lil fantasy

choi subong/thanos

✮ Drunken Calls

choi seunghyun/t.o.p

"Yeah? You sound real confident for a girl who picked up on the second ring." he murmured, letting out a low, bitter chuckle that vibrated right against your eardrum.

Your fingers tightened around the phone, your teeth digging into the inside of your cheek. You knew you should hang up. You knew you shouldn't feed into any of this, but your hand refused to move. You just sat there in the dark, listening to the heavy static of his breath.

"Yeah, I know" he muttered, another breathy, bitter laugh escaping him. "I know you've got that new guy now. The polite one. The one who makes you breakfast and works that fancy corporate job. Very clean. Very domestic."

"Don't do this" you said softly.

"Do what? State the obvious?" A heavy pause filled the line, followed by the faint click of a lighter and a long exhale. "You think you built this neat little life without me?" he scoffed, his voice sharp and cynical. "But every time your phone lights up late at night, you still check if it's my name."

He paused, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that used to strip away every defense you had.

"I know you close your eyes and pretend it's me who's touching you" he purred, quiet arrogance dripping off every word. "He doesn't even know I could walk into your room right now, slide my hand up your thigh, and have you dripping before I even took my jacket off."

He chuckled softly, knowing you were on the other side of the line, squirming in the dark at his words. He was right. He knew your body better than anyone; he knew exactly where to touch, where to bite, and how to make your knees go weak without even trying.

"You know I'm right, Y/N." he slurred. "You know nobody else touches you like that. Nobody makes you feel as good as I did."

All that could come out of your mouth was a shaky, ragged exhale. Your mind flooded with sudden, blinding flashbacks, the weight of his hands tracing your hips, his mouth pressed against yours, the desperate pleas of you begging him for more.

"You're drunk, Subong. Go home." you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut in the dark as if you could physically force out the memories of his hands, his mouth, and every night you'd spent tangled up together.

"I am home. My apartment's empty, just like you wanted when you walked out." he spat. "You cried, you called me a fuckin' loser, and then you left."

His breath came in ragged hitches through the speaker, his tone shifting into a sneer.

"And the worst part? I didn't even care." he laughed, the bitter edge in his tone cutting right through you. "I didn't give a shit, because I knew the second we got in bed all of that noise was just going to be washed away. It was the only time we were ever honest with each other."

"You were a ghost, Subong" you choked out. "You never gave me anything real. That's why I walked away."

Walking away from whatever the hell you two had going on had been the hardest thing you'd ever done. You knew it was the only way to protect yourself. You were falling for a guy who refused to commit, who would disappear for days without a word, who pushed you away whenever you got too close.

"So now I'm supposed to just watch you move on?" Subong scoffed, his voice dropping into that rapid, frantic pace whenever his mind got too tangled to control. "You think I haven't tried? I bring girls back here. I fuck them and I let them think they mean something, but I look at them and feel completely empty."

He paused, letting out a rough sigh that crackled through the receiver. "None of them make me feel the way you do."

The admission hung in the dark, feeling heavy and suffocating.

"I wanted you to know…" he said softly, the smugness completely evaporating, leaving behind a raw, desperate tone that made your chest ache. "I wanted you to know that I’m losing my mind without you. I sit around, I act like I don't give a fuck, but whenever I think about you, I go insane."

"Subong..." you whispered, a quiet, shuddering breath escaping your lips.

"I fucked up, alright?" The armor he always wore finally cracked, revealing a desperate, bruised ego. "I know I was a nightmare. I know I was crazy and closed off and impossible to deal with. But don't sit there and act like you didn't love the chaos when it was just the two of us."

You pressed the palm of your hand against your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut as a tear slipped down your cheek.

"He actually treats me like I'm part of his life, Subong" you whispered, your voice breaking. "You only wanted me when you realized you were losing me."

"He's a fake" Subong snapped back, pure bitterness leaking into his voice. "He's safe and he's boring. He doesn't know a single real thing about you."

A sharp, violent thud echoed through the speaker.

"Fuck this, Y/N. Seriously" he breathed. His chest heaved, a dull ache throbbing in his palm from slamming his hand against the table. "What were we even doing for two years? Were we dating? Were we just using each other? Were we even friends? I don't even know anymore." he yelled, his voice cracking with pure frustration.

"I wish I'd never touched you. I wish I’d treated you like the waste of time you actually were. I fucking hate you." he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. It was cruel and he knew it, he was drowning in his own pain and wanted to drag you down with him.

The line fell into a suffocating, fragile silence. You held your breath, waiting for him to hang up, waiting for the harsh reality of the dial tone to snap you back to your quiet room.

Instead, a shuddering exhale filtered through the speaker. When his voice came through one last time, it was barely louder than a whisper, cracking into raw, pathetic desperation.

"...you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, his voice trembling, thick with regret. "I can't do this without you. Please, Y/N..."

Before you could breathe a word, the line went dead with a soft click on the other end.

It was early in the morning, and the office had been completely empty. Clutching a stack of notes tightly to your chest, you stepped into the elevator, exhausted and ready to start the workday. Just before the doors slid shut, a tall, imposing figure stepped in alongside you, bringing with him the faint, distinct scent of expensive cologne. Your heart had immediately leaped into your throat. It was him. 

The display above the door blinks from 3 to 4, and then, clunk, the elevator grinds to a dead halt. The lights flicker once before dying completely, plunging the car into pitch blackness.

A second later, the dim, amber emergency lights kick on, a warm, shadowy glow fills the small space.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You glance at the control panel. Nothing but dead buttons and then you slowly turn your head to look at the man standing next to you.

Choi Seunghyun.

He isn't just a global icon; he’s the CEO of the agency where you've spent the last three months working yourself to the bone. You usually only see him from across a boardroom table or passing by in the hallway, surrounded by a small army of assistants.

But right now? It’s just the two of you.

Seunghyun doesn’t panic. Of course he doesn't. He lowers his phone, his sharp jawline catching the dim amber light. Slowly, he turns his head to look down at you, a faint, unreadable smirk playing on his lips.

"Well," his voice vibrates through the small space, a rich, deep baritone that sends a shiver straight down your spine. "That was dramatic. Are you alright?"

"I.. yes, Mr. Choi. Just a bit startled," you squeak out, clutching your clipboard to your chest like a shield.

"No need for 'Mr. Choi'" he says softly. He reaches over and hits the emergency call button. After a brief conversation with a crackly, distant voice from security, he hangs up and sighs. "They said it’ll be at least forty minutes. Power grid failure."

He shifts, the heavy fabric of his coat rustling and slides down the wall until he’s sitting flat on the floor with his long legs stretched out. He looks up at you, tilting his head.

"You're going to get tired standing in those heels," he gestures to the floor next to him. "Sit."

It's a command, but delivered with an intimate softness that makes your knees weak. You nod, sliding down the wall and smoothing your skirt as you sit beside him. You try to keep a respectable distance, but the elevator is small and your shoulders inevitably brush.

"You look terrified," Seunghyun notes, turning his head to face you. In the dim amber light, his dark eyes are incredibly intense. "Is it claustrophobia, or are you just afraid of your boss?"

"A little bit of both," you admit, your voice barely a whisper.

He lets out a low, rumbling chuckle "I don't bite."

You smile, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. For the next twenty minutes, the corporate barrier begins to melt. He asks you about your ideas for the new marketing campaign, listening to your nervous answers with genuine interest. He praises your work ethic, telling you he's noticed how hard you've been working and how you arrive early and stay late. 

But then, the atmosphere shifts. The air in the elevator feels thicker, warmer.

Seunghyun shifts closer to you, shifting his weight onto his elbow so he's leaning toward you. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, then down to your legs. Because of how you're sitting, your skirt has ridden up slightly above your knee.

"You work too hard" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously smooth.

Before you can process his words, you feel the heat of his hand. He places his fingertips just above your knee. Your breath catches in your throat.

Slowly, his long fingers begin to trace a path upward, tracing a slow line up your thigh, then back down to your knee. The touch is light, agonizingly slow, and completely tests the limits of your professionalism. It's a blatant line crossed. Your heart is pounding so loud, you're sure he can hear it. You can't bring yourself to move.

"S-Seunghyun..." you breathe out, your voice trembling.

"You're tense," he whispers, his hand pausing, his thumb rubbing a slow, intoxicating circle against your skin.

He leans in closer. The scent of his expensive cologne wraps around you, dizzying your senses. He uses his other hand to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up.

He leans in so close that your breath hitches. His eyes are fixed on your lips and you instinctively close your eyes, tilting your head up, completely helpless underneath his touch. His lips are millimeters from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath.

JOLT.

The elevator gives a violent shudder, and the harsh, bright fluorescent overhead lights snap back on. The mechanical whir of the motor starts up instantly and the car smoothly begins to glide upward.

Seunghyun pulls back smoothly, his hand leaving your leg so fast it leaves a cold ache where his touch had just been. By the time the elevator doors slide open to the bright, main lobby, he is already standing, perfectly composed.

A couple of security guards and his main assistant are standing there, looking panicked. "Mr. Choi! Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Seunghyun says, his voice reverting instantly back to his cool, authoritative CEO tone. He steps out of the elevator, looking back at you as you scramble to your feet, trying to smooth down your skirt with shaking hands.

He catches your eye. There’s a dangerous, playful glint in his gaze that lets you know exactly what just happened wasn't a dream.

"Y/N," he says. "Bring the Q3 reports to my office tomorrow morning. First thing. We have a lot left to discuss."

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing in the elevator lobby with your heart in your throat, completely breathless.

The rest of the workday passes in a total blur. You walk through the lobby, your legs feeling like jelly and somehow manage to navigate your way back to your desk.

For the next couple of hours, you are utterly useless.

Every time you try to focus on the spreadsheets on your monitor, the glowing grid lines fade away, replaced by the memory of the dim amber light of the elevator. Your skin still feels hot right where his fingertips had traced up your thigh. You find yourself staring down at your own knee, your breath catching in your throat as your mind replays the heavy, rumbling vibration of his voice whispering your name.

“You’re tense.”

"Get it together, Y/N," you mutter under your breath, aggressively clicking a random cell on your spreadsheet. You take a sharp, deep breath, shaking your head vigorously to clear the fog. He is your boss. It was just a weird, high-stress situation, you tell yourself. He was probably just testing you, or maybe he was bored. You have to remain professional if you want to keep this job.

By the time the evening finally rolls around, you pack your bag with trembling hands, stuffing your laptop in without a care and practically running out of the office to avoid any chance of bumping into him in the lobby again.

The moment you unlock the door to your apartment, the suffocating tension of the corporate world finally lifts.

Soft meows greet you as your cat trots over, rubbing their face against your ankles. You let out a long, exhausted sigh, dropping your bag on the floor and immediately scooping up your orange tabby, burying your face in its soft fur.

"You have no idea what kind of day I've had," you murmur, walking over to fill the food bowl.

You trade your office skirt and heels for worn-out sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. You make a simple dinner, but you barely taste it with your thoughts racing. Even the familiar comfort of your apartment can’t completely erase the feeling of his large, warm hand cupping your chin, tilting your face up to his.

By midnight, you are curled up under your duvet, the moonlight filtering through the blinds. Your cat is curled into a tight ball at the foot of the bed, purring softly.

It’s the quietest part of the night, the time when your brain is supposed to shut down but instead, your imagination takes the wheel.

You roll onto your side, staring at the empty space on the pillow next to you. 

You close your eyes and let yourself remember it all, without fighting it this time. You remember the exact scent of his cologne. You remember how he felt leaning over you in that tiny space.

Your mind loops those final seconds before the elevator jolted back to life. You imagine what would have happened if the power had stayed off for just five seconds longer. Would his lips have been as soft as they looked? Would his hand have slid further up your thigh? The mere thought of it sends a shiver through your entire body.

“We have a lot left to discuss.”