#klibrary
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𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚
You hate physiology, it was hard for you to understand it, but at least you had your cute nerdy boyfriend to save your ass.
pairing: sunghoon × fem! reader | genre: smut | w.c: 3.6k | trigger warning: suggestive content, oral (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, inexpirienced nerd!hoon, experiencied cheerleader!reader, Hoon is a whole ass gentleman, use of nickname "princess".
You knew this kind of tension; of course, you did. But this kind of air surrounds you both only when you're alone, when those labels of "lifeless nerd boy" and "popular cheerleader" are thrown out the window.
Your relationship with Park Sunghoon has been a complete secret since day one, at his request, and honestly, you didn't mind at all. He knew that if the whole school found out, he'd have to deal with fake friendships, continued abuse, and six months of being the talk of the whole high school, just like what happened with one of his classmates. Sunghoon is a completely serious person in the educational arena, but that facade fades away when both of you are in the comfort of one of your houses, revealing his shy, tender, romantic, and loving side. Discovering this side of him is a privilege that he acknowledges, and he's expressed the same sentiment to you, albeit in reverse.
No one knows that you've been together for almost a year; no one knows that your lips meet with his, brimming with a mix of desperation and love with each kiss. And no one knows that each other is the missing piece in each other's lives.
You steal a glance at Sunghoon, a small smile tugging at your lips, even though your thoughts are betraying your concentration. You won't deny that watching Sunghoon absorb his studies is attractive. His wavy hair falls over his forehead, his brow slightly furrowed as his eyes remain fixed on the book in his lap, and his glasses perched a bit lower than usual. The rolled-up sleeves of his uniform reveal his toned forearms, and his fingers play with the orange highlighter in a distracting manner. You envy the way he absentmindedly bites his bottom lip, your attention momentarily captivated by the movement before he releases his lip from his teeth, allowing it to regain its softness.
"Okay. The next topic is quite common. The vagina," you're jolted back to reality by the unexpected word. Your cheeks warm up a little, and Sunghoon chuckles softly at your reaction. His fingers set the highlighter aside and traveled to your exposed thigh beneath the short cheerleader skirt. "If you'd rather study this topic alone, I understand."
"No, not at all. I just got lost in thought for a moment. Sorry." You respond, grateful that Sunghoon doesn't pry further. You adjust yourself, making sure you're more comfortable and mentally reminding yourself to rein in your wandering thoughts. Shifting slightly, you prop yourself against the headboard, ready to pay attention.
"I'll try to explain it in simple terms, using the keywords the teacher used in the last test. When we talk about the internal part of the vagina, it extends from your cervix, which connects the vagina to the uterus. Your vagina terminates as an opening outside your body, known as the vaginal opening. It's located between your bladder and rectum. And don't forget about the G-spot, which is also situated there and can be stimulated with fingers or a penis." He finishes the explanation with a faint blush on his cheeks, and once again, your thoughts take a wild turn.
Despite being in a relationship now, your interactions have mostly consisted of innocent touches: his hand on your waist, you sitting on his lap while he studies. You both respect each other's boundaries. But now, as you listen to Sunghoon, your head spins with a desire to throw the book away and explore a realm that has remained untouched.
Sunghoon is a virgin, and you are not. You've been patient, waiting for him to take that step when he's ready. And you can feel that moment approaching. It's not just the impure thoughts that excite you; it's also the small changes in his actions. The unexpected kisses, the slight lip bites, the gentle yet possessive touch on your back—it made you crazy in a good way.
"Can you remind me of the names of each part?" you ask, your genuine need for understanding evident. You've spent nights studying, yet during tests, you sometimes mix up the names and end up with lower scores. That's why you rely on Sunghoon to help you understand quickly and effectively.
About half an hour passes, and your mind is struggling to absorb the influx of information. You're tired of the overload of scientific terms and concepts that you could now write a thesis on. But your learning style leads you to forget quickly due to your lack of focus.
Sunghoon notices and decides to set the books aside, focusing on you instead. He doesn't bombard you with questions or textbook sentences. Instead, he reaches out to you, and his departure from studying surprises you. His actions earn him a puzzled but bright look from you, and a small smile forms on his lips.
"Hey, Hoon, aren't we going to continue?" You inquire, caught off guard, as his lips press gently against yours. You respond a few minutes later, his fingers tilting your chin as he draws away from the delicate, soft kiss.
The kissing session commences, and both your hands and his find their rightful places. Your fingers play with his neck, and his firm hands rest on your waist. Now, Sunghoon is no longer thinking coherently; all he wants is to kiss you until you're both breathless. He revels in the soft dance of your lips and the playful clash of tongues, where he's determined to be the victor. Your sparkling eyes and your lovely cherry-toned lips, combined with the aftermath of the wet kiss, make his heart flutter before his very eyes.
And there's also a certain physical reaction he's experiencing that he can't ignore.
A wild idea takes root in his mind, and he can't help but bite your lower lip when he gives you another kiss, earning a groan from you—the first one ever. Your excitement matches his, and he can sense the building tension between you.
Irregular breathing becomes part of the routine after heated kissing sessions. But what Sunghoon says next catches you off guard.
"Can you lie on your back?" Confusion floods your senses, but you follow his request. Your eyes remain on him as he removes his tie and glasses; a sense of nervousness is evident in his actions.
"Hoon, what are you planning?" The tie is now in his hands, and he swallows as he looks at it with contemplation in his eyes.
"Can I use this as a blindfold for you?" You nod almost automatically; the idea might be crazy, but your trust in him is unwavering, and vice versa. Darkness envelops your vision as the tie is securely fastened and you exhale.
"What can you tell me about the vagina?"
"Well, there's an inner and outer part, both highly sensitive to touch."
"Especially…"
"Especially the clitoris and the G-spot." A barely-there touch brushes your face as his fingers graze your skin, and you can't help but let out a soft sigh in response. With your eyes covered, you don't notice the change in Sunghoon's expression—his flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips.
"Where's the clitoris?" Shyness rushes over you like a tide, momentarily freezing your actions. But you overcome it and guide your index finger downward, mentally noting its position. Sunghoon hums his approval at your correct answer. "And where's the G-spot?"
"I can't touch that; it's inside." After a small break, Sunghoon's lips touched yours in a slightly harsh kiss, leaving you speechless for a mere second before responding with the same force. His fingers went from your breast valley to your aching clitoral area. He put a small amount of pressure on you, a little scared in case your reaction wasn't the one that he wanted. Thankfully, when he saw your back arching because of the sudden action, he couldn't help but smile, relieved.
He attacked your lips with his as he started doing small circular movements, the friction with your clothes feeling a little too good to be true. You were waiting for this but didn't know it could be this soon; you won't even complain. A small whine left your mouth when he decided to break the kiss, silence surrounding both of you.
"Can I make you feel good? Well, try." You couldn't help but laugh a little, because there was no way that Sunghoon would ever make you feel bad in any sense. Pros of dating a gentleman like him.
"Only if you can take that from me." Sunghoon's hand ended in his tie, and you stopped it right away. "I didn't mean the tie, Hoon."
Sunghoon was surprised; he would have never imagined you would be one of the people who were into that type of kink. He wouldn't even mind saying something because, deep inside him, he also liked that idea. His fingers touched the waistband of both, your skort and underwear all in one, revealing how wet you started to get because of your thoughts (that he didn't know about) and the heat of the moment. Sunghoon was fascinated by the amount of arousal dripping from your core. His tongue licked very quickly at his lips, and he took a look at you.
Chest moving up and down in a way to calm yourself down, one of your hands ready to grip the mattress of the bed while the other was around your right breast, he looked again and could feel himself grow in excitement as his dick also did the same thing. You were surprised when you felt your boyfriend breathe near your chest; his fingers were stuck to your tights.
"Do you have any tips?"
"Play with my clitoral first like before, and if you want, you can finger me after you see me if I'm wet enough." You heard your boyfriend exhaling, and later on, the grip in your throat started to get loose. His dumb passed your slit in a very superficial way, but that sent sparks to your spine. He then collected some of the wetness that was created before and spread it in your sensitive bud. Shy circles were drawn in, and shaking breaths simply escaped your mouth.
Sunghoon didn't want to miss any reactions, a sense of pride showing in the cocky smile that started creating in his face. With your positive reactions in his head, he put more preassure and speed in his work, seeing how you were clenching around nothing and your hips started to move up and down. Again, an idea pops out of his head.
"I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you answer them correctly, I will increase the speed or continue at this pace, whatever you feel comfortable with. If you don't, then I will stop. Are you okay with it?" Of course you were not, but you nodded in pleasure when you felt the last circle in your heart.
"Before we started talking about the vagina, there were seven erogenous zones on a woman. Can you tell me all of them, princess?" Your mind start the engine, remembering the text and the lectures in class, but still in doubt.
"Bottom of the feet… it has pressure points that enhance arousal and increase blood flow."
"It does, princess; we can tell the preassure points by doing some massage in the area, just like I do it when you're stressed." You nodded again as you cleared your throat, feeling one more time his dumb in your clitoral area, making painfully slow circles in it. "Keep going."
"Ears are also one of them; the nerves and sensory receptors on the inside and outside are the ones that make it sensible. Any movement, such as light stroking or touching, is bound to give you a pleasing tingly sensation."
"Really? Are there any common movements that give that sensation?"
"Yes…"
"Tell me, princess."
"Kisses." His movements never stopped, but you could feel his body moving to your position, his lips giving a small peck to yours, and then his head going to your left side. His lips started giving feathery kisses in it; you hummed in pleasure, and your left hand stopped right up to the back of his head.
"Are there others, or is it the only one?" His whisper made you shiver; this was a whole new side of him that you were happy to be part of.
"Lightly licks and nibbles are the others. Blowing and whispering into it are also ones, but those are not frequently used, or that's what the book said."
"Is that so?" Your head was probably tired of nodding, but you just couldn't talk. Words cannot describe what Sunghoon was making you feel. An unexpected wet kiss made you moan, and from your boyfriend's mouth, a grunt escaped because of your fingers making a mess in the back of his head. "You have said two parts; you're missing five. Continue; you can do it, princess."
"Hands, especially the fingertips and palms, slight touches, and other things can make her feel the intimacy. That's why it came in fifth place."
"What are the other things?" You started to feel shy, and so Sunghoon, Sunghoon couldn't care less about the slight pain he felt in his dumb and how his lips started to get progressively numb due to his continued kisses. He saw how you gulped.
"Sucking fingers." Sunghoon shyly hummed in response, stating that the answer was correct. Sunghoon left his position and finally stopped his movements, gaining low whimpers from his girlfriend.
"You're doing great. Now there are four more, and to my surprise, two of them are from the last topic that we studied. Give me the other two."
"Inner thights and the nipples" the confidence in your voice was as clear as the day, a proud non-teeth smile on your face when you said those.
"The inner thoughts? Why is that?"
"It's due to their closeness to the genitals. Light strokes and touches can stimulate your loins. Also kisses."
"Like this?" You could feel the hands of your boyfriend on top of your naked thights; a light presence in them made you grab the matress; you could only sense the fact that Sunghoon was having you on the verge without even fingering (if he wanted to); he was gentle yet sensual; every movement he made was just a moment of pure bliss. You started to hold your breath when you felt his head going down, but that breath you let go of when he delivered shy kisses and hickeys in the place.
Once again, he left your body alone, wanting more and more as every interaction passed.
"Can you explain why the nipples are part of that category?"
"When nipples are stimulated, the nerves surrounding them send signals to the genital... sensory cortex?" There was doubt in your voice, but you kept going. "The same brain region is aroused due to clitoral or vaginal stimulation. Just like the others, kissing and licking is a common way to stimulate them."
You couldn't see Sunghoon's satisfied smile; you had said everything correctly at that point; you just missed two more. He decided that it was time to set you free from the tie, and your eyes welcomed him after blinking a few times. The sun was setting down, but that couldn't make Sunghoon more mesmerizing in your eyes.
His lips were pretty red, his cheeks were almost as red, his hair was way messier than before, and the first two buttons of his school uniform were open, making you take a look at his beautiful milky skin.
"I think you know how my… dynamic is going, but I need your full consent. Would you let me touch you?" He was nervous, but his decision was firm. You place your palms on his cheeks and lean forward for a deep kiss, bringing him closer. Sunghoon, being the smart person he is, knew the answer. In the middle of the kiss, he took off his glasses and threw them in a random part of the place without a care and only focusing on your pleasure. You two were in the zone, and the passion was visible from a mile away. Both of you are losing it.
"Now, tell me what we talk about the vagina. It can be in your own words."
"It starts with the cervix connecting it to the uterus, ends with an opening outside the body called the vaginal opening, located between the bladder and rectum. Additionally, it mentions the presence of the G-spot in this area, which can be stimulated manually or during intercourse."
"And what are the other two that you are missing?"
"Clitoris and A-Spot"
"Since I know where the clitoris is, can you tell where the A-Spot is located? Don't forget the function." Now it was your time that an idea popped into your mind. You sat on the bed, your vagina creating contact with the sheets because of the pose you were in, and you took away the last two pieces of clothing on you. Sunghoon lean back with his palms in the bed to support his weight, his eyes looking down.
Sunghoon just can't believe that he was your boyfriend. What did he do in his past life to have someone as mesmerizing and beautiful as you next to him? He didn't even feel worthy to look at you, but the way you crawled back in his direction and made him look at you, the daughter of Aphrodite herself, gave him the confidence he needed. You had your legs to his sides, and your dripping core was on top of his clothed erection, making Sunghoon focus on self-control.
"I didn't tell you about the clitoris, so let me also show you." When you took his hand and placed his thumb in her bud, it was over for both of you. "It's located at the top of the vulva, above the vaginal opening. The nerves there are what ultimately make it the powerhouse of pleasure. Licks, touches, and slight pinches are what mostly stimulate it."
"And last but not least?"
"The A-spot is believed by some to have a role in sexual pleasure and arousal in women. It's located deep within the vagina near the cervix; its function is still not fully understood, and more research is needed to elucidate its role in."
"God, I love you." Once again, Sunghoon lips meet yours. The sudden kiss made you move on top of him, which led to him lightly biting your lower lip and moaning into each other's mouths.
Just like royalty, with a hand of your lower back and behind your knee, he stood up and carefully placed you or the bed one more time. Your head touched the pillow, and one last kiss was given to you.
"Is it my turn to teach you, Park?" You smiled at each other while both of your foreheads touched in an intimate way. "If I'm wet enough, lubricate your middle and ring finger." Small pecks were given as he was going along, following your instructions precisely, making you moan at the sensation of your whole area being filled with your natural lubricator.
"I think I can take it from here."
"Are you sure? Because I don't… Oh God." You ate your words down when Sunghoon's mouth touched your clitoral area, his middle finger making his way through your entrance. All the wait was worthy, one hundred percent; he knew what he was doing, and you were thanking all the gods above for those three days of sexual classes that the school made everybody take. "How the fuck are you so...good?"
His ring finger was now inside you once you begged him to do it. Sunghoon was being messy since he was inexperienced, but he placed himself above all your "experienced" exes. Your G-spot was so stimulated that you started to feel the shakes and white dots appearing in your vision, and that familiar knot in your stomach started after six minutes of a touch of heaven.
"Sunghoon, I'm so close. Please, don't stop." His fingers were fast, and after you said that, his head got up from your core. He felt so good about him making you feel so good; the view was just beautiful to his eyes.
"In case you need to know, princess, this is the A-spot." His mouth attacked one of your naked nipples with eagerness, and his fingers got deeper, moving up and down at a delicious speed. You couldn't take it any longer, and you just covered your unstoppable moaning screams with your loose hand as you came undone in his hand, having a surprise after you calmed yourself down with kisses all along your chest and face.
A tired laugh left your lips when you saw Sunghoon's eyes waiting for a comment from you like a puppy. You gave him a tender kiss with your other hand, fixing his front hairs.
"You were perfect, Hoon," his fangs showed up with his relieved smile, and he burried himself in the curvature of your neck. "If this repeats, I hope all the knowledge in the books you have read can make me have my first squirt."
"You mean this?" He moved a little bit, and your eyes were wide open when you saw part of his pants and the bed sheets being soaked wet. You have squirted, and the pleasure was so big that you didn't even realize it.
"Come on, princess, I will prepare the bath tub for you to clean up, and I'm taking care of the bed."
"Wait!" he stopped once he stood up, and you took him by surprise, placing your hands on his thighs. "Can I help you with that before?"
↷ 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢'𝚜 note: I was actually debating myself into posting it or not, but I decided to give it a try with my bias since I-LAND. I hope you like it fellow people! 🦋
#enhypen#park sunghoon#park sunghoon x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon smut#sunghoon enhypen#sunghoon drabble#enhypen drabbles#enhypen x reader#suggestive#hollyworld#kbookshelf#kflixnet#kpop#klibrary
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-[renjun; soft bf headcanon
P: Renjun x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, headcanon | Inc: soft bf!renjun, meeting on sns, handholding, teasing, friends to lovers, getting smothered by your friends, café dates | Wc: 451 | W: food cw | R: G
Nct’s resident artist boyfriend everyone!!
Anywho—
You and Renjun initially met at an art workshop
He was looking for help with a brush technique and there you were, having just learnt it from the art professor
Bless you for offering to help him because he’s certain he wouldn’t have asked himself
Somewhere during the workshop, social media handles are shared
You two are the creative friends to lovers fr
Sending aesthetic pictures to each other and saying what do we think?
Renjun’s the one who takes the initial leap to give you his number
And the rest was history <3
Renjun is 100% the teases you out of love boyfriend
It’s his love language <33
Very much a fan of buying little trinkets he finds that remind him of you
Presents them to you when he gets home by quite literally dumping the paper gift bag in your lap
Immensely satisfied by the reaction on your face
Takes you to craft stores and small privately-owned cafés on dates
Saves your favourite new cafés and restaurant on his phone so can grab desserts and take-out from there on his way home for you
This man makes such a good impression on your friends
I’m convinced they smother him in affection whenever he joins you on an outing
Low-key pleading for help with his eyes while he’s having his poor soul squeezed out of him
And you’re over there watching him suffer with an unassuming grin on your face
What did he really expect from you, huh?
You little traitor – his words, trust me
But it’s fine, he loves you anyway
Even if he’s wheezing to get his breath back
Isn’t the biggest fan of PDA but peppers you with kisses all over the second you two are alone
Expect forehead kisses and the occasional peck on the lips when you two are outside
Hand holding with Renjun >>>
Makes up for his lack of PDA by having your hand in his almost always
He stuffs your hand in his pocket when it’s cold and puts a hand warmer in the hand he is (unfortunately) not holding
Pretends not to absolutely combust when you put your head on his shoulder as you’re walking home from a date
He feels absolutely normal about this. Yes :D
Takes candid pictures of you and uses them in a collage that he surprises you with on your birthday
I swear down he has the softest of smiles as you process the gift in your hands
Has the sweetest of heart eyes fr
“This…you made this for me?”
“Of course I did, my love~”
You better keep this man
Renjun best boyfriend
I’m rooting for you two <3
© copyright work of armysantiny 2023-2024
Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @k-library, @knet-bakery, @kpclub, @nct-writers, @neoturtles
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!
Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @babyboobean, @taemin-jaemin, @iiindigocheesecake, @xavi-in-kpopland, @flowerjun, @marxenash | Taglist form
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— ENHYPEN TEACHING YOU HOW TO DRIVE!
SYNOPSIS. how enhypen would teach you how to drive.
PAIRINGS. enhypen x gn!reader
GENRE. mostly crack,, a lil fluff ig?
WARNINGS. ni-ki’s kinda careless lol... (PLS DO NOT EXECUTE IN REAL LIFE!!!) but that’s it i think
WORD COUNT. 0.5k (511)
AUTHOR’S NOTE. i started learning how to drive a few days ago and it inspired me to make this ! pls do remember that this is fictional and it does not portray the idols’ behavior in real life !!
HEESEUNG — makes fun of you throughout the whole thing.
we already know heeseung, he’s a huge tease. as soon as your hands grip onto the steering wheel, he’s already making fun of you. mans is laughing throughout the entirety of the drive, only occasionally giving you tips. he’s especially cackling when you accidentally hit the curb stop.
“i have never seen anyone this bad at driving.”
JAY — the quiet observer.
probably the most patient one out of everyone. sits quietly in the passenger’s seat while you drive. mumbles a “good job” when you do something right and confidently takes hold of the steering wheel when you start to panic and don’t know what to do. is surprisingly calm when you park the car, which scares you a little.
“not too bad.”
JAKE — extremely supportive.
is cheering you on from the passenger’s seat. he’s hyping you up for hours. gets very excited when you park correctly for the first time. even when you accidentally do something wrong, jake is super supportive and assures you that it’s okay. his constant energy amazes you, and you do your best to not let his efforts go to waste.
“see, i knew you could do it!”
SUNGHOON — worries too much.
as soon as you step on the pedal, he’s already a nervous wreck. sits stiff in the passenger’s seat while you drive. acts like a drama king when you step on the brakes too hard (according to him). is screaming bloody murder for his life when you make a mistake, and you have to tell him to shut up so you can concentrate and get it right.
“no!! i’m too handsome to die!!!”
SUNOO — the thorough explainer.
is really good at explaining how to maneuver the car. stays calm while you drive, never missing his cue on when to tell you to slow down or come to a stop. he makes driving seem like a piece of cake, and that’s exactly how it feels like when he’s the one teaching you. has a small smile on his face when he sees you driving with ease.
“i told you it would be easy.”
JUNGWON — stresses caution while driving.
emphasizes safety and is constantly reminding you to be careful while you drive. more worried about you than himself. is glancing at you from time to time to make sure you’re okay. hovers a little, but it’s more endearing than annoying. holds his arm out in front of you when you have to hit the brakes unexpectedly because he wants you to be safe.
“please, please, please be careful.”
NI-KI — a little reckless.
this man literally does not care. if the light turns yellow, he’s yelling at you to go faster despite your protests. if you run into a car waiting to turn into the road you’re driving on, he’s telling you to pass them. will not hesitate to make some rash decisions. however, you still follow the road laws and keep him in check, leaving him huffing and puffing in the passenger’s seat.
“what are you doing? go!!!”
© solneur, 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate.
#enhypennetwork#kdiarynet#prism.nw#klibrary#enhypen#enhypen headcanons#enhypen fics#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen heeseung#enhypen jay#enhypen jake#enhypen sunghoon#enhypen sunoo#enhypen jungwon#enhypen niki
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CHAPTER 4
what was supposed to be a fun weekend away with friends turns into a sinister game of hide and seek where their lives are on the line. trapped in a lake house cabin with only six hours on the clock, can y/n figure out who is behind the mask and manage not to get caught all before sunrise?
PAIRING. soobin x gn reader ; beomgyu x gn reader ; yeonjun x gn reader
GENRE. college au ; mystery ; thriller ; escape room ; angst ; horror ; humour
WARNINGS. character deaths (quick, act surprised) ; injuries ; blood ; swearing ; stabbing ; guns
WORD COUNT. 7k
A/N. FINALLY! she is here! after 300 years the final installment of the here i come series is out GOD BLESS. never have i been so happy to finish something in my life. very big thank you to everyone who continued showing interest in this fic even though this chapter took forever, this is truly for u I LOVE YALL! some of u have kind of guessed the killers so kudos to you, big brained people. i cant think of anything else to say just here you go, thank u, enjoy!!
TAGLIST. @tsupuffs @ren-chib @yjwfav @mykalon @junityy @iyeonjuni @fallingforhoon @fairybinie @enhacolor @cheorei @jjhmk @acciomylove @yeonjunsgf777 @soobin-chois @chosoluvr @odxrilove @soobisms @strawbrinkofdeath @etherealcherrie @maemarahuya @1-800-ryujin @wisecheesecakecloud @fairyofshampgyu @i-haewon @cottontvil @minthicons @bettyschwallocksyee @glyxiebear @calumsfringe @luvrboygyu @clyspm @celestialgyu @fallingforya @gyumie @ihsmarat @wooseoft @tatansoobin @wccycc @hello0i @prodsputnik @yotser @yhawnnzz @najaemin138 @ljnfav
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When you come to, you are laying in a bed, an overhead light shines glaring harshly in your eyes. You blink blearily, trying to get used to the brightness of the room and getting your vision to focus.
Movement catches your attention at the foot of your bed. You see Lia moving around the room, picking up your dirty clothes to do the laundry because you always forget to put them away, humming under her breath as she works.
Saturday was always laundry day.
After you got out of bed, you would be the one to take out the trash and go shopping for any groceries you needed. By the time you’d get back, Lia would have already finished with lunch.
You’d watch a movie or two, maybe play a game if you could convince your roommate, and order take out for dinner.
Right about now, she would tsk her tongue and throw a dirty shirt at you, telling you that you need to start cleaning up for yourself. You’d roll your eyes fondly and promise to be neater. Lia would accept it even though she doesn’t believe you and the process would be repeated all over again the next week.
You wait for the shirt to hit your face. It never comes.
Instead, the illusion is shattered when your eyes finally focus on the person you saw and see that their back is way too broad to be your friend’s and that, looking around curiously, this was not your apartment.
Everything comes rushing back then.
The game. The killers. Lia.
You’re laying down comfortably but you feel dizzy. Raising a hand to your head, you feel cotten where your temple should be and find that pressure causes a sharp sting to shoot up to your forehead. You let out a low curse at the pain and the other person finally takes notice of you.
He moves to your side, relief written on his face. “Oh, you’re awake, thank God.” You try to place the boy in your memory but draw a blank. “You passed out sometime between the lake and here and didn’t wake up for half an hour. I was starting to get worried.”
Yeonjun, your brain supplies when all the recent events catch up to you.
Now that you could see his face illuminated properly, pretty seems like an understatement. His dark hair is pushed back, revealing his forehead and you didn’t think that could be attractive, but here you are.
Yeonjun is still watching you. You clear your throat. “Um, thanks. For helping me.”
“You’re welcome,” he says smiling. “You looked like you needed it.” You suppress a scoff. If only he knew. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
His sudden question snaps you back. He has his hand up in your direct line of vision. “What?”
“I’m checking if you have a concussion. I dressed your wounds as best I could with zero first aid training but I need to make sure you won’t pass out again on me.”
His fingers are really pretty. You blink. “Oh. Three.”
Yeonjun smiles, satisfied. “Okay. Good, that’s good.”
He walks around the bed and disappears behind through a door. You use this opportunity to look around the room Yeonjun put you in, not finding it familiar at all.
Knowing that it is not far from Soobin’s lake house, you think that this house must be on the same level of extravagance, or at least close to it, but this room gives no indication of that. It’s smaller than the bedroom you were going to spend the night in before but still larger than the one in your apartment.
There is indications of use around; a t-shirt hanging on the back of a chair; shoes spilling out of the closet; and the faint smell of cologne lingers in the air. It all seems so boy that the only conclusion you draw is that this is Yeonjun’s room.
The boy in your returns with a glass of water that you accept gratefully. You hadn’t realised how thirsty you were until you downed the drink in seemingly one gulp. Yeonjun watches amusedly as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and you feel your face heat.
“Where are we?” You ask, holding the glass in your hands.
Yeonjun looks around the room in thought, humming. “About ten minutes away from where I found you.”
“Do you live here?”
“Nah,” he denies easily, taking a seat ay the foot of the bed, being careful to avoid touching your legs, “I’m just house sitting. The family that lives here is away at their other vacation house. In Japan.”
At your stunned look (you’re pretty sure that your mouth is open wide), Yeonjun nods hugely. “I know. Rich people, am I right?”
You scoff. “You could say that.”
It goes quiet. Yeonjun watches you curiously, his heavy gaze makes you avert your eyes to the glass in your hold. You clear your throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”
He winces. “Can I?”
You shrug, feigning nonchalance, before launching into your recount of the night’s events. You watch his face as it goes from curious to shocked before finally settling on what is a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
Which, sums it up pretty nicely.
“That’s…Fuck, I-I don’t even know what to say. Who would do that?”
It feels oddly reassuring hearing this surprise from someone who has zero knowledge of the fucked up party you were just at. You inhale sharply. “Don’t know yet. But I’m gonna find out.” And you were. You couldn’t sit here forever.
“And the rest of your friends? You said you think they’re…” Dead. The word hangs between the two of you, too scared to be spoken aloud for fear they might be true.
“Well,” you start decisively, “they might not be.” With that, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, holding back a cry at the pain that erupts from the sudden movement.
Yeonjun’s hands shoot out to steady you, eyebrows creased with worry. “Woah! What are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” you grit out, pushing off the taller boy.
“You’re quite literally not. You might not have a concussion but fuck, Y/N, you’ve been stabbed. You can’t go out there. You need rest.”
Continuing out of the bedroom, you find yourself in an enormous foyer, almost as grand as the Choi family’s. “I need to make sure my friends are okay. I need to make those bastards pay.”
Your path is blocked by a very tall wall standing in your way. You roll your eyes, knowing that he used the fact that he doesn’t need to limp to pass you. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Yeonjun stands defiantly, arms crossed and displeasure clear in the hard set of his jaw. You are getting quite sick of boys telling you no.
You stop in your tracks, thinking.
Then, “Do you have any knives?”
2 HOURS LEFT
The trek up the hill is hard with your injuries and takes longer than it should have had you been in full strength. The ground is soft beneath your feet, gives way every few feet and you have to readjust yourself carefully to avoid slipping.
A knife, so graciously given to you by Yeonjun, is hidden under your shirt. You walk in a way that it won’t accidentally nick your side. It feels awkward but it works.
Nearing the house, light spills out into the night, the grand chandelier still on. It is jarring almost, how the trees go from being cloaked in darkness to being bathed in bright light.
The front door is deserted.
You feel the warmth from the fireplace rather than see it, noting how it is still on, despite everything. That someone was stoking it.
You enter cautiously. Hand hovering over where the knife is, you stalk your way back into the kitchen and the sight of your altercation with the seeker leaves a sour taste in your mouth. The kettle remains strewn across the floor, a puddle of water mixed with blood spilled across the wooden floor.
Heart hammering loudly in your chest, you approach the door to the wine cellar, hand clutched to your waist. You know there is a possibility that the seeker could be there, could jump out and surprise you at any moment, but now that you have your own weapon to defend yourself, you wouldn’t let that fear stop you from finding Lia.
A crash.
Your head whips around frantically at the sound. Straining your ears, you listen carefully for any indication of where the noise came from. Quietly, you duck behind the kitchen island into a crawl. The knife nicks digs into your stomach but you ignore it, focusing on controlling your breathing so as to not bring attention to your location.
There is a slam as something collapses against the ground.
“Get away from me!”
Your heart stutters.
Soobin.
The sound of heavy footsteps gets louder with every passing second as someone walks closer to your hiding spot. Peaking your head around the side of the island, you try to get a glimpse of who it is, but the wall of the kitchen obscures your view. Clenching your teeth, you steel yourself to take the risk and reveal yourself to see who it is.
Slowly moving from your crouched position, you rise to your feet and are greeted by the back of the boy you have liked for two years, the boy who went through all this trouble just to try and create a night you’d enjoy.
“Soobin.” Your voice cracks around his name. Tears well in your eyes and threaten to spill.
He turns and your heart soars. “Y/N?” Relief washes over his features as he takes you in. He barely gives you time to respond before he crosses over to you and engulfs you in a massive hug.
Immediately, your shoulders relax and all the tension in your body melts away when his arms wrap around you. “Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried, you just disappeared and I couldnʼt find and there was blood everywhere I, I thought—”
Pulling back slightly, you press a gentle hand to his face to stop his rambling. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” His eyes search yours and he nods numbly, bringing a hand to cover yours.
Soobin laughs mirthlessly. “Some game night, huh?”
Your chuckle comes out wet. “Not exactly what I had in mind, no.” You chance a look over his shoulder, expecting to see one of the seekers pop out and ruin the moment. Focusing your gaze back on Soobin, you graze your eyes over his face, going through a mental checklist of injuries. There’s a cut above his eye and dried blood crusts his cheek. Aside from that and a split lip, he’s fine. You exhale in relief. “They didn’t get you,” you breathe, more of a statement than a question.
He’s in front of you, face beneath your fingers, real and alive.
Soobin nods once. “They tried to, but I got away in time.”
“That’s good. Have you seen Beomgyu? Lia?”
“No, I’m sorry,” he admits solemnly and you feel your heart constrict. That doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, stopping yourself from thinking the worst. He must read your mind because his eyes rove over your face and he kisses his teeth. “Y/N…” he warns carefully, but your mind is up.
You tell him as much, but he’s still against it. “You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. The doors are open–we could leave! Get out of here right now.”
While what he is saying sounds appealing, there is nothing more that you want than to get as far away from this house as possible, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that without your friends. “I came back here because I couldnʼt leave you guys. I found you and I’m not leaving until I find the others. I’m not leaving without them.”
There is a possibility that you are in over your head. That even if you did manage to get past the seekers, the chances of you finding your friends alive was slim. You know that’s what Soobin is thinking, that he’s just trying to be rational. You expect him to argue, but instead he just sighs. Glances up at the ceiling. Locks eyes with you again.
“Okay.” Even though he agrees, you can tell he’s still apprehensive. “But I’m going with you.”
You nod, offering him a grateful smile that he returns. Your mind flits through the faces of the other people who were at the party, a drop in your stomach when you remember all the people who died. “What about the others? Yunho and Wooyoung?”
At the mention of their names, Soobin’s eyes darken and his jaw sets.
Cocking your head to the side, you ask, “What is it?”
It takes him a moment to respond, a myriad of emotions passing on his face as he considers whether to tell you whatever it is or not. He comes to a decision when he inhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. You watch him curiously. “They…fuck. They’re the seekers, Y/N.”
You blink owlishly. “What?” you question, barely above a whisper. There’s no way. It can’t be. You saw them, you, you played with them, you might have even gone as far to say you could have become friends. They couldn’t have…
But Soobin’s mouth is set in a hard line and suddenly the room seems too small. “But how could they…in the screening room, they were with you. How could they…?” You can’t get the question out but Soobin understands anyway.
His face softens as she shakes his head. “They joined us later, before I found you. And then, after you left, so did Yunho. He came back as the seeker and killed Jongho right in front of us, and we all ran. I saw Sumin’s body at the top of the stairs and I was just attacked. It’s them. They’re behind all of this.”
You feel sick. Bile creeps up your throat and threatens to spill out, but you swallow it down.
Shutting your eyes tight, you exhale shakily. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change the fact that your best friend was missing.
Squaring your shoulders back, you lock eyes with Soobin.
“I’m getting Lia back. And those bastards are gonna pay.”
His eyes widen in shock at your concoction but he recovers quickly. Nodding once, he grabs one of your hands and leads you out to the living room where the couches have been turned over and the coffee table lies on the carpeted floor in pieces, splinters of wood littering the ground.
You chance a glance at Soobin. He really put up a fight, huh?
“How are your parents going to feel about you trashing their house?” you ask, going for a joke.
He responds with a cheeky grin. “Great, if I never tell them. I’m sure I can convince them to spend a couple winters in Jeju and they’ll be none the wiser.”
Whether or not he’s kidding, you can’t tell. The thought of his family owning yet another holiday home—in Jeju no less—is…strange. You think that if you try to comprehend just how rich Soobin is, steam would start coming out of your head. You personally had never travelled further than the places you’ve lived, let alone had houses purely for the purpose of visiting during specific seasons.
But this must be normal for him as he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Okay. Cool. You’re just going to assume that Soobin has a house in every major city of Korea at this point.
The two of you barely make it past the staircase, past Isa’s lifeless body that has since turned a ghostly pale yellow, when a voice yells from behind you, thick with malice and so raspy it sounds as though it ripped through their throat, “Soobin!”
Simultaneously, you and the boy in question’s heads turn, hands still clasped together, and come face to face with the seekers. Masks still donned with the same cloak they’ve been wearing all night, you wonder who is who.
One of them steps towards the two of you, and you surprise yourself by planting your feet firmly in place. “Soobin,” he says and with a chill down your spine, you find that it is, in fact, Yunho, his voice familiar to you after all this time. Why he’s decided to ditch the voice modulator, you don’t know. Your eyes narrow.
Next to him, Wooyoung practically seethes. Closing the distance between you, he stalks over, knife brandished like a sword, crying, “We’re going to fucking kill you—!”
BANG!
Wooyoung stops in his tracks. His head drops to the center of his chest where you notice a pool of red spilling through the cloak and spreading outward. At the same time he drops the floor to his knees, you turn to look at Soobin. With a gun in his hands.
ONE HOUR LEFT
Soobin gives you a sidelong glance out of the corner of his eye. “Make them pay, right?”
You swallow, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Right? That is what you said, this is what you wanted, but—fuck. He has a gun? Has he had one this entire time? He knows how to fire one? The knife pressed against your stomach burns against your skin.
Soobin doesn’t acknowledge your apparent discomfort, he doesn’t even look at you. Instead he watches Wooyoung clutch his chest desperately, blood seeping through his fingers. Watches Yunho rush to his friend’s side, distressed as he yanks off the mask from his face. Watches as his friend’s name falls from his lips in between a string of “no, no, no, no”s that sound something between a plea and a prayer.
He watches all of this impassively. His face barely twitches. He looks almost bored.
In the past night you have seen more people die and be killed than you would care to count, and yet, seeing the boy you’ve cared about for years put a bullet in someone so easily, without so much as a flinch, makes something ugly curl in your stomach.
Revenge is what you wanted, but something about this feels wrong.
Yunho crouches over Wooyoung and removes his friend’s face, brushing the shorter boy’s hair away from his forehead. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeats, a mantra as he rips off a piece of his cloak to press against the wound, over the sound of Wooyoung’s laboured wheezing. He turns to glare at the both of you, something heady and full of hatred. “What is wrong with you?” he cries out, voice thick with anguish.
You find yourself wanting to defend yourself, to tell him that you didn’t do anything, that you never knew Soobin would do that. But you stop when you remember that they hurt your friends, they hurt you; you have the wound on your your leg to prove it and—
Oh, god.
You’re going to be sick.
Masks thrown to the side on the bloodied floor, you can see their faces clearly. Soft light rises from outside as the sun makes its ascent over the horizon—Has it really been that long since this fucked up game started?—and casts a glow across their features. Their unmarred features.
You slammed a kettle of boiling across one of their seeker’s faces; you burned him. And yet, here they stand, skin as smooth as a baby.
Eyes blown wide, you exhale shakily, “It’s not them.”
“What are you talking about?” Soobin asks through a scoff. You take a step away from him, hands trembling at your side at your revelation.
“I-I hit one of them. Neither of them have any scars or anything. It’s not them. Soobin, they’re innocent.” He looks at you for the first time since firing his gun, one that is calculated, like he’s assessing you, and has his jaw clenching. He’s never looked at you like this before.
From the ground, Wooyoung laughs mirthlessly through gritted teeth, catching your attention. Blood spittles from his mouth and you wince. “You think this fucker doesn’t know that?”
Yunho nods in Soobin’s direction. “He’s the one who knocked us out and put us in these clothes to frame us and forced us to pretend to be seekers. He threatened to hurt that Beom—”
With a tired sigh, Soobin rolls his eyes and aims his gun at the two boys. “This is tedious.”
Two shots.
One through Yunho’s head and another to Wooyoung’s chest, right where his heart is.
The shots rings out in the expansive living room, reverberating in your ears. You think you flinch, but you can’t be sure. Not with how your body feels as though it’s been doused with cement. You can’t move.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?”
Your mind was spinning. Soobin just shot two people. Two innocent people. Two innocent people who just accused him of—oh, god, you can’t keep the bile down anymore.
You heave.
“Oh, don’t tell me you believe them. Those guys?” Soobin asks disbelievingly, waving the gun around like it’s like a toy and not a weapon that just killed two people.
“You shot them,” you say, arms shaking at your sides.
“Yeah. After they killed my friends.”
“I just told you they didn’t!” Your voice cracks around the last syllable and Soobin’s face softens. He takes a step towards you, arm reaching out for you, but you step back, putting as much distance between the two of you. “Don’t touch me.”
He tries to stop you by saying, “Hey, don’t be like that,” but you just shake your head, trying to wrap your head around the last few minutes, but you find that you can’t. Nothing makes sense.
Nothing about the boy you liked being a gun carrying murderer makes sense. Nothing about the weekend that was supposed to be a fun time with your friends turning into a bloodbath made sense. The whole situation was making your head and you were so tired.
You just wanted to leave and go home to your tiny apartment with your best friend and watch a movie and complain about your classes over beer. You wish Soobin never planned this stupid party in the first place.
Your heart stutters in your chest.
I planned this whole thing for you.
The room tilts, like the world has been shifted on its axis. Moments from the night start slotting together like puzzle pieces in your mind as you recall the way Soobin wanted you to hide together at beginning of the game, how he just so happened to find you after Sunghoon was killed, how even though he claims to have gotten into a fight with the seekers, he barely has a scratch on him.
How he killed Wooyoung and Yunho despite you telling him they weren’t the seekers.
That ugly thing in the pit of your stomach grows and spreads throughout your body wraps itself around your throat.
Tears prick your eyes, sick and disbelief clawing up your throat. “You…” The words lodge themselves under your tongue.
Soobin’s face morphs just then.
Gone is the look of boyish care you have grown so familiar with, that you have fallen in love with, and is overtaken by a smug, snakelike grin. The sight chills you.
He claps. Actually applauds as he looks at you with something akin to pride. “God, you’re so smart. I knew you’d get it, you know? I always believed in you,” he admits, awe lacing his voice. Checking his watch, he whistles. “And with forty-seven minutes to spare! Wow. Your intelligence is one of the things I like about you, you know?”
What the fuck was happening right now? Was he confessing to you? Right now?
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You were fucking timing me? Why the fuck would you do that?”
“For you, obviously.” He says it matter-of-factly and it gives you pause. “You know,” he starts, walking around the base of the stairs with the air of someone giving a seminar, “when I told the guys that I knew you’d figure it out, they didn’t believe me. I said ‘That Y/N? She’s smart, she loves riddles. She’ll put two and two together.’. But they were adamant that the stress of the situation would be too much for you to handle and you wouldn’t be able to think clearly, blah blah blah. Psych majors. You know how they are.” He says it like the two of you are in on a joke together.
You want to wring his neck.
“And I guess they were right, kind of, but you pulled through in the end. Just like I knew you would.” Soobin flashes you a smile that before tonight, would have left your knees weak, but now the sight just makes you angry.
The fact that he thinks you should be flattered that he apparently thinks highly of your deduction skills in a situation he orchestrated that ended with so many people dead makes you sick. He bet on you.
With the seekers, you think abruptly. It has to be.
Your mind works quickly, trying to figure out who they really are and you gasp at your revelation.
His smile widens and you have half a mind to punch it right off. “I think introductions are in order, don’t you?”
As though summoned, two dark figures walk towards the both of you from a secret door in the walls of the living room. The seekers. One of them pushes someone along roughly—Beomgyu, your brain supplies—, a knife pressed against his throat.
A wave of relief washes over you as you lock eyes. “Y/N,” he exhales, breathlessly, eyes raking over your body. “You’re okay.”
“So are you,” you nod, voice dripping with relief, then you wince. “All things considered.”
He chuckles at that. “I suppose it could be worse.”
“Shut up,” the seeker holding Beomgyu snaps, the same voice modulator that has been tormenting you for six hours crackles.
The other one regards you lowly, through the black eye holes of the mask they don. “Y/N!” they announce dramatically, but Soobin raises a hand to stop them.
“You can ditch the voice now, guys. She figured it out.”
“God dammit!” they curse, ripping the mask off in an angry huff. “I can never have any fun around here.”
Finally, the identities of the people who have made your night a living hell is revealed to you. The boys standing in front of you are two you have only seen in pictures, heard about through anecdotes, the who, up until six hours ago, you had so wanted to meet.
Taehyun and Kai. The fucking seekers.
“What the fuck?” Beomgyu curses incredulously, staring at the faces of boys he used to pass in the halls at school.
Earlier that last night Soobin had told you that his two best friends were away at a yacht party.
We were having so much fun but you just had to go and rock the boat!
Jesus Christ.
You hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, it clicks in your mind perfectly. You barely hold back a scoff. What a terrible clue.
Kai’s mouth spreads snakily across his face, in an unnerving imitation of a smile. “Hey, Y/N. Nice to finally meet you.”
You snarl.
Off to the side, Soobin is practically vibrating in place, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little kid. “You figured it out, right? I was worried that telling you about the yacht party was too much of a throwaway comment and then there was the issue of trying to find a way for Kai to slip in something about a water or a boat—Have to thank you, Beomgyu, for that stunt you pulled. Really appreciate it.”
Your childhood friend physically recoils at that. Taehyun grunts and presses the knife against his throat deeper. Beomgyu winces.
Shaking your head, you turn and confront Soobin. “So what was the point of all this? You guys killed all these people for what?” A tremor goes through your hands so you ball them into fists at your side.
Soobin cocks his head to the side innocently. “For you, Y/N. You love game nights. You love riddles and puzzles and mysteries, so I came up with the biggest one just for you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Beomgyu exclaims. “You’re telling me that you did all of this, killed all of your fucking friends because you have a crush?”
Behind him, Taehyun shrugs noncommittally. “People who experience traumatic events together are inexplicably bonded for life.”
A beat.
“You were trying to fucking trauma bond with me?”
“You make it sound so simple,” he complains, waving the gun dismissively. “I made rules, people, there was structure. You know the order people died was the order they knew each other? Of course you did, you probably realised. But what you didn’t know is that Beomgyu—” he points the gun at him— “was supposed to go first. But you guys screwed it up! How the hell do you guys even know each other?”
“Your mom introduced us,” Beomgyu hisses defiantly. Blood trickles down his neck in response.
Soobin squints his eyes as if bored. “Real mature. Anyways, I saw you two talking in the kitchen at the beginning of the night so I had to do some emergency rearranging. So, in a way, Sunghoon dying first is kind of your fault. Granted, he would have died anyway, but, you know. Semantics.”
The same sweet boy who used to walk you to class and take you out for coffee after stressful exam weeks, the same boy who helped you out with homework and made you feel like the sun was bursting in your chest by smiling was the same one who hurt you, your friends. And he didn’t even feel an ounce of remorse for it.
“Fuck you,” you spit menacingly but you are just brushed off.
Soobin waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Plenty of time for that later. Now, we have to address the elephant in the room. The elephant, of course, being Beomgyu. Killing him now would mess up the order and I’m kind of a stickler for the—”
He doesn’t get to finish because out of the corner of your eye, Beomgyu elbows his captor in the stomach hard. Taehyun keels over, releasing him and you spur into action. Surprised, Kai takes a moment to recover before he is slashing at Beomgyu’s arm with his knife. Beomgyu hisses in pain, clutching his shoulder.
Rushing to Wooyoung’s body, pain flaring up your leg, you pry his knife from his fingers and say a silent apology in your head. “Beomgyu!” you yell. He turns to you and after a split second decision, you throw the knife in his direction.
Miraculously, he catches it by the hilt and, before you can blink, he’s lodged it in Kai’s throat.
The first seeker splutters, hands flying to press against the wound but it proves futile. Blood gushes from his neck like a burst pipe. Kai chokes as blood gets into his throat, coughing up red.
It’s a gruesome sight but it fills you with satisfaction, watching as he, too, succumbs to the same death he subjected your friends to.
Kai let's out a final wheeze before he falls to his knees, one arm reaching up to Beomgyu who watches on, face blank and chest heaving. Finally, Kai’s body goes limp and hits the floor with a thud.
“Well,” Soobin starts with a clap, turning to Taehyun, “guess I owe you that island.”
His friend grunts weakly, still recovering from Beomgyu’s assault. “You shouldn’t bet against me,” Taehyun admonishes when he rises to his full height.
Soobin nods sagely, chuckling. “I have learned my lesson.” Beomgyu steps back towards you and you reach for him instinctively. Soobin tracks the movement and something downright evil sparkles in his eyes. “Tell you what,” he says, addressing Taehyun, though his eyes never leave you and Beomgyu. “Do one more thing and I’ll throw in another.”
“An island?” you question incredulously. This was just getting ridiculous.
Taehyun shrugs. “It’s part of his inheritance. But now, it’ll be part of mine.” He stalks closer to the two of you causing you to back up to the stairs, nearly tripping over Isa’s body.
Knife pointed, he draws nearer menacingly. He’s after Beomgyu, you know. In some twisted form of logic you know that he won’t hurt you, not with Soobin right there.
Beomgyu tries to stand up straight but you can see the pain clear on his face as he clutches his injured arm. Taehyun grins at that, and lunges—
A wine bottle swings against his head from behind.
Taehyun’s body stills. He crumples to the floor in a heap of black fabric, head hitting the ground with a loud thud.
“Fuck rich people,” the assailant spits, chest heaving and your heart squeezes.
Lia.
She notices you and she lets the bottle drop from her grasp and the two run to embrace the other. All the tension you were holding in your shoulder eases, your body physically sagging against hers in relief.
You don’t even realise you are crying until damp spots start forming on her shoulder. Tears rack through your body at the feeling of your best friend in your arms, alive just like you believed she would be. Her grip around you tightens as she clutches the back of your shirt as though she fears you’ll disappear if she lets go.
“They attacked me in our room when I was grabbing my book, then tied me up and left me in the cellar. Told me that it wasn’t my turn yet. I tried to loosen them but whoever tied them used some kind of fucking boats knot. Broke one of the bottles and cut the rope with a glass shard—and my hand, too.”
It is her only injury, you note when the two of you finally pull apart. She has ripped off the left sleeve of her shirt and wrapped it around her hand as a makeshift gauze. It is stained with a giant blotch of blood but she’s alive.
She nods to Beomgyu appreciatively and he responds with a two finger wave. As she takes in the scene, all the blood and mess and bodies littering the floor, you see how her jaw tightens and eyes narrow. When they settle on Soobin, she spits in his face.
He recoils in disgust and wipes it away with—he’s got to be fucking kidding—a handkerchief from his pants pocket.
“You fucker,” Lia sneers.
He merely rolls his eyes. “Oh, great the band’s back together,” he drawls unenthusiastically. “There’s still twenty minutes left of the game, can we wrap this up?”
Aiming his gun between Lia and Beomgyu he pretends to ponder who he’s going to kill next. Lia stares him dead on, defiance dancing in her eyes and you have never been more in awe of your friend before.
“Y/N?”
Everybody’s heads whip around to the front door where Yeonjun stands in the threshold, confusion dancing in his eyes as he takes in the scene.
He came.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Soobin exclaims haughtily, arms going up in annoyance. “Who the fuck is this guy?”
“The guy who called the cops,” he reveals, jutting out his chin as he walks towards you. “They’re on their way.” The last part is directed more to you than Soobin and you have never been more grateful to see a boy you just met.
“Good,” you say nodding, eyes narrowed as you stare down the boy you used to look at only in administration, “you’ll be dead before they get here.”
Soobin has the nerve to gasp in faux shock, clutching at his heart as though you’ve wounded him. “Okay, ouch. That’s hurtful, babe, how could you say that?”
“You tried to kill me. You made me think my best friend was dead.”
He holds up a finger to stop you and you have half a mind to slice it off. “Point of correction: I never tried to kill you. I would never hurt you, Y/N. I did all of this for you! I ruined my favourite holiday house for you! Now I’m stuck with Jeju and fuckass Tokyo. Do you realise how much I’m giving up for you here and you think I’m the bad guy?”
“You’re insane,” you say incredulously.
“Insane for you.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Oh, come on.” He sounds like a petulant child. Which, you suppose, is exactly what he is. “I killed for you! You think, what, fucking Beomgyu can say that? You think you’d be happy with some asshole from across the lake with a terrible dye job? No way, baby! I’m it!” By the time his spiel is over, his arms are outstretched on either side of him, chest heaving like he’s just ran a marathon.
Lia grimaces. “Did you just fucking quote Gone Girl?”
“Ben Afleck rents out his L.A. house to us, of course I did.”
“What the fuck, man?” Beomgyu expresses, face pinched.
“And this isn’t a dye job, dickwad, this is literally my hair.”
Your best friend turns to Yeonjun and stares like he’s an idiot. “Time and place, dude.”
“Y/N. Baby.” You feel yourself cringe at the pet name. He holds out his hands and takes a step towards you. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this.” Soobin’s voice takes on a sickly sweet lilt, one that would have had you melting if you didn’t find out he was a psychopath.
Thinking about your friends, a wave of protectiveness and a pang of guilt pass through you. They’re here because of you.
With determination coursing through your veins, you step forward. “You’re right.” Behind you, your friends all verbally express their shock. You ignore them. “This is what I want.”
Soobin’s smile drops into an ‘o’ shape as he inhales sharply. When he glances down at the space between the two of you, he is greeted with the sight of a knife—Yeonjun’s knife—sticking out his abdomen.
“Huh,” is the last thing he says to you.
“Go to hell,” is the last thing you say to him.
Hand still on the hilt, you withdraw the knife only to stab him again. And again, and again, and again.
Over and over until you lose count, you plunge the knife into his body, piercing his skin. Blood splatters all over your face and front but you don’t care. You are moving on pure rage at this point. Rage at this boy who turned your favourite thing in the world against you, who put your friends in danger, who has more money in his left pinky than you’ll ever see in your life.
Finally, you slow, and watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head. His body falls to the ground and, for the first time since Sunghoon died in front of you, you smile.
A real, genuine smile spreads across your face as you turn to take in your friends.
“You look like shit,” Lia comments, her own grin growing on her face.
You lift a noncommittal shoulder, teeth bared. “You should see the other guy.”
Beomgyu laughs at that, hearty and full, taking over his whole body and the rest of you aren’t far behind.
Turning to Yeonjun, you find yourself growing shy. “You came.”
“I couldnʼt in good conscience let you walk into a murder house, now could I?” he asks with a tilt of his head and an easy-going grin.
You huff out a laugh and gesture to your blood covered body. “I’d hug you but I’m kind of a mess right now.”
“I don’t know,” he drawls, eyes raking over you appreciatively. Your skin flares wherever his gaze lingers. “I think the blood and guts is working for me.”
Somewhere next to you, Lia fake gags. “Oh, god, Y/N, your new boyfriend is gross.”
“Shut up, Lia,” you admonish without turning to look at her.
Yeonjun chuckles good-naturedly. “How about we reschedule that hug? Possibly after a shower. Preferably over breakfast.”
Feeling your cheeks warm, you nod. “I’d like that.”
“Great. I’m craving pancakes and I could use a hug, too.” You turn to see Beomgyu standing with a cheeky grin on his face.
There is a low grunt from behind you. Slowly rising to his feet is Taehyun having recovered from the wine bottle to the head. Steps staggering, he glares daggers at Beomgyu. “The only hug you’ll be getting is one from death. I’m getting that island—”
A bullet lodges itself in his head and he falls back, eyes blank. Soobin’s gun in hand, Lia stands with it aimed out in front of her.
You don’t even know when she grabbed it.
She exhales heavily. “I needed that.”
Despite everything, you laugh. “So. Breakfast?”
Everyone grunts in affirmation and starts talking over each other about where they should eat when they get back to the city. Obviously, you need to wait for the police to arrive so that you can give your statements. Someone needs to talk to everyones’ parents, let them know what happened. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. Together, of course.
Trauma bonded and all that.
#txt x reader#klibrary#choi beomgyu x reader#beomgyu x reader#beomgyu imagines#beomgyu reactions#beomgyu scenarios#choi soobin x reader#soobin imagines#soobin x reader#soobin reactions#soobin scenarios#choi yeonjun x reader#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun reactions#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun imagines#txt imagines#txt scenarios#txt reactions#🖇️ — ijhyo works.
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nap time w/ ENHYPEN (hyung line)
pairing: ENHYPEN hyung line x gn!reader (established relationship)
genre: fluff & slice of life // warnings: none // WC:~2.24k
summary: as the title suggests nap time with hyung line!
note: I hope you enjoy this as & that it reminds you that rest is just as important work.
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Heeseung
Nap time with Heeseung is mix of comfort and chaotic-ness. He loves cuddling with you which is no surprise. Something tells me before you two actually nap, he’s probably on his phone playing a game. Trying his best not to disturb you as you give into your tiredness.
Let’s be honest though, he isn’t the best at being quiet for too long. He’s cheering as he passes this level of the game he’s been grinding on for god knows how long. With that being said though, you’ll pat his chest softly as a reminder that he needs to be more quiet. Muttering a sorry to you and goes back to his game.
Did I mention, he loves having you lay on his chest? It makes him feels all warm and that he can protect you from things. A somewhat foolish belief but it helps him feel better. If there’s one thing he can do for you, it’s making sure you get rest when you need it. Y’all are both hard-workers, so it’s quite easy for you two to get so lost in the zone leaving no time to actually sit down & live life.
Before he joins you in dreamland, he’ll pepper your face with kisses. To the best of his ability, he’ll also try to bring the blanket closer to cover you - wanting to make sure you don’t get to cold. Somehow throughout the nap time, you get off of Heeseung’s chest and end up next to him. But whenever he feels like you’re the tiniest bit too far away from him, he brings you in closer.
In the case that he wakes up before you and realizes that it’s now dinnertime. Instead of waking you up gently, Heeseung decides to jump on the bed and shake you awake. Besides at this point in y’all’s relationship, he knows that you’d sleep through the gentle shaking or nudging. He unfortunately has been left with no choice but to wake you up as a child would. Not going to lie though, he sometimes enjoys it.
When your eyes finally flutter open to be met with Heeseung’s eyes glaring at you, you try not to scream. Lightly hitting him and asking what time it is. Only for you to hear what time it is and hitting again with “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?? Now I’m not going to sleep tonight”. This always end up with him shrugging and telling you that he did try. Don’t worry, you end up apologizing as always and Heeseung knows you mean well. Sleeping at night with him is just as easy as it for both of you during nap time. Sure it might take a little longer but before you know it, the sun is already starting to rise when you wake up.
↓ rest of hyung line below ↓
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Jay
Oh boy. You know damn well this boy naps so much. Anywhere and anytime. So nap time with him is literally the dream. Nothing but comfort and coziness with Jay.
He loves you and naps so to him this is a major win. I feel like he’d be the one to just join you as you’re already napping. His schedule was short one today and decided to visit you. Calling your name trying to see where you are. Jay is slightly worried that you’re in danger until his eyes are greeted with your napping form.
A sigh of relief coming out of him. Before he slips in between the sheets to nap with you, he gives you a forehead kiss. Jay knows that when you nap, you’re a deep sleeper so kissing you won’t wake you up. It is really a blessing and curse with you being a deep sleeper. A blessing because if he accidentally makes a noise or two, you won’t kill him for it. A curse because if someone were to enter your apartment while you were napping, god knows what the heck could happen.
Anyhow, he’ll big spoon you and together you nap. Even when the days are warm and the sun is shining, the warmth between you two isn’t ever too hot. Jay loves napping with you because it puts him at ease knowing that you & him get to rest. The life of being an idol and the life of being a full-time student surely is restless. Nonetheless, y’all somehow make it look effortless. What a power couple!
Waking up together after a good nap is one of the best feelings in the world. It’s a tiny glimpse of the possible future that awaits you two. You move your body to face Jay’s face. His face is resting until he takes notice of your presence. Only then does his face turn into a smile and in turn makes you smile and now you guys are looking at each other like idiots in love....which is accurate.
It’s almost impossible for you two to get out of bed to make dinner. The bed and vibes are so comfy. That is until one of y’all’s stomaches cries out of hunger. When hearing that, suddenly for Jay getting out of bed is the easiest thing to do. Grabbing ahold of your hands to get you out of bed too.
“I can’t let my baby be hungry! Come on, let’s go make dinner togetherrrr. I forgot to mention that I got the ingredients to make your favorite tonight” He cheerily said & just like that, you’re up and out of bed as well.
Giving a him a quick peck and whispering “How in the world did I ever get so lucky with you?”
A cheeky smile appears on his face and the rest of the night takes place in the kitchen. Cooking up a storm together and admiring the dish afterwards.
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Jake
Oddly enough I feel like he doesn’t take a lot of naps. He’s very energetic and runs on whatever he’s on. But that’s not to say that he occasionally take naps. I’m a firm believer that even if you say you hate naps, you still take them from time to time. Anyway, he would be have to be really tired to nap with you. Coming home from interviews and his schedule, he’s finally able to visit you.
Not knowing where you’d be once announcing that he was home, checking everywhere until he reaches the bedroom. At this point in y’all’s relationship, he shouldn’t be too surprised that you’re napping. While he was following his schedule, you were at university attending classes and studying. It tires you out and napping is a way for you to get your energy boost before returning to your daily routine.
He actually passed by you and somehow missed your napping form on the couch. When he spots you, he fights the urge not to take a photo of you because he thinks you look so freaking cute. Let’s be honest, he probably does snap a photo or two to add it to his collection. It’s embarrassing to know that there is indeed a collection of photos of sleepy you in his phone. Manz cannot help it. He takes pride in it though because when he’s missing you, he’ll look at them.
Back to the imagine, he’ll carry you over to the bed that way both of you can nap together. Tucking you in before he settles in the bed as well. Jake softly mutters to you, even though you won’t hear him, something along the lines of “I’m proud of you” or “Your hard work gives me strength”. It puts him at ease knowing that he got to sprinkle in some positive affirmations before falling and landing into dreamland. Jake knows how much you value words of affirmation and that someone actually cares about the work you do.
To you, it serves as another reminder that love isn’t only a word, it is also actions or comes in another form of actions. It is one thing to say it, I love you, but an entire other thing for it to be shown.
When you two awake from the much needed nap, you wake up confused on where you are until you take notice of the room and conclude that he likely have moved you into the bed. Besides that piece of evidence, Jake’s arm were enveloped around your body. Another big spooner in ENHYPEN. He claims that it helps him sleep better, even as you roll your eyes after hearing that, you still scoot in so that there is no longer any empty space separating you two.
By the time y’all actually get out of bed to make dinner, night has fallen upon the bright day that was there before the nap was taken. That must have been one hell of a nap for you guys to have napped that longs. Head scratches and sounds of sigh are exchanged. When Jake observes that this revelation takes a slight toll on your attitude, he does his best to distract you from it. To him, this isn’t something that should be dwelled upon. You should be able to rest when you’re tired instead of ignoring the clear signs of exhaustion.
So he makes it mission, to make the rest of tonight a good one. Jake orders y’all’s favorite foods and spends the night relaxing with you. Jake even lets you pick a movie to watch & low and behold, it’s one of your comfort movies. He has the biggest smug look plastered on his face because his mission was successful while y’all watch it.
──・──・・ ♡ ・・──・──
Sunghoon
Very similar to Jake, I don’t think he takes a lot of naps. Only when the fatigue gets the best of him and is in desperate need of a recharge.
Howeverrrr, when you do nap with him, it’s one of the best naps. You’d be on your phone or reading a book while your legs are draped over his. The evening sunlight is working with the A/C is blowing cool enough to make the atmosphere perfect for an afternoon nap.
You tell yourself that it’d be a shame if you didn’t just rest your eyes for 5 minutes - which of course leads to a full on siesta (siesta means afternoon nap. it’s one of my favorite words!). Sunghoon, on the other hand, is in charge of playing the music as he scrolls through social media apps.
Letting the media consume his undivided attention, all up till the moment he doesn’t hear an answer from you. He was going to ask you if these pictures were worth posting or not. Shifting his phone away from his face, he gets a clear picture of what just happened.
While it’s not the most comfortable position to be in, he finds himself taking in your facial features. Sunghoon wonders how long you’ve had that there and why you’re so beautiful. As mentioned before, the sun is shining and brushes your face as if it your face is nature’s canvas. It really does a number on highlighting your gorgeousness.
Thinking to him, wow. I’m really dating someone who just takes my breath away. I must have done something grand in my past life to have them. Their existence brings so much joy in my life, I hope they know that I love them and that they never get tired of me. Sigh, they really got me talking all of this sappy stuff to myself. Only for him to quietly laughing to himself.
With those thoughts swimming around in his pretty little head, he starts to dream about all of the experiences and fun dates, he wants to take you on. Slowly but surely, Sunghoon’s imagination gets the best of him and those ideas welcome him as he dozes off. Ever so often, he’d smile and anyone could tell that he was clearly having a happy dream.
You wake up first and stretch a bit. Trying to find out what time it is and all of that jazz. Getting up and out of bed wasn’t too hard. For some reason, it almost slipped your mind that you were with Sunghoon. You looked up from the where you previously were and gushed at the sight of him. He truly looked like he was having the nap of his life. It made you wonder about how tired he had to have been to give into napping, but then again. They were preparing for a comeback so their schedule was packed.
You didn’t want to wake up and went to grab a cup of water. Walking back to the room, Hoon is wiping his eyes awake. He calls to you and asks why didn’t you wake me up with his slightly raspy voice. (I’m ngl, I’d probably die if I heard that). Only for you to respond with a shaking of your head no and “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you were in need of that nap more than me. Are you sure, you’re getting enough rest at night, baby?” asking with a concerned face.
“Don’t worry about me. I promise, I am. The full schedules must have made me weary enough for me to knock out like that.”
He takes your cup & sips from it and kisses you on the cheek. Sunghoon begins to make his way to the kitchen and beckons you to follow. The rest of the day is spent cuddled up against in each other talking about everything and anything.
oh wow I almost forgot but please do reblog this if you liked it! (preferably not an empty reblog b/c that doesn’t help) or send an ask/message to me! along with comments I love hearing feedback and what you thought about it.
thank you so much reading this and look forward to my other fics! I hope you take care <3
#k-radio!#kflixnet#klibrary#ficscafe#underworldnet#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagine#enhypen hyung line#heeseung x reader#sunghoon x reader#jaeyun x reader#sim jaeyun x reader#park jay x reader#jake x reader#jongseong x reader#park jongseong x reader#enhypen fluff#enha x reader#enha imagine
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doublure d’argent | l.ty
Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader
Genre: strangers to co-workers to lovers, fashion designer!reader, magazine columnist!Taeyong, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, PG-15
Warnings: profanity, slow burn, ANGST, mc is the classic bitch-turned-agreeable kinda character, Taeyong is kinda shallow at first, allusions to sex (nothing explicit), mc has hair long enough to tie up, sexual innuendos, kissing, toxic behaviour from aHEM certain individuals, inaccurate depictions of the fashion industry, food and alcohol consumption, Taeyong shirtless at times
Word count: 48.3k
Synopsis: You’re the renowned founder and fashion designer of Argent, the luxury fashion label known best for its one too many silver linings across the world’s hottest runways. With New York Fashion Week around the corner and your latest collections fresh on the racks, you’re certain to have buyers grovelling at your star-studded heels. But when fake news spreads like a wildfire and your top model pulls out at the last minute, you’re left with no choice but to hire a wide-eyed stranger with an unusual penchant for toast.
a/n: so this was supposed to be 17k...aNYWAYS, four long months and it finally dropped *claps everywhere* !! this fic is laced with all forms of angst so please excuse the sheer amount of it! A huge thank you to @intotheneozone for beta-reading it in its initial stages (even though she barely knew me at the time, god bless)!!! Also just as a heads up CFDA stands for Council of Fashion Designers of America. I really hope you enjoy the fic, and I worked super duper hard on it so feedback would be greatly appreciated :))
I. …boyfriend?
Some people say you’re the embodiment of magic, able to mastermind a rough image into the finest cashmere sweater, turn a quick sketch into flowing spools of chiffon. Some say you’re the world’s next Coco Chanel, with high-end collections wooing the fancy of every rehearsed critic sitting at the foot of the catwalk; the cat that never fails to catch their tongues and stun them speechless. And some people may just call you a stubborn bitch – actually, most do; uncompromising to all forces of the universe so long as your expensive little stilettos are able to carry all that heavy rage.
It’s a real wonder how you’ve only managed to break two pairs so far…or perhaps a third now, as you sit in the back seat of your car, Louboutins jabbing furious holes into the mat beneath them as your jaw spasms in anger.
“What do you mean, the seams came undone? If they came undone, fix them!” you snap frustratedly at your executive assistant, thumb and forefinger digging at your temples as he delivers the horrifying news over the phone.
“Y/n, listen-”
“No, Ten, you listen to me. That coat is Argent’s signature for the fall collection. I want those seams fixed and spotless by six o’clock sharp, and if the tailor can’t do that, fire him and find someone who can.”
Ten sighs over the line, your stern voice stunning him to a silence.
“Don’t waste my time again,” you leave him no room to answer, cutting the call.
What a joke. Can’t even fix a simple seam slip.
You eye the Rolex watch on your wrist, deflating into the leather seat. You sink in so deep that the stillness of the car’s engine becomes all too noticeable among the raucous honking outside. Your nose scrunches at the pungent odour of diesel that floats around the air, head turning towards the tinted window that tucks you safely away from the bustling streets of New York Times Square, a place where time remains static, but the world never ceases.
“Charlie, how much longer now?” you speak impatiently to your driver, eyes narrowing at the heavy traffic ahead, cursing all the motionless cars that widen the distance between you and your destination. You’re going to be late for your Harper’s Bazaar photoshoot, and you’re not an ounce bit pleased about it.
He respectfully meets your eyes through the rear-view mirror. “Not long now, miss. Fifteen minutes if the traffic pulls through.”
His words have you pinching the bridge of your nose, teeth grinding together as you attempt to breathe in slowly, hoping the gesture dampens the temper bubbling at your throat. “Do try and hurry up,” you strain out.
“Yes, Miss.”
If there was one thing everyone ought to know about you, it’s that whatever you say is whatever goes. It’s a simple rule, a power you’ve come to possess as director and head designer of your world-class fashion label, Argent.
Things haven’t always been this smooth, however. What the world doesn’t realise is that the person they see – the person you show them – is merely the glistening tip of a cold, submerged iceberg.
It was years ago when you’d left your expensive home, when you’d escaped the vile clutches of what most people would call family. Yours was the textbook definition of everything your friends ever wanted but everything you could never stand. Your family wasn’t a family at all, but a lost cause. Comprised of a runaway father, and a controlling cougar of a mother, whose cheap excuses did nothing but blind her conscience from the blatant fact that she couldn’t do the one job all mothers are supposed to do right.
Paris. You’d taken a one-way ticket into its pulsing heart. It had welcomed you warmly, was there for you when you’d stepped off that plane with two suitcases and a pocket full of cash. While your parents chose neglect, Paris chose you; helped you find your footing among the scrappy sequins and calloused muslin.
From there, you’d clawed your way up the viperous ladders of the fashion industry, one fine sketch at a time, until New York beckoned you with its ritzy finger.
Recognition was never an easy feat, and critics never ceased with their petty down-talk. But none of it ever compared to your mother. You’d taken the harsh blows and dealt with all the world’s criticisms that told you to give up and that you’d never make it. Hard work eventually bred success and before you knew it, you had indeed, made it. You had built Argent from the ground up, gained fame and fortune through its name and earned your rightful place in the industry. Now, you’re prowess personified. A bat of your eye has your employees cowering in fear, every trend-setting design has your competitors green with envy, and every hand-stitched item has expensive bidders falling to their knees in front of you.
So yes, people may call you a bitch.
But you’re the bitch that keeps the fashion world turning.
“We’ve arrived, Miss Y/l/n.” The car comes to a halt outside a lavish stone building with HB spelt in bold, black letters. You eye the structure from above the frame of your sunglasses with a smile, always impressed by the certain statement exuding through its walls. But your smile only lasts so long – and you’re sure to have aged five full years – as your gaze travels to the horde of blinding cameras that begin to flash from meters always.
You sigh at the sight, muttering an offhand, “Wish me luck, Charlie,” before stepping out onto the sidewalk with the help of a security guard, hand rising to shield yourself from the bright flashing and frantic yelling of your name coming from every which direction.
Being a celebrity fashion designer has always meant fame and fortune come at both name and face value. The paparazzi doesn’t faze you however – by now, you’ve all but harboured their constant buzzing into your daily routine – but they are a royal pain in the ass, tailing your every move to fulfil their quota of shots.
Oh, the perils of being famous.
With one hand wrapped around your Céline handbag and the other tucked fashionably into the pocket of your Burberry trench, you strut right ahead, the security guard tailing behind as you mentally rehearse the drill you’re all too accustomed to by now: straight posture, head down, ignore the questions, smile for every sixth camera, and don’t. Stop. No matter. What.
You follow the drill until the air once more smells clean and your heels echo loudly against the polished lobby tiles, the yelling and flashes another memory held off by the glass doors. You send the security guard a thankful nod before ripping off your sunglasses and scanning the reception area. The pathway from there to the dressing room falls nothing short of memory as you head straight for the elevators to the twelfth floor.
When the doors ding open, you’re greeted with the busy scene of HB staff setting up the photoshoot area; stylists pushing racks of designer clothing in and out of doors, while photographers position their cameras and softboxes around a white paper backdrop.
Now, this is more like it.
You smile as you see Seulgi, the head photographer, approaching from across the room with a large, expensive camera strapped around her neck. “Miss Y/l/n, happy new year! It’s a pleasure to have you back! How are you?” She greets you with two formal pecks.
“Happy new year. I’ve been well, thank you for inviting me again. And please, call me Y/n.”
She nods politely, leading you past all the chatter and commotion, picking up a bright red suit along the way with a sparkly silver strip along one of the blazer’s lapels.
They did their research, you think inwardly.
Silver lines are your signature emblem; every article of haute cotour produced by Argent has at least one visible strip of silver on a given part.
You’d first thought of the idea after hearing your French mentor speak the words ‘chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent’; the French counterpart for the common saying every cloud has a silver lining.
Ever since then, you’d adopted the saying in every aspect of your life, went as far as naming your brand after the phrase – argent being the French word for silver – and added your own little twist to it. Now, every cloth has a silver lining. And though you still can’t pinpoint exactly why you were originally so smitten by the phrase, one thing you’re sure of is the comfort that blooms when you speak it aloud; a comfort that can’t be brought by anything or anyone else. A comfort that radiates a certain hope when all feels lost.
As your eyes travel down the sparkly silver line along the red suit, that feeling washes over you like a warm shower on a cold winter’s day.
“The makeup team is ready when you are.” Seulgi stops in front of a black door at the far end of the room, handing the suit over as you enter.
You hook it on clothing rack inside, taking a moment to absorb the soft cream walls and the vinyl flooring beneath you.
“Gosh, it’s been a while,” you murmur aloud.
This is the first photoshoot you’ve had in four months, having been buried neck-deep in preparations for New York Fashion Week. If you had it your way, you’d be the only designer on your team. But as the universe would have it, running a world-class fashion label requires hundreds upon hundreds of workers – other designers, fabric researchers, tailors, seamstresses, retail marketers; the whole damn lot. As the head of Argent, it has been your number one priority in these formative months to ensure that every item of clothing – every little stitch and work of embroidery – is perfectly pristine for the runway.
New York Fashion Week is no walk in the park, so imaginably, this is always the busiest time of year for you. But luckily enough, Argent only hires the best of the best in all fields, so majority of the preparations have gone rather smoothly, with your fall and winter collections fast approaching the green light. Now, with less than five weeks remaining until D-day, you’ve finally been able to pick one of the many magazine invites that had been collecting dust in your mailbox.
After changing and having the hair and make-up team work their magic on you, you’re soon posing in front of the white backdrop under Seulgi’s direction.
“Shoulders back a little…tilt your head just a bit…okay, that’s great!” She bends slightly, clicking a few shots the new angle while striking up small talk. “So, how’s work been treating you lately?”
“Stressfully so,” you sigh with a breathy chuckle.
“Hmm, I can tell.”
You give her a questioning look. You don’t really care much for the stress; it comes with the job. But when people outside your company walls can tell you’re stressed, that’s where it becomes a real issue.
“You look tense.” Seulgi lowers the camera to look straight at you. “Try and loosen up a little. Think of something nice.” She snaps another picture. “Like your boyfriend.”
You freeze.
Boyfriend?
What boyfriend?
“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” you ask, posture slagging with your incredulous expression.
Needless to say, you don’t have a boyfriend. Hell, you can barely fit in time for yourself, let alone a man who wants to eat up the precious minutes of your day. Your career is far more important to you – it’s the sum of your life’s efforts – and a boyfriend would only be an obstacle in your way. Not to mention your public image would be in shambles if the tabloids ever heard of a romantic connection.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” You clarify rather rudely, still confused as to how Seulgi came to that conclusion.
It’s then that her expression drops. “Oh no.”
“What?” you spit out dubiously, eyes narrowing as she motions to another staff member, who hands her a magazine. “What is it?”
You find yourself suspiciously beckoned by the gaudy paper in her hands, cautiously stepping closer and snatching it from her fingers to read over glossy front page with horrified eyes.
EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS: THE CATWALK’S HOTTEST NEW ITEM!
Y/N Y/L/N SPOTTED COSYING UP TO TOP MODEL JUNG JAEHYUN OVER PASTA AND PINOT.
IS THIS THE COUPLE WE’VE ALL SECRETLY BEEN WAITING FOR?
Read more on page 26
As if on instinct, you feel the harsh grind of teeth behind your red lips, jaw locking as your eyebrows furrow, scanning over the words one, two, three times over.
What the fuck is this?
You turn to Seulgi who visibly shrinks in fear at your piercing gaze. “What is this?”
“It’s all over the tabloids,” she replies nervously.
The room is silent, save for the crisp crumpling of the page in your tightening fist. You inhale deeply, try to maintain your rapidly exhausting composure in front of the dozens of people around you. “It’s fake news,” you grit out, eyeing each and every one of them with an expression that screams and don’t you dare believe otherwise.
You turn back to Seulgi. “I need to leave.”
She nods anxiously, absentmindedly fiddling with her camera. “I understand. Thank you for your time.”
You reply with a firm nod, rushing to change back into your previous clothes and hastily making your way to the elevator. The floors seem to go by slower than ever as you impatiently call your driver to pull up outside the building, head running a mile a minute with your disordered thoughts. You don’t have half the mind to care about the cameras as you charge through them seconds later, slamming the car door shut as soon as you sit inside. The traffic outside has died down since earlier; something you couldn’t be more thankful for as you urge Charlie to speed off while hurriedly dialling Ten’s number.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Ten, arrange an urgent board meeting for this evening. Make sure Jaehyun and his agent are there too.”
“But you have a model inspection durin-”
“NOW!”
─── ⪧ ⪦ ───
“What the hell is this?”
The conference room pulses with the anger coursing through your veins as you glare at the dozen frightened heads seated in front of you, tossing the five magazines in your hands across the long, polished table.
If becoming a fashion designer was your first tribulation, this comes close second.
A scandal.
Seulgi wasn’t wrong when she said the rumour had made it all over the tabloids. Us Weekly, Hello, People, Grazia; you’re plastered on the front cover of every celebrity gossip magazine.
Having witnessed your fair share of celebrity guises gone wrong, you’ve long determined that your reputation precedes you before anything else does. As such, up until this point you’ve managed to keep a clean slate with the public eye, always cautious not to be seen with anyone in a romantic light or speculated to have engaged in risky behaviours. And if for whatever reason you were, your public relations team has always been prompt in striking deals with the press before the release of any absurd articles.
So, where the fuck were public relations this time?
“Did you know about this?” You turn your hard gaze to Jaehyun, who sits at the other end of the table with his agent, arms crossed over his chest as he shakes his head in confusion.
Jung Jaehyun is the highest ranking male model of SM Agency – one of the most elite modelling agencies in the world. He’s also the representative model of Argent, the face of your advertisements and the finale walker at all runway events. After you, he’s Argent’s attention-grabber, and if your judgement sits correct, that’s precisely the reason the scandal is blowing up so vastly.
A relationship between a designer and her top model is one of the biggest taboos in the industry. It isn’t something unheard of, but it does cast a shameful light of ineptitude on even the most talented of people – though you have to admit you would also be disgusted at yourself if the rumours were true.
Which they aren’t.
You had simply met up with Jaehyun the day before to discuss some outfit alterations over dinner. And though you are friendly with each other, that dinner was strictly business. No romantic feelings whatsoever.
“May I suggest suing?” your public relations advisor, Doyoung, suggests from beside you, inspecting the magazines laid out in front of him with slitted eyes.
You pause at his words, the idea sounding a little too tempting. Even more so considering you’re more than capable of making it happen.
“And how do you propose we do that?” Irene, Jaehyun’s agent, speaks up from across the room. “The writer remains anonymous, and we don’t know the original publisher. On another note, the rumours would only appear true if we started suing every gossip magazine out there.” She looks between the two of you, eyes pointed and snake-like. “Both of your reputations are on the line here. We can’t risk making matters worse by feeding theatrics. Especially not right before NYFS,” she turns to you.
By this point you’re just about ready to pick up the leather chair in front of you and launch it at the windows, but instead, you take a seat on it to dampen the urge, shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell were you supposed to do in a situation like this? Speaking against the press would falsely push the rumours to the affirmative, and remaining silent would do the exact same…or perhaps even worse.
Doyoung huffs frustratedly beside you, tossing down the magazines with a loud smack and eyeing Irene seriously. “What else would you suggest then?”
You look up expectantly, feeling the ripples of anxiety in your chest descend into tidal waves, waiting to crash over you as you wish for Irene to announce an oh-holy solution to this mess. You’ve seen the consequences that come with such rumours, watched other designers undergo merciless removal from fashion shows and even their place in the CFDA. But you’ve worked far too hard, stayed up endless nights in your office and on calls – planning, altering, reviewing, discussing the fate of your fall-winter collections. If you’re removed from New York Fashion Week, you can kiss your precious reputation goodbye along with all of Argent’s high-paying bidders. Now all you can hope is the defamation dies down as quickly as it had come.
“I think I should pull out from the show.”
The tidal wave crashes over you, drenching every fibre in your body with the abrupt snap of your neck towards Jaehyun.
“Excuse me?” you sputter out, the shock of his words cascading through you as he clasps his fingers on the table.
“The rumours started when we were seen together. It’s more likely than not they’ll die down if I distance myself from Argent…at least until after the show.” He looks to his agent. “Irene?”
“He’s right.” Her nod of approval brings down with it a heavy air that expands throughout the suffocating silence of the room. You feel it grabbing at your throat as you turn towards Ten and Doyoung, who to your dismay, both nod back warily.
“But he’s my top model.” Your tightly collected knot slips with the loud slam of your hands against the table, voice raising in a shroud of panic. “He’s the final walker of the show, he’s supposed to end-”
“Well, there won’t be any show if this escalates any further,” Irene interrupts, the loud echo of her voice strumming at the nerves growing deep inside you. “It’ll only be temporary. We’ll have to release a public statement in the coming weeks, and until then not a word should get out to the press.”
You back down, sighing heavily, head shoving into the cold heels of your palms, searching for any form of comfort as it dawns on you that for the first time in your years at the top of the fashion chain, you’re feeling absolutely helpless.
“Is there no other way?” You want to rebuke yourself for the way you look around the room with a new state of vulnerability swirling through your eyes. These are the people you’re supposed to be bossing around, not searching hopelessly for a solution to save your backside. But somewhere in your mind, you know that throwing a temper-tantrum would only push you towards wrong side of the spectrum. You’re the victim here; you’re the one in need of help. But when nobody answers your desperate plea, all you’re left to do is stand from your seat, gulping down the worry with a deep breath.
Losing your top model is better than losing a year’s worth of effort. It isn’t something you suppose, but rather something you’re forced to accept as you look toward Jaehyun with a final sigh. “Jung Jaehyun, you are temporarily dismissed.”
II. The Grand Toast
Lee Taeyong is a simple man.
He has all but three passions in life; money, writing and toast. And though he’ll never admit it, these three passions are also his three greatest weaknesses, stemming all the way back from his humble beginnings.
Taeyong had lived most of his life in uncertainty, grew up in a little rustic household along the outskirts of New York. Money was always the biggest scarcity; the biggest if that plagued his juvenile mind in times of solitude. He still remembers living pay cheque to pay cheque, watching his mother wake at the crack of dawn to work four tireless jobs; wondering whether or not she’d go to bed with a full stomach that night.
Taeyong remembers seeing the colour drain from his father’s eyes day by day. His old man was a struggling journalist, who spent his tireful days sitting at his old wooden desk surrounded by more piles of crumpled paper than profitable works.
“Don’t ever be a writer, son. You’ll waste your life away.” Taeyong’s father had often spoke these words to him. They were well-meaning in nature, this much Taeyong knew. But nothing could have stopped him from falling in love with the wonderful world of writing and pop culture.
As a child, Taeyong was never granted the luxury of scuffing classroom floors with the spiffy sneakers all his friends wore. He never had the chance to dine at fancy restaurants or drive the hottest wheels, rather learning to enjoy such indulgences through the tall stack of out-seasoned comics and magazines that laid in corner of his room.
Typewrite somehow possessed a certain magic that material possessions never could.
Each night, with delicate hands, Taeyong would dive into each page – every one of them; not a single page went overlooked. And while his body rested in the corner of his room on his twin-sized bed, his mind would drift wild through the boundless limits of his imagination. If he was lucky, his mother would be home early. She’d lull Taeyong from his daydreams with a soft kiss to his temple, and hand him a cool plate with warm slice of buttered toast. This was the most affordable gesture of love he had ever known.
But to this day, his father’s words still linger in the back of his mind every now again.
You’ll waste your life away.
Taeyong tips back the glass flute that now rests between his warm fingers, hissing contentedly at the sweet tingle of pinot that lingers on his tastebuds. He finds a certain comfort in the velvet chair beneath him in this moment, feeling blithe amidst the pleasant murmur of other patrons and the smooth jazz that dampens the tinkling cutlery around the restaurant.
Sorry dad, he thinks to himself, a wry smile forming at his lips.
He had found his calling in journalism years ago, mastering his skills to the point of being offered a columnist job at Luxe, one of New York’s most infamous magazine editorial firms. Since then, he’d expanded his horizons, pitching in on articles in all imaginable sections of a magazine, including – but not limited to – news headlines, home and leisure segments, entertainment issues and even gossip columns.
And with his gracious salary, money no longer became an incessant worry, but a prize for Taeyong; a prize he’d stop at nothing for, so long as it kept filling in his bank account.
“Everyone, I’d like to make a toast.” Taeyong turns a relaxed gaze to his boss, Heechul, who stands in the dim lighting of the restaurant, clinking a dessert fork to the wine glass in his hands and eagerly glancing around the large table that seats the Luxe editorial team. Grinning widely, he raises his glass in Taeyong’s direction. “A toast to the one and only, Mr Lee Taeyong.”
The table erupts in a loud fit of cheers and whistles at the mention of the name, bursting through the once soft ambience of the restaurant. Taeyong smiles, bowing his head bashfully at the pats and nudges he receives from his colleagues.
This isn’t the kind of toast his mother would make him, but it’s a toast, nonetheless.
“This man,” Heechul gestures to him, “is the anonymous genius behind the recent exposé of Y/n Y/l/n and Jung Jaehyun. His article has broken Luxe’s weekly advertisement and subscription records by three, and I repeat, three full times our average sales.” He sets his glass down, shaking his head dramatically. “Give him a round of applause, everyone.”
Taeyong covers his ears, laughing along as the hollers grow almost deafening among the resonating claps that bounce around through the shiny glassware. The article is the first he’s ever published about fashion figures, and he can’t be prouder of himself than to have broken records with it.
The notion embraces him with the one thing he’s always been dreaming of: certainty. Certainty of his job and abilities, certainty of his money, certainty of his life.
“Why don’t you say a few words, eh?” Heechul sits down as the cheering quietens.
Taeyong nods respectfully, reluctantly pushing out his chair to stand up. “Well, uh,” He clears his throat. “I guess I’ll start by saying a huge thank you to every single person here for their endless support and encouragement on this segment. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass…a lot of the time,” he snorts with a small laugh, earning a few chuckles around the table, “but yes, once again, I couldn’t have done it without our amazing editorial team, so thank you all very much.” Taeyong presses his hands together in thanks, bowing and sitting back down in his seat.
The spotlight sure feels warm now that it shines brightly on his perky cheeks.
As he goes to reach for the wine bottle across the table, Heechul grabs it before him, pouring the dark red liquor into his own glass. “Who knew Y/n would stoop so low as to date her cover model?”
Taeyong doesn’t reply. He doesn’t feel the need to. By now the whole world knows of the fact; other magazines have been prickling with envy for being seconds too late from publishing the news.
Instead, Taeyong nods with a smile, allowing his boss to now fill his flute. Heechul holds his own glass up, which Taeyong gratefully clinks, once again welcoming the burn of pinot as he lifts the heavy glass to his lips.
Ten stands outside one of Argent’s largest alteration rooms, anxiously peeking through the small crack of the door, watching the way you arrange an extravagant taffeta bow on a model wearing a grey runway dress.
He realises those dead-set features of yours haven’t changed a single bit in the years he’s known you; you’ve always worked with a certain passion in your eyes, a magician’s touch in those fingertips. And though you’ve always been quite the intimidating figure, even the world’s harshest critic would be a fool not to admire the dedication and loyalty you put into every one of your creations.
That is, if you had your main model to promote them all.
He feels himself gulping at the notion, eyeing the piece of paper resting all too serenely on the clipboard clutched in his hands. You had given him the task of finding a model to replace Jaehyun for NYFW, but it was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. Every competent name Ten had racked his brains for sits with a bright red line of ink running straight through it. Now he’s trying to come up with a way to break the news to you.
Without losing his job.
“Quit dallying, Ten, I know you’re outside.”
He quietly gasps at your impassive voice behind the door, gingerly nudging it open just enough to slip through. You can almost feel the tension radiating off your assistant as he steps inside, and it doesn’t take genius to know that something is wrong…well, more wrong than the events of the last week.
“Turn around,” you instruct the model in front of you, taking the fabric clamp resting between your teeth and clipping a pleat together. You glance up at Ten with a sigh. “What’s the issue.” He hasn’t uttered a word, but it’s a given for you to assume the worst by this point.
Jaehyun’s departure a week ago had the opposite effect than intended, only fuelling rumours further; bullshit claims such as ‘it’s all an act to hide the relationship’ and whatnot.
“All the listed models declined.” Ten stands meters away, a hesitant cloud of air floating about his being as he continues, “We don’t have a replacement for Jaehyun, Y/n.”
You feel the energy leaching from you before he even finishes his sentence, stepping back a few feet and dropping into your chair, hands dragging over your face with a groan.
Are you surprised? No, not particularly; at this point, it’s almost as if the universe is making a fortune from your tumbling misery.
Every cloud has a silver lining, every cloud has a silver lining, every cloud has a silver lining.
The phrase does little to alleviate the tension settling in your brows. You wave the model out of the room with a stressed flick of the wrist, waiting until the click of the door resounds before directing hopeless eyes to Ten.
“No one?”
He shakes his head with pursed lips.
“Not even after offering them double salary?”
“No,” he shakes his head again. “They’re all under contract with other labels. No one’s ready to join Argent…especially not after the sca-” You raise a hand before he speaks the word that had all but tipped your perfect world upside-down in the span of a week. And, as you sit here, wrapped in the suffocating turmoil of this word, you feel yourself slipping into a pit of desperation.
You can’t do without a main model. You need a main model for the show.
“Honestly, Ten,” you chuckle dryly, thoroughly amused by your ever-growing list of shortcomings, “We might as well just pluck someone right off the streets at this point.”
III. Goodbye, World
“What the hell am I doing here?” Taeyong mutters to himself quietly, eyes anxiously flickering around the modern looking room he currently sits in. It’s at least four times the size of his office at Luxe; an immaculate interior space with high-rise ceilings and polished surfaces that reflect his wary expression in every which direction.
If someone were to ask him why he’s currently sitting in this architectural masterpiece, staring ahead at the silver letters that spell Argent, he wouldn’t be able to come up with a logical answer. One thing he could tell them though, is that he’s scared for his ass.
His eyes flicker to the half-eaten slice of bread pinched between his buttery fingers.
Darn toast.
***
The rich aroma of ground coffee beans and burnt caramel wafts through the chilly city air, warming its way through Taeyong’s lungs as he breathes in the sweet atmosphere around him. He stands in the café’s queue outside, body naturally leaning towards the warmth that radiates from the steaming swirls of creamer beyond the counter, eager to grab his own cup to soothe the frost prickling at his fingertips.
“Excuse me, sir?”
A voice sounds from behind him, fingers lightly tapping at his shoulder as he turns to face a clean-cut man with honey-toned skin and feline features. Taeyong raises his eyebrows.
“Yes?”
The man clears his throat, tugging his scarf looser. “I apologise if this seems abrupt, but I’m looking to scout a male model,” he extends a hand with a formal smile.
“Uhhh, okay.” Taeyong furrows his eyebrows, offering his own cautious hand out of courtesy, though still unsure why this stranger has decided to approach him during his precious lunch break. “But why are you telling me thi-”
“You satisfy our physical standards.” The man’s tone of voice seems almost rushed and frantic, but somehow maintains a baseline elegance to it as he pushes on. “My name is Ten Lee, my company is desperate, and you seem to look the part,” he sighs heavily, pretentious aura deflating with his hunching back. He stares at Taeyong, a pitifully desperate expression glazing over his features, hands pressing together in front of his face. “Please. It’ll just be for the next month or so…I promise this isn’t a scam.”
Taeyong can only frown in confusion, not a damn clue how to respond to this desperate stranger’s plea. It’s not everyday he gets approached by a strange man to model for a company, but everything about the offer seems to be floating in mid-air; no binding conditions, no mention of a contract, nothing.
And besides, what is this Ten guy even expecting of Taeyong? For him to just drop everything and-
“We’ll pay you double your current salary, I can guarantee it!”
Taeyong perks up at the words, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.
Being paid double his current salary sounds like a dream. He stands there, biting the inside of his cheek in thought, hypnotised like a snake to its charmer at the notion of all that extra cash. He thinks back to his job at Luxe; he’d have to take leave were he to accept the offer.
Taeyong sets aside the better part of his conscience that warns him of all the red flags, waffling over his inexperience in fashion magazine culture. He’s only ever written one article on the topic after all, and given that his job stands on the very basis of experience, he supposes the offer may also be a learning opportunity for his writing in the future.
In a way he’d still technically be doing his job.
“And this…isn’t a scam?” He folds his arms, reluctantly stepping out of queue with a raised eyebrow.
“Absolutely not!” Ten swipes his hands in front of his face to emphasise his point.
“Okay, keep talking,” Taeyong nods, a suspicious lilt in his voice. It’s almost as if his words electrocute Ten with the wide smile that breaks across his face and the extravagant gestures of his revived limbs.
“Okay, so I’ll give you the address right now and we can-”
“Wait, now?” Taeyong interrupts. “Like, right now?”
Ten simply blinks. “Yes.”
Taeyong sighs to himself, looking longingly towards the café. The same smell of coffee and caramel tugs invitingly at the growing hunger in his stomach as he turns back to Ten.
“You do realise you’re interrupting my lunch right now.”
Ten’s smile only widens. “No problem, uh…” he trails off, silently giving the blonde man an opening.
“Taeyong,” Taeyong chimes in.
“No problem, Mr Taeyong! we can get you anything you wish to eat at the company.”
Taeyong finds himself interested once again, a tilt to his head as a small grin twitching at his lips.
“Even toast?”
“Even toast.”
***
So here he now sits, beloved toast in hand, the silver logo in front of him glinting like the devil as he ruminates what a damn fool he was for following Ten straight to the building of Argent Fashion Labels…the very company whose head designer falls victim to this year’s biggest celebrity scandal.
The scandal that Taeyong is equally responsible as he is liable for.
He’s all but convinced now, that Argent had somehow come to know about his writer’s identity. There was no plausible explanation other than someone from Luxe must have ratted his ass out in exchange for a handsome reward. After all, the people Taeyong worked with were exactly like him: money-minded and even more so, money-blinded.
He’s sure of it, that Ten’s previous offer must have been a planned façade to lure him in for interrogation and God knows what else.
Shit, I’m done for.
Taeyong regrets it; not writing the article – he somehow can’t bring himself to regret that one thing among this imminent doom. But he regrets not having thought about the consequences before and after the article’s publishing. Not to mention his inferior position against a world-class fashion company. Taeyong regrets not having realised how he might’ve ended up shooting himself in the foot while chasing the loot at the end of the rainbow. Now all he can see are the rain clouds growing darker and darker along the way, counting down the seconds until he’s homeless on the streets.
It’s only a matter of time, now.
The thought only draws Taeyong’s attention to the massive silver clock that ticks loudly on the left wall. He frustratedly tosses his toast back onto the plate on the coffee table in front of him, foot tapping anxiously against the shiny marble tiles.
Bloody hell, why is everything in this place silver?
He jumps in surprise as the door behind him opens, sending a cool wave of air fanning over the back of his neck. Immediately standing up, he turns around to be met with none other than you, Y/n Y/l/n, striding in his direction; an utterly unreadable expression on your face as Ten follows punctually behind. Everything about you excludes a certain power, from the way your heels click loudly against the tiles beneath you, to your blouse that flows with every intimidating step taken forward. You’re breathtaking. Literally; Taeyong almost forgets to breathe, gulping as you sit at the desk in front of him, Ten standing beside you. It doesn’t take him long to know his place in the room.
“Mr Lee Taeyong.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he promptly replies.
This is it, goodbye, world
“I understand you’ve agreed to model under Argent for the next month.” You clasp your hands on the table, eyeing the man who sits in front of you. You’re almost compelled to scrunch your nose at the faint scent of butter that lingers around your office, noticing a small plate on the coffee table with a half-eaten piece of toast sitting in it.
It takes Taeyong a few seconds too long to process what you say, and he’s not sure whether it’s because of the nerves that bounce around inside his chest, or because he’s distracted by the way your voice wraps around his name so exquisitely.
He finally nods.
But as you look at him, you can’t help but feel that something isn’t right. He’s quite attractive if you’d say so yourself; wide eyes, pale skin, slim physique; he could very probably measure up to Jaehyun in visual regard. But despite this, everything else about the man has you questioning his competency for the job. Taeyong’s very appearance has you wondering exactly how experienced he is. For starters, all of his clothes are out-seasoned – not a single designer item in sight – and his dirty blonde hair appears as if he’d simply ran a hand through it and called it a day.
“May I ask which modelling agency you’ve come from?”
Taeyong furrows his eyebrows at the seemingly candid tone in your voice, wondering if it’s all just an act to catch him in his own trap. Your own eyebrows knit together upon seeing his puzzled state, growing suspicious as you clear your throat for him to answer. He looks up in a panic, the words spilling from his mouth before he’s able to control them.
“I-I didn’t come from a modelling agency.”
“Is that so?” You turn to look at Ten with narrowed eyes, tongue poking your cheek menacingly as you tilt your head in question. Said man only looks at you innocently.
You glance back at Taeyong. “I’m sorry, could you give us a moment?”
He nods as you drag Ten out of the office, making sure to close the doors on your way (without slamming them, as hard as the task fares).
“Why do I have a clueless imbecile sitting in my office?” you hiss, voice stone-cold and harsh, accompanied by the tapping of your impatient foot as your arms cross over your chest.
“We were desperate, and he fits the standards,” Ten snaps back, jutting his head forcefully in the direction of the door. “What more do you want?”
You scoff, pointing a rigid finger toward him.
“You said you’d hire an experienced model-”
“You said we should pick someone off the streets!”
“Oh my god, Ten!” You stand stupefied out of your skin, grip over your dwindling sanity loosening as your fists instead begin to clutch at the air in frustration. “I didn’t mean it literally!” you screech out as quietly as possible so Taeyong doesn’t hear from inside. You suck in sharp breath through your nose and release it with an exasperated sob, head hanging heavy with the exhaustion that piles on top of all your existing woes.
“I have half the mind to fire you right now.” You lean back against the cold wall, the words slip out quietly against your better judgement, though you know you don’t mean them, and you know Ten knows it too.
“We don’t have anyone else right now, Y/n,” he voices out defeatedly. “We’re lucky this guy even agreed on such short notice.”
You close your eyes, cursing the writer of that godforsaken article a thousand times more before sighing and speaking up, “Have you done a background check?”
“He’s all clear.”
“So that’s it, you’re just going to leave Luxe?” Heechul sits down in his chair, disbelief warping a tensed display over his conventionally relaxed features.
“Only until after New York Fashion Week,” Taeyong mutters half-heartedly, eyes sauntering around Heechul’s office for perhaps the thousandth time, distracted by the way the room suddenly seems inappreciable compared to your office at Argent.
Every corner of his desk is covered either with cover plans, or untidy notebooks filled with gaudy page markers that stick out in every which direction. The tall shelves behind hold an array of old, weathered books, untouched and probably collecting dust along their thick spines. The office is not a mess in its entirety per say, just highly unorganised; a factor that diminishes the modern touch the room had once possessed years ago.
Your office, by contrast, was a lot cleaner and shinier and spacious than this.
“Taeyong, you’re our best writer. You can’t expect me to just let you go like this for a month,” Heechul sighs.
“Heechul,” Taeyong moves to the edge of his seat in hopes to convince his boss. “I’m just going for the journalist experience. Nothing more, nothing less.”
It’s partly the truth, he thinks to himself. Heechul didn’t need to know about the money side of the job; it’s not his business to. Besides, what’s a little white lie worth in the grand scheme of things?
Heechul eyes Taeyong sceptically. “And they don't know about the article?”
“Not as far as I know,” Taeyong smirks, leaning back in his seat once again, watching as Heechul’s conflicted expression morphs into one of defeat.
“Okay.”
Taeyong nods enthusiastically, thrusting himself out of his seat with a widening grin
“But on one condition.”
Heechul’s words stop him in his tracks, earning a questioning look from him.
Conditions are never good news.
He watches as a sly smile stretches on Heechul’s face. “You go undercover into Argent building and write a debunking article by the end of the month.”
Undercover?
Taeyong narrows his eyes at the man, almost swearing he sees a sinister glint swirling somewhere around the black of his pupils. Writing is Taeyong’s forte; the condition just seems all too convenient given he’s single-handedly resigning from his job for a month. He wonders if he’s reading too much into the situation, something which Heechul seems to take notice of. “Oh, come on, I bet there’s a lot of scum behind those silver doors. We already got a glimpse of it...” he trails of suggestively.
He’s got a point, Taeyong ponders. It’ll be easy money.
“Will I get paid for it?” he asks.
“Sure will,” Heechul links his hands across his scattered papers, the same devious expression on his face. Something about him in this moment feels unnerving to Taeyong, but he just can’t tell what, so instead he decides to cut his losses and bite the bullet.
“Consider it done.”
IV. Depraved Little Devil
“You’re late.”
“It’s six thirty-eight in the morning!” Taeyong chokes out in disbelief. He was all but expecting to be greeted with a lovely ‘good morning, thank you for your time’, but this is what he gets?
“Yes,” you finally tear your gaze away from the papers, straightening in your seat with a dazzlingly professional smile to mask the annoyance in your voice. “And that makes you eight minutes off mark.”
Taeyong scoffs internally. Debunk point number one: mistreatment of employees.
He slumps down into the black couch opposite you, eyeing the way you sit there, hair in a tight bun, twirling a pen between your fingers as if you’ve just attended three back-to-back meetings and opened a new fashion line in the process.
“I didn’t even have breakfast,” he mumbles aloud, an obnoxious yawn leaving his lips. Frustrated fingers scoop through his dishevelled hair, tugging lightly at the roots while he regrettably hopes this isn’t the life he’s obliged himself to for the next month.
“That’s not my problem, Mr Lee.” You pick up the schedule Ten had made from the corner of your desk, eyeing over the long list of jobs with a deep sigh.
The whole scouting process was usually fairly simple. You’ve rarely needed to worry about training your models as most have been hired from prestigious agencies with plenty of experience. But given Taeyong’s complete lack thereof, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be his mentor – at least for the first week or so. And though it’s a huge inconvenience to say the least, it’s something you’ve long decided must be done if Argent is to keep its name in the fashion industry.
“Well,” you stand, schedule clutched tightly. “We’ve a long day ahead of us, so please follow me.” You walk to your office door, holding it open for the man who doesn’t even have the decency to budge from his seat. “Promptly, Mr Lee,” you articulate the words loudly, piquing with irritation and forcing your eyes shut to prevent burning holes in the back of his head. There are only so many hours in a day, and it’s last thing you need for him to be uncooperative given the constraints.
“Please, it’s Taeyong.”
There's a certain lilt in his voice that compels you to open your eyes, somehow warning you of your ‘do-or-die’ predicament. He turns around, still sitting all too comfortably on the sofa, meeting your eyes with his own raised eyebrows.
“And Miss Y/l/n, are you really going to make me work on an empty stomach?”
─── ⪧ ⪦ ───
“Yeah, this one will need a lot of work.”
You turn to your Models Manager, Johnny, who stands beside you shaking his head at the scene before him.
“You think so?” you mumble anxiously, following Johnny’s gaze to Taeyong who humours himself with one of the stylists across the studio, happily munching away at the buttery piece of toast he’d coaxed earlier.
“Oh, honey, I know so,” Johnny clicks his tongue, crossing his arms while examining the man in front of him.
“Yeah, me too I guess,” you sigh in vanquish, the gravity of the situation weighing down heavily on your shoulders. Taeyong is proving to be more of an intricate piece of work by the minute, and it’s going to take an unconventional amount of effort to make a worthy prototype of him.
“Height is going to be an issue too.” Johnny taps at his chin, eyes slitted as he turns to you. “Jaehyun’s a real asshole for leaving you on the edge like this.”
You sigh, eyes fixating on a silver spool of satin resting in the far corner of the room.
“He had reason to.”
“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Johnny snorts. “He can’t just leave and expect everything to be normal again. That’s not how showbiz works, Y/n, I mean see for yourself, the rumours have only grown since then.”
I know, goddamnit!
You want to scream the words out loud, let them grab at Johnny’s throat and shut him up. But of course, they remain at the back of your own throat, stuck alongside the anxious lump that manifested a week ago. The words are there, but only for you and your racing mind to hear each time you swallow them down.
“But,” Johnny drawls out, nudging your side before suddenly retracting in fear as you send an icy gaze to him. It seems not just him, but even your other employees have been getting a little too comfortable around you in the past week. Suffice to say, you’re not the least bit impressed by the informality.
“Out of turn,” you voice sternly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny nods immediately.
“Continue.” You turn back to Taeyong who now sifts through a rack of clothing with another stylist, grimacing at the thought of his greasy fingers staining the fabric. Just as you’re preparing to march straight ahead and grab Taeyong by the ears, Johnny speaks up.
“I was saying,” He stops you in your tracks. “Every cloud has a silver lining. Right?”
And just like clockwork, the words don’t allow you to take another step forward, clearing away the hot steam pelting up inside you with a fresh, cool air. You feel your fingers uncurl from their place in your palms – not having realised they were fisted so tight in the first place – and sigh once more, nodding to Johnny.
“You’re right.” The phrase sits bitter on your tongue. It’s not something you’re accustomed to voicing aloud, but it seems just about everyone except you is right these days – either that, or you’re just always a couple steps behind, and it’s something you’re not all that thrilled about.
“This guy’s a tough one, but don’t you worry.” Johnny sends you a sympathetic smile. “We’ll make a star out of him yet.” He side-steps past you with three loud claps echoing around the high white ceilings of the room, walking toward Taeyong. “Alright mister, hands off the racks, we’re not at that stage yet.”
You watch the comical way Taeyong jumps at Johnny’s sudden intrusion, almost amused by the way he blinks up like a deer in the headlights, wide-eyed with cheeks slightly puffed out with the last few chews of bread. He tilts his head past Johnny’s figure, sending you a questioning look.
“We’re affiliated with SM Agency, but our models are all trained here at Argent as we have specific requirements.” You step forward, gesturing to the tall man beside you. “This is Johnny. He’ll be your personal manager, trainer and agent for the coming weeks.”
“My personal manager?” Taeyong raises his eyebrows in surprise, not remotely used to the prospect of having his own personal manager. A columnist assistant is the best he’s ever gotten with his job at Luxe – and that too on the luckiest of days.
“You betcha,” Johnny clicks his tongue with a bright smile.
Neat and gaudy; these are the first two words that come to mind as Taeyong scans Johnny from head to toe. The man is neat in the way his neck-length hair is pushed back with just enough gel to keep it looking fluffy but still elegant. His outfit is what makes him look so gaudy; a fitted white suit with a red silk shirt. Both items of clothing are far too bright, blinding even, as Taeyong blinks away to save his poor eyes.
“Shall we?” You turn to Johnny who nods.
“Let’s.”
“Let’s what?” Taeyong shifts his eyes between you and Johnny and back again, watching as you hail the two stylists from earlier.
“We’re going to take some measurements,” the words barely leave Johnny’s freakishly heart-shaped lips as the stylists step forward.
Taeyong’s personal bubble is all but reduced to a vanquished nothingness as the ladies pull the measuring tapes from their necks and slide them around either one of his wrists. The strips of silver glint and sparkle under the scintillate lighting from above, catching Taeyong’s startled gaze as the stylists make quick work of wrapping them around every inch of his arms. Stunned as he may be, he can’t help the small laughs that leave his lips at the tickle of the plastic on his skin. A ghost of the sensation lingers as the frantic scene stands still every few seconds, filled with scratches of lead on small notepads that record the numbers, before continuing until the tingles vibrate all the way to the top of his arms – wrists to forearms to elbows to biceps. The ladies then abruptly step back, much to Taeyong’s confusion.
“Sir, we need to measure the torso,” one of them speaks, a sort of pinkness washing over her cheeks.
“Okay,” he nonchalantly raises his arms out to his sides, shivering slightly at the cool air that wafts into his shirt. But the stylists don’t step forward, planted still in their spots, causing Taeyong eyebrows to knit tighter together.
“Take your shirt off, Taeyong, we don’t have all day,” Johnny’s voice echoes from a couple metres away.
“Huh?” Taeyong’s eyes blow wide in shock.
“Damn, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Johnny mutters through his smile, and you have to purse your lips to repress your own smile before it denounces your self-possession.
Taeyong almost humbles himself at Johnny’s gesture to get on with it. He feels a confliction gripping at his wrists as his fingers toy with the hem of his shirt. He’s not typically the self-conscious type, but he doesn’t know how else to describe the feeling that creeps up his spine as all the eyes fixed on him in this moment become a little too apparent.
Paycheque, whispers the depraved little devil in Taeyong’s mind, and it’s almost appalling to him how quickly his fingers proceed to tug off the flimsy fabric. He leaves himself to his own devices, exposed on an ephemeral whim that forces him to stomach a small pit of regret in its wake. However, time and task leave no room for awkward silences as the measuring tape passes around the tender of Taeyong’s waist. He stiffens at the cold sensation, trying his best not to retract with every tickle, thanking the third entity that once again revives the bustling conversation around him. He allows the stylists to have their way, opting to distract himself along the clean lines and edges of the studio.
You, on another hand, stand meters away observing Taeyong with equal amounts of confusion and curiosity lacing through your features, realising that Ten’s judgement had indeed hit the bullseye days ago when he’d first brought Taeyong to Argent. Taeyong’s proportions are almost idyllic for a man who apparently survives off butter and bread; just enough muscle in his arms and stomach to show off beneath a lace top, just the perfect amount of slender appeal to fashion a suit and tie. It puzzles you to no end. Most rookies have to be given strict diet and exercise plans to meet Argent’s requirements.
Perhaps this is the silver lining Johnny was talking about earlier; not having to issue health monitoring for the next few weeks.
“His body makes up for expertise, I guess,” Johnny mutters in surprise.
You wonder if he’d read your mind, but your arrogance doesn’t allow the silence to drag on too long, replying with a complacent, “Like you said, height is an issue.”
He shrugs. “Nothing a good old pair of insoles can’t fix.”
“He’s on the skinnier side.”
“And yet you’re still staring.”
Johnny’s words catch you off-guard, and it’s when your eyes stop at Taeyong’s elbow that you realise the statement lingers blatantly true in the air; you are, indeed, staring at him. But it’s too late to deny the fact, so you rather turn to Johnny, concealing any shock with a stubbornly unamused expression.
“It’s my job to stare.”
“It’s your job to stare at clothes,” Johnny counters with a quirked eyebrow, “which he’s not wearing any of.”
“He’s wearing pants-”
“You’re staring at his pants?” Johnny raises an eyebrow, an insolent smirk finding his face.
Your lips part slightly before you’re able to help it, an unsolicited warmness filling your cheeks as your eyebrows furrow in a mix of anger and embarrassment.
“No,” you avert your gaze to the whiteness of the walls, “I’m not.”
You have every right to fire Johnny for implying something so absurd, but the notion that only he can help transform the shirtless nobody in front of you into a piece of art, stops you. It’s your duty to make sure Taeyong is well-trained for NYWF, and you’re going to make a star of him even if it’s the last thing you do.
There’s only a handful of things Taeyong gravely lacks in, and fashion – and anything remotely related to the word – is one of them. It has always been an otherworldly concept to him, a foreign language he couldn’t even begin to make sense of, let alone articulate for himself.
Four days into the new job have shown him the sleek work ethic of Argent and its employees. Everything about the place has been far beyond his means; all much too different to the usual job he’d grown passionately accustomed to over the years. He’s seen enough vibrant mood boards and fabric spools to last him through his next lifetime, peeked through and scattered a few too many fingerprints on the many polished windows of miscellaneous rooms.
Today, the job brings Taeyong to his first fashion shoot.
He blinks at the fool of a man that stares back at him in the full-length mirror, wearing a velvet turquoise suit with silvered cuffs, a grey vest of some unnamed exotic fabric inside of the suit, and a pair of yellow-tinted…ski goggles?
The entire look is offbeat; eccentric in colour and much too flashy with the strips of silver running down each leg of the pants. It’s a drastic change from the plain black jeans and shirt Taeyong had picked from his closet that same morning. He eyes himself, vision slightly obscured by the yellow filter of the goggles. It makes everything appear a couple decades older as if it were part of a picture snapped in the 80’s.
When his eyes flick to your reflection in the mirror, he pauses. Even you look a few decades back-dated with your pencil skirt and tucked-in sweater. In Taeyong’s eyes, you could almost pass for a timeless fashion icon; famed and fawned over in an era far behind you. All you needed now were a pair of satin gloves, sunglasses and a round-brimmed hat. He’s surprised to see that your expression appears moderately impressed as you eye his outfit – a stark contrast from the louring grimace he’d expected to find. In the time he’s known you, he can’t recall having seen you smile even once.
Not that you’re smiling right now, just not frowning.
“Okay, not bad,” you nod, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. You’d originally designed the suit with Jaehyun in mind; as unconventional as it is, Jaehyun was the only model that was certain to wear it well. But of course, you haven’t had the chance to see him wear it given the circumstances, so there’s a certain comfort in know Taeyong is able to fashion it nicely in his stead.
“How do people even pay money for this?” The words roll off Taeyong’s tongue with a genuine incredulity that doesn’t quite sit well with your temperament. Any hint of appreciation on your face is torn away by the scowl that settles in place, annoyed as ever at his remark.
“Clearly, you’re lacking knowledge to throw about thoughtless questions like that,” you announce, walking forward and turning him around to face you. Your fingers automatically pinch at the lapels, folding them the right way and flattening the fabric around Taeyong’s neck and shoulders. Nothing bugs you more than an unfixed collar.
“Well, I won’t deny it,” he replies nonchalantly.
There’s something about him that is so infuriating, and you’re not sure whether it’s the assured way he speaks that irks a certain displeasure in you, or the fact that he’s your last resort for the biggest show of the year. It’s still unfathomable how you’re going to survive the next month with him, and that too in the name of saving not only your company but also your backside.
However, as hard as the task stands, today is about finding Taeyong’s flattering angles, not his trying faults.
When you both make your way into the shooting room, you push your frustrations aside, deciding wasting energy is futile in any case; blissful ignorance would the best way to go from here on out.
You watch with intent as the photographers guide Taeyong to a stool in front of the grey backdrop set up in the middle of the back wall. All it takes is a few instructions from them before softboxes begin their blinding light shows, flashing with every click of the cameras. Amidst it all, you stand surprised at how well Taeyong poses for the camera; chin up, eyes sharp and lips parted. You eye the way he repositions himself on the stool, can’t help but take note of a certain poise that exudes in his movements as he shifts a foot to the ground; a suave flow that over the years you’ve ascertained only ever came naturally to a person, or never at all.
“Did you practice your expressions?” you ask, referring to the list of facial expressions Johnny had given Taeyong to rehearse a couple days prior. However, your question is left suspended in the air as Taeyong turns to you. His eyes meet your own with the same intensity he’d shown to the camera, lips curling up into a devious smirk that pulls you back from the indifference you’d sworn on yourself minutes prior.
“Why? Are they good?” The words pull one corners of his lips slightly higher.
You’re not given the chance to reply with a “surprisingly so,” as a loud ringing from behind interrupts you. You turn to the refreshments table and pick up the phone, eyebrows furrowing at the caller ID.
Kim Heechul
The name sits familiar in your mind somewhere, though you’re not able to place an exact finger on where you’ve seen it before.
“Who is it?” Taeyong calls.
“Kim…Heechul?” The words leave your mouth in a question.
You watch the way Taeyong’s eyes widen and abruptly drop, as if to hide the obvious tension that fills him from head to toe. His once-soft features harden in a split second, shoes echoing loudly against the tiles as he steps off the stool, almost knocking it over while hastily making his way to you. He snatches the phone from your grasp, sending nothing but a hesitant glance your way, leaving you to stare in bewilderment at the double doors that swing with the phantom of his hard shove through them.
“Y/n?”
You turn to the photographers who stand with equally puzzled faces.
“Give him a minute, he’ll be back.”
And when he does walk in minutes later, the tension seems to hang even heavier from his limbs as he stiffly places the phone back on the refreshments table, lips pursed, hands fidgeting and ears tinted slightly red.
Stringent as you may be, you feel a genuine worry somewhere inside you at his suddenly bothered state, feeling an intrinsic need to ask him:
“Is everything okay?”
When he turns around, you decide he must either be a really good actor, or a master at hiding his emotions, as all ounce of malaise seems to have evaporated from his face, replaced with his signature smile that voices the words:
“More than okay.”
Taeyong leans back in his chair, groaning into the heel of his palms. His laptop glares back at him in the darkness of his home office, a full page of words typed skilfully on the white document taunting him in the brimming silence of what most people would call a mind blank.
“Shit, what was it?” His eyes squeeze shut, fingers pressing into his temple in attempt to recall the idea his memory had lost while trying to note down his previous points.
It has been a week since the day Ten had snatched Taeyong from his lunch break and thrust him into the curious world of Argent Fashion Labels. Everything in between then and now has been a hectic whirlwind of ridiculous outfits, blinding cameras and boundless strips of spangly silver; each passing day bringing with it a multitude of new experiences, and each new experience bringing tasks and trials galore…oh, and some fabulous points for his debunking article.
As it turns out, modelling for a world-class fashion label is a lot harder than Taeyong had originally anticipated. He can’t recall a time his solace has ebbed and flowed as much as it has in the past week.
Unsurprisingly, his problems all seem to stem from a single entity within Argent’s walls.
You.
You, with your ridiculously hefty standards. You, with your unbearable personality. You, with those sharp eyes; the same pair Taeyong would call beautiful, were it not for the scrutiny they hold every time they meet his own from across the room.
That certainly isn’t to say there haven’t been some decent experiences. For starters, he’s had the chance to wear clothes worth more than his entire wardrobe, and as ridiculous as they look, they are invaluable in every sense of the word. He’s also been able to acquire some basic knowledge of the fashion industry in general, which could prove to help him in his future writing endeavours. He is grateful for these things, of course, but the only thing that really keeps him around is the dough that awaits at the end of the month.
Money always takes precedence, and if his next article becomes a hit…
***
The doors swing heavily behind, sending a surge of cool air fanning Taeyong’s back as his feet carry him a safe distance away from the shooting room.
Man, that was close.
He thumbs at the answer button on his phone, pressing his ear to the speaker as the ringer dies down. “Hello?”
“Ahh, Taeyong, how are things going so far at Argent?”
The voice over the line only draws a sigh from Taeyong as he murmurs back an apathetic, “Heechul, now’s not a good time.”
The man chuckles. “No problem. I Just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten our deal.”
“Yeah, the article, I know,” he hurriedly answers, cautiously eyeing his surroundings for potential listeners.
“The debunking article,” Heechul emphasises.
Taeyong doesn’t reply, rather biting at the inside of his cheek, anticipation finding his tensed features as he distractedly scans every corner of the ceiling for security cameras.
“You’re getting paid for this, remember. Don’t make me regret sending you to Argent.”
***
The article must be an immaculate work of art, this much Taeyong is certain of.
He sits in pensive silence for minutes on end, willing for the fog to clear his mind. But it doesn’t take long to realise the futility in trying to overcome writer’s block at half twelve in the morning, so with a heavy-lidded gaze, he shuts his laptop, rolling his neck and shoulders with a small wince. If there’s one thing all these years in journalism have taught Taeyong, it’s that writing and back pain are an uncompromising package deal.
He eyes the magazine that rests beside his laptop, reaching over to scan over the glossed paper with a deep grimace.
HANDSOME IN CHEEK, ANONYMOUS IN THE STREET
Meet the new mystery stunner of Argent Fashion Labe-
Taeyong closes his eyes with a snort, saving himself the effort of further reading. He can’t help but shake a bang at those ridiculous words, even more so, at the picture of himself seated on the same stool from days ago, wearing the same turquoise suit with the same grey turtleneck, and those godforsaken yellow goggles.
Absolutely ridiculous.
The Vogue issue resting idly in his hands is one of the many that were released earlier in the week. Taeyong has garnered an unprecedented amount of attention since then; despite merely being an unnamed face on the cover of a magazine the number of young women noticing him on the street has been growing by day.
A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a finger tapping rhythmically at his chin.
“Perhaps I could get used to this.”
Crazy.
She must be crazy.
“I’m walking the final runway at New York Fashion Week?” The words sputter haphazardly from Taeyong’s mouth, finger jabbing painfully into his sternum as he stares dumbfoundedly at your seated figure across the room. “What about Jaehyun? Doesn’t he usually do it?”
Taeyong watches the way you tentatively sip at the steaming cup of green tea in your hands. Your appearance is no different than usual, prim and proper in your black work dress, hair tied high in a tight, formal bun, and eyes still filled with that same stunning contempt.
What he doesn’t see, however, is the panic that lies hidden behind the deep creases of your demeanour; the way your pulse quickens in apprehension of having to fully explain your situation to him. You can only attempt to gather the scattered traces of solace from deep within you, sighing in defeat.
“Look, I’m sure you’re aware of the article that was released just over a week ago.”
Taeyong makes a genuine display of himself, nodding in faux conviction as your voice grazes his hears.
If only she knew.
“Well, to put it lightly, whoever wrote it was gravely misinformed.” You avert your gaze to your office windows, a deep sigh pushing past your lips.
“Wait you’re…” Taeyong’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion, a small sinking feeling whirling in the depths of his chest, “you’re not dating Jaehyun?”
“No,” you reply.
Taeyong watches the way a sorrowful smile pulls your lips up, your eyes trained somewhere along the bustling city streets outside. “Jaehyun is taking a break from Argent, and…” Your words weigh heavily in your own mind, though you can no longer bring yourself to show any more anger for them. You’ve long decided that it is what it is, and the situation can’t be helped; that the punches are either to be copped in the gut or rolled with, and that the latter option fared best in the grand scheme of things.
Your eyes find themselves to Taeyong’s.
“…you’re really our only hope for the show, Taeyong.”
Taeyong sits opposite you in a state of confused conflict, wrapped up in a harsh turmoil as he realises his horrible mistake.
You and Jung Jaehyun are not a couple.
He hadn’t thought about the very possible fact when he’d written the article. It hadn’t even once crossed his mind when he’d sent it in for publishing. But at the same time, it wasn’t right for you to have withheld the information that his only business at Argent was to be Jaehyun’s makeshift replacement...
“Please.”
Now, there’s something new swirling in your eyes, something Taeyong has never seen or heard before in your voice. He’s not sure how to respond, brows furrowing from not hearing the usual malice along your words, guilt sinking through his skin as they hang unadulterated in the air. It’s his fault you’re sitting here pleading him to help you out, his own carelessness that has now labelled him ‘Argent’s new handsome model’, his own greed that has every magazine plastered with his face on the front cover.
But regardless of the fact, Taeyong has gotten himself into this mess and there’s no way he can back out of it now.
Three small nods come from the man in front of you, and you’re not sure you’ve ever felt such a relief ripple through your being before this very moment.
V. Teach Me How to Walk
“Have a good night, Joy, I’ll call you back for a final fitting. A week or so, tops,” you bid your model goodbye with a smile, turning to hang a green houndstooth two-piece on the clothing rack beside a box of assorted fabrics.
“Thank you, Y/n, have a good night yourself,” she smiles before stepping out, the click of the door the only static company left in the large alteration room. You flop down into the swivel chair behind the sewing table, eyes crossing to the loose strand of hair that tickles across your cheeks. You blow at it once, twice, three times, eventually thumbing it away to save it from landing in your eye again.
“All in a day’s work,” the words whisper past your chapped lips in a deep sigh as you toy with a loose strip of silver satin, wrist rising to face view.
9:18 PM
You’ve gone overtime by an hour and eighteen minutes, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you relish in the first solitary silence of the day, absentmindedly weaving the satin through your fingers, gaze trained on the clothing racks. Your eyes flick from hanger to hanger, inspecting the numerous outfits that brush up against each other – some with their silver linings peeking out, other with them concealed between laces and fine cottons.
It’s now that you realise your smile is still bright and prevalent on your face, feeling a little light and airy in your seat.
There’s only two weeks to go until the show and things are finally beginning to look up. As it turns out, recruiting Taeyong might have been your best decision yet – a silver lining to the cloud, if you will. Since his Vogue debut the week before the scandal rumours have narrowed down tenfold, and the paparazzi, shallow as they ever be, now distractedly hover over ‘Argent’s new mystery model’. As per some genius advice from Doyoung, you’d purposely kept things discreet by only revealing Taeyong’s face to the public eye; no name, no personality, just a few head and body shots. It’ll save the audience a heart attack on show day, Doyoung had said. Discretion had also proven to be an excellent marketing strategy as bidding offers once again pile high and heavy. To top it all off, your clothing lines are on their final inspection rounds, and today has been a highly productive day for you, all much to your delight.
You hum contentedly, pushing up from your seat to grab your coat and handbag. You take the satin that still rests limp and gorgeous in your hand, tying it loosely around a handle of your bag and walking to the door. You turn back to the room with a final grin. On a normal day, you’d have frowned at the scattered fabrics on the tables, but right now, the mess seems brilliant to you, painting the room vibrantly with potential of becoming something remarkable given a few clean stitches.
With a hand reaching out to flick the lights off, you step out, only to immediately pause at the sound of muffled music from the other end of the dimmed hallway.
Strange, you wonder, everyone should have gone home by now.
The music grows less and less obscure with every step you take forward, eventually bringing you outside a room you like the call ‘The Walkway’. With a hand pressing gently against the door, you peer inside, surprised to find Taeyong’s blonde mop of hair strutting up and down the long platform with exaggerated effort. It’s only your duty to note he’s not doing the finest job at it, but the determined pout on his concentrated features strikes down all your criticisms like a bowling ball. Somewhere in their stead blooms an unforeseen fondness for his efforts, shining bright as the narrow beam of light glowing upon on your smile through the crack of the door.
You watch as Taeyong groans in frustration, a small giggle leaving your lips only to be immediately covered by the slap of your hands, eyes wide in shock at yourself.
What is this? Why were you giggling like twelve-year-old at a grown-ass man struggling to walk?
The answer to your question lies in another unsuppressed laugh from your own lips, flowing freely with the music that surrounds Taeyong tripping over himself on the other side. You realise you’re giggling because it’s actually funny – endearing even, though you’re not able to conjure the thought as your feet push forward on their own accord, carefully leading you inside until the light of the room bathes you with its glow.
“Hey,” you voice out, trying to catch Taeyong’s attention amidst the music. Though, it’s apparently a futile effort given his lack of reaction.
“Taeyong.”
Still no response.
With a huff, you grab the speaker remote secured to the wall, silence resounding in a tumultuous wave as you the hit pause button. Taeyong whips his head around, frustration ever-evident in his face, only to melt away in the second he catches you standing to the side.
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you, I was just on my way to grab some popcorn,” you jab a thumb behind your shoulder, amusement strung high in your eyebrows and in the curl of your lips.
Taeyong rolls his eyes, traces of sweat glistening on his neck as he takes a swing of the bottle resting on a chair at the edge of the platform.
“And she smiles, folks.”
You set your things down and take a seat, grin somehow widening though without the slightest effort of restraint.
“Mm, and you should consider yourself lucky to see it,”
“Mmmm, I do,” Taeyong hums back, imitating you with a fascination strewn to his brows. He’d like to think that among other things, your reins had loosened a little since the day you clarified the scandal to him. Formal talk has all but reduced to trivial bantering and back-and-forths between the two of you, which, according to Taeyong’s books, is progress at the very least. It was almost as if each passing day was peeling away the layers of stubborn temperament that made you, and beneath each unearthed layer was a beautiful set of lips that seemed to tug close and closer to your eyes every time, emerging a little brighter in the mornings and lasting vibrantly well into the evenings. It was contagious, your smile; something Taeyong was only just realising with the witty lilt and small mischief that often quirked around its soft creases.
“What are you doing here so late?” you ask, though the answer is plastered blatantly in every corner of the room and in the sweat that lines Taeyong’s forehead. He huffs as he sits in the seat beside you, expression falling at the drop of a hat. His last few days had consisted of making efforts to channel his guilt into honing his modelling skills, and much to his surprise, things had been fairly simple once he’d set his mind to them. But there’s just one thing he still can’t seem to get.
“The walk,” Taeyong combs a hand through his hair frustratedly, “I just can’t get it down.”
“I’d honestly be surprised if you did,” you hum, the soft haze to your voice catching Taeyong miles off guard, plainly evident in his dumbstruck features. It draws a chuckle from you, watching his otherwise round eyes expand further before softening at the genuine melody that comes from your throat. “You’ve only had, like – what – two weeks? It can take the average model months to perfect.”
“This must be your first non-attack on my ego,” he mutters, ruffling another hand through his hair.
You really can’t seem to figure out how your mouth manoeuvres itself into yet another upturned stretch, but it seems you’re not in any rush to as your voice too leaves you at its own grant.
“Would you like a hand?”
Taeyong raises his eyebrows, very clearly surprised at your offer.
“In walking? Aren’t you a fashion designer?”
“No,” you simply state, earning a quizzical look from him as you stand and walk to the large platform in the middle, turning around to with a sly expression painting your features, “I’m a jack of all trades. Fashion design is just my royal flush.”
“So you’ve modelled before?”
“I’ve had my fair share of walking time.”
And it isn’t a lie. It was almost a piety for all the best fashion designers to take modelling classes as part of their early training to understand the scope of their clients.
Your nonchalant shrug renders Taeyong thoroughly impressed as he follows your path to the empty catwalk, nodding in approval. “For once I feel like listening to you,” he crosses his arms with a small tilt to his head, “Funny.”
“Very,” you deadpan.
“Fine, then. Teach me how to walk.”
It still sounds absolutely ridiculous to Taeyong; having to have someone to teach him how to walk of all things. He’s never had to think about the way he walks before. It was just another absent-minded task in the daily turnover of his life; writing didn’t require walking as a trained qualification, the only walking he needed to do was from his own office to the bathroom and back.
He makes his way to the back end of the platform. You follow his path, a warm tightness igniting in your chest at the therapeutic click of your heels with every step as you count along the rows of chairs neatly lined on either side. They’re black; unfilled by bustling guests, soundless amid the white walls that edge them. You turn back around to the empty room, nostalgia blanketing the forefront of your mind. You suppose to the third person, it would simply look like any other empty catwalk, the plainest of scenes with a pretentious prospect. But to you, the ceilings echo high with years of vibrant memories, from Argent’s first fashion show within these very walls, to the numerous others you’d hosted in between. You can almost hear the clacking of cameras, see their flashes clear in the crisp silence as it warmly embraces you. That is, of course, until Taeyong cuts through it all.
“Any time now would be great, thanks,” he mithers, tapping on your shoulder.
Suffice to say, the idiot is lucky you’re having a good day.
You ignore him with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, instead standing tall and dignified, announcing, “Cat walking is simple. Half of it is in the mindset, and the other half is in the posture. Here.” You reach out to his arm and drag him closer a little too quickly for your mind to keep up, leaving you no choice but to ignore the split-second warmth of his skin under your palm before your hands retract back again. “Don’t overthink anything too much. Just keep your shoulders back, but still relaxed.” You follow the direction of your own words, shoulders rolling to a neutral position. “Head straight.” You raise your head up. “Gaze focused.” You point a finger forward, focusing your eyes on the clock hanging on the far wall. “Don’t sway your hips, and most importantly, try to make it look natural.” You turn to Taeyong. “Watch me.”
And he does exactly that as you walk forward, every mentioned benchmark maintained flawlessly in the poise of your ankles as they carry you through his gaze. Your arms flow naturally with the fabric of your blouse, a new sort of purpose in the smooth strides of your legs as you turn around with ease, daring to look Taeyong in the eye while approaching back.
“Now you try.”
He nods firmly, the same concentrated expression sewn through his pursed lips and sharp eyes, striding forward with intent.
Your bottom lip immediately finds a home between your teeth as you struggle to hold in your laugh at Taeyong’s stiff steps, accidentally snorting out loud as a hand flies to your mouth in attempt to cover it up. If he was an awkward mess before, he’s all but the complete opposite of that now; way too rigid for anyone’s good, chest pushed animatedly forward, and a little (a lot) too much swing in his arms.
“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Taeyong snaps frustratedly, turning around, looking just about ready to stomp a heavy foot down and throw a temper tantrum right there on the glossy platform.
“I…” you trail off, trying to find the right words so as to not hurt the precious little pride he apparently thrives from, “…appreciate the effort.” It comes out with a nod and little snicker at the end, pursed lips doing their best to sequester the giggle at the back of your throat. All jokes aside, you really do appreciate his initiative of staying back late just to practice his walk, finding a newfound respect for his willingness to improve. It had been a massive shift from the dynamic of the past week and you’re not going to let it slip if it’s the last thing you do.
“But seriously, what has Johnny been teaching you this whole time?” you ask, genuinely curious how all those extra hours of practice with Johnny hadn’t seemed to avail Taeyong’s technique in the way you’d expected it to.
“The best angle to take a selfie?” he offers, walking back with a pitiful sulk on his face.
“You don’t say,” you grumble under your breath.
“I mean, he’s been doing a pretty good job at that, at least.” Taeyong chimes in, shrugging with an impressed pout.
“Well, soon he might not have a job at all,” you muse, eyes narrowing in scrutiny of the thought, before shaking your head briefly at turning back to Taeyong. “Anyway, from what I gather, it looks like you’re trying too hard.”
He snorts, “Look who’s talking–”
“Would you just listen for a second?” you snap, dwindling patience echoing with your voice in the ensuing silence, Taeyong staring half-surprised at the outburst.
“Yes ma’am,” he concedes, a playful raise to his eyebrows.
“Thank you,” you sigh deeply. “Remember how I said half of the walk is in the mind?”
Taeyong nods.
“Well, your mind is on overdrive. You need to relax.”
“Okay, and how do you propose I do that? Do you have some kind of–”
“Just...” you interrupt him, stepping forward, hands finding their way to the tense planes of his shoulders “...relax.”
Your touch must have come with something of a magic as Taeyong feels the tension in his muscles evaporate with the ticklish sensation of your fingertips. The snarky comment he’d prepared moments before dies on the tip of his tongue as he eyes you from the shortened distance between your bodies, your hands emanating something warm and wonderful that pricks the hairs up on his arms. He’s quiet, swears he hears your breaths fall slightly laboured as your hands smooth over the angle of his shoulders down to his arms. It’s not something you’re unaccustomed to, having assisted a plethora of other models with this exact motion of your hands. But with Taeyong, it feels like a foolish act of impulse, something that was perhaps best not to have done in the first instance. You can’t seem to evade the gulp that gathers in your throat as your fingers delicately brush over the hard muscle that lies under the soft fabric of his shirt, and it dawns on you that beyond the lanky body and the wide shimmer of his pupils, this man is much sturdier than you could have ever foreseen. Warm too; his skin tingling pleasantly under the cool air conditioning that frosts at your own fingertips.
You glance up at him, and oh, the fool you are for getting caught up in his gaze and the little scar that you notice sits right beside it, something you’ve only just taken note of from seeing him up so close.
“Why so quiet?”
Your question quietly lingers between the two of you for Taeyong to answer, but it’s almost as if you are asking yourself the same thing, searching for an immediate explanation to the sudden cascade of…whatever this is. Why are you being so quiet? Why is your pulse growing higher by the second, and why – just why – can’t you take your eyes off this man all of a sudden?
“I’m relaxed,” Taeyong murmurs, gaze suddenly preoccupied with tracing the curvature of your lips, every little crease beneath the layer of long-faded lipstick, a little dry but still somehow enchanting.
You simply blink up at him, wondering if his words parallel the answer you’re also searching for. You’re not bothered by the wisp of hair that falls into his half-lidded eyes, and you can’t even bring yourself to be surprised about your apathy. Not when you’re distracted by the way his eyelashes shift each strand ever so slightly with every blink. Perhaps even an unfixed collar would look perfect on him in this moment-
No.
Your hands drop from his arms as you take a quick step back, quiet breaths the only tell-tale sign of your faltering front as you avert your eyes elsewhere.
“Okay then,” you clear your throat, attempting with much effort to set aside whatever twisted emotion that whirls in the pit of your stomach, gesturing haphazardly to the platform ahead. “Try walking now.”
“Yeah,” Taeyong shakes the bangs out of his face, much to your concealed disappointment. “Yeah, okay.”
You feel a certain shift in the cool air that brushes your skin as he strides ahead, all warmth clinging tightly onto him as single minutes bleed into dozens, ebbing and flowing to and fro as you watch Taeyong’s figure from your place. You keep a safe distance from him, but the trance from earlier seems to weave itself in a taut string between the two of you, growing all the more prominent as the night progresses in a stretched-out silence filled only by the echo of his shoes and your small purls of praise. His walk turns out to be a lot better, still imperfect in many ways, but better, nonetheless; shoulders liberated from the rigidity of before, a more natural essence to the placement of his feet. And it leaves you mussed and tangled in your thoughts, unable to shake the new light under which he walks.
What had happened earlier, and just when did the silence become so deafening through all the blatant banter?
Neither you, nor Taeyong have an answer. Not now, and not among the quiet rustling of coats when you eventually decide to call it a night. He steals a glance your way, catches sight of your wary expression, and turns back to the floor, a minuscule, little heat radiating on the smooth of face as if your hands now cup his cheeks as they previously did his arms.
What would that truly feel like? He wonders, holding the door open for you as the lights die down in a hushed flicker. You brush past him with a small thanks, the door clicking shut as he too steps out into the hallways. The windows in the corridors don’t glow with the natural light of the day, simply reflecting yours and Taeyong’s blurry figures as you walk side-by-side toward the elevator. You press the button and wait patiently, relieved that the spike of your heels stops the idiot inside you from rocking back and forth on her feet.
“Can I ask you something?”
You almost jump as Taeyong utters the words beside you, the elevator doors welcoming you into its small, shiny box as you nod.
“Why silver?”
He eyes the silver fabric tied loosely around your handbag, glancing up when you don’t speak, only to be met with a small tilt of your head and a confused frown that has his own lips pursing if only to keep his smile at bay.
“I mean, why not gold? What’s the reason everything in Argent is silver.”
“Chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent.” The phrase slips past your lips without much thought, something natural and warm to accompany the flutter in your chest from the elevator’s descent.
“Italian?” Taeyong asks, charmed by the faraway look in your eyes and the wistful smile that stretches just underneath them.
“French.” You glance at him, a rush of goosebumps decorating your arms under the thick layer of your coat as one side of his mouth quirks into an endearing grin. “It means every cloud has a silver lining.” Your smile widens fondly, the memory of your mentor in Paris replaying clear as day in the canvas of your mind. “I named Argent after the phrase; it literally means ‘silver’ in French,” you chuckle with a small shake of your head. It all sounds a little too ridiculous now that you stand here in hindsight, so surreal that you almost feel like bursting out in a fit of uncontrolled laughter at your impulsive, juvenile decision all those years ago.
But to Taeyong, it only makes you a little more human to know you’d named the biggest fashion brand in the world after a cliché little phrase.
You walk out moments later into the nocturnal buzz of overfed zebra-crossings, moving billboards in the distance, and all else that comprises the faithful oath of New York City. There’s a chill in the air and perhaps that’s why Taeyong finds himself stepping a little closer beside you, studying your features bit by bit as the wind whips your hair from atop your head. The smell of New York gasoline tingles at his nose, but it seems to fade with the relaxed grin that adorns your lips.
Taeyong suddenly stops in his tracks, and you turn back, watching as he digs a hand into his satchel, pulling it out in a loose fist which he brings up to you. His fingers uncurl, revealing a small circular box sitting in his palm.
“Here.”
“Lip balm?” you question, eyebrows furrowing as you glance up at his insisting gaze.
“You need it more than I do.” His smile seems genuine, not a sarcastic lilt to his voice, no intention to offend as he places the lip balm in your hand and closes your fingers around the cool plastic. Absentmindedly licking your lips, you feel a dryness on the skin – a likely result from nervous chewing and the dry chill of the season. Realising the truth in his words, you turn back to Taeyong, noticing a rosy hue beginning to bloom around his pale cheeks, his blonde hair once again fanning through his eyelashes to the waves of the cool wind.
For a set of very simple and obvious reasons, you wouldn’t normally accept lip balm from anyone other than…well, yourself. So, the soft “thank you,” that glides forth from the back of your throat takes you by surprise as you slip the small box into your handbag.
You bid Taeyong goodnight, and he acknowledges you with a two-fingered salute and a small smile. His eyes sparkle with something indiscernible, and as you make the slow, dazed walk to your car, you realise you’re in no rush to understand anything except the sureness of his smile, and the tingle in your chest that had somehow become a default response to it that evening.
Taeyong doesn’t move from his place on the concrete, hands warmed snugly by his pockets, watching your silhouette fade into the night with a strange sort of affection fledging somewhere inside him.
As he readies himself for the journey to his own car, something catches his eye on the sidewalk from metres away, glinting under the streetlights. He squints ahead at the object, walking forward and picking up a small piece of cloth before the wind carries it elsewhere. It sits cool in his palm, silver and shimmery and peculiarly delicate, its corners flapping incessantly with the wind and its middle warming up soothingly beneath the secure curl of his fingers.
He lifts his head, catching the last flail of your coat in the breeze as your silhouette turns the corner at the end of the street, and smiles, tucking the silver fabric into his coat pocket before turning around and strolling to his car.
The darkness of your ceiling greets you with its usual stolid silence as you sink deeper into the plush embrace of your duvet, reaching to pull it up over your shoulders. Your hair tickles the skin of your cheeks, now liberated from its tight up-do and splayed freely along the whiteness of your pillow. Sleep had long brushed its feathery touch along your eyelids, but they still somehow blink vacantly into your dark bedroom.
Never before had you been an insomniac. You should have been asleep by now – you would have been asleep by now, were it not for the bright smile behind your eyes that jerks you awake every time they flutter shut.
A deep crease forms between your brows as you turn frustratedly onto your side, huffing out a sigh of contemplation and confusion, trying to figure out why the thorn in your side now presents himself as a dream just waiting to happen. You know it’s not right for Taeyong to be running through your mind like this. The sole fact that he’s your model-in-training should have made it very, very wrong in the first instance. You should be ashamed, mortified even.
So, where the hell is the remorse?
It’s nowhere to be found. You’ve tried searching for it, hoping to find the slightest little remnant of guilt deep within you, but it seems you’ve emerged with something else instead. Something that came in the form of flushed cheeks and warm hands, awkward silences and, most surprisingly, a smile.
Contempt? Petty frustration? It’s all gone just like that, and goodness, is it jarring to suddenly feel emotion in such a peculiar way.
Perhaps calling Taeyong into your office days ago and practically begging on your knees for him to stay wasn’t your brightest move – hell, it had all but knocked your pride down a few pegs and you weren’t liking it at all. But at the same time, it seemed to have pulled a few improvements on Taeyong’s end…but then there’s this new side of him that has you fluttery and warm, mulling over the mental snapshot of his smile and the way his hair flows with the wind and-
“Ughhh,” you groan out loud, pulling your pillow over your head in attempt to halt your spiralling thoughts. “Go. To. Sleep.” You accentuate your muffled voice with three hard thumps of your fist on the mattress, before jerking up to the sound of a notification on your phone.
You wonder who in their right mind would be texting you at such a late hour as you reach to your nightstand and pick the device up. You squint down at the blue light that illuminates your face in the dark, eyes scanning over the slightly hazy typewrite on the screen that says:
Taeyong [12:47am]: Goodnight :)
You simply sit there, half-wrapped in your duvet with eyes wide, blinking over the nine letters and emoticon that sit so brazenly under Taeyong’s name. It’s outlandish from all the previous exchanges you’ve had – your last message being from a week ago, reprimanding him for being late to the job yet again. He hadn’t replied to that text, and it had once bothered you to all ends that he hadn’t. But right now you can’t find it in you to care as you stare down at this text, very much typed out by him, wishing you a ‘goodnight’ (never mind the fact that it really should have been two words instead of one).
You bring a hand to your cheek, massaging circles into the bone hoping to relive the ache of another smile that forms on your lips.
God, what is wrong me?
You feel your worries lifted by the darkness around you as you think back to everything from hours earlier. Taeyong’s flawed walk and the pout on his lips, the warmth of his skin and the firm muscle hidden beneath it. The bangs in his eyes and flicker of lashes in the wind, the little box he’d rolled into your palm and the odd comfort of his fingers as he did. It makes you become all too aware of the small, rounded silhouette sitting amongst the shadows on your nightstand. You’d accepted it less than two hours ago, and that too without a single fuss, but you still hadn’t taken the liberty of using it yet.
You find yourself tracing a finger along your still very dry lips, grimacing at the thought of what they must have looked like to Taeyong earlier, and decide that there really isn’t any other time like the present to reach over grab it. You unscrew the lid of the box and bring it to your nose, the fragrance of artificial strawberries wafting through your senses as you swirl a finger through it and dab at your lips. You catch the faintest taste of strawberry sweetness as you purse them, and it suddenly dawns on you that Taeyong must have used this exact lip balm numerous times before…on his own set of lips…
“What the fuck, Y/n,” you whisper aloud, halting all absurdities from taking over your thoughts, placing the box back on your nightstand and flopping back onto your pillow, sheets pulled all the way up to your chin.
Nothing good ever came from being awake at such an hour – not even on the pages of your design book – so, with a final sigh, you close your eyes once more.
Perhaps it was Taeyong’s message, perhaps it’s his lip balm, or it might even be his annoying little smile that still paints itself on the back of your eyelids. Whatever it may be, it lulls you easily into the sleep your eyes so crave, brushes you softly and leaves you with another smile to last through the night.
VI. The Loved and The Lost
The morning welcomes you with a slap to the face – or to the ears, rather – as the shrill ring of your phone jolts you from whatever petty dream you must have been having.
You groan into your pillow. This was far from the way you’d planned to start your first weekend off in months, but, alas, the world seems to care less and less of your plans with each passing day, so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise.
Rolling onto your side, you reach for your phone to see Ten’s name, thumbing at the answer button.
“Ten,” you mumble with a groggy voice, fingers rubbing the light into your eyes, “you know it’s my day off work-”
“I’m sorry Y/n, but you need to check the news.” His voice is frantic on the other side of the line, almost as if he’s jogging as he speaks, but it doesn’t fully register as you stretch your limbs under the safety of your covers, yawning out a lazy, “Why?”
“Just do it! Now!”
The urgency in his raised voice has you sitting up abruptly, ear pressing in harshly to your phone screen as you scramble out of bed balancing it on your shoulder, almost tripping over the sheets as your ankles catch on them while rushing to the living room.
“Okay, okay, but what’s wrong? Is everything alri-” Your words die in your throat as you switch your television on, the news channel opening straight away to…
Jaehyun?
He’s at what looks like a press conference, sporting a relaxed smile while answering questions from reporters in the audience. Your eyebrows furrow at the headline on the bottom of the screen.
SM AGENCY SUPERMODEL JUNG JAEHYUN TO SIGN CONTRACT WITH QI FASHION LABELS
“What…” you whisper out confusedly to Ten on the other side, a frown settling deep on your features.
“Listen!” Ten urges, and you turn up the volume of the television, a horrible feeling settling in your chest as you lean forward and watch anxiously.
“Jaehyun, is it true that you are no longer contracted under Argent Fashion Labels?”
The voice speaks from the audience, accompanied by the occasional clicks and flashes of cameras that capture Jaehyun as he leans toward the microphone in front of him.
“Excluding all technicalities, yes, it’s true.”
Your jaw loosens in a shocked mix of confusion and anger, your chest rising and falling heavily as you try to figure out what the fuck was happening all of a sudden.
“And what does Y/n have to say about this?”
Nothing. You had absolutely nothing to say about anything that was happening at this moment, no say whatsoever. You weren’t given the chance to step into the picture at all, rather watching in shock from behind your television screen.
“Well, it’s always tough to let a loved one go.”
The grin that stretches widely across Jaehyun’s face pulls a nauseating ache into your chest, as if your stomach were being folded in on itself. What the hell was Jaehyun trying to imply?
“So, you don’t deny the dating rumours?” The question echoes from another reporter, followed by a silence that lasts a second too long.
“No.”
You glare at the flatness of the screen in front of you, fists curling into your palms as the rest of the conversation drowns out behind a red curtain that seems to draw itself around you.
“Y/n?” Ten’s voice asks worriedly through the speaker.
You stand, jaw locking as you switch the tv off, voice as stone-cold and emotionless as the deepening scowl on your face. “Contact public relations immediately and schedule an appraisal meeting for this afternoon. I’ll handle the rest.”
─── ⪧ ⪦ ───
The roots of your hair yank painfully at your scalp, tugged up in a bun so high and tight it’s almost the only thing that seems to hold your flaring temper together.
Almost.
“Miss Y/l/n, what are you doin-”
“Give me a fucking break,” you seethe through clenched teeth, charging like a storm past a receptionist that calls out from the desk, sitting right beneath the audacious letters SMA.
It’s ironic really, to be voicing these very words on the day that was actually supposed to be your break. You’d initially hoped to spend it well – perhaps wake up at noon and lose yourself in one of your neglected paperbacks, or take a dip in a rose-infused bath with a soothing glass of wine-spice, or both. But it was all a story of lost hope now, buried beneath the heavy breathing and pounding of your chest as you skip the steps two-at-a-time all the way up to the sixth floor of this godforsaken building. You didn’t want to take the elevator, didn’t care if you snapped a heel and had to limp the rest of the way up. Etiquette is now a notion of the past as you stride past each pretentious pair of eyes, uncaring of their whispers as a single phrase repeats itself incessantly in your mind:
Jung Jaehyun is fucking dead.
It’s frustrating how the route to his office is ingrained so deeply into your memory as if it were the route to your own, all rhyme and reason relinquished as you launch yourself through its doors, blowing your blazing fuse the second it slams shut behind you.
“What is wrong with you?” you roar out into the white walls of his office, bristling with fury to see Jaehyun still dressed in the same outfit as press conference; the suit that isn’t one of your own designs, but one of QI Fashion Labels’ instead.
“Oh, you saw it.” It isn’t a question that apathetically slides from Jaehyun’s tongue, just an insolent flatness to his voice that tugs your eyebrows taut, so infuriating it has you slamming a hard hand on his desk.
“The whole damn world saw it, Jaehyun. What the hell happened to our agreement?”
“Qi offered me a better one. So, I took it.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on an editorial magazine he obnoxiously flicks between his thumbs. “I’m a top model, Y/n, but that means jack shit if I can’t do my job.”
“Nobody took your job away from you, Jaehyun, you brought this upon yourself!” You point a finger at him, maddened with his insinuation. “You were the one who pulled out of the show last minute. You were the one who left me to deal with all of this just to save your own backside-”
“I did it for you too!” He stands, leveling himself with you.
“Did you?” Your voice lowers to a threatening murmur before erupting in the next moment. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED AT THAT CONFERENCE?"
“IT WAS A PUBLICITY STUNT, Y/N, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO SAY?” he yells over you, “‘I’m sorry? Will you forgive me?’ Is that what you want?”
You simply stand there, jaw falling unhinged, stunted to an unforeseen silence from the disdain that tumbles through his words. You feel a surge of blood rushing to your face in a twisted combination of anger and humiliation, trying to maintain the little composure that dwindles within you.
This feels so different.
Nobody has ever looked at you the way Jaehyun does now, with so much contempt and derision. You were supposed to be at the top. You were always the one to satisfy, to gain respect from. But now, it seems you’re the single mockery of everything around you, frailed and muted with your entire world bared as it crashes head-first into the ground.
“How dare you,” you spit. “You had no right.”
“This is showbiz, Y/n,” Jaehyun deadpans. “People come and people go, and the world still keeps turning.”
“Well, what about my world, Jaehyun?” You step forward, glaring right into his eyes. “What. About. Mine?”
“Oh, stop with the fucking act. You’re the worldwide fashion designer and founder of Argent, you’re Y/n Y/l/n! The world revolves around you!” He violently throws his hands up. “Okay, I walked out. But the second I did, you snatched some new guy right off the streets. What does it matter then? You’ve got everything you need-”
“He’s here for a month, Jaehyun. A month! And you were supposed to be back right after that.”
You pause. So does he. No words meet the air, just heavy breaths filled with clamorous intention. You try to gather your thoughts, every cogent piece of dialogue, anything that will change Jaehyun’s mind. But it all seems to slip from your grasp the second your mouth opens without your mind to wisely follow.
“I gave you everything.”
“Sure. You did.” Jaehyun nods, but you’re only left to kick yourself in the face as a sinister look sweeps across his features as naturally as the oxygen spills from your lungs. “But you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I was the first and only person willing to take you up on your offer all those years ago, when you had nothing except your sketchbook going for you. You only gave me everything because I gave it all to you first, Y/n.” Jaehyun leans in with a threatening tilt to his head, smirk only growing more scornful with the sharp breath that leaves him. “I made you.”
His words sting you somewhere deep inside, all your futile shields arming in an instant to protect yourself.
“You did not make me.” You feel dizzy with the harsh grind of teeth behind your chapped lips, breath growing deeper in attempt to control the tears threatening to terrorize your eyes. “I worked my ass off to get where I am now, and if I didn’t have you, you best believe, Jung Jaehyun, I would’ve had someone better.”
Jaehyun leans back, pride clearly stabbed and bleeding from the heart, though he does a much better job at hiding it than you with the twitch of his lips into yet another spiteful smirk.
“You know why people don’t like you?”
Enlighten me. You want so badly for these words to tear through your throat. But they don’t, held back by your last wavering nerve.
“Because you’re a bitch. A stubborn, cold-hearted bitch.”
And that’s it. You back down with nothing more to say and nothing more to lose, eyes shifting around the floor, your shields defeated and conquered with that one word.
Bitch.
It wasn’t anything new – perhaps occupying third place on the long list of bywords copped under your name over the years. But never before had it burned as much as it does now.
Your fingers tighten into their customary fists; not out of anger, but rather in search of a warmth somewhere in the gulf your palms. You gulp, lips pursed and dry with the caution of tears, not once looking Jaehyun in the eyes as you turn around and walk to the door. With shaky breaths and shaky fingers, you pull the door handle only to pause and turn back once more, daring yourself to meet Jaehyun’s eyes despite all your efforts not to.
His face still holds the same comely features as the day you’d first found him kicking rocks outside of Vogue building. It all flashes clear in your mind; him as a fresh-faced rookie with a freshly rejected application balled in his fist. You’d just made your move to the Big Apple back then and that boy had once been a Godsend. He was polite and charming. Heck, you’d even started out with a small crush on him, awed like anything that he was willing to throw all caution to the wind alongside you. Jaehyun had signed your self-made contract and had his shot at showbiz. He had been a huge contributor to Argent’s growth in the industry; that much stood true among his harsh words of the present and you couldn’t discredit him for his work in that regard. As Argent grew, luck had smiled upon him in the form of an SMA recruitment officer knocking at his door at the wee hours of one fine morning, whisking both him and his name fresh into the celebrity scene to gain the recognition that he had rightfully deserved.
That he had once deserved.
Not anymore.
“Go to hell, you bastard.”
He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t need to, the tightening of his jaw confirming everything words couldn’t begin to explain. And there’s nothing more heart-shattering than the realisation that hits you in this moment:
You’ve lost Jaehyun. You’ve lost a partner. And worst of all, you’ve lost a friend.
You step out of Jaehyun’s office, slamming the door shut, tears burning furiously in your eyes as the distance between you and him grows wider and wider with every hasty step.
You try to pick apart all the layers in your mind, try to separate all your rights from all of Jaehyun’s wrongs. But in the grand scheme of things, you realise there really isn’t much to separate at all. You’d both started out together, two parallels of the same temperament, chasing a fame and fortune that was destined to become yours someday. And here you both are now, a world-class bitch and a two-faced asshole, both sitting high and mighty in your thrones. The only visible difference now, is your preserved integrity and his tilted crown.
It was always so easy to be wronged in the cruellest way imaginable, especially when all started to seem perfect. Wasn’t it just yesterday you were floating in the clouds, and shimmering with a rose-tinted glow?
But here you are today, refusing to shed violent tears and buried beneath the rubble of misplaced trust.
It must have been so easy for him to push you down. And it had all happened in the unsuspecting blink of an eye.
“-with a high of sixty-three, and an eighty percent chance of widespread thunderstorms all throughout New Yor-”
You groan out loud, thumbing the television off and tossing the remote to the side.
“No Karen, I don’t want to know about widespread thunderstorms,” you grumble, slumping into the leather of your sofa with a sulky pout. Since when had cable television soured up so much?
From what you can remember, it had always been something to look forward to in your younger years, an escape from reality. But now all that’s decent to watch is the news, and that has been completely off-limits as per the PR meeting that had happened a day ago (and you’d broken that rule, obviously).
The news about Jaehyun’s departure has understandably been a secret to no one, having been circulated in every magazine during the very hour of your last brawl with him. It had all taken its toll on you, even you conceded to that very sure fact. But what you absolutely did not concede, was the three days’ worth of exile the board had forced upon you thereafter. Three full days! It was absurd in all sense of the word. You still find it ridiculous that they, your employees, had taken the liberty to order you, their boss, to take a break a fortnight before the biggest fashion show of the year.
You wouldn’t have listened to them, of course, not when with all the end-phase preparations and a multitude more fittings to cram in the short time left. But as it turns out, it isn’t exactly an easy task to escape being held at gunpoint by your own stellar employees.
A fashion designer always had a project to work on; always something to start, finish, improve or fix, no matter the quality of their predicament. You’d call yourself a refractory to the system as of recent, currently sunken halfway into your couch with more than your fill of malaise-induced boredom to accompany you, contemplating whether a Netflix subscription would be a sensible investment for the next few days.
You look to the mannequin stand in the corner of the room, frowning. On it is Argent’s final runway item for New York Fashion Week; an item you’d taken the liberty to smuggle home in hopes of finishing. But you haven’t gathered the tenacity to do so, the workaholic itch in your fingers seeming to have tired itself out with the sole fact that the outfit was originally Jaehyun’s to wear.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing of your phone on the coffee table, lethargy weighing heavily on your limbs as you reach forward to pick it up.
Ten [3:18pm]: Wendy, Joy and Winter’s final fittings have been reviewed and completed
Ten [3:18pm]: how are you going?
You sigh in relief, happy to have not received any bad news from Ten yet. Receiving regular updates was the compromise for your agreement in being cooped up inside your apartment, but the very act of picking up your phone always feels like a gamble, given all the unpredicted mishaps of the last month.
Y/n [3:19pm]: that’s great, keep up the good work!
Y/n [3:19pm]: going as fine as I can without anything to do
Y/n [3:20pm]: oh, could you also make sure the white boot-coat set is finished and reviewed?
Ten [3:20pm]: already been done
The smile that pricks at your lips feels almost unnatural after days of consistent frowning. Though it’s not a typical trait of yours, you’ve always favoured the idea of realising the worth of your possessions – or rather, persons – before their eventual disappearance from your life. So, it comes as a quiet sort of surprise as you realise that Ten Lee is worth so much more to you than you could ever have expressed.
Now that you really think about it, he’s probably the person you’d entrusted the most personal information with through the entirety of your career, and if it wasn’t for your stiff-necked pride, you’d even call yourself lucky to be able to call him your executive assistant. In all honesty, you’re not quite sure what you would have done – where you would have been, how you would have survived – if you didn’t have Ten to help you through it all. Prompt in his actions, justified in his reasoning, astute in the mind; Ten really is the best of the best.
Another vibration of your phone draws you back to the screen, though it’s not the name you expect to find.
Taeyong [3:25pm]: hey, you busy?
You scoff at the message, muttering a blasé, “Am I busy. Of course, I’m not busy, what a stupid thing to-”
Taeyong [3:25pm]: that was a joke in case you didn’t get it
Taeyong [3:25pm]: I know you’re bored out of your mind right now
Your indifferent gaze drops to a scowl. You try to convince yourself it’s root cause is the infuriating man on the other side of your phone, but you know deep down it’s just your petty temperament; annoyed that you weren’t able to catch onto his little joke…if one could even call it that.
Y/n [2:25pm] yeah whatever, how’s your walk going mr happy feet
Taeyong [3:26pm]: happy feet 🤨
Taeyong [3:26pm]: is that my compliment for the day?
You can’t help but snicker at his reply, glad that you don’t have to suppress the atypical expression on your face while in the safety of your apartment walls. Perhaps there was some advantage to being stuck at home, after all.
Y/n [3:26pm]: take it or leave it, it’s up to you🤷♀️
That’s another thing you’ve learnt to use in the last day: emojis. It was stupid, really, something so out of the ordinary for you. The whole point of using a small picture in a texting app never really made sense to you; it’s called a text for a reason. But that was until Taeyong had dared you the day before to text only in emojis. It hadn’t been the easiest task, but you’d survived, and as a bonus, taken a liking to some of the mini yellow figures – just enough to use them around Taeyong at the very most.
Taeyong [3:26pm]: hmm I’ll take it
Taeyong [3:26pm]: only because it’s as rare as this 😊
There was that infuriating tingle in your chest, nestling inside you in some tucked away in a corner and seeming to only emerge at the thought of Taeyong. It’s something unexplainable and uncontrollable, never before felt in the way you’ve been feeling it lately.
Was he thinking about your smile? If so, how long had been thinking about it? Since when? And why?
You glance to your arm, noticing goosebumps arise on the smooth skin as the question comes to mind. Your thumbs hover over the screen, unsure how to respond to both Taeyong and the giddy, ticklish feeling inside you.
Taeyong [3:27pm]: anyway Charlie’s on his way for you
Taeyong [3:27pm]: I’ll see you soon
You hum in confusion, eyebrows knitting at his text, wondering if you’ve been granted an early exemption from your impending two days of exile.
Taeyong [3:27pm]: oh also don’t wear anything too expensive
VII. Tell Me
You had started from somewhere familiar, grounded by the undying rumble of city-goers and loud tumble of traffic in every which direction. You had started with the all the colours of the rainbow reflecting in your eyes from moving billboards, weathered yellow taxis and sun-lit windows; with your head angled high, glimpsing up towards the concrete jungle that made up your every dream and every struggle and everything else in between.
At least a couple dozen minutes later you sit in the same backseat, looking out of the same window, but the only vehicle that seems to be on the road is the one that Charlie drives you in. Gone now are those ever-known gaudy hues of the city, now replaced with the flaring expanse of green rolling hills, natural in height and pure in tone, and a divine sky peeking out to capture it all in its blooming embrace. Your ears ring with the nigh echo of road-rage-infested honks, almost as if searching for the sound somewhere in the low buzz of 90’s classics scratching on the radio. There isn’t an ounce of man-made construct to behold, no shine of metals under the clouds, nor a single slab of greyed concrete to dampen the vibrant blades of grass that seem to grow an inch or two taller with every quarter mile. Pleasant would be the word to describe it all; perhaps even beautiful, were it not for the very sure fact that this was definitely not the way to work as you’d originally thought it to be.
As the car rolls to a stop, you peek out once more to the same emerald scape, still no building or vehicle or even person in sight to bale your suspicion.
“Charlie, what is this? Where are we?” You sit forward, resolute in searching for, at the very least, a barn house hidden somewhere amongst the grass and sparsely scattered trees.
“Mr Lee asked for you to be dropped here, miss. I can’t say anything more.”
“Oh, so you take orders from him now. I guess I just don’t get a say in anything anymore,” you mutter childishly, slumping back into the leather seat and fishing out your sunglasses from your purse. “Can you at least tell me where I can find Taeyong in all of this-” you glance out “-grass?”
“He told me,” Charlie raises his fingers in air-quotations, “‘she’ll find me once she gets out.’ I don’t have any further information, miss.”
“Well, that’s helpful,” you huff, opening the door handle and stepping a foot out before pausing and turning back to your driver. “Please don’t bypass me next time.”
“Yes, miss.”
You narrow your eyes at his jolly smile, fully stepping out and closing the door and grimacing at the scratchy grind of your boots in the dry dirt of the road. You take a step toward the field, but the revving of the car behind you doesn’t allow you to breathe in the fresh air as you turn around wide-eyed to see it leaving faded tracks in its wake.
“Hey!” you screech, arms flailing like a maniac. “Charlie, come back!”
It’s futile in any case as you watch the black Jaguar speed off into the distance, your last speck of familiarly becoming one with your memory of the city as you stand there, handbag falling from your shoulder to your elbow, body deflating with literal abandonment.
Note to self: must fire Charlie.
You look around at the place anxiously, spotting a single car parked metres ahead, before turning to the countryside and standing on the balls of your toes. You scan through the maze of tall, gangly grass and tiny yellow flowers, hoping to find a certain blonde-haired hooligan traipsing somewhere between it, praying that the car belongs to him and not some other hooligan waiting to kidnap you and God knows what else. But you don’t see Taeyong anywhere, instead deciding to try your luck by stepping into tall grass, squinting as the gradually waning sun glints warmly through the top of your sunglasses, catching your lashes as they continue to flicker across the field.
It’s almost ironic for a scene earthed so deeply within nature to feel so unnatural, as if you were the most fabricated facet to roam this quiet part of the world. Walking through a field, being carried further with a cool breeze stirring through your locks and a land of serenity to call your own; it was such a simple act. It feels effortless to just exist in such a place, for your lungs to expand to their fullest capacity and welcome the refreshing change of milieu. For your arms to sway with no particular intention except that of a freedom which you had no idea you’d craved so deeply at all.
It’s a rare sight to see your own shadow rippling beside you, cast by the gentle fall of the sun beyond the field in absence of all the city’s tall buildings and metropolitan smog. It felt almost otherworldly to feel the tingling sensation of grass pricking at your fingertips, welcoming you in sweet greeting with every soft crunch beneath your feet.
“Wasn’t it supposed to rain?” you wonder aloud, head tilting up and catching sight of white tufts of clouds scattered infrequently through the sky, no foresight of said stormy weather in the seemingly perfect view. It doesn’t seem to matter either way as you sigh in genuine content, embracing the soft tickle of stray hairs against your cheeks, the warmth gleam of the sun, and strokes of grass at the exposed skin of your ankles.
“Figured you needed the fresh air.”
You abruptly turn around to a faint voice that comes from behind you, puzzled to see a dark-haired man sitting metres away, his pale skin obscured by the grass. The wind carries his hair in the same way it does yours, soft looking antennas waving you ‘hello’ from atop his head. Squinting forward, your gaze scans through the tall green lines and yellow petals, finding a familiar pair of eyes staring right back at your own.
“Taeyong?”
You step towards him with the warm shine of the sun on your back, wondering how you had missed him in your previous surveillance of the area. The grass brushes past your calves with such ease, as if parting to create a pathway just for you to walk along. Taeyong pats the clear stump of earth beside him, lips tugging into an uneven little smile as you sit down on the long of your coat, placing your bag in your lap.
“Hey,” he offers.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?”
You furrow your eyebrows at your own question, surprised at your own unseemly dialogue for the current setting.
Gosh, I really do need this break.
Taeyong only chuckles quietly, more than accustomed to this little habit of yours.
“Don’t worry, I’m done for the day.”
Your lips part, ready to question how on earth he could be ‘done for the day’ – since no one at Argent was ever done before sundown at the very least. But you stop yourself just as the words graze your tongue, rather opting to fall distracted with the hair that you only just realise now matches the tone of Taeyong’s eyebrows.
“What did you do to your hair?”
He looks up to the curtain of hair on his forehead, realisation striking his features as if he’d forgotten about the change of look altogether. “Oh yeah,” he scoops it back with a casual hand, the smooth complexion of his face glowing under the hue of the falling sun. “I dyed it yesterday; Johnny suggested a more natural colour.”
“It must be the best thing he’s done this month,” you mutter with a small snort, freezing on the spot as Taeyong turns to you in surprise, the meaning of your words settling down on you with the flushed heat that gathers at your neck. “I-I mean-”
“You like it?” he asks, voice falling soft and almost anxious as if hoping for your approval. Though it was all in your job to evaluate his appearance, you just can’t push aside the feeling that this – the goosebumps painting your arms in erratic waves, the hopeful eagerness sparkling in his eyes – was different to all the other times.
He tilts his head with a small smile, and it somehow does wonders to muddle up your thoughts as you nod wordlessly in response to his question, unable to trust your own voice. Your eyes focus on the soft shadows of swaying grass that dance across his cheeks, overcome with a certain urge to reach out and catch one with the tip of your thumb.
Your gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by Taeyong as he turns back to the sun, his smile never once faltering as he watches it fall lower and lower in the sky with each passing second. His eyes flicker to his periphery every now and again, happy to see that his intention for bringing you to this place is running its course. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure whether it would work, whether you would be able find the same contentment in this field as he always has. But as he watches it all once again – the grass, a little taller than the last time he’d visited, the sun and it’s softening hues – he supposes it must be impossible not to fall for the magical charms of such a green expanse.
***
Taeyong’s school shirt beats wildly with the wind against his stomach, the white fabric riddled with so many unkempt creases, he was sure to earn an earful from his dad once he returned home.
The school day couldn’t have gone by any faster, and while all of his friends were attending their extra-curriculars – Yuta at soccer training, Mark at basketball practice and Kun at his piano lessons – Taeyong finds himself all alone, riding his bike in solitude down an isolated country road with nothing but the rhythmic huffing and puffing of his chest to accompany his fast-peddling feet. His backpack hangs heavy with the weight of the many comic books stacked inside, its straps sliding down his shoulders before being shrugged back into place every dozen seconds or so.
Come on, come oooon, almost there! He ushers to himself. The thought manifests with an electric buzz of excitement, his wrist lifting from the handles to shield his face from the sun as it glints its orange rays in his periphery. Taeyong smiles, allowing himself to turn towards it and bask in its warmth, the greenery just below it swaying peacefully in the same way as the tousled hair against his forehead.
He cranes his neck in search for the familiar patch of flattened grass, for the little raw pathway he’d paved from his frequent visits to the field. It wasn’t too far now, just a couple dozen metres and he’d be right-
“Aahhh.”
The front tyre of Taeyong’s bike catches a loose rock on the ground, sending him toppling to the ground as he loses his balance, landing on his side with the loud crash of his bike beside him.
He groans, sitting up, lungs expanding and deflating heavily, a juvenile shock leeching into his features as he takes a few moments to process the fall. He feels a sudden sting on side of his face, expression twisting into a pained frown as he reaches up and dabs at a wet spot at his temple, flinching with a quiet sob at the shooting pain.
“Ow,” Taeyong whimpers, tears pooling at his eyes, though he refuses to let them stain his cheeks. He holds onto his grazed arm, gathering all his strength to pick himself off the ground and dust off his shirt. He feels his heart shatter as he looks down to his bike, taking in its now-dented frame and punctured tyre. Reaching for a tissue from his backpack, he holds it to the wound, hissing at the sting while looking either side of the desolate road.
There isn’t a single car, nor a house in sight. The emptiness of the place wasn’t really something he had paid much attention to until this moment, an inkling of regret seeping into his conscience from not having listened to his parents’ warnings not to go riding outside by himself. Sighing in defeat, Taeyong shoves the blood-stained tissue into his pocket, picking up his bike, slinging on his backpack once again, and opting to continue his journey; he’d gotten this far, so he saw no reason to turn back now, not unless he wanted to fast-track his inevitable scolding…which he certainly doesn’t.
Relief washes over Taeyong as he no sooner finds the notched pathway among the thick mane of grass. He sets down his bike at the edge of the field and strolls along the beaten trail, tall sedges stroking either side of his legs and leading him toward the same little patch of stubbly grass he’d made routine of greeting day by day. He drops his backpack to the ground, planting himself criss-cross applesauce right beside it and eagerly hauling out his comic books with a small grunt. Balancing his fancied print on a single knee, he once again dabs the bloody tissue on his wound, trying his best to ignore its persistent sting.
A yellow flower sits flattened on the page, a withered replica of those that dance around his head, marking the page he’d left off the night before. He pulls it out and delicately sets it down in the grass, allowing the wind to carry its petals somewhere far, far away along with all his seven-year-old worries as he bows his head and loses himself between the pages in his fingers.
Just for a while.
While Yuta kicks a black-and-white ball across a field, Taeyong douses himself in the zestful war of good versus evil, heated air painting his forehead with tiny beads of water that trickle down to cool his neck. While Kun perfects his trills and tenutos on ivory keys, Taeyong revels in the crescendo of action and dooming plot twists. And while Mark practices his three-pointers on the court – though it’d take him years to actually shoot a clean hoop – Taeyong embraces the final defeat of the vengeful villain, triumphing alongside the hero just as the sun brandishes its last smile for the day.
And at the end of it all, he plucks another flower from a tall stem somewhere nearby and presses it neatly between the last read pages of his nth comic, before returning home with a heart ever so heavy and saddened, bidding the field yet another inevitable goodbye.
***
A placebo. That’s what the field had been back then. And as Taeyong looks at you now, notices the relaxed lilt to your otherwise stiff posture and the small flicker of a smile on your now not-so-chapped lips, he realises that the placebo still holds strong and true.
And it indeed does, as you allow the knots in your face to relax for the first time in what feels like years. All of this was a rarity at best, with most of your evenings spent under the bright lights of your office, faced with vivacious reds and purples and silvers, all wrapped in the constant buzz of central air conditioning. And while you still haven’t a definite answer to why Taeyong had brought you to this field in the first place, you feel privileged enough that he did. Privileged to be able to bathe in the seeping warmth of the sun and breathe the soothing rustle of grass against the wind. It serves to elicit a sort of epiphany in your mind; that amidst it all, the world of fashion and fame feels so absolutely worthless.
‘Natural beauty’ is a term you’ve always chosen to steer clear from in your very fabricated life. You’ve heard it used in various contexts, thrown around in offhand and meaningless ways that never really seemed natural or beautiful at all. But the phrase seems to take on an entirely new meaning here, somehow more tangible and definite than you have ever known. This – where you are now – is a beauty coined by nature itself. No fabrications, no impressionable colours, nothing to be stitched or sewn or cut or styled just to breach the bracket of perfection. Even the clouds that seemed to have accumulated up above only play their just part of looking beautiful, and for the first time in a long, long time, you understand exactly what you need.
This.
This is what you need.
Your smile drops to a frown in an instant, eyes flickering down to your lap as your mind spirals back to your last conversation with Jaehyun from days ago.
But this is exactly what I can’t have.
Your next words fall from your lips before you’re able to help yourself, voice quiet but still so loud in the silence.
“Taeyong, do you think I’m a bitch?”
Guilt tugs itself taught in your chest at the thought, and you suddenly feel like a fraud for so much as sitting here and allowing yourself to enjoy every small wonder of this field. None of it was ever yours to enjoy in the first place. You belong in the tumbling noise of the city, amid the streets of towering skyscrapers, wrapped in eternal sheets of expensive fabrics, under the blaring flashes of fame.
Taeyong turns to you with a questioning look, eyebrows riddling with confusion upon seeing the frown on the same pair of lips that were smiling so contentedly the last minute he’d seen them. It isn’t the same frown he’s grown so used to over the preceding weeks, but one that now bares a genuine sadness to it.
He can only sigh, fingertips tingling with an unsolicited urge to reach out and tilt your chin his way as he mulls over his own thoughts. He can’t tell exactly which place your question had come from, but he’s sure he wouldn’t be too far off if he took a wild guess.
“You want my honest opinion?” Taeyong breathes out, and you can’t help but curl your knees to your chest at the thought of what’s to come.
You don’t want his honest opinion. You really don’t.
But perhaps it’s something you need.
So, you allow yourself to nod, giving him the okay to speak freely. He nods back, blinking a few times before sucking in a deep breath.
“Yeah, I think you are a bitch.”
Your head hangs low under the heavy weight of reality as it sinks deeper than you’d ever allowed it to before, and with a sorrowful nod, you allow yourself to crumble a little on the inside with Taeyong’s words. You’re not sure what you were really expecting from him with your question; you knew better than to bank on a free shower of compliments, but you certainly weren’t expecting his answer to bite and burn as much as it does now. But you suppose that in the end, he only recites the very insult you’ve been brushing off for years. But it’s only now that it truly feels justified, as if you can no longer brush it away without slipping further into its unforgiving throes, forced to accept it as it is with no sure-fire excuse to walk away.
“But I also think underneath it all – underneath the whole façade – that you’re a very likeable person.”
Taeyong hasn’t even a clue what he’s saying, the words simply leaving his mouth as naturally as his own breath mingles with the wind.
You turn to him, a bout of hesitancy in the slow blink of your eyes as you search his gaze for even just the smallest shard of deceit. You don’t find any, though it doesn’t stop your attempts to convince yourself he’d only said the latter out of pity.
“I don’t know,” you release a shallow sigh, bitter with the new sensation of complete and utter defeat. “Everyone else begs to differ.”
Taeyong eyes you sceptically.
“Everyone else, as in Jaehyun?”
“Especially him.”
“He’s an asshole, Y/n.” He shakes his head, almost annoyed at you for still allowing that cheap excuse of a man to mess with your head, even after he’d taken the liberty of opening Argent’s doors and showing his own way out.
You chuckle resentfully.
“That asshole is one of my only friends…was…my only friend.”
“Well, last time I remember, friends don’t abandon you and clype you out on national tv.”
You pause upon hearing Taeyong’s words, realising the blatant truth in them. No friend would do such a thing if they truly were a friend, and the fact that Jaehyun had done exactly what a good friend shouldn’t have…
It couldn’t have felt any more scary than it does now.
And it leaves you wondering if any of it – if any of the friendship you thought you and Jaehyun had harboured through the years – had been real in any essence. Perhaps it had been real, even just for a short while. Perhaps it had been lost in translation somewhere along the dividing paths of your careers. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way in hindsight, and friendship or not, it certainly doesn’t exist anymore.
Taeyong doesn’t avert his eyes from you, doesn’t care that the sun had finally kissed the green horizon up ahead, rather focusing on the turmoil brewing so evidently through your features.
“Tell me,” he voices out softly, not a second thought to the sureness of his words.
“What?” you ask.
“Whatever’s on your mind.” He resists the urge to reach forward and take your hand in his own, looking deeply into your eyes and finding a need somewhere deep down. A need to know the full story of you, to understand you. “Tell me whatever you want. About yourself, about Argent; everything. I’ll listen.”
You find yourself staring up at Taeyong in bewilderment, your hair batting against your cheeks, though never a bother, as you try to formulate a response to his offer, realising that this is the first time someone has asked you to share your thoughts freely. This is the first time someone truly seemed to care about something other than your fame or your fortune or every other profitable prospect in between.
This is the first time someone is willing to listen.
So, maybe it’s the soft prickle of grass at your ankles, or your vulnerability that’s now borne far beyond redemption; perhaps it’s the faint scent of flowers all around, or maybe even be the brown-haired man sitting right in the middle of them. Whatever it is – whether a combination of everything, or nothing all – it causes you to smile, yielding away your defences and bursting all your dams free for a short while.
Taeyong feels his heart swell as you begin to speak out every little thought that comes to mind. And just as he’d said, he listens. Not only to your words, but to every subtle inflection of your voice, to the rise and fall of new emotion that even you didn’t think you could express.
You’d planned to loosen the restraints just slightly, but wind up releasing the reins altogether, indulging in Taeyong’s attentive nods and hums as you paint him a vivid picture of the past he never could have imagined you to have lived.
He discovers a lot; of your father’s departure when you were merely eight years old, and the childhood you’d spent under ceaseless scrutiny thereafter. He finds out how everything from the friends you had to the clothes you wore, had been controlled under your mother’s dreadful custody. How you’d fled home at the young age of seventeen and found yourself in the city of love with not an ounce of love to give. Even less to keep.
“It was always just me, myself and I. And I hated it.” You blink ahead at the orange and pink hues among the gathered clouds, the sun now. “I guess I just wanted to break free from that trap, and I did it through fashion. And it did work. It worked wonders,” you sigh, pausing to gather your thoughts before continuing with a smile. “Opening Argent had been a fantasy come true. I’ve achieved…so much; things that were once merely a figment of my wildest dreams. I have a cupboard full of awards. Invites from Tokyo, London, Italy, Shanghai, you name it.” You find your words falling short on your tongue, replaced with a dry chuckle and a small shake of your head. “But isn’t it just so funny how years of control can spiral out in the span of a day? How everything can suddenly turn in on itself as if none of it really mattered?”
Your eyes are wistful and faraway, as is the prevailing smile on your lips, and while Taeyong wishes so badly to reciprocate the expression, he just can’t bring himself to do so. His spirits plummet ten feet underground as everything seems to click in his mind, now envisioning you in a new kind of light; something a little softer, subdued, not nearly as blinding as the spotlight you lived under.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just being dramatic. This is showbiz after all,” you deadpan, recalling Jaehyun’s words with a sigh.
All the fame and wealth that you now have. All the esteem and praise and acclamation. You once seemed to have everything he could have only ever dreamt of; everything anyone could have ever dreamt of. A world-class fashion label and a famous title should have been enough. Designer clothing and expensive buyers, the spotlights and privilege of being ‘the world’s best and most renowned’; all of it should have been enough. But after listening to everything you had to say, Taeyong realises it never would be. That material possessions are worth nothing without the emotional sentiment that was supposed to come with them; that it’s all meaningless without someone to share and celebrate and enjoy them with. He wonders what exactly your motive had been when choosing to walk into this hectic world alone, unwilling to believe that you’d come with the intention of ending up where you are now.
Taeyong pictures a different version of you, someone written in the pages of your past, years younger than you are now. He sees a young girl with fiery passions and enough quirks to back every one of those passions with. She wasn’t perfect in the least, had many flaws to take in her stride, but she shone brighter than all the silvers in the world. She sought her dream through perseverance, never once allowing a frown to so much as grace the smile that had once sat so naturally on her face. She had so much to gain from life.
So how could she be sitting right here with a handful of losses and a shattered heart?
Taeyong wonders what exactly you had done to end up in this position but can’t seem to find an answer. You hadn’t done anything wrong. It strikes him that perhaps it was because of people like him, that people like you could never truly live the lives you’d originally planned for yourselves; perhaps it wouldn’t have been all that bad had he been more careful with his sources.
His pensive silence feels a little too tense and prolonged, causing you to grow conscious of every little confession you’d shared moments prior. You want to know what Taeyong is thinking, whether his respect for you falls any fickler in his mind now that your heart lies bared on your sleeve.
“Well, I’ve opened my gaping scars,” you announce quietly, watching him from the corner of your eye, “don’t think you’ll get away without opening yours.”
“I don’t know if I can compete with you, really,” he answers solemnly, realising the value of his own fulfilling childhood despite the downfalls.
“Well, what about that one?”
Taeyong flinches back in surprise, his thoughts interrupted by the finger you point right next to his eye.
“Sorry,” you mutter, retracting your hand back in embarrassment.
He accepts your apology with a small wave and shake of his head, amused by your sudden awkwardness as his own hand lifts to trace the scar beside his eye that you’d pointed at.
“This?” he asks, and you watch a small nostalgic smile grace his lips, nodding in response. Taeyong’s scar is something you’ve been curious about since your evening together in the Walkway Hall, and sitting so close to him once again has only served to remind you of its unique intricacy – almost as if it were there for a specific reason, carved into his skin in a sort of poetic way that only seemed fitting enough for him.
“I got this when I was really young, actually. Seven, I think?” He pouts in thought, and you don’t think he could have looked more endearing in this moment. “I was riding my bike and wasn’t looking where I was going and-”
“And you fell.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, hand lifting to sheepishly rub at the nape of his neck. “It was somewhere around this field, actually. Somewhere along the road.” He turns back briefly, pointing an aimless finger along the path of the road.
“Oh, you’ve been here before?” you ask, eyes lighting up with genuine curiosity as you sit straight, eager to know more about him.
“More times than I can count.” Taeyong’s his smile grows wider in fond recollection, and you feel another bout of goosebumps rise on your skin as if you too can somehow feel the strength of the memory that so clearly flashes through his mind. “Comic books were my religion,” he chuckles, “and this field was my second home. I used to come here almost every day and just read until sundown.”
How nice it must have been, you wonder to yourself, eyes sparkling with mental image of a seven-year-old boy sitting in solitude among the grass with a book in his hands. You almost wish you could have met him all those years ago, talked with him until the sun no longer smiled down upon you.
“In fact, it was when the sun was setting that…” his voice fades away as he turns his head to you, a soft pang flaring in his chest as he watches your eyes glint with little remaining arch of the sun, your skin aglow with a hue of warm orange. You turn to him with a bright smile, and it’s only now that he realises the erratic beating of his heart beneath his ribcage, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I was…distracted by the sunset. That’s how I fell that day.”
“I can understand why,” you mumble, turning back to the field and allowing yourself to breathe in the final golden glow before it settles below the grass. “It’s stunning.”
“Always has been,” Taeyong croons, gaze still trained on your soft eyes, trailing down to the natural curvature of your lips, wondering if they’d feel as soft as they now look.
He finds himself overcome with emotion, wanting to inch closer to you, to embrace you in his arms and slide the cool tips of his fingers between the warm gaps of yours. He wants so badly to be able to rest his chin on your shoulder, nuzzle his nose into your neck and listen to the perfect melody of your voice for hours, to read and make sense of all your thoughts like his very own fascinating comic from all those years ago.
God, he wants to kiss you.
Right here, among the soft whispering of the wind, Taeyong wants to hold you tight and stroke your cheek and let you know everything will be alright.
He sighs, wondering if you feel the same way, if you’ve ever felt an inkling of what he’s feeling in this moment, watching as you tilt your head up to the sky.
“Looks like it’s going to rain,” you sigh, blinking up and following the clouds as they glide swiftly into one another among the turquoise of the sky. They’re a lot larger now, darker too in combination of the lacking sun and a natural greyness. “We should go.”
“Wait,” Taeyong catches your wrist momentarily, preventing you from standing as he reaches another hand into his pocket.
He pulls out a familiar-looking strip of silver fabric, pinching it by the ends and holding it up to the sky. You eye him, confused, eyebrows furrowing at his bizarre gesture before squinting up at the fabric. You tilt your head watching it curiously as it stands out brightly among the dull clouds, trying to make sense of its significance up in the sky. But a faint rumble of thunder has your eyes widening in realisation, the meaning of his actions striking you as brashly as the following clap of thunder.
Chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent. Every cloud has a silver lining.
You turn to Taeyong with a look of shimmering wonder, beaming along with the warm sensation that flowers in your chest as he regards you with all the world’s sincerity in his eyes.
“Don’t ever forget it,” he murmurs softly, compelling you never to leave his eyes, hoping his words hug you as warmly as his body aches to do so in this moment, unknowing that you feel his overwhelming comfort with every heavy breath that leaves you. He uncurls your palm and places the fabric on your hand, smiling at your curious gaze. “It’s yours. You dropped it last week, so I kept it safe for you.”
You nod, suddenly jolting in place as the sky suddenly resounds with another roar of thunder, the wind angrily whisking through the grass and picking up your hair in its path.
“Okay, but we really should get going before it starts to pour.” Taeyong scrambles to his feet, offering you his hand which you gratefully take. Your mind spins astir as he doesn’t let go of your palm, leading you to the car you’d seen parked on the roadside earlier and opening the passenger door with a nod of his head for you to sit inside.
“Oh no, it’s okay, I’ll just wait for Charlie to come and take me home.” You step back with a polite shake of your head, digging around your bag for your phone to contact said man.
Taeyong clicks his tongue, hips leaning back into the cool metal of his car, an amused grin tugging at one side of his mouth as he watches your triumphant expression upon finding your phone.
“Charlie’s not coming,” he declares, hands crossing over his chest.
“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” you eye him suspiciously.
“I mean,” Taeyong leans forward, “that he’s not coming.”
“So, what? Do you plan on taking me home? In your own car?” you ask, puzzled by the cocky raise of his eyebrows.
“Ten only arranged a ride for you to get here, so yes, I do plan on taking you home. In my own car. You got a problem with that, miss fashion fabulous?” Taeyong tilts is head to the side and you huff in response, the nickname causing your eyes to once again find their customary place at the back of your skull.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Well,” he pushes himself off the car, taking a step forward, “I’m your only way home right now, so either you get in my car, or…” he pauses and looks up, your gaze following his to find a growing realm of angry, ashen clouds rumbling with the profession of their next intentions, bouts of white electricity flashing between their overlapping shadows.
And with that, you don’t utter another word, helping yourself inside the passenger seat of Taeyong’s car and snatching the door from his grip to slam it shut. You have no intention of being left alone in the middle of nowhere to be soaked in the rain, that’s for sure.
Taeyong only chuckles to himself with a fond shake of his head, jogging around and finding his place in the driver’s seat just as the first drizzles of rain adorn themselves delicately through his hair.
Y/n [8:06pm]: thank you for today
Y/n [8:06pm]: the field was nice
Y/n [8:06pm]: the sunset too
Taeyong [8:07pm]: what’s your take on Ferris wheels?
Y/n [8:07pm]: ???
Y/n [8:07pm]: that’s not random at all
Taeyong [8:07pm]: for educational purposes :D
Y/n [8:07pm]: I don’t know
Y/n [8:07pm]: I’ve never been on a Ferris wheel before
Taeyong [8:07pm]: 😱😱😱
Taeyong [8:07pm]: the disrespect
Y/n [8:08pm]: I was trying to thank you for today but I guess I’ll take it back or something 🙄
Taeyong [8:08pm]: you’re welcome
Y/n [8:08pm]: too late, Sonic
Taeyong [8:08pm]: you underestimate my speed
Y/n [8:08pm]: is that so?
Taeyong [8:08pm]: tomorrow 7pm, be ready
Taeyong [8:08pm]: weren’t expecting that now were you 😏
Y/n [8:08pm]: you’re not slick :/
Y/n [8:09pm]: but why? What’s happening tomorrow?
Taeyong [8:09pm]: curious, are we?
Y/n [8:09pm]: I think I made that abundantly clear
Taeyong [8:09pm]: well…
Y/n [8:09pm]: well…?
Taeyong [8:09pm]: I guess you’ll have to wait and see~~
VIII. A *Bit* of Fun
You had tried with all your might, must have spent a good hour the previous night mulling and fussing over where exactly Taeyong was to take you this time. After having taken you to the field, you had decided that this man was as whimsical and unpredictable as they ever came. In the end, you were left clueless, tossing and turning through your muss of bedsheets with a little too much to lick your lips over (and use Taeyong’s lip balm to soothe the dryness thereafter). You had not a clue as to where you were expecting to end up the next day. All the of New York’s most prized attractions graced your mind, but none of those locations seemed to be remotely feasible for two of the industry’s most well-known faces to be seen together in.
So, it certainly came as a huge surprise when you’d found yourself standing in front of a dart-throwing stall in the middle of a fairground, with what feels like half the world’s population ambling around you in every which direction.
“Of all places,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything else, voice muffled by the mask that Taeyong had previously handed you in the car – your public incognito, as per his exact words. You adjust the scratchy material on your face, still absorbing the exorbitant glow of tube lights all around you and the indistinct conversation buzzing through the night air with the occasional rumble of roller coaster tracks in the distance.
“You do realise we have a fashion show to attend in eight days,” you turn to Taeyong, unable to gauge his expression save for the crinkle beside his eyes, absentmindedly following as he strides closer to the stall, “the biggest one of the season, may I add.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have anything better to do locked indoors?” he deadpans, his scar glowing with the golden light as he glances up to the pricing board before turning to you.
“I could have for all you know,” you bite back, resisting the urge to cross your arms like a child, unwilling to admit your petty defeat in this argument.
“I don’t think a pity party for one counts, love. We’ll take ten, please.” Taeyong doesn’t spare you a glance, rather handing a five-dollar bill to the stall vendor in exchange for a handful of darts. You stare at him in disbelief, the nickname burning holes in your mind with the flush that burns your cheeks, and you couldn’t be more thankful for the mask to hide it away from the world.
“Taeyong, I swear if we get caught-”
“We won’t,” he interrupts, tapping a deliberate finger at his mask. “Besides, I think you deserve to have a little fun before the show,” he plucks a dart from the pile in his hand and holds it out to you with a tilt of his head, “Don’t you?”
You don’t reply, eyeing the pointed object with scepticism drawn between your brows. In plain honesty, you’ve never touched a dart in your life. The only sharps you’ve ever had to handle have come in the form of sewing needles, fabric clamps or garment pins; never darts.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to throw a dart?” Taeyong’s eyes widen with incredulity.
“Of course I know how to throw a dart,” you scoff, eyes mimicking his own while snatching the dart from his hand, refusing to back down in the face of yet another one-up from him. Of all the things you’ve accomplished thus far in life, this surely couldn’t be such a hard feat to strive for.
Taeyong grabs you by the shoulders, turning you to the rows of balloons beyond the counter.
“If you pop more than eight balloons, you get a prize.”
You nod resolutely, eyes narrowing in on a red balloon in the middle of the board while lifting the dart in front of your eyes. Angling your wrist meticulously, you draw a mental beeline from the dart to the balloon, pulling your wrist back and launching it forward. Your keen expression falls as fast as the dart as you watch it plunge into the ground, turning grouchily to one very amused Taeyong who snickers all too blatantly at your expense.
“That was a practice run,” you shoot him a your most convincing scowl (which probably isn’t very convincing at all under the mask), holding a palm out for another dart which he gives you all too happily. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with the heady aroma of sweet and salty popcorn from the stall just across, lifting your hand once again and this time angling your wrist a little lower than before. Why exactly you feel the need to show your strongest mettle in such a measly little game is beyond you, but if there’s one thing you’d commend yourself on, it’s your determination, and you’re not lacking an ounce of it in this moment.
You throw the dart, huffing as it ricochets off board and lands once again on the ground with a flat thud. Taeyong’s laughter follows even louder this time, incredibly melodious yet so very extremely infuriating at the same time.
“Alright then, if you’re so good, why don’t you go ahead and try?”
“My pleasure,” he chuckles, crinkles still decorating the side of his eyes as he takes a dart, lifts his wrist and throws it forward, all while maintaining eye contact with you as if it were the easiest thing to do in the world.
You’re left to watch the way his cheeks rise under the mask as the damn balloon bursts, your own jaw pulled down in confused shock.
“How-”
“It’s called practice.”
You can’t see Taeyong’s face, but you’re positive if you reached forward and pulled down his mask, that smug grin would be stretched wide across it – in fact, there’s no need to pull it down when you’re practically able to imagine it there yourself.
“I can help you if you want…” he trails off, a suggestive lilt to his voice that rubs your stubborn temperament the wrong way, prompting an adamant shake of your head and as you once again hold out your hand. “Another one please.”
The next six turns are spent with a gradually diminishing morale accompanied by defensive utterances to excuse your clear ineptitude for the game. In the end, you manage to score three balloons, one of which had burst purely by some inexplicable coincidence. Taeyong on the other hand enjoys himself all too thoroughly, delighting so much in your concentrated stares and irked huffs, that when you turn to him wide-eyed with a hand emptied of darts, he can’t help but present you with another bundle of ten.
No wonder she made it this far, he thinks to himself, admiring the drive that came in the form of your cinched eyebrows and stolid posture, unwavering as you still somehow continue to miss your newly appointed blue target.
“You know, you always go on about how I’m so stiff, but have you ever realised how stiff you are?” he muses aloud, testing the waters while stepping slightly closer to you.
“I’m stiff because I have to be stiff, it’s my job,” you mutter back inattentively with one eye winking shut in focus, far too absorbed in reacquiring your target.
“We’re at a fair, Y/n.”
You gasp, unsure whether it’s from the fact that Taeyong had just spoken your name in public, or from the coolness of his fingers wrapping around the dorsal of your hand. You’re unable to control the goosebumps that flourish over your skin as his other hand cups your shoulder, your breath hitching as he lowers his head beside your own, so close that you can feel his stray hairs tickling your temple with every puff of the cool breeze.
“You don’t have to be stiff here.”
He’s so close that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, his hand sliding down to the exposed skin of your wrist, pressing softly into the bone.
“Loosen up.”
You can only pray that your mask doesn’t make your shaky breaths more noticeable as you gulp down the sudden urge to turn your head toward Taeyong, far too afraid of diving head-first into something far beyond your boundaries.
You suddenly blink as a loud pop resounds from ahead, eyes shifting to find the dart no longer secured between your thumb and forefinger, the balloon now nothing but a limp scatter of blue latex shards on the ground.
“See? Simple, right?” Perhaps it was the loud burst that makes Taeyong’s voice sound softer than before, or perhaps he really had lowered his voice. You can’t tell either way over your growing pulse under his still grip on your wrist. When he lets go and stands straight, your eyes fall shut for a second, a silent breath of relief leaving your lips and warming your cheeks.
You don’t allow your mind the liberty to drown in your growing whirlpool of thoughts, questions and emotions, hands rather working by themselves to grasp another dart and flippantly fling it forward with no particular drive. To your surprise, it strikes a yellow balloon square in the middle with the loud, refreshing pop.
You snap your neck to Taeyong, eyes growing wide with a newfound excitement as he claps loudly, a wide smile taking over his features.
“I didn’t even try!” you shriek out in joy, arms moving in animatedly haphazard gestures, and Taeyong swears this is the first time he’s heard a real giggle from you. You throw another dart, still paying no attention whatsoever to the angle of your wrist or the position of your feet, yelping loudly as another balloon pops. “Hah! Did you see that? Two in a row!”
Taeyong laughs at the little bounce in the balls of your feet as you continue with the rest of the darts, eyes dancing affectionately over the image that is you.
Truly you.
It feels so surreal to him, having the privilege of witnessing the unfolding of such guiltless excitement, finally unearthed from deep within the person he’d once sworn was far too stuck-up to feel any emotions at all. He finds it so peculiar and endearing all at once that such a small achievement could bring the light to your eyes like nothing else in the world; that it really doesn’t take much to make you happy, and all you really need is a little freedom from the image the world makes you out to be.
You wind up with a grand total of eight clean balloon strikes, a little too gratified when picking out the largest purple teddy bear – that isn’t really as large as it sounds. Far too high in the clouds, you waste no time in dragging Taeyong to almost every stall in the fairground as if you were the one who left him hanging by a thread the night before.
And if there’s one thing that Taeyong realises while watching you fish for rubber ducks in a makeshift pond, it’s that you look extremely pretty when you work, but you look even prettier when you’re having fun. He also realises that you’re among the lucky ones when it comes to rigged carnival games….and that you’d wholeheartedly fight the world just to get your hands on the last scoop of green tea ice cream (thankfully there was no bloodshed since the child standing in front of you decided to change her mind to rainbow fairy floss in the end).
Being able to walk around in public without a bodyguard to tag closely behind, or the constant buzz of paparazzi and their blinding cameras; it felt absolutely divine. Like a breath of fresh air that everyone deserves to experience at least once in their lives. But as the universe would have it, peacefully indulging in an ice cream is a code red situation that not even the shrewdest of celebrities could ploy their way around. So as per Taeyong’s admittedly genius idea, you find yourself standing in the queue of the Ferris wheel with napkins painted in sticky swirls of green and brown (he opted for chocolate; a very predictable choice, you think), distracted by the squeals of children sliding down the Helter Skelter on the far right.
“So, this is why you asked me about my take on Ferris wheels yesterday,” you hum, head tipped back to welcome the bright shimmer of the multicoloured carriage lights bringing life to the navy-tipped sky.
“A speedy observation indeed,” Taeyong teases, nodding for you to enter a newly emptied carriage before climbing in himself and thanking the operator who secures it shut.
You sigh contentedly as the carriage rises and stops for the next few passengers, allowing yourself to embrace the butterflies that flit beneath your ribcage with an exhilarated sort of nervousness. You pull the mask off your face, relieved to be concealed in a dark enough space from the rest of the world, left alone for a while with the soft strokes of evening air cupping your cheeks and a nice scoop of your favourite ice cream to melt on your tongue.
You’re unable to control the small smile that tugs at your lips as you catch Taeyong’s gaze from across you. The stupid grin slapped across his face causes yours to widen, followed by a small giggle, which Taeyong tops with his own frivolous laughter, and soon enough you’re both surrounded by the echoes of your own fit of hysterics, no rhyme or reason to the wide smiles and slitted eyes.
“Why are you laughing?” you ask between giggles.
“I don’t know, why are you laughing?” Taeyong titters back.
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, hunching over to compose yourself with a hand pressed to your chest, taking a deep breath and turning to the view from your newly heightened angle. You have never really understood why people would willingly come to such places. Why would one allow themselves to be enticed by futile prizes at the cost of an absurd amount of money and by-chance luck?
But as you look down now, you see a multitude of familial relationships gone right, illuminated by the golden glow of scattered lighting around the fairground. You see couples with entwined fingers, swaying together in queues and proudly pecking each other’s cheeks at game stalls. You see children, starstruck and ever-dazed by the very prospect of thrill rides, tugging at their parents’ sleeves and bestowed with peerless amounts of benign love. Everything seems to make a lot more sense as you realise all of this is done for the experience between people; friends, families, partners and lovers. For the emotion and the connections and all the combined energy to present itself in the form of love and laughter.
“So…” You almost miss Taeyong’s voice as it somehow blends in fluidly with the white noise beyond your little sky cubby. “This was…fun. You had fun, right?”
“Hmm,” you hum playfully, eyes trained upwards in ingenuine thought.
“Oh, don’t even lie to yourself,” Taeyong scoffs.
You smile, taking a pensive bite of your cone. “I guess I had a bit of fun.”
“Uh huh,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on the tote bag beside you overflowing with prized plushies and miscellaneous stuffed animals you’d both ruthlessly won.
“Okay, maybe I had quite a bit of fun,” you chuckle, taking another bite of your ice cream.
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he smiles, eyes peering unwaveringly into your own, and it’s only now that you grow conscious to the sensation of his knees softly brushing your own, his head resting back against the glass, and a dazed expression that finds a muse somewhere deep within your being.
You mirror Taeyong with a contended sigh, relishing in the tickle of his knees while finishing off the remainder of your ice cream. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, the lights beyond casting a shifting pageant of shadows over his velvety features, silvering the soft ends of his windswept hair. In this moment, you think Taeyong looks like a piece of art, some rare specimen that you’d only expect to find in a gallery; something you’d approach and have no choice but to fall hypnotised by, placated and inspired to the fine point of no return.
You realise it’s starting to become increasingly hard to evade the blithe air that engulfs you whenever in Taeyong’s presence. It would simply be an act of pettiness to deny something so apparent to both you and him. You can’t recall the last time you’d had even an ounce of the fun you’ve had collecting horrifyingly lurid plushies this very evening, or the last time your cheeks had ached from smiling so naturally in the span of a few hours.
You tilt your head in thought, eyes shifting once more to Taeyong’s hair, lips twitching up at the bright outline of it.
You’ve brought your silver linings to the world through Argent, always made sure that every stitch was perfect to a fault, that the sky was clear of clouds wherever you dared set foot.
In the one time when your world had taken a dark turn – the one moment you needed a silver lining to guide you through the rough – Taeyong had stepped in and shed a warm light to the other side. Perhaps he was that silver lining you needed all along, and all it had taken was you walking right under those dark clouds to realise it.
“Come to my place after this.” Your words slip under command of a momentary whim, your mind suddenly alight with a new kind of motivation.
“Come to your what?” Taeyong chokes out, surprised by your unexpected statement.
“My apartment,” you nod resolutely, moving to secure your mask back on your face as the carriage approaches the ground once again.
“For what?” he asks, securing his own mask too, the genuine perplexity in both his voice and expression rather amusing to you now as you simply smile back.
“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
IX. Give Yourself a Break
When you said you’d take Taeyong to your apartment, the last thing he’d expected was to be standing in the middle of your living room among a flurry of smooth jazz, wearing the very outfit he was to show off to the world in eight days. But to his pleasant surprise, the ensemble consists of the most comfortable set of fabrics he’d ever worn – and probably the most abundant too, he realises, as beads of sweat bloom at the roots of his hair.
On the very inside, Taeyong wears a thin dark blue turtleneck woven from the finest organic cotton money could buy. On top of it is a crisp, white oversized dress shirt held together by a matching navy tie. And on top of that is a navy jacket complete with a matching set of pants; greens, oranges and ceruleans seeping into the navy cloth, hand-painted so strategically that the third person would assume it to have been tie-dyed. Argent’s logo decorates every free space in a black paint that shimmers hypnotizingly under the scintillate lighting above. To top it all off, is the signature strip of silver running down the right sleeve of the jacket and the left leg of the pants.
“You’d think your shoulders would be smaller than Jaehyun’s,” you mutter, examining the two-and-a-half extra centimetres on the measuring tape held across Taeyong’s shoulders, before hanging it back around your neck, “I guess not.” You take the initiative to slip the jacket from his shoulders, clearly in your working element as you walk back to your dining table and remeasure the material, “thank goodness I started with a few extra centimetres of fabric.”
Taeyong doesn’t know whether to be offended or flattered by your offhand comments, but he quite frankly can’t bring himself to care, far too distracted by the sheer magnificence of your penthouse despite having spent the last hour inside of it. He’s still awed by the modern lighting that hangs high from ceilings, stunned by the roof-length windows that present a panorama of New York City at its prime hour, the fresh downpour beyond the glass bathing his ears in its soothing rumbles.
He takes a sip of the wine you’d poured for him, its sour tingle and sweet taste a perfect complement to the comforting ambience, eyes relaxed and travelling to the empty cardboard take-out boxes scattered across the dining table.
That was yet another unexpected turn of the evening; being wined by the world’s greatest fashion designer who apparently also likes to dine at the local Chinese take-away from across the street.
He then allows his eyes to fall on you, the most awestriking object in this room.
He watches you – every part of you – and doesn’t let himself look away, committing you into his memory like never before. He’s seen you work at Argent; steadfast in your movements, perfect posture, never a crease in your brow. But now, it feels as if a barrier has been torn down between that version of you and the person that sits before him now; your hands moving with a certain delicacy as you fold the material, not a single care in the world for the slight hunch in your back, and a very unfettered crease in your brow as you blow away stray hairs from your bun.
Yes, Taeyong had once wondered why you had chosen the life you currently live, but it’s no longer a question in his mind now; a statement rather, for which all evidence is presented in the very subject of his gaze.
“Great! I think we’re just about finished.”
Taeyong shifts his eyes as you walk back brightly, handing him the jacket for a final trial, which he slips on easily.
“Good?”
“Perfect,” he smiles back, relishing in the relieved expression that washes over you as you dust your hands in accomplishment. “But wasn’t this supposed to be your break period?” Taeyong pointedly raises an eyebrow.
“Listen, I’ve been breaking,” you lift your fingers in quotation marks, “for the last two days, and that’s more than enough time for me to slowly go insane.” You accentuate your point with a long, hard swing of your wine, gulping it down to its last drop and finishing with a hiss. “See? Who drinks wine like that? A madwoman, that’s who.” You cross your arms over your chest, your stubborn pout melting into a smile with the swarm of butterflies the erupt in your chest as you watch Taeyong hunch over in boisterous laughter, hypnotised by the dazzle of his smile along with the shimmer of the suit.
“You’re insane,” he snickers, sighing as his laughter dies down.
And you’re beautiful, you think back, not a single question to pose against the decided fact, though you try your best to conceal the epiphany with your nonchalant words. “Yeah, and the whole world knows it. Now go change before you crease the fabric.”
Taeyong snorts out loud, sauntering down the hallway with a small shake of his head and a hand ruffling through his hair – which you had previously tried your best to style to somewhat match the outfit (though it’s not your forte to put it lightly). Taeyong pushes his way into the bathroom, still not yet acquainted to its colossal size and the absolute shine of the marbled floor tiles. The view of city had seemed to follow him there, still twinkling in all its nocturnal glory through the tall glass window behind the jacuzzi tub upon which his clothes hang.
It’s all but a sight for sore eyes, but Taeyong doesn’t allow himself to admire it for a second longer, abruptly turning to the mirror, fingers clutching the edge of the counter as he properly examines himself, awestricken at the man that stares back at him. Never before had he thought an outfit could suit him so well, and you are the only person he can accredit for that. He softly smiles to himself, appreciating the sheer talent of a being that you are, so committed to anything and everything you set your mind you – even a game as small as darts would light the match within you ablaze with passion.
But his smile falls in an instant as his eyes drop to the dual sinks – one surrounded with various lotions, perfumes and a make-up accessories, while the other is completely empty; surrounded by nothing but unused space, all covered in a thin layer of dust. The contrast is simply far too existent to ignore, and it frustrates Taeyong to all uncontrollable ends, his frown deepening sorely as his eyes close with a shake of his head.
No wonder she’s so lonely, he thinks. Working all day on designer clothes, cooped up from twilight until dusk in her office, feared to the bone by her employees and framed for all the wrong reasons. And all of that, only to come home to this: a dual sink that only can’t serve its true purpose. A bottle of wine that only she can pop open and pour into a glass. And yet she somehow still keeps going. Even on her break.
Taeyong meets his own eyes in the mirror, jaw clenching with a certain overcoming power, not wasting a single moment before lurching himself toward the door. His eyebrows furrow as he steps out into the hallway, bathed in a newfound darkness that now blankets the entirety of the apartment. He steps forward, wondering if you’ve already gone to bed, though the jazz music that still floats gently by his ears testifies against the notion.
Taeyong turns into the living room, stopped in his tracks by the silhouette standing before the glass that separates her from the world beyond.
You stand at the edge of the glass, fingertip pressed to the top of the highest building, eyes alit with the glimmer of the infamous Big Apple showered in a dazzling patter of rain. The view had caught your eye moments before, compelling you to close the lights and awe before it.
It has truly been a while since you had admired it to its full extent, inhaled the breathtaking kaleidoscope of skyscrapers at their glorious heights and the sparkling lights of the streets. The last time you had properly smiled at this view was years ago, with your elbow slipping dazedly from the window ledge of your tiny studio apartment, if one could even call it that. You’d sat by that window, having just shaken hands with a crestfallen model outside of Vogue building, and an assistant who went by the curious name of a number. You’d watched this view every day from a distance that was much further away than now, when it all seemed like a mere prospect, as did your character.
Purchasing the penthouse you stand in now had brought you all too close to the city, you’ve realised. This view had somehow become a routine part of your daily life, lost somewhere between the absentminded glances and fatigued muscles after a long workday, brushed aside along the way and forgotten as easily as every bright flash of a camera on the street.
You’re happy to find the same previous contentment in this view from up so close. Perhaps it isn’t even remotely the same. But it is still contentment, nonetheless.
“Aren’t you tired?”
The glass fogs slightly as you release a breathy chuckle in response to the low murmur behind you.
“Do you usually go to bed this early?”
“No, Y/n,” there’s a quiet pause, filled only with a soothing piano and quiet footsteps approaching forward, “I mean…aren’t you exhausted with your life?”
Head turning to the side, you see Taeyong’s silhouette standing in your periphery, silent and expectant of your answer. You gulp involuntarily, all too heedful of the single affirmation that should have fallen from your mouth, though you don’t allow yourself to speak it.
“Excuse me?” you reply, voice hesitant and breathy. The music evaporates in an instant, leaving the air void with a jarring silence, still among the heavy sigh that leaves Taeyong. You stiffen as you feel his presence behind you, electricity shooting through your body as his warm fingers brush your own from behind. You attempt to turn around, but the squeeze of his hand around your palm stops you, thawing your frosted skin and holding you in place as if to say, “it’s okay, be still.”
Your breath leaves you in trembling exhales, chest rising and falling heavily with a boundless rush of goosebumps, butterflies thrashing violently in your chest as your heart rate rises.
“Locking yourself in your office morning to night. Always being the perfect one in the crowd. Building all these walls around yourself, confining your entire personality inside them. It must be so exhausting.” Taeyong’s voice just above a whisper, your eyes training on the brightest window you can find among the galaxy of them twinkling in the city, if only to drown his voice out with the soft murmur of the rain.
“I’ve worked too hard to be tired now,” you reply, voice just as silent as his.
“You need to give yourself a break.”
“I’m already on a break.”
“And yet, here I am wearing one of your hand stitched coats.”
You don’t respond to him. You’re not sure how to respond, when all that that leaves Taeyong’s lips is an irrefutable fact, causing you to gulp once more as you realise that he’s right.
And you’re very wrong.
“Here you are,” he breathes, “still worrying about that godforsaken fashion show.”
You lips part, all but ready to deny Taeyong’s words, though you don’t have the chance to as his voice falls to a whisper.
“With this godforsaken bun.”
You feel the tightness at your scalp loosen suddenly, chest rising shakily as your hair cascades down the flushed skin of your cheeks. You’re left light-headed and faint with the sharp exhale that leaves you as you turn around to face Taeyong only to stumble back, startled by the sheer proximity between you and him. His fingers only tighten around your own, your other hand pressing behind you into the cool glass, sending a throttling shiver through you that feels all but electrifying as you meet Taeyong’s eyes.
They sparkle so beautifully in the dark; a mesmerising mirror reflecting the bright lights behind your shoulders, so alluring you would foolishly relinquish every part of yourself if only to stare into them for an eternity longer. Allow yourself to drown in them, along with the heady scent of pinot that heavily fans your cheeks.
“What are you…” you whisper, lost of your words while looking down to your hands as Taeyong’s fingers push through their gaps, his palm pressing firmly, warmly, against yours. “What are you doing, Taeyong?” You look back up, nose brushing softly against his.
“You look gorgeous like this,” he ignores you. “With your hair down.” His other hand lifts to your hair, knuckles softly stroking along your locks. “You look beautiful when you’re playing darts…and tossing bean bags…and eating ice cream. When you’re not constantly worrying.” You feel the warmth of his forehead against yours, his hair tickling your cheeks as they find comfort in the slide of his palm against your blooming skin.
“I-”
“Just stop,” he breathes, the phantom of his lips finding yours in a sweet tickle, “stop worrying.”
You want to process the moment, you want to understand why it’s becoming increasingly hard to stay level in the time and space of this moment. But your inhibitions fall away as you close your eyes, a whispered profession of “okay” falling short with the press of Taeyong’s lips to yours.
He exhales and you blossom under his soft touch, finally relinquishing every fibre of your being to the man you’d never thought would accept it. Taeyong’s lips are gentle, a perfect match for yours, reassuring and tantalising all at once. His hand slides to the curve of your back and yours to his cheek, his fingers burning through the fabric of your blouse and yours cool and refreshing on his skin, tracing the scar by his eye as he pulls you closer. Impossibly closer. So close that you feel it all once more; the sturdy plain of muscle in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. The protection of his embrace and the inebriating balm of his cologne, the blazing slip of his hand under your shirt; you allow yourself to feel it all at once.
All sensation of worry is lost in Taeyong’s lips, fading with every whispered profession that follows you to the pathway of your bedroom. He shows you how wonderful it can be to forget the world for a while, to lose yourself in the softness of his hair and in every newly discovered tattoo etched into smooth of his skin. He calls you beautiful more times than you’d ever heard before, admires every part of you with in all five senses until you both find yourself wrapped under the warm, white covers of your duvet, foreheads pressed together and eyes once again falling shy of each other’s gaze.
“It looks like a rose,” you murmur into the silence, the cotton of Taeyong’s shirt comforting against your skin, rain still beating soothingly against the windows as your fingers once more trace along Taeyong’s scar.
“Yeah?” he hums, eyes hooded and soft on your own, a corner of those pretty lips turning up in a small smile, “I never thought of it that way.”
Am I in love with him?
You furrow your eyebrows as the thought graces your mind unexpectedly, so sudden – almost as if it were natural – that your smile falls in an instant with the all-consuming, fluttery pang in your chest. Your cheeks feel warm and florid against pillow as you watch Taeyong frown in question toward you.
“You okay?” he asks worriedly, hand brushing the hair from your cheek, replaced with soft pad of his thumb that only strokes a fresh layer of heat into your skin.
“Yeah,” you shake your head, eyes blinking rapidly in a mix of nerves and giddiness, “yeah just…thirsty, I guess.”
“Well now that you mention it, so am I,” Taeyong muses, lifting the covers from himself and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
“It’s okay, I can get it-”
“I’m already halfway there, babe.” He looks back to you with a smirk, before turning and leaving you to watch him sauntering out the door, cheeks so hot you swear you might be coming down with a fever or something.
“Babe?” you whisper to yourself, an idiotic smile tugging your cheeks so uncontrollably high, you’re forced to pull the covers all the way up to your nose to suppress the small giggle that leaves you. “My god.” You lift your hands to cover your face, the giddy smile refusing to escape you at any cost, praying that Taeyong somehow gets lost along the way if only to buy you more time to calm yourself before he returns.
Embarrassingly enough, he had somehow found himself in the utility room before finding your kitchen, squinting as his hands finally reach for the very inconveniently located light switch. He’s beginning to realise that everything in your penthouse is either four times larger or four times more expensive than the average apartment. Unsurprisingly, your kitchen checks full-clear in both departments, and it leaves him scratching his head as to which drawer to begin scavenging for two pathetic little glasses.
Luck finds him with the sixth handle he pulls back. He plucks out two shiny, clear glasses and fills them at the sink, noticing two of the very same glasses sitting prettily in the dish rack beside it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, closing the tap and lifting the filled glasses. He perks up at the sound of a notification bell in the distance.
It must be important if they’re texting so late at night, he thinks to himself, setting down the glasses and walking to the living room where the sound had come from. He finds his phone on the sofa, the small device emitting its blue light into the darkness of the room as he picks it up, squinting down at the message.
Kim Heechul
6 Text Messages
Taeyong feels his heart sink upon seeing the man’s name, chest pulled taught with a foreboding tension as he reluctantly unlocks the phone. His pupils shrink further and further with every letter that meets them, Adam’s apple catching in his neck.
Heechul [12:02am]: I see you’ve earned yourself a fanbase
Heechul [12:02am]: Though I don’t recall fame ever being part of our deal
“Fuck,” Taeyong breathes out, collapsing onto the couch with a hand scooping back his unkempt locks, his mind beginning to cloud with a suffocating bout of anxiety.
Heechul [12:02am]: One week, Taeyong, that’s all you’ve got before the show
Heechul [12:03am]: I expect that article to be on my desk ready for publishing the day after
Heechul [12:03am]: The money is only yours if the job is done right
Heechul [12:03am]: Do not forget your place
Taeyong sighs heavily, another whispered curse leaving him as his eyes fall shut with the prickling throb taking over his chest. It seems he truly had forgotten his place.
He hasn’t laid a finger on the article in the last fortnight, his laptop all but a forgotten clunk of metal in the corner of his room after he’d plunged himself neck-deep in all the preparations and practice for Argent’s segment at New York Fashion Week. A page and a half of quarter-truths and impulsive spleens is all the article had made itself to be thus far; nowhere close to the usual quota of words, and even further away from the reality of all mentioned points.
“I thought you were getting water.”
Taeyong hurriedly clicks his phone off, turning to see you standing in the hallway, cruel guilt dousing through his entire being as he tries not to lose himself in the stunning image of you wearing his white button-up shirt.
“What are you doing here? The kitchen is that way,” you ask, an endearingly confused expression twisting through your features as you point a finger over your shoulder.
“I, uhhh,” he blinks, mind falling blank as he scans the room for an excuse, “the city,” he points to the windows, “I got distracted.”
It pains him to see the way your eyes momentarily fall shut with a light chuckle, how your feet patter lightly across the floor toward him along with the rain, the way your hand softens the frustrated tousle of his hair.
“That wine sure got to your head, didn’t it?” you giggle softly, sighing at the velvety tickle of his hair.
How can it be so soft, you wonder, cloud nine far surpassed, and for the time being you’re all but willing to let your head rest up high amongst the bliss of here and now, unbeknownst of the monsters that gnaw at Taeyong’s every thought.
She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve this at all.
“Maybe you got to my head.” Taeyong lifts his head to gaze up at you, your hand slipping naturally to his cheek in slow, soothing circles as you lean down closer to him, his nose tickling your own.
“Oh, and what if I said you got to mine?”
Taeyong doesn’t answer you, instead allowing himself to drown in the halo of city stars glowing around the shimmering wisps of your messed hair. He feels the plunge of his heart growing faster, deeper, as your soft lips press forward onto his own, the familiar strawberry balm finding his tastebuds in a torturously aching dulce.
And your smile. Your beautiful smile.
It lifts perfectly against his mouth, lost in the feeling of him without a single worry to snatch it away, and it’s in this moment that Taeyong decides he cannot let that smile fall. He can’t bring himself to do such a thing to you. Not yet.
He wraps his arms around you, as strong and true as they can possibly be in a moment as false as this. Pushing the spiralling disquietude away from his mind, Taeyong pulls you closer to himself instead, relishing in your scent and the soft tickle of your hair on his temples. He allows his mind to fade away with every impartment of candour gifted from the tips of your fingers to his own, a final thought bleeding through the white of his conscience as it slowly slips from his grasp.
Not yet.
X. Who Am I Really Kidding?
Your three days of incarceration couldn’t have flown past you any quicker. Well, perhaps incarceration isn’t the word that immediately springs to mind now – perhaps a personal rejuvenation scheme would best describe it – as you once again immerse yourself in the lively chorus of frantic questions and invigorating scraping of hangers on and off clothing racks. It was well-deserved too, considering you haven’t felt more alive than you do in this very moment; empowered by the fresh click of your own heels against Argent’s floors, and the adrenaline flowing freely through every vessel in your body.
Preparations for the show are at an all-time high, fast, and furious and seemingly never-ending as the hours roll swiftly into gainful days. Your stresses now stem solely from Ten’s ghastly reports of seam slips and ill-fitting clothes on models (yes, sizes magically change at the last minute, and, no, you still haven’t cracked that case yet.). But it’s something you secretly couldn’t be more thankful for, having decided to cut ties with all your other worries from the past month.
And Jaehyun?
Ugh, fuck him and his two-faced ass.
Your only goal now is to keep everything on track for the next six days. There simply isn’t any time to waste. A smooth finale is the best finale, after all. And the best finale is the result of practice session after tireless practice session, ensuring not a single flaw in things as subtle as the very flow of a model’s outfit.
“Come on people, this is the sixth test run today and I haven’t felt a single ounce of pizzazz from any of you!” Johnny yells over the techno-EDM track playing overhead, gesturing animatedly beside the models who sashay along The Walkway. “Give me some more passion, some zest, some zeal, c’mon you gotta give me something!” He claps his hands rhythmically, eyes ferociously scanning the models as they pose and turn at the foot of the catwalk.
Johnny’s work ethic has been all but ablaze as of late. If there’s one thing you’ve learnt about him through the years, it’s that the man is always up for fun and games until the last fortnight before any show. He somehow always manages to get the job done well and right by one hand or another, and it’s part of the reason why you keep him around despite the trillions of times you’ve been compelled to fire him on the spot.
“I think it’s going okay, actually,” you muse as Johnny approaches you at the very front of the catwalk with an irked huff.
“Yeah, sweet joke,” he scoffs sarcastically, eyes still trained on the models strutting froward. “In what universe does Y/n Y/l/n ever settle for okay?”
“Hmm.” Your eyebrows furrow together as you ponder over his question, unable to formulate a definitive answer yourself. “I have no idea.”
“Well on the plus si-” Johnny interrupts himself with a sharp sigh, shaking his head at the model who turns the bend, before directing his attention to you. “On the plus side, Argent received a few extra bidders while you were gone. A certain Mr Butter Fingers to thank for that; got a little more famous over the last week.”
“Is that so?” You nod to yourself, the hint of a grin seeping onto your features, though you’re unsure whether it’s from the pleasure of regaining success, or the ravishing man behind Johnny’s stingy pet name.
But who are you really kidding, anyway?
“Speaking of the devil,” Johnny mutters, arms folding over his chest, his gaze morphing swiftly into one of pride as Taeyong turns the corner from behind the back wall.
You look up all too eagerly, eyes readily falling on the man who wears Argent’s most prized set of the season. Tracing a slow, invisible path from the heel of his boots all the way to the very fine tips of his hair, you allow yourself to indulge in the very being of Taeyong; in the stoic expression that you know would melt into that gorgeous smile as soon as he steps back inside; in the long, lithe strides of his legs, and in the airy sway of his arms beside them.
“Not entirely perfect yet, but I told you we’d make a star out of him,” Johnny smiles proudly beside you and, for what seems like the first time in your life, you’re wholly unable to argue back with the man.
Taeyong’s overall improvement on the catwalk is remarkable to describe in simple terms, complete with a certain poise so subtle you could only ever associate it with him. A month ago, you would have laughed in the face of they who told you Taeyong would make it this far with the minimal experience he had. But now, watching it all come together from afar, there’s not a doubt in your mind that Lee Taeyong has indeed become a star.
In this moment, you can’t imagine any other person in such a position; you don’t want to. The outfit is simply too perfect like this, draped over and around every part Taeyong; so exquisite as if it were a poem made specifically in the shape of him, accentuating his glow with every step he takes forward.
His eyes fall on you, faltering not once in his movements while you fall besottedly into his gaze for the hundredth time like the lovesick little girl you’ve somehow allowed yourself to become since your…intimate engagements from a couple nights ago.
Taeyong pauses at the foot of the platform, feet planted with a split-second of assured glamour, his lips quirking almost imperceptibly as he sends a playful wink your way before turning back around. You have no choice but to bow your head, bashful and unable to contain the shy smile that embellishes the pinkening blooms on your cheeks.
Johnny watches the whole ordeal dumbfoundedly, eyes flickering between the receding man and the demure subject of a woman standing right beside him. “What is going o-” He pauses as a hand catches his shoulder from behind. He turns to see Ten standing there, his emblematic black clipboard cradled in the crook of his arm, spectacles cast low over his nose. Ten shakes his head subtly, a small beam gracing his features as Johnny raises his brows and turns back around, catching the hint not to continue with his question.
Ten regards you in his periphery, a fond expression twinkling in warmth of his gaze at your tucked chin and down-set gaze. His smile begins to replicate your own as it grows wider with every passing second.
Despite all your tussles, he has always regarded you as his own family. You were like a sister to him, and your happiness was a great source of his own; always a refreshing sight to behold and never failing to foster with it an oddly comforting sentiment. The whole world smiled when you smiled, and Ten couldn’t be more thankful that Taeyong was the idiot to bring that smile back to you when you needed it the most.
─── ⪧ ⪦ ───
You step inside your office before Taeyong, both your shoes echoing alongside the soft click of the door as you head straight for the papers strewn in haphazard piles on your desk.
Being ‘messy’ has never quite sat right with you in any case, but in your every defence, keeping a tidy workspace in the formative days of any fashion show – let alone New York Fashion Week – is always a feat close to impossible. There are far too many things to preoccupy yourself with: the guest and rsvp lists, the show schedule, making sure Argent receives a suitable time slot (preferably around dusk hours for peak outdoor lighting and publicity).
You pick up a cream-coloured card that you assume Ten must have placed on your desk while you were gone, realising that it’s the revised schedule for the entirety of New York Fashion Week.
FRI | 02 | 06
…
7PM: Tom Ford
8PM: Argent
9PM: Michael Kors
…
You grin at the line-up, satisfied with both Argent’s time slot as well as the two other world-class labels flanking it. Both male designers are well-known acquaintances of yours, and the very fact of being sandwiched between them at the world’s biggest fashion event is gratifying beyond all means. It serves to remind you just how far you’ve come; that you’ve really made your living worthwhile despite every defected sideshow.
“So…” Taeyong’s voice echoes through the room, and you think there couldn’t have been a better melody to accompany the moment.
“So,” you echo back, a dazed smile growing on your features as you turn to him, hips leaning back against your desk.
“How was I this time?” Taeyong looks at you with a sort of anticipation swirling about his eyes and hope saturating his every spoken word. You watch as his thumbs fidget with the ringer of his phone, his teeth sunken anxiously into his bottom lip while awaiting your answer. You’ve never seen him quite so nervous until now, and it only serves to ignite a ticklish flutter in your chest and a warm smile on your face. Of course, it may just be the fact that he’s featuring in NYFW in less than a week, but the very thought of your opinion being so valued by him brings so much unsolicited joy to you.
“You did well,” you answer, the flutter increasing tenfold with the bright smile that adorns Taeyong’s face in response, his eyes shimmering like diamonds as he brings a hand to his heart dramatically.
“I thought this day would never come,” he sighs heavily, earning a small laugh from you.
“I’m glad you can finally walk now,” you snort, “can’t have my frontline model tripping up on stage.”
“What was that?” Taeyong brings a hand to his ear, taking a step closer to you. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over my raging ego right now.”
You shake your head at the cocky smirk that overcomes his freakishly handsome features, though immediately freezing as he steps even closer and plants both palms on your desk either side of you, his eyes finding your own as he leans forward with a quirk to his eyebrow.
“Your fault, baby, not mine.”
You’ve decided that Taeyong is beyond irresistible at this point, and it bothers you to no end how affected you are, a tell-tale red growing warm on your cheeks as you rebuke yourself for being so unabashedly pliant in his presence.
And, bloody hell, all these nicknames.
A refutation is far from palpable in the hazy fog of your mind, so you resort to the next best response, leaning forward without a single forethought, unable to hold back the outrageously long kiss you press to his lips. Taeyong hums in satisfaction, a hand finding your waist all too swiftly that you’d be compelled to roll your eyes if they were open. This is exactly the reaction he had wanted out of you, and here you are, more than willing to give him exactly that.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
A split-second awareness of the steady clock ticking behind you is all it takes for you to pull away from Taeyong, though not quite far enough to evade the tickle of his perfectly styled hair.
“How unprofessional of you, Miss Y/l/n,” he gasps quietly, faux shock rippling through his face, only to be tugged away with that infuriating smirk and those lazy, hooded eyes.
“Remind me why you followed me here again,” you murmur, eyes glued to the creases of his lips – though not for much longer.
“Oh, so I guess you need another demonstration.” Taeyong doesn’t allow you a second to process his words, his other hand sliding to your jaw and pulling your mouth to his once again in a searing kiss. “This is why,” he mumbles against your lips, and you can’t help but blaze under the soft sensation of him, every inch of you melting naturally as ice under a heated summer sky…that is, until reality dawns on you once again, and you take it upon yourself to stomp a hard heel to Taeyong’s foot.
He pulls away placidly, head tilting in amusement. “You really think that hurt?” He raises an eyebrow, watching your own furrow on your forehead as you look down to his shoes, face falling in realisation. Goddamn you and your perfectly robust shoe designs.
“That’s cute,” Taeyong mumbles ardently, resisting the urge to kiss away the small pout on your face.
“Thank you, now get back to work,” you huff out in embarrassment, unsure how to handle the heat radiating from your surely pinkening cheeks as Taeyong chuckles and takes a step away to walk toward the door. Despite your words, you merely find yourself wishing he’d stay by your side for a little longer, close enough to hold your hands and kindle their warmth even further, unafraid to burn under the very whisper of his presence. But he only turns to blow a kiss your away, exchanging it with a smile of yours to etch in the back of his mind as he exits your office.
You’re left airy and still in the echo of the room, resisting the urge to sway this way and that with every warm wave of joy coating your mind.
“Right, the documents,” you shake your head, eyes flickering before scurrying to your chair. “Focus, Y/n,” you tap your cheek twice, collecting the strewn-out papers into a neat pile before fingering through each one, signing your name wherever required and eyeing through the RSVP list, just to make sure Ten hadn’t approved of any unwanted guests – namely anyone whose credentials align with Qi Fashion Labels.
You jump in surprise at the loud ringing of a phone at the far end of your desk, humming in a second of confusion at the unfamiliar ringtone – though you’re only left to assume the device belongs to Taeyong given his track record of forgetting his belongings in his every wake. With a roll of your eyes, you decide upon ignoring it, allowing the caller to exhaust all futile hope for an answer, continuing to your papers. The ringing ceases after a while, but silence only lasts so long, as it’s shrill cries once again echo through the glass of the room, rattling through your final nerves. With a groan, you reach out to the phone, eyes scanning over the caller ID to find a familiar name once again displayed on the screen.
Kim Heechul
“A friend, perhaps?” you wonder aloud, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you internally tussle with the thought of whether or not to answer the call.
What if it’s something serious, you reason with yourself, considering that the average caller would merely ring and hang up unless there was an urgent matter at hand. If a few weeks ago was any indication, this Heechul person seemed to have some kind of pull with Taeyong. And though you’re never one to trespass on the private matters of others, you think it would only be right to put the caller’s mind to ease by letting him know that Taeyong would be sure to ring him back sometime later. So, without another second to spare, your thumb finds the green button and the phone finds itself at the cusp of your ear.
“Hel-”
The Walkway’s tube lights flickering to a silent darkness has grown onto Taeyong as something of a delicate sound; as if in the next second, he could expect fireflies to appear with the beckoning tinkle of the bulbs. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that time and again, Taeyong has actually spent that extra second waiting for small glowing specs to appear, but every time, he has left only with his own shadow to greet him a final farewell for the evening.
The same routine emulates today. Taeyong steps out of the room, but this time his silhouette stands a mere sidepiece of the night, his eyes rather much too eagerly finding the screen of his phone, hoping to finally see your name in his notifications.
No Older Notifications
He frowns in confusion, unlocking his phone to find the blue bubble he’d sent that morning still unaccompanied by a reply from you. His frown only deepens, as he turns his head in the direction of your office at the far end of the hallway, a streak of worry convening in the growing creases of his brows at blackness emulating through the glass.
It was a strange and rare occurrence for you to have left work at such an early hour of the evening; so much so, that if you did, one could only conclude that something was gravely wrong.
Taeyong thinks back to the nature of the last two days; all the times you were in the same room but never so much as spared him a glance, the numerous photoshoots you weren’t present for despite having scheduled them in yourself, not to mention your complete absence in all the mock-runways. It really wouldn’t be an understatement to say that things have been rather odd on your end – tense, now that Taeyong really thinks about it. You always seemed to be in all the places he wasn’t and he’s unable to formulate a logical reason why.
It then occurs to Taeyong that neither you, nor him had taken the time to label the relationship you’ve harboured in the past week; there simply was none in the first place. But all of it – the secret handholding, the trivial gestures and texts – he’s positive it’s all come from some romantic facet within you.
Taeyong’s mind sifts through a million thoughts a minute. He can’t help wondering if he’d made you uncomfortable in any way, or if you were just stressed and felt the need to withdraw for a while or maybe you just-
“Done for the day?”
There was that voice that, among the tumble and wave of the last month, had remained solitary and constant. A voice that remained dutiful and obliging, belonging to an equally hospitable man who now steps out of his office with his black clipboard and silver spectacles.
“Yeah, I finished early,” Taeyong replies with a small smile, though Ten only raises an eyebrow as Taeyong’s eyes stray once more to your office behind his shoulder.
“So did Y/n,” Ten states, the metallic scrape of his keys resounding harshly as he twists one in the lock. “She left perhaps an hour or so ago.”
“Oh, do you know if she’s unwell or…”
“She didn’t mention anything specific, but I’d assume so, considering she’s not usually one to leave without some life-altering reason,” Ten chuckles, shrugging on his trench coat and slinging a satchel over his shoulder.
“She’s probably just tired from all the work that’s been going on lately. Burnout isn’t exactly unheard of during this time of year.” Taeyong only nods, earning a pat on the back from Ten. “Well, I’m also heading off early to review the venue with our performance artist. Good work today, Taeyong. Take some rest yourself. You’ll need it.”
“Thank you, have a good evening,” Taeyong answers, exchanging a small bow with Ten and watching as his perfectly styled hair enters the elevator on the other side of the hall. A small vibration casts Taeyong’s eyes once again to the palm of his hand, his phone briefly aglow with the name he’d longed to see for hours now.
Y/n [5:48pm]: Come out to the field
Y/n [5:48pm]: I’ll be waiting
Taeyong exclaims in surprise, a small grin forming at his lips as his worries thaw slightly at the thought of you inviting him to his own favourite place; the thought of you waiting there in the grass for him as if it were something of fate taken straight from a poet’s diary.
Perhaps nothing was really wrong at all.
Perhaps all you needed was a clean breath of air.
XI. Once, Betrayed. Twice, A Damned Fool
It was one thing to watch the sky fade from blue to orange through the mirrored windows of a skyscraper, but it was something else entirely to view it from this position in the field. The sky was not simply blue when you’d set yourself down once again among the bed of itchy grass and ticklish flowers. There’s no one way to describe the colour you had seen, but it somehow felt…deep.
Deeper in colour, deeper in meaning, deeper in intent and in sorrow.
That deepness only grew as evening began its mingling commute with daylight, silently reaching forth its palm and convening a colour far intangibly ardent than orange, all of it accented quite perfectly by the large ball of fire in its routine fall.
You can’t recall another time when the sun had ever felt so blistering among the bittered February air. And, it was rather amusing to you, really, that of all possible days, today is when the clouds had chosen not to shade you. There hadn’t been even a speck of white or grey to dampen the sizzle on your face.
Or in your heart.
You tug your coat tighter around yourself, head tilting as you watch the head of a yellow flower being tugged this way and that by harsh gale. It too doesn’t simply feel yellow – well, not in this moment, at least. Its bud looks wilted, slightly browned as if to preserve what little charming dignity it had once possessed. Such a naïve thing it was. Handing itself over to the forces of nature, blossoming, thriving, living in artless denial, and never once stopping to think it would one day end up bowing down in regret for ever committing such a profitless sin.
There really is more than meets the eye in all conceivable forms of life, you’ve come to realise. But only those cunning enough to blind their abetter are able see right through each facade.
The harsh crunching of grass behind you almost beckons you to turn, but you stop yourself if only to prevent your hair from covering your eyes.
Taeyong simply smiles to himself, your free locks a perfect accessory to the panorama in front of him. He sits down beside you and you dare to glimpse at him in your periphery.
“Hey,” he speaks so delicately. So quietly and softly as if to blend in with the wind and its every hidden sentiment.
“Hi,” you reply, eyes still trained on the yellow flower, and it’s when you refuse to smile or even look at Taeyong that he begins to frown, the worry of earlier finding its place within him.
“Y/n, is something wrong-”
“Did I ever tell you,” you interrupt him, pausing to take a shaky breath as the wind bites at the burning skin of your neck, “about when I was nineteen?”
Confusion settles at Taeyong’s brows, though curiosity swirls through his eyes as they peer at you. The last time you were here with him, you’d given something of general overview of your life as a child and progressions as a designer, but never specifically anything about when you were nineteen. Taeyong shakes his head.
“I lived in a box apartment – at tiny little thing at the edge of the city, just trying to make ends meet. Ten and Jaehyun were the only people I had at the time. Nobody else.” If your voice holds a single mite of sentiment, it’s all but imperceptible to Taeyong, as is any emotion in your distant eyes which still refuse to meet his own.
“Nothing was working out for us in that year; all we really had was a handsome rookie, a jobless assistant and my notebook of drawings. Every company we approached had shunned us in less than a day. We were left broke, desperate, hopeless. I, for one, was ready to give up everything.” The memory plays in your mind as a series of blurred motions, your jaw clenching and chin raising slightly to keep a composed front. “But they both kept me going. They told me to never give up, no matter what. That-”
“Every cloud has a silver lining.”
It’s almost funny to hear those words falling from Taeyong’s mouth so naturally, but you nod, nonetheless.
“I had no choice but to keep moving forward; I couldn’t let them down so horribly. So, every night, by routine, I would sit by my window in my little box, and look out to Manhattan City, just hoping – praying – I’d make it there some day. Somehow.” You pause for a moment, taking another deep breath and gulping down the growing tightness in your throat.
“Look where I am now. It seems like I truly have made it…especially considering my own models are writing fake news behind my back.”
***
“Hel-”
“We just keep hitting those milestones, my friend. Luxe just received a retail offer we can’t deny! The biggest department store in the country wants to show your work off to the world!”
The voice that echoes from the speaker sounds awfully cheerful; an inflection belonging to a middle-aged man, though that’s all you’re able to gather as you mind draws question marks at his peculiar words. You’re quick to remind yourself that Taeyong must have, in fact, had a job prior to the one you’d given him, and assume that this Heechul guy must be one of his colleagues or associates of some kind.
You open your mouth to speak, but the man beats you to it.
“Taeyong, I’m gonna need you to make sure this article is as snappy as your Y/l/n-Jung scandal – no, even better than that.”
Your face contorts in bewilderment, eyebrows cinching tightly together and jaw falling ajar as a wave of anxious goosebumps shroud the skin of your arms. “What,” you whisper, just quiet enough for it pass as a breath of air as a tight pain begins to flare up like a wildfire in your chest.
Y/l/n-Jung scandal?
Taeyong’s…Y/l/n-Jung scandal?
“Boy, is Argent going to be in for a treat. And right before New York Fashion Week, too!”
Your heart plummets with a trembling exhale as the man guffaws heartily, your eyes growing wide and haphazard, flickering to every shiny surface of your office as if to search for some form of an honest, untainted truth.
“Remember, I want it finished by-”
You cut the call and the phone slips through your fingers, clattering loudly – threateningly – against the documents on your desk.
***
“It was you, wasn’t it?” You finally turn to face Taeyong, almost turning back straight away. “You wrote that article last month.”
The brown-haired man shifts sharply beside you in the grass, the sound akin to the harsh tearing of a paper while the sun burns its last blister into sky. You do nothing but view it through the blurring, wet sheen of your eyes, waiting and watching as it falls down and down and down, until all that testifies its existence are the furious scabs of pinks and oranges twisting among the deep azure.
“Y/n, I-” he starts, though his mouth falls dry of any placating words, unable to formulate a single coherent thought from underneath the growing thickness of his breath as you refuse to let a single emotion permeate through those clouded eyes.
“It makes me wonder just how foolish I’ve been all along,” you turn back to the field and force a hard, focused gaze back to the flower, unable to keep a seconds’ longer gaze on Taeyong without an impetuous tear slipping from your eye. “All that time, and all that energy…” And all that vulnerability. And all that trust. And all that love. “…wasted on a shameless man like you.”
It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but your cheeks begin to ache and burn with the salty streaks of water. You can’t seem to care for them being so openly on display. Taeyong has taken everything from you. What more are a few tears?
Taeyong follows the trail of water down your cheek. All he can do is turn away as that harrowing guilt sequestered deep within himself over the last few weeks, finally emerges at the surface, violent and strong and more forceful than ever. It peels at every nerve inside, eats away at all the confusion and the worry and every other emotion in between. It leaves nothing. Nothing but a dark, empty, shameful feeling in its wake.
This is the first time he has seen you this way. And it’s all his fault.
“How dare you defame me. How dare you take Jaehyun away from me, and how dare you have the nerve to show your face in my building and take advantage of my company. How dare you, Lee Taeyong.” Your words fall lifeless and heavy between the growing bile in your throat and endless glisten of water against your skin.
Two days of processing couldn’t possibly have prepared you for this moment.
You’d spent the first day mulling over what you’d heard from the call; there must surely have been some error on your part to hear such a shockingly absurd thing from Heechul. The second day was spent in worry; it was simply unfathomable that Taeyong – the very toast addict you’d hired all those weeks ago – could possibly have written such a false scandal. But it wasn’t until this very morning you’d found yourself as the fool who hadn’t bothered to check his employment history.
Journalist at Luxe Magazine LTD
And since then, you had only been hoping for a miracle. That Taeyong would show up to this field with his comforting presence, hold your hand in earnest, look you in the eye and fully deny your accusation because it’s simply too hasty and completely absurd.
But you realise now that it simply isn’t. That miracles are not an asset to be acquired so easily. Taeyong doesn’t hold your hand, and he doesn’t look you in the eye, and worst of all, he doesn’t make even the weakest, most deficient attempt to deny any one of your words.
So, you decide against speaking any more, allowing your hair to cling to the tear streaks along your neck and cheeks as you rise above the grass into a shifting halo of wind.
“Y/n-”
“Your money will be transacted after the show.”
You turn and the grass waves you farewell, clinging to your ankles in its ticklish murmur until you step out to the road where Charlie stands, his gloved hand clutching the open car door as you hide yourself inside. Regret eats away at you more and more ravenously as you silently view the brown head among the grass, watching with every choked gulp as it bows down into the green horizon.
You didn’t say everything you wanted to say.
You didn’t even say half of it.
Taeyong’s business at Argent was merely the tip of the iceberg. You should have yelled and screamed like your chest was aching you to. You should have told Taeyong exactly what he did, and exactly how he’d hurt you, regardless of anything else. How much pain you’re in to know that while you would have trusted him with every fibre in your being, he had slashed a gaping scar right where it would bleed the most, as if it were child’s play to him.
How you had loved him and how he had thrown it all away.
Betrayal is a fickle thing; a notion always just as deceiving as the betrayer themselves – or perhaps even more. Because in its very essence, betrayal is always supposed to feel like the worst wrong of a lifetime; the worst possible pain one can experience for years to come.
A week ago, Jaehyun was your betrayer, and that betrayal had felt so excruciating, you couldn’t have imagined anything worse than it.
Today, Taeyong stands in that betrayer’s place. Today, Jaehyun’s betrayal feels like nothing. Because today…
Today you had experienced the worst wrong of your lifetime.
The small stain on your coat grows larger by the second as your eyes blink in the shifting scenery, body welcoming the transition of rough road to smooth in the low buzz of 90’s classics scratching on the radio.
And you finally make your leave back to where you had started.
Toward loud tumble of city traffic and all the same vivid colours of moving billboards and weathered yellow taxies. Back to the place where you angle your head high and glimpse once more at the concrete jungle that once made up your every dream, every struggle and everything else in between.
XII. Omniscient Point of View
One fractured soul stands outside Argent building the next morning.
She arrives during the dark of the day, before the city rouses and catches its first glimpse of dawn, before the first light beyond the glass door has been lit. She tilts her head back and allows the wind to beat down against her skin, gaze trying to find the very tip of the building, but alas, the colossal structure seems to fade into the morning sable beyond the ninth storey or so.
This fractured soul plays her role in unlocking the polished doors – for, it must have been weeks since she’d last done so – and switching on the first light of the day to the empty silence of the lobby, her heels click once again for her own ears and nobody else’s. There isn’t a single hair to stray from her tight, unrelenting bun, its roots burning her scalp as if to deserve such a punishment for her lunacy.
She sits at her desk and buries her mind with yet another hoard of preparatory paperwork, an eye flickering to the clothing racks of assorted hues and silver every once in a while, as the first sun finds itself a halo on her cheeks. She watches it rise upon skyscrapers from the sweet haven of those four office walls, her stone-cold nature once again making its home in her heart, numbing her face and every other foolishly torn down wall.
Ten knocks at her door around midmorning for a clothing assessment. He knows of the day before’s happenings; she’d told him as soon as her bare feet met the cold tiles of her apartment floor. But he offers no words of solace, for he himself is at a loss, with a few too many unanswered questions roaming the inches of his mind. Ten doesn’t prod, rather watches her as she works.
Her hands hold the same magic, her voice is loud and clear as ever before, but she has seemed to have lost her spark – the very element that had set her aside from all others, the very reason he’d pushed her to never give up all those years ago. Today, she works a dull day in a robotic cadence, her eyes are blurred with the world’s darkest clouds, refusing to let the thunder clap, refusing to let any semblance of water fall.
Weakness is not her strength, Ten has long understood, and her strength might just as well be her biggest weakness. Feelings weren’t a feasible option if the next four days were to be a successful feat, and that is all she can remind herself of.
Perhaps a couple hours later, another soul finds himself standing outside Argent building the same morning, ashamed and afraid to step foot inside at all, for, crossing the glass threshold would only aggravate within him the blaring flame of all-consuming guilt and regret and shame.
He hadn’t expected to be standing here at all after the happenings of the day before, yet here he is, carrying his frame with an hours’ worth of stew-infested sleep. For, when Ten had called him this morning with a voice full of vacancy telling him to find his way back to Argent, this shameful soul knew it would only be another cruel and selfish act for him to walk away with only four days remaining before the show. Ousting was no feasible option.
He steps inside and readies himself for every constrained stare, every secretive whisper, all the tuts and silent taunts to mar the silvered walls. But he receives none; nothing except warm smiles and welcome eyes, amiable manner, and polite conversation.
She hadn’t told a single other person.
He catches but a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye, but doesn’t find the courage to do anything else. He regards her in the same way as Ten and finds her all too the same; rigid, lifeless, focused and unemotive in all senses. And it’s just like that – among the cheer of small accomplishments and Johnny’s at-last nods of approval – this shameful soul finds himself in a bout of repent, a slippery groove even the most agile-minded may never leave as soon as the hole was dug.
The distance between him and her is growing wider and wider with each minute; he can feel it. He feels it in her touch as she forces herself, one day, to adjust the cuff of his suit after another classical seam-slip; in the way her fingertips feel so foreign as they meet the skin of his wrist in detached brushes. He sees it in her averted gaze while fixing his collar once again. He feels it in her very absence of all other rooms he stands within.
But in the end of it all, he knows much too well that this – all of this; everything – is his own doing. He departs with this very notion at the cusp of sun fall, while she remains within the building, watching the growing darkness through her window, later turning off the final few lights and stepping out into the late hours of night.
Early morning, afternoon, evening, late night, the cycle continues as so for both of these souls; repeating, and repeating, and repeating, as if they knew no better than to let it continue in such a way.
They return to their dwellings each night only to find themselves stuck in the dark. With breaths heavy and eyes tired, their fluffed pillows encase their heads as they search for some way – any way – to find a single merciful speck of clarity among the blinding black. Left with themselves and a mere thought of the other, their minds prickle and prod with each one of their mistakes and each one of their utter regrets.
XIII. Nothing. Nothing At All.
“Y/n!”
Straight posture.
“Miss Y/l/n, look over here!”
Head down.
“Did Jaehyun really leave Argent for Qi Fashion Labels?”
Ignore the questions.
“Just one picture for us!”
Smile for every sixth camera.
“Tell us the name of your new model.”
And don’t. Stop. No matter. What.
Suits and ties – crisp and clean in nature – lavish gowns, cross-dressing trailblazers, scarves and sequins and diamonds and lipsticks of every size, make, shape and colour; here, was one of eight splendid evenings that confounded all the worlds’ fashion partisans to their very cores. Every new trend, whether vogue or wholly obsolete, every essence of haute cotoure and high-style, it was all birthed under and could be traced back to the single most grand title: New York Fashion Week. A beautifully elaborate and gaudy scene to breathe in among the ever-putrefying air of this city; to bear the hollers of shutterbugs alongside the rageful honking of cabs behind one’s shoulder.
Your feet fall heavy beneath the cool satin of your floor-length dress. One in front of the next, they step forward like clockwork along the red carpet that daubs the concrete pavement of the New Yorker Hotel, the very destination of tonight’s mystique. Your head rests level upon your shoulders, a kind of reserved smile adorning the gloss of your mouth. Violent flashes of camera lenses burn your skin aglow as you walk the familiar pathway between paparazzi who spill over the barricades on either side; blustering, clawing, and pushing each other in brutal competition, their hefty hunks of metal held ablaze if only to catch a mere glance of the spectacle that you are…or the spectacle that you appear to be in this very moment.
The epitome of talent, the very pinnacle of grace and beauty; compliments are thrown your way, left, right and centre, suspended around your frame that exudes its confident and assured glow to everyone except you.
Three steps, pose. Two steps, wave. One step, smile.
Oh, little do they know how deceiving such a smile could be. A time of such high regard merely jars you with the harsh anxieties and fretful sentiments of ‘what if?’.
Nervous. You feel terrifyingly nervous, and never had you felt such a thing since at least four full seasons ago, and it’s embittering to realise how shallowed your vigour has become over something as everchanging and facile as the media – even worse that you’d once sworn never to let such a thing happen.
Ten waits for you at the end of the red pathway, his hair sleeked, his body suited to a fault for the occasion, and his very being the only form of consolation among the anxious glamour enrapturing the venue. He smiles warmly as you approach him, cameras finally bygone in exchange for his assuring hand that guides you inside the hotel.
“Some crowd tonight,” he mutters, patting down the lapels of his blazer.
“Thank God.” A hefty breath escapes your lungs, relieved to find yourself under the roof of fresh lobby air that you now share with many other high-end designers – some well-known and some on the rise to their pedestals.
“We should probably make some rounds before heading inside to the catwalk. You know, chat it up with some other designers. Maybe Tom since he’s right before Argent.” Ten suggests, strolling mindlessly with you around the moderate bustle of celebrities, nodding politely to those who smile your way. “It might just make you feel better to have some company within your element.
“Who said I’m not already feeling better?” is your sharp riposte, followed by a momentary glance to Ten’s dubious glare.
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, holding a grand set of double doors open for you both to enter.
“Yes.” You raise your chin high, eyes sparkling in the shadowed lighting of the room and shimmering torches decorating the walls. “I am absolutely fine, and as my assistant, it’s in your very best interest to keep it that way. End of discussion.”
You glance around at the seating; half-filled with chattering patrons of neutral-toned clothing. Some hold small notebooks clasped between their hands that rest firmly on their crossed legs.
Critics.
“Okay, then,” Ten replies nonchalantly, tugging you toward a circle of A-list celebutantes surrounding a man in a sleek, black suit who holds a glass of bubbling champagne, “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I just-hello, Mr Ford! It is an utmost pleasure to meet you again.” Ten reaches a respectful hand out to the man, sparking a welcoming dialogue which you’re left to watch with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Now, I just need to head backstage for show prep; same old routine, you know how it goes. You wouldn’t mind entertaining this gorgeous handful for a minute, would you?”
You’re unsure whether an irked scowl or grateful thanks would be a suitable response to Ten pulling you forward, instead opting for a few clueless blinks and a slack jaw as he no sooner disappears behind a large black curtain at the far end of the large room.
Conversation nonetheless ensues smoothly with Tom, starting off with a congratulations and praise for each other’s work. It really turns out to be no surprise why this man is so successful and admired. Everything from his gesturing, his conduct and his fashion intellect falls nothing short of laudable. A few other designers join and leave the loop, and like Ten said, you do indeed find yourself significantly more relaxed to be in their like-minded company.
As the lights later dim for the Tom Ford segment, you bid farewell to the designers, deciding to break away backstage through the same black curtain, behind which the atmosphere takes a drastic turn. It’s nothing all that unexpected, really; simply the normal pandemonium of various models with perfected figures and faces – and a shoe too less, or some form of missing accessory – scurrying around with backstage assistants in tow. You walk down a hallway, dodging as much chaos as possible before finding a door pasted with Argent’s logo and pushing inside.
The chaos remains perhaps even to a higher degree as you watch the bustle of your models, subordinate designers, and make-up artists racing around the room. The clothing racks are almost empty, and it’s something that makes your heart swell with pride as the gravity of the moment begins to fully sink in.
“Oh, good, you’re here. I need a final assessment on some of these outfits, now hurry!” Johnny – quite the image with his hair a fluttered mess and his suit slightly rumpled – rushes over to you, grabbing your shoulders and leading you to a row of your models wearing their finalised ensemble of silvers, silks and cervelts. You remain surprisingly calm through it all, assisting wherever you’re needed and doing your best to settle nerves.
A loud knock no sooner echoes amidst the noise and a woman in a black uniform, donning an intercom headset and black clipboard appears at the dressing room doors.
“Argent Fashion Labels? Ten minutes until your segment. Please navigate all runway walkers backstage for the catwalk.”
The commotion grows louder as you send her a nod from across the room, a new kind of buzz arousing excited jitters and whooping as the models begin to file toward her. You stand on your toes, neck craned upward, watching all the extravagant outfits – your extravagant outfits – exit the door one by one. A small smile begins to form at your lips, only to be immediately torn away as a head turns back to meet your eyes from among the crowd.
And just like that, it’s as if all the cheering and clapping around you is suddenly zipped away from the world, the rapid thrumming of your heart now the only sound ringing loud and clear in your eardrums. There’s something indiscernible in the look that passes through his features, a split-second of…something, though you’re unable to tell exactly what. It always seemed to have been that way, you’ve slowly come to realise.
You gulp thickly, daring to hold his gaze for a second longer before averting your eyes elsewhere. And still, you can’t help but look back once again, but this time, Taeyong is gone with the crowd, somewhere along the bend with the lasting image of your desolate face engraved into his mind.
“Come on.”
You turn as a hand cups your shoulder from behind, met with Ten’s reassuring nod as he guides you out of the room and behind the wall of the catwalk.
“This is it,” you voice out quietly, eyes flickering to the first model, Karina, who stands just behind the runway entrance breathing in and out with closed eyes. She turns her head to you, smiling nervously, and you only smile back. But this time your smile finds you widely – hopingly, encouragingly. You whisper out a quiet, ‘you got this’, and in return her smile too, grows.
And then she’s off.
Freely and fleetingly, her feet land on the platform with self-assured glamour, the outfit from your sketchbook never having suited another person more than it does her in this very moment. She walks in time with the techno music; hips level, arms loose, expression poised, she stops, poses, turns, and finds her way back to the very head of the stage. As does the next model, and the next, and the next.
You watch it all tucked away behind the wall; every single one of your creations of the last year springing to a mirthful, beautiful life with every blink of the eye, click of a heel, drop of a beat. Some models walk with skilfully pocketed hands, some carry a bag on their shoulder, and some on their elbows. Every model has at least one form of nuance to them, but every single one of them wears a line of silver. One by one, they breeze out and in, past the devotees and the critics, through the feverish nerves and the anxious excitement. One by one, they make it through, there and back until only a final one remains to do them all their justice.
Taeyong doesn’t meet your eyes as he stands at the edge. He knows he wouldn’t be able to step out onto that shiny platform if he so much as took another selfish glimpse.
And he couldn’t do that to you.
It happens too fast; all too suddenly, much too overwhelmingly. So much so that it feels wrong that every one of your painstaking efforts – every sleepless night, every endured loss – amount so simply to the thirty seconds Taeyong spends on stage.
That was supposed to be Jaehyun.
Jaehyun should have been wearing that outfit, with his hair styled in the same gelled coif, walking on that long platform with camera shutters lighting up on his smooth complexion. Jaehyun should have been the one to halt at the foot and clench his jaw if only to maintain what little of his composure he had left. Jaehyun should have been the one to walk back and finally look you in the eye with all the world’s anguish and remorse, hoping to see an ounce of emotion in those eyes of yours, only to find nothing.
Nothing at all.
And when you later walk out onto that long, star-studded stage for your lasting impression, you suddenly find yourself confused and unwilling to concede all at once. You link arms with the models on either side of you and take your well-deserved bow for the audience, knowing full well that this is where another season meets its close.
You take in the standing ovation with a vacantly present smile, but you don’t breathe in any of it like you once remember doing. You look at the cameras and the reluctant simpering of critics, but you don’t truly see them in the way that you once you did. You walk off that stage and wish a congratulations to every person you couldn’t have done this all without. But every praise, every compliment; it all falls from an empty place within you.
In Ten’s suggestion of “keeping face,” you find yourself standing at the cusp of midnight at the venue of the after party. You’re in an entirely different place with a flute of sparkling champagne poured by none other than Alex Wang himself resting in the tips of your fingers. Only, the flute remains unkissed, no lipstick stain to fashion on the shiny glassware.
In somewhat of a stupor, you watch the world as it revolves around you in a kaleidoscope of slow and fast motions, standing amidst the glitzed lights, lost in the place you’d once always called paradise. The place you were supposed to know like the back of your hand. Multitudes of bodies blur and manifest before your eyes, shifting like phantoms in disguise. Doused in glitter and endless waves of net, every celebrity stands anew in their dresses and suits - not nearly as casually unwearable as the pieces from the catwalk, but still extravagant nonetheless - all perfectly suited for a night of folly amid the pounding music and blaring lasers.
Still as a robot, you smile at your conversationalists as if it were programmed into your muscles. You smile until it stops hurting, until you feel numb and until you just can’t take it anymore.
And when you leave and you later lay yourself down on the soft mattress of your bed, ridden of any blinding lights or fabricated clothing; as you blink once again at the empty ceiling of your apartment, you can’t help but feel completely, and utterly alone.
You’d sworn it would feel exhilarating. You’d sworn to make it exhilarating for yourself. But the truth finally surrenders in the form of all the uncontrolled tears that roll agonisingly down your cheeks, staining your neck and expanding the chill on your pillow.
This was not how anything was supposed to happen. Nothing was supposed to turn out this way.
But you were aching and there was nothing you could do about it except finally, finally, allow yourself to cry. To let every pent-up emotion out of your tired system. And nothing could have felt more natural than doing so while being stuck amid the motions of such a false and fabricated world.
─── ⪧ ⪦ ───
Taeyong looks down to the little scruff of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled in haste and the words ‘call me’ sitting right beside them. He doesn’t know how or when the paper had found itself in the sweaty creases of his palm, but he has no intention of investigating further, ripping it up once, twice, three times, and watching it fall to the ground with the shiny confetti that flutters around his throbbing head.
A glass bottle – perhaps his fourth of the late hour – sits loosely in his other hand, ready to drop and shatter as its contents sit bitterly in his mouth, burning his throat with each heavy gulp. Crowds of models brush suggestively at his sides, some subtle and others not as much, but their efforts fall futile as the dark-haired man of interest simply blinks out to some faraway place at the after-party venue. As if searching for the one he truly wished to find among the crowd.
When he’s convinced that you’re not there hidden somewhere among the shadows, Taeyong simply turns around, back turned to the blinding disco lights, and exits the party. His business there and everywhere else in the damned industry was done; he’d walked the runway, finished his job, and there simply was nothing more left for him to do now.
He leaves with weighted limbs and a fogged mind, no knowledge of how he later ends up seated in the chair of his home office. He still wears the same suit he’d shown off to the world mere hours ago, but his make-up is now smudged, hair a dishevelled muss, breaths heavily intoxicated and eyes shallowed and heavy as he opens his laptop, glaring at the document that had sent everything crashing to the ground.
Taeyong doesn’t think twice – doesn’t care for the wall clock that reads an atrocious hour of the AM – as his fingers firmly clutch his phone, dialling a number he should have dialled much too long ago.
It takes no less than three rings for a groggy voice to emerge from the speaker, but he cuts it off immediately with a breathy whisper of:
“I can’t do it.”
The words are as quiet as the dark room around him, as still as the cool air.
“Heechul, I can’t submit the article.”
“What are you talking about, boy?” Heechul scoffs quietly – threateningly – though there seems to be some form of panic to his voice. “Do you even realise what this means for you? What this means for your money-”
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY ANYMORE!” Taeyong roars into the speaker, every ounce of composure lost with the furious rise and fall of his chest, tears of anger beginning to blur his vision. “This is her career we’re putting on the line! Her entire life. Everything she’s worked for. And for what? Another godforsaken article to tear it all down?”
It’s almost as if Taeyong speaks to himself through the phone; finally voicing the truth as it so blatantly exists.
“I don’t care-” His voice drops to a broken sob, “-about the money anymore. I just-I can’t do it.”
A heavy pause welcomes the hot trickle of water to his cheeks, a pathway glistening with the blue light in front of him.
“You really are your father’s son,” comes Heechul’s cold voice in the dark. “Always getting too caught up in your subjects. Too personal. Weak and cowardly.”
“What the hell are you saying?” Taeyong seethes, teeth and jaw clenching furiously.
“How do you think he ended up with your mother of all people?”
The venom in Heechul’s voice is clear and his words all too obviously spiteful. For what reason, Taeyong doesn’t know, nor does he have any desire to as his thumb cuts the call without another lasting word.
His eyes, wet with dark streaks of flecked eyeliner, flicker back to his laptop; to the words he’d forced onto the white page that had breached and bled onto his dignity. His hands find his mouse, and he clicks down, dragging the cursor through the words, line by line, every letter drowning in a blue highlight only to disappear with a single press of the backspace button.
A blank document was where it all started, and a black document is where it all ends.
His eyes fall shut with this final thought, only opening to the bright halo of mid-afternoon sun the next day, head resting sideways on a stiff elbow. He hauls his body up, downs a pill for his headache and accepts the pelting water from the nozzle of his shower, all accompanied by the numbing nothingness of his mind. A coat, a scarf, a beanie, and a tinkling pair of keys are all that accompany Taeyong as he later steps outside his apartment, down the streets and among the noise of the city. He buries his face in the warm fabric around his neck and pulls his hat atop the tips of his ears, glancing out to the pedestrians and vehicles along the roads, the billboards and the buskers and everything else that he hadn’t before taken the time of day to notice and appreciate. It wasn’t often that he’d found himself walking on his own two feet among this tall wilderness of glass and concrete; it wasn’t particularly his of choice of scene. But now, with the icy wind flowing through his lashes, Taeyong feels a sort of silent beauty amid the stereotypical chaos. It’s something subdued, almost impalpable, present in the artwork hidden in the coolness of alleyways, the sky’s reflection upon the buildings, and in the simple workings of the city itself.
Somewhere along his solitary way, he passes a newsagency flanked at its front with rows and rows of glossed booklets. Some display you, Y/n Y/l/n, Head of Argent Fashion Labels, bowing at the show from the previous night.
Many others display him, but no longer just his face.
MEET LEE TAEYONG, THE FASHION FRAUD OF THE DECADE
Argent Fashion Labels’ new model exposed as the anonymous writer behind the Y/l/n-Jung scandal
Taeyong picks up the magazine and inspects every inch of the paper, spotting Kim Heechul in a tiny font just beneath the bold typewrite. He doesn’t turn a single page, just eyes the man on the front cover with a longing so painful and deep, wishing that man hadn’t been so blind and foolish. If only not merely for his own sake, but for everything he had put you through since the day you’d first locked eyes.
Taeyong places the magazine back down, not bothering to pay for a copy, and decides to return home. As he once again seats himself at his desk, he feels a sort of enlightenment, as if he were now free of some form of a suffocation that he hadn’t realised had been there all along.
He opens his laptop to be met with the same blank document from the night before, fingers brushing lightly over the keys.
XIV. Okay?
It’s almost laughable how often the past repeats itself. Recycling old scenarios, emotions, and situations all for meticulous use in the present.
Ten finds himself the subject of such a phenomenon once again; standing outside your large office doors and peeking through the tiny crack, watching you in your current preoccupations of planning out Argent’s spring-summer line for the next season. A sudden wave of déjà vu reminds him that those dead-set features of yours really haven’t changed in the long time he’s known you. Still so passionate, and still so mystical. But there was now something different about you.
The weather had slowly begun to bleed into the supple hands of spring and with it, you too seemed to have thawed on the outside; now less austere in manner and more permissive to those around you. A month had come and gone since the success that was New York Fashion Week, and the tabloids – though ever-present in Argent’s business – were once again beginning to mute themselves for the time being. Now that the heavy preparations were over and the competition was down, you’d found a well-recommended model by the name of Lee Jeno, and he’d taken over the top model position with much fulfilling ease. He was almost too perfect for the job, things seemed to have settled back into a comforting routine, and much to everyone’s surprise, you often smiled.
But Ten could see past it, knowing all too well it was all just another façade of yours; that while each of your smiles came from a well-intended place, they did not resonate with you at all. He knew that from within, you only grew more fervently frigid and harsh with yourself, if only to never again commit the mistakes that you had in the early months of the year. Ten knows that all along you’ve been hurt by someone you’d invested far too much trust in. That along the way, you’d lost a certain part of yourself to a man that had made you feel alive in a way you’d never felt before.
He looks down nervously now to the clipboard held to his chest, jumping as your voice comes from behind the door.
“What is it, Ten?”
Sighing, he pushes forward into your office, gnawing at the inside of his cheek while eyeing you nervously. He can see just how much of an affect Taeyong has had on you, even now. How you’d picked up on those little habits of his and adopted them as your own, from the slight humour in your witty remarks, to the quirk that now seems to find your eyebrow. You weren’t even aware of it, but it seemed that Taeyong was now an unshakeable force in your life.
“What?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, please don’t tell me there’s another delay in the fabric delivery. I spent three hours on the phone with them yesterday just to make sure that-”
“Y/n,” Ten interrupts you, taking a deep breath and stepping closer to you.
“What?” You snap, impatient and confused by his sudden anxiousness.
“This,” he unclips a magazine from his clipboard and places it on your desk, sliding it in front of you, “just got published today.”
You pick up the book with an apathetic expression and scan over the front cover, only for your brows to crease while reading over the bold text.
JOURNALIST LEE TAEYONG FINALLY EMERGES FROM THE DARK-
“No,” you hold the magazine out to Ten and look away, refusing to read any further. “I don’t want to see it.”
“Y/n-”
“No, Ten.”
“Just read it, for God’s sake!” he yells, slamming the magazine down on your desk and opening it to a double page.
Your eyes widen at you look up at Ten, blinking in shock of his furrowed expression and angry tone. It was rare for him to raise his voice with you unless the matter was urgent, so you find yourself in a bout of hesitation.
“Why?” Comes your voice in the tense silence. “Why should I read this?”
“You just have to trust me when I say you’ll want to,” Ten replies, now soft again.
You take in a deep breath through your nose, unsure what to expect from the article given the sincerity in Ten’s voice, and hesitantly look down to the spread pages.
~
There is no short or easy way for me to say this, but it must be said.
I do not write this letter for the appeasement of anyone, nor for any sympathy, and I do not expect or wish for anybody to take my side. My side is unjustifiable. I write this letter in hopes of delivering the truth, and the truth only, regarding my recent involvement with Y/n Y/l/n and Argent Fashion Labels.
My name is Lee Taeyong. Most of you now know me as the anonymous writer of the Y/l/n-Jung scandal, or the fraudulent model who entered Argent Fashion Labels as a gossip spy. Perhaps even both. These claims are not wrong, and I am here to address them in their utmost verity.
The truth is, I am no model. I am a journalist who, in the past, worked under the editorial division of Luxe Magazines LTD in Manhattan city. In my job, I was well-approved, highly acclaimed and lucrative to the firm. These were unfortunately the materialistic qualities under which I thrived. In the event of being offered a celebrity scandal headline, I jumped without rational thought, and wrote a false and misleading article about a non-existent love affair between Y/n Y/l/n and Jung Jaehyun.
I must clarify that they were not, in any way, intimately involved with each other. I did not check the hard facts, and for this I am deeply sorry to them both. I must further clarify that Jung Jaehyun is innocent, and I take full responsibility for his departure from Argent Fashion Labels, as well as the losses suffered by both parties as a result of this.
Regarding my temporary employment under Argent; there are no words that can justify my actions. It has taken me a great deal of disillusionment and self-reflection to understand the gravity of my intentions when entering the position. It is not Argent’s fault in scouting me, but mine for accepting the offer and intruding on my rights and responsibilities.
I will be transparent in saying I was to write another article; this time to ‘debunk’ Argent as a whole company. Initially, I thought it would be an easy task. And while I must concede that there were external forces at play, I was in no case, justified to continue with knowledge of the consequences.
But in wake of all this, I cannot bring myself to regret the time I had spent at Argent. I had thrust myself into a new environment; it was a dizzying and expeditious experience at first. I was ready to quit the job as soon as I started.
But dare I say, I’m glad I didn’t quit, because it was these experiences, the people, the friendly faces all working toward a common goal and the connections I had made through them. All of it changed who I am and what I stand for. Everything at Argent was a massive challenge. I would have expected no less from a world-class fashion label. But it changed me.
In the end, I had chosen not to publish the second article, because I no longer cared for all my previous qualities. It didn’t matter to me how well-approved or highly acclaimed or lucrative of a person I was.
But I was too late in realising this. Consequently, I have wronged many people; in doing so, relinquished the trust they had in me, and for this, I will forever repent. I was a coward who chose to sacrifice not only his own honour, but the honour of Y/n Y/l/n.
I am at fault, and she is not. She is innocent in all regards.
I am so, so sorry for all the trouble I put her through. I am very deeply sorry for all the effort and the time, all the hours and all the energy she had spent in me.
To the tabloids, the paparazzi and all celebrity gossip agencies out there: Y/n Y/l/n is not the person you think she is. She isn’t the fashion industry’s monster. She isn’t a hot-headed, unappeasable snob. And she is certainly not a bitch.
Once again, I am not looking for approval or sympathy from the public eye. But please, if there is anybody to target for the matters discussed, it is only me.
With each of these words, I need nobody to believe me except one person.
I am sorry.
~
Your lips part as your eyes read over the last three words over and over again, gulping through the emerging mixture of emotions that gather in your mind.
“He didn’t accept the transaction,” Ten murmurs softly, now seated on one of the sofas.
You can’t seem to do anything else but blink, breaths growing shallow. “He…he…” you try to formulate words, though they don’t come out, “why didn’t he-”
“I think you know why,” Ten whispers, a solemn look in his eyes.
Why?
Was it because Taeyong had taken pity on you? Or was it because he decided to take the moral high road? Was it because he wanted to save his own face? Or was he truly, deeply sorry?
“I-” You stand up abruptly, “I need to go see him, Ten.”
You really hope he is truly, deeply sorry, and you have no choice but to find out.
Ten stands up with you, surprise evident on his features. “Wait, what-now?”
“Yes, now!” You look around frantically, before pausing. “Wait but…where would he be?”
“Are you really asking me that right now?” Ten raises his eyebrow.
“Ten, this is serious, tell me!”
“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up in the air, starting to panic along with you. “Like, his house, or-or the field maybe, or-”
You gasp quietly.
“What?” Ten asks, oblivious.
“Ten,” you call to him softly, grabbing your purse and walking to the couches.
“What-oh.” He asks again, only for you to lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” you give him a small smile, “for everything.”
He blinks. “O-okay.”
With a single nod, you turn on your heel and scurry toward your door.
“Wait, woman, your coat!” Ten yells, jogging to your coat hanger and tossing your trench to you.
“Thank you!” you yell back, leaving Ten standing in your office among the silent echo of the doors that swing shut behind you, stunned with his hand still holding the cheek that you’d somehow kissed.
“Uhhh, okay,” he speaks to himself, though it sounds more like a question than a statement. “Okay,” Ten chuckles once again, reaching back for his clipboard before clearing his throat with a curt nod.
“Okay,” he says once more, before exiting your office with a growing smile.
XV. Une Doublure D'argent
The world truly is a lonely, lonely place. You ought to have learnt exactly that, if nothing else in amongst the tumultuous waves that make you up. Now, it is not the barren, desolate land that you compare to the city, but the solitary nature of your surroundings that reminds you of it. In the end, you realise that everything stands for itself. Each blade of grass is merely its own blade of grass. Each skyscraper is, in itself, its own skyscraper.
The notion finds you as you once again make the journey from the city to the countryside, this time in your own car, with the wheel sliding under each palm of your hands. From where such an epiphany had suddenly manifested, you have absolutely no idea. You simply allow your mind to drift in whichever direction, feeling the enormous space all around you as the road cuts into broad, green plains beneath the cloudy sky.
It seems all the radios know how to play these days are renditions of the same smooth jazz, but you let the speakers echo as they please, too busy with looking around and trying to remember the exact place you’d sat in among this maze of greenery.
Now that you really think about it, what you’re doing right now is absolutely ridiculous; something your past self never would have envisioned you doing in the future, because why would he be here of all places?
“A mess,” you mutter to yourself, “I’m just a big, fat me-”
Your foot slams down on the breaks as a dark head of hair emerges from the thick bed of grass on your left, yet another solitary figure hidden among the scene before you. Parking the car, you merely sit behind your window and watch him for a minute, noting the familiar way his locks shift in the breeze, some straying from the rest. And contrary to what you’d anticipated, such a view is oddly settling to take in. When the head disappears among the field again, you sigh, retrieving your bag and exiting the car to find a bicycle laying down outside the entrance of the same beaten down dirt path. You once again walk through it, welcomed ever so delicately by the pasture flanking its sides.
You reach into your bag, pulling out the magazine spread and approach the man lying down on his coat.
“What is this?” You make no haste in voicing your words, holding the article over Taeyong’s face and forcing yourself to ignore the flutter of goosebumps that arise on your skin as his eyes flutter open...
And then flutter back shut again.
“Excuse me?” You tilt your head, scoffing in disbelief. This was anything but the reaction you had been expecting.
“Hello?”
Still no response.
“Taeyon-”
“I thought you were smart, Y/n.”
His words catch you off-guard, eyebrows scrunching.
“Do you hear yourself right now?”
He simply hums in apathy, bringing a forearm to cover his still closed eyes to which you scowl in frustration, suddenly compelled to jab your boot into his side.
“Ow! What do you-”
“Taeyong, what is this?” you repeat yourself, shaking the magazine in your hand. “Tell me clearly what this is.”
He sighs, sitting up with a quiet rustle and combing a hand through his hair.
“Well, did you read the headline, or…”
You simply scoff once again, an irked smile finding your face as you turn around to leave.
“Wait.”
Taeyong catches your wrist from his spot on the ground, stopping you before you can take another step away from him, and you curse under your breath for the shiver that trickles through your body. His grip is so tight and unrelenting that you have no choice but to evade all thought of trying to shake it off. Reluctantly, you turn back to him, trying to level your breathing as his eyes meet your own.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he speaks softly, the wind carrying his voice with its echo as he peers up at you. “I couldn’t just leave without telling the truth…even if it had to be after a month.”
You take in his words with a growing frown, and just like that, everything you had planned to tell him – every single rehearsed sentence from your monologue of emotions – fades from the tip of your tongue, forgotten in the dry of your throat as you gulp, and without another thought, step forward and lower yourself down to the ground beside him. Minutes are spent thereafter in the silence of the outside, looking out to the grey sky with empty eyes. But within your mind roam a tangled, blundering string of ineffable thoughts, none of which you can seem to comprehend yourself.
“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Taeyong asks defeatedly.
“I’m giving you two minutes to explain everything that happened – and I mean, everything,” you blurt out, refusing to look at him until everything had been laid out properly in the open. You need all the answers before you can make any drastic considerations.
Taeyong sighs and you catch a small nod from him in your periphery. He begins with the first scandal, repeating everything he had written in the article that rests in your hand; how he’d genuinely believed it to be true, and failed to check the truth behind the dating rumours. Next came his modelling proposal, how, back in January, he’d accepted Ten’s offer at his frequented coffee shop and later found out it was a job for Argent. Then he explained Heechul’s offer of going undercover.
“Heechul,” you interrupt Taeyong, now all too familiar with the name. “He’s your boss?”
“Not anymore,” Taeyong sighs.
“You left your job?”
“More like I was fired, but I guess you could put it that way.”
“So, Heechul is the one who asked you to write another article? To debunk Argent?” you continue, “and you agreed?”
“Yes,” Taeyong replies, a hesitancy in his voice, unsure of what to expect from your reaction.
“Okay,” you nod, spurning any emotion from seeping into your features, “continue.”
And he does. And his words exceed far longer than the two-minute time slot you’d initially granted him, but you don’t move from your spot, nor do you attempt to stop Taeyong as the whole truth finally spills from his lips with the blooming emergence of dusk.
You gather that he’d written the majority of the debunking article in the first week or so of employment at Argent.
“…but when you told me the truth about the dating scandal, I was ready to drop everything and leave,” he pauses. “But then again, I couldn’t just do that to you. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I left, you’d have no model and I’d feel guilty. If I stayed, I’d still feel guilty, but I figured that the least I could do in that situation was help you…as ironic as it sounds.”
You sigh in deep vanquish, unsure what to make of his words or how to feel about his overall intentions.
“I actually forgot about the article after that day because I genuinely took on the role,” Taeyong adds with a small voice, and it only serves to muddle your thoughts up even more. On one hand, he’d defamed you, driven Jaehyun to leave Argent and join another fashion label, and then proceeded to romance you all while writing another article behind your back. But on the other hand, instead of leaving, Taeyong had stayed with you for an entire month, kept up with his modelling duties, walked the runway at New York Fashion Week, and maybe – just maybe – given you a sense of enjoyment while doing so.
“I deleted the article on the night of the show and called Heechul to tell him I couldn’t submit it. Then he fired me and released an exposé article the next day.”
“And you didn’t accept the money either,” you murmur from beside Taeyong and he shakes his head. “And then you released this article a month later,” you hold up the magazine, “just out of the blue.”
And he nods.
And you nod back.
And then, looking out once again toward the silence of the field, your brows furrow with a lingering thought.
“Why did you do it in public?” you ask quietly, a spark of anger beginning to brew inside you. “Why did you have to release an article in the first place? Why couldn’t you have just come to me yourself?”
“I already told you, I had to tell the truth-”
“But why didn’t you come to me?”
Trying your hardest to stabilise your breathing, you turn to Taeyong, immediately shivering with another unsolicited prickle of goosebumps at the mere sight of him. You’re adamant on knowing the reasoning behind his drastic actions, unwilling to believe that everything that you had built with him – everything he’d done with you – was simply just an act.
Taeyong has to pause at your question, expression tensing as he inhales deeply, searching for the answer which is surprisingly hard to pinpoint.
“I couldn’t-” he sighs sharply, “I couldn’t bear to face you after everything I did. I was ashamed.”
“And you weren’t ashamed that night?” you dare to ask, facing forward again with a shaky breath.
Taeyong knows exactly which night you’re referring to. He’d gone through a month of deep rumination, but nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared him for the striking pain in his chest when he finally turns to your downcast figure staring toward the sky with a doleful look in your beautiful, but incredibly sorrowful features. The only other time he’d seen you in such a genuine sadness was the very first time he’d taken you out to this place; when you’d voiced every one of your worries and he’d listened to them all. When he’d let you believe that you had his trust.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ashamed in my life,” he whispers, turning to face his lap, completely heartbroken to have brought this all upon you.
“I just needed you to say something back then; anything…” you begin, voice breaking without any idea of where your mind is leading it, “…but you just disappeared without a word.”
You turn back to him, your own heart breaking at the genuine remorse present in every inch of his expression. In the drained depths of his eyes, and the shadowed bags just beneath them. In every crack on the pink of his lips and the very wilt of its frown.
“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he whispers, his helpless gaze focused right on your own, “I’m so, so sorry.”
You’re forced to close your eyes with a pained, shaky breath.
It truly is a lonely, lonely world. You haven’t always had someone to lean on in every moment of needful solitude, but you had just so happened to find Taeyong months ago, in one of your biggest moments of need yet.
It doesn’t seem to matter under which context he’d come; all that matters now is the fact that he’d been there for you. And it dawns on you just how much your life had been riding on this man after you’d met him. No matter your feelings toward the notion, because for once, you didn’t have control, and it didn’t matter whether you liked it or not. Your input had not a single ounce of weightage in the grand picture when you were around Taeyong.
In his presence, things had felt as natural as this field, and as effortless as merely existing here in the tall grass. You’d found yourself caring less and less for inhibitions, letting go, turning away from all the nasty what-ifs that make up everything the world hates about you. Slipping up here and there…it had started to feel okay. And it was all because of him.
He was your anchor in a time of great need.
The fact still remains that his initial motives were flawed and his silent departure equally as painful. And it still hurts that you’ve had to find him yourself even now, hidden in this field without any direction or prospect for his future.
But all of that pain dulls in comparison to the pain you feel while looking into his eyes right now.
This has all been painful for you. But it must have also been so painful for him.
You’ve searched within the confines of your thawing heart and found something of a crackling hope amid the fire of betrayal, thinking that maybe Taeyong deserves the benefit of the doubt. That maybe somewhere along the way, his original motives had lost their significance. That it couldn’t have been easy for him to write that letter about himself. That he wouldn’t have put himself through the trouble of public scrutiny were he not a changed person.
Maybe you’re a fool for thinking that way, maybe you’re just selfish. But you can’t face the other way now, and there’s only one apparent reason why.
“It’s not okay,” finally comes your reply, voice as airy and soft as the wind. “And I thought I needed more from you, because you really, really hurt me, Taeyong. And I wish so much that I could hate you for it but,” you pause, lifting a hand to cup his face, “but all I needed was an apology, because that’s all anyone ever needs from the person they love.”
You really thought you needed more from him.
But you love him.
You love Lee Taeyong.
And all you really needed was a sincere apology.
You feel Taeyong’s cold hand find your own face, warming against your skin. He brings your forehead to gently meet his own, soft whispers of “I’m sorry” melting repeatedly against your cheeks, soothed by the feathered stroke of his thumb. “I love you too, Y/n, I’m so sorry,”
You pull back just enough to find his eyes once again.
“I forgive you.”
And Taeyong pulls you back to him, your body now encased in the haven of his arms like never before as his face finds a home in the warmth of your neck, refusing to let you go when he hears the soft sniffles on his shoulder.
“Don’t cry,” he breathes, holding you tighter. “Please don’t cry, Y/n.”
“You don’t think I’m a bitch,” you mumble into his coat.
“Of course you’re not.” Taeyong unwinds his arms from you, gently wiping your tears while looking you in the eye. “God, fuck no.” His words pull a small chuckle from you and Taeyong doesn’t think anything has ever sounded as sweet as your smile, nothing has ever felt as nice as your fingers in his own, or as comforting as the mere thought that you were here with him once again. That you loved him despite all his flaws and mistakes.
“I have something for you,” you untuck yourself from his arms and reach back into your handbag, lifting your hand back out in a fist and bringing it in front of Taeyong. He eyes you with something of a knowing smile and slowly uncurls your fingers, revealing the round box of strawberry lip balm he’d given you months ago.
“But it’s yours,” he mumbles as you slide the box into his hand.
“You need it more than I do,” you grin coyly, and Taeyong can only shake his head in adoration while unscrewing the lid to find it half empty since the last time he’d used it, applying the balm to his lips as you once again reach back into your bag.
He looks up as a loud rumble resounds throughout the sky, the grey clouds having grown darker with the evening, shifting and whispering among each other with a newfound purpose ready to be fulfilled.
You raise your hands up to the sky from beside him, and Taeyong turns to you curiously, his gaze following your arm to the silver strip of fabric pinched between your fingers, shimmering with infinite hope in front of the looming clouds. You turn to Taeyong, a soft smile forming at your lips as you regard him with all the world’s sincerity in your eyes; the one thing so certain in his greatest moment of uncertainty.
A silver lining to his darkest clouds.
“Don’t forget it.”
Reaching out to him, you hold Taeyong’s hand tightly with the fabric clasped warmly between both of your palms. And as you bring his hand to your mouth and plant a gentle kiss to his skin, Taeyong finds a certain comfort in the softness of your lips; how they’re no longer chapped as they once were, and how they beam up at him so beautifully.
“Don’t ever forget it.”
finis
© jaetaimjadore, 2022, all rights reserved
#lee taeyong fanfiction#taeyong fanfiction#taeyong fanfic#lee taeyong fanfic#kflixnet#klibrary#ankathia#nct 127 angst#nct angst#taeyongnw#neoturtles#taeyong angst#taeyong fluff#taeyong x reader#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 fanfiction#nct 127 fanfic#nct scenarios#fic: doublure d’argent
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♪ 02:27AM — YOON JEONGHAN
starring…jeonghan x gn!reader | villian × hero!au
genre...romance, fluff, comedy? a bit angst
warnings…small angst at the end
w.c...0.3k
ratings...sfw
a.n...100 followers special! i had to make this a special because i just LOVE LOVE LOVE villian and hero aus.
"okay okay, I'm coming. stop banging the door, it's going to break."
"who knocks on people's door during midnight when you're supposed to be in bed?" jeonghan grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled his way to get the door.
"again?" jeonghan wasn't wide awake but he knew who was at his front doorway, he knew it all too well. it was you, the ol' "scary" villian everyone projects you to be.
"what do you mean, again? excuse you, this was only the...2...4...6...well counting this one so 7..well the 7th time i came to your doorstep so don't be dramatic." you spoke and jeonghan sighed in disbelief, dragging his face with his palm.
"mhm, so what brings you here? at my doorstep?"
"i need...what i need is..help"
"yeah, I'll wait for the magic word as you bleed."
"fine, please." you scoffed at him and he laughed at you. pretty sure no one can laugh at you but for some reason, you didn't mind his laughing.
"come on in, madam" he looked at you cheekily and pushed his face hard. you sat on the sofa, still in pain at that as you waited for jeonghan to get the first aid kit
"here. a cup of black coffee like usual?"
"with milk today because im craving for milk"
"what are you? a toddler?" he joked around as he made your coffee. you rolled your eyes and continued patching up your wound.
just in time, jeonghan handed you your coffee. "so, I'd like to know a few things, two things to be exact." jeonghan uttered as he crossed his arms.
"what?"
"why were you wounded and why did you come here."
"I'm not telling you the first part but the latter, you do realise you're the only one who doesn't try to kill me even when I'm literally in front of you, right?" you looked away and stared at the window.
"there wasn't a reason to."
jeonghan sighed as he stood up, looking awfully upset but you didn't know why. he walked to the door of his room but stopped there.
"you know, today could've been marked as our 1 year anniversary if you never left."
unedited -- wrote this at 2am tyvm
#kflixnet#klibrary#k radio!#k labels#seventeen imagines#seventeen#jeonghan#jeonghan imagines#jeonghan x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios
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in the pink
PAIRING: fem!reader x bf!Johnny
GENRE: fluff, smut, established relationship!au
SUMMARY: What’s it like when you're in a lingerie store with your boyfriend?
WC: 3.1k
⚠️ WARNING(S): language, mentions of public sex, explicit smut, dom!johnny, oral (fem receiving), fingering, nipple play (do let me know if i’ve missed any!)
A/N: For the anon who sent in that VS ask — thanks for sending it in and your patience!! Smut isn’t my strongest when it comes to writing, but I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I hope this is somewhat a decent and enjoyable read. As always, thank you for reading 🥰
“JOHNNY!” exclaiming your boyfriend’s name excitedly, smacking his arm with a Kakao Apeach plushie repeatedly to get his attention as you both are walking around in the mall.
Johnny has often mentioned that you remind him of Apeach because you had a playful and flirty personality, just like the character. He had miraculously won the plushie at a claw machine, only in one go. Unlike the other 20 times, you tried your shot at it. He must have a magic touch.
“What? What?!” Johnny asks, looking at you, feeling baffled at your actions.
He watches how your face lights up. Your eyes sparkle at what you’re staring at before quickly dragging Johnny towards what you have your target on.
“Oh.” realising where you were dragging him towards.
‘VICTORIA’S SECRET - THE SEMI-ANNUAL SALE - UP TO 50% off IN-STORE NOW!’
Johnny smirks and raises an eyebrow as he watches you pull him into the store.
That massive ‘50% off’ on the window really caught your eyes, so you decided to have a snoop around.
See, the thing is, you would think that your boyfriend would be cluelessly following behind you, being bored out of his mind and forever wondering when he can get out of here. But Johnny actually enjoys going into stores like this with you.
Why?
Because he loves to imagine how you would look in all these gorgeous and sexy lingerie. It keeps him entertained.
Plus, he uses it as an opportunity to note down the lingerie you have your eyes on so he can one day buy it and gift it to you as a surprise. And see you wearing it for him, of course.
The only downside to this is that when he has those thoughts, he gets really horny a lot of the time. This meant having to cut your shopping trip short because your goddamn boyfriend can’t keep his hands off you and to himself.
Like the time when Johnny was being extra touchy and kept whispering dirty things to you, which made you horny as well. Neither of you had the patience to drive home, so you grabbed a smoking hot lingerie set Johnny wanted on you, dragged him to the changing rooms, and, well, things got hot.
Really, really hot.
Today, things seem to be under control. At least for now.
You came across a couple of new perfumes on display and sprayed them on little tester cards they had. The last one you sprayed really caught your senses, and you were starting to fall in love with this particular one.
“Ooh, Johnny, what do you think of this-” turning around, wanting to get his opinion on it.
However, Johnny was nowhere to be seen. Confusion spread across your face as you glanced around to see where the heck he wandered off to.
You thought your boyfriend was behind you until you heard a familiar voice call out to you from the other side of the store.
“Y/N! BABY!!”
All sounds of chatter disappear, and the only thing you can hear is the song playing on the speakers. Everyone turns their heads towards the direction where Johnny’s looking at you.
Your eyes are about to pop out as you see your boyfriend holding up probably the sexiest and most provocative red lingerie you have ever seen. He was waving it around and pointing at it with the most mischievous expression, signalling to you that he likes this one.
“Oh. My. God.” you mutter to yourself.
At that moment, you swear you just wanted to dig and bury yourself in a hole.
Your face heated up tremendously like a bright red tomato. You were so embarrassed; you’re pretty sure you’ve never been this embarrassed in your entire life.
You quickly dash to where Johnny was. Excusing yourself through several people as you kept your head down, avoiding people’s gaze at you as you can hear light giggles around you.
As soon as you reach Johnny, you shove his arm down that was still holding the lingerie and playfully smack his chest, looking at him with blush red cheeks and furrowed brows.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
Still looking at your boyfriend, you fold your arms and raise an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”
When they say that looks can kill, the one you have on right now is the one to do that.
“Nothing caught your eye yet, babe?”
You shake your head. “No, not yet”, frowning.
You’re beginning to feel disappointed that you haven’t yet managed to snatch up a good bargain.
But as you were about to turn around and head towards the exit, a particular pastel pink set caught your eye. Your footsteps speed up, and you gasp as you hold it up, admiring the lace and floral details. It was something you had never worn before but have always wanted to try, and it was more revealing than any other ones you own because of the mesh cups and panties. Cute, but smoking hot at the same time.
Johnny notices you eyeing this one a lot longer than the other ones you saw earlier. He watched as you rummage through to find your size and put it against your own body, probably imagining what it would look like.
He, too, imagined what you would look like in it, biting his lip at the thought of pleasing you while you wear that same set.
“You want this one?” Johnny asks. His low voice makes your whole body tingle.
You nod your head in response as you continue to admire it. In your head, you were debating on whether to buy it or not.
“You’d look so pretty in this,” Johnny says, his voice deeper than before.
Johnny’s sudden compliment puts a smile on your face. You can then feel his breathing on your skin before he whispers the following words in your ear, which shocks you.
“I’d eat you out for hours”, placing a kiss on the nape of your neck.
You gulp and feel your body tense up as your mind suddenly wanders back to the time when you dragged Johnny to the changing rooms. You remember leaning your head back against the wall as Johnny ate you out in one of the cubicles.
And then another thought.
Imagine your boyfriend taking you from behind as he bends you over against the table currently in front of you.
Now, you were starting to feel a sensation between your thighs. You shake your head a little. “Nope. Self-control Y/N. Self-control.” repeating to yourself in your head.
You started to move your body a little, straightening up your posture while trying to relieve the tension you were feeling down at your core by rubbing your thighs together to get a bit of friction from your underwear. Johnny sees this and chuckles lowly as he watches you trying to compose yourself and smirks.
Well, fuck.
Now you’re horny in the middle of a Victoria’s Secret store.
You knew Johnny was horny and what he was trying to do to you. So, instead of giving him what he wants straight away, you decide to tease him a little.
You hook your arm around his and pull him along with you. “Curse you, Johnny Suh,” you mutter to yourself.
Johnny smirks at your reaction. He thought he was clever by stirring you up and thought he had won.
He was happy knowing that he was getting his problem fixed and his dream of fucking you in the changing rooms with the exhilarating idea of being caught was happening again.
But Johnny pouts as he realises you weren’t going to the one place he thought you were taking him to.
“Wait, changing rooms are this way?” He turns his head back and points in the opposite direction, watching the entrance of the changing rooms get smaller and smaller.
“Yeah, well, not this time, Mr Horny.” stopping your steps as you wait in the queue at the checkouts.
As soon as you and Johnny arrived back at the apartment, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.
You struggled to get the keys out of your bag to unlock the door while your boyfriend had his arms wrapped around your waist from behind while he nipped the skin on your neck.
As soon as the door opened, Johnny quickly pushed you in and shut the door with his feet. His lips were still attached to your neck, making you whimper.
Jackets and shoes were quickly taken off and flung randomly to the floor, and any shopping you both did earlier. You seemingly fought for dominance through kisses while yanking each other’s shirts off.
With your hands playing with the locks of his hair, you were trying to lead Johnny to the bedroom, but he suddenly pushed you against the wall in the hallway.
As Johnny kisses you, he slowly makes his way down. He peppers kisses on your collarbone, to your chest, giving your breasts a gentle squeeze before moving further down your body while tugging your jeans down. He gently lifts your feet from them to get you out of it and tosses them to the side.
Johnny begins to place soft kisses on your waist while giving your breast another gentle squeeze. His kisses continued further down until his lips were now hovering over your throbbing core. He begins to tease you by licking a stripe over your clothed core.
“Shit, Johnny!” groaning as you tug on his hair, wanting more from him.
Johnny then starts to play around with your panties, twisting the fabric around his fingers while placing kisses between your legs, deliberately avoiding the one place you so desperately want his lips on.
You were anticipating him tugging your panties down, but instead, Johnny gets up from his knees and goes to grab the Victoria’s Secret bag that was chucked on the floor a few minutes earlier. He takes your hand and makes you hold onto the bag, looking at you with hungry eyes.
“Be a good girl and put this on for me, princess.”
God, you love it when your boyfriend calls you that.
You bite your lower lip, hiding your excitement as you take the bag from him.
“I’ll be waiting in the bedroom,” Johnny says, giving you a breathtaking kiss before going to the bedroom.
You lean your head back against the wall and sigh in contentment. Looking up at the ceiling for a few moments, you grin at the thought of Johnny in between your legs once again. You push yourself off the wall and head to the bathroom to change and freshen up a little.
A while later, you make your way to the bedroom.
You notice that your boyfriend isn’t wearing anything but his boxers. Broad shoulders, washboard abs; that arm tattoo he had made him a thousand times hotter than he already is. He looked like the perfect Calvin Klein model.
Johnny’s sitting at the end of the bed, his arms resting on his thighs, playing around with his fingers while tapping his feet on the floor as he waits for you. He immediately shoots his head up when he notices your feet appear in his view.
You decided to throw on a silk robe, wanting to spice things up a little. You begin to slowly untie it, letting it drop onto the floor. Johnny did not look away from you, not even a second.
And there you are, standing in front of him, sporting that sexy lingerie set you picked out earlier. He stares at you in awe, giving his lips a lick at the sight of you.
“Come here, gorgeous”, Johnny says as he puts an arm out, gesturing for you to come to him.
Johnny takes his time, taking in your stunning figure in the pink lingerie, lovingly staring up and down. Your hands are placed on his shoulders while his fingers linger on the curves of your body.
His eyes are full of love and hunger at the same time. He looked like a hungry tiger ready to devour his delicious looking meal.
“Wow… you look beautiful,” Johnny says. “But, I know you’d look even more beautiful when I make you cum.”
Wasting no time, Johnny instantly places feathered kisses over your clothed core, making you gasp out in surprise, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. Johnny pushes you down to sit on his lap and grunts at the feeling of you grinding against cock. You could feel yourself getting wet and him getting hard underneath you.
Johnny’s lips find their way to yours before quickly moving down to your neck. You tilt your head to the side a little to give him more access as he nibbles on the same spot on your neck while slipping one of his hands inside your bra, giving one of your breasts a squeeze and then doing so the same for the other.
At this point, you didn’t give a shit whether you had to layer upon foundation or concealer to cover up the hickey that’s probably forming.
Johnny then runs his hands along your back and swiftly unhooks and tosses your bra to the side. He gently moves you off his lap and lays you down on the bed. You scoot upwards a little to get into a more comfortable position so Johnny can join you.
Johnny props an arm beside your head, supporting himself as he hovers above you while his other hand caresses your cheeks softly. “You’re so beautiful,” Johnny says, barely in a whisper, staring into your glistening eyes.
You’re looking up at him innocently, fingers playing around with the hem of his boxers while he looks at you, like you were his whole world, his whole universe.
A smile appears on your face, feeling yourself blush from his words. No matter how often your boyfriend compliments you, you always end up in a blushing mess. He always made you feel so loved.
Johnny reciprocates the smile and kisses you on your forehead, nose, each side of your cheeks and finally, on your lips. His gestures make you giggle in joy.
Johnny then trails his lips down the valley of your breasts. He looks back at you briefly before placing several kisses around your breast. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue flicking the hardened bud while his other hand comes up and plays with the other.
Moving further down, Johnny gives your tummy a little peck before slipping your panties off, flinging them to the side. Without any warning, he dives right in, licking a long stripe against your wet core. Your hands immediately find their way to his hair, tugging it gently as you could but wanting to do the opposite because of how satisfying his tongue is at lapping against your core and sucking on your clit.
“Shit, Johnny, how are you so good at this?!” rolling your eyes back as you moan. “F-fuck!”
Johnny chuckles that send vibrations against your core, pleasuring you, giving him a sense of satisfaction by how your body responds to him, “Yeah, you like that baby?”
You moan, gripping the bedsheets. “I-I do. I-I really, r-really do.”
Johnny hums in satisfaction, creating more pleasure as he continues to lap your juices with his tongue. “Mmh, you taste so good, princess.”
Johnny moves one of his hands up and gives your breasts a squeeze, circling his finger around your hardened nipple and pinching it.
You moan continuously as you feel yourself getting close. “Please, don’t stop!” you cry out.
You’re so desperate to chase your high as quickly as possible that you begin to move your hips, grinding against his tongue. But being the little shit Johnny likes to be sometimes, he stops.
You whine, about to complain at the loss of contact, but before you could even do so, he slips a finger inside you, making you gasp in surprise and roll your eyes back. “Johnny!”
He begins to finger you and, seconds later, slips in another. A smirk appears on his face, feeling a sense of satisfaction just by watching how your face squirms in delight from just his fingers alone. “God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?”
“Y-yes, Johnny, all for you!” you moan, rolling your eyes back because of how good his fingers felt, pumping in and out of your wet pussy, curling inside you at the right spot. “Johnny, I-I need more. F-fuck!”
His fingers are just so good. You don’t even know what to say other than moan and grab onto the bedsheets for dear life.
Johnny feels you clenching around his fingers non-stop. He slips his fingers out and replaces them with his tongue yet again. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”
Unable to respond using words, you whine and nod your head quickly. Johnny laps at your core furiously, making you a moaning mess as you finally come. Your whole body shakes in pleasure, your hands tugging on Johnny’s hair as you reach your climax and come down from your high.
“Oh my god…” you gasp, barely letting out the words as you try to regain your breath, panting from the intense orgasm your boyfriend gave you.
“Mm, delicious,” says Johnny, licking his lips before giving you a kiss.
You moan into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck. Lifting your leg up, you attempt to remove his boxers with your feet but fail to do so when Johnny pushes your leg down.
“Nope. Today is all about you, baby.”
A pout appears on your lips, and Johnny kisses you again, wanting to kiss that pout away.
“I’m kind of hungry,” you say, feeling your stomach rumble a little.
Johnny chuckles. “Me too.”
You thought Johnny would get up so you could get something to eat, but instead, he pushes your legs open and starts to nip on the skin on your thighs. You whimper as Johnny starts peppering kisses on your clit once again.
Still feeling a little sensitive from your last orgasm, you instinctively try to close your legs, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to be finished with you as he holds a tight grip on your thighs to keep your legs open for him.
“W-wait, I thought you said you were hungry too. S-shouldn’t we go and m-make some f-food?”
Johnny chuckles lowly before nipping on the skin of your thigh. “I’m already eating.”
You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at Johnny with your mouth agape as you struggle to find words to say. This man never fails to make you speechless.
“That was just my starter, princess. I’ve still got the main course and a dessert to go.”
masterlist
© 2022 nctinthehouse — All Rights Reserved.
#ficscafe#klibrary#johnny scenarios#johnny imagines#johnny suh#johnny x reader#nct 127 scenarios#nct#nct johnny#nct 127 imagines#nct imagines#nct smut#nct scenarios#nct 127#nct u#nct x reader
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IN THE CARDS | LEE FELIX
“… the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.”
PAIRING(s) | Felix x reader
THEMES | angst, unrequited love, high school juniors!au, I think that’s all :>
WORD COUNT: 1.23k+
RATING | pg
NOTE | surprise! no- I’m not off hiatus yet. Unfortunately my laptop is still out of order and I hate writing on my phone but I really wanted to post something ✦ angsty ✦ so here we are T^T anyway I hope you enjoy and I hope I can get back here soon! Have a great day/night! Also feel free to ignore this new layout, or give feedback whether you like it or not, ty <3
SKZ M.LIST
You’d liked Felix since the third week of school when you two were freshmen. Now, years later, you still harbored the same feelings for him, except much stronger. Throughout your freshmen, sophomore, and now junior years, you’d grown closer to him. You two’s friend groups often ran into each other and combined, making the two of you semi familiar friends. You’d even hung out a few times together.
Of course you never acted on it. You were too shy to do anything about your schoolgirl crush. In fact, you were sure it would fade eventually, which was why whenever Areum—your best friend—would bring up your “mystery boy”, you’d always do your best to conceal his identity. You just knew she’d try to play Cupid, and you just weren’t ready to be embarrassed like that.
But recently, you'd heard him talking about a girl. One his and your friends apparently knew considerably well, and one he hung out with “sort of often”, as he’d described it. Yet he always seemed hesitant to talk about it, especially when you were around.
Trying to solve the mystery, your friends had come up with a few theories. One being that there wasn’t a girl in the group and he just wanted to throw them off. Another being it was a newer girl who’d recently transferred and taken a liking to your social circles. And the last one being that he had a crush on you.
Your friends were oblivious to your feelings for him, yes, but that didn’t stop them from seeing some sort of chemistry between the two of you. Their main pieces of evidence included that Felix always preferred to sit on your side of the table at lunch, that he could be caught looking your way a few times a day.
So when you saw him looking a bit nervous and glancing around you, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d grown some feelings for you over the time you’d known each other.
Twiddling his thumbs, he’d waited for your friends to clear out from the hall quietly asking you to stay behind so he could speak with you privately.
When your friends heard him ask you to stay behind, they all winked and giggled like middle schoolers, nudging you and bouncing their brows. Even if you didn’t want Felix to have a crush on you, they’d have you pretty convinced he was going to ask you out with their borderline ridiculous behavior.
Still playing with his hands and shifting side to side as he waits for you to approach him. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you try not to look too eager to hear what he needs to say. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
“Well you know how our friend groups have been mixing up a lot the past three years, and we’ve all grown kinda close. It’s only natural that someone would end up liking someone else, right?” He rants, trying not to stumble over his words or say too much more than he needs to. You nod at his question, doing your best not to smile stupidly at his cute antics and urging him to continue talking. “Well, I was just hoping that maybe…”
You hold your breath in anticipation, your hands you’re hiding behind your back clinging to each other with excitement. It’s actually happening, he’s as asking you out—
“Maybe you could ask Areum to meet me behind the sakura trees in the field later today. Oh, but don’t tell her its me she’s meeting, I want it to be a surprise, so just say she’s meeting you. Unless you don’t want to, because I can ask someone else—“ his voice rings in your ears, any other words he utters blending together into an incoherent mess.
All those glances, the nervousness, the giddiness and whispers between his friends and blushed cheeks when you were around… they weren’t directed at you.
It’s only now you realize, he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Areum
He wasn’t nervous or shy or excited because you were around, it was because Areum was with you.
The whispers and flustered expressions, they were because he liked her.
Not you.
Her.
You knew your best friend was pretty, and smart, and funny, and kind… just like you were. But she was all of that, and more. She was any guy’s dream girl and you’d never envied that more than you do right now.
But you pick up your slack jaw, blinking away the tears that were trying to well up in your eyes and smiling as brightly as you can muster. Clasping your hands together, you squeal with excitement, jumping around with false joy. “Oh my god, you have a crush on her? That’s so cute! You two would be such a great couple! Yes, of course I’ll tell her! What time?”
At least you had time to prepare for the scene you’re about to witness when four o’clock rolls around and you watch your best friend approach the sakura field with a face full of confusion. You watch him nervously pick up the flowers he’d bought her and take a deep breath—all while he was hiding behind a tree and trying to collect himself.
When he finally emerges from his hiding spot, a sheepish smile on his face as Areum turns to him with a raised brow, trying to do anything other than wish you were in her place right now. Oh, what you would give to have Felix look at you the way he looks at her—like she alone was responsible for keeping the world turning and making sure the sun rose everyday. What you would do for just a taste of the affection he reaches for her hand with, the gentleness he places the flowers in her grip with,
You barely hear her answer to his long, well rehearsed yet still raw and genuine confession, your ears clogged with the sound of your own pulse and uneven breathing, You swear the shattering in your chest is more than just your emotions—it’s too painful to not be physical too.
When you walk into the halls the next day, you can only blame yourself for the happy new couple holding hands by your locker.
And when he stops you by the wrist to thank you for your help, you hide the bitterness in your tone as well as you can, muttering a soft, “Don’t mention it.”
Truly, you never want them to as long as you live, because you never want to be reminded that you’re the reason they ended up together. You introduced them, asked them to hang out with you in hopes of having your love requited. You’re the one who never opened up about their crush, or did anything about it for that matter.
And when Areum joins in, a bright smile on her perfect face as she thanks you for helping them get together, you really do mean it when you say with the most gentle tone you’ve ever used, “Don’t thank me, please,” Your faux smile hiding the pain in your eyes as theirs lock with nothing but love for the other.
But in the end, you did this to yourself, and have nobody else to blame besides someone the stars in the sky who decided love was not in the cards for you.
NAVI
#ficscafe#straykidsland#stayhavennet#akademia net#kpc.creators#klibrary#kwritersworldnet#skz oneshots#lee felix x reader#lee felix fluff#lee felix imagines#lee felix fic#felix fluff#felix angst#felix oneshot#felix x reader#lee felix angst#skz angst#stray kids felix#stray kids angst#skz fics#stray kids oneshot#chan x reader#skz lee minho#changbin x female reader#hyunjin fic#hyunjin oneshot#jisung x you#seungmin x reader#jeongin x reader
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Brewed Love
Pairing: Mark X Jackson
Genre: Fluff, Romance, Coffee Shop!AU, s2f2l
Rating: General
Word Count: 1,518
Bingo Prompt: Hocus Pocus - BVNDIT
Summary: Jackson is comfortable working at the cafe Jaebeom owns. He expects to earn a living there, he doesn't expect falling in love.
Warning(s): Jackson being comically whipped, nothing more!
[a/n]: Happy Valentine's Day @sweetestofchaos! Sorry for this being late but I really hope you like it! It was pleasure talking to you and getting to know you. This fic is also my first entry for the Kpop Bingo project. I was struggling to come up with something for Hocus Pocus but I tried to make it work.
Jaebeom was both the first and last person Jackson thought would open a café. His parents did own a yogurt place so he was clearly knowledgeable on the issue but something about how fierce his hyung could be made it seem really unlikely. The only thing that could explain it to him was the fact that Jaebeom was married to their mutual best friend, heartthrob-cum-pain-in-the-ass Park Jinyoung. He was the only one who could really cool Jaebeom down and bring out the more domestic sides of him, him and their cats.
Whatever the cause, the opening of the café was a blessing for Jackson, wannabe star who was working his way up the ranks at a dance academy and crew, while making basically no money. Jaebeom had told him to join them whenever he was ready because he knew Jackson needed a way to make ends meet. The job was fun, the café was small, decorated classily and with a loyal clientele.
Jackson knew most of their customers by name and had their orders memorised, and loved to get to know the new ones, because it would be inevitable that they’d return in no time to Jackson’s megawatt smile, Jinyoung’s charming face and Jaebeom’s quality confectionery.
While most customers did a double take when they saw a handsome man like Jackson talk to them so sweetly, what was rare was Jackson being rendered speechless at the sight of a patron. He couldn’t blame himself though, it wasn’t a man who had appeared in front of them, but an angel, an angel who was speaking to him but he heard not a word of it.
“Excuse me?” Jackson snapped back to his senses when he noticed the slightly exasperated look on the angel-man’s face.
“Oh I’m so sorry, how can I help you?” He cringed internally at saying the wrong thing to the customer but he seemed to not notice and rattled his order out, which Jackson noted down diligently, his hand shaking through all of it. “You can find a seat, we’ll be there with your order in no time!” Jackson tried to ignore how his voice raised a pitch with the nervousness coursing through his body turning away as soon as he could to catch a breath.
The moment Jaebeom saw the look on Jackson’s face he knew something was up. “Saw a ghost?”
“Angel,” Jackson murmured, pointing in the direction of where the man sat.
The cogs turning in Jaebeom’s head was visible and it made Jackson feel even more jittery. The owner quickly flagged Jinyoung down and whispered something in his ear before grinning at Jackson. He snatched the order and got it done at lightning speed, depositing it on a tray and into Jackson’s hands.
“Serving duty!” A hard shove to his back had Jackson stumbling out of the kitchen. Jinyoung sent him a thumbs up from the spot at the register before turning to take orders. Jackson took a moment to straighten himself, praying that he hadn’t made a mess of his apron that day. Putting on his best smile, he made his way to the angel sitting by the large windows. The soft early evening glow of the sun made his skin glow in supernatural ways and Jackson would have been happy spending the rest of his life just staring at that image.
“Here you go!” He said, a bit too loud, as he set the tray in front of the man and bolted back before he could make more of a fool of himself. He heard the angel chuckle behind him and filed that sound into his folder of “Heavenly Sounds That Beat Music Any Day.” He tried not to think about the fact that the folder had a content count of one.
He tried not to stare too much but he didn’t do very well. Jinyoung had to make sure he was working properly, not wanting to anger customers with incorrect orders because Jackson was too busy writing poetry about the man by the window in his notepad.
Jackson watched with a look of despair as the man stood up, a little over an hour after he’d come, but did a double take when the he walked straight towards him instead of leaving.
“Are you the owner of this place?” Jackson could only shake his head and grab Jaebeom by the back of his shirt to drag him to the counter, too afraid of saying something dumb.
“What are you doing Jacks-” Jaebeom quickly caught himself once he saw the man across the counter, “Oh hi, how can I help you?”
“Would you have a moment?” The man asked, to which Jaebeom nodded and just as they were about to start talking, Jinyoung pulled Jackson away, telling him to take over the register again.
Anticipation brimmed within him as he kept glancing back to where Jaebeom was standing, his frown turning into a big smile by the time the conversation ended, concluding with a firm handshake.
Turning to catch Jackson’s eye, Jaebeom shot him a wink before disappearing back into the kitchen.
An exasperated sigh left Jackson as he tried to talk to Jaebeom but the owner wouldn’t budge. “Hyung,” he whined, “What did you two talk about? Heck, at least tell me his name.”
“Be patient, Jackson. You’ll find out soon enough,” Jaebeom said with an air of finality. Jackson pouted but nodded, packing up his bag and wishing Jinyoung a good night before heading home.
Jackson didn’t know whether to curse at Jaebeom or thank him because seeing his angel-man first thing in the morning was nothing short of a blessing. “Good morning,” The man greeted when he saw Jackson walk in, “I’m Mark Tuan. I look forward to working with you.”
“J-Jackson, nice to meet you too,” He stuttured before running to the kitchen to see his two friends looking supremely smug.
By some stroke of luck, Mark ended up getting along with them really well, fitting into their rhythm with little trouble. He turned out to be a really fun person to be around and it wasn’t long before the four of them became pretty inseparable.
Jackson’s little crush on Mark brewed as he got to know the older man better. Their shared knowledge of Mandarin made Jackson feel like he had just a bit more of an insight on the man, hearing his thick accent utter words he knew his friends wouldn’t understand.
He couldn’t tell when the crush turned to something more, but he definitely thinks it happened at the same time the two became friends. Working next to each other everyday, casually judging customers, trying to remember their names and orders, laughing in the kitchen with Jaebeom and Jinyoung as the two tried making new recipes. Mark became from the angel-man he met one day at the cafe to his best friend to the man he loved so easily that Jackson couldn’t even be scared. It felt so right, he knew it just had to be.
“So, when are you going to ask him out? After he gets sick of waiting for you and falls for someone else?” Jinyoung asked him one night as they were closing up shop. Mark had left early that evening sighting prior commitments and a part of Jackson prayed it wasn’t a significant other he didn’t know about.
“I know I should be I just don’t know how to do it,” Jackson lamented, draping himself in his best friend’s arms.
Warm hands wrapped his waist from behind as Jaebeom joined their hug. “You’re Jackson Wang. You can do anything. You managed to get into an elite Korean dance crew without knowing anyone or speaking a word of the language.” He pulled away, patting Jackson on the back, “Go get your man, Seunnie.”
The flowers were probably a bad idea, Jackson thought. What if Mark was allergic to pollen or something? His palms were sweating as he gripped the stalks in his hands, waiting for Mark to join him. He had asked the man out for lunch on their day off with much support from Jaebeom and Jinyoung (read: they snatched the phone from him and wrote the text themselves and sent it to Mark because Jackson had forgotten how to form basic sentences).
“Jackson!” Mark called out and Jackson looked up to see the man walk towards him and he was transported back to the first time he laid eyes on the man. He was so screwed.
“Hyung,” He said breathlessly as he thrust the flowers towards the man.
Mark looked surprised for a moment before smiling, “For me? They’re so pretty.”
“Hyung,” Jackson repeated, receiving a hum from Mark, “Do you wanna be, like, you know…” he trailed off.
Chuckling, Mark leaned down to place a soft kiss on Jackson’s cheek, “Yeah, I’d love to.”
#ahgaseadmirer23#musicbingo23#got7writerscollective#klibrary#got7 fanfic#got7 imagines#jaebeom#jay b#jackson wang#mark tuan#park jinyoung#got7 jayb#got7 jackson#got7 mark#got7 fluff#got7 scenarios
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Part: 1/2
Word Count: 18,101 (for both parts)
Pairing: Bang Chan (Skz) x GN! Reader
Genre: slice of life, college!au, lab partners!au, loving from afar, angst, fluff, bittersweet, Popular!Y/n, Quiet kid!Chan, first loves, meet cute,
Warnings: mentions of coffee, if there is anything triggering I missed, please tell me!
A/N: omg???? Me????? Posting?????? And writing????? Lol uhm I’m currently still in hiatus, just barely LMAOAOOA so I haven’t been able to do anything for the past months because well, I’m so burnt out with writing but i haven’t lost passion for it so dw, next I actually have some stories piled up for posting but I want to keep it that way to even out my content and because I take hELLA LONG?? To WRITE???? So kdhvkshghsdg so sorry everyone. but luckily, I already have the next few fics planned so hopefully if i can jusst follow my plan, then i should get them down with soon, btw I’m thinking of focusing on this series first before requests, becauSEEE, I’m passionate abt this LAIKAJSISO but i also rlly wanna explore how I’ll write these and I’ve planned like 3 of the other stories already so HSDLJHSdh
Part 2
Story under the cut!
A particular “ping” made Chan perk up from the pile of open books that lay on top of each other. He scrambled through the various papers of printed essays and research papers, throwing some discarded, crumpled, paper planes off the table.
“Hi, Chris! (Please tell me I got the right person) This is Y/N, your new science lab partner. I hope we can work together and cooperate :) P.S if you aren’t Chris from class - AB 3 please text me back as soon as possible thank you!”
Chan’s eyes grew with awe and he wore his signature grin as he read your text message. This must be the first- no probably the second time he’s ever been so excited to meet his new lab partner. (he hates science and he hates most of his lab partners)
“Hellooo Y/N, this is Chris, I can’t wait to work with you as well. To be honest, I was starting to get a little worried that I gave you the wrong number.”
Chan went through with his message for the third time, hoping it didn’t sound off or rude. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to give you a bad first impression on the lab partner you’d be stuck with for the next few months.
Through the countless times he’s tried to alter his words and maybe add a few emoticons and emojis to the message, he just either came off as a try-hard or some cringe dad.
He fiddled with his fingers behind his phone, thinking of some way to make up for how stiff his message came off. In the end, he settled for the “grinning face with sweat” emoji (according to Google, he had to make sure it didn’t come off weird) (he’s not weird I promise)
Pressing the little green “send’ button after a while of waiting. A hand flew to his eyes just as the messaging app made a small “whoosh” sound effect, indicating the message was successfully sent.
Ever since he set foot onto the new campus grounds of his university, ever since he caught a glimpse of the first few students that huddled at a table or two near the front gate. He’s heard your name from students left, right, behind, and above.
He’s heard all about you, not in a creepy way, of course, people just couldn’t keep their noses out of other people’s lives. Chan thought it must be hard to get so much constant attention from everyone around you, that sometimes it made him thank the heavens above for his lack of social interaction.
But even with this pet peeve, at times, he’d curiously listen to the things others say about you, it could be when he passed by some students in the cafeteria or by the lockers or even from students a chair or two away from him in class.
And you seemed like a nice person; he could see you being the protagonist of every superhero movie. Sometimes he’d wonder what it would be like to actually get to know you other than to just piece things together from a few “I heard Y/N loves dogs”.
You’ve done many admirable things that even he seemed to adore you from afar just like the rest, not in a creepy way, again. You sounded like a likable person with a lovable personality, and he wanted to get to know you as a friend.
He eventually planned to get closer to you,
but he’s just someone else in the crowd.
Sure he had friends, he’s gotten recognition for awards he’d get from swimming competitions or spelling bees’ maybe, but he’s just but in the end he wasn’t any different from the rest.
And you’re- you’re THE Y/N, who’s on the stage.
Do you know that kind of feeling?
He isn’t- crushing on you per se, he’s admiring you, he’d call it. Whenever he’d walk past your desk after finishing his paper earlier than you, or when he’d pass by you laughing with your friends, he’d just feel like he wanted to talk to you, there’s just something about you that pushes him to get closer to you.
And he was just fond of you. You can’t like someone in these types of conditions. Well, technically, it shouldn’t be possible.
He’s read and heard of love at first sight, but he’s just glanced at you, for all of his days in this pit you’d call college. There was just 0 to nothing for him to be crushing on you after hearing about you? seeing your eyes? and hearing your laugh? He knew himself, he wasn’t that easy.
He’s sure of it... At least he believes he’s sure of it.
“Oh.. haha, my bad! I really didn’t think you were waiting for my text but I guess this was my fault for making you worry.”
You seemed awfully sweet.
Chan held back a small smile at your message, it’s just as if he could hear your little voice in the back of his head.
“So.. Chris... Can I call you that? Let’s get to know each other soon! We could probably get some coffee.? Or if you’re not into that, what would you like to do? We need to be on good terms to work better together right?”
Oh my goodness.
Chan’s smile dropped almost immediately as he read your message. Oh no... Goodness no.
He set his phone down and looked at the wall in front of him, aimlessly trying to think of a reasonable answer, or even contemplating whether he should go or not, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I could meet with them and get to know them, they have a point, we have to be on good terms for us to work together better. But going would put them in an awkward situation of always starting up a conversation-!
His thoughts ran wild as he thought further into the question. He ran his hands into his hair, messing his curls up and aggressively ruffling them as he groaned loudly at himself.
Chan’s eyes closed in an attempt to think straight, he can’t leave you hanging for so long.
As he slowly opened his eyes, he eyed the text message of yours and with a heavy sigh, he told himself, Screw the consequences.
“You can call me Chan or Chris, whichever is comfortable for you, and sure, we can go get some coffee sometime.”
Chan mentally cursed at the haste of his fingers and as he read back his message, he did sound a little … stoic? He seemed to be a dry person on text, he is, but he doesn't want to talk about it.
“Great! There’s this new coffee shop in my district, wanna check it out together then? How’s Friday after classes?”
~
‘Um- Excuse me..? Y/N, right?’ Chan awkwardly gripped his bag strap, squeezing it tightly as he watched you turn your head to him with the warmest smile he’s ever gotten all year.
Oh my goodness
‘Oh- uh yep! That’s me, and you’re Chan right?’
Oh my goodness
Chan blinked for a few moments before nodding his head quickly, you chuckled slightly at his (very obvious) nervous reaction. You two awkwardly sat in your positions, weirdly looking at each other, waiting for the other to say something or to do something.
Maybe you two were just the same despite how different your worlds were.
‘Uhh.. h-have you ordered anything-?’ Chan scratched his neck to seem “natural” even if it wasn’t doing much anyway.
You forced a small cough into your fist just as you laughed awkwardly, breaking the weird eye contact you two just had. ‘No- uh- ye-yeah! Yeah.. I did, I didn’t know what you liked though so I just ordered you something simple.’
A small sorry smile crept to your face as you slowly looked back at the boy. ‘Sorry..’
O h. M y. G o o d n e s s.
Chan returned the smile with his own, a very very awkward, lopsided smile. ‘It’s fine- I like coffee any-‘
‘Two orders for Y/N? Please come to the counter to claim your orders!’ One of the workers from the counter yelled.
The two of you perked up to look in the direction of the counter.
‘Oh- well, I’ll go get our orders, you can go ahead and sit down. I'll be right back!’ You scrambled to pile your things together out of habit as you quickly gestured to the chair across your own to Chan.
Chan nodded timidly as he watched you get up to get to the counter. Just as you turned your back from him, he hugged his bag in front of him as he weirdly settled into his chair.
Slowly starting to feel more awkward by the second, he squeezed his bag closer to his torso, feeling eyes on his back despite no one really caring about what he or you did at all.
He fiddled with his bag strap, wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger as he waited for you to come back with your drinks.
It might have been a few minutes or even less than a minute, but to him, it just felt so different to be in this kind of setting where he thought everyone was looking at him.
How could you be in this type of environment every day and not freak out?
He thought you were amazing for that.
‘Hey! What’s got you so deep into thought? You seem bothered, is there something wrong?’ You offered him that same warm smile you gave him earlier. He realized how you were already sitting across from him.
As he looked up to meet your eyes, he could see your smile grow as you chuckled softly while you waved your hand in front of him.
He shook his head slowly, ‘No, I was just- thinking of ways to not mess up our conversation you know?’ You both laughed at his rough attempt to joke around. He’s more than glad that you think it was funny too.
~
Chan couldn’t hold back a hearty laugh as you told one of your goofy stories with the other friends of yours back at the university.
Chan thought his friend group was the wackiest but you seem to be just as wacky.
You couldn’t continue on as you laughed just as loud as Chan at your own stories. You had this side that made him adore you, even more, you were as everyone told him, probably the next best person to be living and breathing right now.
You two ended up having the weirdest stories ranging from science theories to Harry Potter books and now to embarrassing stories either you or your friends experienced.
I mean, at least the conversation didn’t end, right?
As soon as you were about to finish the story, an employee approached you two and told you that the shop was going to be closing soon so they should prepare to leave soon. You two didn’t notice how some of the people in the coffee shop had left already, there were still many for the capacity of the coffee shop, but it was calmer as compared to how it was when you two met up earlier.
Chan’s laughter calmed down as he blinked a small tear away from laughing too much, both of you following what the worker told you to do soon after. And as you two quietly packed your things away and grabbed your unfinished drinks to go with you, Chan would laugh softly at the remembrance of your story and you would accompany him with a giggle of your own.
While you two headed out of the coffee shop, Chan held the door for you to go first, he urged you to go before he did but you did the same as you joked how you two could (should) “equally” exit the coffee shop.
You were slightly embarrassed at how he held the door open for you, but in the end, you had to accept it with a laugh into your fist to ease your embarrassment.
‘Well.. that was a great story.’ Chan chuckled
You smiled softly at his little chuckle, you two awkwardly looked down at your shoes, and the surroundings around you two started to darken into a dark indigo color.
‘Uh-m I guess- this is goodbye..?’ Chan put up a small grin and a small unsure shrug.
You nodded your head timidly at his attempt to say goodbye. ‘I mean.. congratulations on not messing up our conversations today, I really had fun.’
You both giggled at your joke, referencing what Chan said earlier that afternoon.
This time, the both of you didn’t want the conversation to end, you two seemed like you wanted to keep talking and telling more stories, but unfortunately, every day had to end at some point.
‘I guess.. I’ll see you tomorrow then…? In the lab?’ You subtly asked the boy, you subconsciously played with your fingers as you held onto your notebook.
To this, he grinned.
‘I’ll.. see you tomorrow.’
~
Chan slumped into the metal chair facing the empty train tracks, he felt exhausted, not from your conversation today, but because of how much he’s been outside, talking to someone.
He felt like he had run a marathon, his eyes drooped and his legs felt like jelly.
“The train heading to _________ district 8 will be arriving in 30 minutes”
A goofy smile appeared as he thought about your little hang-out earlier, you were so nice and you just had something that made him excited.
And he wanted to tell you something funny again to hear you laugh. He thought that you had the prettiest smile as well, and in whatever you did, you were always so accommodating, it made him feel all warm and nice inside.
You were just too good to be true sometimes. He’s spent half the afternoon with you and he can conclude that you were probably the only other person he would love to talk to forever.
Okay, maybe not forever.. regardless, a long time especially for someone like him.
He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
“Train ___ heading to _______ district 8 is arriving, please stay behind the yellow tape. Have a safe trip.”
The faint noise from the train coming from the tunnel signaled Chan to stand up, he waddled to stand right before the yellow line on the ground just as how the intercom advised.
He couldn’t wipe his smile off his face, even if his cheeks started to ache slightly, he felt excited.
Maybe this is what they meant how you’d feel when you take coffee.
Like a shot of espresso
Was it the americano you ordered him?
Or was it how you stayed and listened?
~
Maybe Chan should consider skipping lab period next time.
He dropped a flask.
Spilled someone else’s chemistry experiment on their papers.
Left the burner on for a minute too late
Possibly ruined your guys’ experiment
And bombed the first performance task he had to do with you.
Bombed as in nearly blew something in his face because he forgot to label some of the flasks.
What’s wrong with him today? He’s flunked his chances on impressing you, you'll never deem him worthy to be your lab partner now.
Well, one of the good things that happened was he didn’t end up in the infirmary after everything he’s gone through.
But you burnt your hand because you were trying to save the experiment that nearly evaporated.
For the rest of the day, he felt nothing but guilt and a load of angry judgmental stares from people all around the campus, even some of the freshmen he met gave him the stink eye!
Though it did wear off after a few hours of Chan cooping himself up in the library to avoid all the stares. He’s spent too much time hiding, he forgot why he was doing it in the first place, and he forgot to visit you in the infirmary after the class ended.
Chan’s head perked up from the book he enclosed in front of his face, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to recall if he ever walked to the infirmary and talked to you. Chan groaned internally at the results of nothing but speed walking down the halls to the library.
But it was past after-school hours and you definitely didn’t need to stay too long for a minor burn. He dropped his head low as he hid behind the book, he bit his lip in regret and cursed himself for forgetting, today might mark the day he’s going to find a new lab partner.
‘You do know the book you’re reading is upside down right?’ You awkwardly sat beside him, you didn’t know whether you two were comfortable with this distance.
Chan’s eyes widened, he stammered and stumbled over his words with ease.
‘No- I- wh- urghm..- w-what are you doing here?’ He struggled to flip the book the other way in haste, he looked back and forth between you and the book as he did.
You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his “misfortunes”, you raised your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your giggling, the librarian at school was a nightmare to argue with, you experienced that first-hand and you’re not making that same mistake again.
‘Keep your voice down, miss Olivia is not someone you’d want to mess with.’ You jest as you leaned in closer to whisper with a thumb pointing behind you, to a fairly young woman in her 30s glaring at the two of you from the other end of the library.
‘Oh-.. yeah… no kidding, she lectured me 4 times today for trying to use her ladder to get books,’ Chan mumbled, and with a sigh, he closed the book in his hands and raised it beside his head as he faced you. ‘Especially for this book.’
With a slightly uneasy frown, he glared at Miss Olivia’s back as she was taking her sweet time using her ladder to organize a row of books.
‘The book wasn’t even interesting..’ Chan huffed, this made you laugh again, he even joined you in laughing quietly.
If someone ever came across the two of you, they’d claim how ridiculous you too looked trying to laugh without a single squeak, possibly having freaked a freshman or two from the tables across Chan’s table.
~
‘Well.. maybe Miss Olivia was right, maybe we should have thought of leaving the library if we were just going to joke about how she dressed.’ Chan guffawed, he bent forward slightly, clutching his stomach as he laughed a little too hard.
‘Goodness, who thought you had the guts to actually question Miss Olivia.’ This time you laughed.
As the laughter died slowly into a comfortable silence, at least for you. As for Chan, he thought it might have made you uncomfortable until the lingering idea at the back of his head hit him right in the face.
‘Your hand!’ Chan’s thoughts spoke, quite literally.
‘Oh geez- you scared me,’ You chuckled as you flinched to look at his sudden outburst.
‘Oh I'm sorry I- I forgot to visit you at the.. infirmary this afternoon, and I am also sorry for.. burning your hand..’ Chan’s shoulders slumped in guilt as he glanced at you now and then to gesture at your bandaged hand awkwardly.
You subtly waved his apology off, laughing softly, “Everybody makes mistakes right? Plus it wasn’t too badly of a burn, that’s possibly why they advised us to use gloves in the lab.”
“Yeah but the whole day I had to hide in the library since everyone was indirectly making me nervous” Chan hugged himself exaggeratedly to point out his joke.
You giggled as you looked towards the setting sun as you two walked towards the gates of the school. “Well.. these things are gonna happen anyway, don’t mind them, sooner or later they wouldn’t even remember this ever happened.”
“Oh really?” Chan turned to you with a slightly unconvinced reaction as he hugged himself tighter, reminding you of the joke he made earlier.
Both your laughs and ongoing jokes stopped as a big gust of wind blew by. Brings some leaves to scatter and drag on the narrow driveway you two walked on. The setting sun burned the blue skies with tints of orange and red, crunchy leaves drag themselves all around them, making a slight crinkle sound from a leaf or two, and the small pebbles that rub against both your soles, accompanied with your the small taps from either yours or Chan’s shoes, you couldn’t tell.
Chan wouldn’t admit it, but he felt like you were right. Reassurance sure is nice, even if it didn’t promise anything. Chan’s shoulders relaxed as he let his body sway ever so slightly with the wind rushing by you two.
“So.. you’re not worried anymore? You know.. that people would keep staring at you.”
“No, you told me not to worry.” Chan smiled at you.
You thought he had a unique smile, in your opinion, and in the nicest way possible, you thought he resembled a dog.
“I guess this is goodbye, my district is over there.” Chan turned to you just as he stopped at a certain convenience store just a few steps away from the school gate, he pointed his thumb behind his back to nothing in particular but at the path going off into a neighborhood.
You nodded your head as you purse your lips. “Alright... I guess it is, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“We don’t have lab tomorrow though?” Chan raised his brow curiously, did you forget there wasn’t a laboratory period tomorrow?
“I mean- we could still meet, right? I’m pretty sure there’s no rule that forbids us to meet aside from lab periods.” You hesitate to fully say your suggestion, rejection was … quite frankly a rare thing for you, so you decided to take caution.
“Oh.. uh- yeah! Why- why not..? I mean sure we can... I just- don’t know if you’re free..?” Chan’s voice slowly turned softer as he rambled on.
You chuckled softly before nodding your head at his answer. “Technically, I would have the time since I suggested it. But we will see.”
As you two bid each other a goodnight and a pleasant goodbye, both of your minds had racing thoughts and endless pep talks. All that the sun touched that day was nothing less than happy.
~
12:34 pm
About 30 minutes before lunch break, Chan noted.
It’s been a few hours since you two said “hello, good morning, what’s your first class today?”
Well, it sort of seemed like none of your classes seemed to align today, which bummed Chan out a lot. He kind of wished you were part of his literature class so he could be your partner and he wouldn’t be counting the minutes till he gets to leave.
You can’t blame him though, and he most definitely did not hate his partner, it was Jisung, how could he hate one of his closest friends? But he certainly wished Jisung would stop his weird jokes, but aside from that, they don’t seem like a bad team for the assessment.
He convinced himself that he shouldn’t be too clingy (he thinks it’s him being a tad bit too “clingy”) and he tried to admit that there shouldn’t be any problem right now, he’s with one of his best friends and he’s doing alright in his literature class, everything was smooth.
But a small part of him asked about how you were doing in your “dreaded” calculus class.
Jisung snapped his fingers in front of Chan’s eyes that were focused on their small scattered pile of papers on their desks, but he seemed to be unresponsive to all that Jisung said or asked.
“Earth to Chan? Are you still there? Hello??? Little Chan, please tell Chan to pay attention to our project!” Jisung jokingly knocked at Chan’s forehead with the back of his index finger and middle finger.
Chan furrowed his brows in confusion and slight disgust at Jisung interrupting his thoughts. “I’m still listening, I’m just- thinking.”
“Does it have to do with our 3-page reflection paper that we need to complete by the next two weeks?” Jisung tried to put his chin up to act serious. Chan looked at Jisung in confusion as he glanced around the classroom before nodding his head reluctantly.
“If you were thinking about it, you would have at least answered my questions, I mean I was asking some interesting questions and you didn’t even bat an eye at me!” Jisung crossed his arms and shook his head disappointingly at his partner.
“Well- what was your question anyway..?”
“So you lied!”
~
Chan ruffled his hair just as he yawned. What a day.
It completely slipped Chan’s mind all about your agreement the day before. It didn’t cross his mind even if he escaped literature and he just went on with his day without realizing he forgot something.
4:35 pm
It’s been a long day.
Chan couldn’t wait to get home and faceplant into his bed. This past few weeks college has been sucking him dry, it was sort of a miracle if he remembered certain meetings around the campus.
He trudged down the stairs with his backpack hanging off his shoulder, his eyes barely stayed open, it was weird how he hadn't slipped and just slid down the stairs.
“Chan?”
“Hm?” Chan whipped his head around and looked around aimlessly trying to find someone who called his name.
“I guess your day has been eventful.” You giggled at his confused expression. He had this particularly odd-looking smile, it wasn’t big or anything as compared to a grin or a tight-lipped smile you usually give people.
“My day? Oh no, it wasn’t that bad, I’m just insanely tired from trying to write a 3-page essay for literature earlier.”
“All in one sitting?”
“Nope, I wished though.” You laughed softly as you felt a little embarrassed to laugh a little too loud with the very few students still left in the corridors.
You noticed Chan’s state as you two walked down the stairs together, he had a slight drag on his feet, and miraculously he wasn’t tripping on his other foot. He was asleep, but also awake? Your lab partner is just as interesting as your lab experiment.
“That’s weird.” You muttered with a small smile tugging at your lips.
“What’s weird?” Chan muttered back, like two friends sharing secrets.
You guffawed at his reaction and his response. You will never really understand how he works and he gets a little more unexpected the longer you sit around him.
“How about I take you up on that agreement we had yesterday?”
“Agreement-?” Chan scrunched his face up a little, trying to rack his brain of anything about the day before.
“… That we could hang out after classes? Or to just hang out again today..?” You tried to hint it out for him, you hoped he did remember it though, it was rare anyone made you do this, you know, hint it out for them to remember.
“Oh?”
“You know what? Maybe we should just go get you something to wake you up, you’re basically a zombie. How’s coffee?” You put a supporting hand on his shoulder as he was tipping a little off to the other side, you worried that he was about to faint if you kept talking and ignoring his state.
“Oh... That’s okay, I like coffee anyway.” Chan replied as he smiled, it was a little lop-sided but you thought it was one of his best features, based on how long you’ve been with him.
~
“How do you like Americano? Is it not too bitter for you?” You eyed his dark drink in his hand as you two walked around the neighborhood park in the area.
“No..? How do you like Caramel Macchiato? Is it not too sweet for you?” Chan raised a brow at your drink.
“No?? It isn’t even sweet-“ You put the back of your hand to your mouth as you laughed at his reaction, he cringed as you tried to explain why you like your choice of coffee.
“Well.. Americanos don’t seem bitter to me,” Chan added a tone into his comeback as if to sass you, but all you could do was laugh a little harder into the back of your hand, and you soon made him laugh too. “You just can’t handle it I guess.” He scoffed.
“Goodness.. you sure like to surprise me every time.” You shook your head playfully as you giggled a little.
“Surprise you? In what way?” Chan’s smile grew as he awaited your answer.
You fidget with the straw in your cup by twirling the beverage with it as you try to juggle your words around. “Well you.. have really interesting reactions, that’s one. Two, you seem to be really genuine with how you react to me.”
Chan’s smile turned into a small tight-lipped smile as he listened to you.
“At first, you seemed like you just wanted to impress me, but in the end, you just started to become someone you’d meet every day-“
Chan was about to open his mouth to thank you for saying such nice things, but coming from you felt like a weird dream he never wanted to wake up from. But he was touched and he couldn’t or he wouldn’t want to let you know that, this meant a lot to him.
“- I don’t mean that you’re like- not special or anything.. I just.. I don’t meet a lot of people like you… anymore.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean- with everyone just thinking I’m like someone high and important, no one ever has their own thoughts or ideas anymore, it’s just all aligned with mine and I’m-.. not open to anyone or anything “new” or “ordinary” anymore.”
You held your hand by the cap, fingertips just slightly gripping the sides, letting that hand fall to your side as you watched your shoes kick stones along your way. Rambling on all about the burrow of problems in that head of yours.
“I’ve been around a lot of people who just constantly expect so much, even if it was indirect or when they don’t even mean it that way. You know what I mean?”
“But you wouldn’t want to be someone who’s always stuck in literature classes or someone who just won a few medals in swimming competitions.” Chan offered you the sweetest smile you’ve ever received in a while, it radiated the sun, it felt warm and welcoming, and you wished to have such a sugar-sweet smile to offer to someone.
You were so jealous. Because you know what? Maybe you did want to be someone who was always stuck in literature classes, maybe you did want to win a few medals from small local swimming competitions even if it were just bronze medals, heck! Maybe just winning a position in the runner ups or just being able to participate!
What do you have to do to get a simple.. care-free life like this? A normal life like this?
Everyone just seemed to be better and living a better life, better than yours.
“I’m so jealous of you.”
“Me?” Chan pointed to himself hesitantly, he didn’t want to make assumptions about who you referred to as “you”.
You laughed a little under your breath, “Yeah, weirdly enough, I am,” You smiled sadly at the dark asphalt beneath your shoes. “You’d think that I’d be happy, and I have everything every freshman wishes for in their Junior year.. but all I got were stares.”
“Stares? Well maybe, that’s because you’re doing so well in almost all that you do?” Chan tried to comfort you and to lift your spirits higher as you stumble over thoughts and your feelings.
What were you doing? You’re embarrassing yourself, that's what, you thought to yourself, an uncomfortable lump formed in your throat, making it hard to swallow. You feared you would probably sound stupid if you spoke right then and there.
You forced a small smile at the boy who looked at you a little concerned, you hated that look, did he pity you? Or was he faking being concerned at your little sob story.
He was just your lab partner, after all, You don’t even know each other well enough, would he care?
You shook those thoughts away, you trusted that he wouldn't be like that, you prayed and crossed your fingers that he wouldn’t ridicule you after this. You just overshared a tad bit, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?
“Y/N? Are you alright?”
“Yup, I think I’m just a little out of it today, this coffee is a little too sweet.” You chuckled into your fist, brushing off what just happened earlier.
“Oh.. I can drink it for you or I can get you a new one if you don’t want it anymore, you don’t need to drink it. I'm speaking from experience, those types of light-headedness are not fun, especially after school.” You laughed at his offer, you wanted to just take that leap of faith and trust him.
You want to consider him your best friend from that day on, he was a gem. But you can’t..
“I mean I could just drink it later, plus- you said you didn’t like sweet coffees?”
“Oh no.. Like I said before, I like coffee anyway, I just don’t prefer it too sweet.” Chan made a small pinch with his fingers as he tried to show you a measurement of his preference for preferred sugar levels in his coffees.
“Well help yourself,” You handed him your drink, you barely drank from it since you seemed too in your head rambling on to your lab partner. He reluctantly took your drink, he was a little cautious, and he didn’t think you’d actually give it to him.
Chan took a sip of your drink and cringed at the sweet taste that left a bitter aftertaste of the coffee, squeezing his eyes shut and he sucked his teeth in as he nervously eyed your drink’s cup with the logo of the cafe.
“Wow.. that is sweet.. TOO sweet.” Chan scoffed at your understatement of ‘a little too sweet’, to him, that was a little too flavorful for him, maybe caramel macchiatos are just not his thing..?
“I did warn you.” You laughed at his expression as he sipped the beverage again, he thought maybe it was just because of his bitter, plain-old americano, but no, this was way too sweet for his liking, for anyone at all!
That or Chan has a thing for bitter, plain-old fashioned Americanos more than bright, sugary sweet caramel macchiatos.
“Oh uhm.. this- this is my stop.. sorry our “hang-out” was cut short, my mom would be worried if I missed the bus home.” You awkwardly glanced at the bus station that hung around the corner of a building.
Chan waved you off followed with that same sweet smile that you thought matched really well with the overly sweetened coffee in his hand. You returned that smile to the best you could. “It’s understandable, it is getting late, get home safely.”
You nodded at his goodbye. You two waved to each other as both of you shuffled further in the opposite direction, Chan noticed the orange-tinted skies and the red sun burning through the blue sky, the red streaks mixed with orange made Chan wonder in awe, after a long day, the sun still tries to glow, how admirable.
Chan smiled as he walked back to his district.
He’s glad you.. “opened up” to him.
But Chan wanted to say he knew how you felt but no one likes being told that, he wanted to say he wouldn’t do that to you, but would you even believe that? He wanted to let you know how much you sparkled in his eyes and maybe to others too, but you probably would have just laughed it off, he wanted to tell you that being someone like him was nowhere as a good or comfortable place as you thought,
He was a coward, nobody likes a coward.
‘Did I mess it up again?’
~
You leaned your head onto the glass window of the bus you rode on, this wasn’t even your bus.
It was going in the opposite direction of your home.
You argued that no one could blame you, you wouldn’t like to bore someone all after that awkward confession of yours, you could have kept everything together like you were supposed to
But something pushed you to tell him.
Sighing quietly with your hand under your chin, you watched the shadows of the sunset turn darker as the faint reflection of the moon shone through the window. Each street lamp passing by became blurred lines mixed with the green bushes by the sidewalk.
Maybe if you just did what you were supposed to do, maybe if you controlled your emotions, maybe if you kept your mouth shut
You could call him your first real friend.
Now that’s out the window, who would take that confession so lightly, who would look at you the same once this gets out around the campus?
You frowned at your reflection on the glass pane, as you stared at it longer, you realized how you looked as if you wanted to cry.
That lump in your throat made it hard to swallow, your emotions were leaking like a broken pipe, and you couldn’t help but tear up a little. Just as you thought you could trust someone, just as you thought you could finally make a friend who you genuinely wanted to get to know.
You’re not the Y/N everyone adored and wanted to be, you weren’t the Y/N that was “friends” with everyone in every room you walked into. You weren’t the Y/N everyone loved.
You knew that, but you tried to be that person.
The same person who looked back at you in the mirror was the person you wanted to be.
And now Chan knows this.
He knows you’re not what everyone made you out to be.
He’s seen you like this
You were so jealous of him, he probably doesn't have to worry about how anyone thought of him, he could be normal. He didn’t have to worry about weird stares you felt on your back every day.
He probably didn’t have to worry about what others thought about him to make a friend or two.
What would other people think about you now?
What would Chan think of you now?
‘I should have kept quiet.’
~
Chan fiddled with the spare flasks on your guy’s shared desk at the laboratory. As he waited for the experiment to condensate, the slight clinking of glass sounded louder than the scattered chatter. To Chan, it felt like a boom, the kind of boom that you’d see in comic books, the kind of boom that you’d hear from a loud drum.
Settling the flasks he toyed with onto the desk, he buried his head into his folded arms, resting his head to the side, watching his experiment bubble and whistle.
“Did I really scare them off?” Chan muttered to himself.
“I should’ve said something..”
“I was supposed to say something else wasn’t I?”
Chan’s eyes focused on the liquid on the burner but his thoughts were far off.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! Chan knocked his head thrice with his fist, he knew it was really awkward but, he tried his best didn’t he?
Carefully, he put on his gloves before taking the flask off the burner to stop it from scuffing his project. You weren’t there to help him so the best he could do is follow the instructions you left in case you couldn’t assist him ever since the incident when you burnt your hand.
“They would probably feel too awkward to talk to me again.. what should I do?” Chan wrote down his report as he heard his professor drawing in the classes’ attention, indicating it was time to wrap up.
~
Chan’s phone screen lit up, showing a text message. He looked over to where his phone was, turning away from the book he borrowed from the library. His literature homework wasn’t going to read itself, which is why you would find him at the library, actually reading.
“Hey Chan, sorry about skipping lab class today, I had something important to catch up on :(( but if you don’t mind, can we meet up in a bit? It has something to do with the project.”
Oh.
Chan gulped as he read your message, you .. sounded off?
He knows no one can really tell from how you text but, his stomach’s telling him that this wasn’t going to end well for either of them.
~
“The garden?” Chan murmured as he read through another reply of yours, indicating the meeting place. He’s been circling the campus for a while in search of this “garden” you told him about.
“Chris! Over here!” You waved from a familiar fountain, Chan could have sworn your word choice was a little- misleading. There was just a patch or three of grass and shrubs with a singular rose bush in the area; he wouldn't exactly call this a garden.
“Oh- sorry, I got mixed up with which garden you meant. My bad.” Chan sheepishly walked over to you, slightly looking down, like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“Ah, yeah.. sorry I didn’t specify.. I just labeled this area the garden since freshman year.” You offered a small smile. Something Chan has seen you offer other people in class as well.
This was it. This was the sign Chan didn’t want to see.
“So.. what did you want to talk to me about?” Chan averted his gaze from yours now and then as he felt awkward staring into your eyes.
You fidgeted with your fingers, averting your eyes from his as well.
“I was thinking, since the deadline drew closer for our project, I suggest we do our experiment in parts. I've been busy with .. uhm.. other subjects these days too, I think I’ll find the setup easier to manage.”
Chan listened closely to you, your voice grew smaller as you spoke, it was as if you were forced to say this.
Chan sighed quietly, nodding his head in understanding. He shouldn’t bother you anymore if he thought hard, he knew you two hanging out after the project was a far stretch, to begin with, you both had to slowly let each other off somehow.
“It’s alright, I understand.”
“.. alright so I’ve split our jobs into two, here are the instructions and reports for your part, And uh..” You shakily handed a clear folder with paperwork and blank sheets in it to Chan, to which he accepted hesitantly.
“.. uh…”
“Uhm.. I guess I’ll see you on presentation day or something then?” Chan concluded after looking at the file you gave him. He sent you a small smile that reflected your smile earlier.
“… y-yeah, sure.” You nodded reluctantly.
After bidding each other a very awkward goodbye, you two went on your “merry” way, hoping for a miracle to happen to fix this.
~
“So.. they just… gave you the files and left?” Jisung scratched his head as he squinted his eyes at Chan trying to squeeze an answer out of Chan.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re just going to.. accept it and do your part till they say something?”
“Yep”
Jisung sighed. He took out the lollipop in his mouth that he’s been leaving to melt in his mouth.
“Chan, what are the odds that they would talk to you again? You have to make the first move, you can’t keep wishing for a miracle if you avoid everything, obviously, the opportunity will never strike you!”
Chan just slumped into his chair before pursing his lips together, glooming at the folder you gave him.
Jisung was right and Chan knew it. But what are the odds that he would do what Jisung said? Make the first move?
If anything, Chan was just good at music, he wasn't good at literature, he hated science, he doesn’t like math, he was not in the council and he was just getting by with average grades.
With what he has so far and what he does, the more he doubts about this miracle he’s hoping for.
What a waste, college was supposed to be the time of his life, but he’s here doubting when he’s only got his Junior-, no half of his junior year, and his senior year left, then who knows what’ll happen then.
Chan pondered on the thoughts that constantly re-occur, “half of my junior year and my senior year.. then who knows what’ll happen then.”
What will happen next after this stage in both of your lives? You get a job, he moves away for his job, you might get a master's, you both draw away, and - sooner or later you’re both back at square one, strangers, just like in your freshman and sophomore days.
And when he looks back, what would he see? Regrets? A load of crap he would tell himself about being able to fix this? The stuff he wished you said? The things he wanted to say? Or the things you two were supposed to be?
What a nice way to remember the prime times of your life.
Chan grumbled.
He’s been stuck in his hoodie and underneath his own shadow, hiding in his dorm room and just going on through his day like a normal person, everyday was monotonous, every day he woke up to the same tune of his alarm, he ate the same cereal, he wears the very same choice of clothes, and he goes to the same classes to do the same thing every day.
It’s time he makes college a moment for him to remember. Who wants to look back into 4-5 years of his life with the same routine, Every. Single. Day.
If he doesn’t talk to you ever again because of this, he’ll never forgive himself.
He wouldn’t be able to live with the fact that all these words were all in his head. It would suffocate him, he just knew it would just like every other unsaid thought of his.
“Shi-“ Chan muttered a curse halfway as he rolled to stand up from his bed.
These past years of his life were a blur, what was there to remember? What was there for him to look back to anyway?
Is this what they meant when they made up the saying, “It’s now or never”?
“I have nothing to lose” that’s another saying.
“Go big or go home”?
“The time is now”, that’s another.
How do you tell someone something without actually telling them that “something”?
You can’t, that’s the problem Chan has to overcome.
Chan rummaged through his desk for anything: paper, pen, correction tape, a page of his math textbook(?), anything! He wanted to hold onto something that could be useful! Useful.. Useful, anything..?
He threw onto the desktop all the junk he’s grabbed onto. Flicking the switch of his lamp aaaaaaand.. what a letdown…
A pad full of paper, a half-used pen, cut-out shapes from his math homework, and a pile of unwanted science and literature essays. Goodness, this was supposed to be his “moment”, maybe this is why he hasn’t done anything “significant” in his life?
“This- will do…” he grabbed the pad full of paper, and his half-used pen. Pushing the rest of the junk on his desk to the side to have a fresh, clean desk to write on? Or to draw maybe? He hasn’t figured out what exactly he wanted to do.
Make paper planes?
Write a letter?
~
“Write a letter?” Chan resounded his thought, cliche, every movie has done it, every cliche love story starts with letters, not all but, it was cliche. But what choice did he have?
What path could he take?
He’s in a box filled with water, with no key. He’s going to have to find a way to do anything in a box filled with water. Unrealistic comparison but this whole problem was unrealistically impossible to get out of in the first place, it was his first time to do this, he’s going to have to knock some attention to the box he’s stuck in. That was his first step.
Dear Y/N- no that sounds weird.
Hello! - erm..
Chan was making blots of inks and erasures on his first sheet. He made faces at his work every time he made something up, quick to erase the words he would write, just like this was his first time to be in this position, he’s never taken the initiative to write his first ever love letter.
Love letter? No no this was just his.. vent. That’s all.
Taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. This won’t be shown to you. This was his deep pit to pour out his frustrations and feelings. But this is his only way to talk to you indirectly, if he finds the courage to give these to you, the moon would be blue.
Dear Y/n,
Please don’t be frightened when you read this.. or if you do read this. This really is not meant to be creepy! I would love to tell you who I am, because I don’t want to frighten you at all. Do understand this is my first time writing letters to someone. So if it gets awkward or- really weird, just know this would be weird for me too.
It’s weird writing to someone when I could just tell you the contents of this letter, you know, verbally. But I find it really hard to.. talk to you. Weird right? Maybe it’s because whenever I’m near you and I try to speak, they’re just stuck in my throat or in my head. I get really nervous but comforted and at peace at the same time.
I feel that you could make someone feel almost everything in a single blow. Weird right? But that’s how I feel. I’m sorry if that sounded really- creepy but I mean it in a good way, one second I could feel intimidated, the second- I’d feel like I fit in, the third, you’d make me feel as if we’ve known each other for 20 years instead of 20 minutes.
You’re incredible, I mean it. You are one incredible thing, you’re everything nice, Goodness that sounds so stupid, I’m no good at writing letters. I’ve never liked literature, have I told you that? I absolutely hate reading long books. I hate math, and I hate science textbooks.
I like to swim, I used to be a part of this junior swim team. You told me you liked caramel macchiato, swimming is- something like a caramel macchiato to me, it’s cringy to say but, when you take the first sip, it sort of shocks you awake, your mouth gets sour from the sweetness, and then the bitter zap from the coffee, it’s just the same when you get into the water, it's cold then warm then ticklish? I can’t explain it but no matter how weird the feeling is, it never gets old. You just can’t get enough of the feeling or you just can’t get sick of it. And the feeling never sticks long enough for you to remember, so you end up going back to it.
Sorry if I’m rambling, It’s weird for me to express these thoughts from the top of my head, much less to actually write it, I’ll probably never read this again, I do hope that- You won’t find out who I am so soon though. I’d be more than embarrassed.
If you end up finding out who I am. Please don’t tell me you know me. I’ll only cower more. I’ve had my fair share of cowering away, more than enough.
I do hope this letter will find you in good condition, and with that, I’ll see if I can write you another letter. Maybe I’ll be better at writing these? Who knows, well.. you would but..
Anyway, I’ll see you soon?
From:
—————
_____________________________
Dear Y/N
5/4/22
Hello, it’s me again. Don’t mind the dates, I feel like I have a long way to go before coming to terms with myself and actually giving these letters to you. So- I decided, that maybe these can be memory keepers? Uh- like photographs, I actually never thought of what to put in these letters, especially since I think I’m talking to you, like actually talking to you through these letters. I feel it’s unsettling to start telling you my fears or something. I could tell you all about my day but it would just be me describing how the food at the canteen never ceases to gross me out, or all about my friends, or just about me. This seems really insensitive, but what can I say? I’m talking to a piece of paper.
I think I’ll find myself forgetting about these letters after a while, and I’d end up throwing them out once I move back to my parent’s home after college. Or when I move out to a separate home that I’d be spending my days in, till I think about getting a new house.
I ran out of ideas on what to talk about, so if the correction tape starts to chip, don’t mind the erasures. I guess I should talk about my day. Today was - eventfully dull, like always, I mean what’s so special about going to class (the same classes to be exact) and doing the same things all day, everyday. I did our science project in the study cubes we have in the library. It's actually- fairly comforting to have a whole box to yourself. I feel the study cube could be one of the investments of the school that I personally enjoy the most. Have you studied there before? It was my first time if you hadn’t noticed yet. It was surprisingly .. nice to be alone for once, it was quiet, not the awkward type considering the whole front wall and door is made of glass, I think the giant, white, obnoxiously large letters that spell out “study cube” helps keep the other student’s noses out of your business, whoever designed that is brilliant, brilliantly- stupid? I mean I’m no interior designer but they could have done better. (Back me up here, you’re the one in an interior designing class.) (Well only if you want to.)
It’s currently 12:34 am, I would say good morning but...
Anyway, I’m tired, you must be tired, I’ll head to bed, I hope we can talk in person soon, so I can actually stop caving in my dorm room, writing letters like you’re gonna read this. But I can wait. Okay, that sounded weird, but I can’t even keep a yawn in right now. Good night, I can't wait to lock this in my drawer.
from: ________
__________________________________
Dear Y/N
5/5/22
It’s me again. Again, please don’t talk about the dates, I guess you can see how often I want to talk to you? Never mind, that sounded stupid and weird. Please don’t think of me that way.
Do you know Jisung? Han Jisung? He’s told me before that you guys share the same social studies classes, he’s from the literature department, and he’s also tried to sign up for the school paper once, do you remember that? It was during sophomore year I believe, we haven’t met yet, but I guess we saw each other briefly, you were the - editor in chief? Was it? Or someone important in the office, and Jisung mistook you as the person who declined his “audition” (I forgot the term, was it submission?) for the papers, you did look like someone, the someone who actually did disapprove of his work. I was the friend beside him that day that he tried to and I quote “give you a piece of his mind” I still haven’t apologized to you about that, I just felt it was a little weird for me to still remember something like that so I felt embarrassed to bring it up to you now that we’ve actually met.
I do hope that you haven’t strayed away from making friends with my friends. I admit, maybe I did do something wrong but please don’t limit yourself, they’re good friends, I shouldn’t be the reason why you’re avoiding people that I’m usually around with. If I could promise and show you that I would actually mind my own business, I would. Whether you become my friend’s best friend, I really wouldn’t mind. As long as you don’t take them away from me, I wouldn’t mind, even if we aren’t comfortable talking to each other anymore.
That was some word dump, my bad. You know if these get cringed and you did read them, burn these letters, it’s the least you can do before telling me you never want to hear from me again. Knowing me, I’ll never EVER stop thinking about the fact that these letters could be up and running around the campus.
Have you read or watched the series “To all the boys I’ve loved before”? I’ve never been so traumatized from it, which is why now that I have my own letters to keep, I’m quite literally keeping them with my life. Okay wait before you go and ask me why I watched or read the series, I have a sister. And a friend named Changbin.
Seo Changbin, he’s majoring in physical education? Something about a major in sports, I think? I’m not too sure about myself anymore, he’s been transferring and having second thoughts about his course since sophomore year, and I can’t keep track of whether he’s in economics or sports, animal care, or culinary art. This can explain my case, he’s all over the place and you can’t understand what’s going on in his brain so ask him why he thought the series was fun and asked me to join him. (To be fair, it was confusing, but I did find the series- uh- interesting. It’s not my favorite show, but I don’t think it’s as bad as people say it is? I just don’t see why there’s such a big fuss about the movie series with the book series, so I watched and read both.)
Not the stereotypical, “my sister watches said series like any other girl.” She usually isn’t into those. I can vouch for her, for the past.. 18-19 years of growing up with her, I've never ever seen her read a book with that type of genre. And she seemed interested too. So I mean adds on to reasons why I might wanna see what the show’s all about right?
It’s uh- 3:45 pm, and I’ve been stuck in the infirmary with a badly twisted ankle, and I got to pass my time icing the injury so, might as well get a letter done right? I got the injury from playing soccer with my friends, it was a hassle hopping to the infirmary with 2-3 other people dragging attention to you by sobbing and acting like you got a limb cut off.
Until the next letter then.
From:
_______
~
Chan stretched his arms, leaning back on his chair, another letter finished. He sighed in contentment, his lips formed a flat smile, it held certain contentment and a tinge of fatigue from the finals week he had to accommodate together with his ongoing letter-writing agenda.
It seemed as if he’s been writing letters to you for a while now, even if he only started a few weeks ago. Chan wondered how much his letters have accumulated now. He reached over to the other end of his desk, pulling out the drawer he stashed the letters in, the sealed envelopes were all scattered on top of each other, all with dates and entries like “Letter 4” or “To: Y/N. From: “
He sighed at the sight of the envelopes, picking up a few every now and then to read all that is on the surface of each letter; if he bothered to count, these letters would outnumber the fingers his hands had. Had he been writing every day? He scoffed at himself, knowing well enough he was- amazed that he had this much to say.
Putting the letters back into the drawer, not really caring if letter 8 was under letter 5. He refocused to the newly written letter on his desk, he folded the paper neatly before putting it into a brand new envelope, snapping a tape off the small tape dispenser he stationed on the side of his table, glancing at that little tape dispenser as he was about to reach for the drawer to let the letter in his hand join the rest of his collection, he’s going to need a new roll if this prolongs or if he plans to say any more to you.
Oh goodness.
Chan closes his eyes as he leans back into his chair, his fatigue caught up fast, it was nearing 1 in the morning.
“What did I even do today?” Chan wondered to himself. As he was recounting the events of his day. Come to think of it, his recent days were just spent in the library preparing for the finals, or doing homework in class and writing letters in his dorm room.
As he thought about how his time managing skills were average, to say the least, he couldn’t help but doze off to other topics. He thought of everything he’s done, and everything he’s written, no matter how boring his day was, he always had something to write to you about. He hasn’t talked about his feelings or anything, just about himself, like his hobbies, his friends, his day, it was like those introductions in kindergarten.
Chan glanced at this mini calendar on his desk, it had a line character on the left side of the calendar, and a few of his annotations on the right. Things like “Changbin’s birthday” and “family dinner” were the common things he’d write, just simple reminders in case he missed the notification on his phone.
He looked past the dates with big red circles, those marked the dates of his final exams, and as he looked past those, there was a small note on the last day of the month, “Christmas break”.
Chan could only imagine what Christmas break would look like after finals. He wondered,
By then, would you and him be friends again?
~
Chan cursed under his breath as he mopped up the spilt apple juice on the wooden floors of his living room. It was way past 8 in the evening, his parents asked him to clean up a little bit after the party his relatives threw for his little cousin in his house. Perfect timing as well, just the day before his graduation. Tomorrow was the big day, finally the day that will mark his completion in college and his successful years passing his course with average grades and a finished bucket list.
His parents were taking down decorations and keeping leftovers, even though the constant rustling and crumpling from the cleaning session in Chan’s kitchen, Chan felt so at home with his thoughts, it was quiet in the neighborhood weirdly enough because usually, he would hear a loud motorcycle zoom past his house at an ungodly hour or an overly enthusiastic rooster or even a party down the street with obnoxious music on the highest volume.
It was like a once-in-a-lifetime thing for Chan, one of his “must-sees” before he leaves his childhood neighborhood, it’s weird because he was against the idea of leaving when his father introduced it to him with the jobs available for Chan in the next city or in the state next to his current one. But every time he thought of everything that happened in this place, all he could think about is college and then the time he fell down his bike and rolled down the street when he was 9, the only reason he wouldn’t leave was because he was comfortable here, no one ever cared that he was wearing a sweater in the middle of summer or no one really cared that he was moving, when he gets out of this place, no one will ever know someone named Christopher Bang.
Maybe his relatives, a few friends, a couple of batch mates but what are they worth in a neighborhood the size of Jisung’s cheeks, sometimes it might not look like a lot but when you really walk around the area, it’s like a whole new place you’ve never stepped foot in yet the air seemed the same, familiar even.
As soon as his parents told Chan he could head to his room to get some rest for his “big day” tomorrow. Chan trudged to his room, he wasn’t at his dorm because the school gave an early warning that he should move out slowly as the semester closes, so now he’s stuck in his childhood room with the glow in the dark stars still stuck to his roof, and his Cars 2 bedsheets. Even if he hasn’t been away from home in a long time, his mother finds his room like some Time Capsule and refuses to change it to his liking.
Chan wouldn’t say he didn’t miss this though, he’d be lying if he did. He could just remember 8-year-old him flopping on the same bed right after doing his math homework and falling asleep almost immediately. Chan bets the sheets would smell like his childhood, something like apricots and autumn leaves, or was it lavender? Chan never appreciated that smell from his blanket that would put him to sleep almost immediately, maybe that’s why he hasn’t been getting much sleep?
As Chan closed the door behind him, he spotted a clean pack of pad paper and his funny-looking transformers and star wars pens in his pen holder. Cereal packs these days don’t give anything, Chan wonders if kids these days experience the meaning of enjoying your childhood if you didn’t collect pens from cereal packs of your favorite show.
He sat down and switched on his lamp, the light flickered now and then and the light it gave off was weak, and .. it was about to go out, maybe but Chan could care less, this was pretty bright for him, he could work his way through this. He reached over and grabbed an R2D2 pen, the pen charm had the head of R2D2 hanging off a slightly rusted chain from the top of the pen. Chan clicked the pen a few times before testing it out on a corner of the pad paper on his desk.
Surprisingly it still works, like brand new actually. This was Chan’s cue to start writing, he decided, this was one story to tell you, next, he wanted to say his final thoughts and finally reveal who he was. Even if he planned to keep this to himself, at least he could finally sign the letters with his name, admitting that all those letters were in fact, his thoughts and his emotions.
“Here goes..” Chan muttered.
~
‘Breathe in, breathe out.’ Chan tried to pat down his graduation (gown?) outfit and adjust his hat. He frantically wiped his hands on his jeans under his regalia, his hands were much sweatier than usual, not like they were always wet but he figured it was the nerves he was developing or is it excitement? I mean it’s not every day you finally get to receive your diploma and finally experience the taste of adulthood.
Looking at the mirror in his old room was.. nostalgic? He has slightly longer hair as compared to before and he swore he’s grown an inch or two since he last stood in front of the mirror. A small smile found its way onto Chan’s face as he finally saw, with his own two eyes, that not only did he grow physically but maybe he did mature over time, and now’s the result of all his hard work and of all the unnecessary pain he’s been through.
“Dear? Are you ready? You’ll be late!” Chan hurried to the muffled sound of his mother. Shoving a bunch of materials and some notebooks, he didn’t think about what he shoved into his bag, he took as much as he thought he’d need from his desk top.
His bag seemed heavy but Chan figured he can sort this out later, he can’t fix time if he was late for his graduation.
“Coming!”
~
Chan heard all kinds of boisterous noises screaming, cheering, strained laughs and sniffles. He’s taken at least 2 naps in total and he’s seen his parents and younger siblings in one of the seats behind him. It had been a good 3 hours? His behind was getting numb and his brain was empty and all he saw was nothing but gray as he clapped aimlessly every time he heard a name being called to the stage.
He doesn’t mean to be rude at all but he’s been half asleep half the time and he doesn’t even know half the students being cheered for, they were all people he’s seen but never cared to get to know or just didn’t seem like they were interested in being friends with someone like him. He never liked to talk to a lot of people so he didn’t have a problem with that.
Graduation seemed slow at first, Chan was seated beside people he barely knows of and strangers and parents of said strangers were all around him, occasionally he’d be woken up from his doze by the loud shrieks of this girl in front of him or the low obnoxious cheers from the varsity player beside him. But luckily after a while, the names started to deplete, and soon after he would get called on stage and his friends too, he heard your name but the people in front of him stood on their tippy toes and screamed at the top of their lungs.
Graduation was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience, a milestone, an honor that you wear around your neck. Now that everyone was flooding out the auditorium, chatters among students with things along the lines of “I can’t believe it! We’re out of this place for good!” And “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!”
And if Chan was, to be honest, he felt the same way. It's unbelievable that college just ended like that, all those years blown away in one big gust of wind, Chan could hardly recall the days he’d complain to his friends about how he would consider dropping out if a certain teacher didn’t lift the workload. (As a joke of course)
As Chan caught up with friends he forgot about “sorting” his bag out from earlier and he was pretty carried away with the jokes and diploma-shoving banter from his friends and some acquaintances from different classes. He could almost smell the tinge of sweet autumn breeze in the air, like a reward after all the grueling years of college.
He felt the slight odd-one-out item in his bag as he gripped it before slinging it over his shoulder. As Chan walked out of the auditorium he could smell a familiar scent and an “aftertaste” of a certain drink. Caramel Macchiato.
Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or a hit of nostalgia, or just a familiar feeling he missed resurfaced. He held onto his bag as he ran up to his friends waiting at the side of the auditorium to tell them he had to catch up with someone before he could miss them.
Chan ran back to the auditorium, looking all around him for a sign of you but all he saw were teachers and some staff members cleaning up the mess as well as some students who were just chatting with friends, but none of them resembled a certain Y/N.
He ran outside and went to gardens and sanctuaries students usually stayed to hangout. At this point he was losing hope, it was getting dark and each minute that passed was a moment he hoped he could catch up to you, he hoped you’d still miraculously, still be there waiting or that he could somehow catch up to you.
As the day was coming to a dark, vibrant orange, and the sun was slowly setting with each tick of his watch. Chan, with all hope lost, trudged to the front gate of the school, he tried, that’s one story for his very final letter maybe.
He thought about all the places he wanted to check, he wished he could be everywhere all at the same time in case you decided to go to a certain place, he wouldn't have missed you if it were that way.
He dragged his feet, kicking pebbles along the way and fallen pine cones in his way. Chan heard chatter from a distance and he just prayed it was his friends waiting for him, he wanted to take his mind away from you, or from this whole thing, he should be celebrating after all!
Chan couldn’t look up for some reason, scared it could be you or your friends, he wasn’t really prepared for a moment like that you know?
“Chan? Where have you been?”
What?
That doesn’t sound like Jisung at all. Chan looked up to find a certain caramel macchiato enjoyer. You.
Chan’s mouth was slightly left agape, what’s with his luck? He wouldn’t count this as luck but neither did he think this was something unfortunate. He gulped as he held onto his backpack strap, why did you ask where he’s been? Have you been looking for him?
“Hey..?” Chan answered meekly.
“Hi.. uh..” You laughed nervously as you looked at your friends and waved them off for a bit before turning back to Chan.
“Can we talk?”
“Can we talk?”
You two asked in unison, both with a similar tone in your voices, it wasn’t something like after an unresolved break up or with misunderstood feelings, more like a needed congratulations.
And an awaited goodbye.
“Uh, my bad you can go first.” Chan offered.
“You should go first.” You insisted.
Chan coughed awkwardly into his fist, averting his gaze to the side before pursing his lips. This was it, this was it, this was it. Chan encouraged himself as he unzipped his bag to get the box out of his bag.
As he handed it to you with his eyes looking off to the tree behind you.
“I wouldn’t say this is a graduation gift to you per se, but it’s something I meant to give to you for-.. awhile? I guess you could say that.”
You took the box into your hands as you furrowed your brows, but offered a small smile to him. Chan finally glanced back at your expression. He was worried you’d be sort of negative about this but to his surprise, your smile was something that resembled an overly sweetened caramel macchiato. Sweet, too sweet on that note, but enjoyable, stereotypical, an everyday thing but you could tell the barista made it with a whole lot of love and effort, in short, it was genuine and Chan longed to see that from you after a long while.
“Don’t open it!” Chan outstretched his hand as you slightly lifted the box’s lid off.
“Open it at least a week later, or-.. well when you start to miss college, yeaH! TILL YOU MISS COLLEGE! Or -.. better a week later..!” Chan rushed as he tried to push back the cover.
You chuckled at his antics just as you nodded at his request(?). You tucked the box’s lid back on properly, easing Chan’s nerves.
After a long comfortable silence and a few awkward giggles and chuckles here and then, Chan started to bring back the topic, “A-anyway.. your turn…”
“Ah right.. my bad… uhm” Now you were afraid to look at him.
“I wanted to congratulate you, we had a good score for our project, and your delivery was great. Sorry, I couldn’t have… congratulated you earlier, I- I wanted to for a while actually ! But I figured you were too busy juggling with the finals and with your swim practices..” You hugged the small bouquet of flowers in your arms.
You grinned sheepishly and laughed awkwardly to ease the tension you felt, Chan offered the same laugh before answering.
“Oh no no it’s no problem, I haven’t been able to congratulate you earlier either! So it’s no worries! Really.” Chan waved you off as he averted his gaze to look at his shoes.
“Well uhm.. this is for you by the way.” You smiled sheepishly as your voice grew small while extending the bouquet of flowers to him, the plastic’s soft crinkles seemed to fill a void of silence that you two couldn’t fill. Chan doubted either of you were bothered though, in fact it reminded him of the autumn leaves.
Chan’s eyes grew in astonishment as he was faced with a dozen roses, from the looks of it, it was just freshly picked as well. He hesitantly glanced at you, asking if this was really for him before reluctantly accepting the bouquet of roses into his own arms.
“Oh.. thank you..?” He turned from admiring the roses to thanking you with a slight confused tone, you chuckled softly. “Sorry, I’ve never gotten flowers, it’s usually just me giving them to my mom.”
“You can give these flowers to your mom as well.” You shrugged playfully as you watch Chan erupt into laughter.
“I mean, people can give others flowers right? Plus it’s graduation day, isn’t it tradition?” You offered him a smile, Chan couldn’t understand what was behind it, to be fair, he couldn’t even understand if the smile he was giving was because he was happy he got his first ever bouquet of flowers or the fact that you thought about giving it to him.
Chan exhaled, as if he were holding his breath but he was able to feel a wave of relief as he inhaled the fresh autumn air. “It is tradition but you rarely see it happen these days.”
“At least you got to see it for yourself right? Doesn’t it make it extra special?” Your smile never faded but your eyes softened at the sight of Chan, you missed this.
“It does.” Chan held the flowers close to his chest as his smile grew, the sides of his eyes crinkled slightly.
After a while of silence, the two of you laughed off the awkwardness before nodding in acknowledgment that you both are here, at this moment, you two can finally say goodbye..? It felt short-lived but this was all that Chan has been wishing for since his first letter.
“I should probably get going now.. It’s getting late and.. your friends are probably waiting for you.” Chan gestured to your friends chatting behind you, before offering you a reassuring smile. It’s time to go home, or well to go with your respective friend groups.
“Oh right.. Yeah.. I should probably get going as well.” You glanced back at your friends and chuckled softly.
“… I guess I’ll see you then?” You held onto the box Chan gifted you and you felt your fingers squeezing it, realizing the smooth, soft, feather-like texture of the box, something similar to a stationary box.
“Yeah.. Until then I guess.” Chan unconsciously gave the bouquet in his arms a squeeze, it was already impossibly close to his chest but he hugged it closer, finding uncut thorns that poked at the thick plastic wrapping and colored paper outer wrapping.
You two waved to each other as you both giggled to yourselves, you were relieved that even with the gap between you two before, something’s don’t really change. You hoped and wished maybe you had more time to say goodbye, but you can’t keep him here forever.
~
Slamming the door shut as you sighed harshly, flopping onto your bed, face planting into your pillow. Turning your head to the side just to sigh again, it was a small disagreement with your parents and it ended in you storming to your room and planning to keep to yourself until the whole thing blows over.
Closing your eyes, you squeezed them shut, your head was starting to have a slight pounding sensation at the back. Just your luck.
As you opened your eyes, you noticed a familiar box on your desk, you never noticed, and maybe it’s because the baby blue shade that was confused with white, was blending with the polka dots. You sat up on your bed, ignoring the slight headache from falling into bed.
Reaching over to grab the box from your desk, you realized there was a small tag stuck on the box, it had a small “Chan’s things :)” in a carefree, child-like handwriting, you smiled at the endearing sight, everyday it’s like you could still see bits and pieces of him.
Opening the lid your eyebrows raised in shock? Amusement? Maybe in the middle of both. Multiple letters (you assumed) were in airmail envelopes with stamps that were considered valuable were on corners of each one.
Picking the first one in the pile to inspect it, you realized that each envelope had the familiar handwriting of Chan, it wasn’t neat nor was it messy, but you found it something like a characteristic of his. With each letter that you picked up, more emerged from the bottom of the pile, you wondered how Chan was able to fit hundreds- maybe even thousands of these letters.
You put the pile in your hands back into the box before plucking a letter randomly, opening it, and finding an evenly folded paper inside and with the letter being addressed to you. You were seeing the date of each letter being from a year or two ago. Subconsciously picking another random letter up into your free hand as you read. This process continued until half the pile in the box was transferred to another pile of opened envelopes beside you.
As you finished another letter, you carefully folded it back to how it was and inserted it back into its envelope before stacking it on top of the other letters you finished. Opening a new one, and you realized it had a second page, you noticed the dim lighting from your window and realized it was late. And that you’ve spent your remaining afternoon reading letters.
This letter didn’t have a date. You figured it could be a really recent letter or a letter Chan forgot to mark.
Dear Y/N,
On this day is my little cousin’s birthday, and it’s just a day away from our graduation ceremony. I went to his birthday party and when I entered the first thing he called me was, crispy. For obvious reasons, I do hope that I don’t give off that vibe.. or get-up, and I do hope you won’t call me crispy either, Chan or Chris, that’s it, not crispy. Weirdly enough his parents and MY parents egged my little cousin on and they started to call me uncle crispy. Anyway, tomorrow is our graduation day. I have my letters in a box, only recently did I get a box for them, and you know what? I tried to count them but I sort of lost count, so I’m stuck with thinking I wrote 87 letters..? But I don’t recall writing that much though, hopefully, it isn't, I don’t want you reading 87 letters of just me talking about how much I hate mathematics class. I also forgot to ask how was your day? I hope it’s going well. I believe this will be my last and final letter to you, I doubt I’ll have time to write another one tomorrow, not with my nerves for the graduation ceremony. I’m still unsure if I want to give this box of letters that are sitting on my desk right now. If I do, and you will see this letter, I hope you won’t be creeped out or- anything.. I mean well with the letters.
Since this is my last letter to you, it might be one long one. It’s just for goodbyes, you know? I’m going to be moving out of the dorms soon. I've done some packing early in the week so I’ll be out of here faster than I estimated, which is why I concluded that this might be my last letter. I’m not sure if I’ll stay in the neighborhood either. I have plans, I guess you can say, and it involves me moving out of the country or off to another city. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart I want to stay here so in turn that if you wanted to say something to me before I go, I’d hear it. But from the pit in my stomach, I don’t think you would even stop to think about these. Throw these letters out as soon as you read them though, I really don’t see why you would keep them in the first place and I want you to promise that you will, I’ll only sleep better if I know you will.
Below this paragraph is the things I’ll finally say and mention to you, after a long while of not being able to admit these things to you, no they are not problems, or complaints, neither is it obsessions and addictions, just my feelings, not necessarily feelings as in romantic feelings, but feelings as in the things I thought and felt when we were friends, and/or when we had the chance to hang out. If you don’t want to read beyond this, feel free to just throw it out.
Do you remember when you made your first friend? I can’t really remember the feeling, but I remember the memory, but what’s a memory without feelings? A black and white picture maybe. To be fair I have made a lot of friends, in my whole life, I don’t recall meeting more than 20 people a year so.. being “friends” with a people’s person did get into my head for a while. You’re admirable as a person, I’m sure people around you have made that clear, but I think when I met you, half of me or probably more, was happy to meet someone who didn’t seem too intimidating. Maybe you were intimidating at first to me, considering your status but after sometime you seemed like the warmest, kindest being I’ve encountered. I may not know what it’s like to be in your place everyday and I may not know what you see in your eyes everyday, but from what I know, you’re going through so much, and yet you have so much compassion and kindness despite it all. That’s admirable.
Maybe I am wrong and maybe I’m just overthinking but I feel that there were some things left unsaid, and some unexpected outcomes in our friendship and I understand you need space, and you’d rather save yourself the trouble, which is why I’m writing these letters to you, in hope that when you’re ready to talk to me, and that I’ll be too late to reply, at least I’ll have some answers for you. I’ll admit, if I knew my timing, if I knew how to approach you, and if I knew how to resolve things that are left undone, maybe I would have reached out to you sooner, but sadly, I don’t, and I could barely tell time on regular days, either I’m too sleepy to care or it’s usually around dinner time by the time I get out of the building, whether it be from the dorms or from school and I don’t have the guts to even talk around new people or well.. talking to people was never really my forte, to begin with, and I’ve always hated solving math word problems, so I’m sure you could tell why I didn’t approach you sooner and I’m sure you know that I’m actually not so special, I’m a little below average actually. I’m the definition of a quiet kid that, maybe only 3 people in the whole batch knows about me, even if I wore sweatshirts and vests instead of hoodies or khaki pants instead of joggers and even if I walked around wearing clothes like that, no one would care who I was because I wasn’t going to be special or I wasn’t sticking out like a sore thumb. (Not that you are one though)
But you, on the other hand, you’re like the definition of a successful, “someone-whose-future-is-bright”, “they’re-going-places” type of student. And sometimes they forget that putting you so high on a pedestal… makes you so isolated from everyone else. I must admit, I looked at you the same way, like some otherworldly- being. Which I’m sure you didn’t know..? Or pretended to not know maybe. But after hanging out with you for a while, after you told me what you said to me that day? I realized you’re just a person, who has dreams and passions, and fears and flaws. I realized you’re just trying to fit in what others say you are because you felt like if you didn’t, you aren't Y/N anymore. I admire that you still strive to be the best. That’s something a normal person can’t do. That’s something I can’t do. This must be the other reason why I looked at you like some “otherworldly being”.
Oh gosh, that was a whole word dump. I apologize, really, it’s just what I realized and I wish I knew that early on, and I wished that I knew how to tell you that it was okay to let your guard down. And that if you need help, I’ll always be willing to lend a helping hand.. and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that earlier on. I also want to apologize for that day, my answers weren’t really well thought of and maybe I didn’t consider what you could have felt either and I’m sorry, I know I could have done better and maybe I wouldn't be holed up in my room on the night before we graduate, writing this letter to you. You know what? It’s funny, people would call this and my other letters “love letters” even though I doubt the rest had anything to do with me claiming I loved you or anything. I’m only using this method as an actual way to communicate, you know, like how letters were actually used before. But to say that this last one is not a love letter, might be a lie. Love letter as in me telling you these things because I care about you, be it platonically, romantically, I wouldn't know, I’ve never felt anything like this before and I doubt it’s what they call love. They say it's something like being close to the sun or on cloud 9 or talking to the moon or something, hell, what does it mean to be on “cloud 9”? Wouldn't it hurt to be close to the sun? Why would someone talk to the moon so eagerly when you’re “in love”? I talk to the moon about my science homework, would it mean I love science? Do you get what I mean? This isn’t a letter about me being in love with you romantically, it’s more like a letter of admiration? Of care maybe. A care letter(?). But if these were symptoms or bits and pieces of love, in the romantic sense. I wouldn’t know, because I guess love will come differently to everyone else. But right now, when I think of you, my lungs are alright, my heart isn’t beating abnormally and my hands aren't shaking. In the time that I can confirm this is romantic love towards you, I guess I’ll write another letter to admit that to you. I learned in my time of writing to you that having unsaid thoughts and “feelings” have a choking effect on you. If anything, I’m telling you this because half of me confides in the fact that we might never meet again, and the fact that I know I’d rather not force these thoughts and feelings down my throat. I’ll admit to you that, even if we spent maybe a week? Or half a month? Hanging out with you and thinking back on it makes me feel like we spent ages growing up together and yet I can’t even recall your favorite color. Am I just forgetting that important detail or did I never ask? Maybe you would’ve gotten awkward if I asked that before, don’t people on dates usually ask that? I hate to say that this is most likely our last conversation. And you know what? I feel like I spent a good amount of time completing my bucket list in college. I made a new friend, “fell in love” I guess, and got through the 4 years with memories. Thank you for being part of my 4 years here, it was a blast. Might be the most I’ve done in my whole life, and.. one thing I have to admit before I end the letter.
I lied. I actually dislike americanos, I mean I don’t hate it, and I do drink it, but bitter isn’t usually the option I’d go for, the reason why I stuck with it was because you ordered it for me and in time.. I didn’t really mind the bitterness anymore, I guess I was distracted talking to you. I also disliked science projects, mainly because it’s never my forte and because I was never grouped up with someone who tried to cooperate with me. That day in the cafe where we first met? I didn’t actually think about anything, I was just- scared, no I wasn’t scared of you or anything, I was scared of what others will think when they look at me with you. I still do, and I think about it a lot whenever I write a letter to you. The rest are completely true though, I hated literature classes, I never liked math and I had a small hobby for swimming and I had my cousin’s birthday party today, and that I have 2 other friends. But the truest thing about me, in my letters? Is that I “loved” you, platonically or romantically, I can’t tell, it’s just as I said before, I have never been in love with someone romantically, maybe platonically but I don’t really know that feeling either. Maybe it’s unconfirmed but the fact that I dislike americanos but in turn ended up liking it, is true, because like I said before, I like coffee. And I’ll never really know if that’s true for me, maybe liking americano will or is just a phase because of your influence (?) but I never really lied to you have I? I like science, it’s just the projects I hate, I was thinking of some things on the day when we met. I was thinking about what others would think about me sitting in the cafe with you. So.. the fact that I can admit that I “loved” you, isn’t that technically true as well? This is exactly how my thoughts are right now in my head as I write, confusing but, it’s not everyday I can put my thoughts into words like this.
I’m going to end the letter like this, I think I’ve said everything that’s been burdening my heart, I think this is all that I can say. I may be someone normal and maybe I’m someone you probably have forgotten about a long time ago, but I’ll always remember you as someone I was probably romantically and/or platonically in “love” with. As we are parting ways, you don’t need to say anything regarding this because maybe I’ve already left but because I’m afraid of what you’ll say to begin with. If you feel the same way(?) you don’t have to admit anything to me, just accept the fact that I had the odd opportunity and sudden courage to tell you this. But believe that this, and the rest of my letters, were written with my whole heart and with good intentions and with the purest emotion and thoughts a human being can put into words.
Goodbye Y/N, I hope you read this a week later as you promised. (And that you will throw this out like I told you to do)
And I hope to see you soon in the future.
Sincerely yours,
Chris.
#narsicen#romance#klibrary#ficscafe#kpop#stray kids#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios#writers on tumblr#skz fluff#stray kids x reader#bangchan#christopher bang#bang chan#skz fanfic#skz x reader#skz au#writerscommunity#kpop imagines#kpop boy group#flangst#slice of life#angst#fluff
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0.01: | 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘
❝ Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is ❞
𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: richboy!heeseung and richgirl!reader (the reader is fem bodied)
𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: smut
𝘄.𝗰: 5.08k
𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: voyeurism, balcony sex, oral (male and female), praise kink, boob guy Heeseung, Heeseung has a lip ring (IT'S IN FACT A WARNING), doggy style, ballet dancer, face off, teasing, phonecall sex, petnames (sweetheart and princess), hair pulling and a surprise towards the end ;)
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Two roommates, you and Heeseung, have a complex relationship marked by challenge and competitiveness. Heeseung, competitive and energetic, believes he is the best in bed and challenges you to a bet to prove it. You have seven days to see if he can back up his claim
seven masterlist [here]
intro || tuesday
You don't remember moving an inch after your little slip in the living room generated by your roommate, who eventually went to the building opposite his best friends, Sunghoon and Jake. For your great fortune, your sister's call that she would go to the apartment with food along with her girlfriend a few minutes after she left made you sigh calmly, knowing that you were going to have free grace therapy for your two favorite girls.
You decided to wait on the balcony of the place, breathing deeply in the fresh air of the afternoon. The sector you guys were in was remodelled, in fact the whole place, and in that you thanked your parents for lending you a significant sum of money for it by investing it in your comfortable home (because that was another thing you both shared, and it was being economically stable but wanting to be independent).
It had two armchairs with the perfect size for the average balcony, a small table in the center, and some padded high chairs that complemented everything harmoniously. This gave a perfect view of the urbanization and was at the same level as Heeseung's friends' window (unfortunately), but it was nothing from the other world. I only managed to appreciate the colored lights they installed each time they threw a massive party or just played on the console located in the room, although both buildings were quite close despite the street.
You observed from your position that in the opposite room, the three boys were receiving a boy announcing his entrance with some pizza boxes, and by the outfit, you could quickly recognize that it was Park Jongseoong. You had met each of them when Heeseung held a "small meeting," and Jake had come into your room believing it was the bathroom and coming back a few minutes later to talk to you because he was bored.
You still remember how the boy, whom you firmly believed was the personification of a golden retriever, pulled you out of your cave to join the party. Even though you wanted to wrap yourself in the sheets of your bed, you couldn't rest with all the noise; all you did was make sure you left your room safely and interacted against your will.
In your eyes, the four of them were quite different. Jake was quite friendly, and you could say that he was playful. Jay had shown himself to be a quiet extrovert but also a joker. Sunghoon was a pretty new case for you. In what you were sharing with the two foreigners, Sunghoon remained silent and only gave little smiles for education; all were interesting in their way, and along with Heeseung, you didn't avoid realizing how well they complemented each other, and you didn't doubt that their friendship was as you thought, "those that almost no longer exist."
The sound of the door being opened frightened you for a moment until you remembered that you had given the entry key to those who were coming. You got up excited to greet the couple with joy and relief. However, you didn't have to be a genius to know it would last a while when you dropped the bomb on your sister over Heeseung.
"Hey, are the dishes where they always are?" You shouted in affirmation, not ceasing to embrace Shuhua. She looked around and opened her eyes, surprised.
"How come Heeseung's not here?"
"It's in the boys' place." You pointed to the balcony, and Shuhua took the initiative to go there, so you had no choice but to get up and set the table. It was a routine all three had; Soojin arrived with food, and Shuhua was in charge of closing the balcony doors, although this time it was stronger than the previous ones when he saw Heeseung from a distance.
Shuhua wasn't such a fan of men, especially Heeseung, after your constant complaints about the women he brought home and all. And to your surprise, Soojin liked or hated Heeseung, but she was upset that he had no respect for you, your sister being the main reason Heeseung no longer brought his suitors to the place (or, well, not always).
All of you gathered at the table to eat in silence; only you were silent if we were sincere. The silence on your part made Soojin pay attention; she knew for sure that something was on your mind that was bothering you, and she was going to get that information out of you one way or another. Her direct attitude caught the attention of her girlfriend and yours when she applauded a little.
"What are you thinking?" Her eyes were fixed on you, and the surprise was on your face. You knew you weren't good at hiding your expressions, but you didn't think it was so obvious.
"Nothing."
"You're lying; you look like an idiot."
"Wow, Shuhua, thank you for that cute nickname." Your sarcastic voice didn't affect her; it even made her laugh. You had to tell her what happened, but there were no words to soften the situation.
"All right. You know Heeseung and I are pretty upset, and let's not forget I'm a mouthful. That part's important, actually." With Soojin's accusatory gaze and Shuhua's disgust, you wanted to stop, but you needed some advice. "Let's just say that I was screwing him with the fact that he was disgusting with sex and challenged me to have sex with him for seven days to prove otherwise." — Shuhua was choking on food, and Soojin was doing nothing to the shock of the above, reacting shortly after patting her girlfriend.
The two girls got up, trying to digest everything, and you could only shrink in your place.
"Look, I love you so much, as if you were my sister. And since I love you so much, I'm telling you to come live with us and leave this filthy scoundrel here and-"
"Accept what he proposed." You and Shuhua had a surprise expression all over your faces at what Soojin said after interrupting Shuhua.
"Honey, we're talking about Heeseung. The personification of an undeveloped human being wants to mess with the best creation in this world. No, I refuse." You were flattered by the last part, but you were confused anyway.
Soojin returned to his seat with a calmer appearance, unlike his girlfriend.
"I like Heeseung, if we forget that he used to bring girls to the place, but outside of that, he's a good guy, and you know it. Besides, don't look at it as a punishment like Shuhua does; look at it as a way to get you out of your misery. You've slept with other guys, but how many of them really made you feel good?" She was right. You were never happy with the sexual encounters you had because either they focused on their own pleasure or ended too quickly.
"None of them."
"Also, think things through. I don't like Heeseung, but I have to admit it's a...normal boy." Soojin held a small laugh and nodded at the words of her girlfriend, your hands intertwined with those of your sister, who gave you a warm smile.
"The decision is yours, and if it goes wrong, you have space in our home."
"But if the son of a bitch gets to-"
"Shuhua, please!"
"All right! Think about it!"
The beatings of your heart were pounding in your chest, while your senses seemed to be sharpening supernaturally. It was as if you were tuned to every detail of his environment in an almost animal-like way. You couldn't get Soojin's words out of your mind after they left, and you admitted with some regret that your older sister was right. Despite your reluctance toward Heeseung, there were valuable aspects to their relationship: his attention, his willingness to help you with tasks that were confusing to you, his undeniable attractiveness, and, although it was hard for you to admit, his maturity on most occasions.
Although you didn't want to look desperate, you realized you were looking for some kind of sexual release. Heeseung's offer was insinuated as an irresistible temptation. You weren't a complete novice; you had experiences that could be qualified as experimental. And considering the rumors about your "frenemy" sexual prowess, you couldn't help but fill your mind with bold thoughts. The thoughts of what his tactics would be like at the time, what kind of caresses he would like to receive or grant, and how he would explore their bodies in a fiery dance of desire. The idea of being with him, of giving up on each other in a whirlwind of passion, wrapped you in a spiral of anticipation.
"Damn it!" A cry of frustration emerged from your lips, suffocated by the pillow on your face. You sat on the bed, and your eyes sat on the clock table.
It was 1:28 a.m. Monday.
You could feel the need to take over, and he knew right away. You needed to release that tension that was invading you. Without further delay, you took a set of pajamas for the morning, hoping to cool off under the water of a shower. But the thought of Heeseung and the possibility of fulfilling his promise accompanied you as an insistent shadow, infusing his actions with a touch of anticipated electricity.
Looking for a break, you opted for a red fruit tea, confident that it would help you to reconcile your sleep without difficulty. For the second time on the day, you went to the balcony, a space that looked like an oasis of tranquility at that time. You leaned on the railing, letting your elbows sink into it, while your eyes rested on the streets that were illuminated by the faint light of the lighthouses. The day was routine, which meant that the urban landscape was calm. With your eyes closed, you gave in to the delight of that moment. The taste of the drink permeated your palate, giving it a sweet touch in the morning. You and the moon were the main actors in that serene moment. The cup emptied faster than expected, which led you to turn around and deposit it on the center table.
You were shocked to see Heeseung's figure approaching you. The boy was also slightly shocked before he burst into laughter at the fun scene. Heeseung stood before her, tied in one of her many loose black shirts, combined with her omnipresent grey joggers, which seemed to be an essential part of her wardrobe. You turned your back on him, trying to calm the accelerated heartbeat that the boy's mere presence caused inside you. After all, you had made a decision, and you weren't willing to take it back.
You were determined to follow the game Heeseung had proposed, to embark on those seven days that he promised so much.
You felt Heeseung's tall body settling next to yours, and your eyes turned to meet his. You noticed her staring at you, a little smile playing on her face. At that moment, they shared a moment charged with a mysterious attraction, as if they were two magnetic forces approaching inevitably.
"How come you're not asleep?" Heeseung began the conversation, breaking the silence. His voice sounded soft and slightly snoring, which only intensified the connection that was beginning to take shape between you two.
"I'm not sleepy. I slept a little in the afternoon after Soojin and Shuhua left." you answered, noticing Heeseung nodding in understanding. His eyes were placed on your profile—an action you didn't realize, but that stole his breath and left his mind momentarily blank.
For Heeseung, you've always been the most beautiful girl of all.
Your features were perfectly balanced, and your figure not only aroused his desire to explore what was under your clothes but also the desire to embrace you and never let you go. Your personality, an amalgam of strength and softness, created a balance that made you stand out wherever you went. Heeseung had been attracted to you from the moment he saw you smile brilliantly as you entered your apartment at that time, touching with emotion all that was within your reach.
At first, Heeseung thought it was just a passing infatuation, a superficial whim. That's why he went on with his way of life as a womanizer, unaware that you were becoming the missing piece in his life's puzzle.
"Sorry about today," Heeseung said again, bringing his voice closer to you. You looked at him, slightly confused by the apology. "What I said this afternoon was inappropriate. If you're uncomfortable and you need room, I can ask the boys to let me stay with them."
Moonlight did not favor you at all; in fact, its brightness allowed Heeseung to observe how your cheeks would acquire a lovely crimson tone. It was hard for him to contain a smile in front of that scene that I never imagined. A prolonged silence was established among you. What am I supposed to do now? Say something else.
Heeseung decided that his wishes were no longer worth hiding.
"I accept." you whispered suddenly, taking Heeseung by surprise.
"Do you accept me leaving?" Heeseung asked, bewildered.
A soft laugh sprang from your lips, making Heeseung even more confused.
"No. I accept that you show me how good you are." Your words resonated in Heeseung's mind, falling like pieces instead.
"I won't do anything you don't want." Heeseung said, his promises of respect and care being in contrast to the situation.
His words softened your heart a little, and you decided to venture even further. You brought your body a little closer to Heeseung's, enough to dare bite Heeseung's lower lip, adorned with a piercing in the middle, giving him a sigh that resounded with delight. It was a daring act under the moon, a gesture that sealed his complicity at that intense moment.
"Make me feel good, Heeseung." You challenged, your voice full of desire and longing.
"I'll show you the fucking clouds, sweetheart" he answered, letting his words carry a burning promise. Finally, both lips were found in a long-awaited and contained kiss for a long time. Heeseung's body leaned against the balcony railing, and his arms surrounded you, placing it in front of him without breaking his kiss.
You didn't stay behind; your fingers got tangled in the boy's platinum hair. The two were on the verge of a pact with Rati, a single movement to plunge into a whirlwind of fleshly desires. At that moment, they hid their true feelings, wrapped in a fire of passion and longing.
Each caress seemed desperate, a reflection of the months in which they had been waiting for this moment without even realizing it. Your hands left Heeseung's neck, exploring the boy's wide shoulders before firmly squeezing his biceps, an expression of the contained desire that was finally being released. Heeseung followed your example, your fingers playing with the soft satin fabric of your pajamas shirt that you were wearing at the time. Every touch of their warm hands under your shirt sent chills of anticipation through your skin, intensifying the passion that burned between them.
With a firm grip on your waist, Heeseung attracted you even closer, as if he wanted to merge their bodies into a passionate and unwavering embrace. The tip of her tongue subtly outlined your lips, causing a wider opening and an exchange of breath that culminated in the encounter between her tongues. The sweet taste of the cherry you shared in the tea accentuated the sensuality of the moment. Heeseung's hands gently walked the way from his abdomen to your bare breasts, making your skin stand before his touch.
His thumb and index fingers caressed your nipples, generating a moan that escaped from your lips and mixed with the boy's sigh. That sound sounded like music in Heeseung's ears, who smiled laciously at your answer. You were already lost in the pleasure he gave you, and in an instant of skillful movement, Heeseung's shirt disappeared from his body, revealing his skin in the moonlight.
Heeseung's skin was almost angelic in the darkness of the night. His figure, slightly worked, appeared in its maximum splendor without restriction of clothes. Her pants, lying suggestively down, implied that she was not wearing underwear—something that didn't go unnoticed for you and that fed your desire even more. However, the opportunity to admire his figure quickly disappeared as his lips looked for yours again with eagerness.
Heeseung explored your skin with his lips, charting a path from the back of his ear to your clavicles, following the same path you had walked seconds before with his shirt. Your breasts were released from their confinement, and Heeseung watched carefully as the cool evening wind hardened the nipples, generating a tempting and exciting image. His hands captured your breasts again, loving them delicately and firmly, causing you to tilt your head back, letting slip a sigh of pleasure that resonated in the atmosphere full of desire at the moment of feeling Heeseung's tongue giving little licks on them, gathering them to duplicate the pleasure it gave you. Each action lit fire between them, and the passion became more intense with each touch of their bodies.
Time seemed to expand at that moment of burning connection. After a while, Heeseung turned his attention away from the top of your body, and his hands slipped towards the back of his thighs, lifting you up easily. Together, they took a seat on one of the chairs, with you on top of Heeseung. Your knees were beside him, but you didn't sit completely down, wanting to prolong the moment of anticipation.
You let yourself be carried away by the frenzy of desire while their bodies were entangled in a dance of passion. In Heeseung's eyes, you looked like a goddess, and he worshipped you with every kiss he laid on his naked waist and the lines he drew with his lips. Every caress was an affirmation that what they were living was real, and your beauty in the moonlight stunned them.
Your lips took Heeseung's in another passionate kiss, but soon you parted with him, taking his hands to stand before him. The intensity in the air was palpable, charged with anticipation. Heeseung was momentarily baffled by your action, but his surprise quickly turned into grunting content when you got rid of your shorts and underwear. Kneeling in front of him, you looked him in the eye as your hands went up through Heeseung's covered thighs.
One action was enough to get rid of the only garment that covered his deepest desire. Your gaze focused on Heeseung's semi-erect limb. It was neither extremely thick nor venous, but its length caught your eye. The tip, dyed in a subtle red, shone with the pre-semen that emerged. Without looking away from his eyes, you let your tongue run through the liquid with a little tongue that stunned Heeseung.
"Damn, you're perfect for me." You were motivated by the comment and started with slow and sensual movements, caressing its length with your hands and applying the right pressure at the right time.
Heeseung's body reacted with soft movements, and the sight combined with the increasing humidity that could be seen in your pants generated a soft moan that escaped from his lips. You could see a grin on Heeseung's face before he closed his eyes, succumbing to pleasure.
Heeseung's hands encountered yours on his limb, gently removing them before you could continue. You raised your body to stand in front of him, and he sat you down so that his chest would touch your back. Your legs were opened by Heeseung, who placed his dick between your folds, no penetration whatsoever. Keeping the erotic contact and the tension.
Heeseung's fingers explored your clitoris, causing your body to shake and your hips to spin in small circles, both trapped in a whirlwind of desire. But the sweet nickname he used at that intimate moment highlighted the contrast between sin and affection, generating your lower part to beat in anticipation.
"Let me help you, sweetheart." Heeseung's digits explored your body, finding the way to the moisture that enveloped them both. Your moaning increased in intensity as you were carried away by the pleasure that took hold of you. Although you tried to keep quiet, the desire grew uncontrollably, pushing you to express yourself more and more. Heeseung surprised you by inserting a finger into you, and the contact made you bow your back while you were making a drowning moan.
The feeling of fullness and the touch of your skin with Heeseung's filled you with intense excitement. The second finger joined the first finger, shrinking and causing a tremor throughout your being. Your hands clung to Heeseung's thighs as your hips moved to the rhythm of his fingers, looking for more of that intoxicating sensation.
You couldn't deny that the moment of passion was like being in an uncontrollable flame that threatened to consume them completely. You opened your eyes, clouded by pleasure, and met the intense gaze of Heeseung, who had been watching you with a mixture of desire and worship. However, he didn't seem willing to let you take the reins any longer.
You looked ahead to give Heeseung your neck, and you didn't know if it was the moment that was making you hallucinate, confirming that it wasn't a mirage when you decided to focus completely, leaving pleasure on one side.
Sunghoon was watching everything from the balcony of his respective department through his circular lenses, and by the expression he carried, he had been surprised by the situation. The girl gradually stopped her movements, getting Heeseung to let go of a grunt.
"Is everything okay? There's something wrong?" — With no reaction from you, Heeseung followed your gaze, and he couldn't help feeling a little surprised when he saw his best friend with his favorite cup in his hand, without looking away from them. Sunghoon, seeing that he was caught, began to fix his surroundings until Heeseung threw a whistle, drawing his attention. At no time did Heeseung's hands move away from you, forcing you both to stand up and stand in front of the railing, your breasts completely exposed to Sunghoon and his free hand on your hips, his lips touching your right ear in a tempting way. "Do you like Sunghoon watching you? "See how you fuck yourself?" —the squeeze your walls gave his fingers confirmed his doubt.
You were ecstatic with the simple fact that that shy boy had now sat like an obedient child in a chair that they also had in their place in front of Heeseung, ignoring both of you by looking at his phone.
"Do you want to give him a little show?" With courage, you nodded. Heeseung left you for a moment, searched his pants for his phone, and returned to you. The screen clearly showed how Heeseung was calling Sunghoon. They both saw Sunghoon take his cell phone, and with a little doubt, he answered the call.
"Hyung, I'm sorry. I will go to my-."
"Don't go it, Sunghoon; we like being watched. Enjoy the view and the audio. Also, if you want to jerk yourself off, do it." You could see Sunghoon's eyebrows going up in surprise, and later on, he was sitting in front like he was before.
Your jaw was taken by Heeseung and placed so that your sight was fixed in Park. Heeseung again explored your intimate area, and at this point, you could feel your legs shaking as your orgasm was postponed. You could see Sunghoon shaking his leg from top to bottom with shyness, but his eyes would not move away in any way, coming into visual contact with him. You saw a little bit down, noticing his dick being marked in his pajamas. Heeseung pulled out his fingers, causing you to complain of dissatisfaction and look over your shoulder. But your complaints became a louder moan when you felt his penis pressing against your entrance. Your bodies were connected in a way that exceeded any expectations, and now you were leaning against the bar and with your ass at the perfect angle for Heeseung to enter in a delicious way, feeling the warmth and firmness of your torso while he held you with his arms. The phone in your hand was close to you, and you just knew how needy you sounded to Sunghoon.
Your movements and Heeseung's were reflected in Sunghoon's glasses; he couldn't keep his eyes off both of you. Every sigh, every touch, and every gesture of pleasure they shared had an effect on Sunghoon. You could see the desire to sprout in Sunghoon, his dick creating a tent in his pants. You placed the phone loudspeaker closer to your lips, sliding your hand through your own body, caressing your abdomen, and stopping in your clitoris.
"Sunghoon, touch yourself with me. Please."
Passion was burning in the air as the movements of the three of you began to synchronize. Sunghoon finally released his penis and wrapped it with his hand. The pressure he exerted on it was reflected in the veins that emerged from it. Heeseung filled and caressed you from within, and you could only lift your hips desperately, looking for that overwhelming feeling that only he could give you at that moment. Heeseung's hands went around your back, your hips, and your breasts, as if he wanted to touch every inch of your being. You let yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure, your moaning filling the whole place and ear of Sunghoon as his movements became more frantic, screaming from time to time. You felt Heeseung's palm groaning your ass, the sting making you scream ecstatic.
In an act of impulse, you opened your eyes (which you didn't realize you had closed), noticing how Sunghoon was beginning to unbutton his shirt, allowing his skin to come into contact with the fresh air of the night, and his movements had increased speed, looking for his orgasm.
"Sunghoon, will you cum with me?" You saw Sunghoon throw his head back, and both you and Heeseung heard a grunt followed by a chain of groans.
Sunghoon's hand continued to move, occupying every inch of his swollen penis; his movements were almost as equal as yours on the next balcony. The sight of the Sunghoon was making you feel like you were going to explode at any moment.
"Shit, Heeseung, I'm cumming." Heeseung wasted no time, and it was his turn to stand in front of you. Taking your left leg, he made you wrap it around his hip with his hand right on your buttocks.
"Let me see you while you're doing it." —and once again, he came back with his unbridled movement. Now the speed of his action was fast; you both were looking like animals, but Heeseung was more focused on making you have the best orgasm in your life.
Your breasts were bouncing in front of him, your lips half open, leaving free high moans mingling with Heeseung's own sighs and listening to Sunghoon's whimpers. "Heeseung, Sunghoon, I'm close." —your grip on Heeseung's shoulder for support intensified when you felt that familiar knot in your belly, your moans being silenced by Heeseung's lips, who was also reaching his release before the exquisite feeling of your entrance by not wanting to let go.
Pleasure was built within you as an unstoppable storm. You could feel the contractions of your body approaching the edge, making your grip on the phone harder, and Heeseung was on the verge of losing control. The moans and whispers filled the space between them; every touch, every kiss, and every caress pushed them beyond their limits.
"You're perfect for me, sweetheart. You squeeze me so tight. Fuck." The climax finally reached both of you—an explosion of sensations that enveloped your bodies completely. You clung to Heeseung as the waves of pleasure dragged you and were heard by the two boys, your body trembling in its ecstasy. Heeseung followed you, his release triggered by the burning union of their bodies. Both fell into a sea of satisfaction and exhaustion, their entwined breaths as they recovered their composure. You looked at Sunghoon, having the perfect view of how he let himself be carried by the wave of pleasure that ran through him, his hand and thighs covered by the uncontrollable jets of his semen, getting you to squeeze Heeseung's penis at the sight of the boy, who was now submissive. You felt a void when it finally came out of you. Heeseung moved the hand that had the cell phone to your lips.
"Come on, talk to Sunghoon, sweetheart." You swallowed dry and took off the speaker. You could clearly hear Sunghoon's sighs and feel his eyes across the balcony.
"Sunghoon?"
"Hey," Sunghoon's agitated voice returned your greeting. Your eyes deviated to his body because he was an athlete; he had a dream body, and you couldn't deny that you wanted to kiss that mole he had on his collarbone. You couldn't stop looking at his figure. "If you want, I'll send you a picture."
"Don't worry about it, just- " You took a leap into the air, feeling Heeseung's lips sticking to your vulva. You breathed a sigh down to see Heeseung. "I'm sorry"
"Is he licking you clean, princess? You must be dripping; Heeseung has that privilege, but it would have been better if you have two people."
"Really? How would you do that? Fuck, Heeseung." Your sensitivity was growing as the boy cleaned both of your fluids. Your hand went to his hair, pulling it slightly.
"Why don't you look?" Your eyes stopped the boy in his glasses, he got settled in the chair he had, and his middle finger and ring took a quantity of semen that remained on the tip. Shortly after licking that, you opened your eyes with surprise.
Was that the guy who didn't even look at you weeks ago?
Heeseung sucked out your clitoris, confirming that he actually made you touch the clouds without stepping on the sky; he had brought the sky to you. A final kiss was deposited that made you moan one last time. He looked at his cell phone in your hand and hung up on Sunghoon.
"One of seven, get ready for tomorrow, sweetheart. I'll show you what devotion is."
© hollyoongs, 2024. please do not copy, translate or steal my story
TAGLIST: @glitterjay @cmoundiamante @lhspeachie @deobitifull @mirramirra @capri-cuntz @unloyalexolover @horijiro @sumzysworld
↷ 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢'𝚜 note: "SEVEN" HAVE ARRIVED! I'm so excited for this proyect, you guys have no idea. Thank you so much for the support and stay tune if you like it 🦋
#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen hard hours#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen smut#kpop#enhypen scenarios#lee heesung x reader#lee heeseung smut#lee heeseung imagines#lee heeseung#enhypen heeseung smut#enhypen heeseung x reader#enhypen heeseung#heeseung x reader#heeseung smut#heeseung imagines#enhypen heeseung imagines#kpop smut#heeseung#hollyworld#kbookshelf#kflixnet#klibrary#hollyoongs
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-[Jungkook; soft bf headcanon
P: Jungkook x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, headcanon | Inc: tooth-rotting fluff lmao, jk being a sweetheart, couple vlogs, domestic home dates, adrenaline junkie bf, I'm jealous of you lol | Wc: 341 | W: food cw | R: G
Minnie's notes: lol I had this on the backburner for a while-
Oh he is the loveliest of boyfriends
You cannot convince me otherwise
I mean
You’re dating the cutest dork, what did you expect?
Absolutely abuses his ability to lift you up when he hugs you
Fr sweeps you off of your feet
Does not and will not stand for any y/n slander if you even hint that you’re worried you’re too heavy for him
Darling he will bench-press you to prove a point—
He absolutely lives for your smile
Sleepy smiles, goofy smiles, shy smiles – the lot I’m telling you
So expect this man to pull off the goofiest shit when you’re together
Even when the members come round to visit
Jungkook is not shy of back-hugging you and smothering you in neck kisses
His favourite kind
And you have such a kissable neck (his words), how could he possibly not?
Speaking of neck kisses
This man will just bury his nose into your neck at random intervals just bc
Legit goes
“mmm…you smell nice :)”
Is big, big, big fan of home dates where you put on a selection of movies, get all your favourite snacks/take-out and binge-watching them together
Even spices it up by picking ‘bad’ movies to lose your collective shit over
Is definitely an amusement park date bf, you cannot tell me otherwise
Mr adrenaline junkie over here
His competitive ass is making sure that he wins that plush for you
I like to think it goes without saying either tbh
But Jungkookie is 100% loved by your friends
A walking green flag I tell you
He becomes comfortable with your friends really quick too
Probably becomes close friends with some of them
Definitely likes vlogging with you
Creates a vlog channel for the two of you to share his favourite memories
Y’all are couple goals I’m legit jealous
People in the comments fr out here vicariously living their couple fantasies through you two I swear
But anyway—
Dating this man is an adventure every second of the way
There’s absolutely never a dull moment
You better treasure this man
Or else lol/j
© copyright work of armysantiny 2022-2023
Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @prism-nw, @k-library, @knet-bakery, @aandmlibrary, @hybenet, @bangtanarmynet, @btshoneyhive, @btscreatorscorner, @castlebangtan
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!
Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @iiindigocheesecake, @xavi-in-kpopland| Taglist form
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##☆ OOH LA LA! — S.JY
SYNOPSIS. what do you do when you’re lonely and desperately want a boyfriend? you ask the first guy you see to be your boyfriend, of course!
PAIRINGS. jake x gn!reader
GENRE. college!au, high school!au, strangers to lovers!au, fluff, slight angst, comedy, drama, smau with some written parts
WARNINGS. language, suggestive/dirty jokes (nothing too crazy), death jokes (never made or taken seriously), slight age gap but they are both of age (jake is in college while reader is in high school), appearances of other idols, will add if there are more!
STATUS. coming soon!
AUTHOR’S NOTE. this smau will be on the shorter side ,,, i’m looking at about 15 chapters but we’ll see what happens 😃 this is also based off of the original manhwa with the same name ! enjoy^^
PROFILES.
y/n and the squad 😜‼️
suffering college students 🙏
PARTS.
one.
two.
three.
more coming soon...
TAG LIST. open :D send an ask to be added ! (not accepting replies or dms)
© solneur, 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate.
#enhypennetwork#kdiarynet#prism.nw#klibrary#enhypen#enhypen social media au#enhypen smau#enhypen series#enhypen fics#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#enhypen sim jaeyun#enhypen jake sim#enhypen jake#jake sim#sim jaeyun#jake#enhypen x reader#enhypen jake x reader#jake x reader#꒰ ooh la la 👀 ꒱ !
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TXT : FOOD AS A LOVE LANGUAGE
pairing. ot5 x gn reader
summary. or, alternatively, the subtle romanticism of sharing food
genre. fluff ; established relationship (can be read as platonic) warnings. food (obvi) ; reader is sick in yeonjun's one wc. 629
notes. can we pls cook together and make a mess in the kitchen and not care and clean it up together and tell each other how good it tastes and be so so in love? i saw a tweet talking about how food covers all five love languages using txt as examples and i am crazy and wrote this in like 30 minutes
— ✧ S O O B I N
“Oh my gosh, I just found a recipe for triple chocolate brownies.”
You look up from your phone to find Soobin standing over you with a crazed look in his eyes. “Did you, now?” you ask.
He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I remembered you saying how you were craving them yesterday so I searched some recipes and found the perfect one.”
You have to bite back the smile that threatens to break out on your face. “You could have just bought some.”
“Well, yeah, but I wanted to bake them together.”
This time, you can’t control it and a smile spreads on your face. “Okay, yeah, sure, let’s bake.”
— ✧ Y E O N J U N
“Come on, eat up.” You groan from your place on the couch, throwing an arm over your head, much to the amusement of your boyfriend. Undeterred by your antics, Yeonjun simply brings the spoon closer to your mouth. “Here comes the airplane,” he sing-songs, much to your chagrin.
You have a half a mind to swat his hand away and you would if you weren’t so weak.
“I don’t want to eat,” you croak out, the words scratching out of your throat. “My throat hurts.”
Yeonjun pouts worriedly, a crease forming between his eyebrows that you just want to kiss away. “I know, baby, but this will help you feel better. Let me feed you?”
He looks so cute, how could you deny him? With a huff, you push yourself up and open your mouth wordlessly. You are rewarded with a kiss ob your head and a blinding smile from Yeonjun.
— ✧ B E O M G Y U
“You can have the last slice,” you say gesturing to the pizza left in the box.
Beomgyu’s eyes flit between you and the pizza in question curiously. “Really?” You just shrug in response.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”
He hums thoughtfully and when you think he is about to eat it, he reaches for a knife and cuts the pizza in half. “There,” he says, putting one half on your plate, “we’ll both have the last slice.”
— ✧ T A E H Y U N
“What do you want for dinner?” Taehyun asks, approaching where you have been working on schoolwork for the past few hours.
You answer noncommittally, barely looking up from the books in front of you. “Um, I don’t know, we can just order something.”
Taehyun nods silently and retreats back into the kitchen. You don’t hear from him again until you finally finish your work and assume that he’s kept your food aside for you.
Surprised is an understatement for what you feel when you see the kitchen counter full of various side dishes and the Taehyun putting dishes away in the sink. “Did you cook this?” you ask taking a seat.
“Duh,” Taehyun deadpans, turning to face you. “You need to eat real food when you’re working that hard, dummy.”
You can’t help but smile despite the insult tacked on the end of his confession. “I’ll help with the washing up.”
— ✧ H U E N I N G K A I
“Here, try mine.” Kai holds out his ice cream cone for you, carefully pulling you closer to him so you don’t accidentally bump into anyone on the sidewalk.
You hum appreciatively at the taste, the flavour differing from the one you picked from yourself. When he pulls it back, he looks at you expectantly and you give him an enthusiastic thumbs up.
He grins widely and wordlessly takes a bite out of your own ice cream that you are holding out for him. “Ooh!” he squeals approvingly and goes in for a second bite.
“Stop it, you have your own!” you exclaim indignantly even though you know you would share him anyways.
taglist. @hyukaas @xysthe @tsupuffs @yjwfav @mykalon @junityy @iyeonjuni @fairybinie @enhacolor @j6han @jjhmk @acciomylove @yeonjunsgf777 @soobin-chois @chosoluvr @bettyschwallocksyee @tatansoobin @liamsholygrail @wccycc @iichaeyj (fill form to be added)
#txt x reader#prism.nw#klibrary#ficscafe#soobin x reader#beomgyu x reader#yeonjun x reader#taehyun x reader#hueningkai x reader#txt imagines#txt fluff#soobin imagines#soobin fluff#beomgyu fluff#beomgyu imagines#taehyun fluff#taehyun imagines#hueningkai fluff#hueningkai imagines#yeonjun imagines#yeonjun fluff#🖇️ — ijhyo works.
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the road unknown | wooyoung
pairing: bf!wooyoung x self-insert/OC
genre: angst, slice-of-life, and fluff // warnings: mentions of breakdown, talks of self-doubt, overthinking, general feelings of being & feeling lost, and cursing
summary: One night, Wooyoung is greeted by your crying form and he takes it upon himself to figure out why & how he can help you feel better.
word count: ~2.3k
note: a comfort fic for me and for when the feelings of not knowing where you’re going in life gets the best of you. // inspired by ATEEZ’s song Turbulence + the emotional attachment I have to it.
this fic is unedited so uhm it might be considered “bad writing”
⊹ ੈ♡ — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ₊˚ ‧₊ ๑ ˎˊ˗
Most days, you’re simply existing and living life as is. It’s not as horrible as it sounds when you’re pre-occupied with studying, being a university student, and working your part-time job. Usually thinking about what you’re doing and what to do next (not in the long run type of way).
Somehow through the busy schedule you have and clear goals that you’d like to achieve, you find yourself some nights thinking a little too hardly. Questioning if what you’re doing at the moment will bring you to the place where you want to be & if you’re doing enough. Comparison is just so easy to do. Other people who are walking the same path as you career-wise are doing so much more than you.
If they’re not in the same career path as you, they’re out there having fun with new friends. These were friends that you thought were a lasting friendship as you’ve known some of them for a good majority of your life. However, it’s hard to say that you two weren’t friends and if we’re being honest here. None of us were making the extra effort to catch up with each other. At the same time, you knew that if you ever needed help or advice or someone to talk to, they’d be there.
You’ve accepted that fate. Settling with fact and looking on the bright side - at least you still had friends of some sorts. Besides you knew that you didn’t have to talk everyday with someone to be friends. Nonetheless it still hurts as you watch them post on social media showing off how much fun they’re having with others. Yes, social media is essentially to show off the highlights of one’s life not all the bad. But you can’t help but think about why you weren’t invited.
Maybe it brings you pain ten-fold when the person you called your best-friend ghosted you. Never knowing where it went wrong or if it simply never went wrong. It was a just a test of the time to see how long it would last until it inevitably led to nothingness. For the longest time, it didn’t bother you and seemingly grew to accept that people can grow apart. Along with the fact that they were a social butterfly and you weren’t.
That facade must have lasted a few good months until one night where you were alone, your true feelings and thoughts erupted. The truth was you missed them a lot and they were doing well without you. This friend was there for you when things got tough and supportive throughout the small victories. The last time you texted them served as a confirmation that things weren’t really the same between you two anymore. Longing for their love and sense of comfort, even if it was sometimes bad, was something you had to let go.
Great, you think to yourself. Just another area in my life that is going so well for me.
Nonetheless, you learned to move on from those thoughts and were brought back to what started it all - where the fuck were you at in life? With the long days blending into a blur, it’s hard to take notice of if your supposed progress is going anywhere. Was the effort you were putting in actually to get to the future that you’re working hard for? It sure didn’t feel like it. It didn’t help that you weren’t doing as well as you wanted on this class’s previous exams.
So this final was your last chance to not fail this class. Even though, you know the structure of this exam and how the questions are formatted, the content was a lot to say the least. In other words, the exam itself isn’t ever hard. It’s more of material since it’s much memorization & understanding it.
To add onto that, this class & the material isn’t just one that you can dispose off after the class. No. This information is shit you have to carry around if or when you become certified in your career. One could even say it’s critical that you know this. No one wants a hospital worker or healthcare worker who doesn’t know information about the body.
Sometimes you think the path that you’re walking on is not right for you. But you’ve already set your heart and mind to it. Can’t back out of now or else you’ll feel like an even bigger failure and a lost cause. Dealing with this is just enough.
Sighing to yourself and slowly but surely succumbing to the dark parts of your thoughts. Asking yourself the questions you’ve been pondering since the start of this.
Is what you’re doing now going to provide you the future that you’re aiming for? Can you truly achieve the dreams and goals you’ve set up for yourself thus far attainable? If you fail this exam, what good can you do if you want to succeed in this career? What am I truly doing in my life? And why does everything I work for seem like it’s bringing me back to square one? I don’t even fucking know what I do for work sometimes.
This road I’m walking just seems so lonely and dark. When will this road unknown feel known?
Before you know it, tears start rolling your face. How did it get this bad? You know that trying to stop them will be futile so you don’t try.
As the time passes by, you’re now full on sobbing and not being able to think straight. Stopping every once in a while to take a breather or to the best of your ability. Your face is buried into your arms and wetting wooyoung’s sweater that you’re wearing. Just when you think that the water works have turned off, it doesn’t take long for them to turn back on.
The worst of your thoughts have claimed you for the night. The overwhelming feelings & thoughts clashing leave you so gone that you don’t even hear Wooyoung when he shouts that he’s home.
Normally you’d kiss him home welcome or at the very least acknowledge it. But today, it’s neither. Feeling not too worried about it though, he walks in further to grab a quick snack for you & him to eat. As he’s sure that you need one anyway because of your study habits.
Before stepping into your room, he hears you bawling and it makes him stop in his tracks. He should have known something was wrong if you didn’t greet him at the door like always. You know how he wasn’t too worried seconds ago? That all vanished when his ears picked up on the sounds of your cries.
Pushing that aside, he tells himself that the longer that beats himself up for it, he’s simply losing time that could be spent helping you. Wooyoung has told you countless times that if you ever need someone, he’ll that someone always. Now was just another time that his words remained true.
Wooyoung knocked on the side of the doorway to see if that could grab your attention. To no avail, he silently walked over to you & embraced you into a hug. Only then did you realize that Woo was home. He held and hugged you tight. Whispering soft and sweet nothings.
Was it odd that it made you even more sad? The combatting of the no so good thoughts with love. The balance between the two brings a shift. It was hard to find and give yourself love when all you were doing was helping feed into hating yourself & the progress you’ve made so far.
You wondered how long you’ve been in this state (of mind). Sooner of later, his embrace brought you back to a less chaotic & destructive emotional state. It gave you the chance to finally catch your breath & for heart rate to return to its resting rate.
Wooyoung was glad to see the teardrops from your pretty little eyes come to a full stop. Using his hands to wipe away the ones still on your face, he’d give you a small forehead kiss. Only for him to rest his forehead against yours for a while.
Because it was already night time, the silence was filled with the sound of your’s & his breathing. A comforting silence until he asks you what was wrong. Hesitant to respond as you’re unsure if you can even string together words to describe what is wrong without your emotions taking over.
You try your best to anyway. “I feel like the life I’m living is amounting to nothing. My worries have caught up to me and chased in me into a corner. I can’t escape it.” Stating it as it’s a matter of fact. You take another breath before continuing.
“What if my hard work is all for nothing? If I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, how can I possibly know what to do in the future? I’m afraid of failing before I even get to do anything. This path of my life that I’m walking down is unfamiliar and I’m alone as I walk through it.”
A drawn out mhmm comes from Wooyoung. To show that he was listening and understands where you’re coming from. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have thought you felt this way, even though he knows most people go through this sort of feeling every once in a while. The way that you carried yourself was so full of certainty.
Even when you did show signs of weakness, you powered through it. He knew you’d get through this one too, it’d just take longer than the others. It sucked that your bad thoughts and feelings of despair got the best of you.
“My love, do you want my advice, words of encouragement, or just for me to continue holding you?” Asking you with a gentle tone.
“Is it okay if I get all 3? I have no idea what the fuck I need to hear right now but maybe it’ll help me.” He nodded and placed your head to rest on his shoulder. Wooyoung took a deep breath in and let it out.
“I got to hand it to you, my love. You are one hell of a strong person and understand where you’re coming from.” Chuckling a bit before he started again.
“Not to make this about me or anything but that was how I felt during my trainee days and even bits of the idol life that I live today. I was so unsure if all the practice I was putting in for this dream of mine was going to let me debut and be a successful idol. It hit me even harder when I decided to leave BigHit to be with Yeosang. It was fucking scary and it fed into that fear of the future amongst every trainee’s worries.”
Thinking about it, brought back some buried experiences from the dead and the next thing you knew, Wooyoung was sniffling. His eyes watered and some tears were shed as he remembered all of the uneasiness and challenges. All of the trouble it took him to grab a hold of his dreams and not letting go until it became a reality.
He has walked the road unknown too but just as he told Yeo, “The road you walk to the unknown is no longer alone! You have me by your side, for now and for as long as we live.” Tugging Yeo closer to him with a cheery tone and cheeky smile plastered on his face. Yes, he admits it a bit cheesy but he meant it. Wooyoung also admits that it was a way for him to mask the uncertainty that they would go through together.
Fake it till you make they say. Besides giving into that doubt would do no good. Of course, it’s okay to revel and live in it for a while but eventually you’ll have to get out of it before you fall so deeply.
A sense of deja vu washes over Wooyoung as he repeats the sentence to yet another person he deeply loved. And as the saying goes, he tells you just as he did to Yeo.
“The road you walk to the unknown is no longer alone. The road may be unknown but there are people like me that will walk with you until it becomes known. Don’t worry too much about the future, princess. You still have to time to see it through. Worst case scenario, you fail and have to restart. At least you can say that you tried your hardest and I think it counts for something even if it gave you an undesired outcome. I’m very proud of you for how come you’ve come, and even more so of how much further you can continue to go.”
Listening to Wooyoung when he’s being sweet and sentimental, it causes you to silently cry again. It wasn’t his intent at all. Now he’s rubbing your back. It’s the hearing someone is proud of you that gets the waterworks up and streaming.
Moments after, when you think you’re done crying, Wooyoung takes you the kitchen. Making sure that you hydrate since you’ve been at it for god knows how long. You take this time to hug him as a thanks for being there for you. Hearing that you’re not alone on this journey of life and your career, puts your heart and mind at ease.
You know that Wooyoung wasn’t planning on being welcomed home by finding you vulnerable. Out of all the things that he could have done like leave or ignore you, he chose to do his best to comfort you. This choice that he made would be something you’re forever grateful for.
The feeling of being lost will come and go. It isn’t fun to go through but they can serve as a reminder that finding your life’s purpose isn’t limited to one answer. The answer comes in many forms. As you change as a person throughout your life so will your values and that’s okay.
extra note: thank you for reading whatever this is <3 please do take care of yourself. and for anyone maybe wondering about me(??), I’m okay ahaha. sometimes all I or we need is a good cry and letting it out.
#k-radio!#kflixnet#klibrary#ficscafe#underworldnet#wooyoung x reader#wooyoung x OC#ateez wooyoung#jung wooyoung#ateez x reader#atz wooyoung#wooyoung imagine#wooyoung fic#wooyoung fluff#wooyoung angst
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