catching on the folds of his swim trunks and his stomach muscles, before smacking against the concrete. He easily swept a foot onto the deck to stand up, and he brought his hands up over his face and through his hair again.

His gaze lifted from the weight of yours, and you wondered why the hell the temperature of the room just shot up ten degrees.

“Oh, he’s seen us,” chirped Mingyu as you pointedly looked away. He began to wave at Seonghwa with that beam so akin to a golden retriever. “Hwa! Look who’s here!”

Yeah, I think he’s seen who’s here, you thought to yourself while mustering up your pride and swallowing everything else in your mouth down. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d seen drenched, shirtless guys before—you were freaking standing next to one already! Granted, he wasn’t drenched, but you had also witnessed Seonghwa in the pool plenty of times in high school. You needed to get a grip—

“Well, this is a surprise,” he said when he was within earshot. Droplets of water continued to run down the surfaces of his body and leave wet footprints in his wake. Seonghwa eyed you with the stoicism you were used to, one that almost broke you out of your flustered state. (It had to be the heat and humidity in here. It had to be.) He inclined his chin at you and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing Mingi or Yunho sent you.”

“Yup.” You thrust out your arm to give him his phone. “It was for the chocolate chip muffins Mingi’s mom makes.”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows lifted, unimpressed. He didn’t take the phone. “Yeah no, I didn’t think you did it out of the goodness of your heart or anything,” he drawled and turned away. “You’re gonna have to hold it for a few more minutes, though; I need to dry off before I electrocute myself.”

You made a face at his back, and with a wave to Mingyu, you strode after him. “Hello? Dude, you know that’s not how it works.”

“Do educate me, Ln,” was his flippant response. He went straight for a small alcove in the far left wall, one with two doorways facing each other—a women’s and a men’s locker room. You halted abruptly when he did, his hand pressed against the door to the men’s side. He sent you a look and his mouth was curved in a half-smirk. “This is the locker room, by the way. If you want a peek, I think you should ask first.”

You could have choked on your own oxygen. “I—I knew that! And I didn’t want a fucking peek, you perv.”

He merely laughed and disappeared into the locker room.

You were left to your own devices in the diabolical humidity of the inner natatorium. Absent-mindedly, you lifted your hand up to feel the back of your neck, the sides of your face, before swearing at the warmth just beneath your skin. With Seonghwa deserting you to dry off and, hopefully, put on a goddamn shirt, (all for a phone) you found something to entertain yourself. There was a bulletin board tacked on the wall between the doors littered with a myriad of posters and flyers and schedules. A section of the wall was dedicated solely to a set of polaroid pictures of each individual staff member, Seonghwa included. (It was a decent picture of him—decent.) This seemed to be a trend for all the businesses associated with and surrounding the school.

Your eyes roved over the media with mild interest, tucking knowledge of an intermediate level water aerobics class held on Saturday mornings, and noting the old flyer for lifeguarding auditions forgotten on the board. As the summer break crept up on all of the students, faculty, and inhabitants of the university town, the pool here needed to prepare by training a new class of lifeguards.

Faintly, you heard the door to your left yawn open, then close with a soft thump. “Thinking of brushin’ up some skills?”

You glanced over at him before turning your attention back to the poster you were reading. There was a light blue towel draped over one shoulder, his bare chest barely covered by a black tank top, and his dark hair still appeared slightly-mussed, the strands arranged in artful chaos. “Nah,” you said, “just curious. I'm not here much.”

“I know.” He stepped closer and stood beside you, sharing your view of the board.

The heat from his skin radiated against your arm and you fought the urge to lean toward him. Why would you want to go closer to more warmth anyway? You cleared your throat, passing his phone between you two a second time. “You should be glad I don't show my face here a lot. I might embarrass you in your own element,” you jested as he finally accepted his device from you.

A low chuckle slipped from his mouth. “You think you're so funny, huh?” he mused.

You were one breath away from whipping back something smart—or something stupidly obvious like “Because I am”—until his body casted a shadow over you. Sunlight had no choice but to gleam around the sides of his head and broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat, prey in a metal trap, as he leaned closer. (Prey had more survival instinct than you, at this moment.) Every contraction of your thoracic cavity was shallow and strained, lungs filling with the scent of him, all chlorine and sweat and musk.

“What—”

“Do it then,” he murmured, mouth level with your ear, “embarrass me.”

Then he grabbed the clipboard from behind your head and straightened as if nothing happened.

Your mouth went dry, and you swallowed to hopefully regain some of your dignity. What the hell… The words that you so easily wielded in his presence had retreated to the recesses of your brain, tucking themselves behind the featherlight weight of his breath at your ear and the heat of his gaze. Cowards.

Seonghwa cocked a brow at you as he flipped past one of the sheets of paper on the clipboard. “I know I’m pretty to look at, but don't you have places to be?”

Fuck, did you have places to be? “Right,” you drawled, making a show of squinting one eye at him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of your face from your hairline, and his eyes lifted from the clipboard momentarily. You instinctively swiped the droplet away; you needed to get out of this infernal torture chamber. “Bye, I guess. Also, keep an eye on your fuckin’ phone, dude. This is the only time I’m playing Delivery Girl.”

He leaned against the alcove wall as you began walking away, his arms folding over his chest. “Yo, Ln.”

You threw him a look over your shoulder. “What is it now?”

“What time do you work until tonight?”

The question nearly had you running into some kid in an inflatable duck floatie. Your eyes widened as he swerved around you, and you parked yourself to the side of the room, as far away from the edge of the pool as you could. Your face contorted into confusion. “Who wants to know?”

Seonghwa said, “Hongjoong does.”

“Then Hongjoong can text me like a normal person?” A frown etched itself onto your face. You had no quarrel with Hongjoong, even if he sustained the tiff between you from last Saturday’s party. It was strange, though, that Hongjoong would think to get this little tidbit of information through Seonghwa of all people. Weird connections were being drawn in your head, and you weren’t sure what to make of them. “Whatever. Tell him that I get off at nine.”

He sent you a small salute before hooking the clipboard back into its place on the wall. “Aye-aye.”

You shook your head as you walked off, careful to avoid any wet puddles left in the textured concrete. Today was strange, to say the least; it had to be the heat.

You spoke too soon. The day only grew weirder.

“Good evening, Aurora County! Seems to me like we’re not quite out of the woods with this summer storm.” There was a crackly laugh cutting through the decade-old speakers in your earbuds before Aurora County’s favorite (and only) weatherman continued, “We’ll be braving another bout of showers tonight, and then it should be clear skies and beach weather here on out ‘til June—”

“—and then he said to me, ‘I don’t really go on dates with nerds!’” you recalled in a voice that was deeper and more stupid-sounding than your normal voice. Your hands gesticulated in time with your narration, fingers waving around to overstate the complete absurdity of it all.

Kim Doyoung, your senior and the tutoring partner who got stuck with you on this late, rainy night shift, twisted his facial muscles into the dictionary definition of disgust. You wondered what one had to do to gain facial flexibility the way Doyoung could scrunch up his entire face like so. “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way!” you exclaimed and threw your hands into the air. The movement ripped your earbuds from your ears, and you discarded the wires in a haphazard heap on your laptop keys. There was no use in keeping quiet; at this point, the two of you had Quill Library all to yourselves, unless you counted the student librarians chained to their reception desks in the lobby. “And you know what’s crazy? Guess who was sitting right next to us.”

Doyoung’s eyes were so wide, you could see your reflection in the whites of them. “Who?”

“Seonghwa—and that girl from Seulgi’s party on Saturday!” At this point in the evening, Doyoung was caught up on all of your so-called “lore” from this past week. You nodded your head with vigor when he started slapping his leg. “Exactly. And when this asswipe says his piece, both me and Seonghwa say at the same time, like, who said this was a fricking date? Then, Justin starts getting on Seonghwa’s case, for some reason, and I snap at him. He says some bullshit about why it was called matchmaking if this isn’t a date, and Seonghwa reminds him that the flyer actually says ‘friendship bracelets’ instead.” You gestured with your hand, adding, “Of course, with more snark.”

“But of course,” Doyoung replied with a downturned mouth. He took a sip from his thermos, wincing at the steam wafting out of its mouth. How that coffee was still scalding after four hours was a mystery to you. “Wait, so Seonghwa spoke up for you?”

“Yup,” you said. You leaned your cheek against your fist as his question fully digested. “I guess it’s a little strange to think about, considering what you already know about our relationship. I mean, we kind of talked about it afterward and it felt weird to actually agree on things, for once.”

In an action that nearly had your eyes bulging out of your head, you watched Doyoung return his thermos to the table and place his hand on your shoulder. “Yn, I might need to hold your hand while asking this…”

Dread was the weight of an iron anchor sinking in your gut. It festered there, rusting, and it took far too much energy to haul it up out of the water. You grimaced, glancing at the hand on your shoulder, then back at him. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t you think you guys could actually get along if you got over yourselves?”

You blinked at him. “Is this a genuine question?”

His expression dropped into a deadpan in time with his hand slipping off your shoulder. “Yes, and I want a genuine answer.”

“Ah.” You scratched at your jaw, then reached over to pause the video that you abandoned earlier. You were tempted to make the joke of how The Emotionally-constipated Doyoung was actually prompting an emotionally intelligent conversation, but the thought dashed away as you fell into the gravity of his question. “Sincerely? Yeah.”

It had never been a question of whether you and Seonghwa could get along; it was simply that the dynamic between you had been tainted from the start.

You saw the lines of his face and the curve of his posture soften. “Then why don't you?”

You pulled your eyes away from him at the sensation of heat crawling up your neck. That was embarrassment in tangible form, your nervous system coming up to bat. “It’s complicated,” you said, and quickly tacked on, “and that's not a copout answer. It legitimately is like” —your mouth shut. How were you supposed to articulate this in a way that someone outside yours and Seonghwa's history could understand? “When we were younger, I couldn't see him as anyone but the person my mom thought was always better than me. It… screws with you, y'know? And it's not fair to Seonghwa or me that that is how we grew up looking at each other, but—I dunno. Our dynamic has always been like a cat fight and it feels weird if we're not at odds.”

“Because being each other's competition is what feels natural.”

Your head dipped. “Yeah.”

Doyoung loosened a sigh from the back of his throat and he shifted in his seat. “And you've never… thought about being friends with him? Bonding over that mutual pressure?”

“Not really,” you confessed. “When you're a kid who just wants your parents to be proud, you do what you have to. There were moments I saw him as someone other than the physical rendition of all my mother's expectations and my nightmares, though. I mean—we still grew up together.” There was a laugh, and then your voice dropped off a cliff. You sat stock-still for a moment and let the epiphany swallow you whole.

Your counterpart allowed the silence of realization to engulf you. Seonghwa was your mirror image in more ways than not. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that you were both just kids at the time, and that ultimately, you had grown up together. (But now you were older. Would you continue to look at him and see the past, or could you make room for the man he was growing into?)

In the corner of your eye, you spotted movement. Both you and Doyoung turned to the entryway of this area in the library, and it was as if the universe was about to call you out on your thoughts.

Doyoung looked back at you with wide eyes. “Speak of the Devil,” he whispered, head whipping back in Seonghwa’s direction, then to you.

You wanted to slap your hand to your forehead. “Please be chill,” you groaned quietly to him. Over Doyoung’s shoulder, you watched Seonghwa quietly take a seat on the outskirts of the seating area, furthest from where yours and Doyoung’s table was. Wait, wasn’t it Hongjoong who asked what time you got off work tonight? You peeked over at the time in the corner of your laptop—8:24PM. Huh.

For a minute or two, you and Doyoung simply let the clock tick away in silence.

Then there was a nudge at your arm. “Go ask him if he needs help.”

You jolted. “What? He doesn’t need help—trust me,” you hissed back. “He already took Gen Chem in freshman year and passed with flying colors.”

“I hate that you know that.”

Oh. You pursed your lips together. “Yeah, me too.”

Doyoung sighed and it was loud enough to echo against the high ceiling. He spun your chair around and practically shoved you out of it. “You've been deployed, Yn.”

“This is abuse of power,” you muttered, but gathered your body, ego, and all other accompanying parts, and rounded the table. You could not comprehend why your heart rate began to crescendo with each footstep you took in Seonghwa's direction. There had never been this kind of hesitation before—an uneasiness of suddenly being aware of too much—only an insistent balking to interact with the bane of your childhood.

Seonghwa didn't look up until your shadow sliced over his notebook page. It almost made your eyes twitch. “Funny seeing you here,” he drawled as he leaned back in his seat to peer up at you.

You arched both of your brows, unimpressed. “There is a distinct lack of Kim Hongjoong, I see,” you said and gestured around at the nearly-empty room.

“Yeah, well, he had a conflict.”

You rolled your eyes and slid into the seat across from him. “You could've just asked me. Y'know, like a normal person.”

“Sure I could've, Ln.”

“Anyways,” you muttered, scratching your head and then gesturing behind you in Doyoung's direction, “my senior's tasked me with seeing if you need help with anything. I told him you probably don't, because this is a general chemistry tutor session and—”

“Soyeon says you got full marks on the Krebs Cycle portion of the midterm.”

The words that just spilled out of his mouth were experiencing a traffic jam when entering your brain. When did he and Soyeon talk about that? Why would Soyeon tell him that? And why would he—it hit you.

Your face must have said it all, because Seonghwa was already taking up a defensive position by folding his arms over his chest. “Don't make a big deal out of this.”

You pressed a finger to your lips. “I'm not,” you swore, then lowered your hand to lace with the other over the table. You were telling the truth, as surprising as it was for both you and Seonghwa. In your youth, you would have been flooded with jubilation at the news that you excelled where he underperformed. But as you sat across from him in the harsh library lighting, you felt nothing but a light ‘Oh.’

You were expecting the warm satisfaction in your chest, the smug contentment making your fingers jittery. Those sensations never came.

Not so important after all, huh?

The side of his cheek shifted like he was biting the inside of it. “So no snarky remarks? No celebrating?”

Were you really so bad? You shrugged. “If that's what you want, I'll provide it. But—you know…” you trailed off in thought, an absent-minded laugh tumbling out. “I don't think we've ever admitted to each other our shortcomings directly. They've only ever been told to us through other people.”

Seonghwa's arms uncrossed, expression softening. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “It's cool that you came to me for help, though. I think I had a dream about this once—”

“Don't push it, Ln.”

A grin split your face just then—a true moment of jubilation—and you could have sworn something flickered across his own face.

You didn't push it. Instead, you and Seonghwa hunkered down in the corner of the room for the next couple of hours breaking down the target section. In the quiet, abandoned floor of Quill Library, rain drummed against the windows plastered with the dark night. At some point, Doyoung excused himself to head home, leaving you and Seonghwa beneath the grating overhead LEDs and the scratchy handwriting on the notebook passed between you.

The clock hands struck about ten o'clock when you decided to call it quits. Rain continued to batter the streets of the KQ University campus, and you stood beneath the large, stone archway that led into the library, watching the glow of the lights from inside scatter across the drenched cobblestones.

Seonghwa yanked his jacket hood over his head. “Hey, come on, I'll give you a ride home,” he said to you, nudging your arm with the back of his hand before gesturing to the left.

You were not about to argue when it was pouring rain at ten o'clock and you were without an umbrella.

The two of you crashed into your corresponding sides of the car, breaths fogging up the windows and mirrors, seats and backpacks and skin damp from either sweat or rain. You shook any errant droplets out of your hair as Seonghwa cranked the engine on. His phone connected to the car radio the moment he began backing out from his parking space, and the vibrant instrumentals of a Bruno Mars song came grooving out of the speakers.

Seonghwa turned the volume down, and you leaned back in your seat and watched the streetlights blur like watercolors against the car window.

“Thanks, by the way.” The glow of the stoplight was crimson red across his face. “I found tonight really helpful.”

You pursed your mouth as you traded glances with him. “Yeah sure, man,” you said. “I'm glad you found it helpful. I think I'm just surprised you even—I dunno—asked me of all people.”

He passed you another glance as his visage turned bright green with the traffic light. “You know I respect you, right?”

“Are you okay?” you blurted out. “Like are you dying or something?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes so hard, you were sure he could see his brain up there. If he wasn't driving, you knew he would be hitting his head against the steering wheel. “Good grief, Yn, I'm trying to be sincere.”

You coughed, shrinking down in your seat. “And I'm being sincere too,” you retorted. “We haven't been this civil toward each other since—”

“Never?” he offered.

“Yes,” you said. You shared yet another look before he returned his eyes to the road. Your own gaze went to the lone C-3PO figurine on his dash and you balled up your hands in your lap, wondering how they had gotten so clammy. “I—respect you, too.”

“How badly did it hurt to say that?”

Your head whipped around. “Now who's being the insincere one?”

Seonghwa chuckled and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Touché,” he said. “I’m being serious though. I wish…”

You swallowed as you stared out the front windshield. It didn't take a therapist to fill in the blank: I wish we hadn't started off how we did. I wish we grew up differently. I wish we had grown up as friends.

The car tires crunched slowly over the rainy gravel outside of your house a few minutes later. The front windows still emitted a warm, familiar light from within, signalling to you the consciousness status of some of your housemates. The windshield wipers continued to thunk, thunk, thunk away at the ceaseless rain against glass as you prepared yourself to cross the driveway without cover.

You stopped just as your fingers curled around the door handle. “By the way, isn't your guy missing his guy?” you asked, wagging a finger in the direction of C-3PO. You were, of course, referring to R2-D2, the blue and white droid renowned for its resourcefulness and adorableness.

Seonghwa shifted in his seat, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise at the question. “Oh,” he said, “well, I guess I just haven't found the right moment to get him.”

Ah. You tugged the door open. “‘Night then,” you chirped, and flashed him with the Spock salute.

“You're such a fuckin’ nerd, oh my god—”

You threw your head back in a cackle as you slammed the car door, then bolted for your front porch.

In the eleventh grade, you bombed a Science Olympiad competition. The Science Olympiad was a high school organization you had been a part of since the moment you stepped foot onto campus in freshman year. As a junior, you were a seasoned professional, an ace card in the deck, a valued player in the roster—until you fumbled every event at this specific meet.

To your credit, most of your teammates also met failure or mediocre success; but that was not something your mother cared about.

Park Seonghwa knew this fact like the back of his hand. He had recognized the sheer panic in your eyes during each event, the harried nature of each attempt to reconcile your mistakes mid-event, the defeat and anxiety pouring out of you in energy that could not be contained in that high-tension ball you called your body.

The bus ride home had been dead silent. The car ride in his mom's car was filled only by the muffled sounds of the world passing by. The worst part was seeing you at school the day afterward. You didn't only look exhausted, you looked sapped—of energy, a will, everything. He never said anything; he didn't have the heart or the balls to.

When the clock hit four on the dot, marking the beginning of after school practice, Seonghwa gathered in room A08 along with the rest of your teammates. He barely tuned into whatever the president was saying because your seat across the room was empty and they were taking roll call.

“I'll go look for her,” he offered as soon as your name was called. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, knowing. Maybe you weren't friends, but it didn't mean he couldn't try to save you some dignity. Seonghwa was already up and out of his seat before anyone else could acknowledge or offer assistance.

There were a myriad of possible places you could be and he would check all of them, barring the girl's bathroom. You had to still be on campus, though, because he saw your bike still locked up when he passed by. You would not have gone home at this hour—at least one of your parents would be home, thus, making it the last place you wanted to be. Minutes flew by as he zipped around different spots on campus. He peeked into other open classrooms, asked your band friends if you were in any parts of the music building, and ducked into alcoves around school grounds. The couple of times he called your number, it went to voicemail immediately; there was no point in trying to text you.

When he reached the swimming pool on the far end of campus, his hopes were not high. He had even broken a sweat, the skin beneath the collar of his hoodie warm and damp from perspiration. You had quit the girl’s swim team last year after an incident with the asshole coach, and it didn’t make much sense that you would hide here of all places. Seonghwa was in no place to judge you for quitting, but your parents miraculously accepted it as long as you took up another extra-curricular. From what he heard, you were tutoring now.

As he stepped foot onto the barren, outdoor pool deck, he paused just as he opened his mouth to call out your name.

The sound of a gasp cleaved through the air—not a gasp of surprise, but a gasp for air. A broken sob rattled after it, followed by another, and another, a cascade of ruin and emotion that no one needed a label for.

Seonghwa froze in place. The distinct feeling that he was intruding swept over him. What if it’s not her, he thought and slowly crept closer, toward the sound. He would make sure that you—or whoever it was—was alright.

But as he took his measured steps, he spied a familiar head of hair around the furthest corner of the locker rooms building. He recognized the red stripe running down your track pants, the pair that you wore on Thursdays when you had your racquet ball class. Your shoulders trembled like a city on a fault line, a fissure in the earth that was once the unbreakable resolve he knew you to possess.

He had never seen or heard you cry before, let alone like this—like every single pressure point had conspired together to finally make you crack. He despised it, hated it. Out of all the people he knew, he never believed you could be broken.

Seonghwa backed away. He didn’t make his presence known to you and he would never bring it up again. This was your private moment; he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He made his way back to the meeting room with a discomfort filling up his chest, and that presented itself outwardly as solemnity.

His teammates all glanced up at his return, and the president asked, “Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” Seonghwa replied while sliding back into his seat. “She just needs a minute.”

“But we have to tighten up on practice—”

Seonghwa’s expression hardened. “Give her. A Minute.”

The president’s mouth snapped shut, and nothing further was said on the matter. However, fifteen minutes later, heads turned again to watch you stumble into the classroom while wiping your cheek, your eyes no longer red and your breathing back to normal. Seonghwa tried not to stare as you muttered out an apology and took your seat across the room from him. You shouldn’t have to apologize, he thought.

He tried not to flinch when he remembered what your crying sounded like; tried not to let the anger he harbored at your mother fester into his own tone when he spoke; and tried not to mention at all that he had caught you at a moment of weakness, because if there was anything that would make you feel worse, it would certainly be that.

There were many things you could read about Jeon Soyeon. After living with her for a solid three years and suffering a glorious amount together through the trenches that were pre-medicine weedout classes, one might say you forged a bond only few could relate to. It was one of the primary reasons you believed that she had been itching to ask you something for an entire week.

You broke away from the lineup of dish detergents on the shelf before you, their rainbow of labels plastered with claims of killing 99.9999999% of grease molecules on your dishes to varying degrees of truthfulness. “Alright,” you said, whirling on your friend and roommate, which caused her to freeze up like a deer in headlights. “Just spit it out already.”

Soyeon’s hands lifted in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Do not make me resort to unsavory methods.” The bright white LEDs above your head washed the entire store in their light, illuminating the company’s specific shade of red plastered on the walls to contrast the white of everything else.

“It’s just that…”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, turning back to the shelf to pluck your house’s choice of dish soap from the shelf. The translucent blue liquid sloshed inside with a slightly higher viscosity than water, but looser than hand soap. You dumped the bottle into the red basket hanging from your arm filled with the other items you and Soyeon were tasked with retrieving by your housemates.

“Doyoung told me that Seonghwa came to the tutor center during one of your shifts last week.”

You paused in the middle of the aisle, then recovered your stride and continued out into the main walkway. Was everybody talking to everybody but you, all of a sudden? “Yeah,” you drawled, sending her a narrowed-eye look from over your shoulder, “and by the way, I can’t believe you told him that I got the entire Krebs Cycle section right.”

Soyeon deadpanned at you and fell into step beside you as you began to wander in an aimless direction around the store. “In my defense, he asked first! I had a feeling about his score, and you know that I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to brag about my friend, so I told him about just that section.”

In truth, you weren’t upset that Soyeon disclosed this information to Seonghwa. Of course, it would have been different if you hadn’t done as well on that section, but it ultimately led to that strangely civil evening between the two of you. Since then, there had been two weeks’ worth of society gatherings and Trivia Nights, all of which passed by relatively normally, excluding the fact that the jabs you and Seonghwa exchanged were a little less biting. Not that anyone had pointed it out yet though.

You made a turn into one of the many toy aisles in this section of the store. “So what about the tutor center?” you asked, beelining to the Lego sets on the shelves.

“Getting you guys to talk about your feelings about each other is like pulling teeth,” she groaned behind you.

“I mean, a straightforward question helps,” you mused. (‘Straightforward,’ you advocated for, until someone like Jeong Yunho asked you the most straightforward question known to man and you declined to answer in exchange for a tequila shot.) You shoved your hands into the pockets of your shorts and eyed the Lego replicas of real life items: a typewriter, a flower vase, a human-sized Boba Fett helmet—

“Well, have you ever thought that you’re projecting your attraction for Seonghwa as a dislike for him instead?”

Your hand came to a stop. (Was there a tequila shot you could drink now?) What was with everyone asking you about your relationship with Seonghwa lately?

“See!”

“No, no, no—I can answer this! I can answer this,” you spluttered out defensively. You could see Soyeon bracing her hands on her hips next to you while you maintained your focus on the number of Lego bricks labeled on a box. “I can’t believe I’m being interrogated in a Target shopping aisle,” you muttered under your breath, blowing an errant piece of hair out of your eyes.

“Okay, I don't think I've ever thought of it in that way. Maybe there's some cognitive dissonance there with associating him with a lot of the negative things in our past, but—I don't know! He’s… sure, I think he is an objectively decent guy, but he’s not my type.” When you faced Soyeon, she had her arms crossed this time, an eyebrow arched. “I’m guessing you don’t agree,” you huffed.

“I really don’t want to bring up your Hinge history” —you opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but she held up her hand to stop you— “and I won’t. But consider that maybe your obsession with the two of you being in the same league has a deeper meaning than simply his being the bane of your childhood. Like, you guys have so much common footing, and I’ve gotta be honest, girl—you look at him and talk about him a lot.”

Your mouth curved into an elongated frown. You didn’t look at him ‘a lot,’ right? Not so much that it was obvious… right? If anything, the reason you looked at him so much was because—well, even you couldn’t come up with a bullshit excuse for that one. If you supposedly couldn’t stand the sight of him, then why were your eyes always drawn to him like a magnet with the force of the Earth’s poles? Even gravitational acceleration could not beat the speed at which you found him in a crowded lecture hall.

The loud buzzing of a phone tore through the white noise buzzing from the overhead lights. It made you jump out of your skin, and you fumbled around in your pockets to take out your phone.

The caller ID glared up at you like the universe’s favorite joke: Park Vader.

Soyeon peered over your shoulder and snorted. “I forgot you called him that; you’re such a dork, Yn.”

“What?” you lamented. “I thought it was clever, ‘cause he was my sworn enemy!”

She shook her head to herself as she turned around and walked a straight line out of the aisle. That left you alone with the buzzing phone in your hands, the caller on the other side undoubtedly waiting, too. You couldn’t remember the last time you received a phone call from him. Was it that one time you lost half the group during a society outing? Or was it high school graduation when he couldn’t find where his parents had gone?

You brushed those thoughts aside and accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, are you free right now?”

“Uhh yeah,” you dragged out, peering around you for anyone in the vicinity. You kept the call off speaker despite no one being near. “Did you need something?”

The sounds of paper flipping and crinkling met your ears through the speaker. In your mind’s eye, you imagined him propped behind his desk and rummaging through his notebook graffitied with ballpoint pen. “That question about which substrate the antagonist functions most closely to…?”

Your brain flicked on its lights and you mentally rifled through the files labeled with ‘Biochemistry.’ Something caught your eye at the other end of the aisle, and you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder. “Oh,” you said, “it’s succinyl-CoA because the compound inhibits the formation of citrate. The other options can be involved in the inhibition of the Krebs Cycle, but ultimately, succinyl-CoA is the only one that’s involved with the actual condensation into citrate.”

A sigh erupted from his end of the call, his breathy tone tickling at your ear and making you think of the goddamn natatorium. He was quiet for a second as you scoured the shelves lined with Lego figurines of characters from movies. The dull scratching of his ballpoint pen was loud enough for his microphone to pick up; it was a soothing sound.

“I probably could have known that from straight-up memorization, huh,” he finally said.

You removed a box with an R2-D2 figurine from its hook. “Maybe,” you conceded. “You can only memorize so much until it gets to a point, y’know, where knowing the basics and applying them is more useful than committing every little detail to memory.” Five bucks? This tiny thing should be two dollars maximum, you thought, but tossed it into the basket anyway.

He must have heard the resounding crash of weighted cardboard and gravity, because he was quick to pipe up, “Where even are you right now?”

“Target,” you answered simply. “Soyeon’s somewhere around here, too.” The statement was paired with a swivel of your head—wherever she had wandered off to, you hadn't a clue.

“Oh, did Seulgi make you guys go get stuff for the car wash thing tomorrow?”

“Nah, this is all Lillian's doing,” you replied with more mirth than resentment. “Errands in exchange for coming to support us by bringing her minivan tomorrow.”

An indignant sound crackled into your ear. “That's gotta be cheating.”

“Sorry, that I have friends, Park,” you quipped back, snickering. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you.”

“By you? Not a chance.”

You hummed absentmindedly, dallying toward the end of the aisle to begin your search for your friend. “Not by ‘chance,’” you corrected, “but by the army of our girls in bikinis.”

“Is that including you?”

You made a face. “Duh. Wait why—”

A chuckle resonated through your ear, the heat from your phone meshing with the warmth in your cheek. “See you and your bikini tomorrow, Ln.”

“Seonghwa, what the—” He hung up.

Your face ignited as you ripped the phone out from between your ear and shoulder. As expected, the End Call screen grinned back up at you. There was no way you heard what you thought you heard… but then again, there had been the pool before that, and the other car ride way before that…

Soyeon appeared from around the corner with her phone facing upward as if she herself was just on a call with someone. She peered at you curiously, her brows crinkling together. “Are you okay?”

“I think Seonghwa's been flirting with me, Soyeon,” you said. The phone was still hot in your hand. His goddamn contact was still on the screen.

She raised her hands up to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Oh, thank Mother Seulgi, you're finally awake.”

Seulgi's cul-de-sac was busier than Greek row during Rush.

Perched up high in her second story bedroom window, you could breathe in the expanse of bodies milling about, the cars slowly rolling into the dead-end street, and the dozens upon dozens of buckets and sponges piled high with mountains of soap suds. The pre-health society's car washing fundraiser was well under way, even beneath the scathing wrath of the late spring sun.

“Good morning, Aurora County!” you heard the weatherman's voice carry through one of Seulgi's roommate's radios in the house. They were probably holed up in their room down the hall, deep in a cat nap and unaware of the party around them. “Well, it's gonna be another hot one today. Temperatures are looking to soar to the mid-nineties and hundreds by late afternoon. Make sure to stay hydrated and apply that sunscreen, folks!”

You had been finishing up with some preparations inside the house while everyone else was busy getting the event started. You might have missed the moment everyone tore off their shirts and hosed the first car, but there was plenty of time for one more.

Every conversation that had transpired last night replayed freshly in your mind as you sped down the stairs and out the front door. If you were to be wholly honest, you weren't sure where your head was. This was new to you—the idea that the tension between you and Seonghwa could be anything but a rivalry. Your pulse throbbed at the junction of your throat and jaw, your palms clammy as the midday sun roasted you from even the shade of the porch.

“Yn! Get your butt down here!” came Chaeryeong's shout, her arm flailing around to beckon you over to the Chevy SUV at the mercy of her water gun.

Soyeon cupped her hands around her grinning mouth: “And take that shirt off before I do it for you!”

You let out a loud laugh, descending the porch step by slow step, teasing your fingers at the hem of your T-shirt. “Don’t any of you have manners? Where's my 'please?’”

“Please” —your head whipped over to find Wooyoung lounging in a nearby lawn chair, his shirt unbuttoned and splayed out on either side of him, eyes boasting a pair of heart-shaped glasses, and shooting you a toothy grin— “take your shirt off. For me, of course, and definitely not for anyone else.”

You guffawed, fully amused. “For you, and only you, my friend.”

“That is the goddamn spirit—oop! Gotta go!” Wooyoung rocketed out of the chair as Seulgi came barreling out of the garage fifteen feet behind him, a menacing scowl fixed on her face and a slipper raised over her head.

“Get to work, Jung Woooyoung, or so help me!” Seulgi huffed as she stood on the lawn just before you, hands braced on her jean short-clad hips. She turned halfway toward you. “Ready to rake in some money, Yn? Taeyong and the boys have gotten a headstart, but it won't help them for long,” she said, the grin on her face filled with more teeth than sportsmanship.

“Yes, ma'am,” you chirped dutifully.

She pointed in the direction of a cobalt blue sedan rolling into the lot near the entrance of the cul-de-sac proper, where you saw Lia already stationed. You sent her a salute, stole a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses off a nearby table, and jogged across the street toward Lia. The latter gladly welcomed you to the area she affectionately called “The Griddle,” thanks to the fact that she was in the flat, open expanse of the street. Her only reprieve was the big, floppy sun hat crowning her head and maybe the clipboard tucked under her arm.

She waved over the sedan to an open spot in front of one of the other houses, and to your surprise, as they rolled down the window, you were met by a familiar face.

“Long time, no see, Mingyu,” you greeted pleasantly, leaning over the window sill. You nodded in hello to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, as well.

Mingyu beamed with a kind of boyishness that made you nostalgic for high school, a rare feat. “Hey, Yn,” he said. “My friend Seungkwan and I thought we'd come to support.”

Seungkwan, the passenger, waved to you with a bright energy. “Nice to meet the girl Mingyu hasn't stopped talking about.”

“Aish—shut up, dude!” Mingyu stammered, cheeks darkening from his friend's exposé.

You giggled, the sound spilling out of your mouth from the slight second-hand embarrassment and feeling a little flattered. Sure, Mingyu was good-looking and seemed like a regular Prince Charming, but you weren't sure he was someone you were interested in at this moment. (Or was exactly your type, as Soyeon would say.) Your smile was cordial, bordering on polite. “Ah well, thanks for coming out to show your support. We really appreciate it.”

“Of course!” he was quick to recover. “Do you guys want us to sit outside and wait, or…?”

“Either is fine,” you said with a shrug and took a couple steps back toward Lia. You needed to locate a bucket and sponges and maybe even a hose before you could get started. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys.”

You shimmied your way over to Lia's side. “Hey, is there any extra soap and water around here?”

Lia hissed through her teeth and tapped her chin with the back of her pencil. “Ooh,” she murmured, “you know what? Let me find someone who can get you that—”

“I got it, Lia.”

Your heart palpitated, your lungs seized. For some reason, his voice sounded rough around the edges, and there were only so many instances when you could use heat as an excuse for delusions like this. You swore to god that Park Seonghwa just appeared out of nowhere, setting two buckets of sudsy sponges at your feet, but not before peering at you through long lashes with the intention to make you feel warmth from a source other than the sun.

His shoulders were already well bronzed in his tank top, the fabric loose to give his skin room to breathe. He carded a hand through his damp hair and looked you up and down. “I was promised a bikini.”

You blinked, and for a moment, you nearly forgot who you were. The attitude came zipping back in a second. “Actually, you were promised a proper beating.”

“I could deal with that, too,” he drawled back, arms braiding across his chest.

(Lia quietly excused herself, likely to go run off in Soyeon and Seulgi's direction with the freshest of news. It was almost too easy to give you both privacy; how obsessed did you have to be with one another to forget that the world continued on when you were together?)

You flashed him a saccharine smile and bent slightly to pick up the buckets he’d delivered. “Well, thanks for the stuff. I'm gonna go clean Mingyu's car now.” Before he could even process what you said, you were already walking yourself back in the direction of your assigned car. Somewhere behind you, you registered the sound of Yeosang calling out for Seonghwa to help with a new car coming in.

When you reached the sedan again, you set the buckets by the driver’s side, the car now left to its own devices while Mingyu and Seungkwan loitered on the curbside nearby.

“Yn, d’you need help?” Chaeryeong jogged over in her sandals and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a big grin on her face. The water gun she wielded earlier had disappeared.

“Definitely,” you said back, nodding. You took the heart-shaped glasses off and handed them to her. “Hold these, please.”

Your fingers once again met the bottom hem of your T-shirt. A familiar sensation warmed at the side of your head akin to a light burn. Your eyes wandered in the direction of the stare that seared into you, and your pulse throttled up against your skin when you made eye contact with Seonghwa from across the street. He had the door of his newest vehicle propped open and half his body drenched from chest to waist already, but he halted any activity as if he sensed what was about to happen.

You didn’t know what was wrong with you, but you held his stare while you tugged your shirt up and over your head. Immediately, your skin breathed a sigh of relief at being freed from the fabric incubator that was your cover-up. You tossed the garment onto the side of the road where a drink cooler had been left.

Chaeryeong suddenly coughed and leaned toward you, passing the sunglasses back into your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Seonghwa look so intense.”

That phantom burn continued to flare against your head. You stole a quick glance back in that direction, your heart rate rocketing when you caught the way his eyes flickered over the expanse of exposed skin framed by a baby blue bikini top.

“Then you should see how locked-in he gets when doing exams,” you joked to Chaeryeong. It was a pathetic attempt at dismissing the fluttering in your stomach.

She shot you a look, her mouth pursing. “No, girl, I think he wants to do you like one.”

If there was one way to get you to shut up with haste, it was that. Your jaw snapped shut before it could fully unhinge. No way. Nowaynowaynoway—you hiked your sunglasses up on top of your head to push your hair out of your face. All of a sudden, you were hyper-aware of the presence across the street from you; and for the first time, it wasn’t because you were solely looking to school his ass at something. When had you become so conscious about him looking at you?

You forced the thought to the back of your mind; in fact, you shoved it under a mental floorboard, hammered it in with a mental nail, and draped a mental rug over it. There were more important things to deal with at present and who were you if not a champion of absolute focus?

It truly proved to be a challenge for your mental faculties. As the late morning simmered into high noon, you and your society-mates must have cleaned about a few dozen cars. If the pre-health society did not collect at least a couple thousand in donations by the end of the day, you would declare your retirement. The heat was beginning to wear on you and everyone else, the sun’s rays beating down from above while the hot asphalt beneath discharged heat waves, completing a proper assault on two fronts.

You swiped the fat droplet of sweat rolling down the side of your face with your arm, despite it mixing with the layer of perspiration already settled atop your skin. You, Soyeon, and some of the other girls just finished up with a fraternity brother’s dirt- and dust-slicked truck, and were making your way back toward home base.

Soyeon slumped one of her arms around your shoulders before her head came tumbling down next. “Man, the tan lines we’re gonna end up with are going to be diabolical,” she whined. “And right before summer, too! What am I supposed to do in a backless dress and my body’s in three different shades?”

“I don’t know, but you’re still hot regardless of how many shades your body is,” you mused back with a cheeky grin. The two of you stood within range of the front lawn sprinklers, which had been so graciously activated by one of Seulgi’s housemates. You had already spotted some of the boys making full use of the cool water when they took their break earlier.

“Have I ever told you I love you?”

You chuckled and patted her head, your movements sun-soaked and lethargic. “Love you, too, babe.”

A high-pitched yelp pierced the air and the sound echoed against the surrounding houses of the cul-de-sac. You and Soyeon tracked the noise to the boys’ side of the street, where Wooyoung was scrambling away from the group like his ass was on fire, his hair and body dripping wet. The culprit, it seemed, was Yunho, of all people.

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, “who let Yunho have the hose?” A small chuckle left your throat as you watched the chaos unfold. The wicked, toothy grin slathered over Yunho's face was enough to tell anyone in the vicinity that he meant Business.

The trajectory of the hose spray continued on down the line before it reached the side of a black four-wheeler. Someone shouted from behind the trunk, before Seonghwa and Hongjoong emerged, their bodies sopping wet from head to toe.

“Yah! Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong cried with a shaking fist before flicking off the water from his arms and legs.

But your attention fixed upon the man next to him with the magnetism of an MRI scanner to a slab of metal. You couldn't rationalize how the world slowed, but when Seonghwa yanked the black tank top—drenched and clinging to every crevice of his body—over his head, it definitely happened in slow motion. He shook out his dripping wet hair and scooped it backward and out of his face with one hand.

Your head whipped away before he could notice you were watching—or drooling, for that matter. (What was wrong with you? You swiped at the corner of your mouth to thumb away the saliva there.) If anyone asked, the reason your face and neck were so warm was because of the burning ball of plasma reigning over your heads.

You heard your name being called out from your left, and you and Soyeon waited for Seulgi to come to a stop by you both. “Hey, what's up?” you asked her.

There was a clipboard in her hand, similar to the one Lia had been holding onto earlier. “You remember where my laundry room is, right?” When you nodded an affirmative, she continued, “Would you mind doing me a huge favor and grabbing a stack of the smaller towels on the rack in there?”

“Oh, I'll go with you,” Soyeon piped up.

Seulgi made a sound that had both you and Soyeon freezing in place. A beat of silence passed between them, almost like telepathic communication.

“I just remembered” —Soyeon gave your shoulder a squeeze and began stepping away in the direction of a nearby cooler— “I was gonna go restock some of the coolers with White Claws. Sorry, Yn!”

“Thanks, Yn!” Seulgi chirped. “Remember that the laundry door has a weird lock—”

You sent her a thumb's up. “I remember,” you assured her, then made your way up the porch steps. You shook your head with a scrunched nose. That was… interesting.

The laundry room was infamous for its dysfunctional locking mechanism. You and the girls from the society had plenty of slumber parties in this house, and thus, knew very well that the laundry room in the basement would slam shut and jam on the inside. There was always a little doorstop to keep it open, but at times, the house's occupants would remove the doorstop if one of the machines were running.

You wormed your way through Seulgi's house toward the basement entrance, cutting beneath the stairs and into the house's foundation. The small fan blew out over the room with a gentle and low breeze, and afternoon sunlight poured in through the slim windows.

The laundry room door was tucked away on the far side of the room, and you paused just outside the door. Huh. It was closed.

Carefully, you pulled it open and peeked inside. No machine was running. You yanked the cord by the door to turn on the small strip light overhead; you couldn't spot the Ditto Pokémon doorstop either.

“Don't be stupid,” you muttered to yourself, and closed the door while you went around the basement to look for a replacement doorstop. You made a loop around the basement and checked the cabinets by the pool table, eyeing a folded chair shoved in haphazardly with the pool cues.

The chair was chosen, and you propped it open between the door and the doorjamb, preventing yourself from being locked inside. “Why is this door so goddamn heavy,” you pondered aloud, scrutinizing the way the weight of the laundry door pushed the folding chair until it was flush against the doorway.

Whatever. That would be fine for now.

You clambered in through the opening and went straight for the rack at the furthest end of the room. How many towels was Seulgi asking for? If it was the small ones, it might have just been for drying the cars, perhaps…

Your thoughts slowed as the sound of footsteps resounded against the basement stairs. You glanced upwards, then back toward the door.

Thunk, thunk, thunk—then, “Ln? Yn, you in here?”

Brows crossing, you straightened. “Seonghwa?”

Sure enough, Seonghwa's head of damp hair appeared through the opening. His gaze flickered from the chair between the door and the wall, then back up at you. “Seulgi said you might need help.”

“Oh.” So she didn't want Soyeon helping, but now Seonghwa was down here? There was something fishy going on… You turned back to the rack. “I mean, it's just towels.”

“Is there not a lot of them? She said there was a lot.” There was a soft shuffling sound, followed by a hollow clank as the chair was moved.

Shit. You whirled around, eyes widened as you watched him slip inside and set the chair aside. “Waitwait—don’t let it” —SLAM— “close!” A screech loosened from your throat as the wood vibrated from impact behind Seonghwa.

Your counterpart, to his credit, stood stock-still with his eyes blown wide. If he were a bunny rabbit, his ears would have been pressed flat against his head. “There… was a reason that chair was there, huh,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yes,” you sighed deeply. You dragged a hand down your face as you racked your brain for a solution. “It's fine. You didn't know about the door.”

“I'm sorry, I—that’s so stupid. Why haven't they called their landlord about this?” He rattled the doorknob to no avail, pink dusting his cheekbones as he tried to find some imaginary way out of the laundry room.

“Do you have your phone on you?”

Seonghwa patted his pockets, then groaned. “Fuck,” he swore, raking a hand through his damp hair, “I took it out of my pockets earlier because I didn't want it to get wet.”

Dread curdled in your stomach and you leaned your hip against the drying machine. “Same here.”

The two of you averted gazes as the reality of your situation sank in. Your only hope was the fact that both Seulgi and Soyeon knew of your whereabouts and were bound to come looking for you should you not turn up in a reasonable amount of time. For a moment, you tilted your head back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Out of all the people you could have gotten stuck with, of course, it would be Park Seonghwa.

Your conversation over the phone last night sparked in your head, along with the stares you had been exchanging all day. You glanced over at him, his bare back now pressed against the door as he stared at the floor in thought; but he raised his head to meet your eyes. “What?”

“Can you—can I ask you a question and will you answer honestly?”

He stared at you for a moment, then ducked his head. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

“Have you been… flirting with me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you wished so badly to reel it back in. Oh, the utterly horrified tightening in your chest—was this a physical symptom of embarrassment?

The room was quiet enough to hear the muffled sound of the outdoor speakers driving their sound waves through the ground. You really hoped he didn't laugh. You wouldn't laugh if he confirmed it, but if he laughed, you would probably just about die of embarrassment. (But maybe you were willing to risk that. If what Soyeon talked to you about last night had any grounds, maybe there was a small part of both of you that was misinterpreting everything.)

Seonghwa's posture tautened and he pulled his shoulders back as if bracing himself. “Maybe I have been.”

“Oh.” You had not been expecting such a straightforward answer.

He seemed to register your daze in a certain way, and he began moving toward you. “Is that an issue for you?” he asked lowly, his head tilting to the side while he eyed you.

You cleared your throat, shook your head. “No,” you whispered.

“It's not?” he murmured. He was closer now, close enough that if you extended your arm, your fingers would press up against the broad expanse of his chest. “So you're not uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable? I wouldn't say uncomfortable,” you babbled as he took another step closer. “It's just that I'm not used to hearing something like that from you, addressing me—”

“So you're saying I should do it more often?” Seonghwa's lip twitched with the ghost of a smile. “To get you more used to it, I mean.”

When did this become an interrogation of you? Didn't you ask the first question? (Had he always been so close? You'd never seen abs this close before.) “Okay, stop!” You pressed your hands to his clavicle bones, and despite realizing you were touching the firm and bare flesh of his chest, you did not remove your hands. “What are we doing?”

He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you. The smile stopped ghosting you and curled up into his cheek. “We're having a conversation about flirting, Ln. Do keep up.”

You couldn't help yourself from rolling your eyes. It was like holding a lighter under a fuse, and you yanked your hands away from him as if you’d just been burned by a hot stove. “I'm flustered, not stupid!” you sputtered, fumbling desperately for an ounce of dignity because it had never been this easy for Seonghwa to get you like this, right?

“I never said otherwise,” he said, chuckling. His chin inclined at you, hands bracketing on either side of your body upon the washing machine your back dug into. “You’re a smart girl. What do the combined symptoms of dilated pupils” —his finger tapped the bridge of your nose— “rapid pulse” —another tap by your carotid artery on the underside of your jaw— “and shallow breathing” —a graze over your sternum— “suggest in this specific context?”

The answer materialized in your throat as a lump and you forced it down. Your eyes strayed to his mouth, unable to help yourself, but this action was swiftly mirrored by the man in front of you. In all the years you knew him, you had never seen him from this proximity before—you never let yourself. (Had his lips always been so pink?) Any attempt at closeness was always replaced by an exchange of barbed wits.

Your brain did the only thing it knew how to when it came to him. “God, you're such a fucking nerd,” you spat, then grabbed his face and kissed him.

He made a sound against your mouth—surprise, by the way his feet stumbled, knees knocking against yours and the washing machine—then recovered, leaning into you with purpose, hands finding purchase on the bare skin of your waist to yank you closer.

You decided he made the faint remnants of Coors Light on his tongue taste sublime. You suddenly couldn't get enough of it. Your arms hooked around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the hairs at his nape. Every cell in your body was geared toward this man, and this man only—your air exchanging with his, pulses pounding near in sync.

For once, your brain wasn't thinking. It wasn't thinking about what was happening outside that door, it wasn't thinking about how long you might be stuck in here, it wasn't thinking about ways to get out of here. Why would you want to get out of here? The heat conducted between your bodies could power the goddamn street for all you cared; the sensation of firm muscle against your stomach was enough to send you spiralling.

Seonghwa cupped the side of your jaw and coaxed your head back, your mouth further open. “Holy shit,” he rasped, voice worlds past Gone, then devoured you whole.

Holy shit, indeed. A whimper tumbled out from the back of your throat as you were pressed harder against the metal of the washing machine. Your mouths seared against one another like a brand, soft and breathy sounds seeping out from between you two, indistinguishable. Out of all the people in the world, how did kissing this man feel this right? Were some people just meant to ruin your life—ruin you—in more ways than one?

When you broke for air, his lips chased yours briefly, the string of saliva a physical attachment between you. For a moment, it was only heavy panting, eyes shut, noses bumping one another.

Reality did not settle like the hot humidity of summer on skin; it rolled in with the impending doom of thunder clouds. Literally.

BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—a herd of stomps shook the walls around you, then were quickly followed by knocks so horrendously violent, one might believe that there was a murderer on the other side. “Yn, Hwa? Are you guys alive in there?”

Why would they have the decency to knock? Hands went to Seonghwa's chest and you forced some space between you two. You avoided his stare as you furiously fixed your hair and willed your mouth to look anything but kissed. “Yeah, will you open the damn door, Yunho?”

The laundry room door was hauled open, and on the other side was a handful of familiar faces, all quirked into curious expressions as they peered into the small space. They took in both of your appearances—no one needed to say anything.

“Towels,” you said aloud, your brain finally toggling on. You whirled back toward the back shelf and began loading your arms with the small towels Seulgi had asked for. (There was a sense prodding at the back of your mind that she never really needed them, but you would choose to do anything rather than confront the decision you just made.)

Seonghwa called your name as you passed by. Your lips burned as you continued walking.

Seonghwa's head no longer housed a brain, but a film projector constantly rewinding and playing a specific, 15-minute cut.

The fundraiser had long since concluded with Seulgi and Taeyong comparing values to determine that the girls had indeed raised more money. Everyone was free to return home, or loiter around Seulgi's house like a bunch of freeloaders. Some, like himself and Hongjoong, decided to dip back home for a quick shower and a nap, then return in time to meet everyone back here for a movie.

You were not one of the people who returned.

He sat in the driver's seat of his car, a beaded bracelet warming in his palm. Every time he rewound the past, he came to similar conclusions: he egged you on, but you kissed him first. He reciprocated the kiss and he was sure you seemed into it. Maybe he had been wrong.

No matter what Hongjoong said to soothe his ego, Seonghwa was still left with this pit in his stomach. Should he not have touched your relationship? Since that night at the library, there had been less distance between you; he had been making progress. He needed to talk to you about it, perhaps apologize. You initiated the kiss, but you were allowed to change your mind. You were allowed to be swept up by the heat of the moment.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When he opened them, he loosened his jaw with a sigh, tossed the bracelet into the cupholder, and replaced it with his keys. Go home, sleep on it, call her tomor—

The passenger side door opened and shut. The car filled with light notes of jasmine and bergamot and pear—the smell of summer and you.

He couldn't comprehend what was happening before you clunked something onto the dashboard next to his C-3PO. He blinked; it was a Lego figurine of R2-D2. (There went his steady heartbeat.)

You stared at the figurine you had placed, your hands settling into your lap. Your hair was still slightly damp, and the amber streetlight right outside your window casted a diabolically divine glow across your profile. “I thought it was time the spot was filled,” you said.

Seonghwa glanced between R2 and you. “Ah,” he replied, swallowing, “thanks.”

“I've always liked Star Wars better than Star Trek,” you blurted. “I just kind of… said all of that that one time because you seemed so on-edge about me being in your space.” You shook your head and picked at the skin on your fingers. “I don't know why I'm saying this.”

His brows furrowed slightly at your confession. This whole time… Why were you saying this now? The epiphany hit him in the chest, a blunt force that might have sent him stumbling if he were standing. There were so many layers to this confession. He looked at the R2 and C-3 figurines again; the pair was finally complete.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he inquired with a voice barely audible. It was one thing that you never outwardly judged him for his love of Star Wars or Legos, but it was another thing entirely that you claimed to be a Star Trek fan and allowed him to tease you.

“I convinced myself it was right for the time,” you said. A beat passed. “I'm sorry for basically running away earlier,” you continued on quietly. “I know I'm the one who kissed you first.”

“You don't need to apologize for that,” he murmured. “It all kind of happened really fast, and you know, it's okay if you didn't really mean it.”

Your head turned to look at him now—really look at him. He couldn't help but meet your gaze as opposite poles of a magnet did without fail. “I meant it. I don't know what it means, but I meant it. And I—liked it. A lot.” The latter was uttered with such fragility, such vulnerability; it was cupping a snowflake in your palms and hoping the natural heat of your body did not melt it.

(You had gone home earlier this evening to wash up and laid in bed with the taste of him taking up residence on your tongue. Staring at the ceiling had lost its appeal after the first hour, and it took the efforts of both Soyeon and Ronnie to drag you out of your mental prison.

“Did you like it?” they'd asked. “And don't say no just because it's Seonghwa and you have an ego; be honest with yourself.”

You sat there before them—scared, nervous, and embarrassed—but without a doubt in your mind as to the answer.)

Seonghwa wondered if you could hear the thrashing of blood in his ears like he could. He wondered if your heart pounded as vigorously as his did, if your mouth burned with the phantom of his, if you were confused by how you had gone on so long not seeing who was in front of you this whole time. (Because if he was being honest, you were the measure no one has been able to compare to in his head, in any capacity.)

“I liked it a lot, too,” he said. He would not let that snowflake melt, at least not by your hands alone.

Your eyes glimmered with silvery as they widened. “Oh.”

Seonghwa offered you a small smile, then cleared his throat as he remembered something. His eyes went to the discarded bracelet in the cupholder, and he fished it out with a sheepish wince. “I, uh, made you this awhile back” —he deposited it into your waiting palms— “'cause you weren't able to finish your own bracelet at the event.” Seonghwa had been fidgeting with that thing in his pocket that entire evening.

“So that's what you had in your pocket during the walk.”

He startled. “You noticed?”

The corner of your lip tilted upward into a semblance of a smirk. You scoffed. “I notice everything about you,” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them.

The weight of them rested heavy upon both of you, but not uncomfortably. Seonghwa relished in the sudden way you avoided his eye contact, and he decided that one embarrassing line could be traded for another. He let out a small laugh. “I just chickened out because it sounded stupid to give it to you and say I wished we could start over.”

God, why did that still sound stupid? Everything coming out of his mouth was stupid. It was impossible to have a do-over with so much history between you two, but… wasn't it worth a shot?

You absentmindedly rubbed at the arrangement of beads and artful knots along the thread, your mind seemingly far away. He had made you a friendship bracelet, or was it a do-over bracelet, or was it far more complicated than either or those? “I don't think we could ever start over.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach. Right. Rightrightright.

“But I wanna try whatever this is.” You wrapped the bracelet cord around your wrist, looping it and tightening it to the perfect circumference. “I think we owe ourselves that much.”

A smile, so gentle and tender like the spring breeze, blossomed on his face. It was gladness in physical form. You couldn't help but break into a similar expression, and the thought occurred to him that you must have always had that smile. How could you know so much about each other and yet, nothing at all? What were you supposed to do with so much history?

It was a lot like layers of skin peeling away from a healing sunburn. All that damage caused over the years might take just as long to turnover, but who were either of you if not up for a challenge?

Not bad for a couple of nerds.

a/n: they tied for first place in the "who will get married first" debate by the way. pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed !!

He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones.

At least, that’s what they all said. An eye isn’t an eye because you look at it -  it’s an eye because it looks back at you and we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.

“What of the other kingdoms?” His voice traversed the vast hall, echoing against the stone walls of the Great Halls. He was impassive, nonchalant, but make no mistake, for his presence blanketed the entire expanse of the room.

You stood obediently off to the far side of his throne, almost unseen, but there nonetheless, just patiently waiting until the meeting was done. It was hard not to stare at the enigma that was Choi San. It wasn’t that he called for everyone’s attention just because he was the king, rather, he demanded it. 

He didn’t need it either. He just had it. Even a sliver of his shadow had everyone’s attention. Hell, even his footsteps sounded different from the rest. San wasn’t domineering nor commanding because he wore a crown. He was dominant because the air bent around for him.

“Word travels fast, my liege. I reckon it’s already reached the kingdoms up north like that of Wonderland and Horizon,” Park Seonghwa reported, reverence in his tone as he addressed his King. “I could send the troops to check out their militia and perhaps where their loyalties lie.”

Your eyes momentarily fleeted towards Seonghwa. The High Marshal was an honourable and proper leader, a skilled military man who led the kingdom’s armies in multiple battles and wars not many have had the guts to, and you knew he had San’s utmost respect. As if sensing eyes on him, he briefly met eyes with you, smiling in courtesy, before training them at San once more.

“No need,” San droned, raising one hand, halting motion that meant to stop even your inner thoughts. Such was the power he wielded. “The risk is too high for so little reward.”

He paused, tilting his head to the side, looking out the large window that overlooked the vast majority of the castlegrounds that were covered in nothing but thick snow. Melancholy was clear in his eyes, though he tried to cover it up with something steely.

He stood up from his throne slowly, deliberately as his eyes scanned the entirety of the room, leaving no space from anyone to breathe under his suffocating gaze. His fur-lined cloak that draped over his shoulders shifted with him, following his every movement as he began to walk off, the finality of his steps leaving no room for anyone to argue with him.

“Rest up, Seonghwa,” he said, the words low but echoing, as if the castle itself carried his voice forward for him. “The troops as well. You’ve done me well.”

Seonghwa blinked before inhaling sharply. He trudged forward, brows furrowed. “Your Grace—”

“I said,” San murmured, barely audible, but it was there. Everyone heard it, and the air shifted into something sharp as his voice tilted into a quiet warning. “Rest up.”

You gritted your teeth, composing yourself to stop the shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. This…you will never get used to this - to him. His words drifted through the Great Halls and they held weight enough to crush whatever protest Seonghwa thought he could muster.

San continued forward, not bothering to look back as his footsteps got closer and closer until he was almost in front of you. Immediately, you bowed, bunching your dress up in your fists as you lowered your head slightly. 

One would expect that as the king’s betrothed that he’d give you the same curtsy, or at least acknowledge you, but the way he completely ignored your existence was what you got. You were used to it. You had anticipated it, even. What a pity on your end, really.

As San passed you to walk away, his eyes briefly met yours, and by God, were they cold and indifferent. His gaze was earth-dark, not empty and not grounding, like land that dried up anything that grew on it.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to stop halfway to address you. You tensed, this has never happened before. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t. You couldn’t stand the way he stared at you because it always made you flinch. It was dark and dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” San questioned tersely, voice carrying a hint of irritation he tried to hide with courtesy. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong was your guard. “Your Majesty,” you mumbled through the intimidation. “Forgive my impudence. I was merely wondering if I could invite you for a cup of tea—”

“Answer my question,” he interrrupted, cutting you off cleanly like a blade that just hit fresh grass. His eyes were narrowed, unblinking and unyielding.

“My King,” Choi Jongho, the King’s royal advisor, whispered subtly. “Perhaps we ought to calm down, the people are looking our way—”

San lifted one finger, effectively silencing his own advisor with a subtle threat that carried the promise of ruin as if he’d already planned his end if he let one more word out. All while his eyes were still on you. “Hongjoong,” he repeated. “Where is he?”

You swallowed, your tongue suddenly heavy. “Hongjoong didn’t need to accompany me,” you said carefully. “I was on my way to see you, Your Majesty, so I dismissed him.”

San stilled, and so did you. He wasn’t pleased with your answer, but he didn’t look the least surprised by it. In fact, he didn’t even care. “I see,” was all he said, and the way he uttered it sounded more like an afterthought rather than an acknowledgement.

Then, he started walking past you again. It wasn’t dramatic, he had just already decided you were not worth another second of his attention. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to bow to him once more as heat and shame traveled to your face at his blatant dismissal of you.

It wasn’t because you feared him. You stopped fearing him a long time ago, and if you were being honest, you never had any reason to fear him or be intimidated by him to begin with simply because he barely acknowledged your presence, anyway. 

“Do not loiter around the Great Halls,” he spoke, cold and uncaring. “Next time, send a message if you have something you wish to tell me. You serve no purpose being idle around here.”

You were used to his disdain he reserved solely for you, but still, that stung more than you let on. It was the way he said it, too, that made you feel worse. It was meant to haunt your thoughts, the kind that followed you even after he was gone. 

You stood there, hands clasped, head bowed, letting the echo of his footsteps fade down the corridor. You felt a hand to your shoulder and it was Jongho. He gave you a tight-lipped smile that was meant to comfort you, squeezing your shoulder once as his eyes shone with that familiar pity that everyone also gave you when the king talked down on you like he always did.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he said with a small sigh, eyes on the corridor that San had turned. “He’s…it’s not like that, he didn’t mean it like that.”

You hummed, nodding out of courtesy. “I suppose,” you mumbled, barely audible. “Just like the tens of thousands of times he’s done it.”

Because you did try, you always did. You tried doing your part to get along with the man you were going to spend your earthly years with in this castle, and you had hoped foolishly that he'd meet you halfway all the time, but all you’ve been getting was contempt. Mingi stayed silent, for even he cannot deny that you were right.

“Let me accompany you to your chambers, my lady,” he kindly offered. “Supper will commence shortly. I would suppose you’d like to rest for a bit before then.”

“There is no need,” you mumbled quietly, smiling softly. “I can find my way back. And I’m going to have to decline supper for tonight, my appetite has gone away. Would you be so kind to send our dear chef my regards? Yeosang’s food is always splendid, just not tonight, I’m afraid.”

Jongho frowned, hesitant, before sighing. “As you wish, my lady. I bid you a good night.”

You curtsied quickly, turning the other direction to walk away. However, instead of going to your chambers, you chose to turn to another hallway, opting to take a walk to clear your head and your muddled thoughts.

The massive window at the end of the corridors always fascinated you. It was where you went when you had to think and today was no exception. You glanced outside, watching as endless snow fell from the sky. The hallways felt colder to you. San felt colder. Much colder.

A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t even dare dream stepping inside a palace, much less the one that San ruled. You still remember the first time you arrived and the first time you laid eyes on the man you were about to wed, but always put a wall in between you.

Poverty and famine had struck the lands where you were born and raised. You were used to it - born into it - but at least there was once a time where you lived on a quaint farm with your parents. But alas, famine chooses no one. It takes and takes, and your parents were no exception to that fate.

And you tried to sustain the farm, tried your very best to make the best of yourself under the dire circumstances you were handed, but it wasn’t enough. Drought had struck the land, crops died, and plague had seemingly struck what little poultry and bovine you raised. It was painful, but you had to leave your farm and village all together. You weren’t going to die along with it.

It wasn’t easy; none of it was. You had just lost both of your parents and your hometown all in the span of a month and you were a lone traveling girl looking for the next best thing without falling prey to thieves and vagabonds looking for their next victim.

But there was only so much you can take. Food was scarce, begging wasn’t an option any longer, and the streets weren’t the most conducive place to sleep most nights. Winter was coming and the chills weren’t helping your sore feet and empty stomach. 

Giving up wasn’t so terrible back then because at least, you could tell your maker that you had at least tried to survive - that you were a fighter who was just given a bad hand in life.

If you were going to perish from fatigue and hunger, though, you at least wanted to go where the air wasn’t thick with grief and suffering. If this was the end, you wanted it to be somewhere that at least looked like peace, even if you’d never quite managed to feel it.

And then, you remembered that there was a nearby kingdom that was rumoured to be surrounded with so much snow, it was impossible to see through it. You’ve never seen snow before. With your remaining money, you bought a horse and settled for the journey onto this unknown kingdom. 

“Just a moment,” the man you bought the horse from stopped you just as you were about to leave. “Where did you say you were going again?”

You hesitated, not because you were keeping your journey a secret, but the look in this man’s face seemed to tell you that he knew and was just confirming if he heard you right. “That kingdom that’s nearby here,” you finally answered. “The one in the snow.”

His eyes widened in shock before they drooped with something akin to alarm and trepidation all at once. “Oh, dear child, must you go? Are you not privy to the curse that lay in that land?”

The Kingdom of Utopia, but nobody called it that; they say that if you utter even the kingdom’s name, then the curse that befell there would be placed upon you. Such a beautiful name for a place no one can speak out loud.

Such a contradictory name for something that was anything but utopia.

Because the snow never melted. Not in the summer, not under the brightest suns. Snow covered the entire expanse of the land and it made inhabiting it near impossible. Some believed that the snow swallowed flames, and some believed the kingdom had been punished by the heavens themselves. No one knew the truth, and no one dared to go and find out.

“If that is the case,” you wondered out loud as you loaded what little of your belongings on your newly purchased horse. “Then why don’t the people just leave if it was so cursed?”

“Because they can’t,” the man answered, shivering slightly, though not because of the breeze that passed. “Once you get in, there is no way out. The snow is so thick and harsh that your soul would be gone from your body way before your foot can even attempt to step out. The people are trapped in there, my dear. I suggest traveling somewhere else.”

You were startled out of your memories when you heard a cough behind you. You turned around, expecting to find a servant who was wondering what the future queen was doing loitering around the halls, but you sighed in relief when you saw who it was instead.

“I knew I’d find you here,” Wooyoung chuckled, bowing his head slightly in curtsy. “Sir Hongjoong was a tad bit worried when you didn't come back to your chambers, my lady.”

You smiled in fondness. “I just wanted a bit of space, is all,” you said with a small shrug. “I needed time to think about certain things.”

A certain someone, you didn’t want to say, but Wooyoung already knew. His smile dropped slightly, eyes shining with sadness only you knew what for. “I know you’ve heard this all before,” he began. “But you have to extend a bit of understanding towards His Majesty. He’s…been through a lot, my lady. I implore you to forgive him.”

“I am far from angry at him,” you softly replied with a sigh. “I…just wish he’d drop his walls with me once in a while. It was my fault, I was the one who bothered him.”

“Nonsense, my lady,” Wooyoung quickly spoke, shaking his head vigorously. “You are his betrothed, you are allowed to bother him. Worry not, it’ll get better in time.” He extends a hand to you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers, then?”

You nodded, putting your hand on top of his. Everyone always rushed to defend San whenever events like earlier happen, and you get it, Utopia did have its reputation and rumours after all.

But that’s all there was to it - rumours. Tales that are passed through taverns and alleyways to spook or entertain a wandering traveler. It wasn’t to frighten you. You’ve experienced the true horrors of what an actual curse is, and it took away everything you loved and held dear.

These were the thoughts that you couldn’t help but think the entire time Wooyoung led you to your room; your journey where it all began and why sometimes, you couldn’t even be mad at San whenever he deliberately dismissed you.

The entire journey, you were beginning to doubt everything. The biting chill of the snowstorm that hit your skin was almost painful . You’d think that the cold would’ve numbed you by now, but no. The more you traversed the land and the nearer you got, the more prickling it felt. It was like the snow was slowly sloughing your skin off until it reached your bones.

The kingdom was near enough where you didn’t have to stop and camp, but it was too late to go back by then. Grief and stubbornness lead you to where you were, knee deep in so much snow, your poor horse had a hard time crossing through it. Your fingers throbbed, your jaw ached, and your eyes watered from the sting of air that wished to carve itself into you.

Maybe they were right, because this was no ordinary weather - this was the land, itself, warning you. Coldness like this was meant to resent anybody that dared challenge it, and you were the fool who looked it in the eye and took it, anyway.

By a long shot of miracle, somehow, you managed to make it, though you were barely hanging on to the fact that you at least wanted to see if you could find a place for your horse to stay. It was your fault that it was put in this situation anyway. If not for your foolishness, it would have still been in another kingdom where it was warmer.

You were falling apart, you could tell, your senses were beginning to dull, and your already weakened state wasn’t helping at all. You found an empty alleyway, and the moment you hit the wall, your knees gave out, puffs of visible breath leaving out your mouth.

This was the end, you could feel it. You took this time to actually look at your surroundings now that you’re not moving. It was hard to regret it now that you’re here. Snow was beautiful, there was no other way to describe it. The texture of it felt funny in your hand, too. You were expecting it to feel fluffier. Still, it didn’t diminish its beauty and you didn’t mind.

You could see the castle walls from where you slumped, the pale outline of it through the white haze, where it housed the darker side of the rumours you’ve been told right before you traveled.

It was the king. Choi San. He was the centre of the rumours right where it all began, the very reason why they say Utopia was cursed. Some say that he was a demon who brought on the snow to isolate his kingdom. Most believed that the land that the castle was built upon was sacred and that the Choi clan did not heed the warnings and sent this was the punishment - that the snow itself was the everlasting famine destined to freeze everyone in it.

But the cruelest rumour of them all was that San, himself, might have been the source of the curse. People say that he sold his soul for eternal youth and immense power so long as the kingdom around him froze. 

You didn’t care, not anymore. All you wanted was to see something pretty before you went and this was more than enough for you. “Go on, pretty girl,” you whispered back then, patting the horse and encouraging it to find shelter. “You don’t belong out here. Go before you freeze.”

You shivered, feeling the cold even in your memories as Wooyoung opened the door for you with the practiced elegance of someone born to serve royalty. He helped you unfasten the heavier layers of your gown, and laid out your nightgown with gentle efficiency.

He turned away as you changed, always respectful and always giving you space, and when you slipped beneath the thick fur-lined blankets, he moved around the room to tidy what the maids had missed.

You watched him idly, noticing the flowers he was fixing in the embellished vase on your nightstand. Winter heathers. You knew of them from the occasional winters that hit your old village, the soft lilac bells that bloomed in spite of the frost that covered them and survived.

Something in the sight of them warmed you. This was one of the few things that made this cold kingdom bearable - there was always a different arrangement of flowers each night that Wooyoung fixed for you. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”

Wooyoung stilled for a heartbeat before offering you a soft smile. “I only arrange them, my lady,” he said lightly, brushing a petal with the tip of his finger. “I do not choose them.”

You lifted your gaze toward him, curiosity sparking. “Rest well, my lady,” he dipped into a graceful bow, opening the door to depart. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”

You lay still, the soft weight of the blankets warming skin that had once been thinned by cold wind and hunger. It was strange to experience all the good things that life was now offering you. Back then, you were ready to close your eyes for the last time; content with surrendering because fighting had simply become exhausting.

But fate, as always, had a way of intervening before you took even one more step toward surrender. You remembered watching as the horse trotted away. Satisfied, you tried to close your eyes, but you were confused when you saw a figure standing where your horse was.

And you were even more confused when they started bundling you up with multiple layers of clothing that felt heavy on your tired body, like the luxurious blankets covering you right now. It wasn’t enough to stop your teeth from chattering, but it was enough to keep you at bay for now.

“You’re not supposed to be out here. You’re almost at death’s door,” they mumbled, tucking the thick wool coat snugly on your body, sympathy lining their voice. “Where is your home? I will take you there. The storm is about to turn into a blizzard soon.”

You peeled your eyes open, realising that the person talking to you was a man. He was tall, decently good-looking, with eyes that naturally radiated tenderness as he stared at your pitiful form. And even in your state, you could sense that he was no ordinary man. 

“A mage. Who would’ve thought?” You laughed to yourself feebly, staring into his surprised eyes. “And I’ve no home. I am but a wandering traveler who has given up on life.”

He paused, pity in his eyes that observed your face for any signs of jest and deceit. He sighed deeply, dropping down to a squat to meet your gaze. “Though I am curious as to why you’d choose to be in our lands, it doesn’t have to be like that. I can help you.”

You hummed, shaking your head. “I’m going to have to decline, kind Sir,” you sincerely declined. “If you want to help, maybe help my horse. I would hate for her to freeze in your lands.”

It was then where his face completely fell into utter despair at your words. He took his fur-lined head covering, gently putting it on you. Your heartstrings tugged seeing this random stranger’s act of kindness towards someone like you.

“Oh, you poor child,” he clicked his tongue, pursing his lips, his calculating eyes turning just a tad bit sharper. “Even in dire circumstances, you care about an animal rather than yourself. You’re something special. I’ll help your horse if you let me help you.”

“What’s the catch?”

He tilted his head, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Smart girl,” he chuckled. “I have a proposition for you. We are desperate for help, you see, and I believe you’re the perfect person for it.”

He gets up, dusting the snow that had begun to line his pants, offering his hand to you. “Just know that even if you say no, I will still help you find food and shelter. Contrary to what the outsiders say…we’re not heartless monsters. How far would you go?”

You stared at his outstretched hand. Your heart was divided. This man didn’t give off any malicious aura and something deep in you told you to walk into the light he was offering. “Anything,” you said. “You’re asking a person who has nothing and everything to lose.”

His brows lifted with respect, a flicker of impressed astonishment softened the sharpness of his gaze. “Anything?” He repeated, quieter this time. 

You nodded once. “Anything,” you confirmed. “Why me?”

His expression warmed, the corners of his mouth lifting with a kind of earnest admiration. “When I touched you earlier, I saw a small glimpse of your past,” he said, his eyes glowing unnaturally golden and fiery that it felt like looking straight into the flames of the sun, surprising you. “You’ve lost everything, yet you still chose to fight. That tells me everything I need to know about you.”

He extended his hand a little nearer. “One condition,” you said, taking his hand without hesitation. “What might be the name of the mage who decided to help a poor soul like mine?”

“You may call me Yunho,” his smile deepened with a touch of relief as he wrapped his bigger hand around yours, warmth instantly flooding your body. “Now, shall we change your fate?”

After a warm meal and even warmer clothes, you were all set. What you didn’t expect was for Yunho to take you inside the castle, leading you directly where you knew the ruler of the land would be. You stiffened and Yunho took great notice of this.

“I know this might be surprising, but I promise you, no harm will come to you. Not while I’m here,” he gently explained. “And I know that the rumours about My Majesty don't really help, but please believe me, none of them hold any merit. He’s not like that.”

But you didn’t have time to think about it, because Yunho was already opening the ornate doors of the throne room, his hand on your lower back as he led you inside. You wanted to ogle at the glory and beauty of the room, but your world stilled at the sight before you.

San.

He was seated upon his throne, looking every bit the ruler whispered about in fearful legends. The way he sat - still and predatory - gave the unsettling impression that he saw far more than what lay before him. His throne was illuminated with torches, yet somehow, he shone far more.

Your breath caught in your throat, not with fear, but with awe. He was enormous, both physically and imposingly so, his broad shoulders wrapped with wool and fur that was so white, it looked like he made it out of the very snow that covered his entire kingdom. His long legs were crossed, one elbow leaned on the armrest, a finger to his temple as he stared on.

He didn’t move, didn’t even blink nor shift his posture when you and Yunho entered. And he was unfairly handsome. With his sculpted jaw and high cheekbones that complimented the way his raven hair was pulled away from his face, he was the epitome of royalty. And his eyes - God, those eyes - they were dark and unreadable.

It was then that it hit you - you thought that storm outside was cold, but it was nothing compared to the man sitting before you. 

“Jeong Yunho,” he said, his voice monotonous yet a lot more melodious than you thought. Such a juxtaposition, it was difficult to explain. “What is the meaning of this?”

He gazed at you once, but didn’t bother to greet nor acknowledge you, and you were completely fine with that. You didn’t know how you’d respond. Yunho bowed his head slightly. “I believe I have found the solution to our plight, San,” he gestures to you. “This is Y/N, she will help us.”

You raised a brow not only at the lack of title when Yunho referred to San but also at the mention of your name you knew for a fact you didn’t tell him. Silence enveloped the room before San spoke again. “She is not of this land,” he scrutinised flatly. “Why should she?”

The air tightened around you. You had no idea how he knew you weren’t from here. San uncrossed his legs, the gesture itself regal in all its glory, placing both his elbows on his knees before leaning forward. “Does she even know,” he continued, his gaze lingering on you for another second still devoid of warmth. “What she’s helping for, Yunho?”

He wasn’t challenging you, nor was he doubting you. He simply found your presence illogical and out of place, like you weren’t even supposed to be entertaining any of this. You fisted your dress, side-eyeing Yunho with nervousness because the king wasn’t wrong - you actually had no idea what you were doing here. God, you were such an idiot.

But what made it worse was San's indifference. You weren’t the only one surprised - he was too, it seemed. You weren’t the only one who’s given up every possibility out there.

Because San needed a bride, a queen to rule beside him. Not out of romance or even lineage, but more for desperation and legitimacy. San sat on the throne, yes, but he was but a king in title only. No other kingdoms wanted to acknowledge a king and a kingdom without a queen.

It was an ancient law older than the snow that blanketed the land, and the surrounding nations used that as justification to dismiss Utopia entirely, and used San’s half-recognised reign as a shield to reject him. They needed allies, an alliance, treaties, aid when the need arose, trade routes to sustain the people and their living - and they needed a queen to make it happen.

Yunho knew this. Everyone in the castle knew this. And it wasn’t like they didn’t try, because they did. They searched high and low both in and out of the kingdom and even the country as a whole just for that missing key to make San completely legitimate.

The problem lay in San’s complete isolation and rumoured reign. Princesses from neighbouring countries outright rejected the offer, noble daughters chose to flee to distant relatives, even regular people of foreign countries didn’t bother with a reply, and they all said the same thing - no one wanted to associate themselves with the cursed king and his frozen kingdom.

But there was one type of cruelty that cut deeper than the rest, because even the people of Utopia refused to marry him. Not the nobles, not the merchants, not the commoners. They simply didn’t want to share the fate of a king rumoured to be the heart of the snow.

And you - you who had simply wanted to find a beautiful resting place - you were never meant to be an option. Yet, here you were, standing before a king whose crown was true and real, but whose authority was hollow without any respect.

“You will be taken care of, treated fair and just with all the respect you deserve to have,” Yunho calmly explained albeit the hidden desperation that lined his eyes. “Please,  Y/N, we really need your help. The lack of allies will always pose a danger to our people and the snow…our food supply can only rotate so much because we have no functioning farms.”

You bit your lip, thinking. Hours ago, you had completely resigned to your fate and now, you were being offered a second chance in life you would have completely leapt at had it been given to you weeks prior. It wasn’t even because you were chosen, it was because you were the only one who stepped willingly into the snow when everyone else fled from it.

But, at what cost and to what extent? On one hand, you meant what you said earlier - you had absolutely nothing to lose, but this time, you had everything to gain. But at the same time, you were about to bind yourself to a king nobody wanted to associate themselves with.

You lifted your eyes to look at the said king, almost jumping out of your skin when you saw that he was already staring back at you. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even particularly expressive. He was simply looking; assessing and measuring something only he understood.

Though the intensity of it spiked anxiety in you, you found it fascinating. He was being handed the solution to his problems as a king on a silver platter and yet, he wasn’t the least bothered by it. Like he had truly given up and didn’t care for what was to come anymore. Exactly like you.

Your spine straightened before you even realized it. “Alright,” you whispered. “I’ll do it.”

Relief washed over Yunho’s features so strongly he almost looked emotional. “Thank you,” he breathed out, grabbing your hands. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much this means to us and the people of Utopia. We will be forever in your debt.”

He turned to San, practically pleading for approval with his eyes, but the latter didn’t move. He didn’t even look like he was breathing - he just stared at you.  

And stared. And stared some more. He stared at you so long that the air completely became awkward and your legs actually started to ache from how long you were stared at. He stared at you long after the sun had started to sink into the horizon. It was long enough that Yunho started to fidget uncomfortably, letting out an uncomfortable laugh to break the silence. “Uhm, San—”

“Silence,” San muttered. It wasn’t even loud. In fact, he said it so flatly that it was almost astounding. “I’m thinking.”

You tried to swallow down the uncomfortable knot forming in your throat. You had no idea what he was thinking about, or why it took so long, or what he saw when he looked at you. But eventually, after one final, unreadable sweep of his eyes over you, San spoke.

“Once you stay here,” he said. “You can never leave. Literally. The snow will prevent you. Are you sure you want to surrender yourself to me?”

To me. The way he said it made your pulse spike. He wasn’t threatening you, by all means - in fact, it even sounds like he was giving you a way out. He simply stated it as an inevitable truth, as if stepping into his world meant stepping into his possession by default. You were about to belong to him, body and soul, and something about that made your insides feel hot and heavy.

“Does this mean I’ll never see what lies outside this kingdom anymore?” You asked, throat dry.

San’s eyes clouded with the first emotion you’ve seen in him ever since meeting him - hesitance, and dare you say, perhaps a little of hope somewhere in there. But, it only lasted for a second before his eyes flashed back to that indifference. 

“You won’t survive it,” he said plainly, turning his head a little to stare at the never-ending snow that fell from the darkening sky. “No one does, and believe me, people have tried.”

Your chest tightened at the insinuation. The people have tried to flee and fail. Still, you have made up your mind. “I am willing.”

He leaned back on his seat, face unreadable, before settling into that stance where he was staring at you again. And after a terrifying heartbeat, he nods stiffly. “Very well,” was he all said before you were dismissed.

And true to his words, you were welcomed. Quite warmly, if you may say so, compared to the harsh winters that the kingdom enveloped you in. You were treated fairly like you belonged here, just as Yunho had said, given your own chambers and even your own personal attendant, Jung Wooyoung - a male since unfortunately, not one family wanted to send their daughters to even work in the palace, but that's alright for you. You loved Wooyoung, and he loved you.

You were even assigned a personal guard, Kim Hongjoong, a valiant man who had sworn his life serving you. A good man, a genuinely good one. A feast was held in your name, of the woman who had finally agreed to marry into the frozen kingdom. The chef, Kang Yeosang, personally made sure to serve your favourite dishes, which you appreciated. 

Indeed, you were treated like a future queen. Or the woman destined to be cursed with the one and only Choi San.

He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones. The irony of it all lay in what everybody believed in, because we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are. San wore a crown, but he was no king in his people’s eyes.

Except for his closest confidants and the ones who lived in the palace, the people who saw San saw differently. They followed but you can see the fear in their eyes. They have been so conditioned to believe that the reason the snow never stopped and why they can never leave was because of their own king, and that’s what they choose to see.

And as for San, you barely saw him, never really spending time with him other than talking about diplomacy and Utopia’s upcoming legitimacy as a kingdom. There were no gentle introductions and no attempts at familiarity with one another.

San never sought you out for anything beyond what was politically required. Every meeting he held with you was purposeful, efficient, and centered only on matters of state, and every time he did talk, he never really did look you in the eye, voice always teetering on that formal and clipped tone as if you were nothing more than an ally - which in hindsight, you were.

“You may do the wedding planning in whatever way you wish, including the theme if that pleases you,” San explained one afternoon, hands clasped behind his back as he stood near a window. “I do not expect you to be the perfect queen right on the get go, and that is fine.”

He stated it like a transaction, not a life-altering commitment. “Yes, Your Highness,” you mumbled, discomfort crawling under your skin at how stiff this entire exchange was.

Another time, he spoke to you about Utopia’s fragile diplomatic standing. “You will help stabilize the kingdom by simply existing by my side,” he said without malice, just pointedly, eyes on political letters he’s yet to send. He slides one to you, handing you a quill. “Sign this.”

You swallowed, grabbing the quill from his hand, freezing right after. Usually, he’d go back to whatever he was doing after making you do something politically inclined. That and he always kept you at a careful and deliberate distance every time, anyway. 

However, this time, you took such a long time doing what he told you to do that he paused, gazing up at you with those sharp eyes. “Is there something the matter?” He asked, tone courteous and polite, but hollow and impersonal. “Something not to your liking?”

You avoided eye contact, not out of fear, but of shame, cheeks reddening against your will. “That’s not it, Your Majesty,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “I-I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to write. I never had the opportunity to practice. My parents needed help with our farm back then.”

There was something so incredibly embarrassing and belittling about admitting your illiteracy in general, let alone in front of somebody as articulate and well-spoken as San. You sighed, rolling on your bed, the shame still fresh in your memory. It was a stark reminder of who you really were before Yunho found you in that alleyway - a peasant who struck gold.

San did not respond at first, only staring at you, arms crossing over his chest, shoulders sinking back into his chair. Then, he turns his head slightly to his left, to Jongho who you forgot was with you back then. “Call Mingi,” he instructed flatly. “Effective immediately.”

Jongho comes back with another man in tow, someone you’ve seen with San once in a while during his meetings. San gestured vaguely in your direction. “I have a task for you,” he said. “Teach her basic literacy, and teach her well. Include the laws of the land if you must and other foundational studies.”

It was said so bluntly that you felt heat rush up your neck. But it wasn’t his tone that bothered you the most, it was the way he spoke as if you weren’t even in the room, as though you weren’t standing right there. Then he added, “A queen must at least be able to sign her own name.”

You gritted your teeth, reaching over to touch the winter heathers on your nightstand gently to forget how San made that sound so harsh. “You are dismissed,” he ordered, flicking his fingers at you, already turning back to his documents, already forgetting the sting he didn’t even know he imparted at you.

You followed Mingi out into the hall, quiet and a little stiff. “Don’t take it to heart, my lady,” he murmured with sympathy as he guided you down the corridor. “His Majesty has a way with words that makes everything sound harsher than they actually are.”

You let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I noticed.”

“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Mingi continued gently. “He simply didn’t know how to soften his words…especially around you. That doesn’t mean he sees you as lesser.”

That, you believed in. You still do. You didn’t take it personally then, and you still didn’t take it personally now. You couldn’t because he was right - this was simply how San was. However, one thing he never did, no matter how standoffish he was, was belittle you. San was the type of man who matched your pace but kept a respectful gap, enough that your sleeves never brushed whenever you walked beside him, always keeping you at arm’s length.

There were times where Yunho would try to leave you alone with him to build rapport, but San would just squint his eyes as if he had just been told something so insulting. “Unnecessary,” he would dismiss with a cold edge that cut deep. “No need to deceive ourselves into thinking this union would be more than anything but political. I have better things to do.”

He was brash, that much was true.  And yet, despite all that, he never treated you poorly. He never raised his voice, never belittled your inexperience or mocked your illiteracy and never crossed any boundary you hadn’t explicitly offered.

None of this was meant to be romantic, and you reminded yourself of that often. Still, there were moments where his distance stung in ways you hadn’t prepared for. As cold as the kingdom was, there was something even colder about being wanted only for what you could fix.

You sighed, blowing out the candles plunging the room into darkness, the soft scent of winter heather relaxing your senses as you sank deeper into the pillows, your thoughts drifting away as your eyes started to slowly close.

You tried your best to fit in, but sometimes, it was hard to offer warmth to a man who was determined to stay frozen.

You supposed that Wooyoung mentioned that tomorrow was going to be a long day, because he was absolutely right in that regard.

You had made up your mind to stay and read in your chambers all day, but imagine your surprise when Jongho delivered a letter to you, the surprise growing bigger when you realised that San personally wrote it, almost passing out in ultimate shock when you read it and saw that San was inviting you for supper.

There you were, not knowing how to fully react as you sat at the end of the long table directly across San, who sat on the other end. You’ve never had a meal with San alone. Meals usually composed of you along with other nobles to discuss politics and diplomacy issues regarding the kingdom, but never like this.

You cleared your throat. “Your Majesty.”

His gaze lifted, sharp and immediate, like he had been waiting for you to speak all along. “Yes?”

You faltered, already shrinking under the weight of his gaze on you. “I would like to thank you for your generosity,” you said, sounding small in the vast dining hall. “I wasn’t expecting a summon, is all.”

San set down his silverware. He didn’t seem offended, it was more like he was choosing what not to say. “Should I assume,” he began, tone neutral, yet biting. “That a simple supper with me is too much to ask of you?”

Visible shock fills your features, your eyes widening slightly before controlling them just like Wooyoung and Mingi had taught you. “That is not what I mean, Your Grace,” you tried to explain, but he didn’t relent.

“We are to be bound together soon,” he huffed, not softening a bit. “I would like to reduce the unfamiliarity at least even though this is nothing out of necessity. Nothing more.”

Your chest tightened at the bluntness, at the clinical way he spoke his words. Everyone’s words suddenly echoed in your head - that San never intended cruelty, that he simply spoke sharply naturally, but sometimes, it was difficult to grasp. It was difficult to not let the words sting you.

A sigh left your lips, picking up your fork to resume eating. But before you could do so, you saw him pick up a plate that was in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist that was far too sharp to be gentle, pushed it towards you. It stopped directly in front of you and all you could do was stare at it confused before you lifted your gaze towards him.

“Well?” San raised a brow as if daring you to waste his time by not moving. “The food isn’t going to serve itself. Eat.”

You stiffened. The sentence sounded harsh, unnecessarily so, and it was so him. But then, so quietly you almost missed it, you heard him mumble under his breath, “The fish is still warm. I am sure it will please you.”

He didn’t look at you after saying it. He simply resumed eating while all you could do was stare at him, not knowing exactly what to feel. Hesitant, you took a piece of the fish, not expecting much, but the moment it touched your tongue, your breath stilled.

Because it was perfect. You didn’t mean it was perfectly seasoned or cooked, but because it was cooked and tasted exactly the way it was made back in your village before disaster struck. You never thought you’d ever experience this again and you didn’t know what to make of it.

A strange, aching warmth bloomed in your chest, so vivid you almost forgot where you were and who you were with. “How? This is…” you trailed off before you could stop yourself. Home, your mind automatically supplied, this tasted like home.

You gazed back at him, heart leaping when you saw he was already staring at you. His lips were pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed as if you were bothering him by asking. “Jongho had mentioned once that your village had plenty of fish,” he stated flatly. 

You lowered your gaze to the plate again, heart thudding. “It’s very thoughtful of you,” you murmured absentmindedly, confused because you would have never mentioned something that personal to Jongho. You clearly remembered telling Wooyoung, though. 

San scoffed under his breath, his dark eyes sharply lingering a moment longer on you than usual before he started eating again, effectively ending the conversation, leaving you wondering if he was uncomfortable rather than indifferent about the whole marriage aspect between you.

Nothing eventful happened the entire supper. There was no warmth, but there wasn’t any coldness either, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did feel a little too hollow for your liking. The only thing in the air was the clinking of utensils and their scraping every time they hit the plate.

Dinner ended quietly just like you expected it to. “Thank you for the meal, Your Grace,” you stood, bowing your head politely at him. “I will be taking my leave now. I bid you good night. ”

You were about to make your way towards the door, careful not to step on your heavy lace-lined dress, when San’s voice rang through the hall. “Wait.”

You froze, not expecting it. The command cut cleanly through the room, it wasn’t loud nor urgent, but it sounded firm and absolute that your body halted by itself before your mind could catch up. You looked back at him, startled at the sudden call.

San hadn’t moved far; he stood with one hand resting on the back of his chair, posture regal even in stillness. His chin lifted imperceptibly toward the center of the table. “Take those,” he said.

You blinked, confused. He sighed, brows furrowing as he moved his hand this time to gesture towards the table again, perhaps irritated at the aspect of having to repeat himself. “The flowers,” he insisted, annoyed. “Take them. The arrangement, take all of them.”

You slowly turned your head, your eyes training to what he was pointing out. You raised your brows in mild surprise. Lenten roses. You didn’t even notice them earlier, too focused on San and the fish you ate with all delight. 

“They will wilt if they are left here, and they would have been plucked out for nothing,” he spoke bluntly with that clinical precision you’ve come to know him for as if everything was nothing but a trivial matter. “If you appreciate them, take them. Otherwise they serve no purpose.”

You walked back to the table, trying not to flinch at San watching your every movement. You couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers lightly touched the edge of each petal. You’ve always loved flowers, especially here where everything was white and barren. The flowers brought colour and joy.

You lifted the vase carefully, gathering the flowers in your arms. “T-Thank you, I will take care of them,” you whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say.

San didn’t reply. He only gestured one curt nod, already returning his gaze to the falling snow outside the window. There was something in his eyes then, something you couldn’t fully gauge, but before you could think about it, he was already walking away, closing the door behind him, leaving you to think about what you thought you heard him whisper before he left.

“I am sure you will.”

You left the dining hall with the lenten roses cradled gently against your chest, their subtle fragrance following you down the corridor, smiling to yourself, careful not to tug on the petals as they brushed against the material of your dress.

It was how Hongjoong saw you, the gallant knight beaming as he approached you. “My, what seems to make my lady smile like this?” His eyes looked at the flowers in your hands, eyes twinkling with understanding. “Those are beautiful. May I hold them for you while I escort you to your chambers?”

You smiled wider, appreciating the kind words. Hongjoong was one of the first people you met when you settled in Utopia. He was gentle, reliable, fiercely protective, and you found yourself being attached to him quickly. “How was supper with His Majesty?” He asked.

“It was good, thank you,” you answered truthfully. “A little stiff, and he’s…well, he’s him.”

Hongjoong nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean,” he exhaled, pausing a little in thought before he continued. “My Majesty…he’s carrying a lot. I would lay my life on the line for him. I know it’s hard to believe, my lady, but I can assure you he means well. He’s a good man.”

“It’s quite alright, Sir Hongjoong, I understand,” you said, pursing your lips. “I am here for one purpose only and I will fulfill it. What Your Majesty and I have is nothing short of political. He’s very decent to me so far, and I suppose he’s not required to go beyond that decency.”

But as you put the roses on your nightstand, replacing the winter heathers that have started to wilt, sometimes, you couldn’t help but imagine a different scenario; one where San’s eyes weren’t shrouded in frost, one where he might be that warmth in the midst of the snowstorm.

The thought of it made the tips of your ears red, heat spreading through your cheeks down to your neck. Snap out of it, you thought. The king was good-looking, devastatingly so, and admittedly, had the situation been different, he was actually your type. 

Unfortunately, the lenten roses have also started to wilt. You would never admit that you noticed each stage of it, that every morning you checked the vase before you checked the mirror. You wouldn’t admit that it bothered you. Enough time had passed where you noticed that something had changed, both for good and bad reasons.

“I know it might not seem like it because, well, the snow,” Wooyoung chuckled weakly one morning, looking at the window with worry. “But Christmas always seems to bring out the best in people and we tend to celebrate it the best we can. I promise you’ll love it, my lady.”

The snow began to fall harder; harder than you’ve seen it. Christmas time apparently always brought the harshest storms, but it didn’t stop everyone from decorating the entire castle with the familiar hollies and tapestries that brought a little colour and life in the usually grey castle.

“I believe it,” you smiled, hanging some ivy and a couple of ribbons in your chambers, which Jongho had so kindly brought. “Do you…think the king will let me decorate his chambers?”

Both Jongho and Wooyoung froze, looking at each in worry before the latter cleared his throat. “Best to avoid His Highness during this time, my lady,” he said quietly. “His mood is particularly…delicate at this time of the year, especially.”

You raised a brow. Apparently, the storms weren’t the only thing that was harsh during Christmas. “What? Why? Does he not like Christmas?”

“It’s not that. He’s just crankier and unapproachable, that’s all,” Jongho admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Best not to test him, my lady.”

You tried to celebrate with everyone, noticing that everyone seemed to look forward to your presence every time you went around the castle. The servants seemed to be brighter in spirit, more than the usual, their smiles wider, the merry tunes of Christmas filling in the hallways that actually made you forget about your worries. You were actually happy for once.

“It is because Christmas actually gives the people a reason to like the snow,” Mingi patiently explained one day in the middle of your lessons. “And the queen’s presence gives the people strength, a pillar to look up on in the king’s absence.”

You weren’t good with reading and writing yet, but you were getting there. Christmas wasn’t an exception for you to skip out on your studies. Not that you minded, Mingi was a wonderful mentor and you genuinely did enjoy learning from the knowledgeable man.

“May I know the reason why His Majesty is to be avoided during this time?” You asked, holding your quill just like he taught you. “Everyone seems to refuse to talk about it.”

Mingi turns silent. After a while, he gently grabs your quill, handing you a book instead. “Shall we move on to economics, my lady?” He suggested, changing the topic, his eyes silently begging you to let the conversation go.

You faltered, mildly surprised at the blatant avoidance of the topic. You tried, you really did, not to think about San and respect what everyone kept saying, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the elephant in the room. You nodded slowly, taking the book, and that was that.

Of course you’ve noticed that San was nowhere to be seen. The throne room was avoided like it contained the plague, itself. His study was left untouched and even Seonghwa didn’t dare enter it even for more military planning. The servants paled, pretending they had urgent business elsewhere, which always prompted either Yeosang or Jongho to personally deliver his meals.

Nobody was telling you anything. Whether it was because you were an outsider or they were doing it for your protection, you didn’t know. You were left in the middle of it and you couldn’t help but feel something twist deep in your guts.

Because this wasn’t normal avoidance. This was fear. It wasn’t the terrified kind, no, but the quiet, heavy, and trained kind - the kind that people develop after years of knowing exactly what triggers a man, and what doesn’t. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.

And of course, this was when you found yourself thinking of him even more. You asked yourself multiple times what happened to him and what made him dislike Christmas. At first, you thought it was because the snow fell harder on the already cursed, snow-covered land that people blamed on him, but seeing how the people acted, it was more than that.

Sure, San had always been especially cold and distant, his walls high and impenetrable, but he was never cruel and never raised his voice at anyone. He had always been intimidating, but you genuinely didn’t understand why this time was different. 

What could make an entire palace walk on eggshells around their king? Why did everyone act like Christmas turned him into something dangerous? 

Oh, how you wished you knew the answer to this before you started roaming around the castle, hugging your arms to yourself, absentmindedly walking aimlessly with all these thoughts.

Was it the storm that was making San hot-tempered, or was it San’s temper that was bringing on the storm and making it worse?

A heavy gust of wind rattled the castle walls and the frames that were hooked on them, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately. You looked around in worry, realising that you had ventured a bit too far in your absentmindedness.

Your anxiety rose when you also realised that you were near the currently forbidden area  - San’s chambers. You’ve never even been in this section of the castle before and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now. Panicking, you quickly turned around to leave.

It wasn’t until you heard it, something spine-chilling enough that it made you stop in your tracks not to listen, but out of surprise and horror. You didn’t have to think hard or even turn around to know that the sound was coming from San’s room.

“Fuck. Fuck. M-Make it stop, please…”

Moans and grunts of pure, raw pain were to be heard all over the corridors, the sound of it echoing ghastly around the walls and bouncing in its agony. You paled, caught off guard, not knowing exactly how to react at what you were hearing.

You jumped up when a loud crash followed by a deep, menacing growl on top of pitiful whimpers resounded after. It was horrifying to listen to. You couldn’t help but put your trembling hands on your mouth, eyes widening at the prospect of San hurt, or worse, someone hurting him in the privacy of his own chambers. He sounded like he was getting tortured.

Panic arose in your head, but even then, you had to force yourself to think. What were you going to do? You had absolutely no idea what was happening behind that door and that, alone, terrified you.

Not the sounds, but the idea of it. What could bring a man like San - the controlled and measured king you knew, the one with walls so high, you couldn’t see through it, the man who barely blinked at his adversaries - down to something feral and desperate? 

Do you run? Do you get Jongho? Seonghwa? Yunho? Anyone who knows what to do? And you were going to do exactly that. You pulled your skirts up, ready to sprint for help, but once again, you heard a noise. Something about the primal emotions in his tone tugged at your heartstrings. He was choking, the sound of it wet, low, and trembling.

But most of all, he sounded alone. He sounded terrified. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this. So against your better judgment, against every warning, against everybody who swore you shouldn’t even think about approaching San, and against the fear stuck in your throat, you moved towards his door, your hand already pushing it open. 

Nothing could ever prepare you for the destruction that lay all over the room the moment you entered. Everything was in shambles and disarray. Your heart almost wanted to leap out of your chest as you inspected the room, trying to look for the reason why you were even here.

You didn’t see San. But you could hear him. You tried to follow his pained grunts, your feet moving to what you assumed was the bathroom, your insides turning upside down when you realised that he wasn’t just groaning - he was wretching his guts out. 

The closer you got, the more distinct the awful, guttural noises became. Your fingertips brushed the doorframe, almost whispering to announce your presence so as to not startle him, but you stopped halfway when you dared to look inside.

San was on his knees, trembling and bracing himself on one arm, his head lurched forward as he gurgled out the contents of his stomach, or the lack thereof. Your heart squeezed painfully seeing the great, cold king of Utopia reduced to such a state.

His usually prim appearance was nowhere to be seen, his hair disheveled and sticking to his skin, damp with sweat, his shirt open to reveal his sculpted chest that convulsed violently as he heaved and coughed so hard that you thought that something inside him was about to break. His other hand clutched the locket he always wore so tight, veins started to pop from his arm.

But that wasn’t the thing that bothered you as much as it worried you. It was his eyes. They were wild, red, and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days - like he hadn’t been himself in days. Your heart cracked, not being able to stop the whimper that crawled up your throat.

His neck snapped up in your direction so quickly, you were terrified for a second, and he froze, eyes widening at the sight of you trembling uselessly by the doorway. For a split second, you saw something in those eyes other than coldness. You were the last person he expected to see.

And he tried to say something to you. You saw his lips part and you saw him process that you were here, in a place you absolutely shouldn’t be, but before he could do so, his body seized again, bending forward brutally to clutch his chest, shoulders curling inward against the pain.

You watched him stand up, feebly supporting himself by gripping the edge of the sink as his quivering legs tried to support his weight. He stared at you with those hazy eyes, almost glaring, using the back of his hands to wipe his mouth. “What are you doing here?” He snarled. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

Your body seemed to snap into action, step forward to try and help him. “Your Majesty—”

He slaps your hand away, but it was more of a poor attempt at it, limping past you with great effort. “I asked you a question,” he barked, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, slightly making you flinch. “You shouldn’t be here, didn’t anybody in this godforsaken castle tell you?”

He said it with such contempt, looked at you with so much scorn and disdain that you almost ran away with your tail between your legs, but when his trembling intensified, breath stuttering like his lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe, you made the split decision to surge forward, anyway, gripping his arm to help him walk.

“You’re not well, Your Grace,” you whispered, almost pleading. “Please, let me help.”

A small gasp leaves your lips as your hands wrapped around his bicep. He was warm, warmer than you expected, like sitting in front of a hearth to seek comfort. And he paused, staring at you. Truly staring with something unreadable in his eyes before he shoved you, or tried to.

“Don’t,” he tried to shove you again, his palm weakly trying to rip your hands away from him. His breath hitched, body swaying dangerously to the side before he leaned on the doorframe, eyes boring onto you sharply. “Leave,” he growled, jaw clenched, rage evident in his tone. “Just leave. You’re useless to me.”

It stung that even in his state, he was still pushing you away. You didn’t understand what was happening, and you had a feeling that you still won’t anytime soon, but when he started to stagger forward, you lunged forward to try and catch him before he hit his head on instinct. You didn’t need to know for now. San needed your help.

“Your Majesty, I’m begging you,” you pleaded desperately, pushing up on him and pulling him slightly to help him out of the bathroom. “Stop fighting me, please.”

“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” His hand fisted weakly in the front of your sleeve, as if to shove you away again. Instead, it simply trembled there, powerless.

You didn’t answer, grunting as you guided him towards his disheveled bed. He relents, albeit begrudgingly, sinking onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion. You immediately get to work, finding something to use to wipe his sweaty skin and grimy face to relieve some of the tension that was troubling him.

The bed sank under your weight, and for a second, you hesitated a bit, but when you saw San breaking out in more sweat, the hesitation left. Gently, you dabbed the damp towel all over his skin. You stared from his temples, smoothing his hair out, wiping the residue off his lips as well, down to his neck, careful not to irritate him with the temperature.

You got all the way down to his chest, finally looking at it up close and being mildly surprised at the dark lines that littered all over it. They were black in colour, resembling tree branches that covered his entire torso. They didn’t look natural. Rather, they looked infected and cursed.

It was when San seemed to realise that you were looking at them. You flinched when he suddenly grabbed a blanket to cover his chest, harshly snatching the towel away from your hands to brutally throw it across the room.

It was a sudden burst of fury that seemed to sap all the remaining energy out of him. “Get out,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. His hand flew to the locket around his neck, one that you always thought was just a trinket or an heirloom. “Yunho,” his voice cracked. The moment he mentioned the mage’s name, the locket glowed brightly, pulsing with unnatural energy that made your skin prickle. “Yunho.”

It was magic. You knew it was. Nothing natural glowed like that. And the lines that were strewn all over San’s skin…those weren’t natural either. But they weren’t the angelic magic Yunho had.

Yunho burst in through the doors not even a minute after, panting and looking like he ran a marathon just to get here. His eyes widened in horror the moment they landed on the way San convulsed and shook under the sheets.

“San? Good Lord, San, what—” he began, eyes dropping into something that resembled agony, pity lining his features at the sight of his king suffering under whatever was happening to him. He was about to rush forward, but immediately halted when he saw you.

His eyes went even wider, horror and disbelief flooding every inch of his face. “Y/N, my lady,” he exhaled in utter shock, not even expecting to even see anybody, much less you of all people, to be sitting on San’s bed. “W-Why are you here?”

San grunted in pain once more, prompting Yunho to rush forward, assessing his king and the damage that he endured. Yunho’s face crumpled. “My lady,” he said over his shoulder without looking at you, tone gentle but firm. “Please. You must leave. Now.”

If there was anyone who knew what to do, it was Yunho. You watched him for a moment, watched his hands hover over the king’s body as they glowed blue, the magic flowing from his veins to transfer them to San.  He was healing him, you reckoned.

“You must not speak of this to anyone, my lady,” Yunho said quietly, looking at you briefly before his eyes glowed into that familiar fiery light you remembered from when you first met. “And I know you have questions, questions I’m afraid I cannot give you right now, but for now…”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly got up, hastily walking towards the door to let Yunho do his work in peace, but before looking back at San for one last time before leaving. He looked a bit better. His face was still ashen and pale, but at least he was now sleeping.

And it hurt. It was the precise way that Yunho knew what to do - it meant that this was a regular occurrence for San. This happened year by year. And you weren’t privy to what he was trying to tell you.

Pretend you didn’t see anything.

Days passed in a daze, long nights where you lay wide awake on your bed where sleep refused to visit you, hours spent where you did exactly the opposite of what Yunho expected of you - to forget what you saw in San’s chambers that day, all of the grizzly parts of it.

It just wasn’t possible. How could you just erase what fear you felt when you saw him on the floor? How could you forget the way his bloodshot eyes looked at you like you were the anomaly for finding him in that pitiful position? The way they widened in disbelief when he saw you just before gagging helplessly again?

And when you weren’t seeing him in your head, you were hearing him amidst the silence of your room. The sound of him vomiting was wet and brutal, the unpleasant hacking and heaving of his stomach as he retched out was all you could hear. You could never forget it.

And the only thing louder than the awful sound was the realization that San had been suffering like this alone.

He was all you could think about, and frankly, you were worried. You couldn’t concentrate on your duties and studies, your mind often flying towards the king you swore your life to, wondering if he was eating, worried if he was still in pain or if he was sleeping well.

A gentle cough startles you out of your stupor and you look up, finding Seonghwa’s gentle eyes trained on you. “My lady? Are you still there?” He asked. “You seem to be…distracted. We could always continue this discussion next time.”

You blinked, shame crossing your features. You were currently with the marshal, who took time off to discuss basic tactics to you as per San’s request for additional knowledge. Redness creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you were wasting Seonghwa’s very limited time.

“I am terribly sorry, Sir Seonghwa,” you sincerely apologised, bowing your head slightly. “I must be in a doozy. I’m afraid that my mind is elsewhere.”

He immediately waves his hands in flustered protest. “Please don’t bow to me, my lady. And this might be impudent, but,” he paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear, his voice dropping into a faint whisper. “Would this happen to be about what happened to His Majesty a week prior?”

Your brows raised in surprise. “You know.”

He sighed, deep from within his chest, before getting up to lock the door. He, then, gives a grim nod. “Only those closest to him do,” he admitted, crossing his arms, jaw tightening. “Including Wooyoung. He was His Majesty’s favourite scribe before he was assigned to you.”

You stared at him, having more questions than answers. And he knew this. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I was the one who had to haul Yunho out after he was done healing him,” he explained with another sigh. “It takes a lot out of him, you see. Magic has to come from somewhere, and mages usually use their own energy.”

“Then, what is going on with him?” You pressed, unable to hide the urgency in your voice.

But Seonghwa only exhaled, long and pained, and shook his head. You could see it that he wanted to tell you. His heart was far too gentle, too earnest for secrecy, but the loyalty he bore to San was carved into him more deeply than any oath. “If I were permitted to speak of it, my lady,” he said softly, “I would tell you everything I know. It’s not my place.”

There was one question that was bothering you the most, however. One where you were afraid of the answer. The question left your lips before you could stop it. “Is he sick?”

He shook his head with confidence without a hint of doubt or hesitation. “No,” he refused immediately. “It is not a disease…at least not the type you’re thinking of.”

Your stomach turned, not liking that answer at all. Seonghwa paused, leaning closer, his eyes filled with genuine worry. “You may not be queen yet, but I have already sworn my life to you, my lady, and I am saying this out of pure love and concern for you as your loyal servant. For your sake, do not return to his chambers.”

His voice dropped into something more hushed and it sent shivers prickling down your spine. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Do not go back there.”

The snow started to let up after a few days, if only a little bit. While the kingdom was still covered in a white haze, the storm had subsided enough that everyone could at least walk out, including yourself. 

“How curious,” you pondered while out and about on the castle grounds, hugging the fur-lined coat closer to your body. “I’ve been told that the storm was going to last another week or so. Today is a beautiful day, though, don’t you think so, dear Wooyoung?”

Utopia was a very beautiful kingdom even though the entirety of it was only white. “Yes,” Wooyoung replied, the corners of his lips lifted up tightly with what seemed more like force than mirth. “How curious, indeed.”

His eyes didn’t match the smile. They dropped almost immediately, dimming with a soft, far-off melancholy, his mind clearly somewhere else in thought. By the time you looked fully at him, he had already blinked it away, the tight smile still lingering. “Shall we go to your classes, my lady?”

You nodded, letting him lead the way. Today, you were determined to do well, but the moment you got in the library, you were met with a sight you were not expecting.

Because there was San currently in a deep conversation with Jongho. There were times that Mingi wasn’t available, so Jongho would substitute him more often than not, and once a week or so, San would supervise your progress. Today was supposed to be one of those days.

This was the first time you’ve seen San out and about, both since he’d secluded himself and since that day you accidentally walked by his chambers. You felt your heart going haywire at the sight of him. Both men haven’t noticed your arrival and you took this time to observe your king.

It was almost unfair how striking San looked when he was fully focused on something, especially whenever he held a quill to write something or handle paperwork. The sharp downturn of his brows, the lean line of his jaw, or the way his lips pursed into a small pout.

But it was unjustly unfair for him to still look this handsome even while clearly still recovering. And just like that, any attraction towards him went in the back of your head for now. He was pale, his eyes lined with bags that were purplish and almost black in colour, lips lacking in colour that made you worry. He was rigid, obviously trying to stand a little straighter than usual.

So much so that you were tempted to walk up to him to ask him if he was doing alright, but you knew better. Just then, as if sensing eyes on him, Jongho lifted his head and gave you a soft, pleased smile. “Ah, my lady, just. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you were here.”

San paused for a split second, jaw tightening, before ultimately deciding not to lift his head to greet you in acknowledgement, his attention solely on the paperwork as if you weren’t even in the room. 

The entire lesson went by like that. It was the most awkward session of your life so far because while San didn’t acknowledge you in general, this was different. Usually, he would chip in a thought or two, ask  you random questions that pertained to the subject, but this time, he was silent. You wouldn’t even know he was there if  you didn’t see him earlier.

After half an hour, he got up and left. That in itself wasn’t unusual either, San never stayed the entire lesson anyway, but at least every time he left, he would politely, albeit stiffly, say his goodbyes to you or pass a small comment about you doing well on your studies.

And despite everything - your fear, your confusion, your unanswered questions - you felt your chest tighten. You watched him walk away, your spirits dampening at each step he took. Jongho took notice of this. “Did you want to run after him?” He asked. “He’s…well.”

You shook your head. But it didn’t stop there. Unfortunately, this continued for days. You would see him in his office, in the throne room, just him doing his regular kingsley duties like nothing ever happened, but he never acknowledged you. Not once. He didn’t speak to you nor even looked your way. You were like a ghost at this point, worse than strangers.

He was deliberately ignoring you, you soon realised. San was avoiding you like the plague, and of course, you knew why, but this didn’t stop you from thinking about him anyway. The more the days passed, the paler and more sickly he looked, and you couldn’t help but worry.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to check up on him. It was how you found yourself standing by his chambers again, knocking lightly on the door, whispering your arrival. When nobody answered, you breathed in, pushing the door open and hoping for the best.

Thankfully, there were no retching sounds to be heard. But unfortunately, the sight that met you was worse than you could have imagined.

There was San seated on his bed, shivering and trembling violently, one hand fisting the sheets he used to cover his entire body, while his other hand was pressed against his face, but it did nothing to hide the sight that made your stomach turn and your knees almost buckle down.

Thick streaks of red seeped from his fingers as blood seemed to spill from his nose, staining the smooth expanse of his pale cheeks. His breath came out in sharp, ragged wheezes, teeth clacking against each other to fight the cold tremors that plagued his body, and every breath he took, blood trickled from the corner of his lips, down the sheets.

Globs of red covered the sheets that it was hard to imagine that it was once white. You had never seen anything so grotesque in your life. “S-Sire?” You choked out, barely able to breathe.

He jerked at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head and your hands numbed, because his eyes weren’t just bloodshot - the white parts had entirely become red, like they were tinted with blood. For a moment, he didn’t even recognize you.

But the moment he did, it was like something primal in him came alive. “What the hell are you d-doing here?” He roared, feral, so loudly, you felt your bones rattle. You gasped at the intensity of it, caught off guard. “Get out.”

You closed the door behind you. “Your Maje—”

“Get out! Fucking hell, just get the fuck out!” His voice boomed. It felt like cold water was splashed on you. The expression he held on his face was one of delirium and ferality, and this was the first time you’ve actually heard San lose his temper like this or even raise his voice.

He lurched forward, body spasming, getting up to charge at you, the rage on him impalpable. Blood dripped onto the floor in steady beats from his nose. “I told you to stay the hell away from me,” he snarled, shoulder rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Why must you—”

Everything happened so fast. His arms gave out entirely, body pitching forward. You rushed to catch him before he hit the ground, hands sliding under his shoulders. “Please, you’re hurt and you’re bleeding,” you gasped despite every instinct screaming that you should run. “I can’t—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He lashed out, swinging his arms. You yelped when he accidentally hit your shoulders, making you stagger backwards. “You stupid, stupid girl,” he spat. “Are you deaf or just highly incompetent? How foolish could you be? What part of…” he trailed off, wincing in pain. “What part of leave do you not understand?”

And maybe he was right. Maybe you were stupid. But it didn’t stop you from limping towards him anyway. “Please,” you whispered, hands up in surrender. “I want to help—”

“I said don’t come near me!” He barked, grabbing another nearby vase and throwing it on the floor in sheer anger. “You just never listen, do you? You think barging in here in a place where you’re explicitly forbidden makes you brave? No, it makes you a burden, you reckless—”

He cut himself off with a guttural groan, one hand flying to his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. That was it for you, you weren’t going to just simply watch. You surged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Enough,” you breathed, voice trembling with resolve. “Just…stop.”

His arm jerked up to push you away, but it was no use. “The nerve of you, I am your king—”

You narrowed your eyes, not even letting him finish his nonsense. You grabbed his shoulders and with one pull, you hauled him forward with practiced force. Even through the haze, you saw his eyes widen with surprise, genuinely stunned at the show of strength as you dragged him towards the bed and laid him down whether he liked it or not.

“You are forgetting who I was before all of this,” you murmured calmly, trying to ease him onto the sheets. “I am a farm girl. I grew up carrying heavy sacks of grain and meat, Your Majesty. It was all I knew. You would’ve known how calloused my hands were if you touched them more.”

He wanted to argue, you could tell, but more than that, there was a look in his eyes that made you pause. He looked at your hands, then back at your eyes with a brow raised, and there was something in there. He looked mildly offended. Now, you didn’t want to assume, but if you were being honest, his eyes were clearly telling you he did, in fact, know.

You looked away, turning around to stop the butterflies in your stomach. You worked quickly, grabbing a basin and some towels and putting them on his nightstand and of course, he tried to resist at first, but eventually, the fight in him left and he went still, surrendering to your help simply because he had no strength left to give.

You wiped the blood from his eyes and cheeks, cleaned the streaks along his neck, cool cloth brushing over heated skin and every so often, he twitched or groaned. You urged him to sit up, finding the first shirt you found in his dresser to change his bloodied shirt, careful not to look at the dark lines that marred his chest for fear of him lashing out on you again.

You had to replace the water in the basin three times, spilling the now reddened water over and over again until his skin was free of blood and water no longer stained red. He stared at you the entire time you worked, emotionless, not saying anything.

“Are you comfortable, Your Highness?” You whispered, gently smoothing his damp hair away from his face. 

He hummed hoarsely, nodding subtly, but he didn’t look away. He watched you with those hollow eyes you were used to and usually, it unsettled you, but instead, your stomach fluttered. He was too handsome for someone who had nearly collapsed in your arms. It wasn’t fair. 

Suddenly, he grimaced, seizing as his entire body began to spasm, shivering even though it was pretty warm inside his chambers. You didn’t know what to do, so you didn’t. Instead, you quickly sat on the bed, gently positioning his head on your chest to let him borrow your warmth even though you weren’t sure it was going to help, holding him tight.

He stiffened, but gave up the fight once again once he probably realised how warm you were, how gentle you cradled his feeble body as your hands steadied his head. An uncalled memory striked your head. This reminded you of how your mother would comfort you when you were ill.

Without thinking, as if on instinct, you fingers began to comb his hair, swaying your shoulders to rock him tenderly like your mother used to do to soothe you. “It’s alright,” you hushed, finding the right rhythm to rock his quivering body. “I-I got you…”

You didn't know when the stinging behind your own eyes started, but you continued to rock him, anyway, hoping he didn’t feel the tears that fell from your eyes on his skin, or the way your voice cracked once in a while as you hummed a soft lullaby to accompany the soothing motion. You really didn’t know. All you knew was that it hurt to see him like this.

Eventually, the tremors eased, and finally, San went still, his head growing heavy on your chest as sleep finally caught up to him. His light snores filled your ears as whatever was causing all this loosened its grip on him temporarily to let him rest. 

And you didn’t move, not until you were sure he was truly asleep. You didn’t want to anyway. And in the stillness that followed, your heart tugged painfully. This was the closest you’ve ever been to San and it was unfortunate that it had to be in these circumstances.

You didn’t realise how long you’d been sitting there, lost in your own thoughts, staring at his sleeping face. You were exhausted, your body was also becoming a little weary as the adrenaline came crashing down on you. You needed air.

You shifted, carefully lowering his head on his pillow so you could get up and let him have this rare moment of peace, but before you could get up, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. Your breath stilled, mouth opening slightly in surprise.

And if that wasn’t enough, he tugged on it, too. It was weak and clumsy, but you felt it, anyway. He didn’t open his eyes, but his brows furrowed. “Stay,” he rasped, barely a whisper, voice rough with sleep, raw with excess use and fatigue.

Your breath came out ragged as you stared at his hand around your wrist, holding onto it as if you were his lifeline. And by God, you felt something then. Your chest fluttered warmly at first, before turning into heat that was too dangerous for your own good. You could barely breathe, it was like he had your heart in his hand, squeezing it slightly instead of your wrist.

You bit your lip, hesitant. Was he even coherent enough to know what he was asking for? You didn’t want to take advantage of it, but the thing was, you couldn’t bear to leave this room knowing that you were going to worry about him the entire night, anyway.

It was when he opened his eyes, barely halfway, but enough where you could see the familiar sharpness in them. “Stay,” he repeated, firmer this time. He wasn’t asking you, he was demanding you.

You nodded, lifting the covers and sitting back down on the bed, and the moment you did, he shifted instinctively towards your warmth, making your heart flip. Not even a minute later, his breathing evened out again and you let these warm, fuzzy feelings lull you to sleep.

But the next morning, all those feelings died. You were startled awake by someone shaking you violently. At first, you didn’t realise where you were, the unfamiliar setting of the room sending your head into a frenzy, but all of it came back to you when you saw San staring at you.

He looked somewhat better - better than you’ve seen him in a while, really. In fact, he was already in his royal attire. And he looked angry. Maybe that’s why his brows were furrowed together, face reddened in a way that only unbridled fury could bring.

You quickly got up, ready to tend to him in case he was still feeling unwell, your eyes automatically checking if there were specks of blood to be found on his shirt, relieved to see that there wasn’t any. “Your Highness,” you began, voice still thick with sleep. “Did you need—”

“Not another word. I don’t want to hear you, and I don’t want to see your face, you hear me?” San spoke with calm, deliberate venom, not giving you a chance to even finish your sentence. “Do you understand me? Or are you perhaps too stupid to?”

You were stunned into silence. His words landed like a slap to your face, each one of them precise and intentional. “P-Pardon?” You couldn’t help but let out, genuinely surprised at how scathing he sounded and it stung worse than anything last night.

He scoffed, tilting his head in mock fashion, a derisive smirk on his face. “You think you’re exceptional now that you’ve stayed here?” He seethed, eyes snapping to you with such lethal coldness, it halted the air in your lungs. “What, you think tending to me makes you important?”

This time, you were actually shocked, hurt filling your chest as you stood up to try and explain yourself. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” you breathed out. “I was just trying to help.”

“Oh, please, spare me,” he scoffed, eyes like cold glass. “You deliberately refused to listen to me when I told you to get out and not come back. You were like a stray animal that refused to get kicked out.”

He enunciated his words clearly, ensuring each word landed exactly where it would do the most damage. And he succeeded. You blinked, hurt prickling your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you said. “I was genuinely worried for your well-being. You know that’s not true.”

“No? Tell me, then. What do you call throwing yourself at me during my weakest moments?” He kept trudging forward and you kept staggering backwards, stopping when your back hit the wall, San effectively trapping you. “Or maybe you were just that desperate, crawling into my bed like some pathetic little thing.”

The words hit like a slap, You knew he was a little cruel in ways he didn’t mean, but this time, it was different. He meant every single thing. Of all the things he did and didn’t do, this was the one that genuinely hurt you the most. You shook your head quickly, eyes stinging, not even knowing what to say to that one.

You could have any other insults any time of the day, but being accused of being a desperate whore will be one you will never, ever accept. You grew up with absolutely nothing, almost gave up your life with less, but the one thing you refused to let go and get trampled upon was your dignity and integrity.

Bile rose from your throat as you tried to breathe through the pain in your chest, the pain so physical that you wanted to fold in on yourself. You looked up, ready to excuse yourself, but when you looked at San, his eyes were wide, mouth open, expression aghast with regret.

You realised, then, that you had already started to cry, hot tears falling in torrential streaks down your eyes, You choked, getting dizzy at the whiplash at the speed of how your mind caught up and it was when an agonised whimper left your throat before you could stop it.

“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” he backed up, raising his hand in an attempt to touch you but stopped himself at the last minute when he realised how deeply he shattered you. “Oh, God, I did not mean any of that, I did not mean to diminish your integrity like this—oh, God.”

But the damage was done. You hadn’t even realized you’d spoken those words aloud. All colour drained from San’s face and he looked so frightened by his mistake that it hurt to look at because he wasn’t even this frightened when he was bleeding out from his eyes and mouth.

“Y/N, stop, don’t cry, don’t, please,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean those, I swear to you. Listen to me, I am so—”

You flinched at the sound of his voice, and that alone made him visibly flinch in return. You shook your head again, because you couldn’t hear this. Not right now. Not when his words were still ringing in your ears like a fresh wound.

You were determined to get away, but he held onto your wrist. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, raw and guilty. You tried to free yourself, but he held on. “Y/N, please,” he swallowed. “I won’t keep you, but let me call someone to send you back. You can’t…just wait, please.”

He held onto the same locket on his neck, the heirloom glowing slightly as San whispered to it, his hand never letting go of your wrist, not even when Hongjoong came in, eyes widening in concern at the scene he witnessed.

San’s hand finally loosened around your wrist, fingers trembling as they slipped away from your skin. “Take her,” he ordered the knight. “Use the hidden passage and let Wooyoung tend to her.”

He didn’t look at you as Hongjoong led you out. He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the floor as if it physically pained him to lift them and you didn’t look back as you walked out of the room he had shattered you in, letting the door close between you like a final, heavy blow.

To say that you were still upset until the next day would be an understatement. Because how dare he? How dare he just say those words like he had every right to? Oh, you were mad. And it wasn’t even because you were looking for any sort of thanks for what you did; it wasn’t your fault you were worried about him. 

You touched your chest as you brooded in front of your vanity mirror. It was, however, your fault for feeling something there. Something you didn’t want to think about when he held your wrist and told you to stay.

You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, just in time to hear gentle knocking on your door. You sighed, pursing your lips, turning around to see a sheepish looking Wooyoung standing by the door, his hands behind his back. “I told you I did not want to be disturbed today,” you said.

“I know, my lady, but it is of utmost importance that I am here,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I have something for you.”

Your frown turned into pleasant surprise when he finally brought his hands in front of him, a smile spreading across your face when you saw what he held. In his hands was the most gorgeous bouquet of purple hyacinths wrapped together with a thin strip of ribbon and lace.

“Oh, how lovely,” you gasped, excitedly taking them from him, bringing them closer to you and breathing them in. “They’re particularly difficult to find around, how did you acquire them?”

“I didn’t. They’re not from me. His Majesty had them curated especially for you, my lady,” Wooyoung replied softly. 

Your fingers stilled around the stems of the hyacinths, the smile on your lips faltering, your expression of joy slowly being replaced to that of visible shock. “What?” You murmured before you could stop yourself. “He did? Are you sure?”

“Yes, my lady. He personally gave them to me for you. He even instructed me to arrange them properly,” he said, his expression softening, all traces of mischief gone. “He would’ve come personally, but didn’t think you would want to see him. Not after yesterday.”

Just when you thought that San couldn’t send your mind into shambles even further. Your mind spun, refusing to comprehend that the cold king of Utopia would even do something like this. You brought the flowers to your chest without realizing it, pressing them lightly against your heart as if to steady it.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “I’ll put them in the vase, myself.”

Wooyoung exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t even realise he was holding. When he turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. It was relief, tinged with sadness.

As you put the delicate flowers in the vase, it was hard to miss how carefully they were picked just for you. Each petal was perfect, free from bruising or any kind of marring. But more than that, why had he sent them anyway?

You had a vague idea. Behind all the walls he was putting up, was proof that San was actually capable of feeling regret. Somehow, that just hurt as much as the words he said because he knew what he said was wrong, yet, he chose to hurt you at the moment.

You reached out and brushed your fingers against the petals of the hyacinths. You weren’t completely ready to forgive him, but for the first time since yesterday, your anger wavered.

The next day, you woke up with a brand new bouquet that was even bigger than the one the day before. This time, they were forget-me-nots, which was fascinating to see in a bunch considering how tiny they were. 

“Again?” You murmured, fingers hovering before gently touching one bloom. Wooyoung can only shrug, turning around before you see him smile.

San must be more remorseful than I thought, you pondered. You put them with the hyacinths, the anger in your chest still not subsiding, but simmering at least. And you thought that was that, but no, the flowers did not stop there, because San kept sending flowers for one week straight.

By the third day, they were white tulips. You stared at the pure and pristine blossoms, biting your lips, no longer just surprised, because there was something else accompanying it that made your chest oddly tight. You were flustered, and not just that, you couldn’t help the heat on your face that stayed for what felt like hours after receiving the brand new bouquet.

And you wanted to stay angry, you really did, because no matter how many flowers he sends, the words he said can never be undone anymore, but how were you supposed to do that when he sends avalanche lilies the fourth day so plenty, they spilled all over the place? The other flowers haven’t even wilted yet and here you were with new ones.

You stood in the middle of your chambers, struggling to find a place to put the vase that was overflowing with so much of the lilies. You turned around, helpless looking at a smirking Hongjoong who held another vase of the lillies. “I’m running out of places,” you laughed under your breath, equal parts overwhelmed and intimidated by how many flowers there were.

By now, the servants had stopped pretending not to notice. News had spread that the stoic and impassive king had been sending his would-be queen flowers everyday. The giggles and murmurs brought life to the castle and it was ridiculous how all of this had you smiling like you were a teenager all over again.

“These are lovely,” Mingi commented, laughing at the overwhelming amount of flowers in your chambers when he came for your usual classes. “Well, I have a delivery,” he handed you another bouquet, mischief in his eyes. “More to add to this garden of yours, I suppose.”

You felt your face warm up at his teasing remark. “I have no idea what you mean,” you mumbled, feeling your body buzzing with excitement as you took the bouquet of snowdrops from him. You held onto them the entire class and never let them go.

By the sixth day, you were awoken to the calming scent of lavender. You smiled without realizing it, opening your eyes to see Wooyoung and Jongho giggling to each other as they arranged the lavender all over your chambers, not knowing you were already awake - not knowing that you had begun to look forward to each flower that San sent your way.

Then, the seventh day came and this one was delivered a little differently. It had been nighttime by then and you were already starting to feel disheartened since there were no flowers yet, but as you were reading your book, Yeosang came in carrying a tray of food that had you salivating.

Not only that, they were generous heapings of food that you could tell were your favourites, and Seonghwa was hot on his tail carrying a modest but breathtaking bouquet of pink camelias. Yeosang laid all the dishes properly, not-so-subtly wiggling his brows at you playfully.

“His Majesty specifically asked for today’s supper to be special,” Yeosang said, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. “Catered to you, my lady. I hope the fish is to your liking, His Highness said you enjoyed it the last time you had it.”

Seonghwa placed the bouquet on your lap. “Looks scrumptious,” he commented, gesturing to the food. “His Highness was especially pleased when we told him we discovered a river that had trout in them while we were roaming the area. Immediately thought of you, my lady.”

Your throat tightened. You looked at the bouquet, fingers brushing all over the pink petals and they felt tender and more earnest than the other flowers he sent you, somehow more personal than the rest.

And then you stared at the feast for a little while longer when the two men excused themselves, tears threatening to fall from your eyes before you dug in, heart warm and as full as your chambers that were overflowing with flowers. You had to think about it at first, why this particular bouquet seemed to tug at your heartstrings the most more than the other ones.

The simplicity of it made it your favourite, but it wasn’t because of that - it was because all along, it seemed that San had been paying attention to you.

Seven different flowers for seven days straight, and not a single word. You wondered if this was San’s way of speaking when words failed him.

But that wasn’t how you usually handled things. No, you were the confrontational type. The very next day, you made up your mind to seek San, yourself. You didn’t want to let things fester, but the truth was, you wanted to see for yourself if the flowers meant something to him.

You found San in his study where you knew he usually was at this time of the day. You took a deep breath in, that little fear in the back of your head overtaking you, a bit scared that he was going to push you away, and rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, you opened it slightly, peeking your head in before entering.

San didn’t even notice you, let alone hear your knock, busy with his paperwork. Your heart lurched as you stared at him. He looked better, the colours on his cheeks and lips were back. You cleared your throat to catch his attention.

San looked up, shock flickering briefly across his features before he schooled them back into neutrality. Still, he set his pen aside immediately. “Y/N—my lady,” he whispered breathily, standing up from his chair. “Please, come in. I’d hate for you to not feel welcome,” he paused, a slight frown marring his handsome face. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

“I’m alone,” you do as told, carefully closing the door behind you. “I wanted to thank you,” you said, straight to the point, voice steady despite the way your heart fluttered. “For the flowers.”

For a moment, he said nothing, most likely not expecting you to bring it up. “Were they to your liking?” San asked, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it though his face still retained that sharpness you’ve come to know him for.

You nodded with an affirming hum. “I did,” you replied with genuine sincerity. “They were very beautiful, all of them.”

His gaze dropped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he audibly swallowed. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied, low and careful. Gone was the flatness in his tone, replaced by something just a little warmer. “Very pleased.”

“I will be cherishing them, Your Grace,” you smiled softly.

That earned you a look from him that lingered and remained unguarded. His eyes softened in a way that felt almost dangerous, one that had you holding your breath because you have never seen San’s eyes be this expressive not only towards you, but in general. And now that you knew he was capable of doing such a thing, you didn’t know what to do.

You broke eye contact first, not being able to take the intensity of his gaze. “W-Well, I’m afraid I have taken too much of your time,” you cleared your throat, lowering your head to hide the redness of your cheeks. “I shall be taking my leave—”

“Wait,” he stopped you, startling you a bit and apparently even himself. There was a long pause and you could only blink in anticipation. Finally, he exhaled. “About that night,” he began and your breath hitched. He noticed and his eyes glazed but only for a bit before going back to being impassive again. “The words I spoke were cruel, words I should have never said to you.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away, forcing himself to look you in the eye even though this was taking a lot out of him. “And for that, I am very sorry. I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies.”

And when he bowed low, that was all you needed to see. It wasn’t flowery and it wasn’t anything grand. But it was San, a king who was so used to being bowed to instead of the other way around. You felt the weight of his apology settle deeply in your chest.

“Also,” he continued when he stood up straight again. “Thank you for taking care of me the way you did, especially for staying and cleaning me up even though I gave you every reason not to. It was wrong of me to intentionally hurt you after all those.”

“I forgive you,” you reassured him. “Though I was very much hurt, everyone deserves a second chance. You do, too.”

Another silence fell, but this one was different. It was a little awkward because you’ve never really been alone with San without the entire exchange being political, but at least it wasn’t cold or heavy. Rather, you found yourself not minding it much. The silence was comfortable.

When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened further, almost hesitant. “It’s a lovely day outside the castle grounds,” he turns his head towards the windows before training them back on you, eyes fainltly dubious but fairly hopeful. “Would you do me the honours of walking with me and lending me your time, my lady?

You were stunned into silence. The way he asked it, the way his gaze lingered as though he were bracing himself for rejection. Your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up. “I would love to, my king. ”

There was a very faint curve that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was very subtle, almost invisible but it was there, as he exhaled a soft sigh of relief. Then, he extended his hand, not breaking eye contact, and how can you reject him when he was actually offering and not demanding?

You began to lift your hand, but you stopped midair when you realised that you had no gloves on. San remained quiet, though you can see it on his face as realisation dawned. Your hands weren’t soft and dainty, all traces of femininity gone from all the years of farming.

“May I?” he asked gently, his voice lowered as though the moment itself deserved reverence.

At your nod, he gingerly reaches for your hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting at the lightest of contact. He hummed under his breath, stealing yours when he brushed his thumbs over the thick callouses of your skin and something burst inside your ribs.

“You have beautiful hands that have been through a lot,” he murmured. “You should be very proud of them. As I am.”

Your heart swelled painfully, emotion rushing in far too fast when he stilled his thumb, pressing them on your skin and that’s when you felt it - his own scars. Callouses met callouses, strength met strength, and instead of shame, you felt seen. He shifted closer and with an ease that felt almost intimate, linked his arm with yours.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted to scream. Your face was as red as a tomato - probably even redder - trying your best not to be too stiff as San adjusted his pace to match yours as you began to walk through the snowy grounds of the castle.

And by God, he was trying his best. San still felt rigid beside you, his steps a little measured and deliberate, but not because of duty, but because of consideration for you. This was the same man who always kept space between you, who never so much as let your sleeves touch during formal walks, and now he was walking with you like you were equals. 

“I know I should have asked this before,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking your way, and you just had to blush - one because the way the sun hit the high points of his face made him look ethereal, and two, he was really, really trying and it was endearing. “But how are you liking Utopia? I…know there’s not much here. You can be honest—oh, wait.”

You frowned when he slowed. It was when you noticed that you were about to pass a narrow path, and not only that, the wind also started to pick up, the bite of it hitting your face rather painfully. Without saying anything, he angled himself to shield you from both the wind and the path so your dress wouldn’t be caught in the dirt.

You stared at him in awe, your cheeks warm and your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with trepidation. He gazed at you, shoulders tense as he waited for your answer. “It’s quiet and the snow doesn’t pretend to be king, and I think that’s why I like it. Utopia doesn’t promise warmth. It promises survival, if you’re willing to stay and try.”

San stopped walking, turning fully to you, actually staring at you as if it was the first time he’s actually seeing you. Respect further softened his eyes, awe flickering in them. “I see,” he drawled, throat bobbing when he swallowed. “Yunho was right all along. Thank you.”

You wanted to ask him what that meant, but he continued walking then, aimlessly with no ending point in mind. He asked you more questions, like the books you read or what you did in your free time. He didn’t speak a lot, but when he did, he was very gentle with his words, very regal and proper. You reckoned that this was just how he was in general as a person.

And he listened to everything you said, never interrupting nor dismissing you. The walls were still there, unmistakable and tall, but you could see where he was pressing against them from the inside, trying to make room for you.

“And your lessons?” He asked earnestly. “Are they too difficult? I’m afraid I might have put too much pressure on you.”

“They are,” you admitted. “But nothing I cannot handle—”

“Your Majesty.”

You both turned around, not expecting to see Jongho whose voice cut through the moment. His brows were both slightly raised, eyes pleased as he inspected the both of you and San - walking side by side, arms linked - head nodding in approval, though it is replaced by sheepishness when he realised what he just walked into and interrupted.

San stilled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at his advisor. The tenderness he had didn’t just disappear, it completely snapped out of existence as if the gentle man you were with the entire time was just an illusion. His body snapped into rigidity, face dropping into that impassive and unreadable coldness you were so used to seeing in him.

“Yes?” San gritted his teeth, tone sharp and clipped. It wasn’t apprehension–inducing, rather, the immediate change fascinated you.

“We have a budgetary meeting to be held half an hour from now, Your Highness,” Jongho meekly replied.

San sighed, mumbling quietly under his breath. “Send all the heralds. I shall be there,” he nodded, ever the king he was.

He turned, releasing your hand with visible reluctance. You didn’t think that the change in him could be more startling, but you were wrong. The hardness melted away, eyes warming, voice dropping into something gentle and almost apologetic when he started to speak to you.

“I apologise,” he pursed his lips. “It slipped my mind that I had prior commitments before this.”

You shook your head. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness. You have priorities you can’t ignore.”

“I hope that I may ask for your time again,” he added, and in a drastic turn of events, he lifted your hand to his lips, planting a brief, innocent kiss to it before he let go. “Soon.”

And that’s how he left you, standing still with your heart racing with cheeks so red, it would’ve been enough to melt the snow around you. You realised, then, that Choi San might have been far more dangerous like this compared to when he was much colder.

So maybe you were curious about San. You wanted to know the things he liked, what he did in his free time, and what made him tick. You chalked it up to boredom on your end, however, there was genuinely one thing you wished to know more than anything.

“Oh, hello, Y/N,” Yunho greeted with the warmest of smiles the moment you entered San’s study, lowering his glasses and setting aside the notes he held. “I’m afraid San isn’t here today. He’s currently with Seonghwa to inspect some disturbance up north of the territory.”

Now that you think about it, maybe this was the best case scenario. Yunho was easier to talk to than San, and from what you’ve seen, the two seemed to go way back. Maybe he could answer your questions better.

“You would be correct,” Yunho chuckled, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I’ve been with the Choi clan before San’s grandfather was even born, so you could definitely say we go way back.”

It was your turn to raise your brows. You raised them so high, you wouldn’t be surprised if they reached up your hairline. “First of all, you could read minds,” you blurted out stupidly before you could stop yourself. “And second, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.“

At that, he laughs heartily, his entire body rattling as the melodious sound of his contagious laughter bounced around the study. “So I have been told,” he chortled. “And you caught me at the most opportune time, too. Well, since you’re here, I could try to explain some things to you since there seems to be a lot in your mind.” Yunho reached for a piece of paper, crumpling it into a small ball in his hand. At his touch, it began to glow, and when he opened his hand, tiny silver butterflies fluttered lazily in the air. He smiled when you gasped in awe, then at the flick of his wrist, they disappeared, a light drizzle of glitter left in their wake as proof of temporary life.

“Is this the same power you use to heal San that night?” You asked bravely, not sure if you were even supposed to ask but decided to go for it anyway. 

Yunho hummed, eyes dropping at what you were trying to ask. “Very clever way of prying information out of me, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled. “But yes, you could say that.”

And just like that, the air turned a little more serious. You hesitated for a little bit before asking again. “His Highness…what was that that night?”

Yunho exhaled slowly, the lightness draining from his expression as he turned fully toward you. “You weren’t meant to see that,” he said quietly. “You weren’t meant to be there at all.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, bracing yourself. “What you witnessed,” he continued, choosing his words with care. “Is something that predates you, me, even this kingdom as it stands.”

Your heart dropped then and there. Not because of fear, but because you were hoping to hear something else that did not confirm the fact that, indeed, was suffering all this time. “So,” you started, trying to steady your voice. “The rumours about him being cursed...”

“You saw the markings on his chest,” he said instead, eyes steady on yours.

Your breath hitched. He didn’t deny it. “How it began and what caused it,” he continued, turning his head to stare at the light snow falling from the sky through the window. “That is San’s story to tell. What I can tell you is that we’re trying our best to stall it. I would use my powers and San would lend me his energy since it takes a lot out of me to do this.”

Your shoulders slumped before you could stop yourself. “But today…?”

“Just me,” Yunho said gently, and then smiled knowingly. “You look disappointed.”

You flushed instantly. “I-I was just curious.”

“Right,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “Well, a little birdie told me that you two were getting cosy the other day walking around the castle grounds.”

“We are to be married soon,” you defended yourself weakly. “Surely, it’s fairly normal to familiarise with each other before then, don’t you think?”

“Mhhm. And surely, San didn’t have to send you different flowers everyday and make a show about it,” he laughed. “They were quite difficult to find, too. He was so adamant about them.”

You pouted, cheeks burning. “He was being remorseful. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”

“Sure, but what about the ones before those?”

You paused, caught off guard. That definitely caught your attention, because unless you were remembering wrong, you were positive you’ve never received anything from San before. And Yunho, it took him a minute, but his eyes widened in genuine surprise when he saw that you had no idea what he was talking about.

“He’s been giving you flowers long before the recent ones, Y/N,” Yunho carefully explained. “Do you not remember? Wooyoung would either arrange them for you or you’d already have them before you woke up. I know because I’d make them and transport them in your chambers.”

The room spun before you. Of course you remember those flowers, they were the only source of happiness and comfort you had for the longest time since they were the only colour you’d see in contrast to the greyness of your surroundings. And to think that San has been sending them to you all along had you dizzy.

“I-I had no idea,” you breathed out. “I genuinely had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Yunho sighed. “But it’s not your fault, he’s not a very showy person, as you can already tell,” he paused, locking eyes with you firmly. “San is a good man, just a little more reserved and closed off especially with what he’s been through. Here, take this.”

He proceeds to pluck a book from the shelf behind him and give it to you. “Read it when you’re alone, but for now, just know that that man you saw that night was not and will never be a representation of who San is as a person.”

You remembered the blood, the tremors, the way his voice had broken despite all that fury. Your throat burned. “I know,” you said. “I just genuinely wanted to help him, that’s all.”

“And he knows that,” he replied softly. “But you have to understand, he hates being seen like that because that’s not him. He has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean because he’s so used to enduring things alone simply because he’s long forgotten how to ask for help. Like that morning when he made you cry.”

You cringed internally, not wanting to remember the hurtful things he had said, but waiting to see where Yunho was going with this. “There’s no excuse, and he’s already tormented himself for it, but the reason why he was angry…tell me, did you go through a secret passage?”

You raised a brow in mild surprise, nodding in confirmation. “Right. You had basically spent the night with him. Unmarried. He didn’t want the nobles seeing you and shaming you for it.”

You froze, the realisation striking you harder than you expected, but Yunho wasn’t done yet. “Unfortunately, fear can look like cruelty sometimes,” he smiled, forlorn. “You’d be surprised at how soft San actually is if you paid attention. Him assigning Hongjoong to you was probably the biggest telltale sign, Y/N.” You were torn between knowing and not because you were terrified that once you knew, this would forever change the way your heart beat. Still, you looked up anyway, listening. “Hongjoong was Seonghwa’s lieutenant,” Yunho gently explained. “His best fighter. San trusts very few people with his life. By placing Hongjoong at your side, he didn’t just give you protection, he created a hole in his own defenses.”

Suddenly, memories clicked into place with painful clarity. San’s sharp tone whenever Hongjoong wasn’t with you like that one morning when you asked him for tea. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. “I-I don’t understand.”

“He’s not angry when he sees you alone without Hongjoong guarding you. Never was,” he said, gauging your reaction carefully. “He’s worried you’ll get lost. Terrified, even, that you’d lose your way and accidentally find yourself out in the snow and freeze to death.”

Silence followed. You only hoped that Yunho couldn’t hear how your heart betrayed you by beating too loud inside your chest. “Pay attention to him next time, yes? Pay attention to his eyes. He’s got that look in them he doesn’t even know he has when he’s staring at you.”

The moment you got out of there, you quickly ran to your chambers, opening the book that Yunho gave you. At first, you were confused because there was nothing but illustrations of flowers and their names, but when you looked closely, your blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a book - Yunho handed you a floriography book. The study of flowers and their meanings.

You swallowed, knowing exactly what Yunho was trying to tell you without outwardly speaking of it. You turned the pages of the book, racking your head for flowers that San had given you prior to the recent ones. And then you remembered the winter heathers. Your fingers quickly scanned the book, until you found them.

Winter heathers, known to thrive where other plants cannot. Symbolises independence and self-reliance. When given, it is meant to say: Your beauty stands out even in the coldest times.

You almost dropped the book with what you just read, fumbling it clumsily in your hands. You couldn’t believe it, was that how San looked at you even back then? And, then you remembered the lenten roses he made you take that one dinner. 

Lenten roses carry quiet strength, consolation, and comfort with every petal. When given, it is meant to say: Your strength endures even in the deepest winter.

San made them seem like an afterthought back then, something whose potential he did not want to waste. You turned the page with a shaky exhale, desperate to find more meaning in the all flowers he’d given you.

The first one was  the purple hyacinths. You will never forget that one because that was the first of many that he gave you.

Purple hyacinths: I bloom with remorse and I ask for your forgiveness.

A breathy exhale leaves your throat. The flowers were his way of speaking to you when words failed him. Your fingers lingered on the illustration longer than necessary, a dull ache spreading through you before you turned the page again.

Forget-me-nots: I cannot forget the hurt I put onto you.White tulips: I ask for forgiveness and hope we can begin again.

It was unsettling, how the sincere meanings of the flowers were earnestly making their way into your way, inching earnestly in every corner. You were about to turn the pages again when your eyes narrowed at the small text at the bottom.

Oftentimes, different flower combinations convey messages. For example, purple hyacinths, forget-me-nots, and white tulips together mean: I know I hurt you, I haven’t forgotten, I’m sorry.

By now, breathing was lost on you and each page you turned made it difficult to do so. You were so confused because the Choi San you had in mind was someone who viewed you as a person he needed for his kingdom’s legitimacy - someone dispensable and someone he didn’t need to get to know as a person even though you were going to spend your life with him.

Avalanche Lily: I bow in humility for my mistake.

Snowdrop: I hope for a new beginning with you by my side.

Lavender: I can’t stop thinking about you, near or far.

Pink Camellia: I long for you tenderly, and I long to be near you again.

Or so you thought. Now, you didn’t know what to think. You thought you knew who San was. A hollow laugh left your throat because all this time, you had mistaken his walls for apathy. San had never been cold - he’d been soft all along. You just haven’t learned how to read between the lines yet.

You pressed your lips together, but the sting only grew worse, creeping into the corners of your eyes. You blinked once; twice too late. A tear slipped free, landing on the page. You sucked in a shaky breath, hastily wiping at your face with the back of your hand.

You shut the book, setting it aside to do something you’ve never done before - embroidery. That night, you spent the majority of it embroidering San’s initials on a small handkerchief, taking the time to be precise and make it look at least decent considering it was your first time doing it.

You didn’t know what possessed you. All you knew, the more you sewed, your fondness for San kept growing tenfold. By the time you were done, you had probably pricked your fingers a thousand times, but you smiled, proud of what you’ve done, hoping he’d see the beauty in what you’ve created, just like he saw the beauty in you when you couldn’t even see it in yourself.

You had been contemplating on how you were going to give San the handkerchief that you embroidered. The adrenaline had worn off then and now the thought of giving it to him had you embarrassed all over, anxious whether giving it to him will be too forward.

But you didn’t have to think too hard. You were about to head out for a walk when a knock on your doors interrupted your plans. “Y-Your Highness,” you breathed out, surprised to see San on the other side. “What brings you here?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, just staring at you like he couldn’t believe that you actually opened the door for him. His composure was perfect, face emotionless and almost cold, but after that conversation with Yunho, you noticed something immediately - it was the way his gaze flicked away before settling back on you. 

You wanted to melt into a puddle of endearment then and there especially with how red the tips of his ears were. Oh my goodness, you thought with quiet astonishment. He’s shy. He’s so shy and he’s trying to make himself look like he’s not.

“I was wondering,” he cleared his throat. “Hoping, if I can ask you for your time again? I would like it if you joined me for tea.”

Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. For a moment, you hesitated, your mind reminding you of that one time you tried to invite him for tea and coldly rejected you. But this time, as you stared at his hopeful face, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your tummy. He was trying, he really was, and you could feel it. “Lead the way, Your Grace,” you smiled before you could second guess yourself.

You felt the butterflies multiply when you linked arms with him again as he led you through the halls to one of the smaller dining rooms, opening the door for you before you could reach for them, stopping shortly by the door in awe at what you saw.

The table was beautifully set, but what caught your attention was the large array of tea laid out in neat rows. You looked at him, brows lifting in quiet disbelief.

San cleared his throat, gaze immediately dropping to the floor as if it held something fascinating. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred,” he said, straightening his back in an attempt to save face even though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “So I asked for all of them.”

You had to purse your lips together tightly in order to not laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. “I see,” you chose to say, pulling the chair so you could sit down. “Thank you, Your High—”

“No, wait, allow me,” he stopped you, gently prying your hand away from the chair so he could pull it for you to sit down. Your cheeks were redder than his by this point. “San.”

“P-Pardon?”

He sat across you. “Please, call me San,” he repeated, eyes soft, tone warm. "This might be too much to ask, but will you please do me the honours of letting me hear my name from you?"

He was right - it was too much to ask because you didn’t know how to say his name without giving your true feelings away. But his gaze never wavered and he waited patiently like he’d wait forever to hear it from you without demanding it.

“San,” you said at last, softly, as though speaking it too loudly might break something fragile between you.

The effect was immediate. He tilted his head as he stared at you, face still that same cold, indifferent king that had people trembling with fear at the mere sight of it, but his eyes told a different story. They twinkled, bright and sincere with genuine contentment.

You broke eye contact, afraid you might explode on the spot with how hot you felt, reaching for a random tea blend without even looking to give your hands something to do to distract yourself. You were about to lift the teapot when you felt San’s hand lightly stop you.

“Let me do it,” he offered, grabbing the pot to serve the both of you. Your eyes widened, aghast at what you were witnessing. He was the king, for God’s sake. You were about to protest when he shook his head. “I insist. Please, I want to do this for you.”

“You truly didn’t need to do all this,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

“I want to,” San replied simply. “If it brings you even a moment of comfort, then it was worth it to me.”

As if that wasn’t enough, you watched as he put a small dollop of honey in the tea instead of the usual sugar cube. You wanted to cry. Yunho was right all along, San did pay attention more than you thought because you did prefer honey in your tea over sugar. He slid the cup towards you with both hands, watching as you took a sip.

“Is it good?” He asked expectantly. “I hope it’s warm enough and not too sweet.”

You smiled, taking another sip, not missing the way his eyes shone. “It’s perfect.”

The conversation naturally flowed from there, especially now that you knew a little more about San. Whenever he noticed that your plate was almost empty or you were almost done with your cup, he would take it upon himself to refill them for you, all without looking away from you as you talked.

And he listened, truly listened to everything you said as if the words you uttered were the gospel, itself. He was empathetic, too, eyes dropping into something somber when you mentioned the plague that took your parents from you, transforming into respect when you told him how you endured alone before settling your way into Utopia.

“I used to enjoy tea with my parents,” you said absentmindedly. “Do you enjoy tea?”

He stared at you, opting not to reply, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakably there. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it’s like his true goal in life was to leave you breathless. You suddenly remembered what you had in your hand the entire time. Your finger tightened around the handkerchief anxiously. “San,” you murmured. “I have something for you.”

His brows knit together as you placed the folded handkerchief into his palm. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning his initials, tracing them as if they were sacred. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth when he touched the tiny detail you sewed next to it.

He narrowed his eyes to inspect what it was, and when he did, he looked up, eyes wide. Not exactly startled, but in disbelief yet soft and warm in a way you’ve never seen before. “An edelweiss flower,” he murmured. “Do you know what it means?”

You nodded, a serene smile gracing your face. Of course you knew what an edelweiss meant. You had spent countless hours looking for a flower whose meaning you wanted to convey; spent an exorbitant amount of time studying it so you could embroider it neatly onto the cloth.

My feelings match yours and I will brave the cold with you.

For a while, he did nothing, staring at the handkerchief with unreadable eyes, hands tightening around it once or twice as his mind traveled elsewhere. But then, he smiled fully and openly, unable to stop himself. That was probably the moment the world stopped for you, because that smile…you will never forget it for as long as Utopia stood on its grounds.

Without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand, warm and sure, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like it belonged there. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, as a genuine, helpless smile reached his eyes.

You didn’t need to say anything either as your fingers laced with his. You’ve already told him everything you needed to as the both of you sat quietly in the room, letting the tea grow cold, the snow falling gently outside bearing witness upon you two.

Things went back to normal after that, but at the same time, some things have definitely changed between you and San especially after that afternoon tea session.

For one, you had tea with him at least three times a week, most of it because he would literally clear his schedule out just to make time for you. Secondly, and probably that made your heart beat wildly, the flowers never stopped. San would still send one every single day without fail.

You had no idea how he was acquiring them, especially because he had sent some flowers that you knew could not survive the harsh snow of the kingdom, though Yunho’s exhausted demeanor and tired, sunken eyes should have been an indicator to you.

There were some things whose change was gradual, however. San and you went back to your duties, especially the politically inclined ones. It definitely sent you for a whiplash since you were slowly getting used to the sweetness he’s been showing you lately to the point that you had forgotten how utterly intimidating San was as a king and a ruler.

But the thing that would immediately make you blush that most was when the rare, inopportune moments where he would give you a subtle smile and nod in between those sessions. 

The change definitely wasn’t immediate, but it was there, just like Yunho had said. It wasn’t something you noticed on the get go since San had gotten so busy again that you began to assume that he barely noticed you.

But this time, you actually tried to really pay attention like Yunho said because this time, you started to notice that he actually did watch you. And once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Which begged the question - had San always been like this and you were just gullible?

The first instance was when you were with Mingi at one of your classes, San supervising in the background as usual as he did his own work, quill in hand, signing document after document. As Mingi lectured away, something tugged at you. And you didn’t mean to do it, but in the soft blur of your peripheral vision, you saw it and your breath hitched.

Because San was already looking at you, quill still in hand. And that was the thing, subconsciously, you knew he had a habit of pausing once in a while, but you didn’t know it was because he was watching you.

And it should have unnerved you, especially because he literally stared at you the entire study. His expression was neutral, yet alert as he literally stared at everything you did with that look in his eyes, and he stared long enough that you felt it all the way down your spine.

The second was when you were with Wooyoung when you were looking at a catalogue of some winter apparel since you needed more. As you were fitting in some of them, you noticed a shadow lingering in the reflection of the mirror. San was silent, literally almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention, which was how he probably got away with it before.

But there he was, arms folded as he stared at the way the coat hung on your shoulders. You tilted your head curiously, looking back at him and making direct eye contact. Strangely, San looked away, pretending that he wasn’t even staring to begin with, eyes drifting to the window to watch the snow outside as if he’s never seen them.

You had to commend the effort. You bit your lip hard, trying not to burst out laughing, but Wooyoung didn’t even bother hiding it, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach and lean against the clothing rack for support. “I never thought I’d see this day come,” he cackled. “Oh, that was a tragedy if I ever saw one, my lady. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.”

You felt heat rush from your cheeks to your neck. So, apparently, everybody knew San had been fondly watching you from afar all along except for you. “I don’t know what you mean,” you squeaked. “San–uh, His Majesty wasn’t staring. Perhaps, just inspecting what’s proper for me.”

“Of course not,” Wooyoung smirked, eyes dancing. “His Majesty was simply…deeply invested in the structural integrity of winter apparel.”

San cleared his throat softly from where he stood near the window. When he turned back, his expression was back to that menacing and domineering one, even shooting Wooyoung a warning look, yet his ears were unmistakably pink.

“That coat,” he cleared his throat. Before, you would have mistaken it for something that lacked emotion, but now, it was clear that it was restraint. “It fits you. It keeps the wind out.”

You mumbled your thanks and his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary, soft and fond, before he turned away again, pretending very hard that the snow outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

But the most damning thing was when you were in a council meeting, one that was held in the Great Halls along with the other nobles, both comrades and the usual ones who opposed royalty in general.

San sat on the end of the meeting table while you sat on the far end, the regality dripping off of him effortlessly. He looked distant and dangerous, face painted with so much calm. From the outside, he was the very image of intimidation, the untouchable king straight out of everyone’s nightmares. Even the ones who loathed royalty kept their voices measured.

But you knew better. Now you did. Because his eyes were on you, measuring and assessing, and no one suspected a thing. It was subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it, but not you. No, never you. You were used to feeling his eyes on you now; craved it at this point, even.

Because how can you not when he held the handkerchief you gave him like it was the only thing that kept him going in this dreaded meeting? Ever since you gave it to him, he never not had it with him. He took it everywhere, displayed it on the breast pocket of his royal garment even if it looked so out of place. 

“Three deaths in three days. Always the lowest. The poorest of the poor, never the blessed,” San’s eyes narrowed, dark and brooding. “What does that tell you?”

One councilman shifted. “That they don’t know how to stretch what they’re given, Your Grace.”

“Wrong,” San said flatly without looking at him. “It tells us that someone is using the food budget for the poor and pocketing them. Shadows don’t stay in the dark forever, gentleman. ”

You watched as his hand held the handkerchief a little too tightly in his hand to rein his anger in. People often mistook his stillness for indifference. In truth, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what his next response was going to be.

Everybody in the room froze, but not you. Even when San looked like he was about to explode, he still had the handkerchief in his hand and he didn’t just hold it - he also adjusted it, smoothing the creases with his thumb. It would have been comical if you weren’t so touched.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began, hand gesturing at each person, the same hand that held the cloth. “Come nighttime, there will be an internal audit of every noble who even breathed in the fund’s direction. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are not…well.”

His mouth curved, humourless, setting the handkerchief on to the side to brace his hands on the table to lean forward. “You are going to learn what it’s like to starve under my watch. Just like the people who you had stolen from.”

The councilman nearest to San, however, thought it was a good thing to try and change the topic. “T-That’s, uh, quite a fine piece,  Your Grace. Unusual for king to keep on hand, though,” he stammered, his hand already reaching for the cloth San had set aside. “May I—”

“Don’t.”

It was just a word and it made everyone’s breath still, including yours. A loud thud resonated around the room when San’s hand deliberately came down over the cloth. San lifted his gaze then, and whatever lived behind his eyes was cold, sheer, ancient anger. 

“If you touch that,” San sneered. “You will discover how merciful starvation is compared to what I’ll do to you.”

The man recoiled, stuttering apologies, and for a fleeting second, San’s eyes met yours. He nodded, a silent reassurance. He folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it into his coat, close to where his heart would be if he were brave enough to admit that’s why he put it there.

“Meeting adjourned,” he murmured. “Before my patience is tested further.”

No one needed to be told twice. You stood up amidst the rush of the people trying to escape San’s brewing wrath, but as you do, you felt your dress suddenly getting yanked backwards, gasping softly when your balance faltered, Hongjoong barely able to stop you from falling.

A councilman, one of the few who looked down on your modest background as a farm girl, accidentally stepped on your gown. Irritation flashed on his face and without even apologising, he steps aside, causing your shoe to come undone from your foot to slip a few feet away.

Heat flooded your cheeks. Your gasp had caught people’s attention, and by now, everyone’s eyes were on you. Before you or Wooyoung could bend down to retrieve your shoe, San was already there, hand on your waist. You blinked at how fast he was considering you were far.

“Are you alright?” San whispered tenderly as if the room didn’t just witness him almost unleashing his fury earlier. 

More heat crawled up your face, though this time it was for a different reason. “Y-Yes,” you said. “My shoe, I just need to—”

You couldn’t even finish that sentence. San was already kneeling in front of you, your shoe in his hand while the other still steadied you. “San–Your Grace,” you hissed in mortification, panic creeping in instantly. “Please, get up, this is embarrassing. Y-You don’t have to…”

Your sentence died in your throat when San looked up at you, a slight smile on his face, expression soft in a way only you will ever get to witness. “I want to,” he reassured in spite of the way the room silenced at the exchange between you two.

Because the Choi San was on his knees. The King of Utopia was kneeling. Your head spun as you watched him brushed away the imaginary dust on your shoe before guiding it back on your foot, touch gentle and almost reverent like you were worthy of lowering himself for. 

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. One scandalised councilman spoke out. “Y-Your Grace,” he stammered, incredulous. “This is unbecoming of you. A-Are you doing what we think you’re doing?”

San raised a brow, turning his head slightly. “Yes,” he replied as he adjusted your shoe,  ensuring it fit comfortably before rising to stand again, arm snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”

No one answered - no one dared to. You stared at San, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at what he had just done. This wasn’t some sort of show to assert his dominance in court, this was a deliberate message he was sending to everybody who was here to witness it.

You were to be respected. You were to be protected. You were his future queen. You were his future wife and you were utterly his. It was strong, because San’s words were the law and they were absolute. If the nobles defied this unwritten rule, they’ll get what’s coming for them.

Your heart swelled painfully as San glanced back at you, his expression still hard and fearsome, but his eyes, his eyes always told you a different story. You couldn’t help the genuine smile that crossed your face as he led you out, because you were more than alright. 

It wasn’t that you were treated badly to begin with, but ever since that day in the meeting room, you could tell that everybody looked at you differently. It wasn’t anything remarkable and you would have missed it if you weren’t looking up close.

The thing that made it obvious to you was that it didn’t come from the people who already knew you; it came from the nobles that used to oppose you. Every time you passed them, they all had varying looks of respect, uncertainty, and acceptance. There was no in between. It was odd. “Is it wrong that this feels more unsettling than outright disdain?” You chuckled while you were having tea with San again, sipping on the tea he had chosen for you this time.

He hummed, not really replying immediately, but you caught it - the tiny smile he tried not to show when you closed your eyes and sighed in contentment after that sip. “When you’re used to something, the change might be unsettling at first,” he said, words wise yet concise.

“I would suppose so,” you whispered quietly. You knew he heard you considering that he was seated close to you. Now that you think about it, the more tea sessions you have, the closer he keeps sitting towards you. You definitely weren’t complaining.

Tea times with San were the highlight of your day. The both of you didn’t even do much, just basked in each other’s presence, but it was peaceful and it just felt right. San still didn’t talk much, his face still dark and indiscernible, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer, almost fond with adoration.

The air around him wasn’t any lighter, but it was gentler, and they became warmer the moment his eyes would meet yours. He poured the tea himself, adjusted the cup so the handle faced you, nudged a small plate of sweets closer without saying anything. His facade never broke, expression still carved in stone, but his actions always said otherwise.

Every so often, his gaze would drift to the window, where the snow had begun to fall just a little faster than usual. Nothing alarming, just enough to notice. His jaw would tighten once in a while but every single time, he would turn his undivided attention back to you.

The contrast would make your chest ache both with warmth and something you couldn’t name yet because even when the world outside unsettled him, he always turned back to you.

Until he didn’t, and the snow began falling at a rate so alarming, no one even dared to look at the windows for fear that the snow would swallow the entire palace this time. Tea times lessened and San would look more fatigued, more worn down somehow that you actually had started to worry if he was going to get sick.

The thought of him being in that position again where he could barely help himself. You didn’t even want to think about it. Today was one of those days where San had to cancel tea with you and you were left in your room, staring at the snow from your windows falling at a troubling rate.

It was one of those things that unfortunately, you couldn’t do anything about. Such was the curse of Utopia. That is, until you noticed the situation from beyond - the servants getting sick from the cold, worries from other good nobles of commoners passing from severe frostbite, vendors having to pause their livelihood from the severe storm.

You had to do something about it. One good thing that came out of San's fondness of you was that when it came to politics, he actually listened to you, took your points into consideration in what to do even if he’d end up doing something else along the way.

“You are my soon-to-be wife,” he’d say. “My other half and the half of the kingdom’s future, not some ornament hanging beside me. I also reckon two brains are better than one.”

It was how you found yourself being led by Jongho to the meeting room, the same one San defended you from. You were about to enter when Jongho’s arm shot up in front of you in alarm, distress clear on his face.

“W-What’s the matter?” You asked, now worried as well.

Jongho put his finger on his lips, using his other hand to push the door open very, very carefully, and you immediately understood why. Now, you’ve never heard San raise his voice before, but you wish you never did.

“Y-Your Majesty,” one of the few good and brave nobles, stood near San, with a pleading look in his eyes. “It is for the best, look at our kingdom, it’s buried in snow. If we don’t give her—”

“No,” San snarled, both hands slamming against the table with abnormally inhuman strength. The sound echoed violently, nothing like the controlled authority you were used to. “I said no.”

“But, Your Grace, the snow will swallow Utopia whole—” “Heed our request, sire. This is what Lady Y/N is here for—”

“It is for the greater good, one sacrifice for the greater good of the entire kingdom—”

Several nobles spoke at once, but San wasn’t having it. His shoulders were tense, breath heavy, until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!” He growled, swiping everything on the table down to the floor. “Enough. I do not want to hear it, I refuse to hear any of it.”

Nothing was left untouched in his fury -  scrolls clattered, ink spilled, quills broke. The room went deathly silent. Even Jongho didn’t dare breathe beside you, and you couldn’t even begin to think why you kept being mentioned in the conversation.

“This is non-negotiable, do you hear me?” San snapped, voice raising another octave as he was hunched over the table. “If I see any of you attempt to even touch a hair on her head…if I hear any of you so much as talk about doing it…”

He paused, chest heaving in the severity of his own anger, a deep, unsettling laugh crawling up his chest. “I will end you. I will erase your bloodline. I will kill you.”

The threat, itself, should’ve made you nervous, but something else made your heart pound, instead - San’s entire arm and neck area. Dark, cursed branches of blackened veins creeped from his hands, all the way to his arms and neck area, spread across like a rotten disease. The same ones you saw on his chest one time.

An involuntary gasp leaves you, prompting San to turn his head towards you, and you stopped breathing completely when you saw his eyes. They were dark - literally and figuratively. They were entirely black, no whites left as darkness seemed to swallow both his eyes. And they were now staring at you.

When San realised it was you, however, his anger seemed to vanish instantly. When he blinked, his eyes were back to normal and only the branches on his skin remained. “Y/N,” he exhaled, uttering your name out like it was the only thing he needed to breathe at the moment.

Suddenly, San begins coughing, normally at first before they turn into worrying wheezes that had Yunho, who you didn’t even notice was in the room, swiftly striding across the room to pat him on the back. “San, calm down, please,” he placated. “The snow’s already weakening—”

“Take over,” San cut off, harshly pushing the mage’s hand away, as he made his way straight towards you, gesturing to a rigid Jongho. “Call Seonghwa. The three of you take over me.”

You didn’t protest when he grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You certainly didn’t protest when he started leading you to his chambers, temporarily letting go of your hand to open a door on the far side of his room to reveal a narrow staircase. And you trusted him.

That trust turned out to be well-deserved when you realised that you were on top of a tower, overlooking the entire kingdom, but that wasn’t what starstruck you - it was the stars above, beautiful twinkles of faraway clusters that overlooked and saw everything.

San didn’t say anything, just leaning over the balcony. All you could do was stare at him - the darkened branches that littered his hands and arms, the unreadable look on his face that was scrunched deep in thought, the way the locket around his neck glowed and pulsated wildly brighter than the stars. You could even feel heat emanate from it from where you stood.

You didn’t realise that you were lost in thought, not until you were enveloped in San’s scent, felt the warmth of fur and wool wrapped around your shoulders as he draped his coat all over your shivering body. “San,” you started, fisting the coat closer. “You’re going to get cold.”

He shook his head, snowflakes falling from his hair as he did so. “I don’t get cold,” he murmured, pointing at the locket. “You were staring at this, it prevents me from feeling chills,” he explained, voice tilting in amusement. You were about to touch it, but he held your hand to stop it, alarm on his face. “Don’t,” he quickly said. “Just…don’t.”

“Why?” You bravely asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped the locket around his fists and you saw in real time how the curse on his skin started to slowly disappear. You were rendered mum. You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to know, so much information you knew you were missing, and a lot of anxiety over being left behind on a secret you knew you had no right to.

In a blink of an eye, the wind and the snow died. It stopped so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. It wasn’t normal, you knew it wasn’t, especially when San didn’t even look the least surprised about it. If anything, he looked relieved, like he was expecting it to happen, even.

And then, he coughed, his chest heaving at the force of his cough. Your eyes widened a little when you watched a thin trail of blood slipped from his nose, widening a bit more when San barely reacted, just wiping it with the back of his hand. “S-San,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied calmly, almost tired. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, unbothered by the unnatural stillness around you. “It happens when I push too far.”

Push what?

The question burned on your tongue - the snow, the curse, the locket. You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you. “Do you think,” he interrupted suddenly, voice low, “That I am doing the right thing?”

You blinked, stunned at the sudden, albeit clever, diversion. “What do you mean, San?”

Your heart broke for him. There was no king to be found in San’s eyes. He was just a man who looked impossibly tired. “This. All of this,” he lifted his hand, gesturing at the entirety of the kingdom. “What if all of this was for naught? That I’m failing my own people with my own bare hands without meaning to?”

“No, you’re not,” you answered quickly. “You can’t do this to yourself, San. You can’t fault yourself for the unpredictable. Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to and that’s alright because that’s out of your hands.”

He turned to look at you then, really looked at you, and scoffed good-naturedly in disbelief, like what he was seeing in you was too good to be true. “I’ve thought of abdicating,” he confessed. “Many times. That, perhaps, Utopia would be better off without me.”

You didn’t say anything right away; you couldn’t, because what could you possibly say to that? “There’s no right answer,” you finally replied. “No one has the right to fault you for doing what you thought was right at the moment. The only thing we can do is hope for the best.”

San’s jaw tightened. “You’re,” he breathed out, stepping closer, snaking his hand around your waist, trembling as if he was trying to stop himself from doing something. “Insane.”

You swallowed, heat traveling on your skin, training your eyes on his locket so you wouldn’t see the way his eyes darkened. “You’re a good king, San,” you said honestly, steadying your voice.

“How so?” San rasped, his voice deepening in timbre, rattling your core.

“Do you remember the first time we met? That day in the throne room?” You asked, trying hard not to waver as you felt yourself being pulled flush onto San’s chest. 

“Of course, I do,” he hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering behind your neck. You shivered at the sensation. “I could never, ever forget that day. Why?”

“Because you knew I wasn’t from around here,” you answered like it was obvious. He frowns, confused. “You knew I wasn’t from Utopia because you care about your people, so much so that you remember all of them well enough to know that I’m not one of your subjects.”

He clings on to you just like you were clinging on to the sound of his heavy breathing. Your faces were so close to each other's; one wrong step and your lips would meet. Time was at a standstill. You could drown in him and you'd never want to rise again. 

His hand on your waist had your heart thudding against your ribcage, and you never realized how empty your chest was, how deep it really was, until you were this close to him. "Y/N," he whispered, his breath laboured and shaky. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly. "God, help me..."

There was no way you were meeting his eyes right now. He was right here close to you, so close, doing what he was doing and you letting him do it, and just leaning towards it. His hand held your chin and gently lifted it forward to meet his eyes. You bit your lips in apprehension and his eyes followed the movement. You knew you were done for when he mirrored you.

"W-What are you doing, San? Woah, this is dangerous," you stammered when you felt him back you up on the edge of the balcony. “I might fall.”

"Don't worry. I'll catch you when you fall."

Your heart felt heavy. "I believe it," you whispered, voice so small you weren't sure if he heard it.

But he did. The way he looked at you, how could you hold back from wanting to kiss him? If you leaned forward, you could capture his lips easily. "Don’t look at me like that," he begged, his voice between a plea and a demand. "I don't want to be reading this wrong right now, please."  

"I don't know what to say," you squeaked. "It's not that easy—"

"I can make it easy for you," he said, his voice dropping an octave. You watched as he took the locket off, throwing it haphazardly on the ground. You watched him grimace in slight pain at parting with the locket, but he didn’t seem to care. "I need you to kiss me."

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. San immediately steals your breath out of you. He captures your lips in a kiss so deep, his chest comes crashing with yours and you had to hold onto him for support. You fervently kissed him back, tilting your head as your breaths mingled. When you start moving with him, he sighed in relief and you couldn't help but do so as well. 

San kissed like he needed you to breathe and live. You could barely catch up, but you kiss him anyway. He brings a hand around your waist and the other behind your head to keep you close to make sure you were really here, like this heated kiss wasn't enough.

It was so easy to lose yourself in the kiss, after all, this was San. Your hands found their way on his head, your fingers slowly entangling themselves on his hair. You felt a bit bold, the rush of the kiss fueling you on. A low growl sounds from the back of his throat before he pulls away, sealing his lips on your neck, instead, to give it little kisses and kitten licks.

You felt his hands roam over your sides, going higher and higher until you felt them stop on your chest area. And when he cups both of your tits in his hands through your clothes, you couldn’t help the airy moan that escapes your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes through your skin.

All you could do was helplessly whimper when you felt his teeth graze your earlobes, his hands toying with your top. And that was all he needed to know before he began to lower your sleeves, pushing your top down to expose your nipples that automatically hardened when the cold air hit them and he wastes no time touching them.

“So sensitive,” he chuckled, his fingers plucking at your nipples. “I've always wondered how these would feel. Would drive me mad whenever I thought about it. ”

You choke back another moan when he rubs his thumbs over the stiffening nubs. “A-Ah,” you gasped. “I've never noticed you looking…”

San responds by pinching a little harder. “But, I was,” he said, relishing the way your face twisted in pleasure as his hand started to massage your inner thighs. “From the moment Yunho brought you in…God, you were a vision, Y/N. Why did you think it took me a while to decide if I should take you as my bride?”

San takes one of your nipples into his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about Utopia,” he said, tongue encircling your nubs as his other hand started to lower your undergarments. “I was imagining all the ways I would take you. Imagining how I would bend you over my throne and take you right there and then.”

Something explodes inside you at that revelation. “Please,” you beg, not really even know what you were begging for. “Please, San, I want you.”

He hummed, the vibration traveling straight through you. He released your nipple, giving it one last lick before he started to lift your dress, about to kneel, when you stopped him. “H-Hold on,” you stammered, slightly scandalised. “S-San, here? W-What if someone sees?”

He smirked dirtily. You faltered, you had never seen such an expression on San’s face. It was obscene. It was everything. He doesn’t respond, bunching your dress up in his hand and pushing them to you, making you grab it, before throwing your leg up on his shoulder as he kneeled down. You gasped, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

His eyes were locked on you, a predatory grin on his lips as he watched your mouth open to let out a silent scream when his latches on your inner thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. It was painful, very much so. “S-San,” you moaned out, feeling pleasure at the same time, pushing his head away in a poor attempt to halt him. “Stop, it hurts—”

“Does it?” He tilted his head sarcastically, clenching his teeth on your skin.

“Y-Yes—”

“Good.”

That seemed to spur him on, the pain scrunching up your face as he sucked even harder, almost drawing blood to the area before moving on to the other thigh. Something about the pain triggers you, and before you knew it, you were pushing his head in, coaxing him to bite and suck harder to the point that the pain was more pleasurable than torturous.

“Say it,” he chuckled darkly, marking you, bruising your entire thigh area over and over again. “Say you’re mine or I stop.”

“N-No,” you sobbed, pushing your thighs together to keep his head in. “Don’t stop, please.”

And he laughs, sadistically so, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy. “Who knew you’d be a pain slut? Just my luck. Look at you, already so wet for me,” he growled, rough and low, teasing your entrance before he pushed a finger in, making you gasp and clench around him.

Your hands slap your mouth shut, trying your best to prevent the lewd moans that threaten to slip past your lips. “You can be loud. It’s okay. We’re alone out here. No one’s going to hear you,” he reassured, not bothering to slow his fingers down. Let go, Y/N. I want to hear you.”

He thrusts his fingers faster to prove a point, obscene wet sounds filling in the entire space along with your breathy moans. “God, you’re dripping wet,” he groaned, his fingers plunging deeper to reach that spot that had you screaming out loud. “I bet you want my cock in here. To stretch this greedy little pussy and make you completely mine, don’t you?”

You arched your back, weak to his onslaughts, the thigh on top of his shoulder shaking helplessly. “San, p-please, that feels so good,” you whimpered.

"Fuck, listen to that," he murmured, the squelching sounds growing louder as he worked you relentlessly. "Your cunt's making such filthy noises. It's begging to cum, isn't it? Go on, soak my hand. Show me what a slut you are for this."

And you could feel it, your orgasm building slowly. “Let me help you out, hmm? Let me,” was all you heard before your vision completely blacked out. You felt San’s tongue flat on your clit, his fingers curling inside you as he laps you up, his tongue stroking your clit over and over again.

All you could do was scream, focusing on that tingly feeling on your abdomen the same time San kept alternating between pumping you with his fingers and his tongue swirling on your clit, slurping dirtily every time your drooling pussy would occasionally squirt on his face, just taking it all in, greedily swallowing your slick.

With a cry, you shattered all over San’s face, blubbering nonsense and begging at the same time as you clenched all over his fingers, all while he talked you through it. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Cum for me, yes.”

You panted heavily, the force of your orgasm literally rocking you. San withdrew his fingers, carefully letting your legs down, before grabbing the back of your head, forcefully stealing a bruising kiss from you, his teeth clashing angrily with yours. He pulls your head back, twice the force and effort, that it had your neck snapping backwards.

“Kneel,” he demanded. Your knees thudded on the floor, as he shoved his pants down, his thick cock springing freely in front of you. It was veiny, the tip already leaking with so much precum. “Open that filthy mouth for me,” he snarled, fisting his cock to slap it against your cheek.

You did as told, leaning forward to take the entirety of his cock in your mouth, but San had other plans. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping it so tightly that the shock of it forced your mouth to open even wider, and that was when he rammed his cock in your mouth without warning.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned low in his throat, pulling on your hair so hard that it had tears pricking your eyes. The pain only made you clench, and your tears made San thrust harder. “This is what you’re made for. I own every holes you have that I can fuck.”

You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag, but he didn’t stop. You had to hold on to his thigh for balance, your saliva dripping pathetically from the corners of your mouth, as he fucked your mouth violently, not stopping and forcing you to take every inch of him. The brutal pace makes your throat burn and tears start streaming down your eyes.

“That’s it, fuck,” San growled ferally, grabbing your hair to pull you back enough to inhale air before slamming back in. “Choke on it, get used to your jaw being stretched out. God, look at you. Your throat’s so fucking tight…”

You struggled to breathe, throat sore, but he only fucked harder, his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust. Your efforts seemed to spur him on and he pushed your head deeper until your nose hit his pubic bone. Your eyes widened, letting out a sound between a whimper and a groan, and you retched around him. You could tell he was loving every second of this.

The sounds of your struggles, your nails digging helplessly on his skin, combined with the lewd slurps of your mouth sucking his cock unleashes something in San. His thrusts grew erratic, grunts turning almost animalistic, and the roughness of him mouth-fucking you just made your pussy throb, aching to be used by the same cock abusing your throat.

“I’m gonna cum, just stay like that—fuck,” San held you still, cock buried to the hilt, as his cum explodes down your throat, pulling away just in time so he could mark your tear-stained face with more cum. He stepped back, admiring how absolutely ruined you looked.

And you stayed kneeling, mouth open as cum began to spill from your mouth, looking up at him reverently in a daze. You were about to close your mouth to swallow, but San stops you, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Ah, ah, ah, you naughty girl,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I didn’t give you permission to swallow. Get up.”

He squeezed your throat, guiding you up as he held it. Your eyes widened in surprise, holding onto his arms all while his cum was still in your mouth. “Mmph,” you let out in panic when he squeezes. You couldn’t breathe even through your nose, but thab t’s exactly what San wanted.

“Go on,” he taunted, effectively cutting off your air supply with one strong squeeze of your throat. “Take a deep breath. Choke.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You gagged, coughing and choking violently on his cum. Filthy, disgusting gurgling sounds of his thick semen filled the air along with his mocking laugh. “Fuck, yes,” he sneered, fingers scooping the remnants of his cum that was scattered all over your face along with the ones dribbling on your neck back in your mouth. “Gurgle my fucking cum, yes.”

It was hellish, almost. The feeling of San’s cum going down but getting stopped halfway every time he squeezes your neck had you gurgling pitifully on it. You were starting to get a little dizzy from the lack of air, lightheaded from the restriction San’s hand had on your throat. You could feel your eyes rolling from the back of your head and it was when San let go.

Your legs buckled at the sudden rush of air to your head, knees thudding back down the floor as cum spilled out from your mouth, chest heaving as you panted hard. You barely felt yourself being lifted up. “Shh, you’re fine. Deep, easy breaths for me,” San soothed, wiping his stickiness off of you with the sleeves of his shirt. “Jump.”

You didn’t even process what he said, your body automatically doing it before your mind could follow. San caught you, your legs locking on his waist as your hands wrapped around his neck while his hands steadied you at your ass to keep you from falling. “Good girl,” he murmured.

His dark eyes locked onto yours and the way he gazed up at you with so much emotion and adoration behind the lust, like you were his entire world, sent shivers up your spine. San leaned in, tenderly compared to his brutal onslaught earlier, but you turned your head, avoiding his kiss. “San,” you croaked. “M-My mouth has your cu–”

A low growl rumbled from his throat. “I don’t give a fuck, don't you dare pull away from me,” he snarled, his voice laced with possessive fire. “You’re mine, Y/N, cum and all. Every inch of you belongs to me. Kiss me or so God help you for what I’m about to do to you if you don’t.”

Before you could protest, his hands cupped your cheeks with rough urgency, thumbs pressing into your jaw to force your face back to his. The kiss was filthy, dominant, and possessive. You melted into it, your core clenching with arousal at how he owned you completely.

You felt his hardness poking your hole, making you squirm, but San held you tight, holding you up with just one arm in an incredible show of strength. “I’m not done with you,” he said, lining himself up. “I’m going to fuck you now, alright? Hold on tight.”

You threw your head back as the both of you moaned the moment San breached you, not even bothering to ease it in and completely burying himself up to the hilt. He moved slowly at first, trying to find a comfortable position as he pulled you down a bit so he could thrust up in you.

“Oh, you’re so tight like this,” he groaned. His words made you clench, a feral snarl sounding at the back of his throat as his fingers dug into your ass as you did so.

He was lifting you by the ass and dropping you down and all you could do was bite the flesh of his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming. San’s self control was slipping, especially when the next bounce had him bucking his hips just as he dropped you onto his cock. Soon enough, he was pistoning roughly in you, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs obscene.

“San, a-ah, S-San, mmm,” you keened, your tits bouncing wildly as he filled you up with speed and force behind each thrust.

And just as he was wildly fucking into you up and and down his cock, he suddenly paused, a low growl vibrating from his chest. You were confused, but then, he kissed you again, this time, devouring you as you felt him walk, carrying you back inside as he climbed down the stairs into his chambers all while he was still inside you.

He still didn’t pull out as he sat down on the bed, taking off his shirt to get completely naked, laying down and positioning you on top of him while you were still dressed up. San looked up at you expectantly and you tried riding him, but your legs were jelly, already exhausted. He narrowed his eyes at your poor attempt at taking his cock.

“Tired already? I barely even started,” he scoffed, slapping your tits, making you whimper. He smirked as beads of sweat started to roll from his forehead down to his chin. His hoarse voice betrayed his pleasure, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “Come on, give it to me. Show me how much you want this cock.”

You bit your lip and sucked on it in anticipation. San raised his eyebrows at your refusal to move even though he could see how red your face was from all the work. "Don't play with me, Y/N. It's not a good idea," his fingers dug on your skin even harder and you were pretty sure it would leave marks the next day. "Move."

"S-San, please, I can’t," you pathetically whimpered. 

His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits before he lifted you by the waist and then roughly slammed you down, effectively impaling you on his cock. You screamed out loud when you felt him hit that sweet spot. "San, please," you whimpered, your shaking hands finding their place on his toned chest.

You felt him tense underneath from your touch, it made his cock twitch inside you and you couldn't help but bite your cheek in the pleasurable sensation. All of a sudden, San grabs the top of your dress, and with a sharp tug, rips it open, a satisfying rip echoing in the quiet room. You were sure you looked insane - a ripped top with your skirt still on.

“Figured this would help,” he laughed darkly. You gasped when he suddenly grabbed your shoulder and pulled you down. "Now fuck me, and you better fuck me good or you're not getting up from this bed." 

You whimpered when he grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly turned your head towards his to capture your lips in a rougher kiss while his other hand firmly held your ass and pushed it down to deepen his cock inside you. "San, yes, you feel so good i-inside me," you moaned out after he had driven deeper in you, head swimming in pleasure.

“You’re so cock dumb that you need my help fucking this dick, huh?” San mocked, his own moans mirroring yours as he guided your hips back and forth.

Your answer was another breathy moan. You were growing lax in his grip, just letting San do whatever he pleased. Nothing was stopping him now from jamming his cock into your pussy and every thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, but she still found the ability to scream out.

“This pussy is mine to use, yeah? Look at you, so tired but still taking my cock so well.” He palms your tits, his possessive gaze locked onto your pleasure-filled face. “God, you’re all mine, Y/N. Mine. Don’t stop now, you’re doing me so well.”

The feel of him, the scent of him, how deep you felt for him, just him…it was so overwhelming. And San can see it, the exhausted haze in your eyes as he fucked up at you. With a low grunt, he wraps his arms around your waist and flips you over in one fluid motion, pinning you on the mattress, your legs spread wide for him to admire.

You whined when he pulled out, slowly taking all of your clothes off until you were left bare and nude for him. You flushed red in embarrassment, but that soon turned into something when you saw the look in San’s eyes as he paused, drinking the sight of your naked body.

The way his gaze roamed your entire form with softness and tenderness left you breathless. Tears pricked behind your eyes at the way he lightly trails his hands all over you, reverence clear in his touch. His thumb swipes your tears away, his eyes shining with devotion that cut through the lust, adoration swelling in his chest until it physically aches him.

“You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmured, roughly but tenderly. He cups your face gently, savouring the vulnerability as if owning you felt like the deepest and greatest honour for him. “You’re so…God, fuck, I don’t know what to say. I just want to…”

His tenderness can only last so long. He shifts forward, gripping your thighs to spread them wider and without warning, slams his hips forward, burying his cock back in you in one brutal thrust that makes your back arch off the bed. “Oh, God, San,” you moaned out. “S-San—”

“That’s it, take me. Take all of it,”  he snarled, pulling out almost fully before ramming back in, the wet slap of your bodies echoing. He pounds into you relentlessly, balls slapping against your ass with each drive, leaning in to kiss you passionately.

He pulled away so you could both inhale once. It only took one look in each other's eyes before you were both tangled into each other once more. It felt good - it felt comforting like you were getting embraced by some unforeseen grace and wrapped you in its bosom even though you felt like his cock was about to split you into two.

You tense, mouth gaping open when San bites and marks your collarbone. “San,” you cried. “Mmm, t-too much.”

“Tell me how my thick cock ruins you, how you crave to be bred,” he panted. You tighten around him to an alarming degree and you feel him smirk against your skin. “Oh? You like that? Want me to breed you?”

“Yes, San, yes,” you gasped, arching your back. “I-I want you to b-breed me, please.”

”Then I'll fill you up, mark you inside out, until you can't walk without feeling me.”

It’s all you can do to claw at his back, relishing the feel of his cock pumping into you. Every time San thrusts, he grunts, every roll of his hips into yours hits that spot inside that makes you see stars. And you just take it, because this was San. You’d do anything for San.

You grabbed his face so he could look at you. "Cum inside me," you were breathless, but it was like you stole his breath with how his cock seemed to harden even more inside you, if that was possible.

San’s eyes visibly darkened and he started pounding into you wildly. It was hard enough to make the bed creak obnoxiously as his cock plunges into you even deeper than before. Mindblowing pleasure started to ignite your insides, blanking your mind as your screams went up a pitch, cumming around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, fuck,” he gritted his teeth, groaning lowly as you felt the warm gush of his cum spurt inside you. You could feel his cock pulsing, and with a few last desperate thrust of his hips, he was finally sated.

He collapsed on top of you as you both panted, riding out your highs. You felt him give your skin little kisses here and there, all while he stroked your hair repeatedly like some sort of mantra. “Y/N,” you’d hear him whisper reverently. “Oh, my Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N…”

He rolls off of you, making you groan as you feel warm liquid gush from your pussy, one that he silently wipes off with a wet towel before laying down next to you, scooping you up carefully so you could rest your head on the crook of his shoulder. You stay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, when San suddenly breaks the silence.

“Do you really like Utopia?” He asked, almost idly like an afterthought.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a random question. “Of course I do.”

“How much?” His gaze finally found yours. “Enough to fight for it? Enough to lead it, if one day you had to?”

Your heart stuttered inside your chest, but you chalked it up as nothing. After all, sex sometimes made people think of hypothetical scenarios and you decided to humour San with this one. “Yes,” you answered honestly. “Utopia needs someone to love it even though it’s cruel.”

He exhaled, visible relief loosening in his shoulder, his lips curved faintly. “Perhaps,” he murmured, kissing your forehead lightly. “You might be the queen Utopia actually needs.”

San had disappeared. Vanished into thin air the next day.

When you woke up the next day, you were completely alone, San’s side of the bed gone cold. You didn’t think anything of it, he had duties as king and he couldn’t just stay in bed for you all day, but when got back to your chambers with a worried Wooyoung and a panic-stricken Hongjoong arguing with Jongho about San’s whereabouts, it was when your entire world fell.

“There is no way Your Grace would do that,” Jongho pressed, walking back and forth in the throne room, anger in his tone, dismay and doubt on his face at each passing second. “He just went for a ride. That’s all. Sometimes he does that after the curse—”

“Jongho, it’s been over half a day,” Hongjoong insisted, irritated at the taller man as he raised his voice up a notch, making you flinch. “Hell, the fucking mage doesn’t even know where he is. He did not go for a ride and you know it.”

“So, what?” Jongho yelled back, the usually composed adviser slowly losing his cool. “Are you telling me that His Majesty ran away? Is that it? Are you even hearing yourself?”

You took a step back, dread filling your entire chest. Just the night before, you had laughed softly at his questions, brushing them off as speculation, never once suspecting that his questions weren’t meant to be hypothetical at all. You quickly ran off, ignoring how Hongjoong kept calling you back and pleading for you to stay put. You needed to get out of there.

The entire palace was in shambles, the servants and nobles all scrambling but failing to contain themselves at the thought of their missing king. Some of them were genuinely worried for San, but there were a select few who feared of the said curse completely annihilating the kingdom now that San was missing.

You didn’t heed any of them, worriedly looking for San even in the most obscure of places. Your panic rose every time you were met with an empty room, holding back tears as you imagined all the worst possible ways of what might have happened while you were asleep. You probably looked pathetic, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to see San again.

An idea pops in your head. Yunho. Having no other options left, you quickly ran to the mage’s quarters, not caring how unladylike you looked as you sprinted down the hall. He didn’t even notice you come in as he was speaking urgently to Seonghwa, his expression grim. When Yunho noticed you, whatever composure he had shattered.

He quickly dismissed Seonghwa and ran towards you. The poor man was so distressed, sunken bags of purple splotching his skin, whatever magic in him getting sapped little by little by how much effort he was putting in finding his king and your eyes fell, feeling for the man. “Yunho,” you breathed out. “A-Are you alright?”

Your chest wanted to cave in itself, panic clawing further up your skin. If magic cannot even reach San, then what will? “I-I was with him last night,” you swallowed, spitting the admittance out even if it embarrassed you so. 

Yunho puts two and two together, brows shooting up in surprise, but chose not to comment on what you were trying to tell him, and you were thankful about it. You told him everything, minus the sexual details - San’s insecurities about being king, him thinking about abdicating at one point, all the way to the questions about you leading Utopia if the time came.

Yunho swore under his breath, a sharp, uncharacteristic sound. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “It might be the curse.”

“I need to know, Yunho. I think I’ve held off for far too long,” you pleaded, eyes burning. Yunho looked hesitant, but you pressed on. “I’ve respected your silence as an elder, respected San as the authority, and I respected Utopia as a whole since I’m not of this land and maybe I didn’t have the right to know. Please. Tell me. I need to know, I’m begging you.”

Something in your face must have touched something deep in the mage, and finally, he gives a slow nod. He exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging like the weight of centuries had finally caught up to him. “You’re going to need to sit for this one,” he murmured, gesturing towards a chair.

You didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, bringing his palms up, a small glow of light emanating from it, to touch your forehead as you felt yourself being transported into a memory. “While I cannot tell you, I could show you. Close your eyes.”

The world tilted on its axis. At first, you were confused because you saw a castle, a very familiar looking one at that and it was when it hit you - it was Utopia, only this time, there was no snow. It was lush and green, alive and well. You quickly realised that this was Utopia far before the snow started to swallow the kingdom, long before it had turned inhabitable.

And on the front of the castle grounds was a man in armour, standing proudly over an anguished woman, screaming at the top of her lungs in despair as she cradled the bloody body of another man who had long passed, her grief so raw that it split the sky open.

You gasped in horror at what you were witnessing, even more so when you looked closer. The man in the armour, he looked like San, only this one was far younger, and his eyes; they were unkind. Psychopathic, almost, not capable of empathy as he embellished the blood-soaked sword he had presumably used to slay the now dead man on the ground.

“You killed him,” she mourned, her tears falling in torrents, voice breaking as her blood soaked hands tried hard to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. “You killed him, you monster!”

But the cruel man didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, just watched with wild, possessive eyes. You gasped when the woman looked up, her eyes glowing red in fury, the magic exploding from her so strong that even you could feel it from this memory.

“May your kingdom know only the cold that took him from me,” she seethed. She rose slowly to her feet, and when she stood fully, her magic surged again, this time, stronger and final.

For the first time, the man in armor reacted. “What are you doing?” He barked, stepping forward with unease as the temperature dropped around him. You watched in horror as a sudden blizzard filled the entire space and palace. “Stop, you cannot—”

“May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow,” she cried. You felt it, the cold slamming into you as snow immediately blanketed the kingdom of Utopia. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne and be claimed in return will the winter break.” Then the vision shattered. You gasped, eyes flying open, Yunho’s hand still resting against your forehead, his expression heavy with regret. “W-What was that?” You blurted out in disbelief at what you just saw. “Who was that? H-He looks like San, who was that woman?”

“He does, because that was San’s father,” Yunho sighed, panting to catch his breath from all the energy he exerted. “There was a beautiful forest witch who lived in the woods that he saw hunting once. He immediately fell in love with her, or rather, obsessed. It was disgusting, San’s mother died from heartbreak when San was only a newborn.”

Yunho dragged his hands down his face in defeat. “It was greed in its coldest form. The witch’s heart already belonged to someone else, and in a jealous rage, San’s father killed him. In front of her, no less. It’s why Utopia’s cold and desolate. The snow is a manifestation of her grief.”

“And when the former king died, that cruel bastard,” Yunho continued, his voice rough. “The curse didn’t fade…it passed. San absorbed it instantly.”

Your chest tightened, stomach twisting into something painful as your nails dug into your palms. “I-I don’t understand,” you uttered. “What do you mean it passed? Are you telling me that…”

You trailed off, not even wanting to continue. May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow. The words were still clear in your head like a ringing siren. Yunho nodded grimly when you looked at him. “Not only did she curse the kingdom as a whole to eternal coldness, but also the entire Choi bloodline for that very same greed that killed her lover,” he confirmed. 

Anger filled your veins at the man who had pretty much cursed his son for greed he couldn’t control. “At first, we didn’t understand what was happening,” the mage spoke, a faraway look in his face as he recalled a memory he’d been wanting to forget. “The snow just never melted and storm after storm claimed hundreds of lives. San’s father didn’t live long enough for me to study the curse. However—”

He paused, swallowing audibly, looking towards the floor. “There was someone who did live long enough,” he whispered, voice cracking. “And he’s been missing for half a day now. He was but a child back then, Y/N. I-I just…sorry, I need to collect myself.”

A cold realization slid down your spine. San. You imagined a boy growing up under a weight no one should have to carry, a vessel for sins he never committed. That was the part that hurt the most to you because it was no wonder there was always something distant in his gaze, walls you could never get through, because he was always bracing for the cold no else could feel.

“I tried everything back then, you know?” Yunho finally spoke after a long silence, decades of desperation still lingering in his eyes. “I tried every magic I knew even if it almost killed me, but the snow just would not melt. But San…he loved Utopia even if the entire kingdom condemned him.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, letting him continue. “Utopia’s bound to its ruler. The Choi clan. The witch was smart enough to kill two birds with one stone - completely end the bloodline with the one thing that could outlast generations while erasing the entire kingdom.”

Your breath caught. “The snow.”

Yunho nodded. “Ironically, San was the one who realised what the curse actually entailed. Have you noticed that he never wears anything thick? He never gets cold when he’s outside with you, have you noticed that?”

You stayed silent, the puzzle pieces connecting slowly. Just last night when you were out on that balcony, he gave you his coat, even admitting outright that he never got cold. “He said the locket prevented him from being cold,” you murmured to yourself more as an afterthought.

“That was half the truth, yes,” Yunho said. “The reason is because the curse wasn’t meant to destroy the land outright - it was meant to bury it. ”

A chill crawled up your spine. “Then why hasn’t it yet?”

Yunho looked at you then, eyes dark with something close to reverence. “Because San wouldn’t let it. San absorbed the snow. Literally. Accidentally discovered it one Christmas evening when it stormed so bad, the snow was waist deep. It was the magic trying to reclaim Utopia completely. He got so sick, we thought we were losing him.”

The realization hit you hard. “So when there’s a storm—”

“He’s at his weakest,” Yunho finished. “Because he’s burning himself out to keep the snow at bay. Holding it back long enough for people to survive another day. The dark marks along his skin, they were the curse in itself, but more so just a side effect of him straining and pulling the curse inside him so the storm would stop, at least, for a while.”

The pieces slid together with a sickening clarity. Christmas was winter time and therefore where storms are the strongest. No wonder he hated it. No wonder he had isolated himself, it was so he could suffer in silence. And you were none the wiser.

You remembered how he’d convulsed, vomiting helplessly, blood streaking from his nose as if his body were tearing itself apart from the inside. And then, days later, the storm had stopped as if nothing had happened. It hadn’t passed - San had just taken it. He had been protecting his people all his life and nobody even knew it, choosing to be condemned just to keep them alive. 

And suddenly, you understood why San never stopped watching the skies; why even if he was with you or preoccupied with other people or in the middle of an important meeting he would always look out the windows. “The locket?” You asked weakly.

“I made it for him,” he said quietly. “Years of San absorbing the snow had not been kind to his body. I wove magic into it so a part of the curse is in that locket. When the storm hits, it absorbs the curse before it reaches him. Not all of it, but enough to keep him alive until...well.”

His voice turns somber. “Without it, he wouldn’t survive the storms. Not anymore. And believe me, we tried transferring the curse to an enemy at one point by making them wear the locket, but it was too strong. Whoever touches it instantly perishes.”

You looked at him more closely,  the way his jaw tightened as if holding back years of grief. And suddenly, you noticed it. This wasn’t just sorrow, this was something deeper. “You raised him,” you said softly. “You love him.”

He only nodded, once, eyes shining as he looked away. “He wasn’t just my king, Y/N. That’s my boy,” he wavered, emotions finally coming through. “And he deserved something good for once. Which is exactly why you’re here, we needed you. Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne. The moment I saw you in that alleyway, I knew you were a kind soul, Y/N. Utopia becoming a legitimate kingdom with a queen was only half the reason.”

Yunho proceeds to explain that while it was true that they needed a queen, the reason why San was marriageless until now was because of what the curse said. It wasn’t hard for San to force someone into a marriage or use something to bargain to find a queen, but it would be useless because the curse required someone to enter into the marriage willingly. And that was that, they thought that by you being here willingly, winter was going to fade.

But it didn’t. Nothing had changed and everyone was back at square one. “The problem was,” Yunho continued, exhaling shakily. “There was the other half of the curse. One that San absolutely refused to acknowledge. Be claimed in return will the winter break.”

You halted at the insinuation, freezing like snow had been piled on top of your head. Your mind automatically raced with scenarios you didn’t want to think about. Yunho’s silence had pretty much confirmed everything you needed to know. To be claimed in return. They were going to kill you, use you as a sacrifice to balance the curse so the snow would finally stop and winter would come to an end. A willing queen and a king to give her up.

“There was no way in hell San was going to let anything happen to you. You saw it yesterday. He didn’t just reject it, he lost control,” he said firmly. “There was never a doubt in his mind.”

“So, what now? Where do we even find him?” You asked, chest aching painfully. “There must be a solution, Yunho, something we could do to completely reverse this curse. I could hit the library for information, anything at this point. There has to be a way.”

“Well, yes, there is…” Yunho trailed off, freezing as blood completely drained from his face. Whatever he just thought of had him off kilter so bad, he got up from his chair and knocked everything off the shelves in the process. 

Before you knew it, he hurriedly bolted out of the room in sheer panic, leaving you to chase after him, the adrenaline boosting you because Yunho was fast. “Yunho,” you chased after him, ignoring the burning sensation in your lungs and the sudden cold that hit you when you realised you had chased him all the way out to the horse stables. “What’s—”

“I know where he is,” Yunho gritted his teeth, already preparing to mount a horse. You could tell he was trembling in fear, swallowing the panic that had overtaken him. “San’s planning to sacrifice himself. The land is bound to him, and his death would end the curse. Quickly, Y/N, hold my hand. We have to find him now.”

Terror filled your lungs, nodding anyway as you mounted, hands shaking so badly Yunho had to steady you before he started to ride away. The cold air hitting your face as the horse moved and blurred your surroundings did nothing to quelch the fear building at the pit of your stomach. All you could think was San and hope that you weren’t too late.

Every second felt like it was tearing something vital from your chest, tears freezing at the corners of your eyes as you rode harder, faster, praying to see the man who had long decided that no curse was worth your life; that he would rather lose himself or let Utopia freeze than forever lose you.

The thought had you keen internally. Please, you begged, tears falling down your face painfully as they automatically froze before they even had the chance to form, gripping the saddle until your knuckles burned. Please don’t let him think he has to disappear for us to survive. 

“W-Where are we going?” You screamed into the air, teeth chattering from the cold.

“The witch’s shack a little further up north where she lived with her lover,” Yunho replied, snapping the reins forward to make the horse go faster. “Her power’s concentrated there.”

It didn’t take long for you and Yunho to end up in a clearing where the trees were a little less condensed but the snow and wind were so strong and thick that it was almost impossible to see through it. But your breath hitched, anyway, because the moment you got past the haze, you saw him clear as day as if he was a beacon shining even from afar.

San. He was standing still in front of a quaint little shack, unbothered by the elements around him, just staring up at the sky with his eyes closed and you hated it. Absolutely detested the sight, because it looked like he had already resigned to his fate and was just waiting for the right moment to execute his plans.

And he was ready. You watched in panic as he raised his hand to his neck, holding the chain of the locket to take it off, but your body was already careening forward. You pushed yourself, jumping off of the horse before it even paused, ignoring Yunho’s panicked calls and the way your leg ached when you fell particularly hard.

“No!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, running like a madwoman through the thick blankets of snow even though your lungs were thinning in air and your legs were aching for reprieve. It was ear-piercing and blood-curdling enough to catch San’s attention, startling him to a halt and turning around, eyes widening when he saw your pitiful form run up to him.

And by God, he looked devastating. You wanted to tear up, it just wasn’t fair for him to look this breathtaking and ethereal even as the snow surrounded him, melancholy wrapping him in its grace as he stared at you with hollow, empty eyes. “San, please,” you begged, sobbing at this point. He looked like his soul had already left him long before his earthly body expired.

He smiled, the lines on his face softening and you abhorred how peaceful it made him look. This was the most at peace San had ever looked and you hated it. “My sweet Y/N,” he croaked, the trembling in his hands betraying the true fear he actually felt. “What are you doing here?”

You yelped, trudging forward in failure when you tripped over a rock you couldn’t see hidden by the thick snow. You pushed yourself up with shaking hands, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t,” you sobbed, words tumbling out broken and raw. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Don’t you dare make that face like you’ve already decided.”

You felt Yunho behind you, steadying you, providing you warmth with the little magic he had left, opting not to say anything. This was between you and San at this point. And San, he just shook his head. “I have exhausted all options,” he said. “I am exhausted. Please, just let me go. I think I have suffered long enough that it should be alright if I could rest a bit, don’t you think so?”

He said it so quietly amidst the oncoming storm and that scared you more than if he’d shouted. Your chest cracked open at the gentleness of it, at how he said it like a plea instead of a decision. “No,” you cried, tears freezing at your lashes. “Not you. Not now. Not ever.”

San’s eyes softened. “Y/N—”

“You’d already come this far, why now? You can’t do this to the people who care for you. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, and especially Yunho. You can’t do this to me. We’ve barely just begun, San, you cannot leave me like this. There has to be a way—”

“Don’t you get it? This is the only way,” San snapped, not out of anger, but more so in desperation, hoping for you to understand where he was coming from even if it meant it was for all the wrong reasons. “The curse ends here. With me. I am the last of my bloodline so with me gone, the curse perishes alongside me.”

“You know damn well that that’s not true,” you snapped back, the frustration giving you a newly found rush of adrenaline that temporarily overtook the cold and the pain in your leg. “I came here willingly, San, and I’m just as willing to do my part to be a sacrificial lamb—”

“No,” he immediately turns down, fire in his eyes so intense it could’ve been enough to melt the snow around him. “I didn’t fight this curse this long to sacrifice someone else in the name of balance, especially not you.”

“So, why won’t you fight for yourself this time?” You asked, voice breaking. “For us?”

“I am,” he said hoarsely. “This is the hardest battle I’ve fought yet. You think I don’t want to stay? You think I don’t want more tea sessions with you even though I despise tea? To stay long enough to finally see my kingdom be warm and green with you by my side?”

Something about that almost confession broke something inside you, and that was the most devastating part of it all. Almost. Just enough to finally tell you how he truly felt about you, but not enough where he was willing to stay long enough to tell you the entirety of it. “Don’t go, San,” you looked at Yunho helplessly. “Tell him, please…”

But the mage stayed mum, conserving his energy to keep you warm from the blizzard even though tears of devastation were already falling from his eyes. San’s voice dropped to something raw. “My throne without you is meaningless and its future built on your death is no future at all,” he admitted before his eyes hardened with finality. “I’m sorry, YN.”

It all happened fast. In one moment, San was lifting his hands to take the locket off, and in the next, you were rushing to him, deliberately knocking him off to tackle him on the ground, momentarily distracting him. Without thinking, you took the locket off of him, putting it around your neck. It was all it took for all hell to break loose.

Yunho’s spell shattered instantly in his state of shock and San’s eyes widened impossibly so as he realised what just happened. Everything was a blur, your ears ringing as you began to tumble down. San screamed your name, the sound of it so raw, primal, and animalistic that you could hear him even when you could barely comprehend the world anymore.

He immediately caught, cradling you in his arms as your vision started to blur out. “Y/N, oh God, what the fuck did you do?” San cried, frantically shaking you as if that would get rid of the curse. “Y/N, why? Why would you do that? Why?”

Your body jerked against his, your chest tightening to a degree where it felt like it was about to cave in on you. Suddenly, you felt this overwhelming cold over you and San’s grip tightened impossibly so. “Yunho,” he called out in panic. “Her hands, oh God—”

Black lines bled through your skin, exactly like the ones on San’s chest. They crept from your hands up your arms all the way towards your throat. Yunho staggered forward, horror breaking his paralysis. “The curse,” he said, voice shaking. “I-I think it’s binding to her—”

San wasn’t listening. He was sobbing now, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaking down his face as he begged you to stay awake. “Look at me,” he pleaded. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me, Y/N, please—”

The last thing you saw was San’s face, utterly broken, grief carved into every line of it as he clutched you to his chest like something already lost.

Warmth you’ve never felt before led your consciousness to awaken. It felt abnormal, like you weren’t to feel it and for a moment, you thought you were back at your parents’ farm - sweat clung to your skin, seeping out of your pores as natural heat from the farmland permeated all over the place. Instead of the humble shack made out of wood and concrete, you were met with arched windows draped in sheer gossamer curtains. The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, and you were confused for a second. This wasn’t the farmlands, and this wasn’t warmth from the sun-baked earth you remembered. 

You had to get up because the sweat was starting to irritate your lower back and you scrambled upright, you had to squint, covering your eyes as sunlight suddenly streamed from the windows. Now that you think about it, your lower back hurts too, like you’ve been laying down for quite some time and the long sleep hurt more than felt restful.

You reckoned you should change out of your dress. It felt a little too thick for the weather. It was a nice day, perfect for a walk when you looked out your windows. The birds were singing outside, the trees were a lovely shade of green and multiple colourful flowers littered the entire palace grounds—

You paused, horribly so. You blinked in a daze, rubbing your eyes in a daze and looked again. No. It was still bright outside, no blankets of snow covering the entire grounds like you knew Utopia to be. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - warm, vibrant, alive. And you staggered, remembering everything all at once - the curse, the locket, San.

Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Wooyoung, looking like he was frozen in time, skin pale as if he had just seen a ghost. Whatever he had been holding slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, forgotten entirely.

Before you could even say hello, he spun on his heel and shouted down the hall, voice cracking with panic and disbelief. “H-Hongjoong,” his voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “Hongjoong!”

Hongjoong burst in, breathless, eyes wild. “What? What happened—” 

The second he saw you standing there, he froze as well before his knees gave out beneath him. He dropped to the floor without shame, head bowing as his hands pressed together. “Thank the Heavens,” he whispered hoarsely, emotion flooding his voice. “Oh, thank the Heavens…”

Neither of them waited a second longer. “I-I’ll inform the mage—” the knight said before leaving.

Wooyoung bolted out as well, shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran down the halls, voice so loud you were sure the entire palace could have heard it. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” The young man hollered, voice brimming with emotion. “Your Majesty, she’s awake!”

And in the chaos of it all, you could hear it, feel him approaching your chambers without even looking, the sounds of panicked footsteps as they got closer and closer and there he was - the man that made your heart beat at the mere thought of him, right in the flesh.

San’s hair was disheveled, like he had run his hand through it so many times in frustration. Your heart was torn between joy and hurt because San looked utterly worn down. The bags beneath his eyes looked darker than mere shadows and he resembled more of a shell of a man whose sleep had long abandoned him.

And now he was staring you at like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, torn between wanting nothing but to hold you versus protecting himself from nightmare and heartbreak just in case this wasn’t real; that maybe he was hallucinating and you were only a figment of his imagination that he wanted so, so bad to manifest.

He flinched, not daring to breathe or blink. Slowly, he began to move closer to you, hands shaking as they hovered over you like he was afraid touching you would make you disappear. Just as suddenly, his legs gave out, knees thudding on the floor as his trembling arms wrapped around your thighs, head buried in your dress as he embraced your form.

“S-San,” you let out in surprise, hands automatically finding their way on his hair. “Please–”

“Don’t,” he spoke, begged, voice raw and muffled. “Please, j-just let me have this.”

When your fingers twitched, he gasped like he’d been holding his breath for as long as you were in that deep slumber and your touch just made him remember how to let air back into his lungs and life into his soul. It was how everyone else caught you and San and there was no dry eye in that room and at that moment.

Seonghwa and Jongho left first after, relief shining in their eyes, both bowing respectfully before they let Yeosang in, the kind-hearted chef holding onto a smiling Mingi. The taller had to lead the former out to give you and San privacy. Only Yunho was left, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Don’t do that ever again. Don’t you ever do that to me again. You don’t understand,” he exhaled. “Y/N. I thought I lost you, you were asleep for so long, I-I just…”

You tried to speak, but your throat burned. You sat down to his eye level, unwrapping his arms around you, grabbing his face between your hands. “San,” you said hoarsely. “Look at me.”

And he did. And by God his face, he looked wrecked up close. Eyes red-rimmed,  jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “I’m here,” you continued, tears slipping free. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re both here. Together.”

Something in him broke. He finally pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, his restraint shattering all at once. He buried his face in your hair, clutching you like you were the only solid thing left in the world before grabbing your face to kiss you. His lips were warm with promise and relief neither of you dared named yet but felt settled deep in your chests.

A pointed, awkward cough cut through the moment. “Ahem.”

You both froze, pulling away to see Yunho standing a few steps away, one brow raised, amusement swimming behind his concern. “I’m still here,” Yunho said dryly. 

You broke out into a breathless laugh first and it was all the three of you needed to make light of the situation. San guided you to the bed to let Yunho examine your body. “You’re perfectly healthy,” he said in disbelief even behind the relief. “A miracle, I tell you. You were reckless and I ought to smack you in the head for what you did, but so far, so good.”

It was when they told you everything that happened after you passed out. They couldn’t wake you up so they had no choice but to bring you back to the palace. San had to look away, jaw tight, when Yunho narrated how the king never left your bedside. But what truly surprised you was that about a week later, the snow started to melt and storms just halted completely.

“J-Just like that?” You asked, not able to stop your surprise, looking outside in confirmation and the scenario was still the same. Utopia looked utterly alive and if you closed your eyes to breathe in, it felt free. “How long did I…sleep?”

Both of them looked at each other before Yunho looked back on you. His expression softened, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Almost four months,” he said quietly. “It’s spring now.”

But something still boggled your mind, something far darker than you didn’t want to acknowledge but had to know. “But how? I don’t understand, is this how it ends? Just like that? Is Utopia free from the curse? Is…” you trailed off. “San free?”

Yunho went quiet for a moment, then slowly repeated the words that had haunted the kingdom for generations. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne,” he said softly. “And be claimed in return, will the winter break.”

You stayed silent, confused, but listened. “For the longest time, we misunderstood that last part as loss, that we needed a pure and kind heart as a sacrifice to stop the snow. But the magic never asked for death. It wanted reciprocation.”

You let that settle in, shaking your head because you still didn’t understand it. You felt San’s grip tighten around your hand and you turned to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face. “My father,” he spoke softly. “He was greedy. Just wanted to possess a love that never belonged to him. To enter willingly to claim the throne and be claimed in return…it was never about sacrifice. It was about being chosen back.”

The words landed like a final piece snapping into place. “In short,” Yunho finished. “To love and be loved in return. A queen of pure heart who was willing to accept a bloodline of rotten rulers with all she had and a king who loved with all his without asking for anything in return.”

The words settled heavily in the room. You had to admit, it was all anticlimactic; something you read as a child in those fairytale books your parents could barely afford selling grains. Love. Such a convoluted word yet powerful enough to bury a kingdom if need be.

It was all you could think about long after Yunho had left, leaving you and San in your chambers as the both of you laid down on your bed, his arms wrapped around you, just basking in the silence and the general presence the both of you offered each other. It was all you needed, and you were all he needed and more. 

Maybe that was what it really was. Even if it was anticlimactic, it was reality, and what you felt for San was real. It ran deeper than the curse that held him for the longest time, and it certainly went beyond the reckless endangerment you put your life in when you wore the locket for him.

“Are you mad at me?” You blurted out dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

San didn’t answer you right away. He exhaled a small laugh through his nose in disbelief. “Yes. Very much so,” he said honestly. Your heart tanked, guilt swirling in it, but before you could spiral further, he tightened his arms around you. “But,” he continued gently. “What I feel for you will always be stronger than my anger. ”

All the breath from lungs left you, his words suddenly becoming the oxygen you needed to live. You wanted to choke from all the emotions that were clawing up your throat, and you looked at him - really looked at him. You breath caught because there was no trace of that king nor that man who was bound by a curse he never deserved. He was just San. His eyes were warm, devastatingly soft, watching you like you were something precious. 

“I lost myself while you slept. You just looked so…gone,” he admitted quietly. “And it terrified me more than the curse ever did. A part of me died when you wore that locket.”

Your throat burned. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I swear, and honestly, I still don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew I didn’t want you to leave me.”

He didn’t answer; chose not to. He smiled, staring at you with fondness in his eyes and it was such a San thing to do. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, memorizing you in a way he’d never done before. The way he looked at you made your chest ache.

“I’m underselling this, aren’t I?” He suddenly said, his thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm. “What I feel for you, I mean.”

You felt his forehead rest against yours, breath warm, steady. “I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you,” he said. “I’d have brought you back one way or another. Find another witch to curse me just to drag you back. I loved you, Y/N. And you were gone. I loved you. And you slept.”

Your chest ached, full and fragile all at once. You couldn’t speak. If you did, you were certain you’d fall apart. His thumb stilled on your arm. “And I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low, rough around the edges.

You were confused. "For what?"

"That you thought you couldn't come to me," he whispered. "For letting you believe that the only way was to carry what should have never been yours."

He turned to you, his eyes shining with sincerity, his heart on his sleeve as he was about to pour his emotions to you. "It breaks my heart that I didn't do well enough for you to know that," he kissed your hand, his lips lingering longer. "I'm the one safe person you can always turn to, Y/N. Had I known it was going to come to that, I would’ve told you and let you choose what to do."

"Are you saying that you would have been okay if I solved everything myself?" You asked nervously. “That you would have let me help had you told me the curse beforehand?”

"Are you asking me to be okay with it?"

You didn’t reply immediately. "I want to know what my future husband thinks," you admitted shyly. 

He raises a brow in surprise, the redness on the tip of his ears betraying his flustered emotions. “Yes,” his thumb brushed under your eye, tender. “The answer is yes. Your happiness has been the most important thing to me ever since I met you. I hope you know that.”

"I know it now," a tear fell from your eyes. And then multiple of them followed. "And now is all that matters."

He wiped your tears away with his free hand, looking at you like you were the only constant thing in the world that finally stopped freezing long before his kingdom did. “You’re beautiful even in tears,” he murmured.

"You can't just say things like that," you sniffled, smiling through your tears anyway. "I-I have nothing to offer you, San, I'm just a farm girl and I have no idea how to lead a kingdom. I don’t have any merit."

You had no idea where all your insecurity was coming from, but it was there. "No," San whispered. "You can give me everything. The people too. Look around you, Y/N."

And you did and that’s when you saw it. Random things you knew weren’t in the room - a hand stitched shawl, flowers in ornate vases, carved wooden charmed wooden carvings, multiple letters stacked against one another in one corner of the room. Your room was filled to the brim with gifts.

“They’re from the people of Utopia,” he said, following your gaze. “They’ve been giving you gifts. I told them everything. About the curse. About what you did. About how the snow stopped because you refused to let me disappear.”

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “To them, you’re already their queen,” he continued. His eyes shone warmly, shining softly and earnestly as a good king should who truly loved his kingdom like San did. “ You lead by caring enough to try. Every day, even when it costs you. I know I did.”

Then he smiled, that soft, devastating smile meant only for you, and reached into his palm. A ring rested there and your tears started falling downwards at a faster rate as he took your hand in his. “Let’s do this again, please. No more duties, no more curses. Just us choosing each other, if you’d let me.”

The room felt impossibly still as he held the ring up to you, hope trembling just beneath his calm. “To the person who braved the cold with me,” he began. “Would you spare me the torment of being without you and marry me?"

You couldn’t speak, nodding fervently as you covered your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. The breath he let out was shaky, broken by a smile so full it almost hurt to look at. When he slid the ring onto your finger, the cold felt like nothing more than a distant memory.

In that moment, with no more snow falling and no curse left to fear, it felt like the world finally, truly began again for the both of you. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in. The kiss was nothing short of gentle, longing melting away between your lips.

And as the last remnants of fear had unshackled itself from the cold grips of despair, the curse was unbound. And at last, San felt free - truly free for the first time in his life.

Until someone bumps against your shoulders and you find yourself losing balance, a startled little sound escaping your mouth as you find yourself pulled by gravity. Another pair of hands grabs your bag, propelling you up before you end up kissing the pavement. You look towards your right where the assailant– you have no better word in your vocabulary to call the rowdy boy who bumped against you and almost killed you– stands. He looks genuinely worried for a hot second but when he realises that he has not caused fatal damage, he bursts into a feline grin, tells you ‘my bad!’ and continues to rush towards the school building. 

You hardly have time to look at your saviour. Everything is happening too quickly. He makes sure you’re steady before he zooms off after the assailant. All you can make out is that he is tall and very light on his feet, the navy blue uniform jacket in his hand almost flying in the air behind him.

While you are processing how you almost made it to your first day at your new school with a bust lip, you instinctively wrap your arms around your chest as more boys rush past you, calling after the duo. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath, hoping that your junior year will be uneventful, that this school year will pass by with you unnoticed, a part of the background. And you pray that no one recognises you here. 

You didn’t exactly leave your old school on a good note.

However, when you finally find your class after a trip to the teachers’ office and muster the courage to stop a random, kind-looking girl to ask for directions, you notice a few things.

Firstly, the classroom is not as big as your old classroom, which means that there are less students and more chances of people noticing and remembering you. You will have to try harder to merge into the background, but–

The duo from earlier is in this class, with the tall boy recognisable because he is not facing you. He turns to look at the time and you meet eyes for a second, though he probably does not recognise you either. He has a puppy-like charm to him in the way his eyes curve when he smiles. You remain frozen at the entrance, willing the other boy to not notice you, but he does and offers you a cheerful wave. You don’t respond in any way, a tap on your shoulder making you restrain a groan.

Upon turning, you find that it’s your homeroom teacher, the one you had just talked to in the office. She smiles warmly at you.

“Good timing. Come in, let’s introduce you to your class.”

“But–”

The words get stuck in your mouth when Miss Ji claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. The boys and girls settle down and you are the only one awkwardly standing in the front, fiddling with your fingers and finding it hard to swallow the anxiety.

“Alright, let’s see… oh, Nabi is back in my class. That’s good, and… Seonghwa! How wonderful, but– oh, no…”

“Oh, yes, Miss Ji!” The boy who bumped into you earlier is quick to respond. “You cannot keep separating the eight of us every year! It’s not going to work anymore.”

Miss Ji seems to consider his statement. Was that a challenge? 

“Come on, Miss Ji,” the tall boy pleads and you count the boys who are nodding their heads in unison and pleading. Yes, exactly eight of them. “We will be nice to you. We promise.”

“Only if you insist, Yunho, because you are my favourite,” she says and Yunho grins, receiving congratulatory pats from his friends. You observe them with mild curiosity. It looks like they are old friends, which you suppose is nice. 

Except there is an empty seat in the middle of them which could be your potential spot for the rest of your year. There is also an empty seat by the window and you would prefer that, but–

Miss Ji asks you to introduce yourself and you bow to the class, clear your throat and say your name in a robotic tone. 

“I transferred from Ilsan Tech High School. I hope we will have a good year ahead.”

The class claps for you, but it’s a little dull. Still, the girls look at you with a sort of vulnerable excitement in their eyes, perhaps wondering if you could be the new addition to their group. You don’t smile back at anyone, making sure to disappoint them because it will hurt less if you do it now. The boys mostly appear uninterested, too busy with their gadgets except the assailant who is grinning devilishly. 

“Alright, you can take the seat next to Wooyoung there,” Miss Ji points and you follow her hand to where she points, your heart sinking a bit dramatically when you realise that the name Wooyoung belongs to your assailant. 

“Uh… is there a chance that I can take the empty seat in the corner instead?”

“Oh, that one?” One of the girls in the front points and answers for the teacher. “That seat belongs to Yuna. She’s probably in the nurse room right now.”

“Ah…” you offer a weak smile as a thanks and begrudgingly make your way towards the assailant who seems too happy to have you to his right. You take your seat in the single row, in front of the girl Miss Ji named earlier, Nabi. The group of eight is on your left and right, with another boy in front of you who doesn’t seem to be a part of this little gang.

Your homeroom teacher details what she expects from this junior year in the present term, asks all of you to take your studies seriously this year and to start preparing for what senior year brings in advance– to start thinking about your future. While she talks, a paper plane flies over your head and you have to focus hard to not let the boys’ incessant giggles get to you. 

Miss Ji shakes her head at the bunch and says, “I’m personally going to separate you guys if you don’t cooperate with me.”

“Yes ma’am!” The eight of them respond in synchrony and your eyelid twitches involuntarily. As soon as Miss Ji leaves the room, Wooyoung taps on your desk. 

“Sorry for ruining your morning,” he says with a hand over his chest. “Shall I treat you to some bread and strawberry milk today to make up for it?”

“Uh… no thanks,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s okay.”

“So you do admit that he ruined your morning,” the boy who sits next to Wooyoung leans forward, pushing Wooyoung back a bit so he can see you better. “I’m Jongho. If anyone bothers you, you can tell me.”

“Well… right now you’re both bothering me,” you mumble and the duo clutch their hearts dramatically. You wonder if there’s a theatre class in this school because if there is and this duo isn’t a part of it, the theatre class is missing out on some talent. “I’ll be fine, thank you very much.”

“Come on, boys, don’t bother her,” the voice on your right says and you look at the boy who’s too pretty to be called handsome. “Let her be. It’s her first day, don’t overwhelm her.”

Seonghwa. He seems like the sane one out of the bunch. You give him a subtle nod to thank him and he just smiles in response, arranging the books on his desk neatly and tucking the long strands of his hair back. 

However, you find two packs of bread and two flavours of milk on your desk during recess either way. You returned to a mostly empty class after going to the toilet first (and almost getting lost on your way back). You consider shoving the goods inside Wooyoung’s desk but you figure that if you just accept these, he’ll stop bothering you for good. 

With that thought, you open the vanilla bread and chocolate milk and enjoy your lunch in peace. There is only a group of friends at the front eating their lunch and chatting among themselves, ignoring your presence and you don’t pay attention to them. You finish your lunch and rest your head on the desk for a much-needed post-meal nap when someone dares to tap on your shoulder and interrupt your peace.

It’s hardly been half a day and you’re already at your wits’ ends. You prepare to snap at the person because you’re sure it’s Wooyoung or one of his friends, but to your surprise, you find that it’s the girl who sits behind you, Nabi.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Uh, yeah,” you straighten. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, any sort of help, you can ask me,” she says with a trademark smile that you can sense is just for show. Her long, straight hair gets flipped back as she looks over her shoulders. “I know Wooyoung can be a bit too much. If you ever want to switch seats, you can do that with me.”

Now, you’re not a fan of Wooyoung, but if she knows that Wooyoung can be too much, why would she offer to switch seats with you? She can’t be a saint, could she?

You tell her that you will think about it. And think you do.

Over the course of the next few days as you struggle to keep up with your studies, adjust to this class and train yourself to think of the group of boys around you as background noise (even though they are anything but with their constant check-ins and every day treats on your desks because apparently, you have not verbally forgiven Wooyoung so he is bound to be your slave for ‘eternity’), you notice one thing.

Nabi cares for Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa does not care for Nabi. In fact, it looks like the group of them have beef with Nabi. 

Nabi and Seonghwa, you find, are the best students in the class. The ‘model’ students. They are also vice president and president respectively. Seonghwa tries to be civil, but Nabi reads too much into his kindness and mistakes it for something else. Her level of infatuation with Seonghwa is such that she is willing to risk damaging her eardrums just so she gets to sit next to Seonghwa.

You also learn that Nabi does not like you very much, and maybe that’s why the boys keep coddling you even though you keep snapping at them. 

But you weigh your options. What is the worst the yapper who sits next to you could do? Girls can be dangerous when mad, that you know very well from your experience in your previous school. Girls can be very, very mean to their own people. 

Of course, boys can be mean and violent too, but they generally don’t bother with girls. Or maybe, you’re just a traditional stereotypical arse who thinks she knows too much when your only experience is from your previous school. Either way, you want to spend the rest of your school life silently, without coming out of the shadows. You don’t want sworn enmity from Nabi or, well, be a cockblocker. If she wants to attempt to woo Seonghwa when it seems like all he cares about is his studies or the clumsy boy Hongjoong who sits next to him, you’re not gonna be the wall that prevents her from doing so. You’ll let Seonghwa’s other friends play that. 

So one moody Monday morning, you catch Nabi in the hallway and let her know that you can switch seats with her. The joy on her face is innocent and you almost smile. Her group of friends cheer for her and with that, you go to drop your bag in the class and find a quiet spot until the bell rings.

None of the boys have arrived in class yet. You do smile to yourself at the thought of how they will react. Maybe you’ll like your spot between San and Mingi better. They appear intimidating but it didn’t take you long to realise that they’re the softest of their group, thanks to the duo making sure you don’t feel overwhelmed by Wooyoung who has made it his life’s mission to serve you.

The sound of the gentle breeze and the rustling of spring leaves lull you into a calm headspace and you soak in every bit of these few serene moments, sitting under the tree as your head rocks to the rhythm of nature. How nice is it to find a quiet spot like this in a busy place like a school? You wonder if someone shares this spot with you at some other time– there are signs of life here. A wrapper of a candy that someone must have forgotten to throw, a stick wedged in one of the pots with someone’s name on it–

“There she is!”

Your hackles rise at the all too familiar voice of a certain self-proclaimed slave. You don’t want to be a master. You don’t want to feel like a Queen. So instead of addressing your subject, you gather your things and disappear into the maze that is this school.

Each step you take is urgent and there is a battle rhythm playing in your head– when did that happen? You march forward more like a soldier than a lord, head hanging low and eyes suspicious as they scan the crowd and guide you in your navigation to the classroom. You check the time– maybe if you get to your new seat before the boys, right before the teacher comes in and they can no longer bother you–

Before you can take a turn, a pair of large hands grab you by your upper arms and rotate you until you face the left, steering you towards the stairs as you swallow your gasp. You have hardly craned your neck upwards to identify your new assailant when a baseball cap gets fixed over your head. You mumble a few words of protest but you have no choice but to get taken to this unknown location that is a suspicious-looking room on the upper level.

You shut your eyes and brace yourself for what’s next when the door opens. However, you open your eyes almost immediately as you’re hit by the smell of baked treats. Did you get portalled to a bakery–

And there is your servant, clad in an apron as if he baked these treats himself here. The expressions on your face must be theatrical because the boys stifle their laugh as you look around. You have definitely portalled to another world, because there is no way a room like this exists in this school that seems to be barely holding itself.

The room isn’t too big but the shelves have been lined to the walls and decorated with ornaments. You spot a few snow globes and far too many plushies of each and every kind and colour, and realise that someone must have an obsession– and then there’s lego figures on another shelf, neatly stacked and colour coordinated. The lower shelves contain comics and at the corner by the window, there is an old sofa that is covered with pink sheets and cushions. 

There is a basketball net attached to a makeshift hoop and you spot a basketball and balls of all sizes lying around. You were aware the school had a basketball team and if you think hard, you might actually recall who among these boys play in the team, except…

You are kind of distracted by the baked goods and cans of flavoured drinks that are neatly arranged on the table in the middle of the room.

A hideout. That is what this must be. 

You finally look behind you to confirm the identity of your new assailant and gasp when you find that it’s Yunho– the other model student. He grins a bit too wide at your annoyance and you turn to face Wooyoung and Jongho who seem to be the masterminds behind this. 

“What is wrong with you people?”

“Wrong seems to be an overstatement,” Jongho pleads his case. “Off, maybe. Not right. But not wrong.”

“Why did you switch seats with–”

Jongho smacks Wooyoung’s chest with an open palm while standing next to him, unmoving, his eyes never leaving yours. The loud thump of his attack echoes dramatically off the walls of this small room and you can hear distant giggles being masked. As Wooyoung doubles over and retreats, Jongho continues to smile innocently while your jaw all but drops to the floor. 

Yunho, hands still on your arms, steers you to the chair and makes you sit before dragging another seat close to you, offering you a croissant. You, still watching Wooyoung worriedly as he gathers his energy and his pride, subconsciously start to nibble on it. When the chocolate filling hits you, you finally blink and inspect the croissant. It’s actually good–

“Made by yours truly,” says Wooyoung in a weak voice. You make an impressed face and figure that since you’re trapped, you might as well enjoy the treat. San comes over to set some cans in front of you and you point at the cola which he opens with one finger effortlessly before setting it in front of you and you purse your lips to keep from smiling.

“Can you answer my questions now?” You ask Jongho when you’re done finishing the croissant and he offers you a cupcake with salted caramel frosting next. “What is this? A bribe? You’re trying to break my morale with baked goods?”

“It seems to be working,” Yeosang comments from your right where he’s sitting by the window next to Mingi and Hongjoong, who is half asleep as per usual. He doesn’t seem to be a morning person and consistently naps throughout half the classes too.

You shoot him a glare but you don’t deny it. The more you eat these treats, the more relaxed you become. Maybe this is how the special officers should treat their spies. 

Seonghwa hovers around the lot of you, nervously moving around and fixing things that do not need to be fixed, stealing glances at you. You look over to Yeosang. “Maybe you should calm that one first.”

He laughs with an approving clap and you finally break into a smile, though you are quick to turn it into a dirty look as you lock eyes with Wooyoung. “You tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave–”

“Why did you switch seats with Nabi?”

You look at Jongho. “Like hell I can’t leave,” you say and turn to leave just to prove a point but Seonghwa is quick to rush over to the door while San and Yunho basically manhandle you back into the seat despite your protests. 

“This is bullying!” You yell at them and they quickly raise their hands in surrender. You turn to Wooyoung, feeling anger rise up in your throat. “Why can’t I switch seats with Nabi? I’m going to be honest, I don’t like my current spot. I would have preferred a corner or an end seat, so when she offered, I wanted to accept right away.”

“What made you hesitate?” Mingi asks, the first time he directly converses with you. 

You take a deep breath. “That does not matter–”

“It does,” he asserts. “So tell us what made you hesitate and if it makes sense, we’ll let you be.”

“Mingi–” Wooyoung warns but gets ignored, the room falling silent as the boys wait for your response. 

“Look. I don’t know why you guys are giving me special treatment, but I figured that it’s got something to do with Nabi. I know she wants to sit next to Seonghwa,” you admit, meeting eyes with said boy meekly as he comes into your vision. “I don’t know if you guys hate her or something, but it’s got nothing to do with me, and I would honestly risk your wrath than hers. She doesn’t seem like a very nice person.”

“Oh, you don’t want to risk our wrath–” Wooyoung begins but gets interrupted by Seonghwa.

“She isn’t,” he admits in a soft, quiet voice which makes you shift your attention to him. He appears nervous, his eyes darting over to Hongjoong who is watching the scene unfold in front of him with one eye open. “She… can be persistent. It’s been a while since the eight of us have been in one class, and yet she’s here to torture me again.”

“Torture you?” You question. 

“She follows him to every class. She’s got connections so she makes it happen,” Hongjoong answers for his friend, folding his arms. “Call it an obsession, call it infatuation, but she’s willing to hurt us and our group just to get Seonghwa’s attention.”

“Have you… tried talking to her?” You look at Wooyoung. “You could. You would certainly get the point across.”

“She’s as tough as Wooyoung, if not more,” San scoffs. “She won’t back down. She just wants Seonghwa to be her friend first. She wants to study with him because he’s better than her in some areas. Where he’s not… he takes help from Yunho or someone else but Nabi, and that pisses her off.”

“Sounds like a nutcase,” you comment. “But now you see why I have no choice but to accept her demand to switch seats. She will ruin my life, and I just barely got away with my life getting ruined at my previous school, so I’m sorry but Nabi is your old friend and enemy. Deal with her yourselves.”

Hurt flashes across Seonghwa’s eyes and you almost take back your statement, but it is the survival of the fittest here and you’re not the fittest. So survive you must, however that may be.

“She can’t hurt you. We will protect you and make sure that does not happen,” Yunho speaks. A promise, and your heart almost flutters at the determination in his voice. “We can’t do much since we don’t have the power to get to Nabi directly, but what we can do is make you stay in your current seat. Granted, she’s still like a shadow hovering over Seonghwa from her actual seat, but it’s far better than being right next to him and bothering him every minute of the day.”

“He bothers me every minute of the day,” you point at Wooyoung and he laughs in disbelief. “I don’t complain.”

“I don’t stalk you–”

“How did you find me today?”

“We searched for you, not stalked you, you fool!” Wooyoung retaliates and you straighten up.

“Fool?” You gape at his audacity. “How dare–”

“Guys, stop,” Seonghwa butts in and makes you both sit back down before things escalate. “She’s right. It’s not her responsibility to act as a buffer for us.”

“A sane person in this group,” you clap. 

“But…” Seonghwa purses his lips guiltily as he looks at you. “We’re not letting you leave until you agree that you won’t switch seats with Nabi.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is one of betrayal. “You’ll miss all your classes.”

“I never wanted to be the model student,” Seonghwa flicks his bangs away dramatically, and in that moment, you think that you see a little bit of Wooyoung in him. But as you look around, watching their proud faces as they smile at Seonghwa, you realise two things.

They’re all the same.

They won’t back down.

“Why me?” You ask in defeat, finally accepting the cupcake and Jongho smiles like a proud father. 

“Because sweetheart,” Wooyoung leans forward, spooning some chocolate chips to sprinkle over your cupcake. “I have a feeling that you’re just like us. And I’m never wrong. I didn’t become your servant for no reason,” he says, offering you some tissues and you listen to his reasoning as you eat the cupcake. “I recognise the glint in your eyes. You’re kind of… a menace yourself too.”

You narrow your eyes but don’t deny anything and he takes note of that. 

“I don’t know what happened to you or why you’ve decided to just hide in this school now,” he continues, “But I’m not going to let you create a shell around yourself when you’re a gleaming pearl. It’s just a shame that not everybody can see that.”

Your lips curve into an ‘oh’. “Didn’t realise you were a poet too. Apart from being a certified yapper.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he points at the table. “Baked last night just for you. I got a whiff of your evil little plan to switch seats.”

“How?” 

Wooyoung simply smiles in response which makes you wonder if one of his talents is reading minds.

What you don’t realise is that you had been far too obvious. 

It was Yeosang who overheard your conversation with Nabi about switching seats. At first, they thought that you would switch instantly like any normal person, but when you didn’t, they started to think that you were onto something. They watched you observe Seonghwa and Nabi for the following days and Wooyoung decided to continue with his self-proclaimed servant persona, just to annoy Nabi, since she could have been getting these treats too. 

The more they interacted with you, the more they liked you– first, it was because it was so obvious that Nabi had an instant dislike for you. You were sitting next to Seonghwa– not right next to him, but still close enough. You were struggling to fit in and Seonghwa, ever the saint, was guiding you academically, in a very subtle, casual and easygoing manner, though Wooyoung always butted in and made things a little more… fun. They also noticed how you were able to match the freak of the freakiest freak in their group, Wooyoung, and decided that he needed competition. 

What really sealed the deal was when you confronted Nabi when you found her going through Seonghwa’s notes while he and his friends were absent from the class. It was something you did without realising the implications– you simply asked Nabi if Seonghwa knew that she was going through his notes. She smiled and said something about how they’re old friends and didn’t mind stuff like this, but the way she immediately went back to her seat confirmed your suspicions. The boy who sat in front of you told Seonghwa about the little interaction. 

So it was no wonder that you were here today, trapped with this sugar bait with orders not to leave the room until you agreed to go back to your original seating position. If the boys were going to miss all the classes today with you, then so be it. You were not going to back down.

“Toilet break?” You ask after a couple of hours, seated near the window on a chair with a comic in your hand. Mingi seemed to have quite the collection. 

Wooyoung narrows his eyes at you, suspecting your every move. You raise a brow in challenge. “You won’t be denying a girl her toilet break, will you?”

“Guards,” Wooyoung called and Yunho and San got up almost mechanically. “Accompany her to the toilet. Make sure you use the one on the upper levels so she does not have an exit.”

“Yes sir!” San and Yunho proceed to station themselves in front of the door, waiting for you. You roll your eyes so hard that it sends a wave of pain in your head. 

“I’m also going to be making a stop at the canteen,” you announce. “I think I’ll be sick if I eat any more of those sweets.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Yeosang takes out a pen and notepad and starts scribbling something on it. You watch him with mild interest and when he tears the page and hands it to you, you realise with horror that it’s his order. “While you’re at it, get us something too.”

“You get them,” you tuck the paper into San’s pocket. “Or Wooyoung does. I’m not the slave here.”

San chuckles and opens the door for you and you take a moment to breathe in with your hands on your hips as if finally free from prison. The boys station themselves outside the toilets while you freshen up and you take your sweet, sweet time, spending too long in front of the mirror. However, when you step out and find them unfazed, you realise that you should up your game.

It is recess time and it’s crowded. You could easily make a run for it. Before you can take that defiant step forwards, San and Yunho both link their arms with yours and you gape at them in disbelief. 

“Not so quick, Missy,” Yunho teases. “I could practically smell the scheming.”

You make a face at him and let them steer you to the cafeteria. On the way, you try again. “50 bucks each. Let me go.”

“Try again,” San says. 

“70. I don’t have any more.”

“That’s your loss,” he pats your head and you barely contain an animalistic growl. When you reach the cafeteria, though, they let you go.

Yunho gives you a warning look, reminding you that they’re trusting you for now. “Let’s divide and conquer. You grab the snacks. We’ll get the trays. Let’s have a meal before we go back.”

That is a tempting offer. The cafeteria meal here isn’t bad at all. 

The three of you split and you go to the other end to grab some drinks and snacks with the money the boys gave you. You struggle to carry everything and drop a packet of chips but someone is kind enough to pick it for you–

Of course it’s Nabi. 

You suddenly get why Seonghwa dislikes her. She really does watch and hover. 

“Are you sure you can eat that much?” She teases but you let her help you. You spot San at the far end of the room, waiting for you and Yunho. 

“Uh, these are obviously not for me. Not all of them.”

“Oh, have you made some friends then?” She asks coyly. “I didn’t see you in class today.”

At that moment, you dislike her perhaps as much as Wooyoung does. Her voice is annoying, her acting is bad. She’s pretending too hard to be nice. 

You also let the little things that she does get to you. The ones you were previously consciously ignoring. The way she pokes her things against your back during class and claims she did it by mistake. The way she accidentally kicks your chair far too often, especially when it’s clear that you’re about to doze off. 

“Why, yes, I have,” you return her smile and she looks surprised. “Can you help me get these to them?” 

“Of course,” she frowns. “I didn’t realise you had any friends.”

“Oh, it happened too suddenly,” you say and when you navigate closer to where San and Yunho are both sitting now, her steps grow hesitant. 

San and Yunho frown at the sight of Nabi accompanying you and they almost think that you have betrayed them. However, you loudly say, “These are my new friends. She was just wondering who I’m carrying so many snacks for.”

“You guys came to school today? All of you?” She asked, suspicious eyes flickering among the three of you. “Where have you been?”

“Narnia,” Yunho says and San smiles, not offering anything else to Nabi. She shoots you a glare and drops the snacks on the table, pivots on her heels and leaves. You curb a smile and glance over at the duo who look far too proud of you.

“What?” You ask with a short laugh as you dig into the meal. They don’t say much, just give you one of their chicken croquettes each as a token of gratitude and you laugh in disbelief, shaking your head. “That’s it? That’s how easy it is to win over you guys?”

“Do you know what influence Nabi has?” San reminded you. “The queen bee of this school. No one does what you just did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with a pout. “I just told her you guys are my friends.”

“What she heard was that you have been skipping classes with Seonghwa,” Yunho explained. “She’s gonna be so mad. She might even report us to the teachers, in which case, get ready for a punishment tomorrow, y/n.”

“No way,” you scoffed. “That’s… petty.”

The boys don’t need to remind you to go back with them to their hideout. You naturally walk with them, learning more about this school and its ‘power hierarchy’ from the duo. Before you know it, you are back to the hideout and spilling the tea to the rest who appreciate your bold move and thank you for bringing these snacks for them.

In the midst of conversation, fun banters and games, you find yourself wondering why you were ever hostile towards them or apprehensive of the idea that you could still make friends here. Granted, you are not sure if you are ready to be a part of their group and be associated with them, or be called a friend by them, but…

You do not mind this one bit. 

Sitting around the table with them, having dragged it near the lone sofa for more space, eight pairs of eyes follow the path of the guava-flavoured candy which San tosses into the air for you. You almost miss but are quick to catch it in your mouth and the room fills with the echoes of your laughter, friendly banter ensuing when the boys quarrel about who is a better shot. You take your turn and you are cheered on, and it almost feels like you’re with a group of childhood friends. It almost feels like these are your people and that you are never meant to be separated from them.

Going back to class is forgotten. The whole fiasco about switching back to your original seat is also long forgotten. You simply have fun for the first time in a while. You look up at the ceiling when you laugh, finding butterflies painted all over them and you briefly think that this group of friends is as free and joyful as butterflies.

“Ayo, sunbae!” 

Wooyoung calls and the poor girl who was obviously hiding with her friends from the rest of the school to sneak in a smoke curses under her breath and drops the cigarette, crushing it under her shoe. She rolls her eyes once, hard, before plastering what looks like a genuine smile. 

“Wooyoung! My favourite junior,” she spreads her arms and Wooyoung shares a rather manly hug with the senior, bumping fists with the other girl and the boys. He either has not noticed the cigarette or is purposely ignoring it, but at the same time, you appreciate how the senior hid the cigarette– or maybe it was because of the foreign presence (you).

You watch the interaction with mild curiosity and one of the boys poke you in the back, propelling you forwards. The senior regards you with interest and scans you slowly before turning to Wooyoung with a questioning look.

“This,” he says with his hand extended towards you and you are once again gently pushed in front of Wooyoung, “is y/n. The latest addition to the group.”

You make a show of rolling your eyes, asserting that you still don’t consider yourself a part of their tightly-knit group, but Wooyoung and the rest aren’t having any of it. The senior, however, catches that.

“Are you being bullied by them?” She asks. “Blink twice if you need help.”

You blink thrice.

“Come sit,” she says, patting the space next to her and you gladly accept. You tell her that you like her hair very much and she smiles. The red highlights in her hair really accentuate her edgy appearance. 

“If any one of these hooligans bother you, you come to me,” she says and extends her hand. You shake it. “The name’s Yuna.”

“Hooligans?” This time, San beats Wooyoung in squaring up against the seniors but one glare from the girls humbles him right up. He shrugs all too casually, scratching the back of his neck with the pout on his mouth deepening with each passing second. “I’m not a bad guy.”

“Did you forget the time you almost made Inhyuk sunbaenim cry?”

Bewildered, you look at Yuna and then at San who looks anything but the hooligan Yuna claims that he is. If Yuna is referring to this Inhyuk dude as her senior, he must have been at least two years San’s senior. And he… almost made him cry? 

You reckon that Hongjoong notices the temptation in your eyes– the temptation to ask for an explanation. He fixes his glasses rather proudly, smacking San’s back to remind him to straighten his shoulders. 

“He has got nothing to be sorry about,” Hongjoong claims.

“Inhyuk sunbaenim was a bully, so we got our small-eyed duo to knock some sense into him.”

You don’t know why but your gaze shifts to Mingi and he looks betrayed. He smacks his foot on the ground as he calls you out and you raise your hands in surrender while the rest burst out in laughter. 

“We keep them to intimidate bullies,” Yuna explains. “Them with me and Hyorin over there,” she points at her classmate, a tall girl with too many piercings. You wonder how the school allows that. “We’re the guards of sorts.”

“They don’t seem like the type to win in a fight, though,” you point at San and Mingi. 

“They’re not,” Yuna laughs. “Jongho and Yeosang step in during the real fights.”

Jongho, you get. But Yeosang comes as a surprise and he grins shyly, further proving your point. There is no way he possesses the ability to harm a living, breathing thing.

“Anyways,” Yuna drapes her arm around your shoulder and you curb a grin. “I hope these boys have been treating you well. It’s good to hear that you’re a part of our group now, but let me know if you want out. I know these shitheads can be clingy.”

“Yeah, or if you’re a weird one, let us know in advance,” one of the senior boys says.

“We don’t want another Nabi on our asses,” the other boy quips and you narrow your eyes, watching your boys shift with unease.

“Intak and Channie never know when to shut up,” Yuna complains.

“What happened with Nabi?” You ask and Yuna looks back and forth between you and the boys.

“So they told you the mild version of it, huh?” She laughs. “Not my story to tell, but she’s a real piece of work.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised that after Nabi, they’re open to having a girl in their group,” Intak says and Hyorin agrees. “I think they’re friends with our girls because they don’t consider them… as girls, if I’m honest–”

“Hey!” Hyorin takes off her slipper and chucks it at Intak. Chan shrugs, point proven. 

“That’s not true!” Yeosang argues. “Jongho still has a crush on–”

“Oh, look,” Jongho points at the distance. It must be divine intervention that the devil you were just thinking about is seen walking with her friends towards the basketball court. Thus Jongho succeeds in distracting everyone. Nabi– the divine devil in question– does not notice the group of you. You hear a muffled scream and follow Jongho’s gaze.

Yep. He most definitely has a crush on Yuna.

“One day when I’m no longer bound by the school rules,” Yuna begins, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll have a good conversation with Nabi. Girl to girl.” 

She clenches her jaw as silence ensues with the weight of her threat hanging in the air. However, Yuna soon breaks out into a smile when she turns her attention to you. 

“Got any questions? Anything you’d like to know? I’ve got everything– secrets and dirt on everyone.”

“You don’t want her as your enemy,” Wooyoung concludes and then grabs your hand and pulls you towards him. “Let’s go. I just wanted to introduce you so she can keep an eye out for you.”

“Okay, firstly,” you begin, “I can take care of myself–”

“Ooh.”

“Damn.”

“Tell him.”

You give the seniors a side-eye and continue. “Secondly, I think eight sets of eyes ‘looking out for me’ are enough. Why do you think I’ll ever get in trouble when you guys never leave me alone?”

“Give her some space, boys,” Yuna pleads in your case. “Let her breathe.”

Wooyoung grunts in disappointment but reluctantly lets go of your hand. You scoff but he seems too tired to match your energy and you wonder if he took it to heart.

You soon learn that their idea of giving space to you seems to differ from yours by a whole lot. They have definitely taken it to heart– at least some of them.

You can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose, but Wooyoung is not bothering you every minute of the day, and it’s bothering you now. When you find yourself worrying about this, you smack your head. Isn’t this what you wanted in the first place? 

But he hardly acknowledges you anymore. When something funny happens in the class, he no longer looks at you though you find yourself looking at him. Jongho is not very talkative either. The rest are just the same but still a bit… distant. 

You’re positive that they’ve misunderstood you, and you find yourself sitting in the secret hideout alone, bunking one of the lessons to just rethink your friendship with them again. Nabi sure seems to be making the most out of your misery, if it can be called a misery in the first place.

“Trouble in paradise?” She asked one day. You just made a face at her and luckily, Hongjoong called you over at the same time. At least Nabi didn’t get the satisfaction of rubbing it in your face.

You are also a bit curious about what happened with Nabi. You even debate asking her– why is she so obsessed with this group? 

You’ve heard enough rumours now. Since you’ve adjusted to the class in the past couple of months, the girls talk sometimes. You’ve heard about how Nabi, Seonghwa, Yunho and Hongjoong used to have a study group but something happened after which they broke their friendship with Nabi. That something probably has to do with Seonghwa, you reckon, but you can’t probe since it seems to be a sensitive topic.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend spacing out in the room, but nobody joins you. You wonder if it’s just that the excitement of being friends has died down, but you kind of miss everybody. School doesn’t feel like fun anymore. It’s only been a few days, but everything has started to feel different. You can’t focus on your studies properly– or anything, for that matter.

While you think about what went wrong and what you can fix– if there’s any fixing to be done in the first place– you play with the softball, chucking it in the makeshift net and missing. You try again and again, but you only manage to make a successful shot a handful of times. One time, the ball misses and hits a frame on the shelf and you flinch, wondering if you broke something.

Upon inspecting, it is a group photo that seems to have been captured in a photobooth. The eight of them are squished against each other and you can barely see Jongho and Yeosang but they seem so happy and carefree there. You don’t realise how big of a smile you’re sporting until you catch your reflection in the frame and your smile drops. 

You want to be a part of this. If they’ve taken the first step towards you– no, if they’ve taken so many steps towards you, it is ungrateful of you to keep walking away from them.

Adamant to make amends of sorts, you go to the canteen and get eight packs of bread and eight packs of flavoured milk for the boys. You know exactly the kind of bread they like and the flavour of milk that they like– each one of them. You go to class and place a pack of bread and milk on their tables– they must be getting changed for gym. Nabi eyes you with curiosity but you don’t pay much heed to her, although you ask her if she’s hungry. She only grunts in response and you stifle a smile. 

When the boys return, they hesitate in their tracks. Some of them thank you and open up their snacks. Wooyoung doesn’t really regard the treats and you fold your arms.

“Are you angry with me?”

He meets eyes with you for the first time in a while. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well…” you shrug in mild discomfort. “You’re not… talkative anymore. Not with me.”

Wooyoung suppresses a smile and rests his head on his hand rather cockily. “Do you miss me?”

You scoff in disbelief but seven expectant pairs of eyes are fixed on you and you fidget nervously. “I mean… yeah? I do. What about it? Can we just go back to normal?”

Wooyoung thinks for a good few moments. He nods, and to your horror, the rest of the boys– all seven of them– produce cash out of their pockets and set it on Wooyoung’s desk. Wooyoung counts the cash and tucks it safely in his pocket and then looks at you with the most shit-eating smirk you’ve ever seen on a human. 

“Got you.”

“Jung Wooyoung!” 

While he laughs loud and proud, you snatch the snacks from the table and make a dash for the door, Wooyoung right on your heel as he yells at you to come back. Your laughs and screams echo in the corridor and you can make out the rest of the boys following the two of you, just to witness the scene. You hop down the stairs with caution though you are screaming all the way, and that’s where Wooyoung manages to successfully tackle you and you barely avoid an accident, making it down safely with his arms around your waist and your legs swinging in the air.

“Let. Me. Down!” You laugh loudly and he swings you in circles until you feel dizzy, though you can’t stop laughing.

“That’s what you get for asking for some space!” Wooyoung says as he sets you down. “Tell me if you still want some space and I’ll gladly leave you alone.”

“I can’t believe you guys bet on this!” You retort, clutching your sides that are currently hurting from laughing too much. “What was the deal?”

“Wooyoung was sure he was going to break you within 3 days,” Jongho explains. “We were sure you could manage 5, but clearly we were wrong.”

You pout. “I thought you guys were cross with me. For real.”

“Come on, weren’t we acting normal?” Yunho asks. “We wanted to win the bet. I thought we were the same.”

“No, but it didn’t feel the same without Wooyoung, I guess…” you scratch the back of your neck. 

“You love me. I know,” Wooyoung spreads his arms to bring you into a hug but you ignore him, taking refuge behind Seonghwa who claims that he told Wooyoung to tone it down a little. 

“My turn to be angry with you,” you promise Wooyoung. “Let’s see how long you last.”

“No time for that,” he shakes his head. “The basketball practice games start next week and we’re competing against our rival team in two months’ time. We need to cheer for them.”

That piques your interest. You learn that the regional competition is taking place soon and the KQ Stallions are aiming for the first spot. Unsurprisingly, your school’s team is very good and almost always makes it to the top 3, though they haven’t earned the 1st position just yet. 

Mingi and Wooyoung ask you to join them in cheering for their team and you find that it is not something casual– they are very serious about cheerleading. They have good reasons to be, for San and Jongho are playing in the team this year. Yunho is the substitute which means that he has to be on standby. 

The princesses of the group choreograph your cheers to perfection. It is a sport in itself, but you quite enjoy it, especially since the cheerleading group has grown much bigger by the day with more students joining you, and Mingi and Wooyoung are already making plans on how to up their cheerleading strategies when the KQ Stallions advance to the finals.

When, and not if, and you love that confidence. 

For the next few weeks, you settle into a routine with the boys– if it can be called that. Every morning, a few of them catch you by the gates and you make your way to class together. There are no longer any bets or formality between you and the boys. Slowly but surely, they have opened your heart to them and once again, you find yourself with friends that might just last for life.

Although, you think of those words with caution. Your childhood friends didn’t last. You sometimes wonder if it was a shame to leave things on a bitter note with your friends from your previous school. The timing of how you had to move because of your parents with what happened at school was an unlucky coincidence. But thanks to Wooyoung especially, you are once again willing to try the idea of friendship. 

Your hideout now has a beaded curtain that you had hung with the help of Hongjoong– something from your previous home that you no longer needed. Hongjoong and Yeosang sometimes add some shiny ornaments that they bring from home on the strings of the curtain and the sunlight reflects beautifully on them, creating a kaleidoscopic effect at times. 

You and Mingi rather enjoy sitting under the curtains with your comic books while Hongjoong naps with his head on Mingi’s lap since Mingi hogs the lone pillow. Seonghwa moderates the basketball boys who practise with balls of different sizes in the hideout. They manage to practise passing and dribbling in this small space. Yeosang becomes the damage control or the human shield, making sure the ball doesn’t somehow manage to hit Hongjoong square in the face. Something tells you it has happened quite a few times and there is a reason Yeosang so willingly guards the slumbering beast.

Sometimes, after school if you are all free and there is no practice, you make a trip to the convenience store and the chefs, Wooyoung and Seonghwa, make a variety of ramens with whatever ingredients they can find. You join the tables outside to make a big dinner table and spread the goods on it. Ramen after school tastes better for some reason. The convenience store part-timer is an old lady who adores Wooyoung so she lets you be and you think she enjoys watching you guys having fun, though every now and then she warns you to keep it down. 

The boys may be all fun and games but they take their studies very seriously, all of them. Most of the time, they study on their own when they go home but sometimes, you all gather at someone’s house to prepare for exams and you find that there is a reason the boys are the way they are. They all grew up with loving parents who think of their child’s friends as their own. 

One time, you muster the courage and invite the boys to your place to study. It is not that part which requires your courage, but admitting to your parents that you have made friends.

Your mother regards you with worry. “Are you sure? We don’t want you depressed again, unable to focus after what happened last time.”

Last time. When one of your old friends created a rift in your group and made you all break up, all because of her insecurities because she felt ‘left out’. You later realised that she just wanted you out because she did not like how you managed to be the ‘centre of attention’ everywhere. 

Was it your fault that you made an effort to involve everyone? Did that make you an attention-seeker? Was this what you deserved after making sure your odd group of five friends lasted forever? You never realised how much venom that friend had in her heart. After she made up a story about you spilling your friends’ secrets to another group in your class and none of your friends believed you, you distanced yourself. If that was the trust they had in you, then you were fine by yourself.

However, the sudden change took a toll on you. Your grades fell considerably and with your father’s sudden job relocation, you came to terms with the fact that this is how your childhood ends.

But when you nod to your mother with hopeful eyes, she breaks out into a smile and tells you that she hopes that your friends this time are nice. You promise that they are. When she learns that it’s a group of eight boys, she bursts into laughter and shakes her head. 

“They better be treating you like a princess.”

“Don’t worry, mom. They treat me like a queen.”

Your mother sees that. The boys arrive dressed more neatly than usual, appearing well-kempt. Wooyoung, ever the charmer, has a bouquet of flowers for your mother. The rest of the boys have pitched in to buy some fruits. Your mother fusses over them and learns their names and thanks them. She cooks up a feast while you study in the living room, the study-group trio leading everyone. 

You find that it saves time to study with them– each one of them is good at one thing or the other. Jongho has a knack for predicting the content of the exams, and he swears that he isn’t a spy. He just assesses patterns, he claims. Yeosang and Hongjoong are good at maths. Seonghwa is good at making notes. Yunho is an all-rounder but San excels in English. You excel in Korean and History, while Wooyoung and Mingi are good at the science subjects. Together, you help each other with ease and the group study sessions pass in a breeze.

Your first exams go well. You manage to maintain the good grades from your previous school, and notice how you score better in subjects you were formerly weak in. That is one box checked from your mental list.

The other box is the first basketball game, and you’re more worried about it than you thought you would be. Perhaps, it is because you are so roped in with the boys now that it starts to feel like your team and your victory or defeat. You start to feel like a coach yourself, fretting over the basketball trio just like the rest, showering them in treats and cool, refreshing drinks. Anything to make sure that they are in top condition.

However, the trio seems to take advantage of your kindness. 

One day, you find yourself on the school field, a lone warrior standing with no one to defend herself. Your heart is thumping at an erratic pace. Sweat pools from every crevice and you want to move but you remain frozen in your spot for the fear of your life. Every instinct tells you to move but you cannot. You are not allowed to.

There is a beer glass perched on the top of your head, upside down. The basketball trio is taking turns practising their aim with an actual basketball. Not one of the soft balls or bouncy balls back in the hideout, no. They want to practise with the real thing, and because you lost in rock, paper, scissors, you have to be the sacrificial lamb for the day. 

They might as well tie you to the tree with an apple on top of your head and practise their shooting skills.

“San– stop!” You can’t help but scream as the ball flies closer and you shut your eyes. Each time they manage to hit the beer glass successfully, you sigh in relief and almost collapse to your knees. The trio celebrates while the others either laugh, enjoying this a bit too much, or move around anxiously because fear someone might actually hit you square in the face.

“Can’t I turn around?” You plead your case again and turn to Seonghwa who seems to be the only one actually worried. The rest are too busy betting on who will break your nose today. The basketball trio keeps telling you to have some trust in their skills but they’re not the ones standing with the beer glass on top of their head.

“Brain damage,” Wooyoung counters, “is worse than a broken nose.”

“Well then, why don’t you stand in my place, huh?” You offer. The boys laugh harder when you tap your temple aggressively. “Since it’s stuffed with hay up here.”

“I’m not the one who lost the game, sweetheart,” he smirks devilishly. “Come on. 3 shots left. You can make out of this alive. Have some trust in them. They’ve got killer aims.”

“Killer aim…” you repeat. “Killing which target?”

“We’re not that bad, and you know it,” Yunho says as he orders you to stand straight and not move. Apparently, moving out of reflex might make them lose their aim. You believe that Yunho probably has the least chances of missing his target since he’s so tall that he can probably see the back of your head as well. 

You accept your fate and shut your eyes, willing yourself to not pee in your pants. Just like that, Yunho plays his last shot and successfully hits the beer glass which falls with a dramatic clack. As the boys cheer, you almost sink to your knees. Yunho pats you in encouragement but you scowl at him, promising revenge.

“Just so you know, I’m the best shot,” Jongho says as he takes his position in front of you a good 6 feet away. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s San you should be scared of– he sometimes tends to let his emotions control his aim.”

“But I’m feeling good today,” San counters. “I haven’t missed a shot. You missed one.”

“She moved,” Jongho reminds him. 

“This cocky attitude of yours is going to get to you one day,” You promise Jongho.

“Let’s hope that day is not today,” Jongho says and chucks the ball in your direction without warning.

You seem to have jinxed yourself. This time, you hardly have any time to shut your eyes before you feel the ball collide with your face. 

There is a moment of silence. A blissful moment of no sensations before you feel something wet on your lips and you curl inwards, clutching your nose. Hot, burning pain is all you feel for a good few moments, apart from the ringing in your ears.

“Oh, my god… are you okay?” Jongho is also the first one to approach you. The rest are too busy gasping and clutching their heads in disbelief.

“What do you think–”

“Choi Jongho!”

It is not one of the boy's voices you hear. It is Yuna, your senior and your saviour, who calls his name like it’s her last rite.

“I can explain–” Jongho barely has time to say before he’s running for his life with Yuna and the rest of her friends out for him, each holding one of their shoes in their hands, ready to deliver a beating. You chuckle at the scene but groan in pain. 

It is Yunho who gently moves your hands away from your nose to inspect the injury. He sighs in relief and that is how you know your nose is not broken. With a handkerchief, he pinches your nose to stop the bleeding. You try to move out of his grasp because of the pain but he holds you close and smiles apologetically.

“I’ve got you. Just stay still.”

This close, you can make out the flecks of brown in his eyes. You wriggle a bit but feel someone hold you in place from behind.

“That’s what you’ve been telling her for the last half an hour.”

It is Seonghwa. He tucks your hair away, not minding how sweaty your forehead is. You pass a weak smile and when Yunho pulls away, Seonghwa cleans the blood off your upper lips with his sleeve. 

In that moment, you forget that these boys are the same people who led you to the altar that got you the bleeding nose in the first place. Wooyoung arrives to your rescue next with a bottle of water and Yeosang has ice in another thermos that he always carries with him. 

Now you know why.

“You guys,” you chuckle in disbelief, especially when you spot Jongho still running for his life and the seniors livid. “You’re all insufferable.”

They share grins and help you get up. Thankfully, your nose doesn’t feel as bad as before, especially with the ice but Yeosang still suggests a trip to the nurse's office. You move to the water stands, wanting to wash your face and the boys follow you closely, promising to teach Jongho a lesson.

When you are done washing your face, Jongho arrives with an apologetic look and his hair sticking out in different directions, probably from whatever Yuna and Hyorin did to him (nothing much, you’re sure). He is out of breath, his cheeks flushed from running so much but he still can’t contain his smile.

“Come on, best shot,” you tease. “Say it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, giggling like a 5 year old who just learnt a bad joke.

“Do better,” you say dismissively, washing your arms.

“I’m genuinely sorry,” he tries again and you regard him. He purses his lips and looks down. “It’s just… your nose is swollen and it looks funny–”

That is it. The last straw. You turn the tap full and block it with your hand before anyone can react. Jongho gets sprayed with a sharp stream of water and when you stop, he looks at you in disbelief with water dripping from his hair and face.

“Again!” Wooyoung announces and the boys scramble to grab Jongho and keep him in place and this time, Hongjoong and Seonghwa help you with the taps. While Jongho screams in defiance, your laughter fills the air–

Until Seonghwa’s spray hits your back.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Get him!” Hongjoong says the battle call.

The seniors watch from a distance as the 9 of you spray each other with water. Jongho has definitely gotten the worst of it, drenched from head to toes. Whenever someone sprays you with water, the seniors yell their name in warning. If you weren’t wearing black gymwear, the seniors would have buried the boys alive by now.

All pain is forgotten as you splash each other with water. Someone tackles you in a hug and steers you in the direction of the jet stream one of the boys produces from the tap. Someone shields you with their body in a chivalrous manner. All that matters is that you are laughing like there is no care in the world. 

The day of the basketball game against the rival team arrives. The victory of this match will lead to the KQ Stallions’ qualification to the regionals.

The school is in a different state today– the floors are polished, the teachers are enthusiastic and the students are feeling energised. The colours of the KQ Stallions are everywhere. By the time school comes to an end, almost everyone has something red on them– paint on their faces, polish on their nails, ribbon in their hair or a red flag with black stripes in their hand. 

Hongjoong has taken it upon himself to make sure the cheerleaders match. You wait for your turn and when you stand in front of him, the both of you grin widely. You catch some dried paint on his hair from the sunlight that pours on him through the window of the classroom and you brush it off while he dips his brush in the paint.

“Excited?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“I’m positive I’ll crash from adrenaline overload before the game even starts,” you tell him. He nods, pointedly looking at the way you’re almost bouncing on your legs. 

“Stay still,” he instructs and you mutter a ‘yessir’. He gently grabs you by the chin and tilts your face to the left to paint a red stripe across your cheek. He tilts it to the right and does the same, focused. 

Then he switches his brush for the black paint and you notice how his hand is still cradling your chin. You also notice how close you are– when he paints the black stripes, you think that you can feel his breath caress your cheeks. 

And if that’s not enough, he blows on the paint. Just for you. He didn’t do it for anyone else, you notice. He also tucks the strands of your hair back so they don’t catch in the wet paint.

You stand doe-eyed and for the first time, your heart flutters. You don’t know if he notices, but when he’s done, he pats your shoulder and asks you to find Seonghwa, who he says must be hiding somewhere, shirking his duties. He was supposed to be helping him.

You’re still making sense of this weird feeling in your chest when you take a turn in the corridor and you almost crash into someone. That someone is none other than Seonghwa who reflexively grabs your wrists and steadies you.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says and leans closer to inspect the paint on your cheeks. This close, you can see the twinkle in his eyes and the flutter in your heart intensifies. You subconsciously pull away from him.

“Hongjoong did a good job,” he grins. “Did he ask you to find me?”

“Uh, yeah,” you manage to say, mouth suddenly dry. “He thinks you’re hiding.”

“He’s not wrong,” Seonghwa laughs. “Went to stretch my back. You want one?” 

He offers you candies and you take the strawberry one. He takes the orange. You unwrap it and pop it in your mouth, focusing on the taste. You listen to him talk about something but you’re too busy processing what just happened, and when Yeosang joins you, you’re glad for the distraction.

Once it’s time, you all head to the basketball court. You don’t get to meet the basketball trio up close as they are being lectured by their coach, but you catch Jongho’s attention and yell ‘break a nose!’ to which he shakes his head in amusement. San and Yunho glance over in your direction and you all send finger hearts to the trio.

You find your spot in the middle of Wooyoung and Yeosang, and Mingi breaks down the moves once again to everyone present before taking his spot in front of you. He stands at the lowest row of the bleachers, the three of you on the upper row, and then the rest behind you, increasing in numbers as the rows ascend. 

The basketball trio look incredibly handsome in their black tank and shorts, a red stallion embroidered on the front with their names and number on the back. They stand in front of the rival team gritting their teeth in determination and you watch with wonder how their demeanour changes. Yunho has a private moment with Jongho and San where it looks like he is giving some last instructions, and then he breaks into a smile and wishes them luck, sharing a group hug. It warms your heart infinitely and as soon as the players take position, Mingi raises his hand and you clutch the glittery black and red poms tightly and wait.

The game begins. As per Mingi’s cues, you cheer with your soul and your heart, and pause to inspect the game when he signals you to stop. Each time the KQ stallions score, you have to physically stop yourself from simply jumping up and down out of joy and stick to the choreography. However, Seonghwa and Hongjoong rub your shoulders as they share your excitement. Wooyoung and Yeosang share your enthusiasm. Mingi smiles brightly and gains strength when he looks back at his friends.

The game grows tense. The first quarter ends with KQ in the lead. All of you cheer for your team while the rivals gather around to revise their strategies. Your team toasts over water bottles and you can tell that they’re excited to be leading. The coach tells them to keep their heads in the game.

The second quarter is twice as intense. The rival team seems to have taken an aggressive stance and they make no mistakes in scoring or defending their basket. The KQ Stallions try to keep up and they do a pretty good job. The cheerleaders make sure that their excitement doesn’t die down and that your team gains some energy from your cheers. However, this time the KQ Stallions trail by a few points. 

All is good. They just need to do better in the third quarter. 

The third quarter is packed with nervous energy. While the first few minutes are uneventful, one of the defenders from the rival team tackles the freshman player in your team, resulting in a foul. The defender looks smug even after the warning and Yeosang tells you why.

The freshman in your team is a key scorer. If he is not able to play in full health, the team gets affected. Yunho might end up substituting in that case but it would definitely affect the morale of the team.

You’re filled with rage after hearing that, but it seems like you are not the only one. The seniors– specifically your group of friends– are unfiltered with their curses. The cheers have died down and you are all instead focusing on the game, tracking each and every move.

You don’t miss how they’re trying to take Jongho out. He is a versatile player who can defend well and shoot better (if you forget about the broken nose incident). Jongho seems to have an idea of their strategy and he focuses more on protecting himself than the ball.

The third quarter ends with a score of 56-57 with the rival team in the lead. Tension peaks and the air feels electric. Before the fourth quarter begins, both the teams take timeouts to adjust their strategies. Yunho ends up substituting for the freshman after all, who seems to have a sore ankle. It’s not good for the team for him to keep playing. 

The fourth quarter begins with an ominous ring of the whistle. After a few minutes of dribbling, passing and failed shots, your trio of friends exchange signals and try to coordinate another shot. They work neatly, a bit sneakily but in full synchronisation. It’s almost like they are tuned to each other’s thoughts. 

The way San throws the basketball into the hoop is nothing short of incredible and KQ finally leads by 3 points. The room bursts into a chorus of cheers and you mechanically perform the practised moves. 

While the rest celebrate the lead, you are more focused on how the rival team reacts to this turn of events. They have a strong defence and with Yunho managing to find a weakness and helping coordinate a shot, you wonder if the rivals will end up making more dirty moves. You definitely smell scheming with the way they get aggressive in their actions.

As if Wooyoung has heard your thoughts, he comments, “They’re sneaky bastards but they don’t know what’s coming for them.”

The tension grows with each passing minute. With just three minutes left and a difference of 2 points, the cheerleaders have stopped cheering altogether and are watching the game with sharp eyes, following the basketball. The hall echoes with joyous shouts and groans and you don’t know when it happened, but the three of you are almost clutching at each other at the last minute.

“Oh, they’re doing it,” Yeosang notices and you look at him in confusion. “Follow Yunho. You’ll see.”

You do exactly that. Yunho passes the ball to San and San dodges the players with expertise. He is leading them to your own basket and you wonder if he’s doing the right thing, but then you notice two things–

Jongho and Yunho are straying away from the rest towards the rival’s basket which is mostly defenceless right now. With only seconds left, it looks like the rival players are leaving their posts and already preparing for a celebration.

San, however, jumps and throws the ball in Yunho’s direction. He is pulled down by a player but the ball manages to reach Yunho and panic ensues. Yunho is surrounded before he can make a goal and he throws the ball to Jongho who switches to offence and takes a risk, making a long shot at the hoop.

It’s like time slows down as everyone sucks in their breaths, anticipating whether the ball will make it into the hoop or not. Your heart sinks dangerously as the ball hits the edge and Yeosang shuts his eyes close. Wooyoung is shaking your arm in a nervous fit.

Silence ensues.

The ball hits the floor. The score changes. The timer rings.

The KQ Stallions have won the game. Jongho has managed to score. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe and Yeosang finally looks at the scoreboard. “Oh my god!”

Cheerleading is forgotten and the whole team jumps up and down and you’re swallowed in group hugs. You all are screaming out of ecstasy and you feel like you could cry out of sheer joy. You can hardly contain yourselves as you wait for the KQ Stallions to stop their own celebration and finish the formalities. As soon as they’re done shaking hands with the rival teams who look thoroughly annoyed, your friends look in your direction and they run.

You all rush towards the stairs that lead down to the court and you follow Wooyoung and Yeosang who lead you with their hands in yours, making sure you’re not left behind. You can’t breathe but you’re the happiest. Mingi crushes Yunho in a hug before sharing him with the rest of you. San brings the three of you in a hug and then Jongho joins and you all take turns ruffling his hair and smothering him in affection, once again cracking jokes about how he’s a good shot but managed to break your nose anyway.

The nine of you form a circle and as you hop around, it feels like it’s a little bubble. You have created your own world, your own space, and here, it’s just happiness and excitement. Nothing can hurt you. No one can take you down. The boys squeeze in some silly dance moves and you suddenly think of the butterflies painted in your hideout room. 

There used to be eight of them but now there’s another painted on the roof. You don’t know when Hongjoong painted that, but now you know what he intended.

It feels like you’re a butterfly just like them– free and happy. 

Junior year passes by in a breeze. 

While the KQ Stallions didn't win the regionals, their achievement of making it to the regionals is an accomplishment in itself. The boys still play basketball with as much enthusiasm, and the rest of you still cheer as if your lives depend on it. 

With the passage of time, you have created a unique bond with each friend. Your dynamics have shifted with everyone but it’s still the same as the first day. Sometimes, you wonder if things between them changed– you feel like an impostor. However, they assure you that your presence has changed nothing, yet, changed everything in a good way.

You don’t know how you feel about that, but you suppose it’s nice to know how they feel about you. 

Yuna had somehow learned about your hideout room and the group of four started to treat the room as their own. At first, Wooyoung and Hongjoong had protested but they had been bribed with an offer to try Yuna’s extensive collection of flavoured cigarettes. They had hesitated at first but eventually agreed to try, ignoring Seonghwa’s warnings about the dangers of smoking. You had watched with curiosity as they tried a strawberry and peach flavoured smoke and then clutched at your stomach that hurt from laughing too much when they incessantly coughed and almost threw up. 

Nevertheless, they ‘allow’ Yuna and her gang to share the room (as if they had a choice in the first place). Perhaps, because it’s their senior year and they’ll miss them next year. The girls take care of you– Yuna teaches you a few things about nonchalance and dominance (you need that as the lone girl in the group of eight boys), and Hyorin teaches you all the feminine stuff. 

At first, the boys cringe and only Seonghwa joins Hyorin as they style your hair or do makeup on you (where Jongho joins too– apparently, he has a knack for makeup) but then one day, San comes prepared. He shows Hyorin something new that he learned from his sister– an eyeliner hack that he tries on you. 

Impressed, Yuna and Hyorin take turns having him apply their eyeliner. Seonghwa takes the seat next and the room bursts into appreciative laughter as San applies eyeliner on Seonghwa too. Wooyoung finally gives in and because the eyeliner looks so good on him, the girls fawn over him and apply some eyeshadow as well. He complains for a few moments but when he takes a look in the mirror, he caves in and can’t put the mirror down. 

Thus, you juniors warm up to the presence of the seniors in your hideout, which isn’t a common occasion but welcomed now. You have snack parties and the boys who have a knack for cooking share tips and sometimes collectively bake treats for you. It is a stark difference from the first time you found yourself in this room, being bribed by treats. It feels like home now. 

During the holidays, the whole lot of you make trips to the amusement park and the aquarium. One time, you go to watch a horror movie at the cinema where you learn that only Yunho and Jongho seem to possess the stamina to sit through a horror movie. You keep creating wonderful memories with your friends. The seniors don’t always join you, occupied with preparing for college but it’s fun either way. 

At school, your homeroom teacher Miss Ji grows fond of your group. It looks like the boys are behaving this time so they’ll be in the same class in senior year too. You pray with your whole heart that senior year will be just like this. Nabi, however, stays salty with you. She doesn’t bother you very much anymore, but it’s clear that she still has a strong dislike for you. 

You don’t care. The boys protect you fiercely, but even if they didn’t, you can stand on your own now. You have learned your lesson from your previous school. You know how to stand up for yourself. 

You have to learn to stand up for yourself because the boys take any and every chance to prank someone and then point fingers at another. It is a joke, of course, but it has strengthened your debating skills and survival skills. It turns into a warzone pretty quickly with them, but in the end, it’s all fun and games. 

It’s all fun and games. From racing each other to the cafeteria or earning punishment for the whole group during gym where the teacher makes all of you run extra laps. Cooling off under the shade and having water splashed on you which turns into a water fight. A protective throw of someone’s jacket onto you to cover yourself as the boys flush because they forgot that you are a girl. You flush deeper because you forgot that you are a girl too. 

Then there are the trips to the convenience store during school as the nine of you sneak out, jumping over the walls. The twin towers of the group act as stepping stones for you to help you make it to the other side of the wall. Mingi usually does the throwing and Yunho catches you in his arms. His ears turn red and your cheeks flush without fail every time you make a run to the store. You both look at each other and laugh shyly. 

Towards the end of the junior year, the nine of you go to the riverside one evening to have a dinner of ramen and take a break. Finals are approaching and the stress is palpable, so you sometimes make little trips like these to calm your nerves. The seniors couldn’t join you which is a shame but you know you’ll have fun either way.

After a hearty meal of ramen and kimbap, Hongjoong takes out a ukulele and Mingi, who sits next to you, turns a pot upside down and grabs some sticks from the trees, ready to play his makeshift drum. The boys start to sing their favourite songs and you join them, clapping in harmony. It’s a lovely moment and you can’t help but feel giddy. Yeosang and San couple dance in the middle and Wooyoung sings for them. 

When you’re packing your belongings and preparing to go back, you catch Wooyoung who is zipping his bag. 

“I didn’t realise you could sing so well,” you start and he smiles, pleased with himself.

“Why, thank you,” he grins.

“No, I mean it,” you say and he pauses to look at you. His voice is still echoing in your head, lulling you into a calm headspace. “You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s the truth.”

Wooyoung raises his brows. “You’ve told me to shut up so many times that I can’t believe what you’re saying.”

You laugh. “I mean your singing voice. Not yapping voice–”

He is quick to bring you in a chokehold and you tap on his arm to indicate that you surrender. He shifts his arm to bring you close and stares at you.

“You mean it?” He asks. 

You look at him. His eyes are wide and eager with anticipation. 

“I mean it. I need you to sing more and yap less.”

“Oh, you love it when I yap,” he says. You don’t deny it. 

He kisses your temple. While it’s something that he does everyday, this time, he lingers and kisses your cheek too. You feel the onset of butterflies in your stomach and you can’t believe it. 

Before you can process this moment, San joins you and welcomes you with a kiss to your cheek too. You almost groan but the way he looks at you with so much fondness melts your heart and you realise he isn’t teasing you. He’s just… being himself. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“I’m fine. I told him he has a nice voice. Make sure it doesn’t get to his head,” you say and wring out of their grip, leaving them snickering. You take refuge behind Yeosang who, ever your protective friend, tucks you further behind him. It reminds you of the time you used to call Wooyoung the assailant. Jongho pokes you in the side and makes you fold over, the three of you running in circles to get each other. 

Your laughter carries throughout the semester. Junior year comes to a beautiful conclusion and you part ways with the boys for the holidays. You share a teary-eyed farewell with the seniors and promise to stay in contact and meet up often. They assure you that they won’t leave you alone and that every now and then, you can expect them at the hideout. It sounds like a promise to you and a threat to the boys– the seniors warn them. Take care of our little sister.

Take care they do. While you don’t meet up for the first half of the holidays, all of you travelling around to meet your families, you do occasional meetups at cafes and arcades with anyone who is able to join. The group chat remains alive and it almost feels like you’ve never parted.

Senior year arrives. It is the first day of school, a year apart. Cherry blossoms fill the streets again, blooming in all their pastel pink glory, contrasting beautifully with the morning blue sky. The clouds look nothing short of cotton today, fluffy and full.

Just like last year, children are on their way to school and playing games on the streets again. They focus on stepping or avoiding the petals, challenging each other playfully. The old folk sit to bask in the scene. The students look nervous but the blossom shower seems to help soothe their souls.

And then there is your group of seniors. You’re all waiting at the designated intersection for Mingi and Yunho to arrive. While you wait, you’re all chatting among yourselves and catching up. San recounts a trip to his hometown to visit his grandparents. Wooyoung has far too many stories to share. Yeosang can apparently play the violin now and he is being assigned as the musician in your hideout now. Hongjoong and Seonghwa argue about their plans for college. 

Jongho, who has dyed his hair red over the holidays, is wondering how he’ll get past the guard and the teachers. You tease him about how he’s definitely inspired by a certain senior he had a crush on. He no longer reacts when you mention it or tease him about his little crush over Yuna. It seems like he has gotten over it, or realised that it was more admiration than crush.

The twin towers arrive, waving enthusiastically from the distance. You all pretend to be mad since you waited a good 15 minutes for them, but when Mingi pulls the zipper of his bag to reveal snacks, you all decide to forgive and forget. The duo is welcomed warmly and you all start to walk towards the school.

“Oh, look at that,” Seonghwa points at a boy and a girl trying to catch the petals from the trees. They seem to be juniors. “They must have heard the saying about how catching a falling petal grants your wish or brings you luck.”

“Or makes you find your true love,” you say spontaneously and Seonghwa glances at you with a smile. You suddenly feel shy. “I think that’s the most common belief associated with catching falling petals.”

“Well, it’s not hard to catch them,” Seonghwa attempts to catch a petal but misses. “Perhaps, that is why the saying exists. So we believe that finding your true love isn’t a very hard thing.”

“So that we do not lose hope and believe in our luck,” you add and he agrees. “Is it supposed to be catching a petal at the same time as the other…?”

Seonghwa follows your gaze. The couple seems to believe that the petals have to be caught at the same time. 

“Now that is hard,” Seonghwa laughs.

“What’s hard?” Wooyoung asks, falling in step with you both.

“Do you think we all can catch petals at the same time?” Seonghwa wonders.

“You bet we can. Guys!” Wooyoung claps to get everyone’s attention and you groan, laughing to yourself. “We have a challenge.”

“What’s the prize?” 

“Shut up and listen,” Wooyoung scolds Mingi and he leans against Yunho for comfort, laughing anyway. “We’re all going to try to catch petals at the same time.”

“Why would we do that…” Yeosang begins but when Wooyoung folds his arm, he retracts his question. 

“Is this about the true love saying?” San wraps his arm around Yeosang and you all slow down to a halt. “I don’t really believe in that, but it’s romantic.”

“If the nine of us catch petals at the same time, that would make it more believable,” Yunho comments. “Because what are the chances?”

“It would be nothing short of a miracle,” Hongjoong sighs. “And it is also what gets us late on the first day of school.”

“Three attempts,” Wooyoung suggests and Jongho nods, being the first to accept the challenge.

You think it’s a bit foolish and you’ll definitely be late for school, but Wooyoung looks so happy to just finally have all of you together and his grin is unmatched. You get him. You’re feeling happy and content too. You meet eyes with all the boys, and it looks like they share the sentiments.

So you all turn away from each other, waiting for Wooyoung’s cue. All of you fix your eyes on that one petal that seems to be falling the right way, that seems to be calling to you. When Wooyoung shouts ‘now!’, you all jump and swing your hand in the air and clutch your fist before you turn back towards each other, light on your feet and almost reminiscent of butterflies in your movement.

It seems nothing short of magical when you all open your fists to find that everyone managed to catch a petal in the first attempt. All nine of you. 

Some of you stand in disbelief while the rest absolutely lose their minds. You’re frozen in place, staring at the petal in your hand in awe. When you look up, you find all the boys clutching at their petals like it’s a token of luck. It might as well be.Or maybe, it’s a symbol of love, marking new beginnings.

taglist pt 1:

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

"hyung, i've been having these weird dreams again lately. this black figure just sits in the corner, wherever i am. it's so scary-"

"wooyoung. i'm staying up late in the studio, please don't scare me."

"and i'm walking home alone after this, hongjoong, what am i supposed to do? i'm scared shitless. i walk around paranoid, people think i'm crazy for turning around every few minutes while i walk."

the older man rolls his eyes playfully at the younger ones response, then pops another soup dumpling in his mouth. he immediately regrets it, forgetting that they are still very hot inside. seeing the young one in distress, he quickly chews it and swallows it, trying to ignore the burning sensation down his throat.

"look, if it's bothering you so much, you can sleep with seonghwa tonight. i'll just sleep on the couch when i come home."

"thanks, man! i'm sorry, at first it was funny. but now? it's getting so frequent that the other night when i woke up, i almost smacked yeosang across the face. poor guy was just trying to drink water. but now that he isn't here, it's even scarier."

hongjoong snickers, then picks up another dumpling. he makes sure to blow on it first, before biting only half of it off so it can cool down. much better.

"just don't be scared if you hear rattling. that's just me coming home and dragging my cables with me. where has yeosang gone anyway?"

"he went to his parents for the weekend. it's his mom's birthday."

"oh, right. should've known. he never shares anything like that."

they stay in silence for a while, enjoying the rest of the food. hongjoong treated his brothers a lot, and wooyoung felt like it was finally time to return the favor. of course, he missed the way hongjoong secretly swiped his card at the counter on his way to the toilet, so when wooyoung asked for the bill, he was left disappointed and angered.

"it's already paid, sir." the waitress says, hiding hongjoong's smirk with a tray as she collected the dirtied dishes.

"what? by who?"

"thank you, hasun. the food was amazing as always. sorry for the mess."

"you-" wooyoung started, pointing his finger at his older brother.

"oh, don't worry about it. you're always welcome." the young girl smiles, a little flirtatiously.

hongjoong didn't miss it, of course. but he only nodded with a respectful smile, understanding his position as an idol and his limitations. "have a good night!"

the young men exit the little restaurant they often visited as trainees and freshly debuted. it was always fun to go back to old memories of fun and sacrifice. hongjoong looks at wooyoung, who is still sulking because he couldn't pay. he loves all seven of them, with all his heart. without them, who knows where he would be. each one of them worked so hard, and they are where they are right now because of team work. and hongjoong couldn't have asked for better team mates. team mates he gets to call family.

"come on, cheer up. i'm your hyung, i can't let you pay."

"san lets me pay all the time." he mumbles, not even looking at hongjoong. it makes the older man even more amused.

"san loves to tease you, and you know he can't deny free food. you'll pay another time."

"liar."

"i promise."

"i don't believe you."

"pinky promise?"

"that means nothing coming from you."

"come on, you're doing too much."

polar opposites, they were. hongjoong didn't care about those things. he just wanted to take care of his members, and lead them. but wooyoung? he cared about every little detail, showed love to everyone around him, and got deeply hurt every time hongjoong would promise something and then break the promise.

"you won't stay late tonight?" "nope."

"did you eat the chicken i made for you? you didn't starve yourself again, did you?" "of course i ate it."

"will you wrap up earlier today so we can all go out for lunch?" "sure."

"did you check out that back pain?" "yep."

he would stay up late. he didn't eat the food. he wouldn't wrap it up either. the chicken would stay on his desk for days sometimes, until a visit from seonghwa would take care of it. he would fall asleep on his couch with his laptop, fingers stuck on one key and typing endless pages of the same letter while the exhausted producer softly snored on the keyboard. back at the dorm, the bottle of alcohol would be downed, and wooyoung would only be washing seven glasses, the eighth one still waiting on the counter. hongjoong would come, see the single glass on the counter, and feel bad. but the music won't produce itself. once the work is finished, he'll enjoy with them.

yet the work never seemed to finish, and it made wooyoung angry. not at his leader, but at the expectations from everyone above them. even now, hongjoong had very dark circles under his eyes, and was blinking heavily. it was only seven in the evening, and he still had to be in the studio.

"i hate when you overwork yourself. or when you starve yourself as a punishment for not doing a good job. and i hate when you put work first. we barely see you these days, only on interviews and concerts. i just wish-"

"don't guilt trip me, okay?"

"what?" wooyoung says for the second time that night, now more in disbelief than in disappointment.

hongjoong scoffed, feeling mentally tired. "look, i'm trying to finish this so i can rest before the comeback. so we can all rest before the comeback. i don't have time for these hangouts or slacking. we are team mates and colleagues, and-"

"oh."

hongjoong realizes how wrong his words came out, but by the time he looks at wooyoung, the young man is already sulking again. "no, i didn't-"

"team mates? colleagues?" he scoffs. "you know what? go. i don't care. i'm sorry i'm a pain in the ass. i won't ask again."

"wooyoung-" hongjoong puts his hand on wooyoung's shoulder, trying to fix the situation he created.

"i don't care!" wooyoung yanks his hand away, and accidentally pushes him in the process. "go! i don't care. i'll leave you alone, and i won't ever ask you for a drink or bring you food. it rots in there anyway, and as a colleague, i'm clearly overstepping. so, good luck with your work, mate."

the older man can only watch as the younger one crosses the street, going a different route just to be alone. he wishes he could follow him and apologize, but the deadline is so close, and eden is unforgiving. even now, when he is only two minutes late, his phone is blowing up with calls and messages from him.

"fuck."

the phone beeps loudly near hongjoong's head. when he turned the alarm on before sleeping once he got back from the studio and threw himself on the couch, he audibly groaned at the words on his screen: three hours and twelve minutes until the alarm. it takes him a while to peel his eyes open, and when he takes his phone, he is surprised to see an incoming call instead of the alarm. it is still dark outside, meaning that he only actually slept for an hour. the letters and numbers on the screen are blurry. hongjoong can't fight the fatigue, and thus, shuts the phone off sleepily, turns on his side and then falls asleep again.

the second time he is awoken, it isn't by the fateful alarm. rather, it is by a shoulder shake. he turns around, rubbing his eyes. the sky is no longer pitch black, but a dark blue colour, stars slowly bidding goodbye and the sun announcing it's arrival. from this point onwards, it feels like a dream. a nightmare, rather.

hongjoong remembers seeing the foggy frosted windows first, ones that looked at the big buildings and busy streets of seoul. only six in the morning, and people were already up and working hard, despite the biting winter weather. then, hongjoong remembers his team mates, brothers, standing above the couch in the living room. seonghwa's eyes bloodshot red, and jongho rubbing yeosang's back as he sobs into his shoulder.

"what's going on?"

"did wooyoung come home last night?" seonghwa's voice is a mere whisper.

"what?" hongjoong is completely awake now, throwing the blanket aside and sitting up straight. lack of sleep doesn't allow him to stand yet, so he remains sat. "i came here well after midnight, i didn't want to make any noise so i went straight to sleep. i even have my clothes on still. yeosang? when did you come back?"

"hongjoong..." seonghwa starts, looking anywhere but at his friend who looks more concerned with each second that passes. with full right.

"what? say it, god, i feel like throwing up. what is it? where's wooyoung?"

"they called us to identify a body."

hearing those words for the second time that morning, san can't help but break down. he leaves the room, yunho following. he can't let him stay alone, one missing member is enough.

"what?" hongjoong's voice now matches seonghwa's, his heart tight and legs ice cold. a chill runs down his spine, and his eyes burn terribly.

the young leader on the couch finally takes a good look at his older brother. his eyes puffed and red, lips dry and trembling, dried tear marks on his cheeks, and new tears making his eyes glossy. hongjoong is still unable to react. he doesn't know what to say. he can't move, his legs nor his tongue. it is not until mingi hands him his jacket that hongjoong realizes he isn't dreaming again. the situation is serious, painful, and unbearable. he can only hope on the way there that the jung wooyoung they have isn't the jung wooyoung he parted ways with last night.

but when hongjoong arrives at the morgue, and sees his dear friend and brother embraced by an eternal dream, all he can do is slide down the wall and grab his head in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair as some sort of subconscious punishment.

"mr jung crossed the road on a red light"

"the car that hit him was going over the speed limit"

"we did everything we could"

"the driver was taken by police"

"we tried reaching out while he was still somewhat conscious"

hongjoong's breath stops.

the call.

the call from the unknown number he so lazily muted.

the call that maybe couldn't save wooyoung, but could've given a chance to hongjoong to show him how much he is loved.

the call that wouldn't make this situation as tragic as it is.

wooyoung died not knowing that hongjoong loves him as his brother, not knowing that he bought eight tickets for the new movie he so wanted to watch, not knowing that hongjoong begged eden to have a week off to make up for all the times he has ditched on everyone. again, all that hongjoong has is hope. hope that if there is an afterlife, wooyoung could look down and see that hongjoong didn't mean what he said last night. not in the way wooyoung took it.

selfishly, hongjoong blamed eden. if he didn't stay up that late, he could've gotten the call. hell, if eden wasn't so harsh on him, this wouldn't have happened. he would have enough time to spend with his family, and the argument wouldn't have happened at all. they could go to the movies, stay up late at the dorms and drink, talk about silly crushes and gossip about the managers and staff, then all fall asleep on the floor with shared blankets and couch pillows.

"come on, we have to go. we have to tell his parents."

on a rocking chair, on a porch overlooking the orange and pink clouds, sits a young woman. a black hood rests on her head, the shadow hiding her face. her thin, skeletal looking fingers flip through the pages of the worn out book, mind already autofilling the sentences. she knows the book by heart, it being her favorite since she learned how to read.

the sound of grunting and tossing takes her attention away.

finally, she thinks.

she enters the little wooden cabin, leaving the book in the chair, still rocking. the young man opens his eyes, hands reaching to rub the sleepiness out of them. he sits up, now almost fully awake. he looks around, scratching the back of his neck. his surroundings look nothing like the usual mornings he wakes up. finally, he sees you. a black hooded cloak, thin fingers gripping the scythe that is bigger than you, and a sickly looking bunny on your shoulder, pitch black and blending with your cloak.

then, sharp pain. his spine aches, and wooyoung screeches. he curls up on the bed, hands gripping at his back in hopes to make it stop. you take pity in the deceased human and his pain, and spare him. the scythe thumps against the floor, and the young man calms down. he breathes fast, uneven, and sits up again. his eyes widen, and you think that if he widened them a little more, his eyeballs would pop out. all the reactions are the same. they all think they're ready for death, but when they do encounter it, suddenly they want back.

"no..."

denial, the second reaction. how ground-breaking. you sigh, bored. will you ever encounter an interesting human? then, you remember you were the same. worse, even. wide eyed, screaming into the black cloak to let you go back, trying to jump from the porch into the clouds, in hopes of landing back among the living. three times you tried to jump, until you were strapped to the very same bed the young man is in right now.

"no, it can't be. i mean, it's a dream, right?"

you don't answer. it won't be of any help. instead, with the handle of the scythe, you push an empty bottle from the night stand towards him. despite his growing confusion, he takes it in his hand, not yet asking why it is empty. he looks at you, well, tries to, as if to silently ask. he sees that you don't acknowledge him, and makes his peace with it.

he unscrews the cap, and looks inside. the bottle is still empty, and wooyoung isn't sure what to do. using the handle of your trusted companion again, you push the bottle towards his lips, and the bottle finally fills with liquid. to your surprise, it turns white. milk?

"wow." he says, downing the whole bottle. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks at you once again. "let me guess. fills with whatever the person yearns for at the moment?"

you nod slightly, then take the bottle. you toss it into a wooden box, which is only halfway full this week. it makes you happy. you hate days when it's overflowing. because of the people themselves, and because of the mess you have to clean up.

"i haven't had a glass of milk in years, i think. somewhere deep down i must've really needed it."

the man stands up, looking around. his hand reaches towards the pink clouds spilling through the open cabin, and he feels a warm sensation. he notices that it doesn't have windows and doors. only window and door frames, and light transparent drapes that float in the gentle breeze. he looks out the window, and sighs. the cabin sits on the clouds, the colorful fluff extending into the horizon over the sun. no other houses, buildings of any kind, or animals. except a path, which wooyoung doesn't ask about yet.

"must be damn beautiful looking at this all day long. the sun is setting on earth? the clouds are pink, so... i mean, you don't have to answer. i don't know what to do with myself. i guess i'm waiting to wake up. or subconsciously think that if i approach this as a normal person, you might send me back. that not happening, right?"

asking to go back, third reaction. but he isn't asking. merely making sure that his thinking is right. when you stay silent, he takes that as affirmative.

"so, how does this go? do i confess my sins? do i stay a ghost and haunt someone? do i go to another place? or do i take over yours?"

he is easy going. not boring at all. very relaxed, in fact. for a person that lost his life overnight, at the peak of his life, he seems very friendly. usually, people that arrive here hate you. as if you were the one who killed them, and not often their foolish and reckless decisions.

the animal on your shoulder jumps down, finding its usual place in the warm abandoned bed. wooyoung refrains from petting it, even though that's all he wants at the moment. to feel something alive in his hand again. speaking of which, he remembers his brothers. his family, both of them. he gulps, afraid of showing emotion. he isn't sad for himself. he is sad for them. they'll have to carry the burden of grief for days, until they are ready to let go. and wooyoung hopes they let go soon, for their sake.

he doesn't have time to further sadden himself, when he notices you exiting the cabin through the other door frame. it is the path he saw, leading through the clouds and disappearing far away.

"no bikes?" he jokes, the silence becoming unbearable. he has to occupy himself, as to not think of the life he so carelessly abandoned.

but you still don't say a word. you walk in front of him, the black cloak tail trailing behind you.

 "should i just save my breath?" he mumbles, more to himself. "i thought i'd be scared. frankly, i'm a bit bored. i-"

his breath hitches when you suddenly turn around, pointing your scythe at him. the silver blade glimmers under the faint rays of sunshine, blinding almost. "silence."

wooyoung expected many things. but for you to sound so gentle while you looked so fierce? his expression must've pissed you off, because you thump the bottom of your scythe against the floor, causing him to vanish into thin air and spawn back in the bed. more like above it, making him land on his butt on the soft mattress.

"hurry." your voice echoes everywhere. "or you won't make it."

"wait!" wooyoung's legs ache as he runs down the path, struggling to catch up to you.

fatigue takes over his body and mind. being dead isn't for the weak, he thinks.

"fuck-" he yelps, hands reaching for his back in hopes of relieving the pain that has struck him again. then, he sees the scythe raise from the ground again, and you preparing to thump it one more time. "wait! no, no, no-"

"no swearing in my realm."

"i'm sorry!"

but you show no mercy, instead teleporting him back in the bed, this time being kind enough not to drop him on it. you hear him groan out of frustration, and you can't help the smirk on your lips. by the time he catches up once again, you are almost at the end of the path.

"i apologize." he breathes out. when you don't respond, he frowns. he trails behind you, gaze fixed on the cobblestone path surrounded by clouds that have now turned a violet colour. the sun will set any second now.

he wonders how many days have passed. was he buried already? how was his family holding up? how was hongjoong? and the rest? san? oh, san. and yeosang, too. a seed of self hatred spawns in wooyoung's heart. how could he be so careless? he caused permanent pain to those who did nothing but love him. he hopes hongjoong isn't too hard on himself. it's not his fault, and he hates that it took this to realize it. as much as it hurts, he hopes they move on as soon as possible. for their sake. they have each other, they'll get through this. they have to.

a creak wakes wooyoung from his thoughts. he finds himself standing in front of a gated garden. the doors open on their own, tall and of steel. it reminds wooyoung of castle gates. you head inside, the cloak trailing behind you. the young man follows, careful not to step on it.

"this is the Garden of Truth." your voice is an echo, even though you are mere inches away from him. it is a gentle one, sounding as if multiple voices were speaking at once. satisfyingly eerie. "while we walk through it, you can ask me anything. and i will tell you the truth, and nothing but the truth. but beware: what questions you choose to ask determine what happens to you beyond the gates at the end."

wooyoung hums. curious eyes take in the sight of the dull garden ahead: vines that climb the stone walls nothing but branches, grey grass, hardened soil, no animals other than the bunny on your shoulder. the sky is suddenly grey, the pastel colours long left behind the gates. wooyoung doesn't look back. it seems that if he does it, something might go wrong. so he looks straight ahead, gaze fixed on the dried up bushes that run along the dusty path.

"our time here is limited. i suggest you start." you warn.

"right." he clears his throat. "how uh... how did they find out?"

"you'll have to be specific, wooyoung. specific questions are rewarded with specific answers."

"of course." he agrees, mentally face palming himself. "how did my colleagues find out?"

"a few fans recognized you as they were passing by. they were the ones that called the ambulance. then, the hospital contacted your company, which contacted park seonghwa and the rest."

oh, no. not atiny.

wooyoung's heart clenches. that must've been traumatic. it will scar them for life.

"did i... on the spot? did they see my... corpse or my body?"

"at the hospital. you were still alive when they found you on the road."

"oh," he is somewhat relieved.

he knows the time is limited, yet he can't bring himself to speak as he watches your bony fingers run through the dried leaves of a willow that is sagging sadly over the path. was the garden always like this?

"not always, no." you answer his thoughts.

"i wasn't aware you can read minds." the young man is surprised.

"questions, wooyoung." you remind him, threatening to thump the scythe against the ground again.

"okay, okay!" he quickly stops you. "the garden... what happened to it?"

"bad people touched what was sacred. they tarnished it. took away its purity. in response, the garden destroyed them and itself." you point your scythe at a wall. "and made me its prisoner."

only then does wooyoung notice that the stone spheres on top of the tall walls aren't spheres. petrified heads, littered along the walls that guard the dead garden. they seem to be... bleeding. "but... you aren't at fault. why are you its prisoner? and in what way are you imprisoned?"

"i brought them here. misjudged them." you sigh, remembering the events that occurred centuries ago. "they didn't deserve the garden of truth. they deserved the Void of Confessions. i am bound to the garden. at night, i spawn in the dried up well, whether i like it or not. surrounded by echoes of those that walked the path to the Void of Confessions instead of finding peace here. tormented by their curses, swears, screams, and whatnot. until it exhausts me, and i fall asleep in the dark pit and wake up back on the porch in my rocking chair."

"Void of Confessions?" you strike is curiosity.

the rustling of the dried leaves as you both walk is somewhat calming. it's been a while since you had a calm walk. and you are grateful to the young man for it. "those who have done many evil deeds and still think of themselves as innocent and deserving of mercy. they are thrown into the white void, falling for eternity, or until they reach sincere regret and confess to every single thing they did wrong."

"every?"

"every."

"even if they don't remember it?"

"even if they don't know they did it."

suddenly, wooyoung is grateful that he is in the garden. he thought that he wasn't always the best version of himself. was he really a good person, or were there just such horrible people that compared to him, he was deserving of this garden?

"how many people have escaped the void?"

you hum, as if thinking. but wooyoung knows you know. "one."

"who?"

"me."

comfortable silence envelops you both again. wooyoung isn't scared of you. right now, he even feels some kind of admiration when he looks at you. "when will you stop being its prisoner?"

"when the grass turns green again, when roses climb up the walls, when the bushes become dense, when the willows offer shade again, when the branches shield the garden, when the sun pokes through the grey mist, and when the first apple turns red on the Tree of Memories."

"what's that?"

"it's something i haven't been able to offer visitors for the past few centuries. or, well, since the events occurred." you sigh. "it's a tree by the gates of the exit. all dried up now, sadly. depends on the time of the year, the tree produces various fruits. but there's always one apple, no matter what fruit it bears. the Apple of Remembrance. it allows the person who bites into it to take one memory from the mortal world into the after life, before all your memory is erased. in other words, you'll get to live with a single memory of your choice forever."

"i'll lose my memory?" wooyoung sulks.

"it's for the best. it'll allow your soul to rest in peace." you assure him. and he believes you. he just wishes he could somehow cheat this... magic. bring his memories with him. he can handle it. "i'm sure you can."

he rolls his eyes at your answer to his thoughts. "privacy, miss grim reaper."

when you don't answer, wooyoung goes back to thinking.

"hongjoong... how is he?"

"not good."

his heart feels as if it'll burst. "no sugarcoating, huh?"

"garden of truth." you remind him.

"did i manage to get a hold of him? i remember speed dialing his number when i woke up for a split second."

you didn't seem to hesitate when giving answers. this time, wooyoung noticed that your posture changed. "no."

"...why?"

"he hung up."

"oh."

he didn't blame hongjoong. he was angry, and tired. he couldn't have known.

"is hongjoong blaming himself?"

"yes."

a question lingers on the tip of his tongue. and he knows that you know what it is. and you could answer if you wanted. he wouldn't have to say it out loud. yet, wooyoung never asks.

can i see him one last time?

it stays locked in his throat, tormenting him. making it difficult for him to swallow. then, you indirectly answer. "from the cabin and beyond, all ties to the mortal world are cut off. they are unreachable, in any way or form."

the young man's heart sinks. he knew it. yet, to hear it out loud, it shatters him. his vision becomes blurry, the shades of grey blending into one and causing him to stop. he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stay strong until at least all the questions are asked and answered. when he opens his eyes again, he notices that you have stopped to wait for him, back still facing him.

"can't haunt anyone?" a joke escapes his lips.

"it's not that kind of death."

death.

wooyoung didn't realize that the word wasn't used at all since he came. he died. he didn't just  spawn into this magic realm where time and space is an odd concept. he is going further into the unknown, not able to turn back. not able to ever look at his loved ones again. not able to wake up and realize that it's just a dream. everything around him is unfamiliar, and a sudden feeling of uneasiness creeps down his spine.

"yeosang... and san. how are they?"

"devastated. they're not leaving each other's side."

"will they recover?"

"not for a long time."

a knife to the heart, your words were. but he can't blame you, as much as his heart seeks someone to unleash on. "and the rest? will they get over it? will ateez continue to be without me?"

again, silence. wooyoung doesn't like it. he doesn't like it when you stop, either. his breath hitches. oh, what will you tell him?

"please." his voice cracks. "i need to know they'll be fine. they're my everything. i'll do anything, i swear, anything-!"

"one of them won't make it."

"what?" voice a mere whisper, and heart broken into pieces that cut, wooyoung stops in the middle of the garden. tears freely spill down his pale cheeks, and his breath shudders. "no."

his knees give up, legs jelly on the floor, and upper body barely keeping him up in a sitting position. dried thorns cut into his hands as he subconsciously grips the dusty cobblestone, and the tears soak the hard soil. wooyoung finally breaks into sobs, painful wails echoing through the garden and bouncing off the stone walls.

"please, please, please," he begs, "please! i'll be your servant for eternity, i'll switch places with you so you can find your peace, i'll replant the whole garden if needed. please."

"wooyoung."

"please!" he screams. you know he isn't screaming at you. and it doesn't anger you. it even makes you feel sympathy for the unlucky young man. "i'll eat the dust and thorns if i have to. god, lock me up here, curse me, don't ever let me out. just, please, please, please, keep them safe."

finally, you turn around, breaking your own rule and opting to console the distressed young man behind you. yet, when your eyes land on the sight that was hiding behind your back this entire time, a gasp escapes your lips, and the scythe falls to the ground with a light thud.

the garden blooms, the gates are overrun with thick vines, the grass green, the bushes dense, a yellow hue has replaced the dull grey one, and roses decorate the walls. seeds sprout in the soil between the stones, wooyoung's tears watering them. his begging doesn't stop, instead turns into low whispers of despair.

"wooyoung." his face fits in the palm of your hand. glossy red eyes look at you, or at least try to. "oh, you pretty soul."

"w-what?" he hiccups.

"turn around."

you help him up, your weak figure barely holding him up, but enough to make him stand and turn around. his jaw drops at the sight, much like yours did. "how...?"

"you did this. with your selfless questions and desire to see others live well, even if it is without you." your other hand still cradles his pale face. thumb gently wipes the tears away, all while he stares at you with eyes full of confusion, sorrow and pain. "you saved the garden."

"but..."

"you saved me."

it takes all in you not to hug him. and you would've managed, had he not wrapped his arms around you and pushed you into his chest. you've never done this before. you are waiting for the sky to split open again, to rain thorns and blood. yet it doesn't happen. wooyoung still hugs you, quietly sniffling into the crook of your clothed neck. "i'm scared."

"you won't be scared for much longer." both gazes land on the gates on the other side. the garden revives as wooyoung walks through it, until he reaches the end of the path and the faithful tree. "look."

and truly, just like you said, the tree bears fruit. peaches. "i desire peaches?"

"it seems so. and look, an apple." you point at the single red apple that grows on the branch that hangs lower than the others. "i believe that's yours. as are the peaches. as many as you want, before you head through the gates, of course."

wooyoung picks a peach, and it snaps in a satisfying way. the tree rustles as the branch goes back in place. he feels the soft fuzzy skin of the fruit. for the last time. then, his breath shudders again. "i don't want to go."

"i can't send you back, wooyoung."

"no, i- i don't want to go back. i want to stay. with you."

it reminds you why you don't hug, why you don't show sympathy. "i'm just an escort. nothing more."

"i could be your helper. your gardener. people would feel more at ease if they saw me here."

"you mean well, and that's what saved the garden. your ability to love and care for people more than for yourself. but it doesn't work that way."

"why not?"

"it'll work for a day. what happens when your physical form starts decaying? you'll require a cloak, just like me. and it's not like one grim reaper isn't scary enough, you'd put those people through a second death when they see two of us?"

he knows you have a point. still, he thinks it's worth a shot. but the answer is clear. thus, wooyoung reaches for the apple. "how does it work?"

"you bite into it. as you chew, it will take you through a short journey through your life. you'll relive everything in a span of five seconds. from your birth, to your death. in that time, you'll find the memory which you'll take with you. the rest will fade as you walk out the gates."

"even the memory of you?"

"even the memory of me."

"but you aren't from the mortal life." he argues.

"doesn't matter. beyond the garden, everything is peaceful. i am not peaceful, i do not belong there. i am in the middle of this all. not good enough to cross on one side, not bad enough to cross on the other side. the garden wasn't my curse. the realm itself is my curse."

"but-"

"goodbye, wooyoung." you bring the apple close to his lips, encouraging him to bite into it. "this might hurt a bit."

five seconds has wooyoung's brain on fire. from his birth, childhood, to his trainee days, and his last days. he lives through it all again. when he opens his eyes, he is surprised to find his cheeks soaked, and chest rising and falling fast. he has found the memory. the sweet apple turns sour in his mouth, realization taking over one last time.

"you don't have to say it out loud."

"i want to."

he swears he could see you smile, even though there was nothing but black void beneath your hood. "go ahead."

"the memory of sharing the first sincere laugh with all seven of my brothers."

you were expecting something like that. seems that this group was more than just coworkers. wooyoung drops the apple on the ground, feeling his head become dizzy.

"is it happening?"

"yes." you confirm. the gates open, causing you to release a breath you didn't know you were holding. when was the last time a human has made you feel anything? "go on. don't be afraid. there is no pain beyond the gates. or so i've heard."

"does another life exist?"

"i wouldn't know, wooyoung." you genuinely say. "i am bound to this place, remember?"

"then... if there is another life... i selfishly hope to see you again."

the chuckle that leaves your lips is audible, warming the young man's heart. "i'm not going anywhere for a long, long time. that i can assure you."

wooyoung then turns around, one foot stepping over the threshold. he doesn't remember his teenage years. one hand holds onto the fence just outside the gates. he doesn't remember his trainee years. the other hand holds onto the other fence. he doesn't remember his family. the other foot steps over the threshold.

***

when will spiderman be held accountable for the consequences of his actions?

yes, your superhero saved your city multiple times. yes, he saved that old lady from falling off the building. yes, he fought off an alien giant that threatened to blow up the continent. yes, he saved that school bus from drowning. that's his job. he is a superhero. it is expected of him.

have you people looked at the aftermath? victory and relief blinds you, you fail to see the demolished buildings, wrecked cars, shattered windows of your favourite shops. has spiderman ever stayed to assist firefighters clear up the scene? has he ever comforted people who were still paying off that car that is now on top of a building somewhere? people who just got their apartment? people who have just opened their shops?

no. spiderman doesn't care about those things. he cares about glory, praises and rewards. he vanishes until a new threat emerges, appearing only when the city has already suffered destruction, and sometimes causing further damage himself. what good is a city that you have to rebuild every few months, watching it get demolished every single time?

wake up, people. it is time to hold spiderman accountable.

the publish button is clicked without hesitation. third article this week, and no sight or sound of the notorious hero. your teeth bite the inside of your cheek again, abusing the already wounded flesh as your eyes scan the article one more time. this one should get his attention. it has to. slowly over the past few months, people are starting to understand you. those who once called you a fool are now on your side, demanding at least an apology from the man who successfully hid after every battle.

"leaving early?" your coworker asks, eyes not moving from his own screen.

"yes." you answer, shutting your laptop and safely putting it away in its bag.

"going home to write more mean things about spidey on your little hate blog?"

"not that it is any of your business, but i am going to the cemetery."

the smirk drops from the man's face, and his eyes notice the flowers on the edge of your desk. "oh. sorry."

"yeah. see you tomorrow, wooyoung."

last time you were here, it was still summer. the grass was green, and the sun reflected the shiny letters on the tombstone. flowers decorated almost every grave, lots of colorful bundles and candles making the place less morbid. now, it was the opposite. you haven't visited since august, and it was already october. autumn has made the grass dry and brown, and tombstones grey and gloomy. his name didn't shine anymore. it was just letters on a stone.

"hi, baby." a shaky whisper leaves your mouth, almost disappearing with the wind. you crouch, placing fresh white lilies in front of the stone. fingers reach to graze the silver letters, tracing each one before tears blur your vision. "i brought you your favorite."

he never had a favourite flower. not until you gave him a compliment that made him blush for a week every time he looked at you.

"you're as pretty as a white lily, seonghwa."

"w-what?"

"what?"

"pretty? i am supposed to be handsome." his cheeks are a pretty pink shade, and his eyes are shiny as he looks at you flustered.

"you are handsome. and you're also very pretty. you're my pretty boy."

and he was.he was beautiful in every way. his eyes, his lips, his words, his soul. he was one of the purest people you've ever met. selfless, full of love and so sweet. you met him in a coffee shop where he worked, and lost him there too. three years ago on this day you met him. one year ago on this day you lost him.

"i miss you. i miss you so much its burning me inside out." you sob, fingers subconsciously caressing the stone like you once caressed his face. "he'll pay for it. i promise you. he will."

a week passes, and still nothing. the city hero has retreated who knows where, unaware of the boiling situation inside you. even as you sit in the emergency room, you do not react to the alcohol making your open wound bubble, instead thinking of ways to get to the man behind the mask.

"what happened again?" the doctor's assistant, who had just arrived in the room flushed with papers in her hands, asked as she looked at your leg.

"we were at the zoo, and we failed to hear that there was a viper on the lose. we found it when my crazy sister casually ripped the animal off her leg and tossed it over my head." your sister explains as she holds your niece, bouncing her on her hip to keep her occupied.

"time is crucial. had you come a few minutes later, you'd be dead, young lady."

"okay." you simply reply, emotionlessly watching as the doctor rubs ointment on the exposed flesh before wrapping it up.

your sister sighs. "right, thank you doctor."

"you must rest for a few days. no walking unless you absolutely must. see me again in a week."

you stand, walking over to the assistant and taking the note, as if you didn't hear what the doctor just said. "thanks. bye."

"i am so sorry." your sister apologizes, then rushes outside to catch up with you, struggling to carry her daughter. "wait!"

"i'm not walking fast."

"why are you like this?" she finally grabs your elbow, making you turn around and face her.

"like what?"

"like this! numb! like you don't care whether you live or die! don't you think about your family? your niece who has to see you like this? the only emotions she sees on you are rage and grief, and it makes her sad to see her once happy auntie turn into whatever this is now."

your eyes land on your niece, the five-year-old resting her head on her mothers shoulder and looking at you with sad eyes. with your fingers, you move the bangs out of her eyes, caressing her cheek in the process. "i don't care whether i live or die."

"what?"

"you heard me. i don't. if i live, i get to avenge seonghwa. if i die, i get to be with seonghwa. simple as that."

"listen," she pulls you aside, hiding you from curious eyes. "i hate to be the one to tell you this, but you need to move on."

"no."

"listen to me-"

"leave me alone. don't touch me." you yank your arm from her grip, hitting your niece with your elbow in the process.

the older woman gasps, and so does the child, before her eyes become shiny with tears and lips form a pout. you gulp, stepping back.

"don't ask about me. don't call me. don't visit me. forget about me."

the ground sways beneath your feet as you walk home. brain cluttered, heart racing, and leg aching, you barely make it to the park and fall on the wooden bench. you've never felt this ill before. not even when you got drunk on your last birthday. the autumn sun mercifully warms you as you doze off on the bench, not having the energy to care about whispers and pointed fingers.

when you wake up, you almost have to peel your eyes open. your lips remain shut, and you struggle to breathe. once your eyes gets used to the dark, they lock with other ones. a scream leaves your mouth, but is muffled by a hand firmly planted on your face. the stranger sits on your legs, having full control over your body. fuck, is this how you'll die?

"come on now, sweet thing. you were all sprawled out in the middle of the park. it's basically an invitation. why the sudden rejection?"

you were ready to be wounded. you were ready to be held captive. you were ready to be tortured. you were ready to die. but you were not ready to have another man touch what belonged to seonghwa. his touch still lingers, and you will not allow him to tarnish it.

"there, there. it'll be over quickly. or not. i'll decide how you deserve it."

his other hand doesn't bother to take your clothes off. instead, he unzips your jacket, then rips your shirt open. the cool air hits your clothed chest, and tears graze your cheeks as you realize there might not be a way out of this. he is strong, and big. and scary. the city is full of people, making it easy for freaks to blend in. you couldn't tell whether he was human or not.

his eyes glow in the dark, and they are hungry. hungry for your flesh or your essence, you did not know. you only knew one. seonghwa. finally, you cared whether you live or die. you'd rather die before this man touches you. you didn't want to live to go through this. you'd never forgive yourself.

"you're boring me." he sighs, annoyed. then, he removes his hand from your mouth. "scream, cry, beg. go on."

sharp pain cuts through your head, making you wince and shut your eyes.

"what the fuck?" you hear him say, then get off you.

when you open your eyes, your vision is... colorful. you no longer see the man, but a shadow that glows red, yellow, green and blue. you gasp, blinking a few times. it stays the same, and it scares you. what did he do to you?

"are those fucking fangs?"

your fingers reach to touch your mouth, and indeed: fangs.

"stay the hell away from me." he steps back.

"no- wait!"

the man you ran from is now running away from you. and you chase him, seeking help in danger. you follow the figure, soon catching up to it and knocking it to the floor. "no! get off me, you monster!"

"what did you do to me?!" your hands grip the fabric of his clothes, shaking his body for answers. "what did you do?!"

he spits in your face, causing you to fall back and give him a mere second to get up. thinking he is faster than you, he stops behind a tree to catch his breath. but you see him. you smell him. and you'll kill him.

"did you just fucking spit on me? after trying to rape my unconscious body?"

a choked gasp leaves his mouth, seeing your figure appear in front of him. "i'm so-"

before he can finish his pathetic apology, your fangs sink into his neck, causing him to shriek in pain. a foreign force takes over your body, making your nails plunge into his stomach, and fangs release liquid inside his flesh. once his squirming stops, you step away, letting his lifeless body fall to the ground. you no longer see vibrant colours, and your vision turns normal.

you don't get the chance to be surprised by your own actions, because you feel a rock hit your back, causing you to shift your attention to a family behind you, fingers pointed and jaws dropped. "viper!"

***

when you called in sick, everyone rushed to your door to make sure you're alright. you had never called in sick before, except the week when seonghwa passed away, and since then, you've been a raging workaholic. working for yourself, for him, and for spiderman. for his destruction. for his misery. you wanted him to feel what you felt that day. you wanted him to feel what you still feel every day. dying little by little, hoping to reunite with your lover but not having the confidence to do anything about it. you wished to see the hero grieving and miserable.

and it might be possible now more than ever. you stand in front of the mirror, finally gaining control over your vision. you could switch to infrared whenever you wanted, and you were quickly learning what exactly is happening in your body. it took you waking up and seeing your changed face in the mirror to finally visit an old friend.

"a radioactive viper." the scientist explained after examining your vitals. "gave you its powers. so cool."

"mingi, nothing about this is cool."

"is too! you can see infrared, you have venom in your fangs, and, uh, you have fangs! you just need to learn how to control all of it." he pokes your forehead, then makes his way to his desk and sits. you follow, desperation evident in your voice.

"mingi, please-"

"knock-knock!"

you run to mingi's closet, not wanting to show your fangs to another poor soul and scar them.

"you don't have to- oh what the hell." the blonde man gives up, letting you hide. "come in!"

"you free?"

"sort of. what is it?"

you watch through the crack as another tall man enters the office, a backpack loosely hanging from his shoulder. he is dressed casually, in loose black jeans and a red and blue college jacket. his hair is dark and falls over his brown eyes, which are curiously examining mingi's messy lab.

"experimenting? i've never seen your lab this messy."

"i just finished a research. nothing of importance so far. what's up, yunho?"

"i was hoping you'd help me with an assignment."

"come on! i finished college ages ago!"

while they're busy bickering, you slip from the closet and carefully make your way to the door. they sit at the round table, mingi finally obliging to help with the assignment. as the student reaches for his notebooks, he catches your figure by the door.

"hey, aren't you that journalist?"

fuck.

"you haven't dropped anything in a while. is everything alright?"

you can't tell if he is worried, or just thirsty for more of this one sided drama you have with the spiderman. you turn around, and your fangs retract in time. he also fully turns around, spinning on his chair in the process and eyes locking with yours.

"yes, it is. just... a writer's block. i'm taking a break from..."

"hating spiderman?" he finishes for you, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. "jeong yunho, nice to meet you."

"jeong yunho?" you repeat, name familiar in your ears. "the spiderman photographer?"

"guilty." he replies, a smile dancing on his lips.

mingi watches from aside as the tension thickens between the two of you. not many words are spoken, but each one feels like drawing a weapon and wielding it. a duel of words.

"say, why exactly do you dedicate all your time to him?"

"i thought you were a fan of my work. how do you not know?" you bite back, a sour smile decorating your equally sour face.

"oh, i know. i just wanted to hear it from you. after all, i am a fan of your work." yunho folds his arms across his chest, then leans against the table with his back. "but i am also a fan of spiderman. after all, he pays for my bills and tuition."

"i am not repeating what i wrote. countless times. you are free to visit my blog or read the newspaper. i have to go."

you turn around, angrily stomping towards the door. mingi sighs, relief washing over his body too quickly.

"i hope i cured your writer's block. i'll be waiting for your article, miss journalist."

you don't have to look at him to know that he is smirking. and you don't have to look at yourself in the mirror to know that your fangs are fully visible again.

it was the second time since the bite that you had the urge to kill someone. and it was the last time you looked normal. now, as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you didn't know whether to be worried or excited. your fangs and vision were fully controlled, but the scales on your neck and jawline and viper eyes not. you don't seem to have any kind of power over them, and it limits you.

or frees you.

you are yet to decide. do you stay inside and learn to hide it, or do you unlock your full potential.

your eyes land on the opened article on your laptop screen once again.

viper - new threat or an escaped lunatic?

it's been a little over a week since the park attack. the family who witnessed it referred to the woman as the viper, describing how her eyes shined and fangs were smeared with blood when she turned around to look at them. they also described her way of moving and speed as something they'd never seen before, even though they all had encounters with heroes other than spiderman.

speaking of spiderman, will he wait for another attack to happen before he reacts? we all know of the uproar my friend and colleague received after calling him out. she has disappeared, called in sick, and never returned. is it possible that he has intervened? after all, she was onto something.

tick-tock, spiderman. lots of questions, accusations, and whatnot awaits you, yet you hide somewhere in your lair, letting all of this happen. letting the people you once helped to turn against you. it's time you stepped out and stood up for yourself.

if the viper is indeed a new threat, you have an opportunity to prove that you are not what she says you are.

wooyoung has unknowingly taken your side with this article. and it is all the encouraging you need.

it doesn't take you longer than a day to sew a hooded outfit for yourself, in order to blend in with the darkness and help you move easily. and it takes you less than a week to get spiderman's attention in a way that could've been avoided. you have raided almost every jewelry shop, broken cafe windows, destroyed parks. simply, you made everything you laid your eyes upon wilt.

at this point, you loved the thrill. cries for help were music to your ears, tearful faces pretty to look at, and your name on many articles and news stroking your ego. you could only imagine the look on spiderman's face as he watches people begging him for help. but you are yet to reach the main goal of this show.

you couldn't wait to show yourself to him. to finally make him see for himself what power you possess. to not only see it, but to feel it, and to beg you to stop.

and it happens on a late night as you sit on the edge of your building, legs hanging above the still busy streets. the dark hood covers the scales on your neck and jaw, but leaves your bright yellow eyes exposed. you scan the city, looking for a particular swinging figure. and you spot him, coming this way. he doesn't seem to notice you, taking his sweet time shooting webs and swinging from the buildings. until his web catches your leg instead of the brick wall, and you swiftly break it.

his sixth sense works in his favour, because he is quick to shoot again, this time next to you. you let him be, watching as his rhythm gets disrupted and he hangs from a single web before regaining control. while he takes his sweet time to adjust, his gaze seems to lock with yours, and you see the way the big white shapes widen in shock, representing his eyes. you only smile, then turn around, as if walking away. he skillfully lands in front of you, in his usual spider stance.

"who are you?" he doesn't hesitate to ask, taking slow steps towards you.

"come and find out." you reply, stepping back. little by little, you reach the edge of the building, your heels hovering above the streets. "if you dare."

with that, you let your body fall. the cool air and gravity envelop it, sending shivers down your spine. and surely, in no time, the masked man is in your vision. he catches up to you, shooting a web and swiping your body in the air with a single hand. your hands hold onto his shoulders, gripping the red and blue fabric as anger boils inside of you. finally.

"gotcha." you hiss into his ear.

"what?" he asks, not sure if he heard right. but once your teeth sink through his suit and into his neck, realization hits him.

he almost drops you, pain ripping through his body as he struggles to reach any kind of surface around him. you don't release any liquid inside yet, rather choosing to keep him on the edge. but the pain of the bite is enough to break him, and he loses control of his webs and becomes dizzy. just in time, you jump on a nearby fire escape, leaving his limp body hanging from a single web and hitting the brick wall. even for spiderman, that must've hurt. and you are not sorry for it.

he'll take this as a warning.

you have him where you wanted him since day one: unconscious, powerless, and vulnerable. all it would take is a single bite again, a proper one this time. and you'd be happy and content. but not before breaking him, little by little.

"i'll stomp on you, you little insect. i'll feed on your pain and misery." you seethe as you watch people open their windows and try to help him, pulling on his limbs and almost tearing him apart, trying to be the one to save the hero. with a nearby fire extinguisher, you break the single web by throwing it his way, making his body fall to the ground. you turn to leave, but not before spitting on the floor where he lays and people are gathered around him.

***

you lay awake at night, thinking of your next step. he doesn't know who you are, and you plan to make it clear. so much that when he sees you in your human form, he'll stay away from you. you want his fear, his tears, his grief. you'll feed on it like a starved vulture, not stopping until he wails under your touch.

sitting on top of the building has become your new favourite spot. you could go higher for a better vision, true. but this one has the cafe. this one feels like seonghwa and the memory of him. you can almost smell the soft vanilla that lingered on his skin, and the coconut that made his black hair soft and shiny.

a lily lays in your palm, its petals pearly white with a few red stripes. it reminds you of his face, before he took the last breath. pretty pale face, with blood streaming on the side of his head and coating his cheeks and neck, white sweater soaking it up.

you don't know how many times you've replayed that memory in your head. but you know you'll do it many times again. it is your biggest motivation.

"it's a bit cold tonight for sitting here, don't you think?"

if his plan was to catch you off guard and scare you, he failed miserably. "it is perfect."

he hums behind you. "you could've killed me. you didn't. why?"

you pull at a petal, ripping it away from the bud. "it would've been too easy."

"who are you?" he is persistent.

"careful." you warn, pulling at another petal and watching it fall on the street below. "you know how it ended last time you asked that question, spidey boy."

"what do you want from me?"

you sigh, feeling bored of the conversation already. you rip out another petal, and another, until there is only one left. "what makes you think i want something from you?"

"you've been causing trouble left and right. robbing places, but returning everything after a few days. as if you wanted to get my attention. or are you simply that sick in your head and you love to play god with people?"

"i don't want anything from you. i want you."

he is taken aback, lips struggling to form a sentence.

you feel him step closer, but you don't budge yet, back still facing him. "tell me one thing, spiderman."

"what?"

"do you feel sorry for the damage you're doing to this city?"

"wh-" his word comes out broken, and his breath hitches as you throw you head back, yellow eyes looking right into his. a wicked smile dances on your lips, your hood falling from your head and finally revealing your face to him. "you."

"peekaboo." you rip the last petal, and in a swift motion, stand up and latch yourself onto him.

he falls to the ground with a grunt, arms planted on your waist in order to keep you away from him. your nails dig into his wrists, and his fingers dig into your flesh. his grip is as strong as yours, causing you to wince and pull away.

"i asked you a damn question. you know who i am, you're familiar with my work. tell me, do you feel- oof!" he tackles you to the ground, this time him being on top.

"you think i care about pretty cars and fancy shops when i need to defeat an alien army?" his long fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing its sides and ridding you of oxygen. "you think i have time and energy to stop and think before attacking or dodging?"

your nails reach for his neck, finding the hem of his mask and trying to pull it off his head. once he realizes what you're trying to do, he takes both of your hands in his single one and pins them against the cold concrete above your head.

"how about this: next time, you come up with a solution. i'll gladly let you handle it, and i'll stand aside and take notes. is that good enough for you, doll?"

"let go of me." you foolishly demand.

"hmm... no." his grip on your neck intensifies, until your vision starts to darken. "good night, my little journalist."

you had hoped it was just a dream. how could you let your guard down? instead, you are awoken by cold water splashing your face. you find yourself in a foreign room and a cozy bed.

"oops. did i wake you?"

your head turns to the figure that sits on the bed. "you."

"me. and your bestie." the photographer points at the scientist who stands at the door.

"where am i? why am i here?" you take in your surroundings, forgetting that yunho has now seen your true nature.

the bedroom you're in is a simple one; with a bookshelf, a gaming table, and a comfortable bed. you haven't slept in such a soft bed in a while. once you finish examining the room, your eyes lock with the photographer's, and you finally realize. you're in his room.

"it's okay." mingi assures, stepping in before your fangs dip into his neck. which is covered by a turtleneck. "you can trust him. i do."

"trust someone who just poured water in my face?" you grumble, wiping the liquid with your sleeve. you then notice you are not wearing your clothes. instead, you wear a blue and red college jacket you've seen once already. the colours that make you sick to your stomach. "why am i wearing his clothes?"

"i'm right here, journalist. you can talk to me, i don't bite."

the way he calls you journalist is familiar to you. but mingi calls you that too, so you drop it. "why am i wearing your clothes?"

"well, in case aunt may barges in the room, it's easier to explain the scales than the whole inej ghafa aesthetic you had going on."

"in what world is that easier?"

"guys," mingi sighs, "i really have to go. promise me that you won't kill each other."

"where are you going?" you ask, disbelief evident in your voice. he can't possibly leave you alone with the photographer.

"believe it or not, i have a family and a job." the blonde man says, putting on his leather jacket. it is odd to see him wearing anything other than a white lab coat.

"and i don't?" yunho raises an eyebrow at his friend.

"you," mingi walks over just to flick the photographer's forehead, "have a day off. i'll be back tonight."

"but-!" he doesn't let you finish, waving and slamming the door of yunho's room on the way out. "asshole."

silence envelops the room, and you didn't know how much you needed it until now. the vengeful voices in your head have taken a break, letting you enjoy peace for the first time in a while. you lay in a stranger's bed, wearing his clothes, and listen to him breathe.

"you have questions." he wakes you from your meditation.

"i do."

"go on." he turns his body towards you, still sitting on the edge of his bed. "i'll answer truthfully. i promise."

you pull your legs close to your chest, hugging your knees and resting your chin on top of them. "how did i get here?"

"mingi found you unconscious in his lab when he returned from the toilet. then, he brought you to my place. you know he has a big and loud family. he assumed you'd like the peace and quiet here."

he isn't wrong. you do like the peace here. and you also like the coziness of the jacket and the soft blankets, no matter who they belong to or the colours. "you know what i am?"

"you're not a what, journalist. you're a who. and i know who you are. you are y/n, my favourite journalist from nexus daily, and viper, my new favourite villain."

"so i'm a villain?" you scoff.

"well, yes. anyone that harms civilians is considered a villain." he tilts his head slightly, trying to maintain eye contact with you as your eyes stay locked on the silver rings on his fingers. "go on. ask."

"why haven't you handed me over to your spidey friend?"

yunho hums. "i guess i could. but it is not my fight. it is none of my business. he can come find you yourself."

"you say mingi found me in his lab. i had an encounter with spiderman last night. he choked me until i passed out, so he could've handed me over to whatever forces. or destroy me himself. i doubt i found my own way there." you're puzzled, memories of last night flooding your brain.

"maybe he wanted to give you a chance to rethink your decisions. a chance to change."

"nothing will change my decisions and goal." you glare at him. he nods, disappointment evident on his face. "have you snapped any pictures of me? sold them? how much am i going for?"

"no, i haven't. do you take me for that kind of person? to take pictures of you while you are unconscious and vulnerable?" he is now even more disappointed, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at you with intense eyes. "you think mingi would drop you off here and leave me alone with you if i was like that?"

"you can't be mad at me for asking."

"i'm not mad, i just..." he sighs. "i'm not mad."

you're silent for a while, as is he. your gaze is locked on his slender fingers that play with the rings, similarly to how you play with the hem of your top when you're thinking or nervous. when a light breeze brushes your cheeks, you realize that his window is tilted open. you wrap yourself in his jacket, and he notices. without a word, he stands up to close it, letting you take in his whole figure. he is taller than mingi, and his black turtleneck shows off his slender figure. wonder why he hides it under oversized hoodies and jackets.

"your turn." you say as he sits back on the bed, averting your eyes from his body before he catches you staring and teases you.

"why do you hate him?"

"you know-"

he interrupts, "no, i don't. i only know there's more to it than your articles tell. there's more to it than a demolished city."

instead of answering, you opt for avoiding his gaze. you stare at the spiderman photographs on the wall above his desk, resentment growing with each picture you notice. "it's none of your business."

"true, it isn't. but if you want me on your side, you'll have to tell me. what is it that he did that has you using your powers against the city?" he sits closer to you, and for a moment, you think he wants to take your hands in his. but they only move for an inch, before resting back on his lap. "you're not a bad person. at least you weren't, that's what mingi tells me. he still believes that you are not a villain. and i wish to believe it too."

"he made me a villain." you finally lock eyes with him.

"spiderman did?" yunho tilts his head again, confused. it reminds you of a curious puppy.

"yes. he took everything from me, that reckless bastard. and i intend to take everything from him, before i take him. and i'll keep protecting the city from the foolish avengers, i'll take down each one of them if i can't keep them away, and i won't stop until i am done. then, i'll surrender. i'll rest."

at the mention of avengers, yunho tenses. "tell me."

"they don't care about anything when they fight. they ruin whatever they touch. they ruined my life, he ruined my life! he took my lover away from me." tears prick your eyes, announcing their glorious arrival. you grit your teeth, brain replaying the horrid memories of the day. "we were at a cafe, celebrating the anniversary of the day we met. foolish, i know. but it was special to us. everything was normal, until the news announced that we stay inside wherever we are and do not exit. we could see a giant swinging a bat or something left and right, and spiderman just throwing anything and everything at him."

tears have soaked your cheeks already, just like then while you both crouched under the table that day. you shook from fear, and he held you, kissing the top of your head and assuring you that everything would be okay while stroking your hair.

"when they were in front of the cafe, that idiot of a hero swung a car at the villain, and fucking missed, sending it through the window and-" you hiccup, burying your face into the sleeves of the soft jacket, "and-"

"it's alright." yunho hushes you as he stands up and sits next to you, resting his back against the headboard. he carefully pulls you into a hug, caressing your hair as you cry into his chest. when you don't push him away, he rests his head on top of yours. "you don't have to-"

"and it landed on him. on seonghwa. everyone ran away, they left me alone with him. half of his body was stuck underneath, and i couldn't pull him out. he didn't feel his lower body, he just begged me to leave him there and save myself. but i couldn't. i went out on the street, didn't care about the fight going on, and called for help. even foolishly thought spiderman would hear me and just lift the damn car. but he didn't. he kept throwing vehicles and whatnot around, above my head, into the buildings, and so on. he saved the city, but he killed the love of my life. my reason to live."

if you weren't violently sobbing and shaking, you would've heard his heart beat faster where your head rested against his chest.

"i am so sorry, doll."

and if you weren't swallowed by the veil of an opened wound, you would've heard how familiar that nickname sounds.

the photographer assured you that you could stay as much as you wanted. and you appreciated it. you enjoyed the coziness of his room, the cooking of his aunt, and the company of jeong yunho himself. he was kind and funny, and didn't push you like mingi did. you felt like your old self with him. until you'd catch your own reflection in the mirror, and the shiny scales brought you back where you were.

you didn't forget about your goal. but yunho's company made your heart calm and brain clear. he kept you occupied while he was there, and charged his aunt with it when he wasn't. yunho also didn't push you to forgive spiderman, or anything similar. he never spoke of it again, wouldn't even mention him when he came back from work.

"i brought treats!" he came earlier one day, just when you were changing into your clothes. he stopped with a box of muffins in his hand, eyes looking at his discarded jacket and brows furrowed. "where are you going?"

"i'm leaving, yunho."

"what? why?" he pouts subconsciously.

"i overstayed my welcome. and i am delaying my goal. the sooner i do it, the sooner i get to rest."

while he attempts to formulate an argument, you pick up the jacket from the bed and approach him. the brown eyed man observes with curiosity as you place the jacket into his free hand, then rise on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"thank you. i felt like myself the past few weeks. like the old me. and thank you for listening and not judging. it means a lot to me."

he blushes furiously, the tips of his ears turning hot and red as you step back and smile at him. "i- i- don't go."

"i must."

"isn't there another way?" he shoves the jacket back in your hands, as if that'll make you stay. "the avengers will crush you."

"this is the only way. he needs to learn. no amount of talking will save him. i gave him many opportunities."

"please don't go. i- i grew fond of you. i don't want anything to happen to you." he admits. he puts the treats aside, then grabs your shoulders. "i can talk to him for you."

you scoff. "you're cute. no."

dropping the jacket on the floor, you turn your back on him, and make your way to his window. you hear him huff out of frustration.

"even if i stayed, yunho, my heart still belongs to seonghwa."

"journalist?" he calls when you step out of the window.

"yes?"

"go easy on him. he may not be as strong as you were."

"no promises."

and when you jump out, he whispers to himself: "i know i am not as strong as you were."

***

finding the hero was a challenge once again. you didn't practice any fighting. you didn't have to. your venom was enough. it had to be. what was he compared to your bite? you have also shortened your goal. you won't go down on his level. your plan was to kill someone he cared about, but killing him would do enough harm to his family already. if they knew what he was.

"finally," you breathe out, seeing the blue and red figure swinging through the streets.

but before he can properly land on the rooftop, another figure jumps on top of him, pushing him to the ground and delivering a punch. you step back, watching as the creature relentlessly hits his masked face, all while he struggles to fight back.

"oh, no you won't." you rush to them, jumping on the stranger's back, pulling him away from the man on the floor. "he is mine to kill!"

"who the fuck-" the figure throws you on the floor, pinning your hands to the ground and yanking your hood off. "you."

"you- you bastard. how are you alive?" you stare at the eyes that you first saw that night. the eyes that were once lifeless. because you were the one who drained the life out of him.

he smiles disgustingly, then looks over at the hero. "he saved me."

you were wrong. it wasn't your essence or your flesh, it was both he craved. and you won't give it to him. not then, not today.

"he saved you only because he didn't know what a sick and twisted bastard you are!" you push him off you with your feet on his chest, sending him flying to the other end of the rooftop.

the hero that was once on the floor runs over to you, helping you stand. "are you hurt?"

"get your fucking hands off me." you push him away, but he doesn't budge. you try again, punching his chest, kicking and screaming. he simply takes both of your hands in his, and cups your jaw so you can calm down and look at him.

"help me get rid of him, then we can solve this. torture me, kill me, do what you want. but help me kill this whoreson."

"why? who is he?"

"he is a shapeshifter." he seems to hesitate a bit before continuing," and a rapist."

a faint grunt is heard, and you both look his way. he stands there panting, no longer in his human form. he is hairy, and has taken an almost werewolf-like appearance. then, he looks at you with the most evil smile you've ever seen. and you know you have to move. but your legs stay on the ground, frozen and disobedient. his figure speeds up, sharp teeth gleaming under the faint city lights and red eyes hungrily taking you in. just before he can jump on you with his jaw wide open and his pointy tongue peeking out, the hero grabs you by your waist once again, shielding you with his body.

the creature latches onto spiderman's back, digging its claws into his back, causing him to yelp. even though that's where you wanted him, it makes your heart twitch with pain. he doesn't let go of you, still hugging you close to his chest and shielding you from the blood thirsty claws.

it is not until they break through his back and chest, and almost pierce through you, that the hero pushes you away from him. he falls to the floor once again, fingers digging into the concrete and pained moans and groans leaving his mouth.

"go! leave!" he yells at you.

"no!" you yell back. "i am not leaving without at least one body tonight!"

the creature retracts one of his hands, only to point it at you and make a gust of wind pull you close to him. his open hand catches your body by your neck, raising it from the floor and squeezing it. you gasp for air, nails desperately clawing at the hairy hand, but to no avail.

"silly little viper." he growls. "it will be me who will leave with not one, but two bodies tonight. you and your little friend."

the hero uses the moment of distraction to hit the werewolf, making him release you. in a split second, spiderman skillfully avoids the kicks and punches, as well as the bite attempts. one bite must've taught him enough.

"please, leave!" the hero begs.

"no!" you refuse, joining him in the fight.

your speed allows you to dodge the attacks, as well as landing them. you are not as strong, but you have found his weak points. his sides, crotch, and neck. then, he pushes you away with a gust of wind once again, and focuses on the masked man. when you stand back up, you are tired. sick and tired of being tossed around so easily. bruised, hurt, and angry.

you look at the two, ready to give it your all this time. then, you stop. blinking a few times, you wonder if you're seeing right. there's two red and blue heroes in front of you, both in an equally bad condition. suit ripped, blood seeping through the fabric, and heavy breathing.

"what the fuck?" you breathe out.

"please, you have to go. we'll solve our issue another day, i promise." one of them shouts, stepping over.

"no! i told you we'd solve it once we get rid of him! don't leave, we are so close!" the other joins.

they both sounds identical, look identical. and you are torn. if you leave, the real one might get killed, which would fulfill your goal. but the fake one stays, still terrorizing the women and girls in the city. if you stay, you'll have to choose which one to save. and how can you possibly know which one is the real one? their masks are ripped in a few places, identical as well, but it doesn't help. even if they took off their masks completely, you couldn't tell. you have never seen spiderman without his mask on.

"i don't-" you stutter, looking between the two. "i don't know what to do."

"i am the real one, journalist."

"no, i am! you work for nexus daily and-"

"your boss is ruby allen!"

"we met on this rooftop twice already!"

"and you threw yourself off it the first time!"

"you had lilies in your hand the second time!"

the other one quiets down. and it confuses you. if he were the real one, wouldn't he keep talking? you raise an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "aren't you going to keep proving you are the real one?"

"i don't have to." he whispers, then steps closer.

you step back, confused as ever. "and why not?"

"because," he sighs, then, with his bloodied hand, takes the ripped mask off. "the lilies were for seonghwa."

"yu-" you choke on the word. "yunho-"

"i am so sorry, doll. i am so sorry it had to be this way."

"that's not- you can't-" at a loss for words, you put a hand over your mouth.

your biggest comfort for the past few weeks was your biggest enemy. the person you swore to kill. the person who killed your lover.

"don't do this to me." you cry.

"i'm sorry, journalist."

"the hell with you two!" the shifter turns back into the werewolf, running full speed at you.

"save yourself. please. i'll find you afterwards. i promise." he smiles at you assuringly, eyes glossy with tears, as much as yours.

"i will kill you, jeong yunho. maybe not today. but one day i will."

"i know, doll. and i won't fight back. i'll make it the easiest kill for you."

taking one last look at his beat up face, you hiccup and hide a sob, then run. run until you can no longer, collapsing in a narrow dark street, face buried in your bloodied hands. you finally free the sobs that have accumulated in your throat, tormenting you, and heart aching as the brain processes the newfound information.

how are you to kill jeong yunho?

***

among all the shapeshifter headlines, one of spiderman catches your attention.

spiderman missing!

he has been missing for weeks now, and no amount of hanging at the rooftop, by his window or at the lab could bring him back. you hated spiderman, but you liked yunho. and each thought of yunho was betrayal to seonghwa. your heart wished to move on, accepting defeat, yet your brain was stubborn. you wanted to carry out your plan. you wanted to destroy spiderman. but how can you, when he has the kindest eyes and the sweetest smile you've ever seen since seonghwa's passing?

the cool air does nothing to you as you walk on the edge of the building, hoping to see the familiar red and blue swinging among the skyscrapers. he must be holed up somewhere, recovering all by himself. when you left him, he was already in a bad condition. he heals faster, you know it. but how fast can one heal when someone has had their hands pierced through their body?

with a sigh, you climb back into your room, and suddenly, a hand finds its way over your mouth. another one holds your waist in place, while the person lowers their head on your shoulder, lips brushing against your ear shell.

"it's me, journalist." his breath is hot against your cheek. "i'll let go now. don't scream, doll."

once he does, you don't hesitate to jump to the other side of the room, grabbing the nearest object to shield yourself. the floor lamp is yet to prove effective, but you hold it pointed at him just in case. "how do i know it's you?"

"he doesn't know you hate my guts. relax. it's really me."

your eyes finally take in his form. he is still in his ripped suit, holding his side, blood seeping through the fabric and leg limp. his face is swollen and full of cuts, and his breaths shallow.

"what are you doing here?"

"i didn't know where else to go." he admits.

"so you came to the death's door?"

"window, technically."

you scoff in disbelief. "you're a fool, jeong yunho."

"my fate is inevitable. it is only a matter of time when i meet my end, but before that, i need you."

ignoring the fuzzy feeling in your stomach, you set the lamp down, not breaking eye contact with him. you need to have him in sight at all times. "where are your little avengers?"

"someone told me you didn't like them. besides, i want you to get your revenge. i promise i didn't know what he did to you, otherwise i'd never-"

"you seem so relaxed about the fact that i'll kill you." you interrupt him. "why is that? what are you planning?"

he limps over to your bed, dropping on it on his side and letting out a hiss in pain. "i had time to think. seonghwa's death is the only death i know of. how many more are there? all because of my reckless fighting."

you wish to say that he doesn't deserve to utter seonghwa's name. but his face scrunched in pain and bruises, and blood covering his body are enough for you to swallow your words. he really had nowhere to go?

"after-" he coughs, then yelps, holding his side, "after we kill the shapeshifter... you can come find me in mingi's lab. i thought i'd make it look like a suicide, so you don't have anyone on your back and you can live freely."

"stop that. go to sleep, we'll talk in the morning."

were it not for his current state, you wouldn't let him stay inside this long, let alone sleep over. but you still have a heart, and you still remember that beneath the ripped mask is jeong yunho. the man that made you feel human again. the man that made you not visit seonghwa's grave in a while, because his name shined in your face as if yelling cheater. but seonghwa would never do that, even if you had found someone else by now. don't stop living because of me, he said with his last breath.

but how can you live with all the damage you've done by now, under the excuse that it is for him?

upon exiting the room, you miss the way yunho's warm brown eyes follow your figure, lips curved in a light smile. if he was going to die, he was glad that you would be the one doing it. at least one person will be at peace.

***

"i don't want it to look like a suicide." you say as you sit on the edge of the building, legs hanging above the city street.

"what?" the masked man asks. "why?"

"i want them to know i did it."

conveniently, the hood covers your eyes, which are burning as tears announce their arrival. with each hour that passes, you pray that the shapeshifter doesn't appear. if he does, you pray that he kills you, so that you don't kill yunho. and if he doesn't, you pray that he kills yunho instead of you doing it. not because you don't want the city to hate you, or the avengers after you, but because you don't have the heart to do it. not after those weeks with him, and not after last night.

not after you had climbed into the bed sleepily, forgetting that you have company in it and forgetting that it was the reason you were sleeping on the couch in the first place. cold, shivering and a mumbling mess, you had found your way into his arms, nuzzling your head into his bare chest and soaking up his warmth. he smelled like blood and sweat, but felt like the fluffiest cloud on the sky. the cloud just before the sun sets; the orange and pink one, the prettiest one. the last one.

you woke up before him, cursing yourself for getting in there. to make things worse, you got up fast, accidentally elbowing him on his side and causing him to grunt in his sleep. wherever he was hiding and whatever he did must've tired him, because he doesn't wake up. it gives you a chance to properly look at him. and when you finish examining his flushed face, his bruised cheekbones, his cut lips and jaw, and his fluttering lashes, it gives you a chance to change your mind.

you sit on your window, sewing his suit. the blue and the red suddenly pretty shades, and no longer waking anger inside of you. and you hated yourself for it. you hated yourself so much for it that you considered jumping off the building you're sitting on right now. but you know he'd catch you, and you'd have to explain.

"if you do that, the whole world will hate you." yunho whispers.

"they can't hate me if i'm dead."

"no-"

"we have company." you interrupt, not wanting to hear anymore.

the shapeshifter is back in its spot again, glimmering eyes piercing through you like the sharpest knives. yunho gulps next to you. "there's something different about it."

you hum, examining the creature. it is in its werewolf appearance, teeth on full display and dripping with blood and saliva. "the insect and the reptile. the party can now begin."

"yeah. it seems to be..." you examine it as it leaps at you, "glowing."

just before he latches onto you, yunho pulls your body into his, then wastes no time in throwing you on the creature's back. fangs yearning to pierce his skin, and fingers pulling at his hairy head, you hold onto him for dear life. one wrong move and you're dead.

while yunho distracts him, you still struggle to bite him. not because he's moving too fast, but because his skin seems too thick for a bite. and then, fear swallows you whole. maybe you bit off more than you can chew.

the shifter senses the change in your demeanor, as does yunho. it's almost as if you can see his eyes widen under the mask right before you feel unbearable pain on your neck. its singular hand wraps entirely around it, and you swear you hear your bones crushing under his grip.

no amount of yunho's distracting works on the being. its eyes stare deep into your soul, and it's the last thing you see before your vision blurs and finally darkens.

seonghwa, here i come.

***

you always thought that seonghwa would be waiting by the gates for you.

not only is there no seonghwa, there is no gate either. just endless light. no corners, no ceiling. just a vast floor and space. you thought dying would be... well, you didn't think about that part much. you only thought of reuniting with your lover. and if you did think about it, you didn't imagine it so dull.

where was the pain? the suffering? the regret? the desire to be alive again?

"darling?"

ah. there it is.

the guilt.

eating you up alive as you turn around, eyes locking with familiar ones that you've missed with your entire being. up until recently, you cried yourself to sleep, wailed and tortured yourself, wishing to gaze upon those brown eyes one more time. yet why can't you look at him right now?

"what are you doing here?" the sound of footsteps bounces off the non existent - or invisible - walls, and make you bite the inside of your cheek.

your gaze is fixed on his white attire; a loose white linen shirt and white pants, along with a simple white bracelet with a familiar flower as a charm. 

"my love," he calls, voice so soft it has you melting on the floor. literally. he crouches in front of you, holding you by your shoulders while your legs feel like jelly. "oh, darling."

your face rests in his warm palm which holds your head up for him to see. finally, you look at him again. he still smells of vanilla. "seonghwa."

"what did the world do to you, my sweet?" 

you smile into his touch. "it doesn't matter now, does it? i'm here."

you expect him to smile back. yet he doesn't. he examines your bruises and cuts, gently feeling them under his thumb as he holds your jaw in his hand. "what troubles you?"

he summons the guilt once again. he knows. he has to know. why does he make you say it out loud?

"i think i fell in love with your murderer."

that's when he smiles. not mischievously, not condescendingly, and not in any way that would make you feel worse. the smile is soft and genuine, just like his whole being. do you even deserve park seonghwa, even after death?

"say something." voice a mere whisper, you beg. "please, hwa."

thoughts race, and hands shake. you can't seem to hold eye contact longer than two seconds. yet seonghwa simply presses his plush lips against your forehead, erasing every thought you had for a split second. he gives you peace.

"it's not as if it matters anymore. i'm dead anyway."

"that's where you are wrong, darling." he helps you stand.

"what?"

"you're not dead. you are unconscious."

"then why-" you step back, making seonghwa's hands fall from your body. suddenly, you feel cold and empty. you wish you could jump into his arms and bury your face into the crook of his neck, just to smell and feel him properly one more time. "why are you here?"

"i came to tell you that you need to let go."

"never." you gasp in disbelief. "i could never let you go."

"i'll always be in your memories. but, sweetheart, you need to move on. you need to let me rest as well."

you never thought of it that way. by holding grudge and seeking revenge, you didn't let his poor soul find peace. "this isn't just about you or me. it's about countless others who died the same way."

"the sooner you realise that i died so that thousand others could survive, the sooner you'll be at peace."

"but why you, seonghwa?" your voice cracks. and it shatters seonghwa's heart, you can see it. it makes you feel even worse, causing him pain when he should be resting in peace. "why did it have to be you?"

"because if it wasn't me, then it would've been you. and all deities know that i wouldn't be able to survive losing you."

"hwa-" you cry out.

"you have to come back, journalist."

"don't call me that." you step back, furrowing your eyebrows.

seonghwa's expression shifts. he doesn't look at you with a loving gaze anymore. as if he wants to anger you, scare you away back into life. "journalist."

"stop."

his facial features start melting, taking a different shape. eyes, nose, lips, hair. no longer your seonghwa. "don't die on me, doll."

"stop it! stop! don't call me that!"

"god, please, wake up." his voice is the last one to change. "come back so you can kill me, dammit."

you didn't know you were holding back a scream. a painful shriek, rather. one that has you almost stop breathing, but it wakes you up from the deep slumber.

"seonghwa." you pant.

"i got you." the voice says, and you feel arms wrapping around your shaking figure.

back at the rooftop. seonghwa gone. yunho alive. chest painful from sobbing. scratch marks all over your face. your own hair between your fingers. bloody insides of your cheeks. how long were you hurting yourself subconsciously?

"why would you wake me up? i was finally with him." you feel betrayed.

"you had unfinished business." yunho replies, still holding you in a hug which prevents you from further hurting yourself. "you have a hero to kill."

the sooner you realise that i died so that thousand others could survive, the sooner you'll be at peace.

why did he have to be so good, even after his death? why did he make everything so much harder?

in the corner of your eye, you see the creature. he is back in his human form, all beat up and very much dead. yunho himself doesn't look great, either. his mask is barely holding together, and there is claw marks all over his body. you were supposed to help, and you let him down.

"i'm ready whenever you are." the dark eyed man interrupts your thoughts. "i won't tell you to make it quick or painless. i'm sure it wasn't like that for you. you don't have to go easy on me."

your eyes watch as he rips his mask apart, then fidgets with the fabric as he awaits your decision of his fate.

"you are really ready to die for a stranger?"

he scoffs to himself. "not only for you or seonghwa. for everyone else i've damaged and haven't taken accountability for."

he died, yet thousands survived.

the sooner i make my peace with it, the sooner seonghwa will rest in peace himself.

"any last words for me?" he offers, tilting his head to look at you. puppy-like. just his style.

"actually, yes." will the self hatred and guilt go away by themselves? "there's a fried chicken place that works until late."

"huh?"

"i'm not waiting for you or carrying you." will seonghwa regret what he said to you?

"oh." yunho is confused more than surprised. he isn't sure whether this is one of your games or you are genuine. until you turn around as you reach the edge of the building and smile at him.

"hurry. i'm quite hungry."

yunho can't help but roll his eyes and smile as he watches your figure fall from the building. he will catch you. he always does.

he even forgot he wasn't wearing the mask anymore.

maybe you spared him so that you can plan his demise without anyone interfering. maybe you had a change of heart. or maybe, he was dead already, and was given the punishment of falling in love with you but never being able to have you.

whatever it was, he wouldn't give up the current moment for anything in this world; the two of you sitting on his window, eating crispy chicken, ignoring the fact that you tried to kill each other not that long ago, and the sneaky glances.

“Oh, Ro. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you grimaced at the idea of being surrounded by sweaty strangers in a house you’d never seen, Rosie’s usual party scene.

“Oh, babe…” She mimicked your tone, “You have no choice.”

You pouted at her, and she mirrored that, too. Before breaking into a wide grin, “C’mon! I know you’ll have fun! It’s not a house party. It’s a barn bash that Mingi invited me to. He said his friend’s family hosts one every year, and he really loves it. And I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite girl there.” 

You eyed her suspiciously, “‘His friend…”

She bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile. Her clearly freshly manicured hand swatted at your arm, “Come on! You haven’t seen him in weeks! And you don’t even have to talk to him. I really just want to have you there,” she laid her head on your shoulder, “Between you and me, though, Mingi says he still talks about you a lot.”

You scoffed, but Rosie could tell clear as day how flattered you were by that statement. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “Can we at least get ice cream after?” 

Her face lit up, “Yes! So you’ll come?”

You nodded and smiled softly at her, “Yes, Ro. I’ll come.”

“Oh yay!” She wrapped you in a hug. When she pulled back, her grin was full of scheming. “Okay…let’s play dress up.”

After several hours of letting her dress you up and do your make up and hair, Mingi pulled up outside your apartment. Loud music spilling out the windows of his shiny black sports car. 

Rosie grabbed your arm when she saw him leaning against the hood of the car, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Oh girl I got so lucky, didn’t I?” She whispers to you.

You rested a hand over hers, “Well I’d say he got pretty lucky, too.”

She giggled and smiled up at you. Letting her head lean on your shoulder as you both made your way down the sidewalk to his car.

He grinned and waved as he saw you both approaching, pushing himself off the car. “Wow, you both look great.” He slid his sunglasses onto his head, and you watched as Rosie ogled up and down at him. You wouldn’t lie, he looked really good. In a tight black t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of his black leather pants, leaving a sliver of his midriff exposed. The black, studded boots he wore were the perfect way to stay on theme but put his own spin on it. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why your friend had opted for a black leather miniskirt for a supposed “barn bash.”

You reached your hand out to him, figuring this might be your only time tonight to finally introduce yourself to him, “Thank you, Mingi.” You gave him a friendly smile, “I’m Y/n, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves.”

He chuckled and shook your hand, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” you glanced down at your friend, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Rosie just giggled and leaned further into your side. And your heart about melted at the way Mingi looked at her so fondly. Hearts practically forming in his eyes.

He opened the door to the backseat and half bowed, presenting the open car door to you, “Ladies.” 

You laughed and slipped into his car, clearly freshly cleaned. Rosie slid in after you, taking Mingi’s hand as he helped her into the car and kissing him on the cheek before he closed the door. She was glowing, and you couldn’t be more happy for her.

As you pulled up to the barn, your stomach fluttered with nerves. The car pulled to a stop before Mingi helped you both out and led you to the door, his hand resting on Rosie’s back.

The atmosphere is much calmer than you were expecting. It was still a party, but the ambiance of the small barn was really nice. There was no DJ, just a playlist playing over the various speakers spread around the building. A small but adequate bar was set up not too far from the door, and you saw many people serving themselves out of the coolers.  The lights were low, but it was still relatively easy to see all the way across the small space. And there were hardly more than fifty people here, so you had a lot of room to breathe. 

Maybe you were glad that Rosie had dragged you out of the house for this. 

“Alright ladies,” Mingi spoke from beside you, his hand on your friend’s lower back, “Everyone is over there.” He pointed to one of the many high-top tables that were spread around the dance floor.

And just like you suspected, Yunho stood beside it alongside a couple men you failed to recognize. He wore the normal cowboy get-up, but it seemed nicer today. Even though he wore the same beige hat you’d seen him in before, he was more dressed up. His jeans were darker, and he wore a white button-up that had clearly been ironed before he put it on. And maybe it was just the low light of the barn or maybe it was your newfound singleness, but something about the way he leaned against that table and the way his head tilted back when he laughed made your stomach flip.

You followed Mingi and Rosie to the table, trailing behind the two of them and trying to catch your breath and calm your growing nerves. Yunho saw Mingi first, his height and platinum hair a dead giveaway, and broke into a huge smile. He pulled his friend in for a hug, with two mildly aggressive pats to the back. And he even pulled Rosie in for a small side hug. 

“You guys made it!” He greeted with a huge grin. When he let go of Rosie, he finally saw you over Mingi’s shoulder. For a brief second he looked a little shocked, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. He broke into yet another smile but a softer one, one that was more obvious in his eyes than his lips. “Hey.”

You waved shyly at him, “Hi.”

Rosie and Mingi stepped aside to chat with the others, leaving the two of you alone with each other. “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged and failed to reel back a clearly unsavory sigh, “It’s been alright.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “You sure?”

The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fringe on your skirt, and you chuckled dryly, “It’s been kinda horrible actually. I haven’t had to deal with a breakup since I was sixteen, so I guess I’m just out of practice.”

He laughed at that, and you were glad, feeling better that you hadn’t brought down the mood. “Try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Break ups suck, but a lot of the time, it is for the better. And if you ever need anythin’, car related or otherwise, call me. I know you’ve got Rosie to help you out, but if you ever need help when she’s…” he glanced over at your friend who was practically hanging off of Mingi’s arm, “preoccupied, just let me know.”

You looked up at him, grateful for his willingness, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He tipped his hat, in a way that seemed half a joking nod to his cowboy persona and half completely sincere and genuine, “Of course, Doll. Anytime.” He glanced over your shoulder, “Can I introduce you to my friends? Well, most of ’em, anyways. Looks like we’ve got some slowpokes who haven’t shown up yet.”

“Please, I’d love that.” 

He holds out his arm for you, and you grasp it gently, letting him tuck your hand into the crease of his elbow. And he guides you back to the table where the rest of the group has been talking. 

They all turned to the two of you once they noticed your approach. Waiting curiously while Yunho introduced the girl who'd arrived with Mingi’s date, “Guys, this is y/n.”

You smile, giving them all a small wave, catching the eye of one of the men who was practically beaming at you.

“Well I was wondering when we’d finally get to meet her,” the blonde man said, leaning over the table and shaking your hand when you reached for him, “Nice to meet you. I’m Hongjoong.” 

“Nice to meet you, too.” 

You went around the whole table introducing yourself. You found out that Hongjoong had been in the year ahead of Yunho and Mingi in high school and had left town for fashion school in New York after he’d graduated. He’d moved back a couple of years ago and opened his own tailoring shop downtown. Bringing his boyfriend, Seonghwa, back with him from school with him. Both of them moving in together in the small studio above Hongjoong’s shop. Seonghwa had pulled you in for a hug immediately upon meeting you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth at how easily accepted you were.

After meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you were introduced to San. And found out that you and San actually went to the same university. Never once did you cross paths, but it was nice to have the connection nonetheless. He was newer to the group apparently. Only meeting Mingi at a race a little under a year ago. He wasn’t a mechanic but he “knew his way around the cab better than anyone.” Or at least that’s what Mingi had claimed.

And then there was Yunho’s younger cousin, Jongho. Apparently, this whole barn bash tradition had been one started by his parents, and, though he wasn’t super keen on running it, he made sure that the party still happened annually. 

When Yunho went to grab you a beer, Jongho nudged your side with his elbow. Smirking at the way you shamelessly eyed his cousin at the bar.

“He’s single, you know?” standing next to you and admiring his cousin alongside you. Watching as he mingled with some other friends beer the cooler.

You laughed, “So I’ve heard. That’s not really any of my business, is it, though?”

Jongho shrugged, “I would say by the way you won’t stop staring at him, it might be all of your business.”

This kid. “I guess it’s kind of on him to make a move then, isn’t it?”

“He won’t.” He took a sip of his beer. Setting it on the table in front of you.

“What?” you glanced over at him, brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he won’t?’”

He met your eyes, “You just got out of a relationship, right?” You nodded hesitantly and a bit embarrassed that that was knowledge he had. “Then he’s not gonna push anything. It took a lot of convincing from us,” he gestured to the group, “to even get him to invite you tonight, and he wouldn’t even do that directly. Unless you push for it, Yunho isn’t gonna make a move. He wants to give you the time you need to heal. So the ball is definitely in your court for this one.”

You pondered his words. Turning them over in your head. Part of you nervous at the prospect of being in charge, being the driving force. But another part of you feeling like he just couldn’t get anymore perfect. Already, he had been nothing but respectful and gentle toward you. Helping you where you needed it. But something about the way he treated you…it just made you feel so special.

Your heart tightened at the feeling. Special wasn’t a new feeling. A much younger you had felt that beautifully deceptive feeling before. Because it doesn’t take much to feel special, but it's an easy way to trick the heart.

“Want me to open it for ya?” Yunho gestured to the beer in his hand that he had so graciously grabbed for you.

You nodded, “That would be wonderful.”

“Not a problem, Doll.”

You watched as he positioned the rim of the bottle against the edge of the table. Shamelessly admiring his arms as he did it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but at some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Revealing his toned forearms. From which you could see his many veins lining his arm. When he brought his hand down on top of the bottle you jumped in surprise, watching the cap pop up and fall to the ground.

Yunho laughed at your jumpiness, reaching the bottle out to you. His fingers brushing over yours when you took it from him.

“Thank you,” you gave him a shy smile.

He opened his mouth to playfully remark over the way you ogled at him, but he was cut off by a voice behind you.

“Y/n!?” shouted a male voice full of obvious surprise. Your head whipped around, recognizing that  voice instantly.

You stared at him wide-eyed in shock. Though his hair was longer and his voice deeper, you’d recognize Jung Wooyoung anywhere. And he hardly gave you a second to breathe before his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, practically suffocating you. 

He rocked you side to side dramatically when you finally hugged him back, your arms embracing his back. You were still trying to comprehend seeing his face after so long, when he pulled back, hands still resting on your shoulders, “How have you been?”  His enthusiasm not once wavering. He playfully slapped your shoulder, “Where have you been?”

Still a bit dazed, you just blinked at him, before pulling him back in and hugging him tighter than before. His giggle vibrated through your chest. A sound you thought you’d honestly never hear again. And though you couldn’t see his face, you could perfectly visualize the way his lips pulled back into that smile that had encouraged you so strongly all those years ago.

Finally, after several long moments, you let each other go. His smile still burning as he repeated his question, “How’ve you been?”

You shrugged, trying not to let the unfortunate question tamper your mood, “Fine. Kind of going through a breakup right now, so it’s been a little rough if I’m honest.” You felt your heart fill with a familiar warmth, though. And you smiled at the memories of your long walks together, the ones where you told each other everything.

“Oh girl, a bad one?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your beer, “He cheated.”

“Shit, seriously!?” he made a face of disgust, “Give me his name. I’ll kick his ass. I swear.”

You sat there for a second silently staring at him. A bit embarrassed to admit the truth he had yet to realize.

Expectantly, he kept his gaze locked onto yours, waiting patiently for your response. Until you saw it click in his eyes, and his face turned to a look of utter disgust. “Please tell me you two did not just break up.” You avoided his eyes. His judgement, “Was there at least a break in there?”

You shook your head, “No…”

“Damn, girl. How’d you put up with that for that long?” Sympathy washed over his face.

Shrugging you offered the only thing you could think of as a reasonable answer, “It was comfortable? I don’t really know.” You leaned against the table, “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, so I guess I just…didn’t really know when I was supposed to end it.”

“Maybe that’s just the thing with him.”

You hummed.

He continued, “He makes you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. With him. And your life revolves around him for so long that it just becomes the new normal, and you struggle to even remember what your life was like before you met him. Was it better? Was it worse? I guess it’s hard to tell when he’s worn you down so much that you can’t even think that hard.”

As much as it was so nice to have someone to understand your pain, your heart hurt for Wooyoung, too. You placed a comforting hand on his back. 

He smiled gently at you, “Well, I’m glad you're at least out of it now.”

“I’m glad you are, too.”

Things between him and Yeonjun had ended disastrously. About as bad as things could go. Wooyoung leaving the band had been kind of inevitable from the beginning. With all logic, it was just a fun thing for him to do throughout his university years. He had never planned for it to be a lifelong thing, let alone the career path that Yeonjun seemed to think it was. But when Wooyoung had told Yeonjun that he was leaving the group one month before graduation, it was chaos. A constant storm of accusations. Yeonjun berating his former friend for being a poser and a traitor. And Wooyoung scoffing at the man's delusions. 

You remember the countless hours you spent in Yeonjun’s room. In his bed consoling him. Telling him that it was going to be okay. And reassuring him that he didn’t need his help to keep the band together. Though you were secretly hoping to see Wooyoung move on to better things.

Peering up at him, you asked softly, “You don’t hate me, do you?”

He laughed through his nose, tucking you into his side and pressing his cheek into your forehead, “I could never. Actually sometimes I wonder why I never reached back out to you. Maybe I had figured you’d moved on.”

“I missed you, Youngie.” 

You felt him let out a content breath, “I missed you, too.” 

From behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you, practically burning into your skull. You glanced over to see his painfully familiar face watching the two of you carefully. You tried to smile and wave at him, but he continued to stare, seemingly uninterested, before returning to his conversation with San.

“Oh, yeah…” Wooyoung muttered, “Yeosang’s here, too.”

“Mhm,” you sighed, a bit defeated, “And he still hates me.”

He nudged your hip with his, “Hey, he doesn’t hate you. You two just…probably have some things you need to work out.”

You glared at him, “That might be oversimplifying it.”

“Seriously, I think you just need to talk to him. At least for closure. Because I know the way you two left things left room for none of that.”

Of course, he was right. The last time you spoke to Yeosang, it was a massive fight. One that had left many wounds, the biggest one being the loss of your closest friend. Someone who had always made you feel complete.

“I’ll try.” It felt like an empty promise. The thought of going over there and talking to him made you honestly sick to your stomach. 

“Hey,” Wooyoung slid your beer back into your hand, “Don’t let it bum out your night, okay?” He looked back at the group and then smirking back at you, “So…Yunho?”

You took a sip to try and mask your smile, “What about him?”

“Don’t play dumb. What’s going on there? How’d you two even meet?”

You laughed, “Actually, I think you would really like this story.”

After chatting with Wooyoung for what felt like hours, you found yourself wandering back to Yunho. You could tell he was a bit tipsy from the light flush across his face. 

“Small world, huh?” He gestured toward your friend.

“Yeah I guess it is,” smiling fondly at him.

He lifts his hat off to readjust and ruffle his hair before placing it neatly back on his head. God you needed to get over your feelings about that hat. But you couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about the alcohol that was barely in your system and the way the smallest of his actions drove you up the wall had you feeling insane. 

But maybe it also had you feeling more confident. Perhaps a bit too confident.

“Hey,” You look up at Yunho apprehensively, “Do you wanna dance?”

His smile makes you nearly melt into the floor as he tips his head to the side, that stupid beige hat lopsided with the motion, “Of course, Doll. I thought you’d never ask.”

He takes your beer from your hands and discards it in the trash. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to the center of the barn where everyone is mingling and dancing together. 

You stumbled over your feet and braced yourself on his chest. He grinned down at you, “Well hello pretty girl.” 

He placed his hands on your waist to steady you. “Hi,” you whispered up at him.

He held you so gently. Letting you both sway to the song that reverberated off the wooden walls of the barn. But you paid no mind to the music or the dust at your feet or Wooyoung’s eyes that you could feel boring into your back. Too focused on the way you could hear the rustle of Yunho’s shirt as you danced.

As soon as the song picked up its beat, though, the two of you started to really have your fun. His hands found your own and he pulled you to him before spinning you around. He was careful with you, but not in a way that stomped on any of your excitement. You just felt…safe around him. And as many times as he spun you and dipped you and pulled you to him, you never once doubted his ability to keep you upright and in his arms.

Even when you tripped over your feet a couple times, he always made sure you were steady and balanced. And then he would proceed to giggle and tease you for being clumsy.

It was so carefree. Being with him made it so easy to forget that you were rotting in your bed just earlier that day. And it wasn’t out of a place of pity. He was just that kind of guy. The one who was so easily able to make you laugh with just his presence. And one that valued your happiness just because you deserved to be happy, not because it made him feel good to cheer you up.

And as the music kept going you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into his big brown eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this man, who seemed to embody everything you would want in man, had you in his arms, but your mind kept flashing with thoughts of lifting his hat off of his head and running your hands through his hair. Brushing your fingers over his cheek. Wrapping your arms around his neck.

As the music slowed, the space between you two shrank until there was virtually nothing between you save for the clothing covering your skin. Yunho’s hands lightly squeezed your waist, his eyes searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, letting your hands rest comfortably on his chest, “It’s perfect.”

Your eyes explored his face. Over his lightly flushed cheeks, over his beautiful eyes that tracked your every move, over the soft pink of his lips that made it impossible not to imagine them on your skin. You didn’t even notice when your hands slid from their place on his chest to the back of his neck. Holding yourself closer to him. The tips of your fingers brushing against the pieces of his soft hair that peaked out of his hat.

The sound of the music faded completely into the background. The only beat you could feel was the one of your hearts beating together in rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he said in a whispered breath, “you’re so beautiful.”

You pulled a bit of your lip between your teeth, “Yunho…”

He removed a hand from your waist and cupped your cheek, “Doll.”

You could only blink and look deep into his eyes. Trying to ignore the way your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Your ears drowning out anything but his voice.

“Doll,” he leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you practically whimpered. Letting him fill the gap between you. Kissing you with so much need and desire. Like he’d been wanting this for months. For years. His arms wrapped around your back. Holding you as close as he could get you. 

And you let him kiss you so breathlessly that you had to gasp for air when he pulled away in moments. Grasping tight to the back of his neck. Only to be pulled back in by those deep, beautiful eyes.

His lips were so soft on top of your own. Just like you had imagined. But it was the way he held you that made you feel so safe. His arms around you like he’d never let you go. Like the comfort of having someone by your side for a lifetime. 

It felt like a lifetime.

An eternity.

You’d felt that before. 

When you had started dating Yeonjun at nineteen it had felt like a lifetime. And the way he kissed you the first time had made you melt into his arms. You’d rushed headfirst into that relationship. So sure that the sparks that flew between you and the tipsy butterflies filling your gut were enough to sustain the feeling you’d mistaken for love. 

And here you were again. 

Running away from Yeonjun and tumbling into Yunho’s open arms. 

Sweet, sincere, and beautiful Yunho who genuinely seemed to want something deeper with you. 

Who seemed to truly see you and want you despite knowing so little about you.

God, what the fuck were you doing?

Yunho pulled away from you immediately when he felt you freeze up in his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked. His brows furrowed and voice gentle but still piercing through the loud music surrounding you. Concerned at the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

You stumbled away from him, “Yunho, I’m so sorry.” Practically falling out of his grasp and in the next instant you were bolting out the nearest door. 

Yunho stared in shock as the barn’s side door slammed behind you. Glancing over at his friends, he saw that none of them had seemed to notice the incident. And with Rosie and Mingi nowhere in sight, he had no choice to run after you. A mix of fear of confusion guiding his steps as he chased after you. Momentarily losing sight of you in the dark expanse of the pasture.

The soft dirt revealed footprints that matched the pointed toe of your heeled boots along the side of the corn field. He followed them without a thought. Only racking his brain for what had gone wrong. Each step he took had him feeling sicker and sicker with dread. 

Fuck he had moved too fast. 

Never in his twenty-five years of life had he kissed someone without taking them on a date first. Let alone a woman who, before tonight, had not been single every time they had met. He knew he was jumping the gun when he asked Mingi to bring you tonight, though he wasn’t really sure if you were gonna show up. And just the brief idea that he had made you uncomfortable made Yunho want to curl up and die.

As your footsteps made the curve around the edge of the corn field, he finally saw you. Sitting in the old swing that hung from the massive oak tree that loomed over the pasture. 

His heart hurt when he saw you there. Hunched over and sobbing into your hands. With your back to him, he knew you couldn’t see him, but he was sure you knew that he was gonna come after you. Nevertheless, he stepped a bit heavier than he normally would, so you could hear him. Not wanting to scare you off another time.

You refused to turn around when you heard him coming up behind you, but you let your thumbs swipe away the tears that threatened to stream down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to try and get yourself together.

And when you caught a glimpse of him stepping into your line of sight, you finally dropped your hands from your face. Teeth gnawing at your lip. Trying to think of something, anything, to say to rectify the mess you had just created.

Because, truth was, that was probably the sweetest and gentlest kiss of your entire life, and maybe if you had held it together for two more seconds, you would have been able to explain your worries to him.

But instead, when you looked up from your lap to the man squatting right in front of you, hat clenched in his hands. And you couldn’t even find it in yourself to swoon at his flushed cheeks or the messy hair falling over his face, because all you could see was the distressed look in his eyes.

“Doll–” he shook his head, “Y/n, I’m sorry if I misread…Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face and up into his hair, pushing the strands out of his face, “That was too soon. I’m so sorry. I should have never–”

“Yunho,” you cut him off. Still fighting back tears, “You did nothing wrong.”

“But–”

You put your hand up to stop him again, “Stop. Please. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve never asked you to dance. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

His heart broke a little, and you could see it in his eyes, “C’mon, you don’t mean that…”

“I’m sorry,” your words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m just…I can’t do this,” you pointed at him and then yourself, “right now.” 

“Sweetheart,” he lifted a hand and cautiously placed it on your knee, and you let him keep it there, “I don’ mean to rush things. We can wait as long as you need and go as slow as you're comfortable with. I just,” he took a deep breath, “don’t wanna let you go.”

You placed your hand over his, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite how painful it was, “Yunho, you are such a sweet guy. And I know someday you will make someone so happy.” His head dropped forward, his forehead barely resting against your leg in defeat, “But that someone just isn’t me. Not now. And probably not for a long time. I have too many wounds to heal from Yeonjun, and I just can’t pass that burden on to you.”

He stood up from the ground and you lifted yourself up with him. Your heart nearly cracking in half at the tears streaming down his face, “You won’t even let me try?” His voice came out in a strained whisper.

You reached your thumb up to wipe a tear from his eye, selfishly letting your hand rest on his cheek. You shook your head. “I need time. Too much time to expect you to wait for me.” The hat he dangled in his hands, the hat you’d grown to love, bumped against your thigh. You grabbed it from him and slipped it back onto his head. Smiling sadly up at him “I believe in you, cowboy. You’ll find someone else. I just know it.”

Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Before leaving him standing there in the cool night air. Wishing for a brief second that you hadn’t come tonight at all. But wishing even stronger that you would never leave.