I’m About To Super Mario 64 Jump Into My Phone And Fight Mike And Dann, Haven’t Liked Mike From The

PAUSE HALF OF HIS LIFE?!?!?

alright, so reader is slowly remembering hate the fact that it’s a memory where yunho is mad

forget me not | vi

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 6.9K Warnings: swearing, mentions of missing persons, fluff

Fic Masterlist

Yunho lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the quiet sounds of the night settled around him. His mind, however, refused to follow suit. No matter how tired his body was, his thoughts spun endlessly, circling back to the shop—and more specifically, to you.

He was excited at the thought of seeing you again. It hadn’t been that long since he returned to Seoul, but the pull to visit the Emporium had been growing stronger with each passing day. He could already picture you behind the counter, scolding Wooyoung for his antics, before turning to greet him with that knowing smile, as if you had been expecting him all along. Whatever the reason, the thought of seeing you again filled him with a strange, almost giddy anticipation.

Still, there was a feeling he couldn't quite shake.The more he thought about it, the clearer it became—you were always there. It didn't seem strange at first. He had assumed it was just part of your role, that the shop was your domain. But now, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Have you ever left?

Wooyoung could move freely, coming and going as he pleased, yet you seemed bound to that strange, magical space.

Yunho turned over, restless now, staring at the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The shop seemed to be both your sanctuary and your prison, and the realization gnawed at him, unsettling him more than anything else.

Why couldn’t you leave? What kind of magic was holding you there? 

His phone buzzed on the table, a faint vibration cutting through the silence. Without even glancing at the screen, Yunho already knew who it was. He sat up, grabbing it with a sigh as he swiped to answer.

“Hey,” Yunho greeted, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. 

“You see the news?” Gunho’s voice crackled through the line, more concerned than curious.

Yunho froze, his grip on the phone tightening as dread settled like a heavy weight in his chest. “What news?” 

Scrambling to his feet, he headed into the living room, nearly stumbling over the coffee table as he rushed to turn on the TV. The familiar black screen flickered to life, and there it was. The words scrolled across the bottom of the screen:

Family of Lee Y/N files for legal declaration of death after three years with no leads.

“Tonight, we bring you a heartbreaking update on the mysterious disappearance of Lee Y/N, a case that has gripped the nation for three agonizing years. With no trace, no leads, and no answers, her family has taken the devastating step of filing a formal request with the courts to have her legally declared deceased.”

“This move marks the conclusion of a relentless search that began with hope but has since dwindled to this painful reality. For her loved ones, it’s not just the end of an investigation—it’s the closing chapter on three years of desperate prayers and unanswered questions.”

“In a heartfelt written statement, the family conveyed the grief that has consumed them since Y/N’s disappearance and the painful decision they’ve made to file with the courts to have her declared legally deceased:

"Over the last three years, not a single day has passed where we didn’t hold on to hope, praying for Y/N’s return. But as time has gone by, we’ve had to face the heartbreaking reality that we may never get the closure we so desperately need.  This decision isn't about giving up on Y/N or what she means to us. It’s about finding a way to survive in a world that no longer includes her. 

We will always love our daughter. She will forever be a part of our lives, and this is something we will carry with us for the rest of our days. This is the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do, and is a step we need to take to begin the healing process—for her, and for us."

A heavy pause lingered between them before Gunho’s voice cut through the silence. 

“I didn’t think they’d go through with it…but I guess they couldn’t wait anymore.”

"Yeah," Yunho muttered, though his voice was hollow. His fists clenched, knuckles turning white. It wasn’t fair. You were alive, breathing, moving—existing in that shop. But no one would believe it if he told them. The world ran on facts, on things that could be touched, proven, explained—and the shop was none of those things. It wasn’t on any map, couldn’t be found by search parties or missing persons reports.

To everyone else, the shop didn’t exist. And even if he wanted to tell your parents, what would he say?

"Oh, by the way, your daughter is alive, just running a magical shop that only I can find. She doesn’t remember anything about her past life with you. But don’t worry, she’s doing just fine!" 

The thought made him sick. If he said it out loud, he’d be dismissed as crazy—or worse, cruel. 

The shop might have been magical, but it was also a prison. He saw that now. A beautiful, mysterious prison that kept you chained, hidden from the world. And no matter how much he wanted to free you, to bring you back to the life you once had, he couldn’t force you out. You were bound by something deeper than magic—bound by your own pain, and your decision to forget.

“Mom and Dad went over to their house after they came back from the courthouse,” Gunho interrupted, his voice softening with a layer of sympathy Yunho wasn’t sure he was ready to handle. “Mr. Lee couldn’t stop crying.”

Yunho’s heart ached with the impossibility of it all. Your father’s tears, your mother’s quiet grief, the hollowed-out home where life had once thrived—they deserved closure, peace. But the truth wouldn’t give them that. It would only raise more questions, more pain.

He remembered the first time he’d visited your parents’ house after you disappeared. The warm, inviting home he’d known all his life felt cold, lifeless. The laughter that once filled the rooms, the scent of your mom’s cooking, the familiar hum of conversation—all of it was gone. Instead, there was only silence. 

And then there was your father.

Your father had always been a man full of energy, always quick to joke, quick to offer a smile. But that day, it was as if your disappearance had drained the life out of him, leaving behind a shell of the man who once doted on his daughter. 

Yunho could still see the way your father’s shoulders slumped as he led him up to your room, barely uttering a word. He had commented on the plush Yunho picked up before retreating quietly, disappearing into the background like a ghost in his own home.

He clenched his jaw, the frustration bubbling up inside him. All he could do was carry the weight of the secret, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to fix it, some things were beyond his control. The shop had taken you, and in doing so, it had taken the light from your family as well.

“Can you tell them I’m…sorry. Just that I’m so sorry for everything.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Gunho asked, Yunho could hear the frown in his brother’s voice.

What was he even apologizing for? For disappearing from their lives when they needed him most? For not being able to protect you? The truth was, he didn’t know where to start. Every regret, every moment of helplessness, crushed him under a guilt he could never fully articulate.

He had been there that day—the day you vanished. He had argued with you, had seen the way your expression darkened, the way your eyes filled with sadness, and yet he didn’t stop. He thought you’d come back, that you just needed space after the argument. But when you didn’t, when the days stretched into weeks, then months…Yunho had no one to blame but himself.

Your parents had reached out, desperate, but he was just as lost as they were. They had looked to him for answers, for some kind of hope, and he had none to offer. He had failed them. And now, knowing where you were—what you had become—made it even worse.

“I should have done more,” Yunho muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should’ve been there for them. And…I don’t know how to do anything else, but the least I can do is apologize and let them know that I’m also…missing Y/N.”

Gunho exhaled deeply. "I'll tell them," he finally said. "But, Yunho…you can’t keep carrying this all by yourself. You can’t keep punishing yourself for something you couldn’t control."

There was a pause, the crackle of the phone line filling the space between them before Yunho’s voice came back, quieter this time, like he was holding onto his composure by a thread. 

“I know, but just…just tell them for me. Please.”

Gunho exhaled, pressing the phone harder against his ear as if it could bring him closer to Yunho in that moment. “I will,” he said, his voice softer, filled with understanding. 

"Before you go," Yunho started, the words faltering for a second, "I need you to do me a favor."

⋆

That night, Yunho's sleep was anything but peaceful.

He stood in a grand throne room, its towering pillars casting long, imposing shadows that stretched out in the throne room like hands. The crimson red robe he donned felt suffocating, the weight of it unfamiliar, as if it didn’t belong to him. The heavy crown pressed down on his brow, making every breath feel like a struggle. 

Before him, you knelt on the cold stone floor, your wrists bound by iron shackles that clinked softly with each subtle movement. You were a shadow of the person he once knew. Gone were the bright, flowing robes you once wore, replaced by tattered prisoner’s clothes, sullied with the grime of the dungeon from which you had been dragged. Yunho’s breath hitched in his throat as he watched you kneel before him. It felt wrong. All of this feels wrong.

“Lady Lee Y/N,” the herald intoned, his voice cold and unfeeling, “you stand accused of high treason for the poisoning of Queen Mina.”

Whispers broke out amongst the members of the court, eyes darting between you and the throne. Yunho’s fingers tightened around the throne’s armrests, his knuckles whitening under the pressure as a sharp pain coiled in his chest. Treason? His mind screamed, desperate to reject what he was hearing. 

He had been told it was you, that all the evidence pointed to you. But as he looked into your hollow gaze, every fiber of his being rejected it. You couldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t have.

You were framed. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. But what choice did he have? The kingdom demanded justice, demanded blood. If he refused to follow the law, what would that mean for the throne he had been sworn to uphold?

“Your crime,” the herald continued, his voice carrying an almost sickening indifference, “has brought great shame to this kingdom and your family. For that, you have been sentenced to death by execution, to take place before the court in a fortnight.”

Yunho’s chest tightened. The herald’s words hung in the air like a death sentence for his own soul. He could feel the weight of every noble’s gaze on him, waiting for his verdict, waiting for him to condemn you. But his heart screamed in protest. His mind raced, searching for some way out, some way to save you. His pulse pounded in his ears as time seemed to stretch agonizingly slow.

You lifted your head slowly, your movements heavy as though the weight of the shackles was nothing compared to the sorrow in your heart. When your eyes finally met Yunho’s, the world seemed to stop. 

Your lips parted, as if you were about to speak. For a brief second, Yunho held his breath, hoping—praying—that you would plead your innocence, that you would give him a reason, any reason, to defy the sentence that had already been handed down. But no words came.

Instead, your eyes told him everything. They bore into him with a clarity that words never could, a silent plea that tore at his heart. They were filled with pain, but not the kind he expected—not the sorrow of a victim pleading for mercy. No, your gaze held a different kind of anguish, one that Yunho had not anticipated.

You weren’t asking him to save you. You weren’t asking for forgiveness.

You were asking him to let you go.

Yunho gasped, his chest heaving as he shot upright in bed. His heart pounded violently as his breath came in ragged bursts, the air thick in his lungs as if he was still trapped in the throne room.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of you—kneeling, broken, pleading silently for release—to fade. But it wouldn’t. It felt too real to be more than just a nightmare—it had felt like a memory, like something he was doomed to repeat over and over, and no matter how much he wanted to change it, the outcome would always be the same.

Yunho paced around the kitchen, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he struggled to figure out how he was going to find the emporium in Seoul. Every lap around the room seemed to bring him closer to a resolution, but it still eluded him.

He knew the emporium was no ordinary shop—its location obscured from anyone who didn’t truly need to find it. But Yunho needed to find it, more now than ever. The problem was, the shop didn’t care about urgency.

Wooyoung, lounging lazily on the kitchen counter, tracked Yunho’s movements with mild curiosity. His casual demeanor was a stark contrast to Yunho’s anxious pacing as he let out another yawn and preened his face. 

"You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up," Wooyoung finally said with a yawn.

Yunho stopped mid-step, standing at the edge of the kitchen, his shoulders tense. "Wooyoung," he began, his voice faltering slightly. He wasn’t used to this—asking for help, especially not from Wooyoung. But desperation gnawed at him, and he didn’t have the luxury of pride right now. 

"I...I need to ask you something."

Wooyoung’s ears perked up. He sat up on his haunches, his gray eyes gleaming with mischief as they locked onto Yunho. 

“This must be serious," he smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes only growing sharper, but Yunho didn’t back down.

"Y/N can’t leave the shop can she?”

Wooyoung paused, his eyes flicking to the floor before locking onto Yunho’s again. “Well...no. Wishes aren’t simple and they sometimes come with consequences.”

“Consequences?”

“She asked to be its keeper,” Wooyoung continued, his voice serious, without a trace of his usual playfulness. “And that’s not a simple role. The emporium is not just some shop. It’s alive, connected to realms and forces you can’t even begin to comprehend. For her to keep it running, for her to maintain its balance, she had to become part of it. And that meant binding her, not just magically but physically, to the shop.”

“Then I need to find the Emporium in Seoul,” Yunho said, his voice firm and resolute. But even as the words left his mouth, a shadow of doubt crept in. He hesitated for just a moment, and the question followed before he could stop it: “But...where do I even start?”

“Well… for starters, magic is all about feeling,” Wooyoung began, his tone light and almost mocking, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you mean?”

"Let me ask you this," he said, voice dropping to a whisper. "Is your love for my master not enough?"

Yunho’s eyes widened, frustration and embarrassment written all over his face. “That’s not—!” His voice cracked before he caught himself, but the heat was already there, his cheeks flushing with anger. “Of course I love Y/N! How could you even say that?”

Wooyoung tilted his head, studying Yunho with a smug satisfaction, as if he had anticipated this exact reaction. "Then why are you so hesitant?" he asked.

"I’m not hesitant," Yunho said, his voice tinged with frustration. "I just don’t know what I did last time to summon the shop.”

Wooyoung sighed dramatically, hopping off the counter and landing gracefully at Yunho’s feet. 

“You’re so busy doing that you’ve forgotten to feel. If you know where your heart lies, the emporium will open itself to you. If you were really that connected to Y/N, maybe your love would be enough to guide you back. Without my help.”

Wooyoung’s words felt like a taunt, poking at insecurities Yunho hadn’t even been ready to admit. Was there something wrong with him? Was his love for you not enough? Had he been too caught up in the chaos of everything to feel what was right in front of him?

Yunho took a deep breath, letting the tension in his shoulders slowly unwind. His mind was still racing, but the sharp edges of his frustration dulled slightly. 

"So what do I do, then?" he asked, his voice quieter now, less defensive.

Wooyoung stretched out, jumping down from the counter to land at Yunho’s feet. "Trust your connection with Y/N. Stop trying to find it with your head," he said simply. "And start searching with your heart."

Yunho left his apartment with a determined stride, the weight of your journal tucked carefully under his arm. The familiar hum of the city surrounded him—cars honking, distant conversations, the faint sizzle of street food vendors still open at this late hour. But tonight, none of it registered in his mind. His focus was singular, every thought of you pulling him forward like a string tied to his heart.

As he wound through the narrow streets, his steps quickened. He didn’t have a map, not a physical one, at least. The journal he carried wasn’t a guide to the emporium, but it was the closest thing he had to your lifeline. Your drawings were there, etched on the pages, a snapshot to your life and the bond you shared with him. He could almost feel your presence with him as he walked.

With every turn, the pull toward you grew stronger, an invisible force guiding him. He didn’t know where he was going—only that he had to keep moving. Then, as he rounded a corner, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him. 

There was something about this path, this particular stretch of road…

His eyes widened in recognition as he stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead of them, just across the street, stood the entrance to where you both had attended university. Yunho’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t been back here in years—not since he graduated. 

Wooyoung, who had been trailing lazily behind him, stopped beside Yunho, his keen eyes picking up on the sudden shift in Yunho’s expression. He followed Yunho’s gaze, a slow smirk creeping onto his face as he glanced between Yunho and the familiar sight ahead. 

“Well, would you look at that,” he mused, his voice light but carrying a note of something deeper—something knowing. “Seems like you’ve got a better sense of direction than I thought.”

Wooyoung turned to Yunho, a familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes as he leaned against a lamppost. "So, what's the grand plan when you get there, huh?" he asked, his voice teasing, laced with amusement. "You planning to storm in like a hero and declare your undying love for my master? Sweep her off her feet?"

Yunho shook his head, his lips tightening into a thin line, his gaze firmly fixed on the path ahead. "N-No… not exactly," he muttered, his voice quiet but steady.

“I want to make my wish."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The teasing smirk on his face softened ever so slightly, though the playfulness didn’t completely vanish. 

"A wish, huh? And what exactly would that be?" He knew Yunho too well to take him at face value. Something had shifted in Yunho—this wasn’t just about him anymore.

Yunho didn’t answer right away. As he stood there, in the quiet night of Seoul, with the lights of the city dimming behind them, the gravity of what he wanted finally settled in. It wasn’t just about seeing you again. It wasn’t about selfishly pulling you back into his world, forcing memories to resurface, or desperately trying to rekindle what once was.

No, Yunho wanted something deeper. He wanted something for you.

"I want her to be free," Yunho finally said, his voice breaking the silence between them. "I want Y/N to be free. Not bound to that place.”

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if he were reevaluating everything he thought he knew about Yunho’s intentions. He had expected him to want something else, something more...predictable. Like wanting you to remember him, to rekindle your past and continue where things left off. But this? This was different. And for the first time, Wooyoung found himself... impressed.

Yunho’s heart pounded in his chest as he approached the familiar door, nestled between the soba shop and the weathered bookshop that always seemed deserted. The floral overhang above the door swayed gently, an ethereal presence that almost seemed to hum in recognition of his arrival. The soft pull in his chest was undeniable now, a subtle but persistent thrumming, like a thread drawing him closer to the place beyond the door.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady the nerves gnawing at him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his resolve, before pushing down on the handle. The door gave way with a soft creak, opening into the emporium.

The shop felt alive, as if it was breathing. Every corner brimming with energy, the air thick with the hum of magic. And there you were, standing in the center of it all.

⋆

“Yunho!” you exclaimed, startled as you caught sight of him standing in the doorway. Your heart skipped a beat, and in your flustered state, you instinctively waved your hand, sending a flurry of objects soaring through the air with your magic. 

Books shuffled themselves back onto shelves, a teacup hovered briefly before floating to its proper place, and an assortment of crystals and trinkets rearranged themselves with an almost frantic energy.

Yunho blinked, his eyes wide with surprise, though a soft smile tugged at his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the small whirlwind of chaos unfold around you.

You glanced back at Yunho, cheeks flushed as you tried to regain your composure. "I wasn’t expecting—uh, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon!" Your voice betrayed the nervous flutter in your chest as you hastily used your magic to smooth down your clothes, attempting to look more presentable.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” he said, his voice warm and a little teasing.

You forced a light laugh, waving your hand dismissively even as the warmth on your cheeks spread further.

“No, no, it’s fine. The shop usually isn’t this chaotic. It’s just…” You narrowed your eyes toward the mischievous figure who trotted past. “Someone decided to take a little vacation, leaving me to tend to the place alone.”

“I earned that vacation,” Wooyoung quipped, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he hopped up onto a nearby shelf. He stretched leisurely, clearly unbothered by your pointed stare. 

“Besides, you’ve got it under control…mostly.”

"Mostly?" You turned back to Yunho, mortified that he’d arrived to find you in the middle of what probably looked like absolute chaos. Shelves were haphazardly filled, some items glowing faintly with residual magic as if they hadn’t quite settled into their places, and the air smelled faintly of incense mixed with…something else. Something you didn’t have time to figure out right now.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “I didn’t come here expecting anything perfect, I’m just keeping to my word.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you two, the room now still and quiet after the flurry of activity. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

Wooyoung cleared his throat dramatically from the shelf, breaking the tension in the room. “Well, since I’m obviously not needed here, I’ll be going on another vacation. You two have fun playing shopkeeper and traveler,” he teased with a wink before disappearing into a wisp of smoke. 

With Wooyoung gone, the shop fell into stillness. The warmth of Yunho’s presence closed in on you and somehow the absence of your feline companion made the space feel larger, yet somehow more intimate. Every breath, every heartbeat, seemed amplified in the silence that had settled over the shop. It was just you and Yunho.

"I’ve decided what to wish for."

Yunho's voice was soft but unwavering as he took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours. 

"O-Of course. What might that be?" you asked, your voice faltering slightly. You fought to keep it steady, but something in the way Yunho looked at you—the depth of his gaze, the quiet intensity—made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

"Your freedom."

Two simple words, but they hit you like a storm. The world around you seemed to still, the very air filled with the magnitude of what he’d just said. Your freedom. The one thing you never thought anyone could give you, let alone offer so willingly. 

"Yunho..." 

“I want you to be able to come and go as you please, to live your life without the magic chaining you to this place." He stepped closer still, and now you could feel the warmth radiating from him. 

"I’m willing to offer half of my life in exchange if that’s what it takes."

You blinked, your breath catching as his words sank in. Half of his life? The enormity of his offer was staggering, and for a moment, you couldn’t even comprehend it. 

"Why would you..." you stammered, your voice shaking with disbelief. "Why would you do that for…me? That’s—"

"You deserve to be free, Y/N," he whispered, his voice tender but resolute. "And if this is the way to make that happen, then I’ll gladly pay the price."

The very atmosphere of the emporium shifted in response, as if the magic within its walls had taken notice of his declaration. The shop creaked ominously, its magic swelling as though it, too, was contemplating Yunho’s wish. The lanterns overhead flickered, casting erratic shadows across the room, and the flowers hanging from the sky garden above swayed in unison.

"Ahem!" came an exaggerated throat clearing. 

Both you and Yunho jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion. Hongjoong stood casually leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a single brow arched surrounded by wisps of glittering smoke curled lazily around him.

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, the intensity of the moment broken by his nonchalant interruption. Yunho, on the other hand, remained frozen for a brief second, visibly caught off guard. His jaw tightened, but the initial shock melted into a look of mild exasperation, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips.

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened, thoroughly unbothered by the silent glares he was receiving. 

"You were about to do something reckless," he remarked, his voice light but edged with a knowing sharpness. 

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his voice tight with determination. “I know what I’m doing. This is my choice.”

“Half of your life?’” Hongjoong paused, casting a pointed glance at the both of you. 

Hongjoong wasn’t one to interfere without reason, but the way he spoke of the emporium’s magic made your stomach churn with unease. Yunho’s wish was far more dangerous than either of you had realized.

"Yunho’s wish—" you began, your voice barely a whisper, but Hongjoong cut you off with a swift raise of his hand.

“Is admirable,” he finished for you, his tone softening for only a fraction of a second before turning sharp again, “but dangerously naive.” 

“The magic here doesn’t bargain in simple terms,” Hongjoong continued, his voice dropping low, the gravity of his words pulling the room into silence. “You can’t just offer up half of your life and expect everything to fall neatly into place. There are rules, consequences—ones that don’t care about the nobility of your intentions.”

Yunho blinked, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

“If you do this, you won’t just be giving up years of your life. You’ll be binding giving up your soul, your essence. The magic will take from you in ways you can’t predict or undo.”

Hongjoong’s faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a rare flicker of humor breaking through his usually composed demeanor. He straightened up, crossing his arms casually as he studied Yunho. 

“That’s Y/N’s journal, isn’t it?” Hongjoong asked, his voice soft yet deliberate. He didn’t need an answer—he already knew.

Yunho stiffened slightly, instinctively bringing a hand to his chest where a corner of something protruded from the edge of his jacket. The memories it contained, the emotions inscribed within its pages, were too personal, too sacred to be used as collateral for anything. The mere thought of it made him uneasy.

“You know,” Hongjoong began thoughtfully, “magic thrives on more than just time or years of your life.” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the journal. “It craves something deeper—emotions, memories…the essence of who we are."

“What are you saying?” Yunho demanded.

“I’m saying you might want to reconsider the offer. Y/N’s journal—those memories, those emotions—it holds far more value than any number of years you could offer.”

Your pulse quickened. You didn’t remember anything about the journal, couldn’t recall the emotions or thoughts tied to the pages of ink. And yet, knowing that it carried fragments of your past—memories that could belong to you but were now lost—stirred something deep within you. 

"My…journal?" you asked, puzzled as you stared at the worn leather book in Yunho’s hands. It felt foreign, almost surreal, to see it again.

“I promised to tell you the truth about your past and…about us.” His voice faltered briefly as the enormity of that promise washed over him. “I brought this,” he continued, finally pulling the worn journal from his jacket, “because it was important to you. And I thought…maybe it could help you remember.”

Yunho’s fingers lightly brushed over the journal, his expression softening as he looked at it. “It’s full of your drawings. You used to sketch everything—places we went, people we met–everything. You captured things no one else noticed, things I didn’t notice until I saw them through your eyes.” He swallowed hard, his gaze shifting back to you. 

“You always saw me better than I saw myself.”

He handed you the journal, his hands steady but his heart pounding. "I thought if you saw your own art—saw what you felt, what you captured—maybe... maybe you'd remember something, even just a piece of who you were."

Your fingers trembled slightly as you took the journal, feeling the worn leather beneath your fingertips. This book had been with you through so much, carried pieces of you that even you didn’t remember anymore. You ran your thumb along the edge of the cover, trying to steady your breath. It felt strange—holding something that had once been so personal, and now, it was like holding a fragment of someone else's life.

"It feels strange," you admitted, quietly. "It’s like it belongs to someone else." 

"I know," he said quietly, his voice gentle yet unwavering. "But this is still you. The person in those pages—she’s still here." 

He reached out, his hand covering yours, and the warmth of his touch steadied you. The slight tremor in your fingers stilled as his presence grounded you, reminding you that, despite everything, you were not alone. You simply stood there, staring at the journal, a relic of a past that seemed unreachable. Was that person really still inside you? Could the pieces of the past be put back together, or had too much been lost?

“This...is the least I can do for you.” He looked down at the journal in your hands, a symbol of what he was about to give up. His eyes met yours, more intense than you’d ever seen. 

"I’m going to make my wish. I’ll give anything to set you free.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yunho’s words carried a weight that both terrified and comforted you. He was ready to sacrifice something—perhaps everything—to break the chains that held you to the Emporium.

“I’ll grant the wish,” Hongjoong declared, his voice slicing through the heavy silence of the Emporium. His tone was casual, almost amused, but his eyes—sharp and knowing—held the gravity of what was about to happen.

“No, let me—” you began, stepping forward instinctively, but Hongjoong cut you off.

“Whatever that toy did to you, it weakened your magic. You can’t afford to take chances right now,” he explained softly. 

You had nearly forgotten about the plush toy in the chaos of recent events. But now, with Hongjoong's reminder, the faint sense of something missing from within you became impossible to ignore. Your magic had indeed felt dim, like a flame trying to burn under water. It left you feeling vulnerable. Unmoored.

You glanced at Yunho, who stood tall and resolute, though the slight tremble in his hands revealed the weight of his decision. The journal remained clutched tightly in his grip, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. The air around you began to buzz with energy, the edges of magic stirring, making your skin prickle.

Suddenly, the floor beneath Yunho lit up with a radiant glow. Intricate symbols—ancient runes and shimmering patterns of light—spread out from under his feet, forming a large, pulsating circle that expanded to the edges of the room. The energy in the air vibrated around you, and the ground beneath your feet hummed with power. The magic was alive, swirling and converging, ready to set the impossible in motion.

The magic began to rise, swirling around him like a gentle wind at first, then growing stronger, forming a cyclone of light and energy. The glow intensified, a brilliant vortex that seemed to pulsate with the power of the wish. The journal in his hands began to shine, its pages flickering as if they were coming alive.

You felt a sharp tug at your chest, your own magic reacting to the powerful forces being summoned in the room. It stirred weakly, echoing through your body, as though the emporium itself was waking up, aware of the monumental exchange taking place. The air hummed with a potency that both exhilarated and terrified you.

Then, as quickly as it had risen, the whirl of magic began to dissipate. The light faded, dimming until the room was left in a quiet stillness. The energy that had crackled and swirled just moments ago was gone, leaving only a faint ringing in your ears. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gulps as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. The intense force of the magic had vanished, but something inside you had shifted, changed.

You felt…lighter. The sensation was almost surreal, like a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying had suddenly been lifted from your shoulders. In that moment, something inside you broke—an invisible barrier you hadn’t even realized was there. 

Yunho stood in front of you, his eyes soft yet heavy with concern. He searched your face, as if trying to piece together the puzzle of what you might be feeling.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, as though he was afraid of the answer.

For a moment, you didn’t respond. You didn’t need to. You looked at him, the edges of a smile tugging at your lips, and before you even realized what you were doing, you reached out and poked him lightly on the chest. It was a simple, almost childish gesture, but it broke the tension that had settled over the room.

Yunho blinked, surprised at the sudden touch, but a soft chuckle escaped him. His shoulders eased just a little, and that warm, familiar glow returned to his eyes. 

That was all it took. 

Without thinking, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace was instinctive, natural, as if it had been waiting for this moment. His arms encircled you, pulling you close, holding you as if you were something fragile, something he didn’t want to break. In his embrace, you felt a warmth that had been missing for so long.

As you buried your face in his chest, you heard a soft fluttering sound around you. It was faint at first, but then the sound grew louder, like wings beating in the air. You pulled back slightly and looked around the shop.

Pages. The journal—your journal—had burst open. Loose pages, filled with memories, sketches, and words, were now swirling through the air, carried by an invisible breeze. The pages brushed past you, each one holding pieces of your past that had been hidden for so long. Sketches of places you vaguely recognized, fragments of conversations you couldn’t quite place, and moments that had long since faded from your memory.

Hongjoong stood a little further away, his smile softening into something more tender. He looked on at you and Yunho, with a quiet contentment. His eyes gleamed with pride, not just in satisfaction with the outcome, but as if he had been waiting for this moment all along—for you to find your way back to Yunho.

The emporium, the magic, the chaos—it all led to this, and for the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely at peace.

⋆

“Well, well, look at you,” Wooyoung’s playful tone rang out, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled in the room. He padded in with his usual feline grace, tail flicking with amusement, his gray eyes gleaming mischievously as they zeroed in on you.

“Getting ready for your date with Yunho?” His voice carried that familiar lilt, half-teasing, half-genuine, that he knew would rile you up.

You shot him an unimpressed look, but the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you, your cheeks turning pink despite your best efforts to appear unaffected.

“It’s not a date, just an outing.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “A weekend getaway to the beach isn’t an ‘outing,’ he quipped. “Come on, admit it—you’re looking forward to this.”

You paused, fingers toying with the sleeves of your cardigan. The truth was harder to hide now, and you couldn’t help but smile—just a little.

“Maybe. A little,” you admitted, the butterflies in your stomach betraying the downplay.

But before you could say anything more, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your head. It came out of nowhere, sudden and intense, like someone had struck you from within. You winced, your hand immediately flying to your temple as the ache intensified. The pain spread like wildfire, spreading until it became almost unbearable.

"Master? Are you okay?" Wooyoung’s playful tone vanished instantly, replaced by genuine concern. He leapt onto your bed with nimble ease, his tail twitching anxiously, his eyes wide with worry.

But you couldn’t respond. Your world was spinning, and suddenly, it was as if someone had thrown open the floodgates in your mind. You were standing outside of an apartment complex, your heart pounding. Yunho was there too, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place—he was…angry. He was saying something, his lips moving, but you were too distracted by the tears stinging your own eyes. 

“Master!” Wooyoung’s voice pierced through the chaos, pulling you back to the present. His paw gently pressed against your leg, trying to anchor you. “What’s happening, I’ll call for Jongho–”

“No,” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head despite the pulsating pain reverberating through your skull. You didn’t want to alarm Wooyoung further, didn’t want him summoning Jongho over a headache. You forced the words out, struggling to sound convincing.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just a migraine.”

But you weren’t fine. Not even close. That memory—Yunho standing there, his face twisted in anger—felt too real. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment or a dream. It was something that had actually happened, though you couldn’t recall why. You had forgotten it, buried it so deep that your mind hadn’t been able to access it until now. And with it came a flood of confusion and guilt. 

What had you done to make him look at you like that?

<< v | vii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

this was so wholesome I love it so much 🥰 i can’t wait to read more from the other members! keep up the amazing work <3

✗ sugar and sin ✗ | PARK SEONGHWA

pairings  ✃  mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader

genre  ✃  mafia au, non-idol au, SLOW BURNN

synopsis  ✃  

seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.

in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.

w.c  ✃ 9.1k

c.w  ✃ dark themes, some desc of gore, poison, drink-spiking, kiss scene but no smut very very slight yandere behaviour, cursing, reader + seonghwa are in their 20s (not too relevant to plot), reader wants to be an architect.

author’s note: ngl, this story ended up a little more wholesome than i anticipated but oh well. remember to reblog and comment if you enjoyed, any and all feedback helps!

not proofread!

masterlist

it was official. you were a walking, unkillable creature sent to test seonghwa’s patience. 

you had to be at this point. that was the sixth poisoned-cream puff he’d given you this week and you were still talking on the phone about some guy you met at work. 

seonghwa’s fingers curled around the register, his knuckles turning white. when was the last time it took him this long to kill someone? five years ago?

time flies by fast - and yet it’s going painfully slow to take. you. out. 

“oh my god, no way-“ you laughed suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. 

seonghwa sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. he turned around and headed for the kitchen. if you weren’t going to die quickly, the least he could do was distract himself. 

“back to baking,” he muttered through clenched teeth. 

1 MONTH AGO - SIGHTSEEING

the early morning was cool, damp and filled with the scent of rain. the light drizzle from the grey sky above pattered against the balcony railing as birds chirped louder than the traffic below.

seonghwa sat on the metal chair, placing his steaming cup of tea onto the small table next to him. 

the balcony door slid open. 

a yawn was heard from behind him. “are you people-watching again?” hongjoong asked, rubbing his eyes. 

seonghwa didn’t look back, only nodding in response.

“you’re on food duty now, remember?” hongjoong stepped onto the balcony, sitting on the chair beside his friend. “you don’t need to look for targets..”

seonghwa leaned forward, mumbling, “is it wrong to have hobbies?” 

the morning rush was in full swing - people running with umbrellas over their heads, cars splashing through puddles and delivery workers speeding on bikes. it was oddly satisfying to watch, especially when you weren’t a part of any of it.

hongjoong rested his chin on his hand. “i don’t pay you to kill anymore. i hope you know this.”

“yeah, yeah,” seonghwa said absentmindedly, like he’d done many times before - though something caught his attention.

his eyes narrowed, focusing on a girl - must be in her early 20s, hurrying down the sidewalk with a large stack of papers in her arms. her steps were rushed, nearly bumping into the people ahead of her.

and then it happened.

she tripped over her own foot, causing her to stumble forward. the papers flew out of her grasp, scattering onto the crowded pavement. she dropped to her knees, scurrying to gather them.

but before she could, a gust of wind swept most of them down the street.

seonghwa got up from his chair abruptly, his tea long forgotten.

hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “did you see something?”

seonghwa didn’t answer. his attention was fixed on you, your hands moving as fast as possible to salvage the remaining papers. just as you managed to grab a few, a van sped through a nearby puddle, splashing you from head to toe.

you froze, shivering. and to make things worse, the light rain turned into a heavy downpour. “...fuck!”

seonghwa’s eyes lit up in fascination. 

he’d never seen someone as unlucky, unfortunate and pathetic as you in all of his years. 

you were perfect.

“seonghwa-?”

a slow, almost predatory smirk spread across seonghwa’s lips. he couldn’t take his eyes off of you - the defeated and helpless girl that stood frozen on the pavement, completely drenched. 

“i found my target.”

2 WEEKS AGO - IT’S CALLED EMPLOYMENT 

the smell of fresh bread and melted butter greeted you as you pushed the bakery door open, the small bell jingling. 

“ah ‘____’!” the old baker, mrs earl, said with a smile. “it’s good to see you again.”

you gave her a bright grin. “i brought you the new crossword,” you placed a folded newspaper on the counter.

“oh honey, you’re an angel,” she thanked.

you waved off the praise, already making your way to the display case. you grabbed your free muffin (it wasn’t technically free, but mrs earl adored you enough to turn a blind eye) and took a bite.

as you ate, she wiped her hands with a dishcloth. “you know, a boy came in today. said he wanted a job.”

you raised an eyebrow. “someone applied?” 

“mhm,” she nodded, her smile widening. “i was quite shocked, he’s very young- around your age.”

“..huh,” you said, unsure of how to respond. it was hard to imagine someone else your age showing interest in such a bakery.

mrs earl’s eyes twinkled as she giggled, “he was such a gentleman, too. handsome, if i may add.”

you grinned. “mrs earl, are you into him?”

she laughed heartily. “of course not! i still have my boys at the country club..”

“..anyways,” she continued, slightly softer. “with him around, i don’t need to come in anymore.”

“...really?”

she nodded firmly. “why not? i think he’s capable enough to manage things while i go on vacation.”

“..if you say so,” you replied, a little doubtful. 

you’ve grown so attached to mrs earl that the idea of someone else stepping in felt.. strange. even then, you quickly pushed those thoughts away. you weren’t going to stop her from having her well-deserved break.

but little did you know - across the street, seonghwa sat on a weathered bench, his eyes following you. 

you were an open book, he realised. your patterns were consistent, your routine almost boring in its predictability. lunch breaks at the bakery. post-work visits for a chat and a muffin. your world revolved around this tiny little bakery that it made you so so easy to track.

it was perfect.

and now all he had to do was wait.

1 WEEK AGO - HEY I JUST MET YOU, AND THIS IS CRAZY

holy shit. 

mrs earl wasn’t kidding when she said the new hire was handsome.

a man stood behind the counter, arranging pastries with meticulous care. his hair fell perfectly, right out of a shampoo commercial, while his skin looked impossibly flawless and clean. 

“...wow,” you breathed out before you could stop yourself.

the man turned, his sharp features softened by a slight tilt of his head. 

you blinked rapidly, scrambling to recover. “i mean- hi!” you blurted with a nervous laugh. “i’m ‘____’, i’m a regular here,” you stuck your hand out.

it took a second before he shook your hand, giving you a small, polite smile. “mrs earl told me about you.”

your rubbed the back of your neck. “good things i hope..” you chuckled, earning a nod. 

“you’re..” you looked down, squinting to read the name tag pinned neatly to his apron. “seonghwa..?”

“correct.”

as seonghwa moved to the display case, you couldn’t help but watch him. everything about him was so polished, so graceful - it was like he belonged in the movies. 

when you saw the row of pastries he was arranging, you raised an eyebrow. that’s different. 

he glanced at you. “sorry, i don’t make muffins as good as mrs earl,” he admitted sheepishly. “but i think my cream puffs are up there.”

you stared at the tray of golden, perfectly piped pastries, your mouth watering. “c-can i take one?”

his lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes darkening slightly. “of course.”

PRESENT - PLOT ARMOUR GOES CRAZYY

outside, the world bustled with its usual chaos, but inside the bakery? everything felt calm - too calm for seonghwa, whose patience was wearing dangerously thin.

from behind the counter, he had an excellent view of you. you chatted animatedly on the phone, the sunlight streaming in making you look annoyingly serene for someone who shouldn’t be here. 

“girl- the guy at my office is cutee,” you said as you stirred the remnants of your coffee.

seonghwa’s jaw tightened. the coffee you were sipping had enough poison to kill a sumo wrestler. you should’ve been dead on the floor by now.

so how the hell were you still alive?

blissfully unaware of his glare, you laughed at something your friend said. “are you crazy? why should i make the first move?”

when he first saw you, seonghwa thought you’d be his easiest target yet. he almost pitied you. your sheer unluckiness practically screamed death. 

yet here you were, as if life itself decided to mock him.

as you hung up the call, you stood up and strolled to the counter, rummaging through your bag. “how much do i owe you?”

seonghwa shook his head, sighing. “it’s on the house,” he said. 

you paused, slipping your phone into your pocket. “seonghwa, you really need to stop giving me free food,” you pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“but i want to,” he shrugged. 

you studied him for a moment, tilting your head. “then can i get another coffee to-go, please?”

his eye twitched.

it was such an harmless request, something seemingly so simple. yet it felt like an insult to his entire career.

still, seonghwa forced a smile, taking the cash. “of course.”

turning to the coffee pot, he poured another cup. when you looked away to check your phone, he sprinkled a little extra poison into the drink - just to be sure.

“thank you so much,” your face lit up as you took the cup from him. “you’re a lifesaver.”

the irony hit him like a truck, but he simply nodded.

as you turned to leave, he stared at the coffee pot, his mind spinning.

how? how?

you were unkillable. immune. an anomaly wrapped in plot armour so thick and absurd it made his chest ache with something he couldn’t name. 

obsession, frustration, fascination - it all blurred together into one singular thought:

he needed stronger poison.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“..helloo?” a hand waved in front of seonghwa, snapping him out of his thoughts.

seonghwa blinked, turning to find wooyoung standing beside him, wooden spoon in hand, his apron splattered in sauces. 

“you’re sanding the plate,” wooyoung smirked before turning back to the bubbling pot on the stove. 

the sound of running water filled the hideout’s small kitchen, together with the clanging of pots and pans. seonghwa stood over the sink, yellow rubber gloves on his hands as he washed the dishes.

seonghwa looked down - and to his horror, he’d been scrubbing the same spot on the plate for who knows how long. a noticeable mark formed, the glaze nearly wearing off. 

wooyoung glanced over his shoulder. “you okay?”

“yeah,” seonghwa replied.

a short silence followed before wooyoung spoke up again. “…you still haven’t killed that girl.”

seonghwa rolled his eyes, nearly breaking the ceramic in his hands. “don’t remind me. she’s invincible.”

“invincible?” wooyoung barked out a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “to you?”

seonghwa’s lips pressed into a thin line, sighing. the memory of the coffee earlier was still fresh in his mind. “my poison doesn’t work on her.”

wooyoung paused. “we have poison?”

“yeah,” seonghwa muttered, rinsing the plate and setting it on the drying rack. “the blue ones in the cupboard.”

wooyoung’s face shifted slowly from confusion, to realisation, to then poorly concealed amusement.

“seonghwa..” he began carefully, facing him. “you know those are laxatives, right..?”

the sponge in seonghwa’s hand nearly slipped into the soapy water. “..what?”

“they’re laxatives,” wooyoung repeated. “i mean, they do look the same, but they’re laxatives.” 

seonghwa stared at him. “those are the only ones left- what happened to my poison?”

“we uh-” wooyoung hesitated, shifting on his feet. “we crushed it up and made paint..”

the air in the kitchen turned deathly still.

“you what?”

“i thought no one used it-!”

“i use it-! who makes paint with pills?” seonghwa snapped, his hands gripping the edges of the sink. he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay calm. “now i have to get more from that dealer.”

“uhh..” wooyoung cringed.

seonghwa turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “don’t tell me..”

wooyoung gulped, nodding slowly. “...san killed him.” 

WEEK 3 - TOUCH GRASS

the sound of your best friend’s voice echoed from your phone as you sat by the window, nibbling on the cream puff seonghwa gave you - again.

“i know this is TMI,” you said quietly. “but i’ve been shitting a lot lately. i don’t know if it's my period or lactose intolerance acting up.”

as you took another bite, the cream puff melted in your mouth, its sweetness making you temporarily forget about your bowel issues. 

rejecting it felt stupid - it was free. sure, it was weird that seonghwa kept giving you free food, but mrs earl trusted him, so why shouldn’t you?

still, you couldn’t quite figure him out. the man had a habit of glaring at you from across the bakery. were you that pretty? yes. but his glares didn’t feel like he was admiring you. they leaned more towards… anger.

your friend on the other end of the call burst out laughing - and you joined her for a moment. but before your friend could reply, your phone screen went black. 

“ugh, seriously?” you grumbled, tapping the screen repeatedly. with an annoyed sigh, you stuffed the dead phone into your bag.

with nothing else to do, your attention shifted. your eyes eventually landed on seonghwa, who was watching you with a blank face. 

it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him, right? after all, you see him everyday - and since your phone died, maybe it’s finally time to get some real human interaction in.

you gave him a wide smile. “hey, seonghwa.”

he blinked, visibly startled. “i uh-”

“-why don’t you sit with me?” you asked. “you’re not busy, are you?” 

for a moment, he seemed frozen. but somehow, you managed to convince him to sit across from you.

“so...” you began. “how are you?”

“good.”

you blinked. this wasn’t the riveting conversation you were hoping for.

unfazed, you continued. “how’s work been? stressful?”

he exhaled softly, shaking his head. “it’s fine. how about you? how’s work?”

“it’s alright,” you shrugged. “it’s gotten better since i started coming here. the vending machines at work are always broken.”

he nodded, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. “yeah- it’s even more convenient since it’s walking distance, right?”

you paused. 

“...how do you know that?”

seonghwa’s fingers froze mid-tap. 

“mrs earl,” he said finally. “she said a lot of her regulars work in the area.”

“oh, that makes sense,” you said, your suspicions fading quickly. you glanced out the window, your face softening. “i miss her..”

seonghwa let out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding as though he agreed with you.

but inside, his mind was screaming. that was way too close. 

focus.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you kicked your shoes and slumped onto the couch, letting out a long sigh. the day had been.. something. your chat with seonghwa was pretty awkward, but more than anything, it made you miss mrs earl.

reaching for your phone, you dialed her number.

“‘____’! my favourite customer,” she greeted cheerfully, the background noise filled with chatter and clinking glasses.

“mrs earl!” you replied. “how are you? are the boys at your country club treating you well?”

“oh, you know how they are,” she giggled. “trying to impress me with golf and fancy dinners. it’s nice to relax for a change.”

you chuckled, sinking deeper into the couch. “that sounds perfect. you deserve it.”

the conversation flowed easily unlike the one earlier. you updated her on the usual - work and office gossip. but eventually, the topic drifted to the bakery.

“i hope the new boy hasn’t burned the place down,” mrs earl began.

“he’s actually a pretty good baker,” you said. “his cream puffs are unreal-”

you paused for a moment before you added. “though i have to say, they make my stomach hurt whenever i eat them.”

the line went quiet.

“...please elaborate,” mrs earl chuckled softly.

“i mean- i don’t know,” you shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “after i eat his pastries, my trips to the toilet are… traumatic.” you let out a small laugh. “but they’re so tasty, it’s worth the lactose intolerance.”

another silence followed, longer this time. you frowned slightly, shifting on the couch. 

“mrs earl?”

her voice finally came through, slower this time. “that’s.. impossible, my dear.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, sitting a little straighter.

“well,” she began carefully. “the bakery strictly uses oat milk. we don’t use any dairy products in our pastries.”

“...what?”

“the cream, the milk- everything is plant-based,” she continued. “it’s been that way for years. didn’t i tell you that when you first came in?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

mrs earl’s voice broke the silence again. “it could be something else. you’ve been stressed, haven’t you?”

“yeah..” you replied automatically, though your thoughts were far from the conversation.

“take care of yourself, honey,” she said gently. “i have to go, but call me again soon, okay?”

you nodded. “okay.. bye, mrs earl.”

“stay well, ‘____’.”

the call ended, leaving you sitting on the couch, phone in hand. for a long moment, you stared at the screen, her voice echoing in your head. 

the bakery strictly uses oat milk.

MONTH 1 - I WAS SPACING OUT

you sat at your regular table by the window, flipping through your notebook while sipping on your coffee.

you tapped your pencil against the table. yes, ‘traumatic’ was probably an exaggeration for your bathroom trips - but if there was no dairy in seonghwa’s cream puffs, then what was messing with your stomach?

you quickly shook your head, a sigh escaping your lips. ‘too weird to think about,’ you thought to yourself. whatever it was, the food was worth it.

you returned back to sketching, taking out your ruler to make straight lines. but as you drew, you couldn’t help but feel a certain someone’s eyes on you. 

“you’re staring again,” you said without looking up. 

a long pause settled over the bakery before you heard a, “..no, i wasn’t.”

you glanced up, a smile tugging at your lips. “wanna see what i’m working on?” 

and that was how seonghwa found himself unusually close to you, sitting beside you as you showed him your sketches - clean lines forming buildings, bridges and intricate floor plans. 

“you like drawing?” he asked.

“yeah,” you nodded, flipping to another page. “i wanted to be an architect.” 

seonghwa’s brow furrowed slightly. “then why aren’t you doing it?” 

you let out a laugh. “because i’m broke,” you said simply. “i’d rather work in an office than take out student loans.” 

you flipped through more sketches - some labelled with small notes in the margins while others had more detailed calculations. “it’s just a little hobby of mine.”

seonghwa’s eyes darted between you and the notebook. “this doesn’t look like a hobby,” he muttered.

you raised an eyebrow. “what does it look like then?”

“it looks like something you’re serious about.” 

you paused, blinking at him before leaning closer. “i’m serious about a lot of things, seonghwa- but that doesn’t mean i make a career out of them.”

the silence between you stretched as you flipped through the pages. the energy shifted to something you couldn’t quite explain - and as you tilted the notebook to show him a certain sketch, you realised that his eyes weren’t even on the paper anymore, they were on you. 

you sighed, closing the notebook. as you slipped it into your bag, you noticed how his eyes were still following you, sharp yet strangely soft with concern.

“don’t worry-” you said, smoothing out your clothes. “i’m perfectly content with where i am now.”

“are you?” he asked.

you met his eyes for a moment longer than usual. “yep,” you finished the last sip of your coffee. “how could i not be? free cream puffs and all, right?”

seonghwa didn’t respond.

“thanks for looking at my sketches,” you smiled, turning away. “hope i didn’t bother you.”

as he watched you walk out the door, he let out a slow sigh he didn’t realise he was holding, running a hand through his hair.

he stared up at the ceiling, leaning back into the chair. and for the first time in a long time, seonghwa felt sympathy. 

MONTH 2 - FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC 

over the past few weeks, you developed the habit of waving seonghwa over to join you whenever you stopped by the bakery. what started as polite small talk turned into embarrassing work stories you had.

this afternoon was no different. you sat across from him, coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other, complaining about your friends’ latest questionable decision.

“yeah, she doesn’t listen to me,” you took a bite out of the cookie. “like- why fuck him if you hate him, y’know?”

behind his usual composed self, you caught the faintest twitch of seonghwa’s lips, followed by a sound so soft you almost missed it - a low chuckle.

you froze mid-bite. “did you just.. laugh?”

seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “yeah..?”

you leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “i’ve never seen you laugh before.”

“i’m sure you have,” he blinked.

“no, i would’ve remembered it,” you shook your head, grinning. “i like it.”

seonghwa choked, caught off guard. before he could even respond or process what you said, his phone buzzed in his apron pocket. he glanced at the screen and frowned.

“excuse me,” he said, heading to the small kitchen in the bakery, leaving you slightly confused.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa pressed the phone to his ear. “what?” he asked.

“i got your poison ready,” san’s voice came through.

seonghwa nearly dropped his phone, swallowing the lump in his throat. “...really?”

“yeah- you wanted it extra strong, right?” san continued. “it took some tweaking, but it’s ready to go.”

the baker’s eyes darted to the half-open kitchen door. he could almost picture you sitting on the other side of it. “right… good.”

this was it. no more laxatives, no more delays.

it’s real now.

the thought of finishing the job left a strange knot in his chest - not dread exactly, but something close to it.

he wasn’t supposed to feel this way - no, he’s never felt this way. his work had always been detached. he never tried to make connections outside of the world of crime, didn’t deal with people who weren’t tied to his web of blood.

not until you came along.

you talked to him like he was.. normal. like he was a regular guy in a regular bakery.

he was finally seen as a person, not a killer. 

it was refreshing. 

“hello?” san’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“i uh-“ seonghwa cleared his throat, realising that he was silent for too long. “just leave the poison on my desk. i’ll get it later.

“sure,” san replied before adding, “but don’t overthink it, okay? just get it done.”

seonghwa hung up, staring at his phone for a moment before slipping it back into his pocket.

just get it done.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

from your seat, you only caught bits and pieces of seonghwa’s call. you didn’t mean to listen in, but your ears got carried away. 

his voice was low and hard to hear, muffled by the thin walls of the bakery - but one word stood out: poison.

your brows furrowed as you leaned back into your chair, the word echoing in your mind. poison? like food poisoning? did he get it? was that what you had?

you pushed those thoughts out of your mind. after all, what were the odds that your new friend seonghwa said something like ‘poison’ in a bakery of all places? you must’ve misheard.

the door creaked open as seonghwa stepped out, dusting his apron off as he walked back to the table.

“sorry about that,” he said, sitting across from you.

you tilted your head. “everything okay?”

“yeah,” he replied - but you swear you caught a hint of guilt in his eyes. “where were we?”

MONTH 3 - THIS ISN’T FUN ANYMORE

you wandered through the aisles that had shelves lined with tools, appliances and decorations. mrs earl invited you out for a little shopping spree, wanting to pick out a few things for her house.

as she inspected a stack of plates, something caught your attention - a small set of colourful forks, each with cute designs of fruits and animals.

“these are adorable,” you muttered as you picked it up.

mrs earl looked over your shoulder. “i didn’t know you liked these things.”

you shook your head, laughing softly. “oh- i do, but this is for seonghwa.”

“for seonghwa?” she raised an eyebrow.

“yeah,” you nodded. “he’s always giving me free food. i just thought it’d be nice to get him something.”

mrs earl’s lips curved into a knowing smile, though she said nothing. instead, she patted your shoulder and moved to examine another shelf.

over the past few weeks, seonghwa had become quite a good friend of yours. after all, you saw him everyday and you started to look forward to his presence whenever you stopped by.

and honestly? you’ve been wanting to pay him back for ages. all the free pastries, coffees and times he let you ramble on about work without looking annoyed. he needed.. compensation, if that was what it was called.

you sighed. what if he thought you were weird? well, it didn’t really matter - you wanted to do this.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the bakery was quiet and empty. seonghwa stood at the counter, his fingers gripping a small packet of crushed pills in one hand and the coffee you ordered in the other.

the poison felt heavier that it should, sinking into his palm as a reminder of what he was about to do. his mind spun, his thoughts fuzzy.

was this really happening?

he stared at the packet, his breathing shallow. it took him longer than usual to go near the wretched thing, let alone hold it. now, standing with the poison scarily close to your coffee, the reality set in.

your life was in his hands.

seonghwa’s chest tightened. he could just stop, throw the poison away, pour the coffee down the sink and pretend that none of this happened. after all, no one was forcing him to do this - except himself.

he sighed shakily, his fingers trembling as he began to shove the poison into his pocket.

but then the door swung open. you weren’t supposed to be back yet.

“hey seonghwa-!”

your voice startled him. his eyes snapped to the door as you walked in with paper bags, followed by mrs earl.

“i got you something-“ you said before your smile faltered, your eyes landing on the packet in his hand. “is that.. wait- is that drugs?”

seonghwa coughed, fully shoving it into his pocket quickly. “no- it’s not-”

your eyes narrowed - and before seonghwa could react, you went behind the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out the packet.

“wait-”

your lips parted as you read the label. “...poison?” you breathed out.

the words hung in the air.

your eyes darted to the coffee cup still clutched in his other hand. it was unmistakably yours, your drink order obvious. and it didn’t take long for the pieces to click.

“are you-“ you gulped. “...are you trying to kill me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

seonghwa stood frozen, unable to respond. 

mrs earl, who was trailing behind, looked at the packet in your hand, then at seonghwa.

“what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. she stormed over to him, grabbing a nearby towel and smacking it across his shoulder. “i trusted you with my food! my bakery! and this is what you do?!”

seonghwa flinched but didn’t resist. his eyes, however, weren’t on mrs earl - they were on you.

you were completely still, the poison clutched in your hands. 

seonghwa opened his mouth to say something - anything, but the words died before they could form. you couldn’t even look at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

ignoring how his chest tightened, he turned and dashed - leaving nothing but silence in the bakery.

mrs earl paced angrily, muttering curses under her breath. but you didn’t hear her - you couldn’t. your eyes remained fixed on the packet, your breathing heavy.

you sat down, throwing the poison far away from you. your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last. 

holy shit.

he was going to kill you. 

MONTH 4 - ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?

you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms above your head. you powered down your computer, your office building quiet - working overtime seemed more tiring than usual.

you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder when your eyes landed on a small box tucked into the corner of your desk.

the fork set.

for weeks, you avoided looking at it. the sight of it was a reminder of the bakery - your now-dead friendship with seonghwa and the moment you realised he tried to kill you.

why did you even keep this?

you didn’t want to bring it home. you didn’t want to keep it at all. maybe it was time to throw it away and be done with it. 

you stepped out of your office building, the streets eerily silent. the only source of light you had were the streetlights that shined yellow light onto the pavement.

you clenched the fork set in your hands.

poison.

the word did circles around your mind, sending an uncomfortable feeling throughout your body. was that why your stomach always hurt after eating his pastries? was he actually trying to poison you the whole time?

the idea of it stung. you thought back to all the times you trusted him, to all the times you talked.

was any of it even real?

your thoughts were interrupted by the faint sight of movement you caught from the corner of your eye.

you stopped, glancing to the alley to your left. at first, it was hard to make out what you were seeing, the shadows dark. but then you froze.

a man stood there, holding a gun.

and someone else was infront of him, pinned against the wall.

your breath hitched when you realised who it was.

seonghwa.

his eyes locked onto yours, wide with fear as the gunman barked something you couldn’t hear. his face was bruised, blood smeared along his jaw and soaking his shirt.

you gulped.

this man tried to kill you. you could just.. walk away, pretend this didn’t happen.

you took a step back, everything in your body telling you to leave. but then, seonghwa’s trembling hand reached toward you, his fingers shaking as he silently pleaded.

shit.

you don’t know what compelled you - pity or something else entirely, but your grip tightened on the box in your hand. quickly, you opened it, grabbing the first fork you saw.

without thinking, you chucked it at the gunman.

the fork struck his shoulder with a dull thud, making him whip around in shock, pointing the gun at you.

your heart stopped. this was it.

but seonghwa worked fast.

grabbing the fork, he lunged forward with all the strength he had, driving it into the gunman’s neck.

the man stumbled, choking as he clawed at his throat, slumping to the ground.

seonghwa collapsed to his knees, panting heavily as the fork clattered from his hand to the pavement. blood dripped from his fingertips, pooling around him as he pressed a hand to his side, trying to stop his wound from bleeding.

“...thank you,” he managed to say, his voice hoarse.

you stared at him, your chest heaving. you stepped closer, looking down at his bloodied state. “damn it.”

seonghwa glanced up at you, his eyes filled with… gratitude? sincerity? relief? or was that desperation?

you sighed, shaking your head. “you’re lucky i’m a nice person.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“i’m sorry-”

“don’t talk to me,” you cut him off, shoving a cold can of soda into his hand.

you brought seonghwa to your office, the only place you could think of where he wouldn’t be found - or bleed out. he sat in your coworker’s chair, guilt written all over his face.

with a heavy sigh, you sank into your own chair across from him, leaning back as you tried to catch your breath.

for what felt like an eternity, the two of you sat in silence, your eyes locked in an unspoken fight. dark red tissues piled up beside seonghwa as he pressed another one to the cut on his cheek, wincing.

you didn’t want to feel sorry for him. you didn’t want to care. but seeing him like this - injured, his clothes stained with the horrid look of blood, made it impossible to ignore the way your stomach twisted.

“...how did you end up like this?”

your words cracked, betraying the hurt and confusion you tried so so hard to bottle up.

“i-” began before stopping himself, his voice faltering. he pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away from you. 

EARLIER THAT DAY

“wha-? you can’t say no, seonghwa,” hongjoong snapped. “this is your job.”

seonghwa slouched deeper into the couch, arms crossed over his chest. his eyes followed his boss as he paced around the room. “i don’t want to go.”

“‘i don’t want to go’,” hongjoong mocked, stopping mid-step to glare at him. “i’m not asking you to go, i’m telling you.”

seonghwa stayed silent.

“come on,” hoongjoong ran a hand through his hair. “we got a tip they’re loitering around these streets. the least you could do is check it out.”

‘they’.

aka the drug cartel that had been bothering hongjoong and the group for months. even then, seonghwa shook his head, refusing his boss’s orders.

hongjoong let out a frustrated sigh. “you’ve been like this ever since you failed to kill that girl. you’re depressed- go outside.”

seonghwa’s head snapped up. “i’m not depressed,” he glared.

“right,” hongjoong chuckled dryly. “because moping and lazing around is normal behavior for you. wake up.”

seonghwa bit back a retort, his nails biting into his palms. he wasn’t depressed. he wasn’t.

was he?

a heavy silence settled over the room. sure, the last few weeks have been.. off. he hadn’t been sleeping well. his appetite was nonexistent. and everytime he thought about you, he felt an ache in his heart that he couldn’t quite shake.

it wasn’t depression. it was just a.. slump.

he was not depressed. 

seonghwa sighed, rolling his eyes. “whatever,” he muttered finally. he pushed himself up. “i better be paid good for this.”

PRESENT

seonghwa gulped, staring at the bruises on his arms. finally, he met your eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “...it’s just my job.”

you crossed your arms. “your job?”

he said nothing.

“seonghwa-” you began, leaning forward. “what kind of job leaves you looking like this?”

his shoulders stiffened, and for a moment - you thought he wouldn’t answer. but then he sighed, wiping his bloody hands on his shirt. 

“if i tell you,” he said. “you need to promise me something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “promise what?”

“that you won’t tell anyone.”

a dry laugh escaped your lips. “i’m not promising anything. spit it out.”

“...i’m in a gang.”

“wha-” you stared at him, your face blank for a second before you let out a snort and cackle. “you’re joking, right?”

but when he didn’t laugh, you froze.

“wait- you’re not joking?” you asked, your voice quieter.

he shook his head.

his words hit you like a wave. your mind spun, connecting the dots - the poison, his sketchy behaviour, the guilty look in his eyes - it all fell into place.

“...is that why you tried to kill me?” you asked after a long pause. “what did i do?”

“that’s..” seonghwa trailed off, looking away. “unrelated.”

you rolled your eyes. “of course it is.”

his face softened into something almost remorseful. “i don’t really know how to talk about this,” he said. “but i know i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t have to save me, but you did,” he leaned forward. “and i keep wondering why- because if it was the other way around, i don’t think i would’ve done the same.”

you raised your eyebrow.

“i’m sorry, really,” he said, quieter now. “i don’t know what else i can say, but i just.. i don’t want you to think i’m taking any of it lightly.”

you stared at him, surprised by how sincere he was. “seonghwa..”

“i know an apology won’t fix anything,” he said. “but i’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“whatever it takes?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

he nodded quickly.

you scoffed, leaning in closer, your eyes piercing his. “if you really mean that, prove it.”

“i will,’ he said immediately.

“…uhuh,” you looked him up and down before standing, grabbing your bag. “you can start by cleaning the blood off of my coworker’s chair.”

he let out a faint chuckle, though it was more self-deprecating than anything. before you walked away, you paused, turning back to him.

“seonghwa?”

“yeah?”

you stepped closer, grabbing his collar and pulling him towards you. “before you try anything stupid, remember this: i still have that poison of yours.”

MONTH 5 - WALK HIM LIKE A DOG

you had to admit - it was convenient having your own personal assistant, even if the circumstances were… complicated.

it wasn’t like you asked for this arrangement. seonghwa brought it upon himself, showing up whenever you called. 

printer jammed? he’d be there in ten minutes. out of pens? he’d have a pack delivered to your desk. of course you didn’t trust him with tasks involving your drinks or food, but even then - he made himself useful with other things.

over time, you got used to calling him for simple errands - and he never complained. 

it was most definitely awkward though, especially when he tried to make small talk with you.

“..your hair looks nice,” he said once as he stood by your desk.

“thanks,” you replied, not looking up from your screen.

a moment passed. you glanced over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow when you noticed he was still standing there. “...do you need something?”

he quickly shook his head, turning away as he muttered an apology.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it amusing. as much as you hated to admit it, having him around wasn’t unbearable. 

as days turned into weeks, the distrust you held so tightly began to loosen its grip. it wasn’t like you forgot what he did, there were just moments when he seemed normal.

“you’re terrible at this,” you smirked, watching him struggle to assemble the new office chair you ordered.

he looked up at you. “i might be terrible, but at least i can read the instructions.”

you laughed.

but then you’d remember.

you’d remember the poison, the fact that this man tried to kill you for what seemed like no reason. 

and everything goes back to square one. 

MONTH 5.5 - T.G.I.F BY KATY PERRY

that friday, your coworkers insisted on dragging you out for a night at the club.

“let’s get wasted!” they said. “it’ll be fun!” they said.

that was probably a lie, but you gave in, changing your clothes before heading out.

neon lights shined erratically, painting the crowd in shifting shades of red, blue and green. bass-heavy music filled the club, so loud that it felt like waves went through your body. it was chaotic and packed to the brim with bodies swaying and stumbling.

it’d only been ten minutes and you already lost sight of your coworkers in the sea of people.

“shit,” you muttered under your breath, trying to find the exit. 

you pushed through drunk, clumsy dancers, finally spotting the door. but as you approached it, two towering men stepped infront of it, their shoulders forming an impenetrable wall.

“wha-?” you frowned, stopping. “i can’t leave?”

they didn’t respond.

“fine, whatever,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. if you were going to be stuck here, might as well grab a drink.

you made your way to the bar, squeezing between a group of rowdy patrons to get the bartender’s attention. but just as you opened your mouth to order, you heard a voice behind you.

“hey, angel.”

you paused, glancing behind to see a man standing way too close. he was quite well-dressed, but an unsettling smirk settled on his face.

“excuse me?” you raised an eyebrow.

“can i buy you a drink?” he purred, leaning closer. “i think i’ll regret it if i don’t.”

you blinked. “no, it’s okay-“

“-two shots of tequila,” he called out to the bartender, cutting you off. 

you stared at him, barely processing his words before a shot glass was placed infront of you, the clear liquid weirdly fizzing. 

“thank you, but i don’t-“

“drink.”

before you could react, his hand was at the back of your head, tilting it back as he pressed the shot glass to your lips. the liquid burned as it slid down your throat - making you cough violently while the heat seared your chest. 

“wha- what is happening?” you mumbled. your limbs felt heavy and your head was spinning as your vision blurred. 

the man’s smirk deepened, his face inches from yours as he gripped your wrist. “let me ask you something, angel.”

you blinked, your thoughts sluggish and messy.

“what do you know about a man named park seonghwa?”

the name hit you in the face, your breath hitching. “i-”

his grip on your wrist tightened painfully. “answer.”

“he’s just a baker,” you said quickly.

the man chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “are you sure?”

you nodded, unable to form a response.

he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “then why did he poison my boss a few months ago?”

poison. 

that stupid stupid word haunting you again. 

the man laughed again, low and ominous. “you had a reaction there- you know something i don’t?”

you shook your head weakly, the motion making your dizziness worse. your knees buckled slightly, making you grip the edge of the sticky counter to steady yourself.

suddenly, the man’s phone buzzed in his pocket. he pulled it out, still holding you firmly in place.

“yeah,” he said after a moment. “i got his girlfriend right here.”

your eyes widened. “i’m not his girlfri-”

before you could finish, his hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your words.

“sleep,” he whispered, your world fading to black.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

seonghwa laid in bed, staring at the ceiling where his fan spun. with a sigh, he shifted under the covers, letting sleep take over him.

but just as he closed his eyes, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. his brows furrowed as he reached for it.

he swiped to answer it, not looking at the screen. “yes?”

“hey seonghwa,” a low, gruff voice was heard on the other end.

instantly, he was wide awake, sitting upright in the bed. his grip on the phone tightened. “...who is this?”

the voice chuckled. “i got your pretty little girlfriend right here- knocked out like a light.”

seonghwa paused. “...girlfriend?”

“yeah,” the man replied. “the chick you’re always hanging around. surprised you weren’t with her, thought i’d have to put up a fight.”

seonghwa’s blood turned cold as the realisation hit.

you.

he didn’t waste another second. he hung up immediately, throwing off the covers as he leapt out of bed, grabbing his jacket.

his footsteps echoed through the hideout as he stormed toward jongho’s room. he barged through the door without knocking, startling jongho who was hunched over his gaming setup.

jongho spun around in his chair. “what the hell-?”

“trace this number. now,” seonghwa shoved the phone into jongho’s hands.

jongho blinked. “i’m in the middle of a game.”

“i don’t care.”

jongho groaned, taking his headset off as he tapped the phone screen. “fine.”

seonghwa paced around the room like a caged animal - his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to calm himself down. if they’d taken you, it was most definitely his fault. 

“got it,” jongho said after a while, typing something into his laptop. “you want me to track the phone too?”

“yes-” seonghwa snapped. “hurry.”

jongho glanced up at him, his brows furrowed. “what’s going on?”

“someone has her,” seonghwa muttered.

jongho’s eyes widened slightly, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “i thought you were over her?”

“wha- no,” seonghwa glared at him. “just find her.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you slowly woke up, your head throbbing. your first attempt to open your eyes was met with darkness. no - something pressed against your face. a blindfold. 

your body felt stiff, the coarse bite of rope digging into your wrists and ankles. inhaling shakily, you realised something else: your mouth was muffled by a towel, trapping your cries before they could escape.

panic ran around your mind as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. the surface beneath you swayed gently - and you could hear the occasional creak of metal together with muffled voices. a vehicle. you were in a moving vehicle.

but out of nowhere, you heard a shout.

“shit!”

the vehicle swerved violently, the tires screeching against the asphalt with a sound sharp enough to make you wince. your body jerked with the motion, the restraints keeping you in place. tears spilled beneath your blindfold, your breaths shallow and rapid against the towel.

the screeching came to an abrupt stop, followed by the jarring slam of a door.

what came next was a symphony of screams and the sickening, wet sounds of a blade piercing flesh, bodies hitting the ground. you clenched your fists, trembling.

the next door opened. 

another scream. 

another stab.

then silence.

your chest heaved, your heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. was this it? were you next?

then your blindfold slipped away.

your eyes fluttered open, the tears caught in your lashes making your eyelids feel heavy. when your vision eventually cleared, the first thing you saw was him.

seonghwa. his face splattered with blood, his dark eyes wide as he searched yours. his chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath.

“are you okay?” he asked, removing the towel from your mouth.

tears spilled down your cheeks faster now, your emotions overwhelming you in a way you’ve never felt before.

seonghwa’s face softened as he wiped your tears with his thumb, the blood on his hands smearing across your skin.

he moved to the ropes binding your wrists and ankles, his hands working quickly. 

“i’m sorry,” he said softly. “i’m so sorry- shit. i should’ve stayed away from you.”

the moment you were free, you threw your arms around him. he stiffened at first, caught off guard, but then his hands moved to your back.

your body shook against his as you cried. over his shoulder, you saw the man at the bar - his lifeless body crumpled on the ground, stab wounds dotting him.

“i’m so sorry,” seonghwa whispered again, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “this is all my fault.”

you pulled back slightly, your face still wet with tears. his hands stayed on your shoulders. “did they hurt you?” he asked softly.

you shook your head.

the vehicle fell into a heavy silence, the only sounds being your sniffling.

seonghwa gulped. “i’m sorry-”

“-thank you,” you said at the same time.

both of you froze, your words overlapping.

you chuckled, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“i’m really sorry,” he said once more, his voice cracking.

you studied him for a moment, taking in his disheveled hair, the blood on his skin and the exhaustion in his eyes. 

“...were you sleeping?” you asked, noticing the pajama shirt peeking out from under his jacket.

“yeah, i was about to.”

your eyes widened. “you saved me even though you were about to sleep?”

he raised an eyebrow. “was i not supposed to?” 

you stared at him, stunned. “...thank you.”

MONTH 6 - JUST DO IT

you’ve been staring at the text for hours, the words glowing on your phone screen.

let’s meet up.

seonghwa sent it to you that morning. no follow-up, no explanation, just those three words. and yet, they felt more heavy than you could even imagine.

what could you even say?

you tried to distract yourself, grabbing your laptop and scrolling through social media, but nothing held your attention for more than a second. your mind kept drifting back to the message.

your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with another notification. not him. but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at the text again.

let’s meet up.

‘he saved you-’ you reminded yourself. ‘-but he also tried to kill you.’

it should’ve been simple. black and white. a clear boundary between trust and mistrust. but nothing about seonghwa was simple.

when you thought about him, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the poison or the lies. 

it was his hands, trembling as he untied you. 

it was his voice, breaking with regret as he apologised. 

it was the way he looked at you, like he didn’t deserve your forgiveness but was desperate for it anyway.

you hated it.

you hated that he saved you. hated how jumbled your feelings were.

and most of all, you hated how much time you spent thinking about him and his stupidly flawless face. 

you groaned, tossing your phone onto the couch. “this is ridiculous.”

this wasn’t what you needed right now. you grabbed your bag and went out the door. maybe grocery shopping would clear your head.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

the store was crowded, filled with after-work shoppers. you walked aimlessly, picking up a few essentials here and there, but your mind was still on that text.

you stopped at the fridges, grabbing a drink. but as you turned to place it in your basket, you collided with someone. “watch it-” you began.

your words fell short when you realised you bumped into seonghwa, his phone in one hand and an awkward expression on his face. his eyes widened - and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“hey,” he said finally.

you blinked, letting out a nervous chuckle. “hey,” you raised your free hand in a small wave.

“...can we talk?”

you nodded slowly. “yeah,” you put your drink into your basket. “what’s up?”

seonghwa glanced around, looking at the other shoppers nearby. “maybe not here.”

you nodded, heading to the checkout line without another word.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

you sat beside seonghwa on a wooden bench, your grocery bag resting at your feet. the both of you settled down in a park, a quieter and less busy place where you could actually breathe.

you reached for your drink, opening it. “thirsty?” you asked, holding it out to him.

he shook his head.

“i didn’t poison it,” you smirked.

seonghwa gave you a look, his ears turning pink. “you know i feel bad about that,” he muttered.

you chuckled softly, taking a sip. “sorry, sorry,” you said, turning to face him fully. “what did you want to talk about?”

he paused, hesitating as he fiddled with the edge of his jacket. “i just wanted to apologise,” he said finally.

you sighed setting the drink aside. “seonghwa- this is the hundredth time you’ve said that.”

“i know but-”

“i forgive you,” you said, your mouth moving faster than your mind.

his head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “what?”

“i forgive you,” you repeated, more confidently this time.

“...really?” he asked, completely shocked.

“yeah,” you shrugged. “you saved me. and it’s not like i can stay mad at you forever.”

seonghwa blinked. “you definitely can,” he said. “i wouldn’t blame you for it.”

silence fell between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. 

his fingers brushed against yours accidentally - and he instantly pulled his hand back, his face turning a shade of red. “oh my god- i’m so sorry-”

“seonghwa,” you interrupted, reaching for his hand and holding it gently - his fingers slightly calloused. “stop apologising.”

“i can’t help it,” he admitted quietly.

everything seemed to come to a standstill.

the distant sounds of birds chirping and leaves rustling faded into the background. your eyes locked, time pausing.

neither of you spoke.

slowly, almost unconsciously, you both leaned closer. the faint warmth of his breath brushed against your lips, uneven and nervous, mirroring your own.

you blinked, your breath caught in your throat when you realised just how close his face was to yours. “woah..” you whispered.

seonghwa immediately leaned back, clearing his throat. “sorry-”

before he could retreat any further, you reached out instinctively, your fingers curling around his jaw - his skin hot under your touch. “stop saying that,” you mumbled, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek.

he froze, his eyes searching yours for something - permission, reassurance or maybe a blend of both.

you saw how he looked down at your lips for a split second, his adam’s apple bobbing. “...is this okay?” seonghwa breathed out shakily. 

you smiled softly, your thumb tracing slow circles on his jaw. “of course.”

the moment his lips pressed against yours, the world disappeared. 

his shoulders relaxed as he leaned into you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. his touch was careful, as if he was afraid of hurting you in some way.

your lips moved together in a soft, slow rhythm, the warmth of him spreading through you like a comforting fire. 

the sensation was intoxicating - and you found yourselves melting into each other’s touch. 

seonghwa’s breath hitched as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. his heart pounded against yours, a blush creeping up his neck, leaving him lightheaded.

when you finally pulled back, your lips were tingling. and before you could say anything, seonghwa leaned forward again, leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline.

“hey!”

a voice broke the moment like a needle popping a balloon. both of you jumped, your heads snapping toward the sound.

a parent stood not too far away, their hands clamped over their child’s eyes. “please do this at home or something,” they said, glaring at the two of you before walking away quickly.

you and seonghwa exchanged a look, your cheeks flushing as you tried to stifle your laughter.

“yeah,” he said, looking into your eyes, then at your lips. “let’s do this somewhere else.”

series taglist [OPEN] - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2 @devilzliaison @scary-thingz @gaonashi @jonghosbrainrot @mintchocoyum

BONUS SCENE - CUE THE MARIACHI BAND

you stirred awake to the faint aroma of something tasty wafting through the air. groggily, you rubbed your eyes open, only to find seonghwa standing by the bed, a tray in his hands.

“happy anniversary,” he said softly, his lips curving into a smile.

you pushed yourself up on the pillows, your eyes wide with surprise as you took in the tray - a plate of freshly baked bread and scrambled eggs.

“thank you..” you mumbled, half-asleep but touched by the gesture.

seonghwa stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on your lap. he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “eat quickly,” he said with a hint of excitement. “i got you something.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i thought we said no gifts this year.”

he shrugged, smirking. “i lied.”

you rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop a smile from forming on your lips. you grabbed a piece of bread and started eating. it was perfect, just like everything he made.

when you were finished, you slid out of bed, wrapping your cardigan tighter around yourself. you walked to where seonghwa was, sitting next to him.

“seonghwa,” you began. “we agreed- no gifts.”

“i know,” he said, reaching for something on the coffee table. “but i changed my mind.”

your eyes landed on the envelope in his hands. you stared at it as he handed it to you, your brows furrowing slightly. “what’s this?” you asked, taking it hesitantly.

“open it.”

sliding your finger under the seal, you pulled out a letter. as your eyes skimmed the words, your jaw dropped.

“...is this-?”

“yeah.”

“you paid for my school?!” you exclaimed in disbelief.

he nodded. “you wanted to be an architect, right?”

“i do but..” you looked at him in shock, the letter trembling in your hands. “isn’t it expensive?”

“so?” he leaned closer to you, pulling you gently towards him.

your lips parted, trying to form words. “but you paid in full-”

“it doesn’t matter,” he cut you off softly, pecking your cheek. “i wanted to do it. for you.”

you searched his eyes, completely stunned. he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. 

when you eventually pulled away, he didn’t let you go fully. instead, he smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “happy anniversary.”

deleted scenes | other fics

I see it, especially the music one since i’m listening to music right now 😭

I saw this floating around amd wanted to try it!

Go to pinterest and search “my vibe aesthetic” and post the top 6 results!

Tagging: @mimikittysblog @fizzyapplecandy

this was so cute! I love just the two of them talking and building it’s so relaxing, still haven’t gone out and build a lego set so this will do.

thank you again taking in my request when will i have more no clue, but I know that I can count on you to accomplish them perfectly 💕

🪻Lego Friday🪻

✨Pairing: non idol!Seonghwa x gn!reader ✨Prompt: Building a lego set with seonghwa I don’t have much of an idea around this one I just really wanna build a lego set and from watching seonghwa lego lives building with him just looks like so much fun. ✨Requested by @beabatiny🫶🏻 ✨Word Count: 0.9k ✨Genre: fluff ☀️Authors Note: Thank you for requesting this! It was fun writing and I hope you enjoy it🥰 also sorry this took me so long to write😭

"I wanna build legos."

It was announced to you as you were making some desserts for the two of you. Seonghwa was standing in the kitchen holding two enormous lego bags he had pulled out from somewhere whilst giving you the biggest puppy eyes.

"Do you want me to build legos with you?" You ask fighting back a chuckle at the way he was standing and pouting.

His little nod brought a smile to your face as you finished up the dessert.

"Then we will build legos together! Got any I can build? Nothing too complicated please!"

As you said that Seonghwa was already picking up the different lego sets he had, eager to find one you could work on.

"Baby Yoda? Or maybe some flowers?? Or both??" He holds two sets up for you showcasing one where you'd build baby Yoda or some flowers to have for display.

"Hmmm Yoda looks a bit easier, can I start with that one perhaps?"

"Yes!!!" He nods and then quickly hurries to the living room moving with urgency to move everything to the side so the two of you can build the legos together comfortably.

"Cutie." You say to yourself shaking your head with a little laugh before entering the living room with two cups of dessert and two spoons.

You sit down next to him looking curiously at what he's doing.

"Here! One baby Yoda box for you! I'll work on a darth vader one then!" He says happily while handing you your box.

"Thank you!" You say as you take the box and empty it on the floor in front of you.

The two of you sit in silence for a while sorting through the pieces before you remember something you wanted to share with him.

"Did I tell you what Wooyoung and Yeosang did yesterday when we went mini golfing?" You ask him as you start putting some of the pieces together.

"What did those two do this time?" He asks curious to know what your friends had done. Knowing that Wooyoung was involved it could mean anything from silly things like stealing a bite from someones ice cream to something more chaotic.

"Well they started arguing about the best way to push the ball in the hole and decided to make it a competition." You start telling him and Seonghwas boba eyes are focused on you.

"I'm sensing a but?" he says chuckling and you can't help but laugh and nod.

"Yeah, Yeosang did better and to try and distract him, Wooyoung decided to full on chomp on his shoulder." You show by imitating Woo's chomp on Yeosangs shoulder on Seonghwas shoulder without actually biting him.

His laugh ring through the apartment as he shakes his head at your friends antics.

"That sounds just like them to be honest." He says as he hands you the piece you're looking for whilst showing you where it should go.

"Yeah they truly can't be stopped. We almost got kicked out because of Wooyoungs loud chatter but we managed to get him to quiet down by promising we'd buy him food if he could be a bit quieter so we could play to the end."

The two of you sit and talk for hours, giggling about everything from the legos, to your friends, to things that has happened recently in your life whilst enjoying the dessert from time to time that you had prepared.

"Look! Isn't it cute once it's finished?" Seonghwa ask as he shows you the little Darth Vader figure hes put together and you look at him in surprise.

"How did you finish so quickly?! I'm still trying to figure out what I've done wrong." You say as you hold up your Yoda figure which looks a bit wonky due to you putting the wrong pieces together.

"Ahhh well I'm the pro aren't I? You'll learn quickly if you build legos more often." He says whilst moving closer to you, taking the lego from your hands and undoing what you had put together wrongly.

"Here, let's try again okay? This piece." He holds up a big piece and gives it to you "goes here okay? Whilst this one goes over there."

He helps guide you by pointing where certain pieces will go.

"Thanks Hwa, this is really calming you know." You mumble as you focus on setting up the last pieces of Yoda before showing it to him proudly.

"Ta-daaaa!" You show the lego piece off and he claps his hands excitedly for you.

"It looks great!"

"That's because I had such a great teacher!"

You two take a little break after that, sitting facing each other and chatting about anything and everything.

"I saw that they're playing Coraline again in the theaters for its 15th year anniversary. All nine of us should go and see it since we're nearing spooky season." Seonghwa says while rummaging through the rest of his unbuilt lego.

"It's in theaters?! All of us have to go! We should go dressed up as the characters! Wooyoung could be the talking cat!" You exclaim and Hwa looks excited at the idea of dressing up and going to see it.

"Yes!! I wanna be one of the old ladies with all the dogs." He lets you know.

"Hongjoong should dress as the other old lady then." You laugh and the night ends with you two planning who would be which character as you start on a new piece of lego, this time deciding to build it together while laughing at the idea of getting dressed to go to the movies.

I felt so sad when reader was talking to mingi in the hospital knowing he was at yeosang’s house, talking about his feelings too. *sobs*

This chapter was so good and I can’t wait for the next one! <3

strangers by nature | iii

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 4.9K Warnings: just a little angst but we're finally on a lighter, fluffier chapter

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As you pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar apartment complex, Mingi’s ears perked up, his dark, expressive eyes widening with what could only be described as alarm. He’d been unusually fussy this morning, darting away every time you reached out to put his collar on, his little legs scurrying under the grand piano. And when you crouched down to coax him with chicken, he bolted under the couch, telling you that you’d never catch him. 

“Maro, guess what! You’re going to have a sleepover with Hetmon!” you announced, patting him gently. The words slipped out with casual enthusiasm, thinking it’d be fun for him to spend a night with someone who’s growing so fond of him.

As a human, Mingi wouldn’t have cared. He would have come and gone as he pleased, slipping through life without a second thought. Back then, you were just a fleeting presence—someone whose affection he had easily shrugged off. He never thought twice about the way you looked at him or how you cared in your own quiet way.

But things were different now.

You had become the one constant in his new world. The way you fussed over him, made sure he was fed, safe, and warm—it was something he hadn’t realized he needed until it was gone. The thought of being without you, even for one night, filled him with a fear he didn’t fully understand. What if you didn’t come back? What if you left him behind for good?

He let out a soft whine, his eyes flicking to you as if trying to convey the thoughts swirling in his mind: Don’t leave me. Not like this. Mingi squirmed under your touch, his soft fur slipping through your fingers as he wiggled in his seat. His gaze darted to the complex in front of you, his ears twitching at every sound, the unfamiliarity of it all clearly overwhelming.

When you opened the car door, he hesitated, his small paws stiff against your hands as you gently lifted him from the seat. Holding him close, you pressed your cheek into his soft fur.

“It’s going to be alright,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the ache tightening in your chest. “I’m going to miss you.”

With every step up to Yeosang’s door, Mingi clung to you, his gaze darting between you and the unfamiliar entryway. When Yeosang opened the door, his gentle smile eased some of the tension. Kneeling down to greet Mingi, Yeosang reached out, offering a reassuring presence to the uneasy figure in your arms.

"Hey, Maro! We’re going to have so much fun! I know Hetmon can’t wait to play with you! We have tons of treats and toys, and we can stay up as late as we want!”

Mingi burrowed deeper into your hold, his nose pressing against the crook of your arm as though trying to shield himself from the unfamiliarity of the moment. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. He didn’t pull away this time, but the tremble in his little body didn’t fade.

"I love you," you whispered gently, feeling the words catch in your throat. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

Mingi blinked up at you, momentarily pulled from his anxious thoughts. You love me? The words settled over him, unexpected and profound. His tail gave a faint wag before drooping again.

There was something almost unbearable about the way you said it—so soft, so certain. As if he mattered. As if he was worth loving. He wanted to cling to his anger, to the bitterness he’d nurtured, to all the reasons he convinced himself to hate you. It was safer that way.

But in this moment, with your arms around him, his resolve began to falter under the quiet strength of your love. A lump formed in his throat as he let himself feel the ache of wanting to believe you. Slowly, he pressed himself into your chest, seeking refuge in your scent, in the fragile, fleeting comfort of your presence.

“Have fun, okay? I'll be back before you know it',” you promised, setting him down after one last hug. 

Mingi wanted to believe you—to believe that you’d come back, that this wasn’t just another moment where he’d be left behind. But the fear was louder, whispering cruelly that once you were gone, you might never return.

When the door finally clicked shut behind you, an ache settled in his chest. He wanted to hate you for leaving him, for making him feel so vulnerable, so helplessly tethered to you. Anger and resentment would have been easier to bear than the raw, twisting pain inside him.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you held him—the way your arms had felt so steady, the way your lips had pressed gently to his head. And those words. I love you.

Did you mean them? Could they be real? Did he even deserve them? 

As he was left to contemplate on his own, Hetmon plopped down with a soft thud, his large frame settling next to Mingi’s much smaller one. The doberman nudged him gently with his snout, his warm brown eyes filled with quiet sympathy. 

“It’s okay to feel sad,” Hetmon said quietly. “It’s scary at first but then you get lots of snacks and snuggles! And I have lots of toys you can play with!”

But Mingi barely reacted, his tiny body stiff and unmoving, his gaze fixed on the door as though sheer willpower could bring you back. The sound of your footsteps fading down the hall felt like an unbearable loss, each step tugging at a string inside him he hadn’t even known was there.

“Maro,” Yeosang said gently. His voice was soothing, though it didn’t carry the same comfort yours did. “Why don’t we go into the living room? It’s more comfortable there.”

Mingi sprawled on the floor in his fluffy, sulking form, letting out a deep, reluctant sigh. His big puppy eyes darted toward Hetmon and then to Yeosang, filled with quiet resignation.

Yeosang didn’t push him, simply standing back and letting the puppy sulk in his own time. As a human, Mingi had always been used to getting his way. Pampered and spoiled, he’d rarely had to ask for what he wanted—everything had been handed to him, either out of obligation or fear of his temper. People didn’t treat him with kindness because they cared; they catered to him because it was easier than dealing with his tantrums.

But Yeosang and Hetmon were different–they were giving him something he didn’t quite know how to handle: genuine care and patience. They didn’t push, didn’t try to force him into compliance. It wasn’t about control or convenience—it was about seeing him, even when he was at his most vulnerable.

Yeosang exchanged a look with Hetmon, as if the two were silently agreeing on what to do next. 

“Alright, let’s make this space cozy,” Yeosang said, his tone gentle but upbeat. “Something just for you and Hetmon.

Curious but still sulking, Mingi tilted his head as the living room was a flurry of motion. Yeosang draped blankets over the back of the couch and anchored them with cushions, creating a cozy little den. Hetmon grabbed a toy, carrying it over and dropping it right next to Mingi with a proud wag of his tail.

“There we go,” Yeosang said, standing back to admire the setup. The blanket fort was simple but warm, with soft lighting spilling through the gaps. He knelt down, peeking inside. 

“What do you think, Maro? A place just for you and Hetmon.”

Mingi hesitated, his small paws inching forward as he sniffed cautiously at the fort. The structure, carefully built, carried faint traces of Yeosang and Hetmon’s familiar scents. Pausing at the entrance, his big, round eyes scanned the space nervously before retreating slightly, his posture low to the floor.

Yeosang settled beside the fort, keeping a respectful distance as he offered a reassuring smile. “You’ll be okay, Maro,” he said gently. “I promise we’ll take good care of you until Y/N comes back.”

⋆

You lay on the couch in the private suite, staring blankly at the ceiling as the low hum of the machines filled the silence. Your gaze drifted instinctively to Mingi, his frail form nestled amidst a series of wires and tubes. His chest rose and fell in steady intervals, yet the sight brought little comfort. He seemed so small, so fragile, swallowed by the sterile hospital bedding and the weight of his condition.

A shaky breath escaped you, uneven and strained in the stillness of the room. Part of you yearned to reach out, despite knowing he wouldn’t feel it. But the other part held you back, paralyzed by the thought that crossing that line would tear apart the fragile distance that had shielded you for so long.

Instead, you let yourself collapse further into the sofa, its cushions swallowing you whole. Your body sagged under the weight of exhaustion and grief, the kind that lingered in the pit of your stomach, making it hard to breathe.

“Hey,” you murmured softly, the word catching in your throat as though it could break the suffocating silence in the room. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, hoarse and uncertain, but the need to fill the stillness outweighed your discomfort.

“Do you dream of anything?” you asked quietly, your gaze flicking to his still form. “I mean, I hope it’s something good. Something better than this.”

Your fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket draped over you, the repetitive motion grounding you just enough to keep going. 

“You know, I read somewhere that people in comas can hear things. I don’t know if that’s true, but if it is, you’re probably thinking, Why won’t Y/N shut up?” You let out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter, more like a defense mechanism than actual amusement.

You shifted again, resting your head against the arm of the sofa, your gaze never leaving him. "Oh, uh, I got a dog," you said, the words coming out almost hesitant, like a confession.

"I found him outside of the hospital at 5 AM. It was after you were brought into the ICU. His name’s Maro. Cutest little thing ever. He’s really fluffy, kind of like a Pomeranian, except he has one floppy ear."

The corners of your mouth twitched into the faintest smile at the memory, but it disappeared just as quickly. Had he always seemed this small? Or was it the weight of his vulnerability now that forced you to see him differently? 

You clenched your fists, willing yourself not to cry. Was it pity, guilt, or something else entirely? You weren’t sure if you were mourning the man you never got to know—or the one you never had the chance to leave behind.

"What am I doing?" you sighed to yourself, the words escaping in a combination of frustration and sadness. 

You were talking to him. Hoping, somehow, that he could hear you. That even in the liminal space between life and the unknown, he might sense your presence. That he might know, even if you’d been so far apart in life, you weren’t going to leave him alone in this.

“I hate hospitals,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly as you glanced at the stark white walls. 

“And now here I am again. Back in a place I never wanted to see again. And you’re the one lying there, hooked up to machines.” Your voice caught, and you swallowed hard, fighting the lump rising in your throat. 

“And I hate it just as much as I did back then. Maybe more.”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as you fidgeted with your sleeves. “I talked to your mom,” you began softly, your voice heavy with unspoken frustration.

“I tried to convince your parents to take turns staying overnight,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. 

“I thought maybe...maybe it’d be an opportunity to bring you closer together. That this—” you gestured faintly to the machines, “—would wake them up. But it’s like...nothing’s changed.” 

The room fell silent again, save for the steady, monotonous beeping of the machines, a sound that felt almost mocking in its rhythm. You looked at Mingi’s face, so peaceful it made your chest ache. It felt unfair—like the calm didn’t belong here, not with everything unsaid hanging in the air.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. 

“They don’t deserve you, Mingi. I just...I just wanted them to see you. Really see you. Not the version of you they’ve made up in their heads.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze dropping again to your hands. 

“You’re more than that. You’re just Mingi,” you said quietly. “And that’s enough. You’re enough.”

Your words drifted into the stillness of the room, fading into the hum of the machines. You pulled the thin hospital blanket closer, wrapping it tightly around yourself like a fragile shield against the cold. Closing your eyes, you told yourself you wouldn’t sleep—but the weight of exhaustion crept in, relentless and unyielding, until it finally pulled you under.

And in the quiet of your dreams, it felt as if he were also reaching out for you too.

Mingi laid on his belly, eyes fixed on the front door, refusing to move. After dinner, despite Yeosang arranging a cozy pile of blankets by the couch and Hetmon checking in persistently, Mingi remained rooted in place. 

Hetmon was fast asleep in the blanket fort, while Yeosang lay stretched out on the floor next to it, his head propped up on one arm. The faint glow of the moonlight spilled through the curtains, bathing the room in silvery light.

"You must really love Y/N," Yeosang observed quietly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He turned his gaze toward Mingi, who sat a short distance away.

Mingi had never waited for you before, not like this. He had never looked forward to your presence, never longed to see your smile or hear your voice. But his heart ached in a way that he couldn’t explain. He could barely remember the last time he’d truly listened when you spoke to him, let alone considered that you might see something in him worth loving.

What could you possibly love about him? The man he had been was callous, dismissive, too caught up in his own bitterness to care about the hurt he caused. But you didn’t deserve any of it. He had been too proud, too angry to see that then. 

But now, stripped of his humanity, stripped of his defenses, Mingi saw everything clearly. No walls to hide behind, no excuses to shield him from the truth. He couldn’t help but wonder whether it was too late to try and make things right.

Yeosang offered him a small smile, the kind that was patient and unwavering. 

“Y/N loves you so much. You’ve become her whole world, even if you don’t realize it.”

Mingi’s ears flicked at the words, a pang resonating deep in his chest.

“Honestly,” Yeosang continued, “I’ve never seen anyone dote on a dog the way she does you. She keeps saying you’re special, you know? That you’re not like other dogs. And the way she looks at you—it’s like you’ve hung the moon.” He chuckled softly, his expression tender.

“I don’t think she’s wrong, though. There’s something about you.”

Mingi’s ears twitched again, and his eyes slid closed as a wave of bittersweet warmth washed over him. Yeosang had no idea how close to the truth he was. He didn’t know that the little dog lying here was the same Mingi who had spent years pushing you away, too afraid to let you in.

The weight of those thoughts grew unbearable, and Mingi slowly got to his feet, his small frame shivering slightly. He padded softly toward the pillow fort, and didn’t hesitate as he nudged his way inside, his nose brushing against Hetmon’s side.

“Hey,” Mingi murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he crouched next to Hetmon. “You’re a good listener, right?”

Hetmon perked up immediately, tail wagging in eager agreement. “The best listener! Try me!” he chirped, his eyes bright and inviting.

“Remember when I told you…that I got turned into a dog because I did some…bad things? And you said you’d help?”

Hetmon tilted his head, his dark eyes softening as he let out a quiet, supportive huff. The playful glint usually present in his gaze gave way to something warmer, deeper—a promise that he was here.

Mingi swallowed hard, his ears lowering as his voice faltered. “Well I need your help…listening. I—I don’t even know where to start. I just…” His words trailed off, and he stared down at his paws as though they held the answers he was too afraid to find. 

“I…I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want Y/N to leave me here, I want her to come back. I think…because I’m always used to being left behind.”

His gaze dropped, as if the weight of his words were too heavy to carry for his little form. “When I was a kid, my parents weren’t around much. My dad worked all the time, and my mom…she didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t easy—loud, stubborn. I broke rules just to see if they’d notice. And when they did, it was only because I made them look bad. That was the only time I felt…seen.”

Hetmon nudged closer, his nose pressing gently against Mingi’s side in quiet support.

“I just wanted their attention,” Mingi whispered. “For them to be proud of me, to love me for something good. But it never felt like enough. I only existed to them when I was a problem. Whatever it took to remind them I was there. And eventually, it wasn’t an act anymore. I just…became that person.”

“I wanted everything on my terms. Most people just gave me what I wanted because it was easier than dealing with me.” He paused, the next words catching in his throat before spilling out. 

“Except for the engagement.”

He glanced away, unable to meet Hetmon’s gaze. “I accepted it because I thought it would make my parents proud,” he admitted quietly.

“I thought if I did this one big thing, if I played the role they wanted me to, I’d finally be enough for them. But it wasn’t what I wanted—it was never what I wanted.”

“I thought it would earn their approval, but all I did was hurt everyone—especially Y/N.”

Mingi curled in on himself, his nails digging into the cushion as his voice dropped to a whisper. “I made her life miserable because it was easier than letting her in. I couldn't be vulnerable with her.”

“She was the only one who ever stood up to me. And that scared me. Not because she made me feel small, but because…” His voice faltered. “Because she made me feel like I wasn’t in control. Like she could see the real me. Some spoiled kid desperate for someone to care.”

He stared down at his paws, uncertainty clouding his gaze. The enormity of his mistakes felt insurmountable. Would you even want to hear him out? Could he find the right words to make you understand how sorry he was?

He thought about the way you cared for him—not just the way you fed him or ensured he was comfortable, but the way you spoke to him softly, as if he were the most important thing in the world. The way your eyes lit up with genuine affection every time you saw him. You loved freely, without conditions or reservations, and he saw it in every small act, every moment you cared for him. It wasn’t just something he noticed once—it was unyielding.

And it made him realize just how deeply he’d failed you.

“I don’t know what it’ll take to turn back,” he murmured, “but I know I have to fix things. I owe her that much.”

For a moment, Hetmon didn’t move, as if processing the words. Then, with a cheerful wag of his tail, he shuffled closer, his dark eyes warm with encouragement.

“I’m glad you told me all that!” Hetmon chirped, his voice bright and unburdened. “It means we’re friends now, right? Real friends!”

Mingi blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of Hetmon’s declaration. He turned to look at him, his tail swishing lightly against the floor as Hetmon beamed up at him.

“Yeah…I guess we are,” he replied softly with a small smile.

“I don’t really know what ‘vulnerable’ means,” Hetmon admitted, his head tilting curiously, “but it sounds like sharing your favorite toy with someone, even if you don’t really want to! Because… you’re nice!”

A quiet chuckle escaped Mingi, and for the first time in a long while, the heavy knot in his chest loosened. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter, “it’s kind of like that.”

“Well, I’ll always share my toys with you,” Hetmon said, his tail wagging faintly. He paused, tilting his head thoughtfully before continuing, “Maybe you should share your toys with Y/N. You know, to show her how much you care.”

Mingi blinked, startled by the simplicity of the suggestion, but the earnestness in Hetmon’s voice made something inside him soften.

“We’re gonna go to the park tomorrow, so we need to save our energy to play chase… and maybe fetch too. Gotta make sure we’re ready. And then…” He trailed off for a moment, his breathing slowing as though on the verge of sleep, before murmuring, “And then we can think of ways to help make you human again.”

Mingi glanced up at the dog pressed against him. He’d never thought much about companionship before, but Hetmon’s unwavering optimism and warmth chipped away at the walls he’d built around himself.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I’d like that too.”

Unbeknownst to Mingi and Hetmon, Yeosang sat quietly outside the fort. The sight of them—Hetmon nestled snugly against Mingi, both looking so peaceful brought a smile to his lips and a sense of relief. Maro was finally settling in. With a soft click, he snapped a photo, capturing the unexpected tranquility of the moment before shooting you a quick text.

“How do you know when you’re done with a task?” Hetmon asked, as his long legs carried him easily down the path to the dog park. The sleek doberman slowed his pace so Mingi could keep up.

“I don’t know,” Mingi muttered, his fluffy tail wagging in uncertainty. “Maybe… when it feels right?”

“That’s not an answer! What does ‘feels right’ even mean? Like when your belly’s full after eating?”

“Well…no. There’s something about my transformation that I didn’t tell you about. There was a man…he referred to himself as The Judge. I think I have to find him.”

Hetmon tilted his head curiously, moving gracefully beside Mingi. “Like an adventure? Are we going on a really long walk?” His tail wagged once, and he nudged Mingi playfully. 

“What’s a judge, anyway?”

Mingi let out an exaggerated huff, his fluffy body bouncing slightly as Yeosang unleashed him. “A judge is, like…someone who decides stuff. Big stuff. Like who’s right, who’s wrong, and what happens next.”

“Oh, like my dad?”

“Not exactly.” Mingi frowned, struggling to explain. “A judge is about…being fair.” He paused, his small ears twitching as dogs of all shapes and sizes zoomed past. Mingi barely noticed them, lost in thought. 

“The Judge decides if you’ve been bad or good,” he said, his tone growing quieter. “And if you deserve a second chance.”

Hetmon slowed his pace, glancing down at Mingi as they weaved through a bustling cluster of dogs sniffing at a water fountain. “So, what does he do if you don’t?”

Mingi froze, his fluffy tail stiffening as the unsettling atmosphere settled around them. The playful barks and chatter of the park faded, replaced by an eerie silence that made his hackles stand. Hetmon’s sharp ears swiveled forward, his nose twitching as he scanned their surroundings.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice lowering to a cautious rumble.

Before Mingi could respond, a new presence entered their field of vision. A black cat perched atop a nearby bench, its eyes glinting with an unsettling intensity. It was a small thing, lithe and elegant, yet its presence carried an almost tangible weight. Its tail swished lazily, but there was nothing casual about the way it stared at them.

“Surprised to see me, Maro?” the cat purred, its voice smooth and taunting as it stretched languidly. Without breaking eye contact, it hopped down from the bench with a graceful leap and began to saunter toward them, its paws making no sound against the ground.

“You’re looking...lighter. Did someone have a little emotional breakthrough last night?”

Mingi’s ears flattened against his head, and his nose scrunched in irritation. “Who are you?”

Hetmon’s tail wagged excitedly, oblivious to the tension. “Hey, it’s a cat! Are you here to play too?”

The black cat let out a soft laugh, the sound equal parts amusement and condescension. “Oh, I’m always here to play,” it said, its tone dripping with mock sincerity. Its piercing eyes slid back to Mingi, a playful glint in them. 

“But I don’t expect you to remember me in this form. You know, considering the state you were in last time we spoke.”

Mingi blinked, confusion spreading across his puppy face as he studied the cat more closely, trying to make sense of the situation. “The last time?” He squinted, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air, piecing the puzzle together.

“You’re the Judge.”

“In the flesh,” Wooyoung said, with an exaggerated bow. “Though, this is only one of the many forms I can take.”

“Why are you here?” Mingi growled, his nerves beginning to fray. There was something unnervingly calm about the cat’s presence.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Wooyoung replied casually, his voice light but carrying an underlying warmth. “And I couldn’t resist seeing how our dear Maro is holding up. Word is, someone’s been dabbling in a bit of self-reflection.” 

He circled Mingi, his movements more curious than menacing. Mingi, however, wasn’t taking any chances. He scowled, puffing up his hackles instinctively, his narrowed eyes following Wooyoung’s every move.

“Imagine my shock when I heard whispers about you sharing your feelings and letting others in.”

Mingi’s fluffy tail gave an involuntary twitch, and his ears flattened against his head. If dogs could blush, he would’ve been beet red. “And what about it?” he barked, his voice rising in embarrassed frustration.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Wooyoung teased, his grin spreading wide and sharp, though his eyes sparkled with something closer to amusement than malice. “It’s adorable, really.”

Hetmon, ever the optimist, wagged his tail harder. “Sounds like you’re doing great! Even the kitty thinks so.”

“But I give credit where it’s due,” Wooyoung said, pausing mid-step to preen his face.

“You completed your first task, and it looks good on you. Dare I say, you might actually be growing as a person.” He let the compliment linger before flicking his gaze to Mingi’s fluffy form. “Or… dog. Whatever.”

“Uh… thanks, I guess?” Mingi muttered, his defensive posture softening slightly, though his tail still twitched with lingering unease.

“Don’t let it go to your head, fluffball,” he said, his grin returning, but now it was less sharp, almost fond. “You’ve still got a ways to go. But…” He tilted his head, his golden eyes glinting in the soft light. 

“I suppose I’ll be watching with mild interest.”

For all of Wooyoung’s teasing, there was an odd comfort in the knowledge that someone—however mischievous—was paying attention to his journey.

“Maro!”

Mingi’s ears perked up instantly, his heart leaping at the sound of your voice. His head whipped around, and there you were, jogging toward him, grinning ear to ear. He didn’t think—he just bolted toward you, his excitement erupting in a series of joyous barks that echoed through the park.

Before you could even brace yourself, he launched himself into your arms. You stumbled slightly under the force of his leap, but your laughter bubbled out, ruffling his furn in that perfect way that always made him melt.

“I missed you so much!” you said, your voice warm and full of affection. You leaned your cheek against his head, holding him like you never wanted to let go. 

“Looks like you had fun while I was gone.”

Fun? Sure, the dog park was fine. Hetmon was great. Even the bizarre encounter with Wooyoung had been…something. But none of it compared to this. None of it compared to you.

Mingi leaned his fluffy body into you, letting out a soft whine as his eyes closed. Your touch, your voice, your laugh—it was everything he didn’t know he needed until now. He’d missed you more than he could say, more than this form would allow him to show.

His mind wandered, as it often did, to a future where he wasn’t just a dog but himself again. Would you see him differently? Would you understand how much he cared, how much he’d changed? Would you give him a chance?

Maybe, just maybe, you’d look at him the way you did now—with a warmth that made him feel like the center of your world. The thought sent a spark of hope blooming in his chest, as bright and fragile as the first rays of sunlight after a storm.

Your arms tightened around him slightly, pulling him back to the present. And for now, that was enough. Mingi let out a soft, contented huff, nuzzling into you as if to say, I missed you, too.

“What’s gotten into you?” you teased.

Yeosang trotted over with Hetmon by his side. “He was a champ while you were gone,” he said, “but I think someone’s been counting the minutes until you came back.”

You laughed again, running your hand over Mingi’s head as he leaned into your touch. “Is that true, Maro? Were you waiting for me?”

Mingi barked softly in response, his tail wagging furiously now. In this moment, everything felt perfect. There was so much he wanted to say, words that his current form couldn’t fully express. But he would wait. He would wait for you, no matter how long it took. 

<< ii | iv >>

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ANOTHER UPDATE! COME ON WE’RE BACK!!!

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

𓇼 𝘈𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘻 𝘍𝘪𝘤 𝘙𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘌𝘱.𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𓇼 𓆞 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𓆞 𓇼 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴/𝘈𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴/𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𓇼

𓇼 𝘰𝘵8/𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𓇼 𓈒𓏸 Hey, are you busy right now? - @skrrts ot8 x reader (drabble series) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 Home Is - @skrrts hyung line x reader (one-shot series) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 How They Fell For You - @atzloverr yandere!ot8 x reader (scenarios) 𓆞 𓆞 If Something Chases You, Run - @solaris-amethyst non-idol!matz x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Innocent Touch - @yeopoet hyung line x reader (scenarios) 𓈒𓏸 𓇼 𝘬𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘨 𓇼 𓈒𓏸 Heart Art & Rain - @skrrts non-idol!hongjoong x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Helping Hand - @mulloey producer!hongjoong x singer!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 Highway to Cloud Nine - @orshii biker!non-idol!hongjoong x mechanic!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Hongjoong Spending That Song Writing Money On You - @m1ngkis bf!idol!hongjoong x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Hongjoong Relieving Some Stress For You - @m1ngkis bf!hongjoong x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓇼 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘸𝘢 𓇼 𓆞 Mommy Issues - @smuttaburger bf!idol!seonghwa x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 Open Wide | Swallow - @hausofwoo bartender!seonghwa x server!reader (two-parts) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Piece By Piece - @emeraldelysian bf!seonghwa x gf!reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Prefects And T(h)reats - @pirateprincessblog slytherin!seonghwa x hufflepuff!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 She'll Chew You Up - @h4untedgrl non-idol!seonghwa x maneater!reader (one-shot) 𓆞

𓇼 𝘫𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘰 𓇼 𓈒𓏸 This Might be Love - @03jyh23 non-idol!yunho x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy | Horses Are Still Overrated - @yunhoszn cowboy!yunho x city girl!reader (two-parts) 𓆞 𓆞 Sober - @beenbaanbuun bf!yunho x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Sugar - @mingoooossii bf!yunho x reader (drabble) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 The Bus At 11:17 | The Date At 11:17 - @skrrts non-idol!yunho x reader (two-parts) 𓈒𓏸 𓇼 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘨 𓇼 𓆞 Duality - @naybii bf!yeosang x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 La Douleur Exquise - @ja3hwa ghost!yeosang x witch!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 My Doll - @h4untedgrl bf!yeosang x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 What’s Your Favorite Movie? - @tinybeetiny ghostface!yeosang x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 Took Me To The Stars - @shixcherie theater actor!yeosang theater actress!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓇼 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘯 𓇼 𓆞 Little Shop On 8th Street - @jeonginslefthand flower shop owner!san x reader (series) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Love Beyond Barriers - @catsannie non-idol!san x reader (smau series) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 My Angel - @seongsangssbitch military general!san x goddess!reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 PTA Parent - @pyramid-of-starrs dad!san x mom!reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓆞 Safe Habor - @cocobeanncteez attorney!san x ceo!reader (one-shot) 𓆞

𓇼 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪 𓇼 𓆞 Rings of Temptation - @crimsonbubble bf!mingi x reader (thoughts) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Six Foot Savior - @smuttaburger non-idol!mingi x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 Then, Now, And Always! - @alxtiny idol!mingi x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 The Princess Treatment Chronicles! | The Return Of The Princess Treatment Chronicles?! - @yuyusuyu best friend!non-idol!mingi x non-idol!reader (two-parts) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Under The Sheets - @k-hotchoisan bf!mingi x reader (one-shot) 𓆞

𓇼 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𓇼 𓈒𓏸 I'm Not Getting It. - @darlingsaybonvoyage best friend!wooyoung x reader (texts) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 Miles Across - @callmeagardengnome idol!wooyoung x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Only Mine, My Darling - @tinyidle non-idol!wooyoung x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Secrets And Stars - @maltesejjong fiancé!non-idol!wooyoung x reader (series) 𓈒𓏸 𓈒𓏸 Stay Back, I Bite - @solaris-amethyst non-idol!wooyoung x gn!reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓇼 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰 𓇼 𓈒𓏸 Random Bf!Ateez Texts - @hwamphwamp bf!jongho x reader (texts) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Untitled - @bombuni bf!jongho x reader (drabble) 𓆞 𓆞 Very Demure - @pyramid-of-starrs bf!jongho x reader (one-shot) 𓆞 𓈒𓏸 Warm - @beenbaanbuun bf!jongho x reader (one-shot) 𓈒𓏸 𓆞 Zemblanity - @in-san-ity mafia!jongho x reader (one-shot) 𓆞

wow, a chapter where reader’s life isn’t going horrible. This is going great, but we still gotta kill mike that man is public enemy #1 I don’t care how he can blow up in space or die to a snail touching and i’ll be happy.

amazing chapter, excited to see what comes next <3

Popular, Boy

☆12: The first warning.

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, smut, angst, slow burn, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 10k

Summary: Stepping back to your world and reclaiming your place with confidence and Hongjoong by your side, feeling that everything is better.

But some loyalties are bound by fear rather than choice.

Warnings: Cursing, manipulation, power dynamics, fluff.

Series masterlist Join the Taglist

☆11 ☆13: The first bliss. Coming soon

The sharp click of your heels echoes through the quiet hallway as you make your way toward your father’s office. The Clarke mansion is always pristine, always silent in places where it shouldn’t be.

It’s suffocating.

You pause outside the heavy wooden door, exhaling before knocking twice.

“Come in.”

You push the door open, stepping inside. Your father is at his desk, flipping through documents, while your mother sits on one of the velvet chairs across from him, sipping tea as if she has no real business here.

Both of them glance up at you, but it’s your mother who smiles first.

“Well, this is a surprise. To what do we owe the pleasure, darling?”

Your father doesn’t say anything. He just watches, waiting. You clear your throat, keeping your tone even.

“I need a favor.”

Your mother’s eyes gleam with interest “A favor? That’s rare.” She sets her teacup down gently. “What is it?”

You don’t hesitate “It’s about Hongjoong.”

At that, your father raises a brow, finally giving you his full attention. Your mother, on the other hand, practically lights up.

“Oh, Hongjoong! I was beginning to think you weren’t talking to him anymore after—” She pauses, tilting her head, eyes sharp. “After that day.”

You knew this was coming. Of course she’d ask.Your fingers tighten slightly at your sides, but your voice remains composed.

“It was a misunderstanding. Everything’s fine between us now.”

Your mother hums in approval, looking far too pleased. “I knew you wouldn’t throw away something special over a little argument.”

Your father clears his throat, his tone clipped “If this is about that boy, get to the point.”

You nod “It’s not about him, exactly. It’s about his father.”

Both your parents exchange a glance.

You continue, “His father lost his job recently, and their family is struggling. I wanted to know if you could offer him something here. A driver, security—anything.”

Your mother leans back slightly, considering. “His father lost his job?” A small frown tugs at her lips, but it isn’t one of disapproval—it’s concern. “That’s terrible.”

Your father leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “What does he do?”

“He was a chauffeur,” You answer. “For a private company, but they let him go.”

Your father exhales, glancing down at the papers on his desk as if debating whether this conversation is worth his time.

“A driver, huh?”

Your mother places a hand on his arm, smiling “Well, we do need another personal driver, don’t we?”

Your father gives her a pointed look, but you know him. He isn’t against the idea—he’s just pretending to be.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing,” The woman continues, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle on her dress. “The boy is respectful, intelligent. If he’s anything like his son, I’m sure his father would be a good addition.”

Your father exhales through his nose before looking at you “You really want this?”

“Yes.”

A long pause. Then—

“Fine.”

Your mother claps her hands together lightly “Wonderful.” She turns back to you, a knowing smile on her lips. “Tell Hongjoong his father can start next week.”

Relief washes over you, but you keep your expression composed. You lean against the edge of your father’s desk, tilting your head just slightly, letting your voice soften into that sweet, spoiled tone you know they can’t resist.

“Thank you, Daddy,” You say, drawing out the last word just enough to sound affectionate, not excessive.

Your father exhales, shaking his head as if he’s already regretting agreeing to this. But you don’t miss the way the tension in his shoulders loosens. He likes it when you act like his perfect little girl—like you adore him.

Your mother watches the interaction with amusement, sipping her tea. “You should’ve just started with that, sweetheart. You know your father can’t say no to you when you ask nicely.”

Your father gives her a flat look “That’s not true.”

“Oh, please.” She waves a delicate hand in the air. “You’ve been wrapped around her little finger since she could talk.”

You flash a smug little smile, but before you can say anything, your mother’s expression brightens.

“Oh! That reminds me.” She sets her teacup down and turns to you expectantly. “You should invite Hongjoong over for dinner one day.”

Your father grunts “What?”

Your mother raises an eyebrow “What, what? I like him. He’s polite, intelligent, and much better company than some of your other friends.” She pauses, pressing a manicured finger to her lips in thought. “And he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes “Okay, calm down.”

She chuckles “I’m just saying, I want to see him again. And this time, without all the party noise.”

Your father mutters under his breath, flipping a page in his documents “I still don’t like the idea of my daughter wasting time with some scholarship kid.”

You pout dramatically, leaning toward him “But, Daddy,” You drawl, “I like him.”

He sighs, rubbing his temple “I swear, you only do this to torture me.”

You smile sweetly “That’s not true! I only do it when I want something.”

Your mother laughs, shaking her head “So? Will you invite him?”

You shrug, pushing off the desk “I’ll think about it.”

But you both know you’ll do it.

As you turn to leave, your mother calls after you, “And tell him I said hello!”

You wave a hand without looking back, already dreading Hongjoong’s reaction when you tell him.

Because if he agrees to dinner, you just know your mother is going to love embarrassing you.

✮ ⋆

Hongjoong opens the door, eyebrows raising slightly when he sees you standing on his porch, dressed effortlessly chic like you don’t belong in this neighborhood.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but it’s rare enough that the sight of you standing outside his house still feels surreal.

"Pretty?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a hint of amusement playing at his lips. "Did I forget we had a date or something?"

You roll your eyes, stepping past him like you own the place "Please, nerd. If we had a date, you’d be waiting for me."

He huffs a laugh, closing the door behind you "So, what’s up?"

You spin on your heel, hands clasped in front of you like you’re about to drop the biggest news of the century.

"Well, I just came back from a very interesting conversation with my parents." He tenses slightly at the mention of them, but he doesn’t interrupt. "And guess what?" You tilt your head, smiling. "Your dad just got a job."

Hongjoong blinks "What?"

Before you can answer, his mother’s voice comes from the kitchen "Joong, who’s at the—" She pauses as she steps into the living room, eyes widening when she sees you. "Oh! YN, dear!"

You smile "Hi, Mrs. Kim."

His father enters the room next, looking surprised but polite "It’s nice to see you again, YN."

"You too, Mr. Kim," You reply warmly. "Actually, I came to tell you something." You glance at Hongjoong, then back to his father. "My dad just hired you as a personal driver."

A beat of silence. Then the woman clasps her hands together, eyes shining. "Oh, that’s wonderful news!" She turns to her husband, already fussing. "You see? Everything is working out. I told you things would get better."

The man, though visibly relieved, remains composed "This… this is really unexpected," He says carefully, looking at you. "Your father doesn’t know me, so why would he—"

"It was my idea," You cut in. "I told them about your situation, and they agreed."

Hongjoong’s parents exchange a glance, something unspoken passing between them. Gratitude. Maybe even a little disbelief.

Hongjoong stays quiet beside you, his eyes unreadable.

His mother sighs, then smiles at you warmly "YN, that was really kind of you."

You shrug, like it’s nothing, like you don’t actually care as much as you do "It’s the least I could do."

Mrs. Kim beams "Well, in that case, you must stay for dinner."

"Oh, I—"

"No buts," She says, already ushering you toward the dining table. "It’s our way of saying thank you."

You glance at Hongjoong, who just smirks, as if to say you brought this on yourself.

Fine. You’ll stay.

✮ ⋆

Dinner is surprisingly… nice. Warm. Unlike the silent, performative meals at the Clarke mansion, this table is filled with actual conversation.

Hongjoong’s father asks about school, his mother tells stories from work, and Hongjoong—well, he mostly watches you.

And under the table, his hand finds your thigh. You stiffen slightly at the unexpected touch, but when you glance at him, he’s focused on his plate like nothing’s happening.

His fingers, however, trace slow, lazy patterns against your skin, just under the hem of your skirt.

You shift slightly, your breath catching, but you don’t move his hand. His thumb presses lightly, and your nails dig into your fork.

Mrs. Kim suddenly laughs at something her husband says, then turns to you with a knowing look.

"YN, dear," She starts, voice full of something—something playful, something amused. "How long have you and my son been together?"

You nearly choke on your drink, Hongjoong finally looks up, biting back a smile.

"Excuse me?" You ask, feigning innocence.

His father smirks, shaking his head "You two think we don’t notice?" He nods toward his son. "You’ve been staring at her all night."

Hongjoong shrugs, far too casual "Can you blame me?"

You shoot him a look.

His mother giggles "And he’s been holding your hand under the table for the last ten minutes."

Oh.

You didn’t even realize. Somewhere between his teasing and the conversation, his hand had slipped into yours, fingers lazily intertwined.

Again, Hongjoong just smirks.

You clear your throat, quickly pulling your hand away "Anyway," You say, trying to steer the conversation anywhere else.

But his mother just hums, giving you both a knowing smile "Ah, young love."

Hongjoong leans in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear "We could make it official, you know."

You gasp, eyes widening as you slap his arm lightly. "Hongjoong!"

His parents laugh at the interaction, clearly entertained, while Hongjoong just grins, absolutely unbothered.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised, pretty,” He teases, rubbing his arm dramatically like you actually hurt him.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. Idiot.

After dinner, Mrs. Kim insists on making tea, despite Hongjoong’s grumbles that ‘YN probably only drinks champagne, Mom.’ You roll your eyes but accept the tea anyway, sitting at the kitchen counter as his parents clear the table.

Hongjoong stands beside you, arms crossed, leaning slightly against the counter. He’s relaxed, comfortable in his home, but his eyes flicker toward you every few seconds.

You tap your nails against your mug “Your mom likes me.”

He snorts “Understatement. She’s already planning our wedding.”

You scoff, taking a sip of tea “I’d be a great addition to your family, let’s be honest.”

He tilts his head, considering “You do have expensive taste. My mom would love the gifts you’d bring her.”

You nudge him with your elbow “Oh, shut up.”

He grins, but before he can say something else, his mother calls from the living room. “Joong, come help your father with something!”

Hongjoong exhales through his nose, standing up straight “Be right back.” He pauses before heading off, leaning down just slightly so only you can hear. “Don’t miss me too much, pretty.”

You roll your eyes, but he catches the way your lips twitch.

Once he’s gone, you’re left in the quiet of the kitchen, staring down at your tea. It’s strange being here. The warmth, the ease—nothing like the cold, calculated world you come from.

And you hate how much you like it.

A few minutes later, you’re checking your phone when you feel it—gentle fingers trailing down your back. You shiver, looking up just as Hongjoong settles behind you, his presence warm, solid.

“They’re in the living room,” He murmurs. “We have a few minutes alone.”

You raise an eyebrow “And?”

“And…” He steps closer, his hand resting lightly against your hip. “I want to be with you without my mom watching like she’s this close to planning our honeymoon.”

You smirk, but before you can retort, he dips down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck.

Your breath catches. His lips ghost over your skin, slow, deliberate. His hands find your waist, fingers tightening ever so slightly.

You’re still sitting on the stool, and he’s standing between your legs, close enough that you can feel his warmth against you.

“Joong—”

“Shhh,” He murmurs, placing another kiss just beneath your jaw. “I just like being near you.”

Your heart stutters. For all the teasing, all the flirting, this moment is different. It’s soft. Unrushed. His fingers brush over the fabric of your skirt, trailing lazily along your thigh like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, giving him more access.

He hums in approval, lips brushing your pulse before finally pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, but there’s something else in them—something real.

His thumb traces circles against your hip “You should come over more.”

You exhale a quiet laugh “Your mom would love that.”

“She would,” He agrees, smirking. “And maybe I would too.”

Your fingers find the collar of his sweater, tugging him closer until your lips are almost touching.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow, deliberate, nothing rushed or messy. Just the warmth of his lips, the way his fingers tighten against you, the quiet hum that vibrates against your mouth.

He’s holding back, you can tell. And maybe you like that.

Maybe you like all of it.

But before things can go any further, the sound of someone clearing their throat shatters the moment.

You both freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head—only to see Mrs. Kim standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

Hongjoong immediately steps back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh...”

She sighs, shaking her head “At least take her out on a proper date first, Kim Hongjoongl.”

You burst out laughing, while Hongjoong groans, burying his face in his hands.

✮ ⋆

After that awkward situation in the kitchen, you and Hongjoong make your way to his room, excusing yourselves with a vague, ‘We have things to do.’ His parents exchange a glance but don’t argue. If anything, they look downright amused.

His room is cleaner than you expected. Bookshelves filled with everything from fantasy novels to thick textbooks line the walls, and his desk is cluttered but organized.

As he digs through his drawers for fresh clothes, you skim over his bookshelf, fingers brushing over the spines until one catches your eye.

You plop onto his bed, flipping through the pages, completely lost in the book.

Then, the bathroom door clicks open.

You glance up—and immediately freeze.

Hongjoong stands in the doorway, fresh from the shower, steam still curling around him. His damp hair clings slightly to his forehead, droplets of water trailing down the sharp planes of his chest.

And the only thing he’s wearing? A towel.

Low on his hips.

Your throat runs dry.

He doesn’t notice at first—he’s too busy running a hand through his hair, sighing like he’s still processing everything that happened tonight. But then he looks at you, noticing your wide eyes, the way your fingers have frozen over the page.

His lips curve “Oh?” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Something wrong, pretty?”

You snap the book shut. Hard.

“Why are you standing there like that?” You demand, clearing your throat, pretending that nothing about this is affecting you.

Hongjoong shrugs “It’s my room. Didn’t know I needed to be fully dressed to exist in it.”

You glare at him “You’re doing this on purpose.”

He tilts his head, looking far too pleased with himself “Doing what on purpose?”

Your jaw clenches. Fine. Two can play this game.

You set the book aside and stretch, tilting your head slightly, letting your gaze slowly trail down his torso.

Hongjoong’s smirk falters just a little. Then, as if completely unfazed, you lean back against his pillows, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“You know,” You say, feigning nonchalance, “For a nerd, you’re in surprisingly good shape.”

He blinks. Then—he laughs, shaking his head “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

You raise an eyebrow “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” He steps closer, eyes darkening slightly, “That you are the biggest tease I’ve ever met.”

He’s right in front of you now, way too close, the scent of his shampoo still fresh. You can see the water droplets clinging to his collarbone, sliding down his skin, disappearing beneath the towel.

Your stomach flutters “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You say, voice way too even.

Hongjoong hums, unconvinced. And then his fingers graze your knee. You jolt slightly, but before you can react, he slides his hand up, slow, teasing. Over your thigh, pushing your skirt up just barely, his fingertips ghosting over sensitive skin.

Your breath hitches.

He leans in, voice low, taunting “Tell me, pretty…” His lips hover near your ear. “If I am doing this on purpose… is it working?”

Your pulse pounds.

God, you hate him. But you also don’t.

And maybe that’s the real problem.

Before you can make the very reckless decision to grab him by the towel and end his teasing yourself, Hongjoong grins—the cockiest grin you’ve ever seen—and pulls away completely, stepping back toward his dresser like nothing just happened.

“I should get dressed,” He muses, voice far too casual. “We have places to be, remember?”

You stare at him. He’s so lucky you like him.

You exhale sharply, crossing your arms as he rummages through his drawer “You are the most annoying person I know.”

He tosses a shirt over his head, grinning “And yet, here you are.”

You throw a pillow at him.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at the café, the glow from the streetlights casting long shadows through the clear glass windows. Your steps slow as your eyes land on her.

Jina.

She’s behind the counter, casually wiping a glass, completely unaware of what’s coming.

Your lips press into a thin line, irritation bubbling to the surface.

Hongjoong notices immediately, chuckling under his breath as he reaches out, fingers tilting your chin so your eyes meet his instead.

"Stop frowning, pretty. You’ll get wrinkles."

You scoff “Joong, that slut tried to mess with me and you. Don’t expect me to act all nice and sweet around her.”

His lips twitch with amusement, but instead of scolding you, he leans down and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips.

"It’s okay, pretty. But please don’t punch her, or I’ll never bring you to a café again."

You roll your eyes “Whatever.”

Hongjoong sighs but laces his fingers through yours, leading you toward the entrance. The bell above the door jingles softly as you step inside, the warm scent of coffee and vanilla lingering in the air.

The second Jina hears the sound, she turns, already slipping into her customer-service smile.

"Welcome to—"

Her voice dies in her throat the moment she sees you.

You, standing next to him.

You, holding his hand like nothing had happened between you two.

A flicker of something—shock, unease—crosses her face before she quickly schools her expression.

Still, you catch it.

The hesitation.

The way she stiffens ever so slightly under your gaze.

She swallows, clearing her throat "Welcome to Café Aurora. How can I help you?"

Hongjoong doesn’t respond. Neither do you. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a neatly folded envelope, placing it on the counter.

"It’s my resignation. Thank Mr. Choi on my behalf."

Jina flinches slightly at the soft thud of the envelope hitting the polished wood.

"What?" Her voice comes out quieter than she intends.

He doesn’t repeat himself. He simply watches her, expression unreadable. A heavy silence settles between the three of you, thick with tension.

Then, he speaks again—his tone even, but firm.

"Before we go, I want to ask you something, Jina." She tenses. "Where do you know Park Seonghwa from?"

For the first time, true panic flashes across her face.

Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten around the rag she’s holding, knuckles turning white.

You don’t miss the way her eyes flick toward you—just for a second—before she quickly looks away, pretending to focus on something across the room.

Like she’s debating whether or not to lie.

Like she’s wondering if you remember.

Your own brows furrow slightly. Why would she—And then it hits you.

The familiarity in her gaze. The way she seems to know you, not just Hongjoong.

You narrow your eyes “Why do I feel like I’ve seen you before?”

Jina’s jaw tightens, lips pressing into a firm line.

Hongjoong shifts slightly beside you, glancing between the two of you “Wait. You know her?”

You blink, memories stirring in the back of your mind, hazy but persistent. You have seen her before.

Not here.

Not as Hongjoong’s coworker.

But years ago.

At Seonghwa’s house.

Your stomach drops, realization crashes into you like a tidal wave. Jina wasn’t just some random girl working at this café.

She worked for Seonghwa’s family.

She had been there. During the years you “dated” Hwa, when you spent countless afternoons at his house. And yet, back then, you never really noticed her.

She was just another staff member, someone in the background, someone who blended into the luxury of the Park estate.

But the way Jina looks at you now—Like she remembers everything.

Like she knows exactly who you are.

Your throat tightens, and Hongjoong notices the change in your expression immediately.

“YN?”

Jina exhales slowly, fingers still gripping the rag in her hands. Then—finally—she speaks. "So, you really don’t remember, huh?"

You meet her gaze, heart pounding “Remember what?”

Jina lets out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking her head “Figures.” She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice. “You used to be in his house all the time, but you never even looked at me, did you?”

Your fingers curl into fists “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jina tilts her head, eyes glinting “You really don’t know, do you?”

Hongjoong stiffens beside you “Know what?”

She pauses, studying you both.

"Are you sure Seonghwa wanted something serious with you back then?"

A sharp, hollow ache settles in your chest, the weight of Jina’s words pressing into you like a slow, creeping poison.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Your voice is sharp, but there’s something beneath it—something raw.

Jina smirks, tapping her fingers against the counter, eyes flickering between you and Hongjoong.

“I mean exactly what I said. Are you sure Seonghwa ever really saw you as his?”

Hongjoong shifts beside you, his presence grounding you, but your pulse is hammering against your ribs.

“You’re lying.”

Jina raises a brow, clearly amused “Am I?”

Your jaw clenches. You want to ignore this. You want to roll your eyes, turn around, and walk out like none of this matters. Like he doesn’t matter. Like your past with Hwa was just that—past.

But something inside you twists.

You had liked him—really liked him. Back then, you had convinced yourself that the games you played with him meant something, that the tension, the lingering glances, the way he acted like you were the only girl in the room was real.

But if Jina’s words were true—if he had never really meant it, if you were just one of many—then what the hell had all of it been for?

Your stomach churns. Hongjoong, silent until now, finally steps in, his voice firm, protective.

“YN, we don’t have to listen to this.”

But you can’t move. You can’t breathe. Because the memories are flashing—the nights you waited for Seonghwa to call, the excuses he made, the moments that never quite added up.

Jina watches you, her smirk deepening “There it is.”

You snap your gaze back to hers, eyes burning “What do you want? Huh? What’s your goal here?”

Jina leans back, feigning innocence “I don’t want anything. I just think you deserve to know what kind of man Seonghwa really is.”

It shouldn’t hurt. Not anymore.

You have Hongjoong.

Hongjoong, who would never play with your feelings like that. Hongjoong, who looks at you like you’re the only girl in the world.

And suddenly, that’s enough.

The pain dulls.

You exhale, letting go of the sharp, bitter sting in your chest. You turn to him, and when your eyes meet, the warmth there is undeniable.

You have everything you need.

Seonghwa is just a name from your past. A mistake.

You look back at Jina, but this time, your lips curve—not into a smirk, not into anger, but into indifference.

“You know what, Jina?” You say smoothly, voice steady. “I don’t care.”

Jina blinks, her smirk faltering for the first time.

You step closer, tilting your head “You really thought this would break me?” A soft chuckle leaves your lips. “That’s pathetic.”

And with that, you turn to Hongjoong, grabbing his hand as you lace your fingers through his. His grip tightens, reassuring.

Without another word, you pull him toward the exit, leaving Jina behind.

Because for the first time, you realize—you’ve already won.

✮ ⋆

The low hum of the car engine fills the silence between you and Hongjoong as he drives through the dimly lit streets.

The city blurs past, neon lights reflecting against the windshield, but your mind is somewhere else—stuck in the past.

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his eyes flicking toward you every few seconds, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

He can sense it—the shift in your mood, the way your shoulders are tense, the distant look in your eyes.

“You’re quiet,” He finally says, voice softer than usual.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you sigh, shifting slightly in your seat.

“I’m just… thinking.”

Hongjoong hums in acknowledgment, giving you space to find the words. You exhale sharply, pressing your forehead against the window for a moment before turning to him.

“Did I ever tell you that I really liked Seonghwa?”

Hongjoong’s fingers twitch around the wheel, but he keeps his expression neutral.

“No, but I assumed it for the way you two used to act.” He says carefully.

A bitter chuckle leaves your lips “Well, I did. Or at least, I thought I did.” You shake your head, scoffing at yourself. “I was so sure that what we had was real. That if I played hard to get long enough, he’d actually make a move.”

He doesn’t interrupt, just listens.

Your fingers tighten into your lap “And now, to find out that he was screwing around with Jina the entire time…” You trail off, clenching your jaw. “I was an idiot.”

Hongjoong exhales, reaching over to take your hand in his. His thumb strokes slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“You weren’t an idiot,” He murmurs. “You just believed in someone who didn’t deserve it.”

Your chest tightens. You glance down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch spreading through you, grounding you.

He continues, his voice gentle but firm “Seoghwa never deserved you. And if he had even half a brain, he would’ve known that.”

You look at him then, your lips parting slightly. There’s no jealousy in his voice. No smugness. Just certainty. Like he’s always known your worth—even when you didn’t.

For the first time since leaving the café, the ache in your chest softens.

You squeeze his hand “Thank you, Joongie.” You say quietly.

Hongjoong offers you a small smile before focusing back on the road.

“Are you going to confront him?” He asks.

You nod, your gaze sharpening “Oh, absolutely. He owes me an apology, and he’s going to give it.”

He chuckles “Remind me never to piss you off.”

You smirk, feeling lighter than before “Oh, you already did. You’re just lucky I forgave you.”

By the time you pull into the long driveway of your mansion, the tension between you and Hongjoong has shifted into something else entirely.

Something heavier.

The moment the car stops, silence settles between you—thick, charged.

Hongjoong shifts in his seat, eyes flickering to yours, dark and hungry “You’re staring,” He murmurs.

Your lips curl into a slow smirk “So are you.”

He swallows hard. You know what he’s thinking. You feel it—the weight of weeks spent apart, of lingering touches that never went far enough, of all the things left unsaid.

And now, alone in the dim glow of the car, it finally snaps.

You reach for him first, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pull him in. Your lips crash against his, and the moment they do, he groans—low, needy, like he’s been starving for this.

Hongjoong kisses you like he’s making up for lost time—desperate, reckless, his hands sliding up your waist, gripping you tighter than he should.

You don’t care, you want it—want him.

A soft moan escapes you when his fingers slip beneath your dress, skimming along your thighs, his touch scorching against your skin.

“Fuck,” He breathes against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “We should—go inside.”

You smirk, trailing your fingers down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer beneath your palm.

“You sure you can wait that long?”

His jaw clenches, his hands tightening around you, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into his lap, his seat pushed back just enough.

The moment you straddle him, he loses it.

His hands roam greedily, his lips devour yours, his breath hitching every time you grind against him.

But then—

The sudden flash of headlights approaching the driveway snaps you both back to reality.

You jolt, your eyes widening “Shit.”

Hongjoong curses, gripping your waist as you scramble off him, both of you breathless, flushed, aching. You adjust your skirt, and Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“You’re a menace,” He mutters, voice hoarse.

You grin, fixing your lipstick in the rearview mirror “And you love it.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head “Yeah. I do.”

The moment you step out of the car, smoothing your dress and pretending you weren’t just grinding on your nerdy boy, you hear the hum of an approaching engine.

Hongjoong, still catching his breath, freezes beside you. His hair is a mess, his hoodie slightly disheveled—he looks guilty as hell. You turn your head just in time to see the sleek black car pulling into the driveway.

Your parents’ car, your heart drops.

He exhales sharply “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You barely have time to compose yourself before the car door swings open and your mother steps out first, graceful as ever. Your father follows, adjusting his cufflinks, both completely unaware of what they just interrupted.

Yet.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s voice is warm, delighted. “What a surprise to see you home early.”

Hongjoong tenses beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking like a kid caught sneaking out past curfew.

You, on the other hand, recover instantly, flipping your hair over your shoulder and flashing a perfectly practiced smile.

“Hi.” You greet smoothly, stepping forward like nothing is out of the ordinary. “Didn’t expect you two back so soon. How was dinner?”

Your father eyes Hongjoong for a second longer than necessary before answering.

“Productive,” He says, his tone measured. “We met with investors—secured another deal.”

“Oh, how lovely.” You nod, your voice syrupy sweet, desperately hoping they won’t notice the faint smudge of lipstick on Hongjoong’s jaw.

But your mother’s sharp gaze flickers between the two of you, taking in every detail. The way Hongjoong won’t meet her eyes, the slight flush on his face, the way your dress looks just a little more wrinkled than before.

Then—realization dawns.

Her lips twitch “Oh, honey,” She hums, amused. “We didn’t… interrupt anything, did we?”

Hongjoong chokes. Actually chokes.

You blink, keeping your expression perfectly neutral “Of course not,” You lie effortlessly.

Your mother tilts her head, clearly not believing a single word.

Your father sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, be discreet,” He mutters. “If you must do… this”—he waves a vague hand between you and Hongjoong—“At least have the decency to do it inside the house.”

Hongjoong turns bright red. his glasses covering the way his eyes shut with embarrassment.

You grin, looping your arm through his “Of course, Daddy. We’ll be very discreet.”

Your father groans. Your mother, meanwhile, just smirks, shaking her head.

“Hongjoong, dear,” She says smoothly, “Why don’t you come inside for a drink before you go?”

Hongjoong, still recovering, nods stiffly “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

You pat his chest, whispering, “Relax, nerd. My mom likes you.”

He mutters under his breath “That’s not the one I’m worried about.”

And with that, you lead him inside—your parents following close behind, and your mother still very much amused.

The warmth of the mansion greets you as you step inside, but the atmosphere is anything but comfortable for Hongjoong.

Your mother glides in effortlessly, a small knowing smile still lingering on her lips, while your father sighs heavily, already loosening his tie like he doesn’t want to deal with this tonight.

Hongjoong, on the other hand?

He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You squeeze his hand reassuringly as the four of you step into the lounge, where the dim glow of the chandelier casts soft shadows across the room.

Your mother gestures toward the leather sofas “Sit, sit,” She says, her voice almost teasing.

He hesitates. You don’t.

Dragging him along with you, you plop down elegantly on one of the couches, crossing your legs, exuding nothing but confidence. Hongjoong, stiff as a board, lowers himself beside you—looking very out of place.

Your father pours himself a drink, running a tired hand through his hair before turning to him.

“Whiskey?” He asks.

Hongjoong blinks “Uh—no, sir. I’m good.”

Your mother hums, sitting gracefully across from you both “You don’t have to be so formal, Hongjoong. We already know you and YN are… close.”

He shifts uncomfortably “Right.”

You smirk, tapping your fingers against your knee “You don’t have to traumatize him, Mom.”

Your mother chuckles, tilting her head “I think it’s adorable. You’re the first boy YN has ever brought home in a serious way.”

Hongjoong freezes.

Your father scoffs “Serious?” He sips his drink, unimpressed. “This is the same girl who threw a designer shoe at my head when I suggested she attend a dinner instead of going out with friends.”

Your mother ignores him “Hongjoong, sweetheart, how is your family?”

He blinks, snapping out of his existential crisis “Oh—uh, good. My dad had his first day today. Thank you again for the opportunity, Mr. Clarke.”

Your father nods, dismissive “He did well.”

Your mother, however, smiles warmly “It was YN’s idea.”

Mike turns to you. “I know,” he says softly. “I still don’t know how to thank you.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “You don’t have to.”

But your mother? She notices everything—the way Hongjoong looks at you, the way your fingers twitch like you’re stopping yourself from reaching for his hand, the way he makes you soft.

Her smile deepens “Well,” She hums, placing her glass down. “Since we’re all so comfortable, why don’t you join us for dinner sometime soon, Hongjoong?”

He stiffens, you grin. Your father sighs, already regretting everything.

Hongjoong clears his throat “That’s… really generous, Mrs. Clarke.”

“Oh, please,” She waves him off. “Call me Catherine.”

Hongjoong visibly swallows “That’s… really generous, Catherine.”

Your father nearly chokes on his drink, you snicker under your breath.

Your mother just beams “Perfect. I’ll set something up soon.”

He nods, and just when he thinks the interrogation is over your mother’s eyes flicker between the two of you, her smirk returning.

“So,” She leans forward slightly, voice dangerously amused. “Where exactly were you two before we arrived?”

Hongjoong stops breathing.

Your father sighs into his whiskey “Jesus Christ, Catherine.”

You, completely unbothered, just smirk “Nowhere interesting.”

Your mother laughs, sipping her wine.

Hongjoong? He’s never been more stressed in his life.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The school hallways are alive with chatter as you step through the entrance, the silence parting for you like the sea parting for royalty.

It’s been three weeks since you last walked these halls. Three long weeks, spent hiding in the shadows of your own house, nursing wounds both physical and emotional.

But today, you're back.

Your heels click against the floor with each confident step, and you feel the eyes of the students on you—some of them staring in awe, some in jealousy, and others in pure admiration.

Whispers ripple through the crowd as you walk past them, and you can’t help but smirk. You know what they’re saying.

The Queen Bee has returned.

You walk with your head held high, shoulders squared, and a smile that borders on smug. Your friends are all there, surrounding you like the loyal subjects they are. Mindy and Wooyoung are by your side, smiling at the attention you're getting, the flashes of admiration in their eyes mirroring your own.

But even as you drink in the attention, there’s something in the air that you can’t ignore. The familiar pressure of someone’s gaze—the feeling of eyes on you from across the room.

You know who it is before you even see him.

Seonghwa.

You turn your head, catching sight of him standing near his locker, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watches you approach. He straightens as you get closer, the friendly expression in his eyes barely masking the sharpness beneath.

"Sweetheart," He says, his voice smooth, warm, and filled with an almost brotherly concern. "Where have you been? Haven't seen you around for a while. Everything okay?"

You smile, perfectly poised, the kind of smile that looks warm but never quite reaches your eyes.

“Seonghwa,” You greet, stopping just short of where he stands. “How sweet of you to notice.”

He chuckles, leaning against his locker with the kind of casual arrogance that once made your stomach flutter.

Now? It makes you sick.

“Of course I noticed,” He says smoothly, eyes flickering over your face, your stance—always analyzing, always calculating. “Three weeks is a long time to go without seeing you.”

Mindy and Wooyoung exchange glances behind you, but they say nothing. They know better than to interrupt.

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity “Did you miss me?”

Hwa smirks, and there it is—that infuriating, cocky confidence, the belief that you’ll always fall into his hands, just like you used to.

“I think the better question is,” He steps closer, voice lowering, “Did you miss me?”

You laugh, the sound light and dismissive, like the very thought is entertaining.

“Hwa,” You purr, tapping a manicured nail against your chin, “I’ve had… so much to think about these past few weeks.” Your gaze drags over him, slow, assessing—letting him think he still has a chance. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve learned.”

His smirk falters for half a second, but you see it.

You see everything.

You step closer, close enough that only he can hear you when you murmur, “You and I have so much to catch up on.”

Seonghwa studies you, trying to gauge if you’re being playful or if there’s something more dangerous beneath your words.

You don’t let him figure it out.

Instead, you brush past him, letting your perfume linger in the air between you, a lingering reminder that you are no longer the fool who once loved him blindly.

Mindy falls into step beside you, waiting until you’re out of earshot before whispering, “That was fucking terrifying.”

Wooyoung just whistles “Damn, babydoll. He’s gonna suffer.”

You smile.

He has no idea.

✮ ⋆

The cafeteria is alive with energy, students laughing, chatting, living in their own little worlds. But at your table? The air is thick, heavy with tension, the kind that turns heads and makes people pay attention.

You sit at your usual spot, sipping your drink as Mindy and Wooyoung throw teasing comments back and forth.

Across from you, San and Mingi lounge comfortably, more entertained than anything as Seonghwa takes his seat, acting as if he owns the space.

And he might have before.

Before he started working against you. Before he thought he could outplay you. Before you learned the truth.

Seonghwa leans forward, flashing you a smirk, his presence demanding your attention "So, baby—"

“Hey, pretty.”

The entire table shifts, your smirk grows before you even turn to look. Because you already know who that voice belongs to.

Hongjoong.

He slides into the seat beside you like he’s been doing it for years, like this is exactly where he belongs. And then—he does it. He leans in, presses a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, his hand resting against your thigh like it’s his right.

Seonghwa goes still.

Mindy bites her lip to keep from grinning. Wooyoung? He’s barely containing a laugh.

San and Mingi glance at each other, picking up on something dangerous.

But Seonghwa?

He’s frozen, staring at you and Hongjoong like the world just tilted off its axis.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” His voice is low, tight with something uglier than frustration.

You tilt your head, eyes dancing with amusement “Something wrong?”

Hwa’s jaw clenches “I thought…” He stops himself, recalculating, but the damage is already done. You see it in his eyes.

He thought he still had a chance.

And now? He doesn’t.

Hongjoong doesn’t even glance at him. He just shrugs, completely at ease “I think he thought we weren’t on good terms, pretty.”

Seonghwa’s eyes snap to him, burning with fury.

You smirk.

“Oh, Hwa,” Mindy sighs dramatically, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You should’ve kept up with the gossip.”

Seonghwa stares at you, as if waiting for some kind of explanation, some confirmation that this is all a joke.

But you don’t give him one. Instead, you lean into Hongjoong’s touch, fingers grazing over his wrist in an intimate, deliberate move.

The weight of his glare is suffocating, burning into you and Hongjoong, but neither of you react. You just smile, the picture of ease, while Hongjoong—calm, collected, unbothered—takes a sip of his drink like this is just another normal day.

San and Mingi exchange a look, sensing the storm brewing, but Wooyoung and Mindy? They’re thriving in the chaos.

Seonghwa finally speaks, his voice tight, controlled, but just barely.

“So, what? You two just—got back together?” His fingers drum against the table, a nervous tick he can’t quite suppress.

You lean back, feigning surprise “Why wouldn’t we?”

His eyes darken, his lips part like he’s about to argue, but he stops himself. He’s realizing things, piecing together all the lies he swallowed as truth.

Mindy hums, propping her chin on her hand “Did you really think they broke up, Hwa?”

Seonghwa doesn’t look at her. He looks at you and you hold his gaze, refusing to be the first to break. He hated that about you—how you never wavered, never bent to his will.

His tongue clicks, irritation flashing across his face “It’s just funny, that’s all.” His smirk returns, but it’s weaker now, forced. “Considering the rumors.”

You feign innocence “Rumors?”

He leans in, dropping his voice so only you can hear “That this nerd was using you.”

Hongjoong tenses beside you.

You grin, slow and deliberate “Oh, that.”

Hwa’s smirk twitches. You place a hand on Hongjoong’s thigh, casual, effortless—a claim.

“If that were true,” You murmur, “Do you really think I’d still be with him?”

Seonghwa hates the way Hongjoong doesn’t even have to say anything. Hates the way you’re looking at him like he’s the one who’s pathetic.

His jaw tightens, and for a brief second, you can see it—the fury, the frustration, the realization that he played himself.

And then—he laughs. Shakes his head, leaning back, drumming his fingers on the table again, pretending this doesn’t bother him.

“Guess not,” He mutters, eyes flicking toward Wooyoung and Mindy. “Guess someone’s been feeding me bullshit.”

Mindy gasps dramatically, placing a hand on her chest “Oh no, Hwa. Were you misled?”

Wooyoung grins, wrapping an arm around her “Damn, man. That’s rough.”

Hwa’s eyes narrow. He knows.

He knows they set him up.

And when he looks at you one last time, you don’t have to say it out loud.

You played the game better.

And he lost.

For the first time, he has no control.

For the first time, you won.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The final bell rings, signaling the end of another school day. Students spill into the hallways, laughter and chatter filling the air as everyone heads off to do whatever rich, privileged, private-school kids do after class.

You glance at Hongjoong as you walk beside him, nudging his arm lightly.

“So, what’s the plan, nerd? Are you free?”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck “Actually… Yunho, Jongho, and Yeosang need me for something in the library.”

“You’re ditching me to do nerd things?”

He chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets “Not ditching. I did say you could come.”

You stop walking, turning to him with a slow, dramatic smirk “You want me to do nerd stuff… with your nerd friends… nerd?”

Hongjoong grins “Basically.”

You scoff, crossing your arms “I should say no on principle.”

“But you won’t,” He counters easily, smug.

You narrow your eyes at him, then sigh in exaggerated defeat “Fine. I’ll grace you all with my presence. But if I get bored, I’m leaving.”

Hongjoong nudges your waist playfully “You won’t.”

You roll your eyes but let him lead the way.

The library is quiet, dimly lit by the late afternoon sun filtering through the tall, arched windows. Shelves of books stretch high, the scent of old paper and wood polish lingering in the air.

At a far table, three familiar faces sit, already setting up their things—Yunho, Jongho, and Yeosang. You and Hongjoong approach, and Yunho looks up first, his face brightening in surprise.

“Oh, hey, man. You actually brought her?”

Jongho smirks “I thought she’d be too busy shopping or making people cry.”

Hongjoong shrugs “She wanted to come.”

You snort, sliding into a chair “Let’s not lie to ourselves, Kim.”

Yeosang laughs, shaking his head before glancing toward the bookshelves “We should probably get started. Dann’s already here.”

“Wait—Dann’s here?” The moment Hongjoong says it, you stiffen too.

You turn your head slowly—too slowly—until your gaze locks onto her.

Dann.

She stands a few feet away, a book clutched tightly in her hands, her entire body tense.

Your presence here? She wasn’t expecting it.

You and Hongjoong sit down at the table, but there's an undeniable awkwardness that hangs in the air. Dann’s presence is almost suffocating—you can feel her gaze on you, but you pretend you don't notice.

Instead, you lean in toward Hongjoong, your hand finding its way to his thigh under the table.

His fingers graze your wrist as you smile at him, brushing your lips against his ear “Ready to work, nerd?” You murmur, your breath warm against his skin.

He smiles back, that familiar look of adoration in his eyes “Always, but first—”

He leans in and kisses you, slow and teasing, the kind of kiss that makes you feel like the world just stops for a moment.

You pull away just slightly, eyes meeting his “You really need to stop distracting me,” You tease.

Hongjoong grins, not one bit sorry “I can’t help it when you're so distracting.”

The others at the table shift uncomfortably, and you feel the heat of their awkward glances. Yunho, trying to break the tension, clears his throat loudly.

“So, Queen Bee, you gonna help us with this or what?”

You blink “How quaint.”

“Yeah, we're gonna need someone with that attitude to get through this,” Jongho jokes, nudging your shoulder playfully. “And since Joong’s clearly already distracted—”

You roll your eyes but don’t resist “Fine, fine. What are we doing?”

From the corner of your eye, you catch Dann standing slightly apart from the group, fidgeting with the book in her hands. She’s trying to act like she’s not watching, but you feel it—her stare, the weight of her presence, the discomfort written all over her face.

Hongjoong, oblivious to everything but you, leans in slightly “We’re creating study guides for other students. Wanna help?”

You scoff, crossing your arms “Study guides? I didn’t know school nerds were running that kind of operation.”

Jongho laughs, tilting his head at you “Really? I didn’t know you even knew about the study guides. I thought you just paid nerds to take your exams for you.”

Your jaw drops slightly in mock offense, but in reality, you find the comment hilarious.

“Excuse you,” You huff, flipping your hair dramatically. “I am more than a pretty face, you nerd.” You snatch a textbook from the stack in front of you. “Now, give me those fucking books.”

Hongjoong grins at you, shaking his head “See? She’s a fast learner.”

“I was always smart,” You correct, flipping open the book and pretending to scan the page.

“That’s up for debate,” Jongho quips.

“You better watch it,” You warn, smirking.

Yunho chuckles, nudging Dann, who still stands awkwardly on the sidelines “Come on, don’t just stand there. You’re supposed to be the real nerd here.”

Dann startles slightly, caught off guard “H-Huh?”

Yeosang shoots her a knowing look, his voice light but careful “Don’t act like you haven’t done this a million times before. You’re always the one fixing our answers.”

Jongho nods in agreement “Yeah, sit down, Dann.”

Dann hesitates, but the warmth in their voices, the familiarity, makes her shift awkwardly. “I—yeah.”

“You in?” Yeosang asks.

Her heart clenches. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? She was never really in. Not the way you are.

Not the way she wanted to be.

But despite the sting, she forces a smile, nodding “Yeah. I’m in.”

She pretends it doesn’t hurt when she sees Hongjoong’s hand absently squeeze your thigh under the table.

She pretends that being included still means something.

Even if it’s too late.

——

As the study session progresses, the library fills with the quiet hum of flipping pages, hushed discussions, and the occasional laughter from your table.

You're flipping through one of the books, trying to make sense of the notes when Hongjoong leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You sure you’re not just pretending to read?” He murmurs.

You scoff, shoving his face away lightly “Shut up, nerd.”

Jongho snorts “That’s literally what we said—she just sits here to look smart.”

You glare at him, tossing a pencil in his direction “I will end you.”

Yeosang smirks, tapping his pen against his notebook “I mean, to be fair, YN, we are impressed. Usually, you’d be terrorizing the halls, not… doing actual schoolwork.”

Yunho grins “And she hasn’t threatened to quit yet. Growth.”

“Yet,” You emphasize, pointing your pen at him. “Don't get ahead of yourselves.”

Hongjoong chuckles, sliding an arm over the back of your chair, his fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

“Nah, she’s too competitive to quit now. She’s gotta prove us all wrong.”

You huff but don’t deny it. Meanwhile, Dann barely hears the conversation.

She keeps her head down, scribbling mindlessly in the margins of her notebook, pretending to be focused. But in reality, she’s distracted—by the way Hongjoong leans into you, how effortlessly you fall into place among his friends.

She should be used to this feeling by now, but it still stings.

Yunho nudges her again, voice lighthearted “Dann, you good? You haven’t called me an idiot yet, and I know I’ve messed up at least three times.”

Dann blinks, forcing a weak chuckle “Oh—uh, yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Yeosang tilts his head, studying her a little too carefully, but doesn’t press.

“Was just asking if I should format this section like the last one or break it into smaller parts,” Yunho says, handing her a sheet of notes.

She takes it with trembling fingers, trying to focus. But then—

Soft laughter.

She glances up just in time to see Hongjoong kissing your cheek, his hand resting way too comfortably on your lap.

Her stomach twists.

She did this.

She made a deal with Seonghwa. She fed Mike information. She helped spread rumors about you.

And for what?

To watch Hongjoong fall for someone else anyway? To watch you win again?

Her grip on the pen tightens. But… it’s not jealousy that eats at her this time.

It’s guilt.

Because if she had just stayed out of it, if she hadn’t let her petty resentment and heartbreak drive her, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Maybe Mike wouldn’t have gone that far.

Maybe Hongjoong wouldn’t hate her if he knew.

But now, it’s too late.

She can’t undo what she’s done.

And soon, she’ll have no choice but to face it.

✮ ⋆

The library session lasts longer than expected. By the time you all wrap up, the school halls are mostly empty, bathed in the dim glow of the evening lights.

Hongjoong stretches beside you, cracking his neck "Alright, nerd squad, mission accomplished."

Jongho groans, rubbing his eyes "Barely. I swear, if one more person asks me to explain quadratic equations, I'm quitting school."

Yeosang chuckles, stuffing his papers into his bag "You'll survive. Probably."

"Yeah, yeah," Jongho mutters. Then he smirks. "Still can't believe YN actually helped."

"I told you," Hongjoong says proudly, pulling you close with an arm around your waist. "She's not just a pretty face."

"Obviously," You say, flipping your hair.

Yunho stretches, groaning "That’s enough brainpower for today."

Hongjoong grins "You sure? Thought nerd stuff was your hobby."

Linda scoffs, leaning into his side "Yeah, yeah, this was cute and all, but next time, I’m making you all do my homework instead."

Hongjoong chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek for just a second longer than necessary, and the small gesture makes your heart flutter.

Across the table, Dann watches.

Everyone is grabbing their things, chatting casually about the day as they prepare to leave.

And then—

"You already know Hongjoong is using you, right?"

The words hang in the air, cutting through the lighthearted atmosphere like a blade.

Hongjoong freezes.

You do too.

Slowly, you turn your head, eyes locking onto Dann.

She looks like she immediately regrets it.

Yunho lets out a low whistle "Damn."

Yeosang glances between the three of you, eyebrows raised.

Jongho exhales sharply, his grip tightening around the strap of his backpack "What the hell did you just say?"

Dann’s mouth parts, but no words come out.

"I—"

"You know what?" Your voice is eerily calm, dangerously calm. "Let me make sure I heard you right." You tilt your head. "You think Joong is using me?"

Dann’s heart pounds, she didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, so lost in the pain of seeing you two together that the words just fell out.

But now it’s too late.

Hongjoong scoffs, running a hand down his face "That’s actually insane."

"You know what’s more insane?" You fold your arms. "The fact that you even thought that, Dann."

"I—" She tries again, her voice wavering. "I didn’t mean… It was just—"

"Just what?" Your voice is sharper now. "Something you just casually thought? Or did someone put that idea in your head?" Dann’s stomach drops. You let out a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

Yunho and Jongho exchange glances, watching the scene unfold in tense silence.

Yeosang clears his throat "Uh, maybe we should—"

"No." Hongjoong shakes his head. "I wanna hear this." His voice lowers, but it’s sharp—cutting. "You really think that little of me?"

Dann panics.

"I didn’t— I mean, I don’t know!" She blurts out, shaking her head. "I just.. I heard—" She stops herself.

But it’s already too late.

Your expression doesn’t change, but the slightest flicker in your gaze tells Hongjoong everything. You know exactly what’s happening.

But you can’t let on, so you do what you do best.

You smirk "You heard what?" You ask smoothly, tilting your head. "Come on, Dann. Don’t get shy on me now."

Dann feels trapped. Every fiber in her being is screaming at her to fix this.

To lie.

To say anything to make it go away.

But she can’t.

She can only stand there, feeling the weight of her own betrayal crushing down on her.

Hongjoong exhales sharply, shaking his head "I really thought we were cool, Dann."

That makes it worse.

He doesn’t sound angry.

He sounds disappointed.

Dann swallows hard, staring at the floor "I… I should go."

Nobody stops her.

Not even Yunho, Jongho, or Yeosang.

She grabs her things and rushes out, leaving behind the suffocating tension she created.

The second she’s gone, Jongho exhales, shaking his head "What the fuck was that?"

"That was crazy."

Hongjoong is still staring at the door Dann disappeared through.

You touch his arm, voice soft "You okay?"

He looks down at you, searching your face for a moment before sighing "Yeah," He mutters. "I’m just— I don’t know. I was really hoping that she wasn't involved with Park and Mike."

You squeeze his hand, your voice steady "Well, she is."

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The dining room is bathed in warm, golden light, the soft clinking of silverware against fine china the only sound filling the space.

The Clarke family dinners are always a performance—elegance, poise, and surface-level pleasantries hiding the rot underneath.

You push your food around your plate, only half-listening as your mother hums approvingly, sipping her wine.

“Well,” She says, a pleased smile on her lips. “I must say, Hongjoong’s father has been a wonderful addition to the household staff.”

Your fork pauses midair.

Mike’s does too.

Your father nods in agreement, setting his glass down “Punctual, respectful, efficient—everything we could ask for. He’s handling the job well.”

You relax slightly, about to take a bite when Mike speaks.

“I’m sorry, but what?”

The room stiffens. You glance up just in time to catch his expression shift—from confusion to realization to rage.

Your mother, ever the graceful hostess, waves a hand delicately “Oh, we didn’t mention it, did we?” She chuckles lightly, as if it were a minor oversight. “YN came to us with the idea. Hongjoong’s father was out of work, so we hired him.”

Mike’s jaw tightens, his grip on his knife turns white-knuckled. You feel the tension roll off him in waves.

Your father—oblivious or simply uninterested in Mike’s growing fury—adds, “And truthfully, it was a great decision. The man is trustworthy. If he keeps it up, he might even stay with us long-term.”

Mike’s fork clatters against his plate. Your mother flinches.

“I see,” He says, voice icy. His gaze cuts straight through you. “And no one thought to tell me?”

“Didn’t seem necessary,” Your father replies simply.

Mike’s anger shifts, redirecting itself entirely onto you “Of course,” He mutters. “It was your idea.”

You meet his gaze, keeping your posture calm, collected, untouchable “Yes,” You say, taking a sip of your wine. “It was.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it “Unbelievable.”

Your mother sighs, setting down her fork “Mike, don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Mike echoes, leaning back in his chair. “So, let me get this straight—you let her bring some random lower-class worker into our home, let him drive us around like some pet project, and I’m just supposed to accept it?”

“He’s not random,” You say, voice sharp. “He’s Hongjoong’s father.”

“Oh, right.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Hongjoong.” His gaze darkens. “The same guy who’s using you?”

You hold a smile, he still believes it.

Mike leans forward, elbows resting on the table, his eyes glinting with something cruel. “What, did he guilt you into this? Make you feel bad for his pathetic little family?”

You set your wine glass down a little too hard.

Your mother tenses. “Mike—”

But you cut her off “You don’t know a damn thing about him.” Your voice is cold, final.

He smirks “Oh, but I do.” He tilts his head, eyes flickering with mock sympathy. “You just don’t want to hear it.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” You agree, voice like steel. “Because it’s bullshit.”

Mike’s smirk drops.

Your father sighs “Enough.”

But Mike isn’t finished “You can dress him up however you want, YN,” he sneers. “But at the end of the day? He’s just a pathetic loser clinging to your last name.”

Your hands curl into fists.

“And you,” He continues, voice lowering, “Are a complete idiot for falling for it.”

The air is thick with silence.

Your mother exhales, rubbing her temples “Mike, we’re eating.”

Your father levels him with a stare “Your attitude is getting out of hand.”

He laughs, pushing his plate away “Yeah? Well, so is hers.” He stands, chair scraping against the floor. “You can let yourself get used like a fucking idiot if you want,” He says, voice dripping with disgust. “Just don’t expect me to sit here and watch.”

He storms off, leaving the room in tense silence. Your parents exchange a tired look. You take another sip of wine, heartbeat hammering in your chest.

From the hallway, someone is listening.

Dann.

And her guilt grows.

✮ ⋆

The Clarke mansion is quiet, the weight of dinner’s tension still lingering in the air. The staff moves about their business in silence, avoiding eye contact, as if sensing that something dark is simmering beneath the surface.

Dann, however, isn’t moving.

She’s frozen just outside the dining room, her mind replaying everything she just overheard. The way Mike spat his words at you, the venom in his voice, the sheer hatred he had for her—all because she had helped someone he despised.

Because you had made a choice that wasn’t about him.

Dann swallows hard, guilt gnawing at her insides like a slow poison. She should feel relieved that you had fought back—that for once, someone had shut Mike down. But all she feels is fear.

Because if he could talk to his own sister like that, what was stopping him from turning on her?

The thought chills her. She should leave. She should go to her room and pretend none of this is her problem. But before she can move a hand grabs her wrist.

She whirls around, heart slamming against her ribs, only to come face to face with him.

Mike.

The air leaves her lungs. His grip isn’t tight—not yet—but it’s firm enough to send pure terror coursing through her veins.

“You,” He murmurs, his voice dangerously low. His eyes are sharp, scanning her face like she’s something rotten beneath his shoe.

Dann tries to pull away, but his fingers tighten, his hold turning bruising.

“M-Mike,” She stammers, forcing a nervous laugh. “What’s—what’s wrong?”

His lips curl into a cold smirk “You tell me.”

Dann swallows, willing herself to stay calm “I don’t—”

“Did you know?” His voice cuts through the air like a blade.

Dann stiffens “Know… what?”

Mike leans in, his breath hot against her skin. “About Hongjoong’s father working for my family.”

“I—”

His grip tightens “Don’t fucking lie to me, Dann.”

“I didn’t know!” She blurts out, panic creeping into her voice. “I swear, I—I had no idea—”

His jaw ticks. He’s not buying it “You’ve been avoiding me,” He murmurs, his tone almost thoughtful. “Ever since that night.”

Dann goes rigid.

That night.

The night he put his hands on you.

The night she realized just how much of a monster he truly was.

“I haven’t—”

His fingers suddenly clamp around her arm, and he pulls her forward, dragging her through the hallway. Dann yelps, stumbling after him, fear clawing at her throat.

“Where are we—?”

“Somewhere private,” He cuts her off smoothly.

Her stomach twists. The deeper into the house they go, the quieter it becomes. The staff is gone. There’s no one to see them. No one to stop him.

No one to help her.

Mike finally shoves open a door that leads to the back garden, a secluded area far from the main house. The night air is cold, but the way he looks at her sends a different kind of chill through her bones.

Dann stumbles back, chest heaving, trying to create space. “Mike, I—”

“You think I don’t see it?” He says, voice eerily calm. “You think I don’t know you’re hiding something from me?”

Dann shakes her head, heart pounding “I swear I didn’t know about it. I would have told you!”

And it was true, she didn't know about Hongjoong’s father working for your family. But Mike just stares at her. Studying her.

Then he laughs.

A low, quiet chuckle that makes her skin crawl.

“Look at you,” He murmurs. “Fucking shaking.”

Dann flinches.

Mike steps closer, towering over her “I don’t like when people keep secrets from me, Dann,” He murmurs, voice like poison.

Dann’s chest tightens.

This is it.

This is the moment.

She can keep playing his game. Keep letting him control her. Keep living in fear.

Or she can do what she should have done weeks ago.

Her fingers curl into fists. She lifts her head, her cheek still burning, and looks him dead in the eyes.

“You’re a fucking coward.”

Mike freezes.

Dann’s pulse roars in her ears. Her own words shock her. But once they’re out, she can’t stop.

“You think you’re so powerful,” She breathes, voice shaking but growing stronger. “You think everyone should be afraid of you. But deep down, you’re just pathetic.”

Mike’s jaw clenches. Dann forces herself to smile. It’s small, shaky, but it’s there.

And for the first time in weeks, she feels powerful. Because she can see it.

For just a fraction of a second, his smirk drops and before she can react—

His hand swings.

The impact is sharp, brutal. Dann’s head snaps to the side, a gasp catches in her throat. The sting spreads across her cheek like fire, her vision blurring from the sheer shock.

Her body locks up.

She can’t breathe.

She can’t move.

Dann’s heart is pounding so loudly it drowns out the quiet.

Mike’s handprint burns on her cheek, the sting radiating through her skull, but the real pain isn’t physical.

It’s the terror.

The realization that she pushed him too far. The garden is empty, secluded—the perfect place for a nightmare. And Mike?

He looks like he’s enjoying it.

His lips curve into a slow smirk as he watches her struggle to catch her breath, her fingers trembling at her sides.

‘You’re a fucking coward.’

The words still hang in the air, and Dann knows she’s signed her own death sentence.

Mike’s expression darkens. His posture stiffens. And then he laughs.

Low. Amused. Cruel.

“Do you even know who you’re talking to?” His voice is quiet, almost mocking.

Dann stays silent. She knows better than to answer. But he doesn’t need her to. He steps forward, closing the space between them, and she flinches instinctively.

His smirk widens “Cute. You think you’re brave now, don’t you?”

Dann swallows hard “I—”

“Shut up,” He cuts her off. The amusement vanishes, replaced with something far colder.

His gaze sweeps over her, calculating, dissecting—like he’s deciding exactly how to break her.

“I bet you think you have nothing to lose,” He murmurs. “That you can just walk away from this and be fine.”

Dann’s breathing falters.

That tone. That deadly calm.

It’s worse than when he’s yelling. Because when Mike speaks like this—he means it.

“I could ruin your mother in a second,” He continues, voice smooth, effortless. “She works for my family. She needs this job. And you?” His head tilts slightly. “You need her to keep it. To pay for your father’s hospital bills.”

Dann’s stomach twists violently.

He knows.

He knows.

“How did you—?” Her voice catches.

Mike chuckles “You think I don’t do my research?” His expression turns mocking. “Your poor, pitiful father, lying there in a hospital bed, while your mother slaves away to keep him alive. And you? You run around playing spy for me, all because you wanted some nerd to look your way.”

Dann feels sick. Her fingers curl into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

“Leave them out of this,” She whispers.

“Oh? Now you care?” Mike exhales sharply, like he’s bored. “I mean, your mother’s getting old, isn’t she? I doubt she’d find another job if something were to… happen to her position.”

Dann’s lungs seize. And then, the final nail in the coffin.

“Oh, and your father?” Mike clicks his tongue. “A vegetable in a hospital bed, wasting away.” His tone is almost mocking. “How long has it been? Three years?”

Dann’s entire body locks up. Because he’s right.

Three years.

Three years of her mother breaking her back to keep him alive. Three years of Dann doing everything she could to ease the burden.

Three years of hoping. That maybe, one day, her father would wake up.

Mike’s voice cuts through the fog of her fear “I could make that bed disappear, you know.”

Dann stares at him, eyes wide.

“I mean, think about it.” He shrugs. “What’s the point of keeping someone around who isn’t even awake? The doctors must be tired of keeping him alive. And your mother? Imagine how relieved she’d be if she didn’t have to worry about hospital bills anymore.”

Dann’s breathing turns shallow. Her fingers dig into her skin so hard they might leave bruises. Mike leans back, watching her come undone.

Then he smiles “And as for you?” He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. “I can make sure you don’t even finish school.”

Dann’s heart drops, his smirk is gone now, his eyes cold and merciless.

“You think my family doesn’t have connections in the education system?” He scoffs. “All it takes is one phone call. One simple request. And suddenly, your scholarship? Gone. Your grades? Suspiciously altered. Your teachers? Unwilling to recommend you for any other school.”

Dann freezes, because he’s not bluffing. This isn’t an empty threat.

This is real.

Her entire future—her mother’s future—her father’s life—all hanging by a single thread. And Mike?

He’s holding the scissors.

“You don’t want that, do you? So, tell me, Dann.” His voice softens, but the cruelty behind it only makes it worse. “Are you still on my side?”

Dann’s lips part, but no words come out.

She should scream. She should fight back.

She should run.

But instead—She nods.

Because she has no choice.

Because she’s afraid.

Because her father’s life is hanging in the balance.

And because she’s not ready to lose everything.

Mike’s smirk returns “Good girl.”

And just like that—it’s over. He pats her cheek mockingly before stepping back.

“You know what to do.” His voice is smooth, assured, like he’s never once considered the possibility of her betraying him.

Because why would he?

She’s trapped.

Dann watches as he walks away, leaving her frozen in the garden, hands trembling, chest tight.

Her father, her mother, her entire life.

Mike owns all of it.

Tears blur her vision as she wraps her arms around herself, body wracked with silent shame.

She wants to do the right thing.

But survival?

It comes first

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Taglist: @mrskill2 @stayatinykatsy @badbitch69420sworld @lunaryoongie @certifiedmoa @jilxxasu @alliecoady98 @maidens-world @Lemonkait00 @yulsr @justconniez @luvvvash @zaynsfl4m3s @nkryuki @boomzen @hurryupmars @silenttrxxs @blue5ummer @khaskl08 @unbroken-shadows @vnxlla @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @milliesupremexx @xh01bri @a-atiny_niawoo @winterstuf @domfikeluva @lezleeferguson-120 @beabatiny @yothangie @lover-of-fics @mingipessego @posseup @0407files @cheolright @nyx-y @yeorisanaxox @innocygnet @a-tiny-thing @sannieily @maplelilly05 @ddeonugu @niaee @yunhogrippers @itzyejiluv @sannieworshipper @m0onchild-98 @l0vjoongie

☆○☆○☆

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

i’m gonna crash out we need to end dann and mike i’m serious i’m going to throw a car at them or something, reader, hongjoong, get behind me

I’m not ready for the next chapter i can’t i need reader to be happy and i need them to be with hongjoong oh I’m sick

great chapter, I can’t wait for the next one <3

Popular, Boy

☆07: The first breakdown

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, smut, angst, drama, dark academic, love triangle

wc: 9,8k

Summary: Humillation and disappointment from others always leave you more isolated than ever. The tension grows and unresolved emotions linger.

But unexpected plans could change everything in your little world.

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse, manipulation, just Mike being a bastard.

Note: This chapter has important info that will develop in the next chapter, just want to say that next chapter is more spicy than aespa's song!!!

Series masterlist

☆06 ☆08: The first lie

The grandeur of the Clarke Mansion is still evident in the moments before they leave. The staff bustle around, making sure every detail is in place, as you, your family, and Dann prepare to depart for the lavish event at the Ritz.

The golden light of the chandelier in the hallway spills out into the driveway as the sleek black cars pull up, their engines purring softly in the night air. The elegance of the mansion stands in stark contrast to the wild, pulsing energy of the celebration awaiting them—a night meant to showcase Mike’s latest achievement.

You walk down the grand staircase, a vision in your red dress. As you descend, every step is deliberate, measured, meant to captivate.

Your parents, who were already waiting near the entrance, can’t help but pause in admiration at the sight of their daughter.

But you are too preoccupied with the swirling thoughts in your head to fully bask in their praise. Your brother's harsh words still echo in your ears, but you've done everything you can to mask the weight of them.

Tonight, you need to be untouchable.

Your father approaches you, voice full of pride.

“You look stunning, darling. No one will be able to take their eyes off you tonight.”

“And you better make sure they don’t, sweetie.” Your mother in an elegant black dress says brushing a strand of your hair.

You force a smile, though your gaze flicks to Mike standing near the door. You know he’s already prepared for what he perceives as your inevitable fall tonight.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Maybe you should focus on not embarrassing yourself, YN. There’s no room for mistakes tonight.” He smirks.

You feel your pulse quicken, the familiar sting of his condescending tone cutting through you like a knife. But you don't respond. Not tonight. you've already made up your mind—you will be perfect, no matter what he says.

Dann, standing quietly in the background, watches everything unfold with a mix of disdain and curiosity. She can feel the heat radiating off you, and for the first time, she’s not sure if she envies you or resents you.

Still, there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to get swept up in the endless cycle of praise and punishment that seems to define your world. As the last person to make their way out the door, Dann glances at her mother, who gives her a sweet smile, waving her goodbye.

When the cars finally pull up to the Ritz, the atmosphere shifts entirely. The event is already in full swing, lights glittering, the hum of conversation and laughter spilling out into the cool night air. The building itself looks like a monument to luxury—tall, majestic, with every surface reflecting the opulence that the Clarke family holds dear.

Inside the car, your family sits in quiet anticipation. Your parents speak in hushed tones, planning their approach to tonight’s gathering, while Mike remains distant, his eyes fixed on the glowing windows of the Ritz.

As the car doors open, the flood of sounds from the celebration pours in—cascading music, the clinking of glasses, and the rhythmic beat of life beyond the door.

You step out first, followed by Mike, parents, and Dann. They make their way up the steps to the grand entrance, where the doormen usher them in with professional smiles. Inside, everything is extravagant—gleaming chandeliers, velvet drapes, and golden accents everywhere.

It feels like a different world entirely.

You adjust your posture, and for a moment, you feel the weight of all eyes on you. This is your world, a place where you can thrive, even with Mike’s shadow looming over you.

As you step into the grand ballroom, the scent of roses and expensive perfume mixes with the faint aroma of hors d'oeuvres being passed around on silver trays.

The room is alive with conversation and laughter, the hum of wealth and power weaving through the air. You’re used to this—this is where you belong, where you’ve always shone. You adjust your dress, a subtle yet powerful statement of the season’s trends, and scan the room.

Your friends spot you almost immediately, their polished appearances as perfect as always. They weave through the crowd with ease, their heels clicking against the marble floor as they make their way toward you.

“Babe!” Mindy exclaims, her eyes sparkling “You look stunning, as always.”

“Of course she does,” Samantha chimes in with a sly grin “What else is new?”

You smile, a perfect blend of warmth and confidence “It’s all about keeping up appearances, isn’t it?”

Mindy’s gaze shifts past you, her brows arching in curiosity “Wait a second… Is that Dann?”

All turn, spotting Dann lingering awkwardly near one of the side tables. She’s holding a glass of sparkling water like it’s a lifeline, her lavender gown catching the light in a way that draws just enough attention.

“Oh my God, it is her. What’s she doing here?”

You shrug with a practiced air of indifference “Mother invited her. You know how she gets—always so kind and generous. She thought it would be nice to show some appreciation for Dann helping around the house.”

Mindy’s lips press into a thin line, and the others barely hide a snicker “Kind of her,” She says, her voice dripping with sarcasm “But seriously, babygirl, what were you thinking, letting her wear a dress from a collection from years ago? She looks ridiculous.”

You feign innocence, a soft laugh escaping your lips “Who am I to deny her a chance to feel special?”

Sam smirks “You’re a saint, baby. Truly. She really sticks out, doesn’t she? Like she doesn’t belong here.”

“That’s not my problem,” You reply smoothly, brushing off the comment with a flick of your hair “Mother wanted her here, and I’m doing my part. Whether or not she fits in is up to her.”

You glance across the room, your eyes narrowing as they settle on Seonghwa. He’s standing with his family, dressed impeccably as always, his confident smile lighting up the space around him.

For a brief moment, your polished demeanor falters. There’s a lot unsaid between the two of you—more than anyone in this room could ever guess.

After Wooyoung’s last party you haven't talked.

“Shall we mingle?” Someone asks, breaking your train of thought.

“Of course,” You reply, slipping your arm through Mindy’s “Let’s remind everyone who really runs this town.”

As you move through the crowd, your presence commanding attention as always, you can feel the weight of the evening settling in.

Tonight isn’t just about appearances—it’s about control, power, and making sure everyone, including Mike and Dann, knows exactly where they stand.

✮ ⋆

As the evening progresses, the hum of conversation and laughter fills the air, but Dann lingers near the edges of the room, keeping to herself. Her glass of sparkling water trembles slightly in her hand as she tries to blend into the background.

The soft lavender gown you gave her feels alien on her body, and she’s keenly aware of every glance sent her way.

What she doesn’t realize is that many of those glances are judgmental, the dress silently announcing her as out of place.

It doesn’t take long for Mindy and the other girls to leave you with your parents and notice Dann standing awkwardly by the refreshments table. They exchange a quick look, their eyes gleaming with amusement, and saunter over, their movements purposeful and predatory.

“Dann? Oh my god, hi.” Mindy says, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

Dann startles slightly but nods, trying to smile “Um, hi.”

Samantha tilts her head, feigning curiosity “That’s such a… unique dress you’re wearing. Where did you find it? A vintage shop?”

Dann’s cheeks burn, but she forces herself to meet their gaze.

“Actually, YN gave it to me. She thought it would be appropriate for tonight.”

Their smiles widen, eyes sparkling with malicious delight.

“Oh, our babygirl always so generous. Did YN let you borrow it from her last season’s wardrobe? Or was she just trying to make you look like a charity case?"

"I mean, you must feel so lucky to be here with all these important people in such a... dated dress."

“Very retro, not something anyone else here could pull off, but good for you for trying.”

Dann’s grip tightens around her glass, her stomach twisting. She knows they’re mocking her, but she refuses to let them see her falter.

“Thank you,” She says evenly “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mindy arches an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the response, but Sam isn’t done yet.

“It’s just so sweet of YN to give you something she wouldn’t wear anymore. Such a generous friend, don’t you think?”

Before Dann can respond, Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the conversation like a blade.

“Ladies, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

He appears at Dann’s side, his presence commanding, and tone light but with an edge that makes your friends instantly fall silent.

“Hwa,” Mindy says with a wide smile “We were just admiring YN’s generosity in lending Dann one of her dresses. So thoughtful of her.”

Seonghwa’s lips curve into a polite but icy smile “Of course,” He turns to Dann, his expression unreadable “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Dann hesitates, but nods “Yes, thank you.”

“Good.” His eyes flick to your friends, his smile never wavering “If you’ll excuse us, I promised to introduce Dann to some of my friends.”

All the girls exchange glances but step aside.

“Sure, have fun.”

Seonghwa grabs Dann’s arm and leads her away, his steps measured and graceful. Once they’re out of earshot, he leans in slightly, his voice low enough that only Dann can hear.

“Don’t let them get to you. They’re just bored.”

Dann glances at him, unsure whether to trust the sudden kindness.

“Thanks, I guess.”

Once they’re seated with a drink in hand, Hwa turns to Dann, his expression serious.

"So, how’s everything going with Mike? What’s the plan for tonight?"

Dann glances around nervously, making sure no one is listening.

"Mike told me to tell Hongjoong a fake address so that he wouldn’t come tonight... he wanted YN to be left alone, humiliated. He said he was going to make sure she felt small in front of everyone during his speech."

Seonghwa nods, pleased with the progress of the plan, but there’s a certain coldness in his smile.

"And you’re sure he’ll follow through? Mike doesn’t usually miss a chance to put YN in her place."

Dann sighs, her hands trembling slightly as she grips her glass.

"I don’t know if I can keep doing this... but he’s promised that tonight, it’ll all come together. YN will feel what it’s like to be cast aside."

Seonghwa watches her for a moment, assessing, before leaning back and taking a sip of his own drink.

"Good. Just remember, if you want to be part of this, you have to follow through. All of us are in this together now."

Dann nods, but the weight of her actions starts to sink in. She knows she’s in too deep to back out now, and yet the guilt gnaws at her.

As Seonghwa continues to chat with her about their plans, she can’t shake the uneasy feeling that the lines between revenge and her own humanity are beginning to blur.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Hongjoong adjusted his cufflinks in the mirror, his expression thoughtful as he glanced at his reflection. The evening was meant to be a special one—an elegant celebration at the Ritz, an event where he would finally step into the world you navigate so effortlessly.

But something didn’t feel right. Why did your family decide to change the venue so suddenly?

Confused but trusting, Hongjoong went along with the information, believing it was just a miscommunication. He got ready, dressed in the suit you bought him, ready to experience a world beyond his usual scope.

But as he drove, the city fell behind him, the roads winding into quiet, unfamiliar countryside. There was no Ritz, just a few ordinary homes and farmland stretching into the distance.

Panic started to settle in his chest as his phone buzzed, showing no signal. He tried calling you, Dann, and even Wooyoung, but no calls went through.

The further he drove, the more he realized Dann had played a cruel trick—luring him away, leaving him isolated and alone.

Anger surged through him as he realized the intent. Dann had deliberately ensured he wouldn’t make it to the party, making you feel abandoned, unsure, and hurt.

His fists clenched around the steering wheel, frustration boiling to the surface. He needed to get to you, to make sure you knew it wasn’t his choice to stay away.

Desperate, he took a U-turn, his tires screeching slightly on the gravel as he headed back toward the city.

The night was dark, and the streets were eerily quiet as he raced toward the first address you had given him.

✮ ⋆

The party was in full swing, and you had slipped into your role effortlessly. Your laughter echoed through the room as you sipped champagne, your friends and guests hanging on your every word.

Mindy, Sam, Wooyoung, and a few others surrounded you, chatting about the latest gossip in the city, and the music played softly in the background, setting a festive mood.

You looked around the grand ballroom, admiring the luxurious décor, the chandeliers that sparkled overhead, and the gentle hum of conversation filling the air.

It was everything you had grown accustomed to—the perfect night of glamour, elegance, and being the center of attention.

But as the evening wore on, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest. It was as though something was missing, and that something was Hongjoong.

You glance at your phone again, noting that the time is slipping away, and Hongjoong still hasn't arrived. The champagne, which had initially made you feel warm and confident, now seemed to weigh on you, making you restless.

“Where is little Hongjoong, babydoll?” Wooyoung asks you.

“Don't know, he should be here by now.”

“Maybe he doesn't know how to get here.”

“Maybe, let me call him.” You excused yourself from the group and wandered toward a quieter corner.

Your heels click softly on the marble floor. You unlock your phone and send a quick text to Joong.

YN♡: Joong, are you coming? It’s getting late.

You bite your lip, anxiously staring at the screen, waiting for a reply. But the familiar bubble showing that he is typing never appeared.

Frowning, you call him next, holding the phone to your ear as the ringing tone echoed in your eardrum. But when the call goes straight to voicemail, your anxiety deepens.

Where is he?

You make sure to include him in this world you live in, and now, you are starting to doubt if he’d actually show up.

There had been no signs of trouble earlier, but now the silence from Hongjoong’s end is unsettling.

You pace slowly, trying to calm your racing thoughts, but it's hard to ignore the tightness in your chest. You know you shouldn’t be worried—he might be caught up in traffic, or maybe something had come up—but deep down, a quiet voice is telling you it isn't that simple.

You text him again, hoping for any kind of response.

YN♡: Kim Hongjoong. Where are you?

Nothing.

The seconds stretch into what feels like minutes, and your stomach twists. You don’t like this feeling.

You don’t like being uncertain.

You don’t like being let down.

You return to the party but find yourself unable to focus on the conversations around you. Your gaze flickers back to your phone as the minutes tick by. Your thoughts keep drifting back to Hongjoong.

What is keeping him? Is he really on his way? Or has something happened?

You take a long sip of your champagne, trying to shake the unease, but it lingers.

You just wanted him here, wanted to be with him.

You force yourself to rejoin the party, plastering on a faint smile as you move through the crowd. Mindy and Wooyoung are still chatting nearby, but their laughter feels muffled, distant.

The sparkle of the chandeliers seems dimmer now, the glamour of the evening dulled by the absence of the one person you were hoping to share it with.

“Sweetie, there you are,” Your mother’s voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. “Mike’s about to give his speech. Come, stand near the front.”

You nod, following her to the center of the ballroom, where Mike is standing on a small stage. The guests quiet down as he takes the microphone, his charismatic smile commanding attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” He begins, his voice smooth and confident “First, thank you all for being here tonight. It means the world to me to celebrate this milestone with my family and our closest friends. As most of you know, I’ve recently been entrusted with a significant position in our family business, and I am honored to take on this responsibility.”

The crowd applauds, a few cheers breaking out. Mike raises a hand, his grin widening.

“I want to take a moment to express my gratitude for the opportunity to step into this role and carry the legacy of the Clarke family forward. My parents have worked tirelessly to get me here, and I will do everything in my power to uphold the values of this company. It’s an honor to follow in the footsteps of my father and grandfather.”

A round of applause erupted, and you force a smile, applauding with the crowd, even though a sense of dread fills your chest.

You can already feel where this is going.

“But before I move forward,” He continues, his voice gaining an edge of sarcasm “I have to acknowledge someone who’s always been there for me, even if she doesn’t always realize how much of a burden she’s been.”

His eyes flick to you, and for a moment, the entire room seems to pause.

Your heart skips a beat. You try to keep your composure, but there is an unsettling feeling settling deep in your stomach.

You force yourself to stand tall, but the quiet murmur of the crowd around you makes you feel exposed, like a target under a spotlight.

“As my sister, YN has been… well, how should I say this… a distraction,” Mike says, his voice dripping with mock affection “She’s been more focused on parties and… friendships than actual responsibility. And I think it’s time she learns that life isn’t all about being the center of attention.”

You feel your cheeks burn, the words piercing through you like ice. You can feel the eyes of the guests on you, the weight of their silent judgment. You try to maintain your composure, but the sting of Mike’s words make you feel small.

Like you don’t belong here.

Like you are nothing more than a plaything in the shadow of your perfect, golden brother.

Mike’s gaze never wavers from yours as he delivers the final blow.

“Maybe one day, she’ll realize that success isn’t about what you can get from people, but about what you can give back. I can only hope that she grows up soon enough.”

A few uncomfortable chuckles rip through the crowd, and your chest tightens. The blood rushes to your ears, and for a brief moment, you feel like you can’t breathe.

You look around, trying to find someone’s gaze—anyone who might offer you some comfort—but they all seem to look away, as if they have already accepted Mike’s harsh truth.

Your father is smiling, nodding as if it’s all just a joke. Your mother is watching you with a mixture of concern and hurt.

But you feel entirely alone.

The crowd clap hesitantly, you manage to give a tight smile, though it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.

You stand still, trying not to let the tears welling in your eyes break free.

You have no idea where Hongjoong is—if he is even coming—but right now, you need him more than ever.

You need someone who sees you for who you truly are, not the image that Mike and everyone else had constructed for you.

“Excuse me,” You murmur to no one in particular, slipping away from the crowd.

✮ ⋆

The party had begun to mellow out after Mike’s speech, the guests turning their attention to the endless flow of wine and hors d’oeuvres. In one of the quieter corners of the room, Dann sat alone, her champagne glass untouched on the small table before her.

She fiddled with the hem of her dress, her eyes flickering toward the laughter and conversation swirling around her.

Mike, ever the picture of confidence, approached her with a sly grin, his glass of scotch in hand.

“Well, Dann,” He says smoothly, sliding into the chair beside her. “How much did you enjoy YN’s little… public humbling?”

Dann hesitates, caught off guard by the directness of the question. But then, her lips curl into a faint smirk.

“I can’t say it wasn’t satisfying,” She replies, her tone measured but laced with an undercurrent of bitterness.

He chuckles darkly “I thought you’d appreciate it. After all, you’ve had a front-row seat to her antics, haven’t you?”

She shrugs, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass “I’m around her every day, every hour. I see more than anyone else does.”

Mike’s brows lift, his curiosity piqued “Really? And where is our dear YN now? Have you seen her?”

Dann’s eyes darted toward the balcony doors “Probably outside, drinking, smoking, who knows.”

Mike leans forward, his voice dropping slightly “Smoking?”

“Yeah,” Dann replies casually “She does it often. You wouldn’t notice, but I do. She hides it well.”

He studies her for a moment, as if trying to gauge the truth in her words. Then, with a smirk, he straightens up.

“Interesting. Well, I suppose I should go check on her, make sure she hasn’t set anything on fire in her dramatics.”

Dann let out a small laugh, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She watches as Mike rose and headed toward the garden doors, his steps purposeful and unhurried.

✮ ⋆

The garden is quiet, the cool night air wrapping around you as you step outside. The soft glow of the party lights spills onto the garden, but you move further into the shadows, needing to be alone.

You clutch your champagne flute tightly, the glass cold against your palm. Your chest feels heavy, the weight of Mike’s words pressing down on you.

Why does he always do this? Why can’t he just let you be?

You take a deep breath, the crisp air biting at your lungs, and tilt your head back to look at the stars. They’re beautiful, distant, and unattainable—just like the life you’ve always wanted.

Your hands shake slightly as you sip champagne, the liquid sloshing around in the crystal flute as you bring it to your lips. You don’t care if that is already your fifth glass.

You need something to numb the ache in your chest, something to drown out the sting of Mike’s words.

You fumble for a cigarette, pulling one from the pack with a trembling hand. The sweet strawberry scent fills the air as you lit it, inhaling deeply as the smoke curls around you like a shield. It doesn’t help.

The words he’d said—how you aren’t good enough, how you would never live up to his expectations—replays in your mind over and over.

You try to focus on the cool air, the quiet of the garden, but the ache in your heart doesn't go away. You felt completely exposed out here, the vulnerability that had crept in from Mike’s public humiliation gnawing at your insides.

You didn’t care that you were smoking in a garden meant for guests, you didn’t care about anything at all right now.

How long have you been out here? An hour? Two? You don’t even know anymore. Your head is fuzzy from the alcohol and the smoke, and all you want is for someone to make it stop.

But no one is coming.

Your phone buzzes in your purse, but you don’t bother looking at it. It can be anyone—your parents, Mindy, maybe even Seonghwa.

But the person you truly want to hear from is nowhere to be found.

The door to the garden creaks open behind you, the sound sharp and jarring. You flinch, not needing to turn around to know who it is.

The anger in the footsteps, the unmistakable tension in the air—it could only be Mike.

“YN.” His voice cuts through the night like a blade.

You take another drag from the cigarette, your back stiffening.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop acting like an embarrassment!” His words are sharp, accusing “What the fuck are you doing out here, smoking and drinking like some common—”

You whip around to face him, your own anger rising like a tide.

“I don’t need you to lecture me, Mike.”

“Clearly, you need someone to remind you of your place,” He shoots back, his tone venomous “You’re out here, embarrassing the family, and you don’t even care.”

Your lips curl into a bitter smile, your fingers still wrapped tightly around the cigarette.

“You’ve made it clear enough how you feel about me. Why don’t you just get lost and leave me the fuck alone?”

Your voice is raw, but your words are sharp and final.

Mike’s jaw clenches, his anger bubbling over. Before you can react, he steps forward, his hand lashing out and landing across your cheek with a sickening crack.

You gasp, your head snapping to the side from the force of the slap.

For a moment, everything goes still. The sting spreads across your face, your vision blurring, but it isn’t just the slap—it’s the realization that he didn't change during these years and his knack of hitting you when he's upset is still there.

That he can hurt you again, in front of everyone, and no one would stop him.

Your lip splits, the taste of blood mixing with the bitterness in your mouth. Your eyes fill with tears, but you blink them back, refusing to show weakness.

“You'll always be the same, right?” Your voice trembles with the weight of the words.

Mike’s chest heaves with anger, but you don't care. You aren't afraid of him anymore. His cruelty has pushed you to the edge for too long, and now, something inside you snaps.

But as much as you want to say more, to lash out at him for everything he has ever done, your throat tightens. You swallow the lump in your throat, clenching your fists at your sides.

“Get back inside, YN,” He sneers, turning on his heel “You’re making this family look pathetic.”

You stay silent, watching him walk away, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty garden. You sink back onto the bench, hands trembling.

You hadn’t expected him to hit you again—but it doesn’t matter. Nothing about this night matters anymore.

What is left for you? Where is Hongjoong?

As you sit there, all you can feel is the weight of his slap and the suffocating silence of the garden.

✮ ⋆

The mansion looms in the distance as you step out of the car, the cold air biting at your skin through your thin dress. The chauffeur doesn’t say a word, and you don’t acknowledge him.

You didn’t say goodbye to anyone at the party—didn’t even care if anyone noticed you slipping out.

You push open the front door, the familiar creak echoing in the grand, empty hall. The house is silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen and some maids doing errands.

It’s late, but a light glows faintly from the far side of the room. Dann’s mother is there, cleaning up, as she often does late into the night.

She looks up as you enter, her expression softening into concern the moment she sees you.

“Miss YN?” She says, her voice cautious yet kind “What happened to your lip?”

You touch your fingers to your mouth, wincing slightly at the sting of the torn skin. The dried blood cracks under your touch, but you force a small, dismissive smile.

“It’s nothing,” You say, your voice hoarse and detached.

She frowns, setting the dish towel down “It doesn’t look like nothing. Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod, unwilling to engage any further “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

Without waiting for a reply, you make your way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time you reach your room, the weight of the night is unbearable.

You close the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment before letting out a shaky breath.

The room is exactly as you left it—immaculate, pristine, and entirely too cold. You slip out of your dress, trading the suffocating fabric for a pair of loose sweatpants and an oversized hoodie.

Crawling into bed, you stare at the ceiling, the events of the night playing over and over in your mind.

Mike’s humiliating speech, the slap that still burns on your cheek, and the conspicuous absence of Hongjoong.

Hongjoong.

You held onto the hope that he would show up, that he’d swoop in and make everything feel bearable, but he didn’t. Not a call, not a message. Just silence.

Your chest tightens, and your throat feels raw as the urge to cry threatens to consume you.

But you don’t. You won’t.

You clench your jaw, swallowing hard against the lump that’s risen in your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away furiously, refusing to let them fall.

Crying feels like defeat, like letting Mike, Hongjoong, and everyone else see how much they’ve gotten to you.

You curl up on your side, staring blankly at the wall. The ache in your chest is suffocating, but you press your lips together, forcing yourself to stay composed.

Mike’s words echo in your ears—his sneer, his disdain. And the silence from Hongjoong—the boy who is supposed to be on your side, who is supposed to see you, really see you—is deafening.

But you won’t cry. You won’t give them that power.

You take a shaky breath and close your eyes, trying to block it all out. The humiliation, the loneliness, the betrayal—they’re all too much, but you won’t let them break you.

You are a Clarke. And YN Clarke doesn’t cry.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Hongjoong bursts into the venue, his heart pounding from the frantic drive. The event is still lively, guests milling about in elegant attire, but his eyes scan the room for one person only—you.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling to your name, his thumb hovering over the call button. With a shaky breath, he presses it, raising the phone to his ear as he moves through the crowd.

“Come on, pretty. Pick up.” He mutters under his breath.

The line doesn’t even ring—it goes straight to voicemail. His stomach sinks, and a fresh wave of panic washes over him. He tries texting instead:

Joongie♡: YN, I’m so sorry. I’m here now. Where are you? Please let me explain.

He hits send and watches the message sit undelivered, the grey checkmark mocking him.

“Damn it,” He hisses, running a hand through his hair.

“Hongjoong?”

A familiar voice cuts through the din. He turns to see your mother standing a few feet away, her brows knitted together in mild surprise.

“Mrs. Clarke,” He says, relief flooding his tone as he quickly approaches her “Have you seen YN? I’ve been trying to find her.”

Her expression softens, though there’s a trace of sadness in her eyes. She sighs, folding her arms across her chest.

“I haven’t seen her in a while. She might’ve left already.”

Hongjoong’s face falls “Left? Why would she leave?”

Mrs. Clarke hesitates, clearly choosing her words carefully.

“You know how these events can be… overwhelming. Sometimes, she just needs space.”

His heart twists. He can sense there’s more she isn’t saying, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he nods, his mind racing with worry.

“Did she… say anything before she left? Did she seem okay?”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she glances away briefly “She didn’t say much. But…” She pauses, then shakes her head “I think it’s best if you talk to her yourself. Maybe she is at home.”

Hongjoong nods again, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Thank you. I’ll find her.”

The elegant woman gives him a small, almost apologetic smile before stepping away, leaving Hongjoong standing amidst the glitz and glamour of the party.

The lights feel too bright, the laughter too sharp. He dials your number again, and when it goes straight to voicemail, his frustration bubbles over.

“Pretty, please, call me back,” He says into the phone, his voice strained “I need to talk to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. Please, just… let me know you’re okay.”

He hangs up, his chest heaving. Every second that passes feels like an eternity. He starts pacing, determined, Hongjoong sets off toward the exit, hoping against hope that he’s not too late to make things right.

After a twenty minute drive, Hongjoong pulls up to your house, his heart pounding as he steps out of the car. The sprawling mansion looms in the moonlight, its grandeur only amplifying his anxiety.

He jogs up the stone steps and rings the doorbell, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

After a moment, the door creaks open, and a maid greets him. Her expression brightens slightly when she recognizes him.

“Oh, Mr. Hongjoong, you’re a friend of Miss YN, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” He says, his voice laced with urgency “Is she home?”

The maid hesitates, then nods “I think she is in her room now, come in.”

Hongjoong exhales, his chest tightening “Thank you.”

He makes his way through the elegant hallways, his footsteps echoing faintly on the polished floors.

When he reaches your door, he finds it closed. He pauses, then knocks softly.

“YN? It’s me, Hongjoong,” He says, his voice trembling slightly “I… I need to talk to you. Please.”

There’s no response.

He knocks again, this time with more urgency “YN, I’m so sorry. I need you to know what happened. Please, just give me a chance to explain.”

Inside, you sit on the edge of your bed, your knees pulled up to your chest. You can hear every word he’s saying, the emotion in his voice tugging at your heart.

But you don’t move, your resolve firm. You can’t face him right now—not like this.

Hongjoong presses his forehead against the door, his fists clenching at his sides.

“I was tricked,” He says, his voice breaking “Dann… she gave me the wrong address. I thought I was going to the party, but it was all a lie. By the time I realized it was too late. I’m so sorry, YN. I didn’t mean to let you down.”

Still, you remain silent, staring at the door with a mix of anger, sadness, and exhaustion.

You want to believe him—you really do—but the weight of the evening keeps you rooted in place.

Hongjoong leans back, running a hand through his hair “I hate that I wasn’t there for you,” He continues “I know tonight was important to you, and I messed it up. But please, pretty… I care about you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Maybe it’s the humiliation still fresh in your mind or the sting of feeling abandoned when you needed him most.

Either way, you decide to stay quiet.

After a long silence, he sighs heavily “I get it, you don’t want to talk to me right now. That’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

He lingers by the door for a moment longer, as if hoping for a miracle. When none comes, he finally steps away, his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Inside, you exhale shakily, your hands gripping the edge of the bed. You feel torn, caught between your desire to open the door and the overwhelming need to protect yourself.

Maybe when you feel better—when the pain isn’t so raw—you can talk to him.

But for now, you stay where you are, letting the quiet of the room envelop you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

The next few days pass in a haze. You keep to your room, the curtains drawn and the world shut out. You don’t want to face anyone—Mike, your parents, your friends, and especially Hongjoong.

The humiliation from the party still lingers like a wound that refuses to heal, and you can’t bear the thought of their pity or judgment.

Your mother knocks on the door each morning, her voice soft and tentative, but you always feign a cough or complain of feeling unwell. It works, for now.

They let you stay hidden away, though you know it’s only a matter of time before they stop accepting your excuses.

By Wednesday, the isolation is starting to feel suffocating, but you still can’t bring yourself to leave.

The knock on your door comes earlier than usual, followed by your mother’s voice.

“Sweetie, it’s me. Can I come in?”

You hesitate, considering pretending to be asleep, but before you can answer, the door creaks open. She steps in, her expression a mixture of worry and sadness as she closes the door behind her.

She sits on the edge of your bed, smoothing the blanket with her manicured hands.

“You’ve been in here for days,” She says gently “I’m worried about you, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” You murmur, your voice hoarse “I just need some rest.”

She reaches out, brushing your hair “You don’t have to pretend with me, YN. I know how hard that night must have been for you.”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you feel your resolve waver.

But instead of breaking down, you pull the blanket tighter around yourself.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nods, her gaze softening “That’s okay. But I need you to know that… I’m here for you. No matter what.” You don’t respond, your eyes fixed on the wall. After a moment, she sighs and leans forward, kissing your forehead “I’ll let you rest. Just… don’t shut yourself off completely, okay?”

Later that evening, another knock sounds at your door. This time, it’s your father.

He doesn’t wait for permission before entering, holding a small black box in his hand.

“Darling,” He says, his tone unusually bright “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

You glance at him warily as he places the box on the bed beside you.

“What is it?”

“Open it and see,” He says, his smile strained.

You sit up slowly, pulling the box closer. Inside, nestled on a velvet cushion, is a sleek key fob. Your breath catches as you recognize the emblem—your father’s favorite luxury brand.

“A car?” You ask, looking up at him.

He nods, his smile faltering slightly “It’s parked in the driveway. I thought… after everything, you deserve something special.”

You stare at the key, a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this—tried to smooth over their failures with expensive gifts. When you were a child, it was toys, then clothes, then trips abroad.

Now, it’s cars.

“Thanks,” You say quietly, your fingers curling around the key.

Your father seems to relax at your response, as if the gesture has absolved him of guilt.

“Take your time, darling. Whenever you’re ready, we can go for a drive.”

You nod, watching as he leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re alone again.

You stare at the key in your hand, the weight of it heavier than it should be. It’s a beautiful gift, but it doesn’t fill the emptiness inside you.

It doesn’t erase the memory of Mike’s words or the ache of feeling like you’re always second best.

You set the key down on your nightstand and lie back against the pillows, closing your eyes. Maybe tomorrow, you’ll feel strong enough to face the world.

But for now, you stay cocooned in your room, the only place where you feel safe.

✮ ⋆

The next morning, you wake up before your alarm, determination burning in your chest. You’ve spent days locked away, hidden from the world, but that ends today.

No one at school knows what really happened that night, and you intend to keep it that way. As far as they’re concerned, you were just under the weather.

Also, after four days, you decide to turn on your phone, which immediately fills up with notifications of missed messages and calls. You decide to take a moment to review it.

10 missed calls from Mindy.

7 missed calls from Brat Woo.

2 missed calls from Hwa.

1 missed call from Mingi.

28 missed calls from Joongie.

486 unread messages.

You don't want to read so many messages, so you prefer to shut it down and start to get ready for the day.

You pull open your closet door and scan through the racks of designer clothes.

After a few moments, you settle on a pearl-white blouse that hugs your frame perfectly, paired with a plaid mini-skirt that shows off your legs, and your favorite jimmy choo’s high heels complete the look, adding the perfect touch of glamour.

Your makeup is flawless, of course. You conceal every imperfection, erasing any hint of the chaos you’ve endured.

The faint scab on your lip vanishes beneath a carefully chosen red lipstick, and the flush of blush gives your cheeks a healthy, radiant glow.

The girl staring back at you in the mirror looks exactly as she should: untouchable, effortless, and every bit the queen bee.

Outside, your new car gleams under the morning sun, a symbol of your parent’s guilt and their way of fixing everything with a price tag.

You don’t care. Today, it’s a weapon, and you know exactly how to use it.

The engine purrs as you pull into the school parking lot, catching everyone’s attention. Heads turn, conversations falter, and by the time you step out, all eyes are on you.

You move with purpose, your heels clicking against the pavement as you stride toward the entrance.

You can feel the weight of their stares, hear the murmurs of curiosity.

“Is that YN’s new car?”

“Didn’t she call in sick for the past few days?”

“She looks gorgeous!”

You smirk inwardly, keeping your expression neutral. Let them wonder. Let them speculate.

None of it matters.

Inside, your friends are waiting near your locker, their faces lighting up as they spot you.

“Babe! You’re back!” Mindy exclaims, her voice tinged with relief “We were so worried about you!”

“What happened? Are you feeling better?” Another friend chimes in.

You shrug casually, opening your locker as if this is just another normal day.

“I’m fine. Just needed a few days to recover from the flu. Nothing serious.”

Mindy’s eyes flicker to your car keys, which you’re holding deliberately in your hand.

“And the car? Is that new?”

You flash her a small smile, dangling the keys for emphasis “A little gift from my parents. They thought I deserved a pick-me-up.”

The group erupts into compliments, fawning over your car and your outfit. It’s almost too easy to redirect their attention.

But as you glance around, your gaze lands on Hongjoong in the distance entering the library.

Maybe it’s time to talk with him about that night, he owes you an apology.

“I see you in class, girls.”

Without waiting for a response, you make your way to the library.

The library is quiet, the faint rustle of pages and soft whispers creating a cocoon of calm. You scan the room until your eyes land on Hongjoong, sitting at a table with a few of his friends.

He looks up just as you approach, his face shifting between surprise and relief.

“YN,” He starts, rising from his seat, “I—”

“Save it for later, Hongjoong,” You cut him off sharply, your tone leaving no room for argument “We need to talk about what you said that night.”

He hesitates, glancing awkwardly at his friends, but your unwavering stare makes him nod and follow you to a secluded corner of the library.

Once you’re alone, you cross your arms, your eyes narrowing.

“Why didn’t you show up at the party? I waited for you for almost three hours, Joong.”

“I know, I know, pretty,” He says immediately, reaching out to steady your waist, his tone pleading “But like I told you that night, Dann tricked me—”

You cut him off again with a scoff, pulling back “Dann? You promised me you wouldn’t talk to her again.”

“And I didn’t start the conversation!” He protests, frustration creeping into his voice “She approached me that day at the mall.”

“What?” You blink, momentarily thrown off. The situation sounds ridiculous, almost laughable.

“That day, I was shopping, and out of nowhere, Dann appeared, asking what I was doing there. When I mentioned the party—” He pauses, sighing heavily as his hand rakes through his hair, “She told me the venue had changed and said she’d send me the new address. I thought it was odd, but when she mentioned your mom inviting her, I believed it.”

Your jaw tightens “And then?”

“I drove to the address she gave me,” He continues, his voice dropping with guilt “It was in the middle of nowhere. No signal, no way to contact you or anyone else. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late. I rushed back to the Ritz and then to your house as soon as I could, but…”

You’re silent for a moment, processing his words. None of it makes sense.

Dann, sweet, shy, unassuming Dann, pulling off a plan like this? The thought feels absurd.

Then again, you remind yourself, people aren’t always what they seem.

“And why did you trust her? Why didn’t you call me after she told you that?” You press, your tone sharper now.

Hongjoong’s hands tighten briefly around your waist before he mutters.

“She said maybe you were busy and forgot to tell me. I... I trusted her because she was my friend.” His voice is barely above a whisper, the admission dripping with shame.

“Oh my god, Joongie.” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head “I thought you were smart. But I understand. She was your friend, and you didn’t think she’d trick you like that.”

He bites his lip, clearly embarrassed, but when you reach out to cup his cheeks, lifting his gaze to yours, he softens.

“Now you owe me an apology,” You murmur, your lips brushing his lightly “You left me all alone.”

He smiles at your pout, a playful glint in his eyes “I know. What about dinner after school?”

You shake your head, frowning “I want another kind of apology. You know what I mean, Kim Hongjoong.”

And of course, he knows. But he can’t resist teasing you, just a little.

“We can’t do anything indecent here, pretty,” He murmurs, his hands slipping lower to rest on your hips as he pulls you closer “I don’t want to get us in trouble.”

You roll your eyes but let the moment linger for a breath longer before stepping back, a plan already forming in your mind.

“Fine,” You say, straightening your posture and fixing him with a determined look “But this isn’t over. And speaking of people owing me, I’m going to have a little chat with Dann. She has some explaining to do.”

Hongjoong stiffens, his playful demeanor vanishing “YN—maybe you should let it go. You know how Dann is. She’ll twist things, make it worse.”

“Not this time.” Your voice is steady, cold “She went too far, and I’m not letting her get away with it. If she wants to play games, I’ll show her how it’s done.”

He watches as you stride out of the library, determination radiating from every step.

He knows better than to argue when you’re like this, but even he can’t help the twinge of unease at the thought of what’s coming next.

✮ ⋆

The final bell rings, and students rush to leave the school. The hallways are alive with chatter, but you remain by your locker, surrounded by her entourage—Mindy, Wooyoung, Samantha, and a few others. Hongjoong lingers close by, his face a mixture of anticipation and tension.

As the crowd thins, you spot Dann walking down the hall, clutching her books, her head low as if trying to make herself invisible.

Your lips curl into a sharp smile, eyes glinting with cold determination.

“Dann!” You call out, voice slicing through the noise like a whip.

Dann freezes, her face draining of color. Slowly, she turns, her eyes wide as they meet yours.

It's been days since that day at the party and she’s been so nervous about you finding out what she did.

You saunter toward her, your friends following closely, their presence an unspoken threat.

“YN, I have to—” Dann begins, but you cut her off.

“Don’t even try, Dann. I’m not in the mood for your pathetic excuses.” You step closer, your gaze narrowing “I just have one question for you: What made you think you could lie to Hongjoong and me and get away with it?”

Dann swallows hard, glancing at the others, who are watching her like predators sizing up their prey.

“What—”

“Oh, don’t give me that!” You snap, throwing her hands up dramatically “You know what you did that day.” Dann’s panic builds, and her breath catches in her lungs for a moment “You didn’t mean to send Joongie to some random, deserted place? You didn’t mean to ruin my night?”

Dann’s grip tightens on her books “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You weren’t trying to what?” You interrupt, voice dripping with mockery “You weren’t trying to sabotage me? You’re such a bad liar, Dann.”

Mindy smirks, chiming in “I mean, seriously, Dann. Did you really think you could pull this off? You’re so… gullible.”

“And desperate,” Wooyoung adds with a chuckle, earning a snicker from the others.

You cross your arms, your expression one of feigned hurt.

“You know, I even gave you that dress for the party. That expensive designer dress. Because I thought, ‘Hey, maybe Dann deserves a chance to feel special for once.’” You pause “Guess I was wrong.”

Dann’s eyes well up with tears, but she shakes her head, trying to muster a defense.

“YN, I didn’t mean to ruin anything. I just—”

“Just what?” Your voice rises, drawing the attention of a small crowd of lingering students. “Just decided to be so dumb and submissive that you’d believe anything someone told you? Or are you working with someone?”

The accusation hangs in the air, and Dann’s lips part as if to respond, but she quickly closes them, her silence speaking volumes.

To everyone's surprise; Hongjoong steps forward, his jaw tight.

“You know what, Dann? I can’t believe I trusted you. You used to be my friend. I thought you were better than this.”

Dann flinches at his words, her composure slipping further.

“Joong, I…” Dann looks down, her tears threatening to spill over.

You smirk, stepping closer until you’re towering over Dann.

“Did you want me to be mad at him?”

Dann’s face flushes with humiliation, and she shakes her head vehemently.

“No! That’s not what I—”

“Save it, you’re pathetic, Dann. And you’re not just a liar—you’re a bad one. Honestly, I doubt you came up with this plan on your own. Someone must’ve put you up to it. Who was it?”

“Maybe it was Seonghwa, I saw them talking at the party.” Mindy snaps with a grin “Right, Dann?”

Dann remains silent, her lips trembling as she clutches her books tighter. She won't say a word about it, and you frown at the mention of Seonghwa’s name.

Seonghwa talking with her, What the fuck?

“No answer?” You laugh bitterly “I see, you’re too scared to even admit it. Well, let me give you some advice: Stay out of my way. You’re not in my league, Dann. You never were, and never will.”

Wooyoung steps forward again with a grin “You owe YN and Hongjoong an apology.”

“A real one. Not that half-hearted excuse you tried earlier.” Sam adds.

Dann’s tears finally spill over, and she whispers “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

You roll her eyes, turning to your friends.

“Let’s go. I’m done wasting my time on her.”

As they walk away, you glance over your shoulder one last time, lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

“Oh, and Dann? Don’t ever think about messing with me again. Next time, you won’t get off so easily.”

The crowd disperses, leaving Dann standing alone, her face streaked with tears. Behind her trembling exterior, a flicker of something else—anger or determination—takes root.

✮ ⋆

Dann steps are heavy, her hands trembling slightly as she clutches her bag. Tears still cling to her lashes, but her face is set in a grim determination.

The humiliation at school burns fresh in her mind, your cutting words replaying over and over like a cruel mantra.

By the time she reaches the front door of Clrarke’s mansion, her shame has transformed into anger—a searing, all-consuming fury.

She pushes open the heavy doors without hesitation, her steps echoing through the grand foyer.

There is Mike, sitting comfortably reading something.

“Mike.” She says, her voice firm despite the lump in her throat.

Mike looks at her, his expression cool and calculating as always. He closes the book, his sharp eyes scanning her face.

“Well, well,” He drawls, his lips curling into a smirk “You look like hell. Let me guess—Queen YN had her fun at your expense?”

Dann glares at him, dropping her bag onto the floor.

“She humiliated me again. In front of everyone.”

Mike chuckles, crossing his arms “That’s her style. Did you expect a thank-you card for all your hard work?”

“I expected her to be human for once,” Dann snaps, her voice trembling with emotion “But she’s not. She’s a monster. And I’m done being her punching bag.”

Mike’s smirk widens, a glint of approval in his eyes “Finally. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever grow a backbone.”

Dann takes a deep breath, forcing herself to steady “You were right. About everything. YN needs to be taken down. For good.”

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued “And you’re ready to do what it takes?”

“Yes,” Dann says without hesitation, her fists clenching at her sides “I want to destroy her. Her reputation, her relationships, her entire world—I want it all gone.”

Mike stands up, and walks directly in front of her “Now you’re speaking my language. But do you have a plan, or are you just here to vent?”

Dann lifts her chin, meeting his gaze with newfound determination.

“I thought you might have some ideas. You’re the one who’s been watching her for years, waiting for her to slip up.”

“I do have a few ideas. But if we’re going to do this, we’ll need to be smart. YN’s not stupid—she’ll see a direct attack coming from a mile away.”

Dann nods, her anger simmering just below the surface.

“So what do we do?”

Mike gestures for her to follow him, leading her to a luxurious sitting room where he pours himself a drink.

He takes a slow sip before speaking.

“We chip away at her. Little by little. She’s built this image of perfection and control, but all it takes is one crack for the whole thing to shatter.” He leans against the bar, his eyes gleaming with malice “We start with Hongjoong. Make YN doubt his intentions.”

Dann swallows, the weight of his words settling over her.

“How do we do that?”

Mike swirls his drink lazily, watching Dann with a satisfied smirk.

"Simple," He says "We make her think the one person she trusts most is betraying her."

Dann frowns, confused "Hongjoong? But he’s loyal to her."

He chuckles, shaking his head "Loyalty is fragile. YN’s world is built on power and control—she doesn’t trust anyone completely. If we plant the right seeds, she’ll start questioning even him."

Dann crosses her arms "How? He barely even talks to anyone outside of their little circle."

Mike leans forward, his voice lowering conspiratorially.

"I’m pretty sure that after that nerd missed the party, he will apologize to her, right? Maybe this time he will fuck her as an apology.” He smiles, his words full of venom.

Dann shifts uncomfortably at Mike’s crude words, but she doesn’t argue. He’s right—Hongjoong will go crawling back to you, desperate to make it up to you.

He’s like a lost puppy when it comes to you, willing to do anything to stay by your side.

Mike watches her reaction carefully, then smirks “And when that happens, we’ll act.”

Dann furrows her brows “What do you mean?”

He sets his glass down with a soft clink, straightening up.

“I’ll tell you later, now go.”

Dann hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face, but she does what he ordered. She turned around and left the room.

Whatever Mike is planning must be good.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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