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lebrookestore · 2 years

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for the record | l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Themes: strangers to lovers, rockstar! au, band! au, celebrity! au, journalist! reader, rockstar! taeyong, angst, fluff, slowburn, romance, very light comedy, PG-15; (moodboard)

Warnings: profanity, heavy ANGST, taeyong is a bit entitled at first, problematic paparazzi, kissing, food, alcohol consumption, drug use, a small mention of marijuana and use of it, smoking, lying, inaccurate depictions of the music and well as journalism industry, sexual innuendos, allusions to sex but nothing sexually explicit, suggestive

Word count: 51.4k

Summary: When you're presented with the opportunity to accompany the world’s hottest rock band, Cherry Bomb, on their latest tour for an article, you know it could be your chance at furthering your career and possibly acquiring a spot at the New York Times, every journalists dream. You strive to figure out the truth about all the rumours that seemed to hover around them, but you don’t anticipate are the extent of the lies involved, nor do you account for the charming front man.

Playlist: here

Notes from brooke: she’s finally here! and yes, on seeing that word count you can best believe that i am not just touching grass, but rolling around in it. this was supposed to be 25k but i sort of....got.....carried away....yEP!! it took four, almost five long months to write but i firmly can that it is one of the best things i have written and am very proud of it!! i worked harder on this fic than i have for any of my fics, so feedback would be greatly appreciated!! <3

You knew you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. It was, in no way, professional.

“What do you mean he’s dropping out?” Johnny’s voice was just loud enough to reach your ears from where you stood outside his office, saving you from the embarrassment of having to press your ear against the door. The editor had the habit of being pretty loud when he was distressed or pissed off, and that little fact was currently working to your advantage well. You stood there, holding your notes and listening carefully to the one side of the conversation you were unintentionally privy to.

“Are you kidding me? It’s the biggest piece he’d ever get to work on,” Johnny hissed and you could almost imagine him getting up from his seat and pacing around the room. You had been working at The Link newspaper for around nine months now and had managed to pick up the smallest details about your co-workers, a habit of yours had often helped you many a time.

The fact that Johnny had called this a big piece didn’t sound like much- after all, this was Los Angeles. There was a story waiting for you at every turn and corner if you looked hard enough for it, with so many aspiring actors and young D-List starlets running around the place, falling head first into any trouble they could find as long as it got them their fifteen minutes of fame.

LA hadn’t been the place you had initially wanted to end up in, far from it actually, but it was a start, one that you had taken on valiantly. After all, everyone had to start somewhere, and your brilliant plan was to somehow make it out of the sandy beaches of California and to the concrete jungles of New York by any means possible.

There was silence for a little bit, and you found yourself biting down on your lower lip, wishing you had access to the other end. A little shuffling, and then a frustrated-sounded slew of cursing.

“Damnit Taeil, that album went platinum in almost every country. That article would have gotten Jungwoo a spot in the New York Times if he wanted! He’s a fucking fool for dropping out.”

And now your mind was racing because the NYT had been your dream ever since your senior year of high school. Journalism was everything you loved and breathed, the fact making itself known when you worked on a newsletter for your school that year and realized how much you truly enjoyed the work of it. Managing to get a job at The Link barely a few months after you graduated from University was a feat in itself, but you had always loved dreaming big.

It seemed like Johnny was now done with the call because nothing more was being said. Remembering what you were there for in the first place, you readjusted your notes and knocked on the door politely.

You were one of the younger journalists at the paper, which also meant that you had mostly been assigned the less….appealing articles to work on. Things that no one ever read, the little pieces that were just there on the paper for decoration almost, but you still gave them your all.

You also knew that you were capable of much more.

“Come in.”

The usual jovial lilt that Johnny’s voice held was gone, now replaced with resignment over something he had clearly tried his best to avoid happening. You had a pretty good idea of what was going on by this point but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. A good journalist always did their research first.

Pushing the door open, you walked up to his desk where he sat, and placed your notes down, glancing up to meet his eyes.

Johnny Suh, editor-in-chief of The Link, was your boss. Graduating from a prestigious college and landing the job almost immediately after came with its perks, one of them being working directly under someone so high ranking. You supposed the flipside of being so lucky were the shitty topics you had been given to write about.

One thing you wanted to make very clear during this meeting was that you were just as good as your older colleagues. The editor was a no-nonsense type of guy, as easy-going as he was firm, so you knew you didn’t have to put on any frills or fancies to catch his attention.

“The notes from my last article,” You informed him gesturing towards the file you had put down on his desk. After he nodded, you narrowed your eyes at him. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“Your call with Mr Moon,” You prompted, taking a seat on the usually empty chairs opposite him to relieve your feet from standing on those stilettos that you wore to work. He raised a disapproving eyebrow.

“I don’t appreciate my calls being listened in on.”

“A good journalist has ears everywhere,” You countered smoothly, knowing just want to say to gain the advantage. Johnny sighed, somewhat impressed at how quickly you had managed to justify your actions even though they weren’t something he approved of. Although new, you had never been one to back down from a challenge, no matter what the task given to you was and he respected it.

Which was why he decided to tell you what the call was about, however risky that was. Stretching his arms out in front of him, he rested them on the mahogany desk in front of him and put your notes to the side, finally looking at you and the determined look on your face.

“Jungwoo dropped the most important article we could ever lay our hands on,” He stated bitterly, visibly annoyed by this fact. “Do you know of Cherry Bomb?”

A stupid question. Practically everyone knew who Cherry Bomb was even if they didn’t want to. The band had taken the world by storm from their very first album and held it by the neck throughout, even four years later, claiming their spot as the hottest band of the decade. You weren’t a die-hard fan by any means, but you indulged in listening to their music on occasion because they were admittedly fantastic.

The mention of an album from earlier made a little more sense now. You nodded, eager to know where this was going.

“They’re going on tour soon,” He continued, “Jungwoo’s task was to accompany them and write an article on it. It might not sound like much, but with the pull that they have, anything written about them is considered excellent. It could have made his career as a journalist, but the idiot decided to drop out.”

The information he just dropped was pure gold to you. You could agree on one thing- Jungwoo was a complete imbecile for letting something like this slip through his fingers, but you also loved him for it.

“Give it to me,” You offered immediately, sitting up straight in the uncomfortable chair. It was the opportunity of a lifetime in your eyes and there was no way in hell you weren’t going to jump.

“Come again?”

“Give the piece to me,” You repeated, crossing your arms over each other and leaning back. “The Cherry Bomb one, I can do it.”

He frowned, “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

You grimaced, disguising it poorly as you shook your head, determined. “Yes I am, I’m young enough to fit right in on a tour, and since I’m so new, unassuming enough to get all the details.”

Your points were valid because people loved someone unknown and small enough to be manipulated, a front you could put up to truly extract the information you needed. He shut his eyes for a moment, thinking it over before shaking his head once again.

“Y/n, I think you’re extremely talented, but-”

“But what?” You didn’t let him finish, refusing to leave the office without landing the article. “With all due respect, sir, cut the crap. The things I’ve been working on are stupid and unimportant, the last article you assigned to me was about lines outside of stores.”

You almost wished that wasn’t true, but it was. Because of it, you had been subjected to waking up early and walking about the city, interviewing random people who decided to spend their morning hours waiting outside a store for some sort of product- whether that be a new release of shoes, tickets for some sort concert, or even the new Cherry Bomb album.

You also knew you were pushing it because, for the most part, you were very respectful and careful about how you spoke with your colleagues, especially your boss, but you wanted to make sure he knew you meant business. Jungwoo’s trash would be your treasure.

He studied the expression your wore on your face and it told him that you weren’t going to back down in the slightest. Pressing his tongue to the side of his cheek, he contemplated your proposition. It would certainly make things easier, he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of telling Taeil to pick someone else. One less thing to worry about.

“There's just….one thing.”

You waited patiently, knowing from experience that people tended to give out more information if you stayed quiet. It was human tendency to want to fill a silence and you knew just how to take advantage of that.

“There seems to be a lot of dirt around the frontman of the band,” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “Lee Taeyong.”

“What type of dirt?”

“The type of dirt that the public love. Messy rumours and stories that everyone wants to know the truth behind. This piece isn’t so much about the tour and the band as it is about him.”

So that’s why this was so important. “An exposé?”

“Not exactly,” He clarified, “He’s been in quite a few scandals and they’ve been covered several times, but this piece is just to see if he’s improved and to get the truth behind it all. The good thing about it is that it doesn’t have to be anything too groundbreaking. It could be an article praising them for all I know and it would still do fantastic.”

The smile on your face widened even more. He was giving you information and that meant that you practically had this in the bag. This piece was yours, you just had to tip him over the edge to get a formal ‘yes’ from him. “I’ll write the best article you’ve ever seen.”

He adjusted his position in his seat, “You’ll be gone for months and will have to travel with them throughout the entire tour. Are you okay with that?”

“More than okay,” You assured him quickly. If anything, the prospect of being able to travel around the world only made you want this more. From what you had gathered, this was your chance at boosting your career and making a name for yourself in the journalism industry, inching closer and closer to your goal.

“Fine,” Johnny relented, “I honestly don’t have the time to think about this any further, so I’m trusting you won’t let me down. It’s gonna be a big step up from lines.”

You scoffed, crossing your legs over each other and drumming your fingers on the side of the spinning chair you sat in. This wasn’t what you had come to his office for at all, but you were, by no means, complaining. On the contrary, you were ecstatic, because you knew that this was exactly what you needed.

“Once I’m done, you won’t even think about making me write about lines ever again.”

From the very moment Taeyong walked through the door, he could tell that Irene was beyond pissed.

It wasn’t a new sight to him, he had been subjected to an angry manager many, many times before, almost too many to count. Since he was so used to it, he didn’t pay her too much attention as he plopped down on the couch in the studio, lazily resting his arm on the armrest and propping his legs up on the table in front of it.

“He lives,” Yuta muttered under his breath, the slightest smile on his face. Taeyong let his eyes scan the room, noting that each one of the members of his band- and his best friends- were present. He had known most of them since they were wide-eyed teenagers in high school with big dreams. Now, even four years later, there was not another group of people he would rather be stuck with.

Yuta was the drummer and a damn good one at that, the type of person who could make a beat out of almost anything he was presented with. He felt the most comfortable when he was sitting behind his drums, drumsticks in hand.

“Were we having a party I wasn’t told about?”

The don’t-care-ish tone of his voice very visibly didn’t sit well with Irene, whose glare only grew in intensity. She slapped a tabloid of sorts on the wall beside her, lips pinched in a mixture of exasperation and anger.

“This is not a party, Taeyong. With your track record, you should never be allowed into one.” Her words were clipped and swift, but she had always been one to literally and figuratively rip the bandaid off. Unaffected, he pouted.

“Aw, what did I do now?” The moment he said that she held that very tabloid up for the entire band to squint at, and he could just about make out the headline of it.

“You,” she said the pronoun with such distaste that Taeyong had half a mind to act offended, but he knew better than that. If anything, he probably deserved the treatment she was dishing out to him right now. “Went and got caught by the paps a few nights ago, drunk as fuck with another girl hanging off your arm like candy.”

His eyes focused on the poorly taken picture that was plastered all over the front of the tabloid. As terrible as the photograph was, one thing that fame had taught him was that if you had fans, you could be recognized from just about anything, and it was definitely him on there.

He didn’t even remember the girl's name. Pity.

“You called us all here for this?” Doyoung cut through the silence, a disgruntled look on his face. Doyoung was on keys (synthesizer to be exact), but was somewhat of a prodigy, being able to master almost any instrument he put his mind to and could probably be his own band if he wanted to. He was also what you’d refer to as the responsible one of the group, the one with the least drama and frankly and no interest in it at all.

The other two in the band were Mark and Jeno, two guitarists that were excellent in their own right. Jeno was the youngest, and the only one that hadn’t known the rest since their high school days. They met the boy at the building of their label, and he blended in so well with the rest of the band that having him be a part of it had been a no-brainer decision to make.

“I was just having some fun,” Taeyong protested, “All the other guys do it as well.”

“Yes Taeyong, but they aren’t the front of the group, neither are they the media's favourite portrayal of a fuckboy, even if you live up to that title better than you should.” She snipped agitatedly, slapping the tabloid against the wall, prompting him to sigh.

That was what he was. Lee Taeyong, frontman, and the bassist. He was also one of the main vocalists, though the entire band did the singing as a team.

When he started out at the tender age of nineteen, he never expected to be thrust into the limelight as he had been. Managing to land the record deal when they were nothing more than wide-eyed kids with a dream was a miracle in itself, but what seemed like an overnight success was overwhelming.

He had taken on the role of something of a leader within the band, but it had come with its own set of rules. Being the face of the group meant that he received more attention than the others, something he had never been pleased about due to situations like this, but he had gotten used to it.

So what if he was known as the fuckboy?

He was the fuckboy that had several shiny awards under his name, and he was fine with owning it.

Enter Irene, their manager who had been with the group since day one. Now, she pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, carefully so that her pointed nude-coloured acrylic nails wouldn’t dig into her perfect skin.

“Tour is coming up,” She warned sternly, “For once could you put on your big boy pants and behave? You have to be on your best behaviour.”

“Irene,” He drawled, “When am I not an angel?”

“Your halo looks a lot like devil horns from here,” She grumbled, shutting her eyes and mentally counting to ten. Despite all her complaining about their wild lifestyle, he knew she loved being with them too much to quit working for them. Taeyong grinned unabashedly, sinking further into the plush cushioning of the sofa to get comfortable.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Look, I mean it when I say I need you guys to be good on tour,” She explained. “It’s all of your chance of clearing your name to an extent. A journalist is accompanying us this time and one article that doesn’t talk about any of you being drunk or running out of a bar with yet another woman would be lovely for your image. We work our asses off to keep you out of shit so the least you could do is take advantage of this.”

She was speaking to the entire group, but Taeyong knew it was a message specifically for him. He was no stranger to the speech and was frankly pretty bored of it at this point. He always loved the spotlight, he had been made to be on stage and in the studio, but if there was one thing he despised about it all was how unfair the media could be.

Cherry Bomb was only four- almost five years old, but its popularity came with its drawbacks, one they had to get used to early on. Their lives weren’t normal in the slightest, but after experiencing it daily, it turned into the new normal.

“A journalist?” Jeno asked sceptically, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I thought we kept the press off our asses during tour.”

The world tour, one to promote their latest album, Cherry On Top, and the most highly anticipated one of theirs yet. This was an important year for them, with the tour and the hope for Grammy nominations, everything had to go perfectly.

“Typically- yes- but Renjun and I both agree that this could be good for the band since it’s more of an observational piece.” She mentioned their publicist, who was miraculously somehow even more hot-headed than she was. Another person Taeyong was used to upsetting on the daily because it was their publicist's job to keep his fan image intact, and he always managed to disrupt that.

Irene glanced at him, a wary look on her face. “So please Taeyong, this is important, especially after what….has transpired.”

She didn’t have to elaborate at all because he knew exactly what she was talking about, all of them did. It brought a bitter taste to his tongue, but he swallowed it, forcing himself to give her his usual lazy smile.

“Of course, I’ll be good,” He promised, making a show of putting his hand over his heart as if he was swearing on it, dragging his index finger over the area in a crossing motion even though he knew well enough that it didn’t hold much weight, “I’ll let someone else have a chance to lash out. Give Doyoung a turn to be freaky.”

In response, the ever-serious Doyoung threw one of the pillows at him. Taeyong yelped, managing to catch it right in time before it fell to the floor, digging his fingers into the foam pillow to grip it better. The manager shook her head, tired of their childish antics.

Even with the nonchalant attitude he possessed and his quick wit, he wasn’t stupid, not in the slightest. The latest thing he had been accused of was not something to laugh about, but he had become pretty good at ignoring the paparazzi that he knew he’d manage to get out of it easily enough- he had to.

For the band.

It started to hit you that this was really happening when you found yourself standing alone in one of the tour buses.

There were four of them in total, one for the band, the manager, the publicist and you and three for the staff. You had arrived early to get a feel for everything and settle in so that you weren’t completely lost. All the buses were parked as of now, waiting for their occupants to arrive.

In the few weeks that you had to prepare, you had done intensive research. You knew each of their names and their roles in the band, you had listened to some of their music to familiarise yourself with it, making sure that you weren’t going to be tagging along like some sort of wide-eyed kid.

You were a professional, and you were going to make sure you seemed like one.

“Who the hell are you?”

You whipped your head around to see a man standing there with a perplexed look on his face. He was staring at you like you were some sort of criminal who had broken into the vehicle, and so to dispute this possible theory, you cleared your throat to introduce yourself.

“I’m doing a piece for The Link? The journalist?” You prompted in hopes that it would jog his memory as you walked over and held your hand out. “Y/n L/n.”

Recognition flashed through his eyes as he took your hand and shook it firmly, nodding. “Right, Huang Renjun, I’m Cherry Bombs publicist. Sorry about that, but catching a crazed fan who managed to sneak in the last tour is enough to get someone paranoid.”

Jesus Christ. You shook your head, a little surprised at that tidbit of new information. You weren’t a part of the majority who did listen to the band religiously, so you didn’t know much about the fan culture at all, but from the looks of it, it seemed to be pretty crazed.

“Don’t worry about it,” You assured him, giving him a warm smile so that he’d feel more at ease around you. In the back of your mind, you made a mental note to try and keep him out of your way as much as possible, because a publicist's job, along with the managers, is to make sure that their client looks good at any given moment.

For this reason alone, it was quite unfortunate that you had been assigned to share a living space with them over the next five months. Your job was to get the most authentic version of the truth that you possibly could, while theirs was to project the perfect image. The contradiction was going to be tough to work around, but you would somehow have to make it work.

You were only accompanying them for the North American leg of the tour, which meant that after those five months they would be leaving for another three months to finish the rest of the shows.

“Well, you’re pretty early,” He observed, scanning the inside of the bus. “The guys have just arrived with Irene, so if you want to meet them you can go do that now.”

You thanked him politely and left the bus, giving him time to settle in by himself. Since it was the first time you would be meeting them, there was no reason to take your phone with you to record any sort of interview (something you’d have to do during the course of the tour). For now, all you needed to do was get acquainted with the people you would be dealing with.

Walking out to the front, you saw a group of people conversing. The woman was instructing the rest of them- presumably staff- where they had to go. Off to her side was an even smaller group of just four people, but you knew who they were the moment you set your eyes on them.

Cherry Bomb.

Sucking in a deep breath, you psyched yourself up for what was to come. When the larger group dispersed, you decided that it would be a good time to finally meet your topic.

The heels of your boots clicked on the gravelled floor as you made your way over, rehearsing what you were going to say in your head. Confidence was another thing that was crucial in your line of work since most of the time, journalists had to put themselves in the thick of their work. Experience what they were writing upfront just like you were supposed to.

Other than your love for writing, it was your love for travel that pulled you into journalism. Growing up in a middle-class family meant that you had lived a fairly comfortable life with a roof over your head and a warm plate of food on the table, but it didn’t include the extravagant holidays abroad that you had seen all your friends go on. You were stuck at home every summer while they experienced a part of the world that they had never been to before. You knew that some articles would require you to travel, which meant that you could do what you truly loved.

Like now. This tour was possibly the best thing that could have ever happened to you because it was five whole months of travelling. Granted, you wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy every single destination, but it was better than nothing at all.

The woman turned around and spotted you, asking a question before you even had the chance to speak. “Are you the journalist?”

“Pleased to meet you, I am,” You continued as smoothly as you could, even though she had completely thrown you off by being so abrupt. Clearly, she was much more prepared than the publicist. Looking away from her, you eyed the boys that stood beside her before realizing something.

One was missing.

“Right well, this is Doyoung, Yuta, Jeno, Mark, and I would introduce you to Taeyong, but he’s late.” The unamused tone of voice that she used told you that it wasn’t the first time the mentioned man had been late, but you brushed past it, smiling courteously at the other members that were present at that moment.

You introduced yourself once again, noting each one of them. Of course, you knew who they were already, you had made sure to memorize who was who so you’d have an easier time working.

For world-famous rockstars, they weren’t really all that intimidating. One of them- Jeno you remembered- returned your smile cheerfully, his eyes turning into little crescents of joy. It was honestly kind of cute and the others greeted you in the same way, welcoming. The politeness of your simper almost turned into something genuine, but that would have been far too much for a first encounter.

Doyoung’s expression, however polite, was doused in scrutiny towards you, but you couldn’t blame him. It was warranted.

Stay professional, you repeated silently to yourself. As lovely as they might be, this is a job, you’re not here to make friends. They knew you were supposed to be there, they were used to the attention.

Still, maybe making friends with them would be a good idea. If there was a level of trust between all of you, you’d effectively be able to get much more out of them-

“Must you always start without me?”

Your thoughts scattered almost immediately at the sound of the new voice like someone had thrown them out into the wind before you could even protest against it. The smooth, low tone of it went straight to your stomach and no one had ever been able to do that before.

You looked to your side to see who it belonged to, lips parting when you noticed the new face.

Dark messy hair that had a hint of red in it and intense eyes, crimson lips that had no doubt had thousands of teenage girls around the globe wishing they could press a kiss on them, he stood there in all his glory. He donned a jacket over a simple tee shirt and jeans, but there was just something about the way he carried himself that made it seem like more, one of those rare, enigmatic specimens of humankind.

Lee Taeyong.

And god, he was exceptionally beautiful. The music videos you had watched didn’t do him justice.

You didn’t even need the woman to tell you who he was, because you knew him very well, or at the very least, you knew most of the surface-level stuff. While you had done your digging into all the members, it was him who you had focused the most upon due to the tip Johnny had given you. He was the actual reason you were here.

“We wouldn’t if you showed up on time,” She scowled. He seemed completely unfazed at this. “Cut me some slack Irene, I left on time. There was traffic, including a swarm of fans outside my house.” He grimaced at that last bit, like the fresh memory of it was too much for him.

You had to take back your previous statement of them not being intimidating because Taeyong definitely was. His dark brown irises slowly swept over the group, deliberately even, and came to rest on you. A cocky smile rested on those lips of his and intrigue entered his eyes as he studied you.

Most of your intel was public knowledge. His name, the fact that he was twenty-three and had been in the spotlight since he was just nineteen, which was by normal standards, barely a freshman in college. Of course, nothing about him was normal at all, but it was the comparison you had chosen to remember the fact.

And then there were the more interesting things. All the scandals he had managed to get pulled into, the way his name seemed to ghost every major celebrity slip up. From being caught on the regular with a new supposedly unsuspecting girl wrapped around his little finger to being caught drunk in Vegas, it was all too amusing to read.

Then you found something that put all of those measly scandals to shame. This? This was the real deal.

Superstar Lee Taeyong Sleeping His Way to the Top?

From the moment you spotted the article, you knew you had to know more. It wasn’t something that could be easily brushed to the side like the other rumours, it was a serious accusation that could potentially involve a nasty court case if it rippled out of control. Fortunately, there wasn’t much evidence for now.

It seemed like the writer of it knew this very well because they had remained anonymous. Worse, it had gotten a lot of attention from major media outlets and all of them started pointing out how quickly the band had managed to gain popularity and hit the charts. It seemed to fall into place perfectly.

But you knew how the media worked, you knew that anyone and everyone would pounce on the chance to sell a story, and this wasn’t any different. You knew that the real thing- the truth- was often much simpler to explain. Most of the time, it was a far cry from what was being thrown around by tabloids and newspapers.

And you were going to figure out exactly that.

“And you are?” He inquired after a minute or so, the weight of his gaze had you rooted to the spot, cheeks warming. Even though this was the third time that day you would be introducing yourself, something about it felt a little different. Part of you was dying to find out if he was like they said, the other part wanted to know the person beneath that.

“Y/n,” You said slowly, “I’m a journalist doing a piece about the band and the tour.”

That infuriatingly attractive smirk on his face never faltered as he nodded. “Lovely to meet you, I hope we’re interesting enough.”

He hadn’t even bothered to tell you who he was like he somehow knew you had come prepared. You pressed your lips together, caught off guard with how self-assured he was, but also very intrigued.

“I’m sure you are.”

Somehow, Taeyong was everything you had expected and nothing like it at all.

The first night consisted of travelling, shouts on the bus you were staying on and music being played. You made small talk with the band, mostly Jeno, and sometimes with Renjun, but mostly watched from the sidelines. You joined them for dinner and laughed under your breath at the bickering between Doyoung and Taeyong and the sarcastic comment Yuta made about them in the passing.

You were surprisingly comfortable around all of them and your polite smile turned into a genuine one throughout the evening. Part of you was glad about that, the entire ordeal would be much easier to deal with if you weren’t constantly guarded.

It was the day of the first show of the Cherry On Top tour, the Chicago one, which was where you had woken up that day on the bus. You had never seen a more efficient set of staff as they quickly worked to set up the stage for the show that evening, from special effects to lighting, they worked hard to create a show the fans would remember and love.

Currently, you sat in the empty stadium, smack dab in the middle with an excellent view of the stage where the band was rehearsing. Even though it was just a simple rehearsal where they only ran through their songs and made adjustments when needed, it was still fascinating to watch their process.

The stage was huge, and even though there were dancers to fill up the space, the five men managed to dominate the entire thing, their presence striking and eye-catching.

It was also becoming increasingly obvious why Taeyong was the frontman of the group. He stood in the middle, guitar in hand as he sang into the mic, managing to grasp the entirety of your attention. The others were jaw-dropping as well, but there was something about him that was so entrancing that you couldn’t look away.

You told yourself that it was because you had to pay attention to him, nothing more, but he was a hard person not to pay attention to.

Soon, they called for a break, leaving their instruments on stage to come back to later. You didn’t move, however, staying nestled comfortably in your seat as you intently watched all of this take place. After all, the major part of your job was to observe, the smaller, much more important bit would only come with time but you weren’t too worried about it considering you had months to figure that out.

It kind of felt like you were on vacation and part of you wanted to get up and offer help, feeling very out of place as you saw everyone else running about, but you had to stop yourself from doing so. It wasn’t your place, and you’d have something to write by the third week of the tour for sure.

“Enjoying the show?”

You startled slightly, looking up to see Taeyong standing to the side of your seat, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. Once you had acknowledged his presence, he settled down in the seat next to you, legs slightly spread as he stretched his arms in front of him.

“The best show I’ve been to,” You said with a small grin, truthful. “And the only one.”

Surprise took over those pretty features of his. “You’ve never been to a concert?” He spoke like you had committed some sort of cardinal sin, blasphemy even.

“Nope,” You popped the p, shaking your head. The truth was that you would have killed to have gone to one as a kid, but just like travelling really hadn’t ever been in the cards for you, neither had a concert. You had had several artists you loved, but concert tickets were expensive, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ask your parents if you could get any.

“The first time I went to one was when I was fourteen.” His eyes were trained on the stage, the nostalgic look in them catching your attention. You sat up a little straighter, ready to drink in the information he was about to give you. “It was the moment I knew I wanted to do that for the rest of my life.”

“Something tells me you never go back on your word.” You acknowledged. Almost ten years later, he was doing exactly what he had promised himself he would and you admired the hell out of it.

“I don’t,” He hummed in confirmation, before finally looking back at you. “So, what do you think? About our performance, I mean.”

You thought about it for a moment before you answered him. “I think I’ll wait until the actual performance till I form an opinion, so it’s the most accurate, but so far I think you guys are amazing.”

Taeyong raised an eyebrow as if to say he didn’t believe that, “You don’t already have an opinion?”

“Was I supposed to?” You countered back, holding his gaze. You had interviewed plenty of people before, but never had you challenged them back- it wasn’t your job. What you were set to do was to gather information and string that information into something to be read, so you couldn’t quite explain why you had become so bold all of a sudden.

A slow, languid smile spread on his mouth as he studied your face like he held a secret that no one else knew and it amused him.

“People like you always have opinions.”

“People like me?”

“Journalists,” He said simply, and you would have been offended if you didn’t know he was right. The celebrity world thrived on opinions, they were the fuel to the ever-burning fire, fanning it day in and day out so it would never die.

And you knew for a fact that he had been subjected to the majority of all those opinions, some less civil than others. It should have been enough for him to be completely reclusive towards you, yet, he was somehow so calm around you and had even made the effort to come up there and talk to you.

He was really something, you concluded, something you wanted to figure out.

“I prefer to have sight of the entire picture instead of drawing assumptions from thin air.” You chose your words carefully. “That work for you?”

The look in his eyes softened a little into something more genuine and he nodded, agreeing with you. “You’re going to base your opinion off of a performance that you view backstage?”

“I got a frontstage view from here, and the best part is that it’s without all the screaming fans.”

“I love it when we walk on stage and the entire stadium is screaming,” He admitted with a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s invigorating, sometimes we can’t even hear the music in our earpieces because of it.” You could tell that the band had a very strong bond just from the way he spoke about them- it was almost a little envy-inducing if you were being honest.

He let out a soft sigh, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the plastic handrest of the seat. “But there’s something magical about empty stadiums too, the silence is…deafening almost, but in the best way possible. All this silence is somehow filled by the evening, and I didn’t realize how much that meant until I experienced it first hand.”

He still hadn’t looked away, and the air between the two of you shifted ever so slightly like you had gone from strangers to acquaintances.

Maybe more. It wasn’t rocket science for anyone to notice the interest you held in him- professional or not- neither was it hard to pick up on his effort to come to talk to you.

“I can never choose if I like the emptiness or the full one more,” He confessed quietly to you, and it was only then you realized how close he was. For some reason, even though that little bit of information wasn’t anything groundbreaking, it felt important. He felt more real than any other person you had ever interviewed had, and that sounded cold in a way, but that was just how it was.

(Then again, your most fantastic piece until this point had been about people standing in lines-er - not something you were entirely proud of.)

“Maybe you don’t have to choose,” You muttered, your voice somehow sounding louder than it actually was. “Maybe you can have it all.”

It was only then that he looked away, scoffing slightly under his breath. The spell was broken, snapping you out of the slight trance he had managed to put you under, and you pressed your lips together, watching as his demeanour changed in the blink of an eye.

“In our world? No one can have it all.”

The opening act had just finished and the crowd was riled up, excited for the main event coming up. Kim Hyoyeon, a rising pop-rock star, was said to be amazing on stage and she definitely lived up to it, giving the fans exactly what they wanted and just enough to prepare them for what was to come.

Backstage was the epitome of chaos, you couldn’t keep track of anything that was happening at any given point in time. You didn’t know how Irene managed to stay so calm the entire time, but you chalked it up to her being used to the commotion. The look on her face was serene as she dished out instructions without even breaking a sweat.

Of course, it was a different story when the boys actually emerged from their greenrooms with make-up artists flocking them to touch up their make-up. They looked fantastic, feeding into their signature rocker look with the leather jackets and ripped jeans that drove the crowd wild.

Each outfit was different but tied together well regardless, making them look like the perfect team.

And for some reason, you lingered on Taeyong, who donned a red leather jacket that matched his hair over a black vest that was loosely buttoned over leather pants. To top it off, several pretty earrings hung from his ear piercings, the icing on the cake. He was the type of guy who stood out and was gorgeous in every situation, but with the way, his hair was styled and make-up was done, that attribute of his was elevated.

In short, Lee Taeyong was hot as hell, and you were willing to bet on the fact that he knew it.

“You’re on in five,” Irene warned them and like clockwork, they all made their way towards a part of the stage that had been previously lowered down with all their instruments arranged on it. Yuta took his place behind the drums, Doyoung behind the keyboard and Mark, Jeno and Taeyong picked up their respective guitars. Then they gathered together and put their hands together, saying something before yelling out the name of their band. A pre-show ritual, you presumed.

Just as they did, Taeyong glanced back and somehow spotted you throughout the chaos. The side of his mouth curled up into a wry smirk as he adjusted his guitar in his hands and mouthed.

‘Enjoy the show.’

Hyoyeon returned backstage and it was then when the part of the stage that they were standing on began to slowly rise. You could hear the screams of the fans get louder with every passing second as the band emerged for them to see. To you, however, they dulled out due to the fact that you were still caught up in the fact that he chose to look at you.

Oh lord. What on earth were you thinking? You had known this man for a grand total of three days give or take, and even saying you knew him was a stretch.

But you did. You knew far too much.

The music began, loud and intense, you could feel it in your stomach even backstage. You could just about hear their voices and how well they blended with each other, having much more energy and stage presence than they did in the afternoon. After all, this was the real deal, the real show.

The first show of the tour was today, and the tour itself would last from May to the beginning of September. It was the kickstart, the show they had to start with an absolute bang to set the tone for the rest of it. Even though you couldn’t see them out there, you were kind of glad you decided to wait before forming a proper opinion to present to Taeyong. You could tell that they were one hell of a band just from listening to them play.

You didn’t get to see them during the twenty-second breaks they got to change outfits, but you could see the commotion that followed with the staff running around with the clothes and water bottles with straws in them. The scene jerked you to reality and reminded you that you were supposed to be noting things down to write about.

All you had been doing was enjoying and basking in the feeling the concert was giving you, but you weren’t getting paid to write about your feelings, were you?

Definitely not.

It was over just as quickly as it began and you were envious of those sitting outside that were able to watch the show and take it in its entirety. Now, you had to put together what you remembered from the rehearsal with what you could hear from where you were with your imagination. It wasn’t like you had a terrible imagination or anything of the sort, quite the opposite. What you were a little afraid of was that if you ever did get the opportunity to see the show, it wouldn’t live up to what you had concocted in your mind.

That was ridiculous because what you were here to do was to tell the truth, not to hope for something else. And besides, you were sure that it would be positively out of this world.

They walked backstage as the show ended, grins painting their faces with pride at what they had just done. A smile of your own made its way onto your face as you watched them saunter out. Yuta raised a closed fist in the air with a triumphant look and the rest follow suit after him.

Backstage erupted in cheers for the successful first show and you were quickly pulled in to celebrate with them, even though you had nothing to do with it. For once, even Irene allowed herself to smile at Taeyong, which was a rare sight on the observation of the constant glares she sent his way and the expression of pleasant surprise on his face.

But then she said something to him and the happy look in his eyes dulled out ever so slightly, no one else would have caught it. He swallowed and then turned to look at you from across the room as she continued to speak. He dropped his eyes and nodded and she smiled again, patting his shoulder and walking away.

You didn’t know why, but suddenly you had the strong urge to try and reinstall the look he had before she said whatever she did that managed to take it away. The feeling was quick and rushed but strong and without even thinking you began walking over to do just that.

“My opinion remains,” You said after clearing your throat. For a split second, the usual self-assured look that he possessed wasn’t there, but just as quickly as it had disappeared, it was back. He raised an expectant eyebrow, prompting you to continue.

“The best show I’ve ever been to,” You repeated your words from earlier. “Even if I didn’t get to properly watch it.”

He was amused, you could tell from the way he was looking at you. Something about it had a flame alight in the pit of your stomach and you were mystified by it because it had never happened before, for you weren’t the type of girl who was easily flustered or affected by simply a look given in your direction by a pretty boy.

You were usually good at deciphering what you felt, but this time you were at a loss, grasping at any semblance of an idea for what it could be that your mind presented to you.

Taeyong leaned over a little, “You will one day.”

And with that he strolled off, disappearing once again behind the doors of his green room. Once he was out of sight, you let out a breath that you didn’t even know you had been holding in and grabbed one of the water bottles from the table, unscrewing it and taking a large gulp.

Thinking was turning out to be dangerous, but for some reason, you didn’t want to stop.

“This isn’t water.”

Taeyong held out the plastic bottle he had taken from the mini fridge on the tour bus in front of his face, before throwing a confused look at his bandmates. It was only them who were awake then, still high off the adrenaline rush the show had given them, while everyone else was sleeping in the upstairs section of the bus.

“It’s not,” Mark confirmed without even looking up from his laptop. “It’s vodka.”

He wasn’t surprised, and shrugged, taking another swig of the drink and settling down on the couch. Smuggling alcohol onto the bus wasn’t a first, they had been doing so since before they were even legally allowed to drink, and although he was sure their manager knew about it, over time she found it easier to just let it slide. The number of things one could get away with when they were famous was astounding, some things better than others.

“I’m surprised you’re here with us and not at some bar,” Doyoung cut into the conversation, squinting at his friend. Taeyong frowned lightly at that statement and how it made him sound, even though he knew band mates didn’t think of him like that.

“I do that when we have a few days in the city, not if we’re travelling straight away.”

Doyoung must have noticed the slight clench in Taeyong’s jaw because he continued. “There’s nothing wrong with it, I just thought you were following Irene’s orders. Best behaviour and shit for Y/n.”

Taeyong sighed and took another large sip of the vodka. This conversation was reminding him far too much of the brief one he had had with his manager right after his show, something he really didn’t want to think about.

“It’s started perfectly Taeyong, don’t ruin it.”

Irene’s cold gaze was trained on him, making sure every word had sunken in because she was right, unfortunately. The first show had been a roaring success, good enough to drown out the rumour that had clung onto his skin more than anything ever had.

“You might not think it, because she wasn’t the reporter we were expecting to be tagging along, but she is watching. Don’t be fooled.” She warned, before patting his shoulder twice to make up for her harsh words. Encouragement on the smallest scale.

The moment she said that Taeyong looked at you. He didn’t know how he could feel you already watching him from where you were, but it only solidified what she had said about you, as much as he didn’t want to believe it. You were different from the press he had to deal with on the daily, you were genuine- or at least, that’s how he perceived you.

He hoped he was right because not even a moment you walked up to him and said something that had a smile threatening to break out on his face. He liked the fact you seemed different and he wanted it to be true, to be pleasantly surprised for once.

Scandals- he didn’t give two shits about them. Stressing over them was a waste of time, for the most part, created by a reporter that needed a little boost to their name because they were bad at actually finding credible information. They were rumours that were taken way out of proportion and everyone in the business was a goddamn hypocrite.

So he went out for a drink? Big fucking deal, everyone did that. He would never understand how he got backlash for letting loose once in a while when millions of people around the globe did the exact same thing, sometimes more so than he did. The media loved exaggerating and more often than not, taking things out of proportion when there was no need to.

Most of the time he ignored them and went on with his life, getting obsessed and tied down to people’s flaky opinions was a waste of time he didn’t have. Every week there would be a new picture of him in some magazine somewhere in the world with a new incriminating thing to add to his name, even if he truly hadn’t done anything.

It was a never-ending cycle.

But this time….this time pretending to be oblivious wouldn’t work. One little article had blown way out of proportion to the point where he expected a question about it from every reporter that managed to step in his way. It was maddening at this point, he didn’t want to be judged for the way he spent his nights, he wanted to be judged for his music.

The worst part about it was the weight it held and the fact that it could drag the band down with him.

Which was why he wanted you to be different. Your eyes didn’t have that hungry, vindictive look he was so used to, you looked more authentic than all the fraudulent people he had to grin and bear with on the daily.

Unfortunately, reality had no place for that type of useless, hollow hope, so he had no choice but to be on his best behaviour to make sure that you wrote only good things. Even if it was all fake, he had to get on your good side for the sake of the other four people that would be dragged down with him if he didn’t.

“Yeah,” Taeyong mumbled as the alcohol kissed his throat with a burning sensation he so often turned to for comfort. “Gotta keep up appearances.”

Nakomoto Yuta was charming with his long, unruly hair and Cheshire cat grin. One mere glance at him would have you know that he was a force to be reckoned with, a force that many would die to have with them in their beds and he couldn’t deny the fact that he had his fair share of nightly fun.

He was a realist and a cynic, two qualities you generally enjoyed in a person, especially a subject. It made it easier to get the truth out of them.

So to your immense surprise, you were extremely bored.

Now, it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t an interesting person- he absolutely was. You knew an interview with him would also cash in the big bucks, but you were greedy and ambitious. You had your eyes on a different prize, the biggest fish in the pond.

Taeyong, of course.

To you, he was much more interesting. As real as Yuta was, Taeyong was guarded, he knew exactly how much to give the public and what to say. Over the past few shows you had spoken with him pretty often, striking up an odd friendship of sorts, but every interaction left more to be wanted from it. He challenged you back and left you thinking about what you had given and what you had taken.

The truce between the two of you had begun the day of the first show when both of you sat in that empty stadium and he told you his motivations for becoming what he was today. It benefited you nicely because you didn’t have to scour around and beg for details.

It didn’t mean that you didn’t have to work for it, though, because you definitely did. The talk between you two was mundane at most, everyday things. The type of coffee he liked, on which he would turn around and ask you the same question. More than anything, it was a trade-off, bartering on both ends.

Even so, you found yourself more interested in those little snippets of facts than the little interview you were holding with Yuta right now, and you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out why.

“Y/n? Are you even listening to me?”

You quickly looked at Yuta, whose eyes were filled with dancing mirth at your unattentiveness. He didn’t seem offended though, and you winced. “Sorry, I kind of got lost in my thoughts there.”

“Anyone could have seen that, you’re boring the pretty lady Nakamoto.”

Speak of the devil, Taeyong himself stood there, leaning against one of the walls of the bus as he looked at you. You had no idea how you didn’t notice him come him, simply because he was the type of person you couldn’t not notice. Rolling your eyes, you adjusted yourself on the sofa and turned back to Yuta.

“You’ve been with me for two hours or so now,” You said, gathering your things. “I think we can stop for today, thank you for your time, Yuta.”

The literal translation to your words: This is just a formality.

He didn’t have to know that though and smiled, nodding. “Yeah, no problem. You’re nice to talk to, unlike some other reporters I’ve had to deal with. One stalked me for three weeks.” He groaned at the memory and ran a hand through his hair, lips pinched in displeasure. You cringed at how bad that made the people in your line of work sound.

“We’re not all like that,” You started timidly, not knowing where the sudden urge to defend them- or perhaps yourself. Taeyong scoffed from where he stood, intruding a little on the discussion and smiled.

“No Y/n, it’s the other way around,” He corrected you swiftly. “They’re not all like you.”

It was a compliment, one that had heat curling around your neck and up to your face. It made you feel like he was fond of you, at least a little bit, and you liked that thought. You got to your feet to retreat to the little part of the tour bus that you called your own upstairs, knowing that you were going to have to go over the recording you has taken of your interview with Yuta and pick out the few things you would be using for your article.

“When will you be interviewing me?” He asked, indulging in his curiosity as you made your way to the stairs, piling your tape recorder on top of your notebook, which sat atop your laptop. Somehow, you managed to balance a pen on top of that as well, along with your phone.

Taking note of the tower in your hands that was probably going to fall any minute now, he reached out and took your journal and recording out from on top of it, held it for you like it was the most natural thing to do and ushered you to start moving. A little surprised, you mumbled a small thanks as you began ascending the steps.

“Soon,” You said finally after thinking over it for a bit, finally making it up to the top floor, walking over to your bit of it, which was right at the end.

“....Soon?”

You repeated the word, confirming. “Soon.”

“Why not now?”

God, he loved asking questions, didn’t he? Specifically questions you did not have any answers to at any given moment, and you shrugged.

“You’re a famous person. Aren’t you like, busy?”

A mischievous smile made a show on his gorgeous face as he put your things down on your bed and leaned against the frame, hands tucked into his pockets. “For you? Never.”

You stiffened at his words, staring at him in bewilderment because that sounded like he was flirting with you. It really did, but even the sheer thought of that was absurd. He couldn’t have been flirting with you, right?

Oh, who were you kidding? If the papers had anything to say about it (and you best believe that they had a lot), it would be that Taeyong flirted with anything had possessed a pulse. The moment you remembered this, you proceeded to mentally chastise yourself for trusting those sources. It wasn’t fair to him.

“I was going to go over my notes and recording from Yuta’s but….I don’t want to,” You confessed sheepishly.

“Aha, so he did bore you.”

“Of course not, I’m just lazy right now.”

He didn’t believe you for a second, but let it slide anyway, watching as you arranged all your things neatly one on top of another again and pushed it to the side. “Okay, then let me interview you.”

To this, you raised a questioning eyebrow, not quite knowing where he was going with this. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve always been curious about how it is to be on the other side, and since you don’t want to do what you have to, you can use this as a reason to procrastinate and blame me.” He bargained, taking a seat on the leisure seat opposite your bed and leaning into it. “Surely you can sit through answering a few questions when you make us go through it all the time.”

You silently laughed at his reasoning, finding it a tad eccentric. “It’s my job to ask the questions, Taeyong, and it’s yours to answer them, not the other way around.”

His lips twitched at your attempt to push him away considering he could tell you were almost completely on board with the idea. “It’s my job to make music and perform, not tell the world the last celebrity I fucked.”

You nearly choked on your tongue at how crude he was with his wording, coughing abruptly and covering your mouth with your palm. How he spoke about it so freely, you would never understand, and your fingers brushed against the warm skin of your cheeks, telling you that you were not used to it.

Taeyong cocked his head to the side in mock innocence at the reaction he managed to elicit from you. You were absolutely adorable and so damn inexperienced when it came to the world he lived in because of how different yours was.

“What? Isn’t that what everyone wants to know?” He drawled, and you rolled your eyes in an attempt to shrug off the effect he had on you.

The answer you settled for was cautious, one that you could play off easily without thinking of your heated cheeks at how blunt he was. “You think very highly of yourself.”

“Why are you a journalist?”

He dropped the previous topic, going straight to asking you a question you hadn’t expected, though now that you thought about it, it was an obvious one. Blinking slowly, you bit the inside of your cheek, “Because I love writing, obviously, and I want to work at the New York Times one day.”

“Is that it?” Disbelief coated every syllable.

“Must there be more?”

“You know damn well there is,” He chuckled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You sat down directly opposite him. “No one becomes something because of one flimsy reason, I can tell you that much. I didn’t form a band and get a record deal just because I love music. Of course, I love music, but I also love performing and hearing all those fans scream because of it. I love sharing that music with the world and I won’t give you any of that ‘I’m not in it for the fame’ bullshit. I love every second of it.”

He’s blunt, you noted mentally, storing the information in the back of your mind for later. Although he was the one asking you the questions this time around, he was also giving you little pieces of him. Somehow, it made the process more gratifying.

There was silence for a few seconds after that, leaving you with bated breath. Every time someone asked you the reason you had taken up journalism, you gave them the textbook answer, one that they expected. It was true, of course, there wasn’t a single thing you’d rather do than this, because you did love it.

And then there's the less known answer. One that you didn’t indulge in all that often because it seemed like an afterthought on your tongue. The fact that he could see right through you and figure out that there was something else to do with your career choice scared you a little.

“Travel,” You confessed softly, “I wanted to…see the world, even if it meant a work trip.”

He was the first person you had ever told about this secret desire of yours because every other time you pondered telling it to someone, it sounded rather silly. Even now, as you pronounced it on your tongue, the fire over the wish burned dimly at best, in fear of being pushed down and discredited for it.

He didn’t make fun of you, though, only furrowing his eyebrows. “Wow. I kind of feel bad for you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’ve been to what-? Five different places now? And all you’ve seen in the inside of a stadium and greenrooms. That’s a pretty shitty way to see the world if you ask me.”

“I’ll take what I get.” You shrugged, once again adjusting the setup of your materials beside you until you were satisfied. “You do it all the time.”

“That’s not the same,” he argued ardently, but then dropped the topic altogether, not wanting to come across as overbearing in any way. “Thanks for the insightful information Y/n, I think I’d be an excellent journalist.” There was a particular sparkle in his eyes when he said that, like all the precious jewels in the world had taken sanctuary in them.

You watched him retreat downstairs, leaving you to your own devices and thoughts, ones that were much too loud for your liking.

There were many things that had angered his hot-headed manager in the past, and many of those times led to him being the unfortunate and unwarranted receiver of her fury. Over time, he had gotten used to it and took it in good sport, but he would never forget the very first time it happened.

It had been after one of their first talk-show interviews when their journey together as a band had just kicked off, having gathered a substantial following and fanbase for being so new to the music scene. They were being escorted out of the building and into their cars after a successful interview.

They still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of being swarmed by fans and paparazzi and were left in a mixture of shock and awe as they exited the building, immediately hit with the screams of fans begging for even a glance in their direction. Several reporters aggregated around them, pushing past the boundaries that their bodyguards had tried to set for their safety to thrust a microphone in their faces and yell out their questions.

Renjun went over what they had to do when presented with situations like these every time they went out to promote their music when they were industry babies. Taeyong stayed close to the rest of his band mates, walking right behind Yuta with Jeno sandwiched between him and Doyoung who stood towards the back. They had always been fiercely protective of the youngest.

He was acutely aware of the bodyguard that walked by his side, his hands outstretched around the group to shield them from the unruly audience. Just as their publicist told them, he flashed the reporters a polite smile so as to not suddenly be on the top ten rudest celebrities list, and then looked down at his feet, avoiding all eye contact with the cameras.

Rule number one about being famous; you could never be too careful.

But he was only nineteen, artless and spontaneous in everything he did. A reporter yelled out his name so loud that he looked up out of instinct, meeting the culprit's eyes quickly.

And then a camera- or was it one of those dratted microphones?- knocked into the side of his face by his right eye so hard that he visibly winced at the sharp sting of pain that followed. His eyes screwed shut as he flinched away, almost stumbling right into Mark, who yelped softly in surprise.

He heard Irene yelling infuriated at whoever had done that and the bodyguard moved so that he was covering Taeyong even more. Opening just one eye, he got into the backseat of the car and groaned softly, bringing his fingers up to the place that hurt to somehow assess the situation.

“Dude, you okay? Holy shit-” Mark's voice cut off midway.

Taeyong opened both of his eyes and stared in annoyance and bewilderment at the red stain that coated the tips of his fingers. Irene slipped inside, muttering profanities at the wildness of the paparazzi when she noticed him staring at his hand, and then at the cut on his face.

“Oh for fucks sake!” She all but growled, startling Jeno who was situated beside her. “I didn’t expect you to start bleeding from that.”

He glanced up at his manager, who wore a not-so-flattering glower on her face, taking her phone out and furiously jamming in a few numbers until the contact she desired popped up. Doyoung handed Taeyong a tissue to wipe his hands, his eyebrows furrowing in silent concern, but he shook his head, assuring his friend he was fine.

“You should have been more careful,” Irene snapped, holding the phone to her ear. “I hope that heals soon.”

“It’s not that bad, it doesn’t even hurt anymore,” He remembered reasoning with her. “I think it was just the shock that got to me.”

“It doesn’t matter if it hurts or not, Taeyong, you guys have an editorial shoot next week,” Her words made him freeze. “You have to look perfect.”

That was when it hit him- what her distress was truly about. She hadn’t stopped to ask if he was alright or if he was hurt badly, those things didn’t matter to her as their manager. What she cared about was if he would look good enough for a photoshoot coming up because that was where her priorities lay.

“I suppose the make-up artists can cover it up for now,” She muttered indignantly, before launching into an animated conversation with whoever she had called. Taeyong swallowed the lump in his throat and slumped in his seat every so slightly, admittedly hurt over the realisation that dawned upon him that day.

But it was an important lesson for him to learn, one he carried forward with him as the band got bigger and more famous than anyone thought was possible. When the swarms of cameramen got even larger and the photoshoots increased in number, he made sure to follow Renjun’s instructions to the T.

Everything about celebrities was taken at face value. This was the cold, hard truth that he had to learn to live with because of how literal it was, because of how cosmetic and fake most things were.

They used makeup on the cut for a few months to cover it up, until it healed incompletely into a small, almost unnoticeable scar, serving as a reminder every time he forgot about how his new world worked.

You were slowly getting accustomed to the after-show routine that happened every time. Cherry Bomb would retreat backstage, accompanied by the dying yelling of fans experiencing post-concert depression. They would be handed water bottles and would walk around for a bit, hugging staff and accepting congratulations, before finally deciding to retreat to the bus. You had mostly memorized the sequence of events after seeing it happen so many times.

Which is exactly why you were so bewildered right now when none of that happened.

This time, all five of them seemed to be in a rush, wild looks in their eyes. They stopped for a moment to exchange pleasantries with Irene- a mere formality at this point- as quickly as humanly possible, their unequivocal hurry making a show with the bounce in their steps. Once she was done with them, they scrambled back to their green rooms.

Taeyong must have seen the look of pure confusion on your face because he stopped to admire it, a smile tugging at his cheshire lips at the way your eyebrows cinched and your own lips puffed out slightly in bafflement. He could tell that you knew something was up and that you definitely wanted in on the supposed secret that seemed to alter their usual routine.

Now, he knew very well that Irene would probably kill him for what he was thinking about doing. Then she would resurrect him from the dead, Jesus style, and proceed to murder him once again, repeating the process until she was satisfied. He was supposed to put the best version of himself forward for you to dissect.

So if he knew this so well, why was he walking over to you anyway? When you noticed that he was coming towards you, you stood a little straighter, eyes widening slightly. “We don’t start travelling till tomorrow,” He said first, giving you context for what was going to follow. “So we’re going to a party.”

He could see the flicker of interest in your eyes. “A party?”

Taeyong nodded, “We’ll take about ten minutes to change and then leave in the car out back. Wanna come?”

Your first thought was your outfit. A sweater that was on the thinner side tucked into a skirt, formal enough without looking overbearing. Most of the clothes you packed for the tour were of the same nature, and for good reason, because it was exactly what you would wear to work, and that was what this was.

The funny thing was that you actually had to remind yourself that you were here for work and not pleasure. Especially when he was asking you if you wanted to come along.

“I don’t have anything party worthy to wear.”

He dragged his gaze over your physique and you never wished you were wearing something else more than you had at that moment. Something a little more impressive maybe.

“You look great.”

Scratch that, this was now your favourite outfit.

He said it with such conviction that you were left with no other choice but to believe him. Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you tried to count to ten as you thought about how to say no. Ten, nine, eight…

“Okay,” You breathed out, miserable failing at your attempt to have any semblance of self-control. He grinned at you before walking away and reiterating where you should meet him in a few minutes, joining the rest of his bandmates.

Gathering your wits, you excused yourself to go find the car he spoke about, admittedly nervous about the entire ordeal. The last time you had gone to a party was during your junior year of college. Your senior year had you completely occupied with exams and being editor of the school paper, leaving you with barely any time to go out, much less for a party.

And here you were, agreeing to go to one without even thinking about it properly. There was so much wrong with this plan that you decided even analyzing your decision-making was not worth it.

Just when you were starting to think Taeyong had pulled a prank on you, they walked out, dressed in clothes that were more casual than the ones they wore on stage, but most of their makeup and hair styling was still intact. When they were closer, Doyoung stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at you.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned- well, more like demanded an answer out of you. The others, except Taeyong, all looked a little puzzled at your presence and thats when you realized that he hadn’t told anyone he invited you along.

“She’s coming with,” He said, eliciting a look of outright indignation from the younger boy.

“Are you fucking stupid? She’s a journalist, she’ll-”

“She won’t be recording or interviewing anyone tonight, right Y/n?” He said, voice impossibly sweet as he looked at you expectantly, one eyebrow quirked high as if urging you to say yes. You supposed that was your side of the deal if you were coming along. As a journalist, you should have lied and said yes with the full intention of taking in every detail.

So when you nodded and the word ‘yes’ left your lips, you were surprised to find that you genuinely meant it. Satisfied, he opened the door and cocked his head to the side, gesturing for all of you to get in. The others still looked pretty dubious of your presence, especially Doyoung, but they quickly brushed it aside and obliged.

You ended up sitting in between Taeyong and Yuta in the car, with Doyoung driving and Mark in the passenger seat. Turns out, Jeno had been kept back because of something new popping up in his schedule alone (something about a photoshoot for one of the brands he was an ambassador of, that Irene insisted she brief him about at that very moment in time) and would be joining all of you later.

Mark slipped a lighter out of his pocket and lit a blunt, glancing up at you through the rearview mirror and holding it up. “Wanna hit?”

“Is that…?” You trailed off, a little put off at how casual he was about it. He nodded.

“Weed.”

“Jesus Christ Mark, why don’t you go tell her all our sins,” Doyoung groaned, tightening his grip around the steering wheel. Mark laughed his airy, broken record-sounding laugh, and shrugged complacently, unaffected by the possible repercussions of his actions.

“It’s not like the entire world already knows,” He deadpanned. You remembered the few articles about them being caught smoking on several occasions. “The place we’re going to is going to be full of this shit, I’m only giving her a taste. Speaking of which, do you want a cig or not?”

As you were with parties, you tended to steer away from the drug-using crowd during your school and college days, leaving you wary of the offer, so you shook your head.

“I’m good.”

“I’m not, give me one,” Yuta said right after you, and Mark did as he asked, handing a blunt over to the older man, leaning over to light it. You felt wildly out of place, nervously playing with your fingers in your lap and contemplating whether you should have agreed, after all, feeling the heels of your shoes dig into the car mat beneath your feet.

As if he could sense your doubts, Taeyong shifted slightly in his seat and dipped his head down until his mouth was near your temple. “Relax,” He said softly, the warmth of his arm around the back of your seat feeling as if it was being projected onto you, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Then he resumed his previous posture. “But yeah, you’re going to have to wipe the mildly terrified look from your face, princess, Mingyu’s party isn’t exactly a formal event with champagne flutes.”

The nickname was used in a manner of teasing, you knew. He was teasing you for being so tightly wound up and surprised at every little thing, but that didn’t stop an odd, fluttery feeling from taking place in the pit of your torso.

Your eyes widened in surprise at that statement of his- not the bit about the party not being a formal event, but the fact he mentioned Kim Mingyu, an actor who had built his reputation over being the ‘good boy’ actor of Hollywood. That was until he found himself in a dating scandal and was exposed for not being as innocent as everyone initially perceived. When he decided to embrace that part of him he received a lot of backlash, but a hell of a lot of respect for it as well, boosting his career through the roof.

As they said, all publicity is good publicity.

“You guys know Mingyu?” It seemed odd for rock stars to know an actor, at least in your eyes, and then you felt a little idiotic. Of course, they knew him. Mark nodded from the front, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing out the smoke.

“Yeah, for a while too. His parties are great to wind down at after a show.”

You had a feeling that his idea of winding down was very different to yours. “Interesting.”

It was clear to you from that moment that this party was going to be full of Hollywood’s finest and most sought-after. In short, a journalist's heaven, with so many stories in one place right within your grasp. So many stories and loose ends other press had tried hunting for ages and you had been given entrance on a red carpet.

You were a fool for not trying to pounce on the idea, all to keep the trust of a man you had been friends with for only a month or so. In a way it was laughable. Trying to keep enough of his trust in you intact just so you could tear through the walls he had built around himself for people just like you.

He was wrong. You were just like the rest, and for the first time since you set foot on this tour, guilt crept into you.

The car stopped, signalling that you had reached your destination. Swallowing the new and unwelcome sensation of guilt, you reminded yourself that there wasn’t a good or bad side to this, there never was, no matter how much the media tried to insist the same. It was ironic.

Getting out of the car, you bit the inside of your cheek, shaking those thoughts off and focusing on the house in front of you, or rather, the mansion, because your jaw slackened at the sight of it. The large iron gates walled off the piece of land from the public, enclosing the frothing fountains and tiled pathway that lead to the front of a house that looked a little old-fashioned, but in a tasteful manner. You could tell by the lights flashing in the windows that the party was already in full swing with no signs of stopping anytime soon.

The inside only cemented that fact and from the moment you set foot inside the house, it felt like you were lost. The same scent that had accompanied the blunt Mark and Yuta had used wafted through the air, lost in the haze of alcohol and other drugs.

You had no business being surprised, Hollywood was tainted with all sorts of different sins. Some of those very sins had become so commonplace that no one had the right to judge or ridicule them. You spotted a few familiar faces that you had seen on TV, or perhaps in the news as the band members dispersed slowly to get drinks and talk to their friends.

And then you were alone.

Taeyong stayed fairly close by though, knowing that this was a new scene for you. He admired the way you didn’t look scared, but more so curious as to how it all worked, eyes alert and scanning over everything. He could practically see the gears turning in your head as you made sense of it all.

Yuta was on one of the couches, talking to a few ladies, Doyoung sat by the bar and Mark had disappeared completely, no doubt now occupying one of the many rooms of the mansion with a woman. You didn’t know exactly when Jeno showed up, but you spotted him once with a drink in hand, humming along to the music.

You really had no idea how this worked, you thought in bewilderment as you tried your best to pay attention to whatever the person talking to you was saying. You brought your cup to your lips and sipped on the beer that swirled inside it as you nodded whenever you thought was appropriate enough to look like you were seriously invested. The man was no doubt a celebrity, he had the same careless arrogance you had seen everyone carry around.

Politely excusing yourself, you downed the rest of the beer, having chosen the most basic drink out of the wide selection that Mingyu had to offer to play it safe.

You managed to find an empty balcony on one of the floors, walking out to escape the heaviness of the interior, letting out a tired sigh; a sigh that carried all your worries with its exhale. The sky was dotted with an effervescence of stars that glittered against the dark canvas they lay on for the world to muse at, humble in their existence and still so captivating.

Once again, you started doubting yourself- because what sort of journalist wasn’t up for inserting themselves in the situations that concerned their work? George Plimpton, Earnie Pyle, Hunter Thompson- all excellent journalists that always took part. Granted, the things they did were a little more extreme than attending a party, but surely you should have been eagerly following in their footsteps instead of standing still and contemplating every step you took.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You turned around on your heel to meet Taeyong’s eyes. He stood there, leaning against the door frame with a drink in his hand, looking straight at you.

“Did you really?” You quirked an eyebrow, causing him to grin sheepishly as he walked over, joining you next to the balcony railing, resting his elbows on it as he leaned against it. You hadn’t invited him to join you, but he had brazenly done so anyway, and you admired that quality about him.

“Nah, I was hoping I would though. I just know people say lines like those in movies.”

You let yourself laugh, instantly feeling more at ease now that you weren’t surrounded by strangers, but just with someone you knew to an extent. It was a talent of his, you decided, to so easily be able to draw people in.

“Good guessing skills,” You quipped, sighing. He looked to his side at you, a half smile playing on his lips in a lopsided manner.

“Well then, I’m guessing this isn’t your scene?”

“God, no,” You blurted out gracelessly, “I mean, it’s interesting to watch and indulge in for a few minutes but I get bored of it very easily. Reminds me of college.”

He hummed. “How is it? College, I mean. I’ve never been.” He stared at you curiously, and you recollected that Cherry Bomb had been formed right when he had graduated high school. Stardom and normal college life were not things that were ever meant to intersect.

“A little more relaxed than high school, but that gets to some people and they let go completely, and by your junior year you’re finally allowed to legally drink,” was the explanation you settled on. “Not that it stops the freshmen anyway.”

He pressed the mouth of his bottle to his lips, taking another sip as he drank in your words. “Sounds boring.”

“Not for everyone, I just happened to spend half my time in my university’s newsroom, so my experience wasn’t exactly the most exciting.” You shrugged, suddenly a little embarrassed over the fact. Here you stood beside someone who had one of the most exciting lives ever and you paled in comparison. Why was he even talking to you?

You looked so pretty right then, a rueful smile gracing your face like you regretted not participating more, strands of your hair falling in front of your face and out of your loose ponytail, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were aware of just how bewitching you were. He couldn’t help but be just a little envious of the glass that previously held your drink, and how it had the opportunity of having your lips on it, rather than him being able to kiss you.

The startling realization that he wanted to kiss you was enough to pull him right back out of his trance, but there wasn’t anything inherently wrong with thinking about it, was there?

“You just haven’t been in any exciting situations,” He countered and it was then you noticed how the light from the moon flickered through the wisps of his hair, illuminating the edges like a halo. A crimson halo that is, two things that contradicted each other in an almost comical manner. Halos were supposed to be golden and pure.

You had a feeling that Taeyong was anything but.

And you had no idea why you liked the prospect of that as much as you did. “I suppose you know exactly how to get into those types of situations.”

He smirked, an expression so dizzying to look at that you momentarily entertained the idea of looking around for a seat before your knees inevitable buckled, and gripped the railing rigidly. He took a step closer to you until the space between the two of you had reduced to far too little for your dwindling sanity.

“Why? Are you interested?”

Suddenly it felt like the air had hiked up in temperature like it was warmer than before and it prickled at your skin. You blamed your sweater, but you could feel it on your bare legs too, and on the exposed skin of your neck. That very heat crawled upwards onto your cheeks, but you refused to acknowledge it, keeping your eyes locked on his.

He was close, closer than your sanity would have liked. You took the opportunity to study him for a moment, from the rise of his cheekbones to the little, almost unnoticeable scar next to his right eye- you momentarily wonder how he got it. Somehow, he was still gorgeous.

“Maybe I am.”

He moved just a little closer, beguiled by how quickly you responded. It was evident that you loved challenges and he dropped his voice a little even though there was no one else around. “Good.” Tempting, an affirmation that he had wanted to show all those exciting places and situations to you and by god, you were so tempted.

He didn’t know why he was so taken with you, and you did not know how to get your body feeling normal again and not like it was in a sauna. That smirk, the way he looked at you and the way you stared back without backing down even for a second, it was new to the both of you.

Oh, you were so fucked.

It was around four in the morning when your head finally met your cold pillow and your fingers curled into the thin blanket you used to cover yourself. The party had not ended yet, but the group of you decided to leave so you would get at least a few hours of sleep before Irene came along and yelled at everyone for their irresponsibility.

The moment you returned, you had changed out of your outfit into something lighter. A tank top and shorts, kicking off your shoes and hoping it would be enough to erase the effect a certain man had on you.

One would think that after having such a long day you’d fall asleep immediately, and frankly, you did too. You thought that the sweet, sweet cycle of REM sleep would take over your mind and you would be knocked out within minutes of lying down on the bed.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Your mind was still awake, racing faster than it usually did, only one thing- or rather, one person- on it. The reason? It was stressing you out.

The fact that you were so blatantly attracted to Taeyong was a problem. For one, it was highly unprofessional and just plain wrong to be into someone you were writing an article about. That alone should have had your insides twist with worry at what was to come.

It was bad enough that the world thought most female reporters went about sleeping with their subjects anyway and you were mortified over possibly turning into one of those women, rumour or not. This was a job, a job you were supposed to do well and never look back at again, one that would kickstart your career for the better.

So why on earth did you feel so unapologetic about it?

You had fallen for people before, but you wouldn’t say that you had fallen in love. The guys you had been with before had been benevolent and nonabrasive at best, the ones who tended to play it safe to avoid misadventures. The tenderness that was growing in your chest for Taeyong was so foreign that you almost didn’t recognize it.

It was the result of him, the way he was. The way he challenged you without ever putting you down, that proud look in his eye that he earned over the years, but it was one that never drifted into being that of an asshole. Not many people were able to pull that sort of confidence off, but he did it with such ease that it was irritatingly attractive.

You guessed that it was because of this very confidence that he possessed, that alluring quality of his you couldn’t quite put your finger on, he was portrayed the way he was for the public to jeer at. It was human nature to hate those who flourished despite the odds and he was the textbook definition of graceful success. Naturally, they had to disrupt that grace why tainting it with whatever they could.

But it was how he stayed with you for the rest of the evening- or early morning if you were getting technical- at the party, helping you relax into the unfamiliar atmosphere. It was how he didn’t seem to care about the party, although you knew from your research that he was quite the opposite, it was nice of him to pretend like that wasn’t true. It was how he whispered a sweet goodnight to you before you silently climbed to the upper level of the bus and your bed, with that boyish smile you were coming to like just a little too much.

That was why.

“Fuck,” You whispered to yourself, and it sounded a lot louder than it was in the silence of the bus. It was bad because it went a little past just plain attraction. If it was just that, it would have been ten times easier to deal with. You could be attracted to someone without feeling a single thing for them.

But the way his voice went all the way to your stomach and ignited that incessant fluttery feeling you tried so hard to ignore. It went a little past just plain ol’ attraction, but even a little bit was dangerous. The sensation was so unfamiliar in a cold strange way that you didn’t know what you were doing with yourself and for some unknown reason, you couldn’t find even a small remnant of remorse for it.

Just once, you told yourself hopelessly. You would let yourself think about him just once.

“No, no, no, absolutely not Y/n,” You muttered in a half-hearted scolding directed to yourself, but as soon as you said it, you were thinking about the way he held his guitar, and the possibility of that red hair of his being soft at the touch. The pout that rested on his lips when he argued with you or anyone, for the matter, was just so damn charming.

And the smile that teased your lips at that very moment, one that you had to cover by putting your hand over it as if anyone could see you in the darkness of the night. The way you tried so hard to fight the giddy seed that had been planted in your mind, the little schoolgirl giggles that threatened to leave you if you didn’t try hard enough to conceal them. You groaned silently to yourself so as to not wake any of the people sleeping around you, turning to your side and attempting to bury your face in the thin pillow that was no longer cool enough.

Taeyong was layered. Like an onion.

You couldn’t believe that the first description you could think of was lines straight out of Shrek.

Insanity- that’s what this was. You were getting ahead of yourself, in a few months, none of this would matter. You’d write the article, it would get published and you’d get some recognition for it. Your life would go back to the normally boring version of itself and you’d forget about it all once the opportunities started (hopefully) piling in.

There was no reason for this to get personal. You closed your eyes and stilled, holding the pillow you had brought along for yourself between your legs and forcing your brain to stop working overtime.

The first time Taeyong performed professionally was when he was nineteen, bordering twenty. Before they got their record deal, the band practised in garages and their rooms, and it was before Jeno joined. Then they were there, young and inexperienced when it came to the world they had just begun to dip their toes into.

He remembered feeling nervous, tapping his foot on the flooring repeatedly as he sat on the plush couches inside the studio, waiting for instructions. He could never forget how those nerves disappeared the moment he took his place behind the microphone and began singing with the rest of the band like they were never there in the first place.

Irene Bae stood on the other side of the glass, listening in. She was one of the younger managers, being twenty-four at the time, and although she hadn’t had much experience, she knew that Cherry Bomb was the group she wanted to manage and help get to the top. She saw their potential from the get-go and was smart enough to acknowledge that if she was the one in charge, she would reap the benefits as well.

Monroe was the first studio album that they released, and no one could have ever anticipated the success it brought to the table. In typical fashion for young rockstars, most of the songs revolved around drugs or sex but weren’t generic. Euphemisms and imagery floated through the lyrics that they worked hard on, no one could deny the raw talent they possessed.

The lead single of the album, Dark Clouds, debuted at 40 on the Billboard Charts, which was relatively high for a new artist, and it only kept climbing up the charts until it peaked at number two and stayed there for almost five weeks. The tracklist was full of hit after hit, and when you made such an incredible entrance into the scene, you had to expect both sides that came with fame: the good and the downright ugly.

The first time Taeyong ever had to deal with it was a few weeks after the album had been released and he had gone out to McDonald’s because he had been craving a burger. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but going out as a rising rockstar without any security was a stupid move on his part. Within minutes, he had a swarm of fans around him and he hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do, especially when the press showed up to ask him questions about the album.

That piece hadn’t been about anything scandalous, just about the first sighting of him without the rest of his mates. He realized that it didn’t have to be about anything great to be read because Cherry Bomb had become such a hot topic. It just had to be about one of them.

It was the first time he appeared in the papers without the rest of the band- just him. The moment Lee Taeyong became the ‘it boy’ that everyone loved to trail after, searching for something to pin him down with for the public to whisper about.

It was then he knew that his life had changed forever.

Lee Jeno wasn’t as intimidating as Yuta was, you would classify him as the sweetheart of the group. Off the stage, those sharp eyes turned into softer crescents of joy, and that raspy singing voice melted into jokes that suited the freshly turned twenty-one-year-old. By the end, you had forgotten the last few questions you were supposed to ask him, ending up with your hand pressed to your stomach as you tried not to laugh.

You were slowly making your way through each member of the band, procrastinating taking Taeyong’s interview. You didn’t know why you felt like it, but it was a ticking time bomb, and as much as you wanted to know about him, you didn’t want to at all.

God, you were a terrible journalist.

Finishing up, you gathered your things and began your journey back up the stairs to put together the most important bits of Jeno’s interview. You had finally managed to do Yuta’s a while after the night at the party, getting to work after a month of observing. Realistically speaking, you probably should have started a while ago, but it was fine.

“What happened to the original guy?”

Just as you were about to emerge from the stairs, you heard Renjun’s voice resound through the top floor. Instinctively, you stopped climbing and stayed in place as you took note of the slightly hushed tone of voice like he was hiding something.

Then the irony of the situation settled in. This whole eavesdropping thing was quickly developing into a bad habit of yours and you should not have been so ardently encouraging it.

“Yes- no there’s not a problem with her- but I thought you were going to send the person who wrote the article about-”

And then he dropped his voice even softer. Secrets always piqued your interest.

“- the article about Taeyong.”

Your eyes widened and now you knew you had to know more because he was talking about articles and a ‘her’ that you were willing to bet was you. Invested, you crouched down a little and put your stuff down on one of the steps, praying no one would walk up right then and catch you in such an awkward position.

“I’m not upset Mr Suh, just surprised. We had an agreement when I gave you that story, one that ensured you would send over the same person who wrote it anonymously.”

Johnny? Why on earth was Renjun speaking to Johnny? Your insides twisted as a small realization dawned upon you and you were no longer thinking about working on your article. You were thinking about taking a little detour in your research to uncover a suspicion that was quickly growing.

“I’ve taken a risk Johnny,” Renjun continued a little coldly this time as if he was warning your boss not to disappoint. “I expect you to make sure it benefits me as well.”

You decided that this was the point where you would finally make your entrance, it sounded like the call was going to end now anyways. Picking your things back up, you retreated a few steps, ignored the little voice in your head that laughed at how stupid the scene must have looked, and walked back up, purposely being a little loud with your footsteps.

Renjun looked a little spooked when you walked upstairs, but no one would have noticed it if they hadn’t heard the conversation that preceded it. Your signature polite smile made a show as you gave it to him and sat down on your bed. Seeing that you would probably be there for a while, he excused himself.

And then you began. Pieces started falling into place, little things you hadn’t paid enough attention to. You pulled up the research you had done, that one article talking about Taeyong's promiscuity and how it lead to his stardom. Superstar Lee Taeyong sleeping his way to the top.

You couldn’t believe you never paid attention to the fact that it was written anonymously. Moreover, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t noticed the two little letters at the bottom of the clipping. TL.

The Link. The entire thing had originated under your very nose and you had overlooked that piece of information. Now, each word of the article was something to think about, especially the little bit mentioning an anonymous source.

You couldn’t believe it. The very rumour that had dragged the band down started from the inside.

Loose lips sink ships.

And Renjun had been running his mouth all too gladly. He was their publicist for goodness sake, it made no sense. At the same time, it made perfect sense, a little drama went a long way in the celebrity world.

That pesky guilt from before about what you were doing tightened around you like a lasso, because how were you any different? You were lying in a sense as well, parading around and saying you were here for one thing while doing something else. You were a fraud who had listened in and judged another of your type.

He said something about not expecting it to be you who would come along for the tour, so you racked your brain to figure out why. Johnny knew this and agreed to your demands anyway, so why-

“Jungwoo,” You whispered in realisation. “That fucker.”

Jungwoo was the anonymous writer, you were sure of it. He dropped out last minute, leaving Johnny with no choice but to take what he got. You asked no questions he wasn’t willing to answer because all you had seen was an opportunity to further yourself.

You weren’t naive, you knew that it could still very well be true. Renjun could have told the truth about the band's reason for what seemed like instant stardom to expose them without losing face or his job. Just because it looked like a betrayal done from the inside didn’t mean that it wasn’t warranted.

Your reluctance to get more out of Taeyong burned away, replaced with pure journalistic instinct. You were going to find out what was real and what wasn’t without thinking about your potential feelings. You were a professional, after all, and you were going to prove that the truth was just as good of a story, no matter what that truth turned out to be.

“Did you spend a night in prison?”

Taeyong turned to you, caught off guard at your sudden question. He was sitting in the empty stadium during the break, this time with a guitar in his arms as he mindlessly strummed it to pass the time. One look at him and anyone would know he lived and breathed music in the purest sense, something that was extremely admirable.

You had settled into the seat next to him, a mirror image of your first day together- minus the guitar in his hand and the on-tour lunch that was being handed out that you held. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Been googling me?”

“I have to,” You said immediately, so smoothly that one would have thought it was a rehearsed line, leaning back and getting comfortable in the seat. “Now, is it true?”

“Is this my interview?” He avoided the question once again, mildly amused by how forward you were being. “Where’s your little kit?”

“Perhaps- and my what?”

This was terrible. He had been trying to get you to like him like Irene had requested- well, perhaps not just because Irene had asked him to do so. He was starting to realize that there was a chance that he wanted you to like him as well, and the result of possibly getting an article that would silence all the fake news was just an added benefit.

“You know, journal, recorder, whatever.”

“I’m taking a different approach, now answer my question.”

Oh, the reason he didn’t want to was because of how humiliating the story was but you were staring at him determinedly and he knew he wasn’t going to get out of this one. Sighing, he dropped his head and carefully put the guitar in another seat. For the first time in a long time, he felt an embarrassed blush kiss his cheeks.

“I was barely twenty-one, it’s old news.”

“I’d say you were asking for it,” You said, mouth upturning in amusement at the pink that stained his cheeks. It was cute. “I mean, deciding to go spray painting in the middle of the night on the wall of private property? That’s just dumb.”

He groaned when you oh-so-kindly recounted his misdeed, it had covered the papers for days, which was odd because it wasn’t anything too scandalous- other than it being illegal, of course. It only stopped circulating when Kim Jennie was found making out with Lisa Manoban at a party.

While she had a boyfriend.

Yeah, that was a much juicer story.

“Look,” He attempted to justify his younger self's decision-making skills. “There was this after party that followed this fashion show we had been ford to attend as a part of our schedule, and it was the most boring shit ever. Caviar and champagne. The place was full of opera singers, so you can imagine how we stood out.”

He ducked his head, grimacing at the memory of his teenage self ditching a prestigious event to commit a petty crime for the thrill of it. Immaturity was something he was still trying to grow out of, but that was the price of having to essentially grow up in the public eye.

You didn’t have to imagine, because there were pictures of them at the party before the incident, all wearing dress shirts and trousers. All of them looked much younger, going through a platinum blonde phase for their hair and it was painstakingly obvious that they didn’t fit in with the aristocratic guests at all. You wholeheartedly pitied them when you had seen that image, pulled between sympathising for them and laughing.

Taeyong didn’t understand why he felt the need to explain himself to you, nor did he understand why he felt embarrassed by it, running a hand through his locks. For some unknown reason, your opinion mattered to him, which even sounded ridiculous. Everyone had an opinion about him, and he had never given a flying fuck about them.

Until now, of course.

“I was bored out of my mind. I needed something fun to do, and Yuta was down. We were cellmates too.” He added that bit as a quip to earn something close to amusement from you. When you let out a short laugh, he was pleased that he succeeded. “Then Irene bailed us out.”

Wait, what the hell was he doing? This entire thing was completely out of character for him, he was the one others tried to impress, not the other way around. Never the other way around.

“You’ve been to Milan,” You said to him, childish wonder creeping into the tone of your voice. “All the pictures I’ve seen of the place are so gorgeous. I would die to spend even a day there.”

“Would you be up for a little vandalizing?” He asked hopefully, leaning forward with a shit-eating grin on his face. You threw him a pointed look, shaking your head.

“I said I wanted a day in Milan, Taeyong, not jail.” You deadpanned, pushing down the urge to giggle. Giggle. For goodness sake, it was pathetic, you felt like a giddy schoolgirl with barely any control over her emotions.

You had decided to go forward with grilling Taeyong for your article, determined to get to the bottom of your little side quest. Taking a bite out of the less than appetizing catered lunch, you shifted in your seat so that you were facing him a little better, moving on to the next question.

“Did you fake date Kang Seulgi?”

“You’re very chatty today, aren’t you?” He muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “I feel like I’m on trial.”

“It’s my job to grill answers out of you,” You winked playfully, earning a petulant look from his end as if he was offended at that statement of yours. Your mind wandered a little and before you could hold it by the reins and keep it back, it wandered a little too far, the sides of your lips curling upwards in a small smile.

“And here I thought you were actually interested in me,” He teased, and now it was you who felt flushed, but not out of embarrassment.

Then you went back to thinking sensibly with your head. “What do you expect me to do? Ask you to teach me how to play the guitar?” You offered him a sardonic smile as you gave up on the baked potato and cold mac-n-cheese that sat sadly on your paper plate, keeping it in another empty seat.

“I could if you wanted me to,” he mused, deciding to throw you off a little for fun.

You blinked in bewilderment at the offer. “What? No, I was just-” You scrambled to get out of the situation you had somehow managed to fall in (literally and figuratively), shaking your head adamantly at him. “I couldn’t-”

And then you noticed the way he had his fist over his mouth, eyes alight with pure amusement and when a small snicker left those pretty crimson lips of his, you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re laughing at me.” You said flatly, a sulky pout taking shape on your lips, “You’re making fun of me.”

“I couldn’t help it, you looked so distressed. It was…..it was cute.”

Oh. Oh hell no. You were practically yelling at yourself so you wouldn’t get carried away, no doubt several girls had heard the very same compliment from him. As if sensing your mental conflict, Taeyong simpered and continued speaking.

“And yes, her management begged us for the deal because her album hadn’t done as well as it had to. At all. In fact, it flopped hard. The publicity stunt had her sales skyrocket back to normal, but you can never trust anyone when it comes to arrangements like these. One snitch and the entire thing can fall apart.”

What.

Oh right. Seulgi. You nodded, his words ringing loud and clear in the chambers of your mind. The tone of his voice was casual, but there was an undertone of bitterness, so slight that you would have missed it if you hadn’t been paying attention.

You couldn’t imagine how he would feel when he learned of what Renjun did to him, to the entirety of the band. Even worse, you couldn’t imagine how he would react when he found out what you were working on because you had a feeling he had given you more than he had ever given anyone else.

“Ah,” You said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “There’s an untold story behind every exploited one.”

Taeyong would never understand how you had managed to sum it all up in just a few words. It was like you had somehow managed to see right through him, and that scared him just a little. His years in the spotlight had taught him how to be guarded, and how to know just how much to give and take from the public.

What was scarier, was the fact that you were a part of the media. It was never a good idea to let them have any leverage over you.

“Yeah,” He whispered, gripping the neck of the guitar as gently as possible. “Most of the time they ignore it. Unfortunately.”

Celebrities like him were expected to bask in everything that was sent their way, even the scandals that did not benefit them in the slightest. The public was of the opinion that because he had fame, he deserved everything that came with it.

You were looking at him like you knew he had received the short end of the stick many times before, a look that had his throat closing in on itself, but he didn’t look away. He hadn’t even once thought about looking away.

“I’m sorry,” You said softly, apologetically. Part of you felt guilty that you were one of those very people that exploited him, but you had to push that out of your mind to halt that train of thought before it consumed you. He forced himself to break the little spell that had been cast over the two of you, snapping out of your pseudo-staring competition and pulling the guitar back into his lap, strumming it mindlessly. You let your gaze fall from his face to the instrument.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Teach me how to play the guitar- at least a few chords. I heard somewhere that you could do a lot of songs with just four of them.”

He raised an eyebrow, mirth dancing in his eyes. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You pulled a knee to your chest, “I like keeping people on their toes.” Your answer seemed to please him because he chuckled and then picked the guitar up once again, using one hand to signal you to sit straight in the seat, before placing it on your lap. It was a little awkward for you, someone who had never really held a guitar before, so you sat there and timidly held the top of it, waiting for his instructions.

“Those four chords you’re talking about? They’re C, G, F major and A minor.” He gently picked your other hand up and placed it on the fretboard, glancing up at your face to see if you were okay with the contact. There was something magical about his touch, which lingered on your fingertips, and you nodded softly, eyes locked with his.

Electric ever so slightly, the air between the two of you had a buzzing you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Slowly, he looked away and back at your hand, positioning each finger on the respective string it was supposed to be on. Once he was done, he leaned back a bit and placed his thumb on the first string.

“Push down on them,” He murmured, and as you did, he dragged his own fingers across them, over the hollow part of the guitar, producing music.

It wasn’t perfect, you still didn’t know how to hold the strings down hard enough, your fingers hurt a little from even that first attempt and in reality, you should have been the one strumming, but it faded into the background when your heart stuttered a little with how he was looking at you.

Oh no.

Was this what a crush felt like? Apprehensive glances and short breaths, anticipation spilling over, it was absolutely unbearable for you.

“I might need a little practice,” you said cautiously, loosening your grip on the strings and finally registering the strain on your fingertips, cursing under your breath and bringing them up to your face to inspect them. A soft red hue gleamed through your skin, stinging ever so slightly at the parts that had been indented by the strings.

“Yeah,” He replied, just as soft. “It hurts at the start but after a while you barely notice it. I think you’ll have to use a pick” Both of you were skirting around the obvious tension, choosing to ignore it when there was no good reason to.

“Show me the next one,” You managed to blurt out, trying desperately to break this pattern of getting so easily winded around him. Every moment you spent with him had you repeatedly reminding yourself of what you were actually here for, what you were meant to do because never, never in your entire life, had you ever met someone as magnetic as Lee Taeyong.

And so he did, the next thirty minutes passing by in a blur or strumming and pressing down strings on the fret until your fingers hurt and the scene of him and you sitting there burned into your memory even as you fell asleep that night.

And then, you were in New York.

CHERRY BOMB SOLD OUT IN NEW YORK CITY!

The Grammy-winning rock group has been steadily growing since their first show and is now the one that claims ownership of the audience of fifty-eight thousand fans that showed up at their show last night, truly the Cherry On Top! As usual, the five men were excellent on stage, their showmanship making it clear why all those seats had filled up so quickly. No doubt some fans didn’t manage to get one, which only cements how successful the group is.

We have been saying this for years and it only holds true; we cannot wait to see where Cherry Bomb takes us!

- The New York Times.

Taeyong would admit that sometimes, he did let things go a little too far.

Now, the New York show had been the biggest one yet, with the entire stadium filled up and not a seat left empty and more than a week to spend in the city, he let himself loose for the night after the show. The success of the show and the adrenaline pumping through their veins led them to spend all that excess energy at yet another party.

When alcohol was bought into the mix, perhaps he got a little too drunk. He wouldn’t know how exactly to classify it because he had been wasted before, and this wasn’t it. He could still stand and think semi-clearly, good enough to make his own decisions. Well enough to know that the girl on his arm had definitely been flirting with him.

Conscious enough to know what she wanted when she asked him if he wanted to get out of there. Alert enough to remember exactly what happened the night before in that strange woman's bed, and by no means was this the first time something like it had happened.

Yuta had indulged as well, he could tell by the scattering of darker marks on the younger neck. He knew the both of them had somehow been caught by a lurking reporter that managed to get to the site of the party and caught a few pics of them walking away. Maybe he would see himself in the next issue of the paper, accompanied by a nice side of his manager yelling at him for getting caught.

It was a cycle, an exhausting one, but he kept at it anyways.

He would worry about that later. At this point in time, when he walked out of the shower right then in the morning and took a Tylenol for the mild hangover that he had, before making his way up the stairs and to the top floor of the bus.

There you sat, legs crossed over each other with one of your pillows resting on top of them to act as a makeshift table for your laptop, which you were intently staring at, looking very immersed in whatever you were reading. He took a moment to admire how focused you were, eyebrows furrowed and lips set in the slightest pout as the bright blue light of your screen shone on your face.

Suddenly, it made sense why his hook-up last night felt a little more meaningless than it usually did anyway.

“Hey,” His voice cut through your reverie, making you startle a little as you looked up. There you saw a casually dressed Taeyong with hair that was slightly damp leaning against the frame of the wall. “Are you doing anything important right now?”

You shook your head a little too quickly for your liking, “Not really, just going over a little research, why?” You tried your best to sound as nonchalant and uninterested as possible, more to convince yourself than him. The pleased look that appeared on his face almost broke your resolve.

“Good,” He tipped his head towards the side, and you followed his line of sight to your suitcase. “Get ready and meet me outside in ten.”

You blinked rapidly, successfully confused with his instructions. “I’m sorry?”

“Get dressed and meet me outside the bus in ten minutes, I’m taking you out.”

You never had been very good with abrupt plans, and Taeyong threw you off your normal course enough as it is. Sceptical, and rightfully so, you asked, “Out where?”

“Trust me a little, will you?” He bargained, pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on, “No questions, this isn’t one of your interviews.”

Without letting you respond, he walked back downstairs, leaving you there to stare at his retreating figure in mystification. That sentiment turned into exasperation at yourself for being so easily swayed, picking yourself up from the bed and going to do just as he asked of you because goddamnit, you were admittedly curious.

Pulling on something casual enough to look like you hadn’t tried hard enough but cute enough to perhaps receive a compliment, you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the tour bus, spotting Taeyong waiting for you as he scrolled through his phone. His other hand held a cigarette between his fingers, one he promptly put out when he noticed you arriving. Your mother would have given you a sharp talking to for agreeing to blindly follow a man, which was why you refused to completely let him have control.

You jogged over to catch up with him, coming to a standstill and asking, “Where are we going?”

“You never give up, do you?” He switched his phone off and slipped it into the pockets of his jeans, feigning annoyance at your persistence, although you could tell it was fake. “Are you sure you want to know? It’ll ruin the magic.”

“Magic?” “You know, the magic of surprises?”

You had to press your lips together in an attempt not to smile at how cute that sounded coming from him. The magic of surprises? What was he, a five-year-old? Now you wanted to see how he would act when in Disney World. From what you gathered, he’d probably buy all ninety-eight variations of the mickey mouse ear headbands. That image alone was too much for you, and you pushed it to the back of your mind.

“I like having all my facts straight before I jump into anything,” You stated plainly, giving him an expectant look. He sighed, as if growing weary of your prompt responses, and then-

No way.

Was Taeyong blushing? Your eyes could have very well been tricking you, but you swore you saw a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, perhaps out of embarrassment of what he was about to tell you.

“You said you wanted to travel…..” He trailed off, averting his eyes from you. You weren’t used to this side of him, away from the ever-present (or so you thought) confident smirk that played on his lips and the lazy amusement in his eyes. Here, you saw a boy that was a little bashful about his intentions. “And I thought I could show you around a few places in New York.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that one, staring at him in a mixture of question and bafflement over why he would want to do that. As if sensing your perplexion, he continued.

“I mean, I felt bad that you were being dragged along with us to all these places but was forced to stick around only us and we have a week in the city so I just figured you would like to see the place.” He was rambling a little bit, explaining his reasoning for what he was going and you couldn’t even lie to yourself, because you melted a little at how thoughtful it was.

“That sounds great,” You cut him off with a grateful smile, tucking your hands behind your back and bouncing a little on your heels. Relieved by your positive reaction, he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in.

“Alright, follow me.”

He pulled a cap low over his head so that it cast a shadow over his face and obscured his features to an extent. He was still recognizable, but one would have to double-take to make it out.

Oh right, he was famous. The reality of that started to weigh a little more now that it was in your face and you were forced to acknowledge it since most of the time it was easy to get carried away with everything that happened on tour. You felt a little ridiculous for momentarily forgetting an integral part of who he was.

But you followed him anyway, out onto the unfamiliar streets of New York where cars whirred by in a blur of red and blue, the bright lights flashing even in the daytime. Cacophony drifted through the air like a song, but it could have very well been out of tune considering you didn’t know much about music. You wondered if Taeyong could hear it as well and if it made more sense to him.

It stunned you a little, just how much you wanted to know about his thoughts.

“There isn’t nearly enough time to show you everything I want to in one day, so I’m going to take you to two places I like best if that’s okay with you?” The smile on his face was small, bashful even, but it was enough to have your thoughts scatter and for you to bite your lip as you nodded slowly.

His eyes lit up and you were seriously amused by how enthralled he seemed to be about the entire situation like he truly did want to show you around. He wasn’t doing this to be perceived as a nice guy, he remembered the little, insignificant fact about yourself that you told him weeks later and was now acting upon it.

If only the tabloids could see this side of him and talk about it instead, the gentler, sweeter side that you were discovering bit by bit, instead of the rogue party animal that they usually plastered all over their front pages.

“It’s perfect,” You said, voice coming out a little breathless. He grinned and called for a cab, gentlemanly holding out the door for you to get in first, following suit. “Do I get any more information about this surprise?”

He shot you a disapproving look, “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise then, would it?”

“I appreciate the sentiment of giving me a surprise but I’m inquisitive!” The small, indignant pout on your lips almost elicited a laugh from his end, but he stood his ground and shook his head.

“No can do, sweetheart, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

And how could you not relent when he called you that so naturally, his voice lilting a little in a teasing manner? It didn’t mean anything, but you liked it anyways, a lot more than you cared to admit.

The first place he took you was the Museum of Modern Art, which puzzled you a tad because of how ordinary it seemed and how risky it was with all the tourists and locals that frequented the place. At any moment, someone could notice him and that would only lead to further complications that you did not want to think about.

After getting tickets to enter the place, you found yourself thrust into a world of colour and portraits, pieces of art that were probably worth more than your entire college tuition. Some looked oddly normal like they didn’t belong in a museum of all places, but they were placed near what you could only describe as masterpieces. A striking contrast, to say the least.

“Every time we’re in NYC, I come here,” Taeyong explained as the two of you walked around the place, hands casually tucked into his pockets as those expressive eyes of his wandered the artistry that spanned before them.

You could tell something important was coming. “Why?” He let out a soft sigh, not sparing you a glance just yet, still focused on a specific piece in front of you, but you were only looking at him, patiently waiting. He had never had someone wait as you did, it had always ever been question after question, rushed and insincere, impersonal in a way that had him feeling comforted.

Or maybe that was just because he was used to that. It was no secret he liked the attention, it was just who he was, but having your attention on him was a completely different story, a completely different type of liking attention.

“For perspective.”

You didn’t quite understand what he meant by that and hummed in question. “Perspective?” “I express my feelings and my state of mind with music, but not everyone does that. Poetry, paintings, sculptures, whatever the hell that is,” He pointed to something that looked like a paper mache of a leg from the knee down in crocs. “There are different ways to feel and explain things, even when it seems impossible to do so. Coming here always….helps when I’m having a musical block.”

And pay attention you did, because you knew there was something he was holding back, so you used your old tactic of staying silent to draw out more from a person.

“Cherry Bomb turns five soon,” He said, voice nearing a whisper at this point. “And I’m grateful- so fucking grateful that we’ve managed to stay on top for so long- but I can’t help but think about there being a time where we lose it all. When we’re not the best and can’t climb back up there, what then?”

Your heart broke a little when you heard how vulnerable he sounded at that. How real he was and how passionate he was about his band.

Taeyong was such a colourful person- something like a saturated sunrise- the type of person to always stand out from among the crowd, set apart from them. The true masterpiece that roamed the halls of the MoMA.

“I don’t dwell on it for long, it’s like a phase I go through from time to time,” He laughed bitterly. “Mostly when I’m having a musical block, as I mentioned before, but when I come here and remind myself that there are different approaches to things I……I get over it, I guess.”

There was a certain element of weariness laced into his words, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things, but it was as clear as day to you. He was tired of indulging in that cycle of doubting himself over and over again, finally getting over it, only to return to it a few months later.

“You’re forgetting something.” You weren’t sure why you were so adamant about taking that ugly thought of his away from him. He finally looked back at you, raising an eyebrow.

“I am?”

Nodding solemnly, you gave him a half smile, standing a little straighter as your fingers curled into a fist at your sides. “Some pieces and artists are timeless. I think Cherry Bomb is one of them.”

You were so perfect, somehow knowing exactly what to say when he needed it most. He came to the MoMA for perspective and this time it wasn’t where he got that change of outlook from. This time, it was from you, even if you didn’t know how much that had comforted him- how much you had comforted him.

What a mesmerising lie this was.

A gentle beam pulled at the sides of his lips as he let what you said to hang in the air for a moment or two, disgesting it. He wondered if he would ever have to come back here again after meeting you because you sounded so much more appealing to him, and when he glanced back at the art piece, he snapped out of his self-induced reverie and asked.

“Are you hungry?”

Taeyong took you to a little café in Brooklyn, claiming it as the second spot he had set out to introduce you to in the morning. It was a rustic place, but pleasingly so, with little fairy lights hanging from over the display counter and soft jazz music playing in the background, the smell of pastries and bread wafting through the air, leaving you to inhale big gulps of air to savour it.

There weren’t many savoury options on the small menu they had, so you settled on a brownie and a normal coffee, playing it safe. Taeyong ordered a latte and a cheesecake without even looking at the options they had, and it reminded you that he too had roots in some places, even if his life seemed to be all over the place.

“I have a big sweet tooth,” He admitted when your food arrived, finally taking his cap off and revealing his head of messy hair, some of which stuck out endearingly in different directions. He ran his fingers through it to smoothen it out right as you fought the urge to do it yourself, curling your fingers around the handle of your cup of coffee instead to keep them occupied.

“I can tell,” You spoke, taking a sip of the bitter liquid that so soothingly kissed your throat. “So, why this place?”

He dug his fork into his cheesecake, cutting it and scooping the smaller piece up. “Because the owners didn’t know who I was.” Then he frowned, “Wait, I could have worded that better. I sound like some self-absorbed idiot, but yeah, they didn’t know who I was and I liked that I didn’t have to disguise myself here. And their apple pie is really good.”

He added that last bit like it was the most important thing to mention out of everything, eating the morsel on his fork. Digging into your cake, your eyes widened when the taste finally registered.

“Holy shit,” You mumbled, “This is amazing.” Swallowing, you licked your lips to make sure there were no crumbs stuck to them. “Now, back to those disguises you mentioned.”

Taeyong pursed his lips to keep his smile at bay at your endearing curiosity, “I don’t exactly have the luxury of being able to go out and not get swarmed.”

“Come on, you have to give me something to work with here. You can’t just mention disguises and not elaborate,” You prodded further, your natural curiosity taking over, but not for business purposes, you genuinely wanted to know more about him. And then, you promptly took another bite because god dammit, that brownie really was fantastic.

“I mean, hats are the norm,” He motioned to the bucket hat that he kept on his side of the table, part of which was handing off the edge, but he made no move to pull it back in. “But once I had to wear a curly wig and one of those fake moustaches. Not something I’d ever want anyone to see but it worked since no one did.”

The image that popped up in your mind was much too comical for you to even think about trying to hold back the chuckle that escaped you at that moment, and he shot you a playful glare, warning you under his breath. “Don’t.”

“How can I not?” You asked, trying your best not to snicker, “I have to see this for myself.”

“Over my dead body.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears as you tried to coax him to show you a picture if he had one, to no avail. Being out of the tour bus, away from everyone and just the two of you was refreshing, you could tell he was a little more relaxed in the café. It suddenly occurred to you that even among his band mates he had to keep a sort of mask on, after all, he was the leader and the person who had formed the group in the first place. Most of the time, the responsibility fell onto his shoulders.

Something deep inside you appreciated the fact that he felt comfortable enough to let go in front of you.

And thats when a twinge of remorse pinched you, the sting so faint but definitely there. It had been making itself at home within your body and it was entirely unwelcome. Taking a sip of coffee to drown it out, gripped the handle of the mug tighter than you usually would as if compensating for what your conscious was trying to tell you.

When he cracked a joke and you laughed along, indulging in a conversation with him that seemed to flow so easily, and when he insisted on paying even when you argued that you could very well do so for yourself, it told you something else.

It told you that this entire day felt like a date.

And it shouldn’t have, you told yourself repeatedly while you walked back out, falling into step with him on the footpaths. The sun was dipping below the high point that it hit during the afternoons, hiding behind the wispy clouds that seemed to caress the preeminent tips of the skyscrapers.

You had to remind yourself that he was known for being the guy that walked out of places with a girl hanging off his shoulder, the one that everyone somehow found themselves infatuated with, and the fact that you could understand why they were irking you. You were never supposed to let yourself get swept away in his current so easily, but you hadn’t anticipated it being so strong.

Walking with you felt natural like he could close his eyes for just a minute and pretend that he wasn’t Lee Taeyong, Cherry Bomb’s leader that tended to find trouble. He was just Taeyong and he didn’t know why he found that so appealing.

It’s funny how even the smallest thing can derail an entire experience, no?

Taeyong stopped walking, setting his jaw once he noticed it. He was about to raise his hand to his head to check if he was wearing his bucket hat, but thats when he realized it was in the palm of his hand- he had forgotten to put it back on.

“Taeyong?” You furrowed your eyebrows when you realized he wasn’t moving anymore, a faraway look in his eyes. “Are you oka-” You trailed off when you followed his line of sight, not really knowing what you were looking at until you saw the smallest flash.

Oh.

He reached out and slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that shielded your face from the camera- or cameras, who knew- and lowered his head until his lips were just barely brushing against your earlobe. The contact had you suck in a breath, registering the warmth of his fingers through the thin fabric of your tee-shirt, just barely there.

“You wanted excitement, hm?” Your eyes widened and he slipped his hand down to yours, intertwining your fingers and giving you one of those cocksure looks of his. The way your hand fit in perfectly with his, interlocked as they had always meant to be like that made you want to keep it like that forever.

“How does running from the paparazzi sound?”

And then, before you could even think about responding to that suggestion of his, he pulled you along, breaking into a sprint that you had no choice but to join him in. Like clockwork, the cameras and reporters that were trailing you silently came out of hiding to follow suit, knowing that even a few words from the man you were with were going to be extremely valuable.

The thing about spur-of-the-moment decisions was that they always felt exhilarating, a feeling that would forever be arduous to put into words because there didn’t seem to be any that were good enough for the description. The monotone yet stunning city around you faded away as you focused on the equally, if not more, stunning man in front of you.

He turned around to glance back at you as the both of you took off, and it was then you caught the grin he wore on his face, the sparkling in his eyes that told you that he too felt the same rush you did. It wasn’t the first time he had ever experienced it, but now that you were there, it felt different, like it was familiar in a foreign sense. Your smaller hand grasped his with such trust that you knew he would somehow manage to extract the two of you out of the situation, cold against his warmer one.

You didn’t think you had ever seen something as enchanting as Taeyongs smile, even though you could barely focus on it right then. From the way, the edges of his mouth dug into the crevice of his face and little dimples popped up on his cheeks to the crinkling of the skin around his eyes in joy.

Spotting a cab on the side of the street, he slowed down and prompted you to do so as well, stopping near it and deftly opening the door to the backseat to help you inside. You did so wordlessly, but your breathing had turned a little shallow from the small sprint and you couldn’t relax just yet, watching anxiously through the glass of the car to see the press closen in.

“Drive,” He instructed the man in the front, who was evidently surprised at the sudden occupying of his cab. Stammering, he twisted the keys in the ignition.

“Where to, sir?”

“JUST DRIVE!” Taeyong raised his voice to express his urgency. “Please, as fast as you can and away from here.”

The entire thing was bizarre, and then when the car started moving in the opposite direction to the paparazzi following you, you finally leaned back in the rough faux leather seats. You allowed yourself to glance to your side at the man by your side, who always seemed to finally be relaxing, and when his eyes met yours, there was a beat of silence.

And then you began laughing.

The sound came out a lot louder than you thought it would, but you couldn’t stop, hand pressed to your stomach in an attempt to control yourself. The rush of adrenaline had resulted in everything seeming so funny to you, because who would have ever expected you of all people to be running away from the paparazzi with a world-famous rockstar by your side? Even the concept was outlandish.

When Taeyong laughed along with you, you stopped trying to hold your amusement back. You let yourself lean into him in a mixture of bafflement and hilarity, moving your hand to cover your mouth to stifle the giggles that left it.

“That was insane!” You exclaimed breathily, looking up at him. “My god.”

He had been worried for a minute there when he got into the cab, worried that you would have thought he was too much trouble, and it would have been warranted too, but the way you were looking at him right then like you would give anything to experience that again, assured him that wasn’t the case. Right then, it was the first time he noticed just how infectious your laughter was, and he was proud to be at least partly the cause of it.

“Exciting enough?” He asked hopefully, and you nodded enthusiastically, drunk off the feeling

“I know you probably deal with that a lot,” You said between breaths, “But that was a once-of-a-lifetime experience for me.”

The contrast of your two lives hammered against each other but you had somehow managed to find a sliver of common ground. While he loved attention, he had gotten annoyed over never being able to do normal things alone over the years, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, it didn’t feel like that.

“Hey, aren’t you one of those guys from that band? My daughter loves you.”

The driver’s New York drawl cut through the little bubble that encased the two of you, and Taeyong smiled and winked. “Tell her she has good taste.”

“Think I can get an autograph for her?” The driver picked a small piece of paper from the cupholder beside him, one that looked like a parking ticket and turned it over, handing it to Taeyong when the singer nodded. “Gimme a sec to find a pen, she better not give me that attitude of hers ever again after this!”

He signed the ticket- with such fluidity that it left you to watch in awe at how natural it was- and gave it back, telling the driver the destination as well, which was the stadium at which the buses were parked.

When you were back, Irene stood there with her trademark glare plastered across her face. Doyoung looked a little baffled, but only shot Taeyong a look that you couldn’t decipher. The latter ignored both, walking with you into the bus. There were so many people and he still somehow managed to make you feel like the only person in the world, and you found yourself hoping that running from the paparazzi with him wouldn’t just be a one-time thing.

“Thank you,” You said sincerely, “For today, I mean.”

“Don’t mention it,” He waved it off, but you shook your head, reaching out and grabbing his hand once again. The act caught him off guard, but he didn’t once pull away or even attempt to do so.

“I want to mention it Taeyong, it might not seem like much to you but….you gave me a part of my dream. You deserve to be thanked for that.” You had so many dreams, some being much too big for your own good, but today felt like you were finally inching closer to one of them instead of only being in the process of doing so.

He squeezed your hand. “And you should never have to thank me for that.”

Right then, it was when the anvil of guilt settled deep in the pit of your stomach because it was then you knew that you couldn’t write that exposé, even if Johnny had said it wasn’t one. When you were good at what you did, you learned to read in between the lines, and this article was exactly that- one that was supposed to be written to fuck over Cherry Bomb.

LEE TAEYONG SNUGGLING UP IN NEW YORK CITY!

We’ve seen him stumble out of bars and parties with a girl, but never during the day! Folks, this might be the first time we’ve ever seen the twenty-three-year-old heartthrob looking relatively sober with the opposite sex!

They were first spotted at a café, though due to the angle at which the pictures were taken you cannot see the woman’s face, it was definitely Lee sitting opposite her as the two chatted amicably, before leaving to walk with each other until they realized they were being followed and made a run for it.

He seemed protective of the girl, going so far as to make sure no one caught her face, which begs the question: who is she? Who is the possible woman who has managed to incite such a reaction in Lee Taeyong? More importantly, is there a possibility of romance on the horizon for the rockstar? All these questions that we are just dying to find out!

- Rolling Stone.

There was a certain fragility in being presented with something you were supposed to be good at, only to come out of the act fruitless.

With your fingertips pressed to the keys of your laptop, you seemed to forget every piece of knowledge you possessed on the art of writing, your mind going blank as you stared at the empty document that seemed to mock you. Words expertly evaded you and every sentence that you tried putting out sounded wrong.

Now, how were you to write an article that was supposed to deliver the truth while sounding sure of itself when you didn’t hold those sentiments just yet? It was a near impossible feat, and you sighed frustratedly, pressing down onto the keys and producing an incoherent string of letters that meant nothing, which was oddly fitting to your state of mind right then.

When you were younger and in college, you had prided yourself on being one of the best writers on the college paper, with a talent to compile research and information interestingly. It was what helped you through your first months working at The Link when the only topics you got were uninteresting ones.

You have always been a driven person, determined to reach your goals by any means possible. The first great article you had written was for the college paper in your freshman year and had been a ruthless piece about the best player on the soccer team using steroids. The team hated you after that since it had cost them their winning streak, but the editor of the paper at the time absolutely adored you for it.

That experience was the one from which you learned that the journalism industry lived off stepping on others’ toes, whether your intentions were right or wrong. You tried your best to ignore the selfish side of journalism, but it made you a hypocrite because you had always been the type of person to strive for what she wanted no matter the consequences it had for others.

It was at times like these when you truly hated writing. You hated what it could potentially turn people into.

“Y/n?”

You looked up to see Huang Renjun standing there, holding what looked like a magazine with a concerned look on his face. Ever since the day you had overheard his conversation with your boss, you had done your best to steer clear of the man to avoid complicating things for yourself.

“Yes?” You had no choice but to entertain him now, unfortunately, since the best of the band was at rehearsals and you were alone on the bus- save for Renjun, of course. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” He shook his head from side to side at first, before changing the direction and bobbing it up and down. “Yes, actually, I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Most people would have asked for that minute, but Renjun simply demanded it. You supposed that being a publicist had instilled that sense of entitlement in him, or maybe it was just a quality that he was required to have, to be able to grasp the attention of those he spoke to and lay down the rules he expected to be followed.

You momentarily wondered if that was how he managed to not be caught for what he had done yet, recollecting the wording he had used with Johnny. Smiling, you nodded and closed your laptop just enough to silently give him the respect he desired while talking to you, but open enough so that the light from the screen didn’t go out.

“Of course, go ahead.” The repeated warning of having to remain professional rang in your head and it was at that exact moment when you registered that you barely told yourself to do so around the band, and never around Taeyong.

“Well, this article was released today and I think you’re the woman in the pictures attached,” He said nervously, handing it over. You narrowed your eyes and scanned the words, before acknowledging the slightly blurry pictures of you and Taeyong, one with his arm around your waist and the other with your hands joined together. Your face wasn’t visible in either, thankfully.

“Oh,” You said a little awkwardly. “Yes that is me, he wanted to show me this café he liked and we weren’t as careful as we should have been. I’m sorry if this causes any trouble.” Your apology was genuine, and Renjun couldn’t help but sigh.

“You…..know why you’re here, right?”

It was the way he said it that put you off, cautious and calculating like he was testing you. Funnily enough, you were set out to fail, and you were a-okay with it.

“To write an article,” You said plainly and the expression on his face switched like he had put on a mask, forcing a smile that was painfully polite, before thanking you and leaving. You had confirmed his fear, that you had no clue what was going on.

Unbeknownst to you, Taeyong was being talked to by Irene, and the conversation had started out similarly enough, before taking an entirely different direction.

“Is that you with Y/n on here?”

Taeyong nodded, though it was a little noncommittal.

“And you were so careless that you were caught by the very people you’re not supposed to?” She was tapping her foot on the ground backstage impatiently now, one hand resting on her hip and the other holding the magazine. Between rehearsals, she had dragged him off stage to confront him about what had happened.

“Yep, sorry about that, by the way. I just wanted to hang out with her for a bit.” He didn’t need Irene to tell him he had fucked up, he knew that well enough for himself. He just thought that it had been worth it considering the reaction it had pulled out of you.

His manager stayed silent, and he mentally prepared himself for yet another one of her exasperated scoldings that she kept specially for him. While he did that, he glanced longingly out at the stage where the rest of his mates practised their parts, simpering a tad at how it sounded a little empty without him. That was one thing he always loved about the band, the fact that without one of them, it didn’t sound like Cherry Bomb. They were a team to the very end.

“Thats….actually genius.”

Pure confusion took over as he frowned. It sounded like a compliment, but he couldn’t be too sure since it felt like he should have been in trouble for being reckless again. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, it’s genius. Winning the journalist over? Amazing!” She clapped gleefully, all signs of apparent agitation missing from her face, before sobering up once again. “I know I’m hard on you Taeyong, but I have noticed the effort you’ve made this time around.”

(He decided to not tell her about the time he took you to a party where Mark and Yuta smoked a joint in front of you.)

Had he made an effort? He didn’t know considering it wasn’t like he had been making a conscious effort to do so by any means. What he did know was that he didn’t like the implications that came with what Irene was saying, the implication that he was putting up a front to get a good ‘review’, in a sense, out of you.

Taeyong was not doing that. He genuinely wanted to show you the two places he treasured the most in New York and liked talking to you. He liked the way you smiled first with your eyes and then with your mouth, always in that order. If it was with your mouth first, it was a fake smile.

“Right,” He said haltingly. “Thank you? I feel bad about causing a commotion though, I know you hate dating scandals.”

That was right, Irene hated when Taeyong was pulled into dating scandals because of how often it happened. People loved speculating about who he could possibly be with and it had always been wrong. He had never done relationships, he was in a committed one with his guitar and music.

“I do, but I’ll let it slide this time, especially since I don’t think it will turn into one.” The grin she wore was larger than life itself, “Winning her over is the smartest thing you could possibly do, and don’t worry too much about the repercussions. You did that café a favour if anything. Their business is going to boom.”

He was happy about that, of course, he was, but all he could hope for was that it wouldn’t lose its charm. He also knew that he had to keep everyone happy, something that was so impossible for one person to do, but it was a burden he had to carry anyway. He nodded. “She seemed happy, so I’d say I won her over.”

“Good,” Irene smiled proudly, and the expression didn’t give him that gratifying feeling it once did.

Insomnia was turning out to be a good friend of yours.

You had read somewhere that the human brain was set in a way that when a question was proposed to it, it always wanted to find an answer, like a computer that had been programmed to do so. Some people used that to their advantage while studying, and it was a very effective method from what you had seen.

Right now though, you weren’t too pleased considering it was why you were lying awake in your tiny little bed. Your mind was racing and begging for answers you didn’t have to satiate it, and you were left being restless, trying to ignore the itch that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you tried to calm it down.

Goddamnit.

You sat up, a disgruntled expression on your face as you did so, trying to ignore the prickle of goosebumps that had appeared on your arms and the dryness in your throat, but when the cold nipped at your skin harshly, you decided it was time to solve both those problems. Throwing your legs over the side of the small bed, you got to your feet and then immediately crouched as you approached your suitcase, slowly unzipping it and producing a sweater.

Once you had put it on, you stood up and softly padded down the stairs to the small kitchen on the bus to grab yourself some water.

At first, you went straight to the kitchen, finding the cupboard that held the glasses with little trouble, poured yourself a glass of water and sipped it with every intention of going straight back to bed and forcing yourself to succumb to sleep. You liked to sleep, sleep was good and kept you from being irritable during the day.

But when you stood at the doorframe of the kitchen, it was then you noticed the dim lights and the silhouette sitting on the floor; a silhouette that had been haunting your thoughts for a better part of the two months you had spent on this tour trying to ignore it. You sucked in a breath, before finally succumbing to all the questions your mind was throwing at you.

Stupid brain.

You had to know the truth for it had been eating at you for so long now, and you were going to get it right now.

“Taeyong?” At your soft voice, the man looked up, squinting slightly to make out your figure in the darkness. In one hand he held a glass of some alcoholic drink and in the other something that looked like a cigarette- or maybe it was a pencil. You couldn’t be too sure.

“Y/n,” He said your name slowly, deliberatively even. “Hey.”

He sat on the floor, legs bent at the knees with his arms resting on them casually, the sight strangely domestic. The slight shiver that raked down your spine at his voice always managed to take you by surprise, no matter how many times it happened.

“What are you doing up?” You started with the simplest question you could come up with, taking his greeting as an invitation to join him. Despite your glass being almost empty, you carried it with you anyway as you settled down beside him. He shrugged, taking a sip of the golden liquid that swirled in the glass he held before placing it down.

“Got inspired for some lyrics, what’s your excuse?” He waved to the small journal in front of him with his other hand, his tone light-hearted. It was a pencil.

‘You’ was the honest answer your brain presented you to that question. “Couldn’t sleep,” was the pathetic excuse you ended up going with. Suddenly, the lower section of the tour bus seemed a little too empty, and you peered through the darkness, noticing that it was because no one else was there. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” He said, waving his hand about aimlessly. “Getting high or something, I don’t know.”

“You’re not with them,” you observed, saying it like a statement even though it was more of a prompt for him to elaborate on. He raised his glass with a wry smile, tilting his head towards it.

“I wanted to work on a song, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to miss out on the fun,” he leaned back a little against the couch and sighed. You were at a loss for words at what to say because there was no easy way to approach and tackle the subject that you most wanted to in a tactful manner. “I guess I just wanted to be alone for a bit.”

“Oh,” you felt a little idiotic right then. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Don’t,” he cut you off immediately. “Stay. My inspiration lasted about ten minutes before it fizzled out.”

“What usually inspires you?” You prodded, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your cheek against them so you could watch him, interlocking your warm fingers in front as you looped your arms around your legs. As a journalist that wrote for a newspaper, you were always being handed things to write about, so there wasn’t much room for inspiration per se, just skill and good research.

However, that wasn’t to say that you hadn’t entertained the idea of writing what you wanted, your own ideas and things plucked out of your imagination on occasion, but the problem with fiction was that as free as it sounded, it was never truly as free as one thought. That, and the fact that non-fiction was what was expected of you.

He thought about your question for a moment. “Inspiration is very unpredictable because you can get it from everywhere if you look hard enough for it. For example, take Jackson’s new song.”

“Jackson? Jackson Wang?” You asked incredulously, and he nodded.

“Yep, his new song Blow? He showed me some of the writing process and most people think it’s this sultry euphemism for a woman he’s sleeping with when in reality, it’s just about his damn cigarette.” He chuckled fondly at the recollection, remembering how dumbfounded he was when he found out himself, amused at the way your lips parted and eyes widened in bewilderment. Pressing his middle and index finger together, he brought it up to his mouth and then pulled it away by just moving his wrist, mimicking taking a drag.

“You’re kidding,” You weren’t sure if you were saying it out of mystification over the news that the song was supposed to be taken more literally than you had thought, or that Taeyong knew Jackson Wang. You reckoned that half of his charm came from the fact that one could continually forget he was famous while in his presence.

Taeyong smirked slightly, unable to stop himself from doing so at your expression. “Not at all. It’s just really easy to disguise a song as one out of love.” And with that, he turned his attention to the low ceiling of the bus, as if trying to peer out at the stars that were hidden from his view. You let yourself get carried away in the act of trying to read his mind and what he was thinking for a minute, before shaking yourself out of it after failing spectacularly.

“So what inspires you?” You repeated your previous words, “Not others, you.”

Another sigh escaped those crimson lips of his, clicking his tongue in a mixture of frustration and exasperation. “That’s a hard question, reporter, go easy on me, won’t you?” He was teasing you, light-hearted teasing that went straight to your head.

Evidently, your head wasn’t working well because you decided that it was the perfect moment to spring the million-dollar, definitely not an easy question on him. “Is it true?”

He raised an eyebrow at your abrupt blurting out of the painfully vague question. You wondered how you dared to call yourself a professional journalist when this was how you presented yourself at times.

“Is what true?”

“Did you sleep your way to the top?”

Pin. Drop. Silence.

From the very moment the words left your lips, you knew you fucked up. They had sounded so unbelievably wrong even as you were pronouncing them so impetuously on your tongue, a tongue that you now bit down on hard in regret. You briefly entertained the concept of time travel, solely so you could go back and slap a hand over your past self from two minutes ago before she could ask the one that had been relentlessly plaguing her.

“The thing about inspiration,” He started slowly, cautiously even, “Is that people don’t realize it’s dependent on motivation, and those two things were very different. His eyes were trained on you now, unwavering, and you noticed how intense they were even in the dark, somehow seeming to be void of any colour while having little golden freckles of light like the drink in his glass dancing around in them at the same time. “Some are lucky to have both of those things present at the same time, others- not so much.”

You had no idea where this was going, but you knew that it was in your best interest to keep your mouth shut and listen, especially with how serious he was.

“Motivation is what keeps me going every day,” He said haltingly, ignoring the cool draft of air that danced around his feet, “And inspiration rolls around when I’m most motivated. It’s how we write our music. Every song on all the albums we’ve done has come out of our studio and ourselves.” His jaw spasmed with the offence. “So no, I didn’t sleep my way to the top, Y/n, our music got us there fair and square.”

All the things you could have been and you chose to be a first-class jerk, but the firmness in his voice was all the proof you needed. The article was a lie, Jungwoo was a liar and Renjun was a cheating rat. Culpability settled deep in your gut, this time without the intention of ever leaving.

“I believe you.”

The sheer conviction in your voice surprised him, and so did the way you were looking at him, with that same determined look you always wore, but this time it was directed at him. You truly did believe every word that had come out of his mouth and he couldn’t have been more grateful because he hadn’t heard those three words in so long.

I believe you- not from his manager, his team, or even his bandmates. They thought it, of course, they did, he was sure of that, but they never said it aloud to assure him of it. All they did was remind him of what he had to do to fix the messes he always managed to stumble into, willingly or not. When you said it, it was like the weight he had been carrying around for so long slipped off his shoulders and let him stand up straight for the first time in a long time.

“You do?” You hadn’t expected the undertone of vulnerability that came along with how he said that, the earnest hope that so subtly accompanied it.

You nodded, locking eyes with him without the intention of ever looking away. You believed him so much that it was killing you a little because you had seen the hurt that flickered in his otherwise calm expression, the poker face he had perfected after all these years of wearing it. You didn’t have to repeat it because you somehow knew that it had settled in and made the impression you had wanted it to already.

Taeyong looked away first, but not entirely. His eyes fell to your lips, causing you to suck in a sharp breath, your mind running at a mile a minute the moment he did. The air between your bodies turned to electric static and nothing more, a magnetic pull that beckoned you closer to him as if you weren’t already right by his side.

It was that vulnerability and your pure acceptance that tipped him over completely and he willingly let go.

His lips met yours delicately, ghosting over yours as your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, heart hammering through the confines of your chest, begging for freedom and solace in his hands, for it was fairly obvious that he had managed to snatch it away before you even noticed it wasn’t yours to claim anymore. As if sensing the fearful hesitance in the way he just barely brushed his mouth against yours, you let all of your inhibitions go and let your mind go blank as you pressed your lips back against his.

Somewhere through the seconds of your lip-lock, his hand cupped your jaw, calloused fingers holding you gently as his thumb brushed against your cheekbone, lulling you further into him. You could taste the whiskey on his lips, coaxing the guilt out of your system and replacing its heaviness with a warmth you couldn’t quite put your finger on, focusing on the way he kissed you. You basked in the way he moved his lips by yours as if he was memorizing every little thing about them, like a sunflower standing proud in the presence of the sun's rays.

When he pulled back slightly you found yourself chasing his lips, reaching out and tugging on the material of his shirt as you eagerly met him halfway once again and it was when you finally understood how addictions came to be. He lit a fire under the expanse of your skin, a fire you never wanted to put out for as long as you lived, to let it burn until it consumed your very being.

You weren’t sure when the both of you broke away from each other’s mouths, still buzzing from the pure intoxication he had provided you with. You were much closer than before, so much so that his hot breath mingled with yours as his forehead pressed against yours, and you stayed like that for a few minutes until his hand slipped gently into your hair.

“Thank you,” He breathed out quietly, staying like that. A fluttery jab hit you right in your chest at that, and you reached up until your hand was on his, deciding that everything else could afford to take a backseat if you were allowed to be in his arms like this, even for just a few more minutes. Somehow, you managed to find your voice despite being sure you had lost it the moment this bewitching man kissed you to echo.

“I believe you.”

And then perhaps you finally let yourself fall, but not aimlessly like you had in the past. Unprecedented, you let yourself finally entertain the idea of falling in love.

“Hello, this is Kim Jungwoo speaking.”

In truth, you weren’t too fond of confrontation. You were about to cut the call the moment the second ring buzzed through your device, but your tenacity prevailed, coaxing you to hold on until he picked up. You gripped your phone a little tighter, trying to ignore the sudden dampness of your palms.

“Jungwoo,” You started, putting on a professional tone for the sake of the call. “This is Y/n L/n from The Link, I apologize for the sudden nature of this call, but do you have a few minutes?”

To some, loose ends provided an area for speculation, where they could freely put out their thoughts into the world all while protecting themselves by mentioning it was all ‘alleged’. You had never been one to endorse speculation, especially when you had pretty darn good evidence pointing towards what was the truth. Jungwoo was the loose end you were going to tie up.

“Y/n! Oh hey, yeah sure, is something wrong?” You could hear the mild recognition in his voice- he just barely remembered who you were, you were sure, but that was to be expected. He was senior to you and had been working at The Link for much longer as well, so the most he would have known about your existence was the fact that you spent a whole three months running around and getting people their coffee.

Yes, you almost said, more distressed over the situation than you cared to admit. Although he couldn’t see it, you shook your head as you spoke, “Not at all! I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Knock yourself out.” You heard some shuffling from his head and you exhaled, mentally applauding yourself for making it this far. Now that you had taken the first step, the rest of it shouldn’t be too hard, and you sat up straight as if you were interviewing him, gathering all your thoughts.

“Give me a minute,” You pulled the phone away from your ear before he could respond, making sure that the call was being recorded, before putting it back. Usually, you would have put the call on speaker so it would be easier to take notes, but this was a special case. You couldn’t afford the consequences of anyone listening in. “Alright, it’s my understanding that you were assigned a piece of Cherry Bomb a few months ago?”

“I was.”

“And you pulled out last minute,” You continued, tapping your nails on the small table in front of you rhythmically.

“That is true, yes, but what is this about?” He was very obviously confused, unaware of the direction that you were about to take the conversation.

“Well, you see, I was put in your place to accompany the band on tour, but a few interesting things came up and I thought that it would be best if I asked you about it since it seems like you would know the most.” Your explanation was logical, you had taken a lot of time planning exactly how this was going to go in your head, keeping your tone calm and composed as you glanced down at the ticking hands on your watch. The afternoon was dipping into the evening.

He hummed unassumingly, “Alright, go ahead.”

“Why did you refuse to write the article?”

“Family emergency.” His answer was painfully generic, you had to pinch your lips to stop yourself from outright snorting at it.

“But it’s such a valuable piece to have under your belt, Johnny mentioned that it could get you a spot at the NYT.” It was probably not a very wise decision to so blatantly and harshly press on for what could technically be classified as personal information from someone senior to you, but it was what you had to do.

He bristled a little, tsking over the phone. “Are you insinuating that a job offer is more important than family, Miss L/n?”

“I’m insinuating that you’re lying to me,” You replied, uncompromising to his attempt at gaining the upper hand. Now, this was a pretty big claim to put out there, but you knew you were right, and you were getting tired of people thinking you were so gullible and underestimating you.

“You wrote the piece on Taeyong.” You made no effort in beating around the bush, nor did you pose it as a question for his leisure, instead stating it as it was. A lesson that you were quickly learning was that you weren’t going to get anything unless you fought for it and you were going to fight for this just as you fought for your spot on the tour.

Funnily enough, you weren’t exactly fighting for yourself this time.

“I’m sorry?”

“The anonymous piece about Lee Taeyong,” you clarified, not an ounce of hesitance in your voice. “I heard your source speak to the editor a few weeks ago and everything fell into place, especially when he came around to ask me if I knew why I was there.” The silence that followed your words was extremely gratifying because it told you that you had made the right assumption.

“What do you want, Y/n?” He asked, and if you didn’t know any better, you would say that it hinged along the lines of a threat with how low his voice was. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the annoyance that had sprung forth with how he was speaking to you. You fisted the fingers of your other hand, feeling your nails dig into the cold skin of your palm.

“I want the real reason you dropped the piece, Jungwoo,” You used his first name, in the same manner, he used yours, forcing yourself to calm down, leaning back in the small chair you sat in and letting out a controlled sigh. One thing you couldn’t afford to do was lose control.

He guffawed, “And pray tell, what do you think that is?”

Frustration drummed through your veins at his obvious dismissal, the scrutiny in the way he spoke to you. “You’re scared of getting caught because you know it’s a fabrication.”

“Is it?” He was playing it coy now, and your temper made a surprising show as it bubbled up to the base of your throat, threatening to spill out. You weren’t one to so quickly let an intense emotion wash over you like this, so it caught you off guard as well, leaving you to swallow it down along with the lump in your throat.

“You know damn well it is,” You hissed into the mic of your phone, gripping the edge of the table to keep yourself grounded. “He didn’t do anything of the sort and you’re scared of getting caught because of what you did because it would easily tie back to you. It’s why you wrote the piece anonymously.”

“Oh cut the act Y/n, I didn’t do it because I have anything against the man, I did it because I was offered the prettiest paycheque you could ever lay your eyes on for it. And Taeyong is a celebrity, several celebrities have done what I accused him of.”

“It’s wrong,” You said, utterly flabbergasted over how unbothered Jungwoo was over the entire thing. “Just because others have doesn’t mean he has, I know he hasn’t.”

All at once, it made sense why you were so earnest in your rage towards the man, you were angry because it was hurting Taeyong more than he let you. You saw a glimpse of it that night when he kissed you and the way he relaxed in your touch when you told him you trusted him. You discovered what a lovely being he was, even if it consisted of poorly hidden rendezvous that had you being discovered almost every time, but he never seemed too concerned.

Nothing warranted him having to deal with the consequences of Jungwoo’s actions. You had learned that over the past few weeks that you had permitted yourself to get tied up in the whirlwind of chaos that consisted of his world. You learned that you liked it a little too much.

You thought of the way he looked at you when you told him you believed him. The smile that curled his lips when he saw you.

He didn’t deserve that at all.

It hit you then, just how deceptive it was for you to claim that he didn’t deserve all this and that you cared for him when you were one of the main contributors. Were you not the person who had to write an article about him? Weren’t you the person who had jumped at the opportunity to write it just so it could benefit you? And from the looks of things, you were meant to write a piece to feed into the created narrative.

You would tell him. You had to tell him because it was the right thing to do.

Just not yet.

“Please, he’s a grown-ass man who is filthy rich, you don’t have to go around defending him.” The sneer in his voice did not go unnoticed by you, causing you to grind your teeth together in an attempt to not lash out at the pompous man. How dare he have the audacity to pretend he was better than you for spewing his lies and boasting about the money he got for it.

There was no point in arguing with Jungwoo; that much was clear from your short exchange with him, and you cleared your throat so you sounded composed. “Thank you for your time, Mr Kim.”

“Good luck with your article, Y/n, have fun playing hero if you must.”

You cut the call, biting down so hard on your tongue that it hurt to stop yourself from possibly lashing out against the man. Bringing your phone down, you stared at the screen in candid incredulity at how a person could be so selfish so as to endanger someone else's career- hell, this was Taeyong’s entire life on the line!- to further theirs, especially when it wasn’t warranted in the slightest.

You narrowed your eyes and pressed the icon for the recording app, your frown slipping into a sly smile as you saw the recorded log that sat atop all the others with the day's date.

Gotcha.

The first day of July brought in the middle of the summer, the clouds turning luminous as they passed by the sun, letting its beams flicker through and warm up the world below. Taking in a deep breath, you smiled when you made your way downstairs to greet the band that morning- and one of them in particular, because your trusty research had told you that the summer wasn’t the only thing that the first of July graced with its presence.

It was Taeyong’s twenty-fourth birthday and the day of yet another one of their shows, but this time everyone seemed to be more relaxed, smiles on their faces due to the occasion. You had never thought about how one would go about celebrating their birthday on the road, but since you were directly involved this time, you pushed your tribulations with Jungwoo to the back of your mind as you slipped into the kitchen and gripped the handle of the fridge, pulling it open to see the brown box that sat on the third shelf.

The day before, you had helped the rest of the band inconspicuously get a cake in his favourite flavour- green tea- and had it decorated with white and pink frosting, his favourite colour. It had taken you two hours to find a bakery that sold the specific flavour in San Fransisco, and by the end of it, you found yourself very lost in the new city. Thankfully, you had the boon of Google Maps to assist you in your journey back and had managed to hide it in the kitchen with the man of the day being none the wiser.

His liking of green tea cake was only the first of his many odd quirks that you had come to learn and subconsciously smile at the thought of, things that one couldn’t find through a simple google search. He bought lego sets in his free time and built them, apparently displaying all his creations on a shelf at his house, his comfort movie was Howl’s Moving Castle, and he had a hobby of buying and building a collection of unique shoes that he somehow managed to pull off and had a penchant for sweet snacks.

Taeyong was loveable in every sense, so naturally, it was so easy to fall in love with him.

“Doyoung, not the hair!”

His voice rang out, laced in mock annoyance and you rolled your eyes, shutting the fridge and walking out into the main lounge area, only to see the usually stoic man practically on top of Taeyong. Although he was generally calmer than the others, you had quickly picked up on the dynamic between him and Taeyong, which resembled something like Tom and Jerry, the two always looking for reasons to bicker.

“You’re old now,” He said, messing up his hair, much to the birthday boy’s despair, “How does it feel?”

“I don’t know, about as boring as you are.”

“Fuck off- oh, hey Y/n.” Doyoung finally stopped troubling Taeyong to greet you, also catching the attention of the latter, who glanced up to see you standing there with an amused grin on your face. It was always entertaining to watch the band interact with each other, it reminded you that under all the glamour and popularity they possessed, they were just a bunch of guys having fun.

“Hey,” You giggled at the sight, folding your arms as you leaned against the metal frame that separated the lounge from the kitchen area and biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snorting at the way Taeyong’s hair adorably stuck up in different directions due to his friend's ministrations. “Looks like you’re having fun.”

“They’ve been doing this since the moment I woke up,” He all but whined, staring at you keenly with those captivating eyes of his softer than usual, as if urging you to help get him out of that situation. It was then you noticed him as a whole, from the sweatpants that hung low on his hips to his lack of shirt.

Bloody hell, did he have to look like this in the morning?

Even at nine in the morning, he looked stunning and as if this was a good enough reason to be annoyed, you let your eyes wander for a minute, lingering on the tattoos that decorated the expanse of his pale skin. Then you looked back up, pushing down the warmth that was creeping up onto your face, and smiled.

“Happy birthday.”

Taeyong ran a hand through his hair to try and fix it, his own simper making a show. “Thank you, baby.”

Oh, did we talk about the nicknames? It should have been illegal for a man this ravishing to be able to pull off saying terms of endearance and manage to have your heart skip a beat while he did. Doyoung pretended to gag and walked away, shooting you a look that you couldn’t read before leaving the bus. You paid it no mind as you made your way towards Taeyong, reaching up so that your arms looped up around his neck, and pulled him down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss.

His hands quickly found purchase on your hips as he chuckled lightly, the sound going straight to your stomach. You had grown very accustomed to kissing him and loved every second of it, even if sometimes those kisses were embarrassingly long. He was positively irresistible, that much you were certain of, and every interaction you shared with him never failed to pull you in.

So perhaps you were a little in over your head when it came to Taeyong, but by god, was it worth it.

“Oh, I like this birthday gift,” He quipped, kissing the side of your mouth and then tugging you closer so your body was flush against his, arms securely around your waist. You felt flushed but didn’t let it stop you from burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne deeply as if you were trying to memorize it.

“How much?”

“Kiss me again and you’ll find out.” An offer you took up all too easily, especially with the taunting smirk that clung to his lips and the mischievous look in those hooded eyes of his, a look that always managed to elicit a delicious shiver from you. This time, the kiss was slower but just as dizzying and you couldn’t help but sigh, embracing the hotness that invaded your cheeks.

You were so preoccupied with him that you didn’t notice the door of the bus crack open a little and the pair of eyes that watched the two of you. You broke away from the heated kiss, unable to stop the idiotic smile from blooming on your face as you pushed him away playfully.

“I think I’m an excellent gift giver.” You winked, straightening out your outfit, “Now shoo, you have rehearsal.”

“Trying to get rid of me on my birthday? You wound me, Y/n.” He dramatically placed his hand over his heart, putting on a sorrowful expression that had you rolling your eyes in a combination of exasperation and amusement.

You shook your head and some of your hair out of your face in the process, proceeding to complain even though it held no real displeasure, “I have to work, even if it’s your birthday, and you’re very distracting.”

“That’s a you problem,” He mumbled cheekily, not looking away from you even once, a gesture that woke those butterflies that seemed to have moved into the pit of your stomach once again. When you shot him a warning look that wasn’t threatening in the slightest, he fought a smile and raised his hands to the sides of his head in defence. “But fine, if you must.”

You waved him off, letting out a sound of protest when he stole a kiss from you which left you with the objection stuck in your throat, but you acquiesced. By the time they would be done, you would have at least managed to finish up some of your work along with setting up the cake that you had spent so long scavenging for, and Mark was going to leave rehearsals a little earlier so he could help you.

“Have fun birthday boy,” You mumbled fondly, touching your lips as if silently questioning where all your reminders of professionalism went. “And put on a damn shirt!”

Irene's heels clicked on the pavement as she walked away from the tour bus after she made sure the door was closed, with her head held high as it always was, refusing to show even a hint of what she had just seen on it. After years of practice, she had gotten very good at controlling her expressions when needed.

She supposed that in some way this was her fault. After all, she was the one who told Taeyong to get on your good side for the sake of the article because of dire the situation was. She hadn’t exactly given him a manual to tell him how to go about it, had she? Winning you over would mean winning a battle.

So when Doyoung came up to her and told her that Taeyong was kissing you, all she could think was ‘Well that’s certainly one way to do it.’

As Cherry Bomb’s manager, it was her job to weigh the pros and cons of every situation and decision made regarding the band's career. She had been doing it for the past five years and had always managed to make sure they stayed on top of all the happenings, but hadn’t anticipated you to make such an….impact, to say the least. She was the one the agreed to have a journalist on board to make a good impact on would do wonders to extinguish the rumours that had been circulating.

The little affair between you and Taeyong wasn’t what she had expected to happen at all, so it fell under the category of being a complication, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was a bad thing. As long as they played it right, it would work out perfectly in their favour, and so she listed it as a pro.

For now.

She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, sighing when she realized that the rehearsals were starting a few minutes late due to the sound check taking extra time than usual. Usually, she would have hounded everyone to pick up their pace, but it was Taeyong’s birthday, and she did not want to intrude on your tryst back there with him. It was probably better if she didn’t, might make for an even nicer article.

Irene wasn’t one of the older managers, but she was a respected one because she knew how to get things done and she did it well. A lot of people asked her how it felt to manage the biggest band in the world, and how she was so good at what she did and her answer always consisted of the same smile and pretty thanks.

The real reason was too humiliating to actually talk about because it involved her past- the time before she was a manager because unfortunately, that did exist, even if she ignored it for the most part.

It was why she was so hard on the boys. She knew from personal experience that the smallest of slip-ups could lead to everything they had worked for crashing and burning.

When she was seventeen, she had been scouted to be a singer and she had been very good too, but before she could even come out as an artist, her label dropped her due to lies that another singer she had been briefly involved with had spread about her. At merely eighteen, it frustrated her to no end that the dream that she had worked for over a year had slipped out of her fingers just like that.

It didn’t just frustrate her- it stagnated her for three years until she decided that if she couldn’t be out on stage, she was going to be behind it and make sure no one else ever had to deal with that. The very moment she had laid eyes on the band when they first formed, she saw the drive that she once possessed in them and insisted on managing them after she trained to be a manager.

She was almost twenty-nine now, her chance at stardom had long faded with her youth, but she had settled for living vicariously through her boys. She loved them too much to let a rumour destroy them, especially when it was the very thing that destroyed her.

Seeing Taeyong being so affectionate with you was new, he had always been the wild card of the group, even if he was the oldest and the leader. He was never one to settle, so he must have really been pulling out all the stops to protect the group. Maybe she had underestimated him, but it was done in good spirit.

Under her care, she would make sure that they were untouchable if it was the last thing she did.

Even though every stadium they performed at was different, backstage always functioned with the same sort of organized unruliness no matter what. Over time, you had grown to appreciate how it worked, watching with the same wonder-stricken curiosity you always held with it came to it.

You were home- kind of. This particular concert was in LA, which was where you lived and worked and where the band resided as well, but funnily enough, it wasn’t their last show. They still had around one month of the tour left, before they left for the rest of the world tour.

“I think you’re in the wrong place, miss.”

An enthralled smile automatically tugged at your lips and you had to suppress the urge to groan and roll your eyes at how easily Taeyong managed to lift your spirits. Turning around, you faced him in all his pre-show glory as he stood there with that cocky look on his outlandishly handsome face, and raised an eyebrow in question.

“What do you mean?” And at that, he produced a slip of paper, holding it out in front of you like you were a cat and it was a piece of yarn. Frowning as you tried to figure out what it was, you grabbed his wrist and plucked it out from between his fingers. “What’s this?”

“A ticket,” He replied plainly, looking far too prideful for his own good. “I promised you that you would watch a show of ours one day, didn’t I? Today is that day, so you should get to your seat because I picked you a really nice one during rehearsals today. Empty stadiums are great for figuring these things out.”

Oh.

You stared at the ticket, strong emotion flickering in your chest when you realized he had remembered what you had told him almost three months ago at this point. The small paper crumbled a little at how tight you were holding it between your index finger and thumb. “Thank you,” You whispered, incredibly touched. “But really, you didn’t have to.”

He brushed it off immediately. “I don’t go back on my word, remember? Now get out there, and make sure to scream for me.”

Taeyong kept chipping in and fulfilling small dreams of yours little by little, and you wondered if your new dream included staying with him because it was sure starting to look like that. You nodded, slipping the ticket into your pocket and pressing your lips to his for a quick kiss and silent thanks, before bidding him farewell.

Now, you may have been used to the disorder backstage, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the pure pandemonium outside. The roar of anticipating fans echoed through the entire stadium, not leaving room for even a smidge of silence, and you pushed through to get to your seat and once you had arrived, you had to admit that it was a good one. It was five rows away from the stage, close enough to watch everything upfront without having to look at the huge screens, but far away enough to not have to crane your neck.

When the lights dimmed, part of you joined their excitement as your breath hitched in your throat, anticipation drumming through your veins as your eyes trained on the stage. You had missed the opening act (an LA-based singer called Joshua Hong, under the same label as the band but a smaller artist in terms of a following- apparently, he had gotten famous from his cover of ‘Sunday Morning’ going viral, and the rest was history. You had briefly met him when he had returned backstage after his set) but it had left everyone even more excited for the main act.

Suddenly the resounding beat of a bass drum echoed through the stadium, accompanied by a countdown and a spotlight shone on the middle of the stage as it rose, revealing the band bit by bit. The audience waited in bated breath as they came up, a static silence coating the place for a few seconds.

And when Taeyong sang the first lyric, standing there holding his bass guitar in the front, the entire amphitheatre erupted in screams.

The energy in there was absolutely indescribable, infectious in the best possible way. The entire band joined in with the drumming, their instruments forming a melody so perfect sounding in the grittiest way possible. You could barely hear them singing because of how loud their fans were, their combined voices overtaking the artists they were there to see in the first place.

Chaos. Beautiful, unmatched chaos.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your lips, left unnoticed as it was buried under all the cacophony and thousands of fans singing along to a song that they knew so well. After having done so much research and listening to their music in the process, you distinctly recalled the tune just enough to be able to hum along and participate in the smallest way.

The overwhelming glare of the lights illuminated them perfectly and you lost yourself in the music though you didn’t know much about it at all. From the pounding of Yuta’s precise drumming that acted as the backbone for it all to Doyoung’s flawless playing on the keys. The way Mark and Jeno’s respective parts on the guitars blended so well like they were one was a true testament to the artists they were.

But you were much too preoccupied with the frontman, who stood there, commanding every ounce of your attention with just his presence. He didn’t even have to look at what he was playing, automatically doing what he had to as if it had been written into his blood, tilting his head as he sang into the mic in front of him.

They belonged on that stage and were destined to stay on it for the rest of their lives, undoubtedly timeless.

Pride swelled in your chest as you watched the boys you had grown to love and closer to over the past three months as they harmonized while never losing their individual sounds for even a moment, one a little more than the others. One you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life watching.

You froze amidst mouthing along to the words that you had picked up on, inhaling sharply as the thought crossed your mind before you could stop it, so unexpected that it rendered you speechless.

Were you in love with Lee Taeyong?

The answer came to you so swiftly that it nearly knocked you off of your feet, grabbing you and opening your eyes to how you felt about the man. When he happened to look right where you were sitting because he had personally picked out your seat, and sang a particularly romantic line that was cloaked in heavy bass and crisp drumming, you knew.

When the song ended, they started another almost immediately after, this time changing it up so that it was catered to the audience’s interaction, which they gave all too eagerly, their energy at an all-time high as the night was still young. The smiles never faded from each member’s faces as they performed, unequivocally feeding off the enthusiasm that they were being presented with.

You finally understood the buzz around concerts, the absolute adrenaline rush that they gave a person from simply standing amongst the crowd because you were finally a part of it. Your experience was a little different, mixed in with the realization of another emotion, but you loved every second of it nevertheless. By the time they had finished the third song, you knew that this was going to be their best concert yet.

They stopped playing, and Taeyong pulled the mic in front of him out of its stand and walked to the front of the stage, revelling in the growing screams that accompanied his every move. Delighted goosebumps arose on his skin as he drank it all in, the feeling that he got at the start of every concert no matter how many of them he played. His signature smile that drove their fans crazy made a show as he lifted the mic to his lips.

“Hello Los Angeles, welcome to THE CHERRY ON TOP STADIUM TOUR!!!”

After talking with the audience for a bit, they continued with a few songs, even including a mashup of two of them that drove everyone wild. Their stage presence was insane, from the way they interacted with each other and everyone else in the stadium, and at one point even brought out another popular artist that was in LA at the time to join them in one of their songs.

They played Dark Clouds as a throwback to their beginnings, and then Blue, a heavier, more emotional song that was close to their hearts as well as the hearts of their fans, who somehow managed to scream along even to those delicate lyrics.

At one point, someone threw their bra on stage during one of the talking bits, leading to the very comical scene of Taeyong picking it up and hanging it on the end of his bass. Watching it happen was surreal, funny as hell, but so odd that you laughed hard along with everyone else. The sense of community that they created was admirable and you were grateful to be a part of it, even for just a few hours.

Truly, there weren’t enough words to describe the magnificence of the concert, the way the lighting ebbed and flowed according to the songs they performed and how the dancers that came out during specific performances put their best foot forward with everything they did. It was remarkably easy to see why Cherry Bomb was the best and why they would say the best.

The last song was an encore, a song that even you knew the lyrics to, bringing the enthusiasm that had dwindled ever so slightly from the start back to the area. When the last notes were played and the last lines were sung, and they thanked the crowd that night, you were surprised at the sudden emergence of tears in your eyes, emotional over the way it had ended so quickly.

It was the perfect ending to an impeccable show, one that would forever be engraved in your mind.

When the lights turned back on as they retreated backstage, it felt as if you were in the wrong place, like what you had just witnessed wasn’t reality in the slightly, but rather a beautiful dream you wished hadn’t ended. You stood there, staring blankly at the now deserted stage as the crowds dispersed, sobering up from the high they had gotten from the experience, hand stuffed in your pocket as you gripped the ticket tightly, unable to let go just yet.

You didn’t know how or when you managed to move again, snapping out of the spell the show had put you under, making your way to the front and to the door that led backstage, showing the guard that was stationed there the pass you had been issued at the start of the tour. Once you had walked inside, you possessed new respect for the work they did there, because there was no way the concert would have been as excellent as it was without those behind the scenes.

In the midst of it all, you saw Taeyong walking away from his mates, sipping on some water. He had lost the red leather jacket that he wore for every show, left in only a black vest that had a few buttons undone as they were, hair a little matted from the humidity. His eyes, however, were alight with a certain type of zeal that was the by-product of the adrenaline rush that no doubt coursed through his veins.

He was stunning.

He spotted you, pulling the bottle away from his mouth as he shot you a crooked little smile, and if you knew any better, you would have said that it held a hint of nervousness in it. Taking this as your cue, you began walking over, but before you knew it your walk turned into a sprint as you practically threw yourself in his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around him as you let him anchor you back down to earth.

“...So?” He asked, hand on the small of your back and other at the back of your head, securing your position. It scared you a tad, just how perfect it felt like there was nowhere else you would rather be.

“I loved it,” You whispered, fingers clinging to the thick material of his vest, the cool surface of the pins on them pressed against your skin. “God Taeyong that was….I can’t even begin to tell you how-”

He chuckled faintly, the enchanting sound getting lost in your hair as he tucked some of it behind your ear. “I hope it’s still the best show you’ve ever been to.”

“It always will be.” It was surprising how sure of that you were as you stepped out of his embrace, mildly embarrassed over how naturally you had run into his arms like it was something you had meant to do all this time. To rid your mind of that thought, you blurted out, “We should probably join the others and get to the cars so we can leave.”

You weren’t getting cold feet by any means, you were simply adjusting to the concept of loving him. Now that it had crossed your mind, it seemed like a permanent notion that wanted to stay and you weren’t used to the delight that accompanied it.

“We’re not going with them.” He stated mischievously.

“We’re not?” Your blatant confusion wasn’t lost on him, but if the look on his face told you anything, you would say that it was best to just follow along with what he had in mind. After all, you had been doing that for a bit now and it had always worked out in your favour.

Taeyong shook his head, his hand finding yours as he guided you out from backstage with the rest of the band, but then didn’t go in the car that the rest piled into, waving them off instead. With every passing moment, your curiosity grew and peaked when another car pulled up right where you were standing with him

“Most of the time when we’re in LA, we stay in this house that we have that’s close to our record label’s building.” He started to explain as he opened the car door for you, “But I actually have an apartment in the city, so I thought we could go back there tonight instead of back to the bus.”

He said this nonchalantly, but the meaning behind it was that he wanted to let you into his life a little more because it was becoming increasingly obvious that what he felt for you wasn’t temporary like it had been for other girls he had been with. Instead, it festered, amplifying with every minute he spent with you and surprisingly enough, he wasn’t against that possibility.

“Oh,” You whispered, voice oddly soft as if you had somehow picked up on this and were moved. The phantom of a smile danced on your lips as you nodded, slipping into the passenger seat as the driver got out of his, tipping his head to Taeyong and walking away. He took the driver's seat, started the car and looked at you through the rearview mirror.

Taeyong had always known he was a selfish person, and while some might have seen that as a flaw within themselves, he had never done that. He liked knowing what he wanted and getting it, but there was something about you that amplified that part of him because, with you, he wanted it all, even the things that weren’t possible due to who he was. Things he couldn’t have because of what he had played this relationship off as to the others.

Falling for someone was hard when the entire world could watch.

But being the selfish soul he was, he wanted it all. Perhaps it was a foolish notion to create and keep wishes that were much too out of his reach, yet the thought of discarding them never once occurred to him.

Much like Taeyong himself, his place was nothing like you expected but fit perfectly with who he was. It was massive, more appropriately called a penthouse, with huge windows and an interior that was on the expensive side, and when he switched the lights on you could see how it was minimally decorated, nothing too fancy since as he had told you before, he didn’t stay here very often, but with a pleasant ambience.

“I may have fibbed a little,” He admitted, a sheepish look slipping onto his features. Walking into the place, he placed the keys on the table with a soft clattering sound that seemed much louder than it was in the emptiness of the apartment.

“The apartment isn’t exactly what I wanted to show you.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow at this, “What is it then?”

He was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? If there was one thing he had taught you, it was how to appreciate the ‘magic of surprises’, as he had so eloquently put it all those weeks ago when it took you out in New York. Somehow, he always managed to spring one on your unsuspecting self whenever he pleased and you couldn’t find it in yourself to dislike it.

Taeyong gestured at you to follow him as he walked even further into the apartment, through a small corridor and into a bedroom, where he opened one of the closets to reveal a singular object sitting inside.

A guitar case.

He carefully picked it out, holding the rough fabric of the case as he unzipped it and let the top half fall open to reveal the neck of a guitar, which he gently gripped as he pulled it out.

It was a deep Walnut brown, lined with a lighter shade of the same colour that accentuated the edges and curves of the instrument. You walked forward to where he was standing slowly, studying the surface of the guitar once you were close enough to do so. He dropped the now empty case and it crumpled to the floor, already forgotten.

As he held the guitar up horizontally for you to gaze upon, you took note of the various little markings on the bottom that you couldn’t deduce to be accidental or on purpose, but it gave it character. You gently ran your fingers over them, briefly smiling at the small signature of an old artist that was planted off to the side of the guitar. It was a reminder, one that told you that he was once a wide-eyed fan in the crowd.

“I got this when I was twelve,” He said ardently, reminiscing the clear fond memories that came along with it. “It was my birthday and until then I had been using my dad’s old Gibson to learn how to play. When they presented me with this I was ecstatic because it was the very first guitar that I could call my own.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as he thought about it, running his fingers over the now loose strings- the result of being unused over the years. He toyed with the tuning heads aimlessly, a wistful expression twisted into the existing look on his face. “I named her Izabella- the same name that Jimi Hendrix named his most famous guitar because I wanted to be just as good as him someday.”

The image of a tween Taeyong filters through your mind, a short little kid sitting on the floor next to this huge present, a sparkle of excitement entering his eyes when he realised what his present was. You imagined his smaller figure holding it for the first time and naming it, vowing to be the best guitarist there was.

“I used her in all my school competitions, played at every event I could until I got into bass, and although it’s technically a different instrument, I practised on Izabella anyway.” He placed the instrument down with care, leaning it against the wall. “When I got my bass, I still played on her from time to time, but then I formed the band and slowly stopped paying attention to my first guitar, but I carried it with me when we moved to LA. “I guess that you could call it my first love.”

You stared at him intently as he looked at you properly with a boyish smile. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I tend to get caught up with music. Fuck, I even consider an instrument my first proper love.”

“It’s admirable,” You stated earnestly. He scoffed.

“And a little weird, no?” He took a step closer to you, tilting his head ever so slightly. “I care for you Y/n, but being with me…..it won’t be easy. The fans, the fact that I put my music before everything, the paparazzi waiting for every single mistake you commit- it’s not normal, but if you’re okay with it-”

He paused as if carefully thinking over the words that appeared to be so easy to put out when they left his lips.

“-I would love to keep you by my side.”

There it was again, that vulnerability that simultaneously warmed your heart whilst weighing it down with another bout of relentless guilt.

“Taeyong….” Your whisper trailed off into the silence of the apartment, hanging over your heads as you tried to pull yourself together, your affection for the man that stood in front of you finally blossoming into the beautiful rose that it had set out to be when it was merely budding. You thought about how fitting it was because of how much like a rose Taeyong was himself, delicate and beautiful but guarded with the thorns around it, untouchable.

You had to tell him.

Not soon, not later, now. You had to tell him right then as the wind beat gratingly against the windows, never once entering his space, leaving everything inside perfectly still.

“The piece I’m writing isn’t about the tour or the band.” You announced abruptly, swallowing the lump in your throat so that you could lay out the truth before him with utmost verity. His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment as you spoke, knitting together endearingly.

“It’s about you.”

Faint amusement shone in his eyes. “They tend to be like that, yep.”

“No you don’t understand,” You shook your head, ignoring the anxious bristle of goosebumps that rose on your skin. “I didn’t realise it before, but this article was meant to be against you from the very start, I was meant to write a false exposé on you that rode off the one accusing you of sleeping your way to the top because the reporter who was initially supposed to come was the one that wrote it.”

Your voice wobbled a little, your nerves seeping into it before you could stop them from doing so. “I caught the person who leaked that information- the false information- to my editor a month or so ago and confronted the writer, who confessed. I didn’t know what this was but I promise I’m only going to write the truth.”

Flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, you stared at him almost desperately, waiting for something- any sort of reaction from him. You hadn’t realized how much you were scared of this moment until you plunged yourself into the deep end, confronting it head-on without thinking too much. The silence felt a beat too long.

His eyes softened at your integrity, the promise that you conveyed with your words for him. It only seemed fair to give you the same trust that you instilled in him.

“I believe you.”

Trust was a finicky concept, one that could make or break a person completely. His trust in you lifted the weight of carrying around the burden of the true nature of the article off your shoulders, and you exhaled in relief. “Then….I would love to be by your side, Taeyong.”

“Yeah?” His voice came out in a whisper, so close now that his breath tickled your lips. A challenge spoken with that smirk-clad mouth of his, one that only succeeded in bringing heat to your face with every teasing syllable. He believed you and that was all that mattered.

You didn’t make any motion to move away, instead, instinctively moved closer until your lips met his, a silent thank you and confirmation of what you wanted– him. He pulled you closer until your body was flush against his, not a breath of space between you as his fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your waist, slipping under your shirt to secure you in place as if someone could pull you away at any moment. You could feel the rhythm of his heart against yours and every point your body connected with his, hyper-aware of every little thing he did and the electrifying way he did it.

Your guilt was long forgotten, fading into the background as you fell into the sheets of his bed, entangling with him with every kiss and promise whispered against your skin. Your fingertips traced every tattoo you had previously only had the liberty to admire and the curve of his lips, fingers intertwined as you found refuge from the world and your troubles in the comforting embrace of his arms. You laid beside him, body curled into his side, so close that the hair that fell across his forehead brushed against your own, noses pressed together and lips just barely touching.

Taeyong couldn’t help but look at you- really look at you- as you slept, the way your eyelashes kissed your cheeks and cast shadows over your face, hiding your beautiful eyes from the world at that very moment in time, and sighed contentedly. You seemed to perfect there, under the linens of his bed that had always seemed a little too lonely for just him.

Maybe it was never supposed to be just for him to inhabit.

Carefully slipping out of the bed, he padded across the floor to a window, reaching for the packet of cigarettes that sat on the small table close by, opening it and pulling one out. Then, he picked up the lighter from the old ashtray on the table, lighting the cigarette and holding it up to his lips, ones that had just kissed you more times than he could count, as he stared out into the blinding, starstruck city of Los Angeles.

Taking a slow drag, he breathed the smoke into his lungs, letting the drug get to his head and relax his mind until all he could focus on were the bright lights that blurred through the tempered glass, blinding the city that had been his house for the past five years, but never a home.

You were walking on clouds.

There was a bounce in your steps as you walked into the concert grounds in the late afternoon, a simper dancing lightly on your lips as you glimpsed up at the vibrantly coloured sky of Phoenix, oranges and blues swirling together splendidly. The sun was lively, playing hide and seek amidst the clouds and occasionally revealing itself- the very clouds you felt as if you were skipping over.

It had been a while since you had felt this elated. The last time you could remember experiencing an emotion remotely similar to this was when you got elected the editor of your University’s newspaper, and that was almost two years ago, perhaps a little more.

Cotton-candy clouds beneath your feet, light as a feather without a worry in the world.

You had awoken later than usual that day, finding yourself alone on the tour bus since they had to start rehearsals for the show in the evening. After managing to throw together some breakfast, you worked on your article; a new and improved article that you were starting from scratch; before finally deciding to join them.

You walked, the stadium this time not being too far from where the buses were parked, coffee in hand and spirits climbing higher with every step you took.

To say that you were in a good mood would have been an understatement. You finally knew what to do with your article and it was going remarkably well for someone who had neglected it for so long. Of course, your delightful frame of mind might have had something to do with a certain someone as well.

As for the piece, it was an exposé alright, but not the one everyone would be expecting. It would wake the entire world up to what had actually happened, carefully crafted so that the rumours that had spread would be considered void once it was published.

The sheer thought of your work having such an impact brought another smile to your mouth and you indulged, a sense of pride rushing through you. Your dreams had always been much too big for your own good, but now that you had your sights firmly set on them, you allowed yourself to entertain them.

You decided to surprise Taeyong, slowing your pace as you pushed the door backstage, practically tiptoeing at this point. Something you had come to cherish was the way his eyes always lit up without fail when he saw you, even though it had been almost two months since your little relationship of sorts began. Growing up, you had always believed that excitement like that for someone was fleeting, it faded within a week or so, and you thought this because of how implausible the concept was to you.

Now that you were someone holding those very sentiments, you were glad that you had been wrong.

In retrospect, it was childish to want to surprise him when he knew he would see you every day, but with only a few shows left before they left for the rest of their world tour, you wanted to make the most of every moment you had with him. Then, you would have to wait for four months.

Judging from the currently empty stage, they were on a break from practising for the evening, making your plan all the easier to execute. Once you located the green rooms with little help, you made your way over and grabbed the knob, twisting it clockwise slowly so that the click would be barely audible and pushed slightly.

And right then was the third time you eavesdropped on a conversation, this time both parties were present, which stripped you from the trouble of having to imagine what the other was saying. You stopped pushing, leaving only a sliver of space between the door frame and the edge of the door itself as you heard Irene speak.

“I’m a little concerned about whatever you have going on with Y/n.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, stating this plainly- harshly, even. You subconsciously straightened yourself up at the sound of your name, freezing your motions of opening the door to effectively listen in without being caught. The irony of it all was not lost on you, because here you were once again, doing something you probably weren’t supposed to.

“I thought you’d be overjoyed,” Taeyong replied flatly, disinterest in the conversation as clear as day. An exasperated sigh from her end followed, but before she could say anything, he continued, “Wasn’t all this your idea in the first place?”

Her idea? What?

The silence that followed was oddly suffocating, your brows knitted together in confusion, feeling like you had missed a substantial part of the exchange. Your grip on the doorknob tightened as if having control over that would make up for your lack of information right then.

“I told you to be on your best behaviour and get on her good side so we’d get an ass-kissing of an article out of it. This is a little extreme.”

“It’s none of your business.” His words held a warning, but they were so defensive; reeking of transgression that you had come to recognise so easily after carrying out your own guilt for so long.

She clicked her tongue, taking it in her stride and refusing to back down. “It is my goddamn business, Taeyong, everything about your life is my business. You know this.”

Your face suddenly felt tight, lips parting in stupefaction and an anxious lump making itself known in your throat that made it imperceptibly harder to breathe. For the first time in all your instances of listening in, you wanted to walk away lest you heard something- and yet, you didn’t know what you wanted to hide from.

But your feet were firmly planted to the ground, rooted in place as was your hand on the doorknob, blinking rapidly as you tried to process what was happening.

Intuition was meant to save you, so why was it mocking you?

“I have it under control, so just- just stay out of it, okay?” The agitation in his voice felt misplaced, a projection of what he couldn’t hold in.

“Will it fix everything?”

“Irene-”

“Goddamnit Taeyong, will we get an article that fixes everything?” The chill in the air bit into your skin, your own desperation almost matching the very same that was held in her voice, one that felt personal

“We will.”

Nothing could have ever prepared you for the sharp sting that tore through your chest at that moment, mercilessly destroying every shred of hope that you possessed. Scraps of the entire picture fell into place like a line of dominoes falling over, practically knocking you off your feet as all the air in your lungs escaped you

Her idea?

A good article?

Get on her good side?

You ripped your hand off the doorknob, recoiling so quickly that one would have assumed that the metal piece was made of fire, eyes widening in devastation as your heart sunk six feet under the ground. You staggered backwards, your feet carrying you as far away from the green room as they could before you could even comprehend the action, unaware of the happenings that took place as the world around you crumbled.

And along with it, your trust in Taeyong shattered just like your heart had, revealing him for what he truly was.

A dirty liar.

Escaping backstage, you stumbled out into the grounds, gasping for oxygen as if would help make sense of all that you had just heard and pull out whatever unsullied truth that could possibly lie between the muddled words. When you found nothing, the burn in your ribcage worsened in its intensity until you had to lean against the walls of the building for some- any- semblance of stability.

If you had been on cloud nine just a few minutes ago, you were now facing the torrential downpour.

You glanced up and peered at the Phoenix sky that had lost all its charm, never having looked as cold as it did right then.

Taeyong clicked his tongue, walking out of the green room and straightening out the sour expression that twisted his features, finding a certain comfort in the constant buzz backstage. To say that he despised when Irene brought up the topic of you and the article was an understatement, and she had started doing it more often, much to his despair.

He had started saying whatever the manager wanted to get her off his back, mindlessly nodding and agreeing with her questions and decisions to avoid any sort of unnecessary conflict. He knew she had noticed his complacent attitude, but it was all worth it if it meant he could spend the time he would usually use up arguing with Irene with you instead.

A small frown slipped onto his face at the realisation of you not being there, which was odd. You always tagged along on show days, so seeing you missing was odd.

A sliver of worry sequestered its way inside of him, but he shut it down just as quickly. There was always the possibility of you growing tired of having to sit through the same routine almost every week. Maybe you’d just show up for the show instead of the entire thing.

Having successfully convinced himself, he picked up his bass and walked back out to finish the sound check. He relaxed, any concern fading away the moment he found himself back on stage and singing into the mic with some of the people he loved the most in the world, even if it was just in an empty stadium.

It reappeared with a cruel vengeance when he saw that you hadn’t shown up for the show.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to plaster on a smile and walk back inside, surrendering to the pangs of hurt that seemed to come in waves, a viscous riptide that you had been caught in with no rescue team on the way. It pulled you further in until your feet could no longer reach the floor of the ocean and you were left to drown.

So you walk back to the bus, away from the growing discordance of fans arriving and back to the place you thought would alleviate the heaviness you felt. The journey back offered ruthless clarity, blaring in your face the moment you found yourself standing inside the bus when you realized that it all felt so uncharacteristically foreign.

Gone was the homely feeling that had grown over you every time you were inside of it, instead replaced with the same bleak frigidness that the sky had presented you with.

The very sentiment in your heart.

And so you walked back out, wishing you had a jacket to shield you from the constant chill in the air tonight, one that nipped harshly at your exposed skin, yet you couldn’t bear to go back inside to get one. You stood outside the bus, watching as the sun dipped below the skyline and the sky darkened even further until it was all one sorrowful colour- an unyielding dark blue.

The moon came into view, insulting you with the serene beauty it possessed no matter what the circumstances. On most nights, you would appreciate the way it was a constant, travelling back into the sky almost every night even though it knew the sun would eventually outshine it, breathing daylight onto the surface of the earth and rendering it forgotten. People regarded the moon as a thing of romance, the very notion made you scoff. The white light that it derived from the sun was nothing short of austere, desolate in its illumination. You shut your eyes, tipping your head upwards to bask in it, despising the way that you would never look at it the same way ever again because of this day, this evening and this night.

You stood out there for god knows how long, only realizing that hours had passed when you registered the dull ache on the soles of your feet and the clicking of cars opening and footsteps closening in.

Glancing to the source of the sound, your eyes searched for Taeyong out of habit and hardened when you finally spotted him walking over. It wasn’t as if you had forgotten that you would have to face him- you hadn’t at all- but it had been nice to pretend to not know for at least a little while.

He saw you standing there, looking at him with an expression that he couldn’t read no matter how much he tried to. Noticing that you were a little away from the buses, he muttered a mindless excuse to Yuta as he departed from the group to join you instead, questions rising to his mind with every step closer.

The way your heartbeat picked up the moment he was close enough for you to look at through your periphery was bitterly ironic, you had to bite down on your tongue to avoid letting out the humourless laugh that bubbled to your anxiously bitten lips. You hated the fragment of hope that naively slithered into you, how you were so aware of how foolish it was to even possess so little of it.

“Hey,” He muttered, faltering a little when you didn’t do so much as to look at him, opting to stare at your shoes instead of at him and the sound of his voice- the voice that always went straight to your stomach and scattered your thoughts without fail. When it happened once again, you panicked as he continued.

“You weren’t at the show today.”

And suddenly it made perfect sense why you still retained that hope for him.

“I wasn’t,” You confirmed his statement, hoping your voice hadn’t come out as choked up as it felt.

“Why?” The benignity in his question felt much too raw for you, your tongue stiffening into silence and laying heavily in your mouth. You heard the soft click of the tour bus door as it shut, leaving you alone with him under the twinkling stars and mercenary moon.

You didn’t know how to answer, letting out a shaky breath to brace yourself for whatever left your mouth in the next few minutes and to deal with the cold in your pathetic little way. “Does it matter?”

If he had thought something was wrong before, he definitely knew it now. There was a sense of detachment in the way you said it- not nonchalant per se, but more so like you were doing your best not to be concerned. He could see it in the slight quiver of your lower lip, the way you seemingly couldn’t bare to even steal a glance at him.

“Of course it matters, you matter Y/n.”

This. This was why you still hoped so futilely that everything you had heard was just a big misunderstanding, that you weren’t simply a means to an end. You had loved the way he made you feel; important and loved; how he spoke to you so affectionately and made you feel like you were the only woman he had ever wanted.

But hope and denial are two sides of the same coin, a double-edged sword of the sort, and the thing about double-edged swords is that it’s going to hurt no matter what way you twist it.

“If I matter so much, why did you lie to me?”

His breath caught in his throat and stayed there, forming a lump in his throat that seemed to restrict his breathing and ability to speak. “What?” He whispered out, strained.

You glimpsed at him subsequently, wondering just how long you had been living in blissful ignorance, how utterly gullible you had been when it came to Taeyong. How many times had you told him you believed him and trusted him without a doubt, handing over your fragile little heart to him to do as he pleased with it?

“I heard you talk to Irene,” You admitted hoarsely, your hand curling into a fist to keep yourself together the only way you could think of. “This entire thing- you and I; whatever the fuck we were- it’s a lie, isn’t it?” You abhorred the way your words came out brokenly as you looked into his eyes, attempting to peer inside his very soul to extract the answer from him, waiting for the resplendent rose of love that had bloomed in the cavity of your chest to make itself known.

The thing about roses was that although they protected themselves with their thorns, they never cared about those they hurt in the process.

“Y/n I-”

The rose wilted instead, the septic truth crudely cutting through your futile hope and forcing you to open your eyes to the reality of the world around you, never accounting for the state of pure agony it left you in. The regret that shone through those expressive eyes of his hurt you to your very core, confirming your worst suspicion.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

You could barely comprehend the words that left your lips, lips that had been kissed by the traitor that stood in front of you right then. “I trusted you Taeyong, and all you did was lie to me.”

“I didn’t want to,” He said weakly, not bothering to even attempt to deny the accusation you had thrown at him, his voice failing him every time he thought of doing so. He thought of every moment you had shared your own vulnerability with him when you so lovingly put out the truth for him about what you were doing and how he had so shamelessly continued to love you while betraying you at the same time. “You were never meant to hear that.”

It was almost satirical, so much so that you had to scoff humourlessly at that, hating the sudden ache that was present behind your eyes and the dampness that followed. “So you just planned to keep lying to me? Wow.” You laughed bitterly and looked back at the sky, willing your tears to disappear. You couldn’t bear the idea of crying in front of the man that hurt you so badly, he didn’t deserve another second of weakness from you. “Real nice.”

“No that wasn’t-” Frustration bled into his voice, guilt slamming into his chest so violently that it drowned out every other emotion inside of him, consuming him whole until all he could do was defeatedly stare at the mess he had made of everything; you and him.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

The world was cruel to drop such an unexpected heartbreak onto you when you had never been looking for love in the first place. You had been here to do a job that would push you ahead in the world of journalism. Unadulterated fury filled your veins because you were angry and so deeply hurt.

“What did you mean, then?”

He couldn’t say a single thing, now the one who shied away from meeting your tormented features. He hated the fact that it was him that had rendered you like this when it had never been his intention- truly it hadn’t- he would never hurt you on purpose. He had tried to keep it under wraps to avoid hurting you, had grown disdainful of talking about it with Irene for this very reason.

It was all his fault, intentional or not.

His silence killed you, clawing at your skin as if attempting to reach the broken pieces of your heart as tears cascaded down the flushed skin of your face despite your attempts to blink them away. You should have known that it was too perfect to be true, you should have known that something would go wrong sooner or later.

You just didn’t expect it to be sooner.

“You may have not slept your way to the top, but you sure as hell slept with me to fix your reputation.” Your voice cut through, shakier than you would have liked. You would never forget the sincerity in his voice when he told you it wasn’t true, but then again, wasn’t it the very thing he had done to save himself?

His selfish tendencies had once again caught up with him, ripping the rug from right beneath his feet before he even realised it was happening.

You had run yourself dry, left with nothing but the shards of your heart lying around you, mocking you for every opening up to someone you had known was unattainable. Picking up the pieces of whatever dignity you had left to call your own, you spoke quietly into the wind, just loud enough for him to hear.

“You want a good article? I’ll give you your damn article.”

If there had meant to be any malice in your voice, your weariness had squeezed it all out, leaving you with nothing but a sorrowful muttering of the words and somehow that hurt more than any yelling ever could. He flinched, shutting his eyes and going over every single thing he regretted about what he had done, wishing he could go back in time to undo it all and withdraw the grief he had bestowed upon you.

A few days ago, you had thought you would be the one to disrupt his world but stopped just in time for his sake and he had taken advantage of it all.

You had finally fallen in love and realized why you never let yourself do so before.

The air was far too cold for you to cope with anymore, a stark contrast to the hot tears that make their way down your face, blistering your skin. You brushed past his stoic figure and forced yourself back into the claustrophobic tour bus, ignoring the concerned looks thrown in your direction and for once in your life wishing that you could be well and truly invisible. The only comfort you received was the warmth of your makeshift bed as your pillow stained with the rest of your unspoken sorrow.

Like the unused, weak strings of his old guitar, the trust and love you had for Taeyong snapped, and the recoil had been the harshest thing you ever had to deal with.

People liked broken things.

Things, humans- it was all the same to them. Once the public had noticed his scar, they turned it into something to love, romanticising it and saying that it gave him character. He supposed that in a way, they were right, but he could never forget what it truly meant for him.

The stage lights were too bright, beating down on his face. They had been getting brighter with every show until he could barely even make out the crowd that so eagerly cheered for him and his boys. He adjusted the mic in front of him and donned a practised grin that was almost entirely believable as they got ready to perform their next song. A sad song.

Sadness and misery were as excellent muses as they were callous, any emotion could be if it was powerful enough to drown out everything else. Fans assumed that because of this very fact, producing any sort of art form using these emotions as your basis was easy and natural.

It wasn’t. It was the hardest thing in the world to put your hurt out there for the world to gawk at and judge like they had the right to do so.

And so he began to sing, but there was a certain weightage to his cadence that dragged the song down, making it truly poignant and inciting tears from the onlookers. Every syllable that left his coral lips was difficult to pronounce, but somehow, he managed to choke them out just in time and miraculously in tune with the music that had long faded into the background.

He did this again and again, over and over until he felt ashamed to do so but had to because of what was expected of him. Every time he looked in the mirror and put on that notorious smile of his, it seemed to glare back at him, taunting and jeering at him for everything he had done.

But he wore anyway, day in and day out for the cameras, lips pressed together so tight that no one even noticed when it continually faltered. Every show, he put his miserly heartbreak out on display, mingled with the guilt that had harboured roots in his fragmented soul, pushing themselves into the cracks and splitting it into even smaller pieces.

It didn’t matter. You weren’t around to see it.

You were something of a ghost, keeping to your upper level of the tour bus and avoiding the lower one with every fibre of your shattered being. The faraway look in your eyes seemed to be a new permanent aspect of your personality, along with your perpetual absence from every show and every aspect of the tour.

Instead, you sat alone with your laptop as your only companion, teeth ground together and eyebrows pulled taut as you stared at the blinding white document that lay before you. You would type out a few words and then proceed to press your index finger to the backspace button and erase it all, letter by stingy letter like they had never been put out into the world in the first place. And then you would be left with a blank canvas once again within those metal walls.

You would emerge from your sanctuary occasionally to perhaps grab some food or take a walk to clear your head, and then you would see him from across the room and forget why you were there. His eyes would meet yours and you would simply hold the gaze for a few seconds, empty and then full of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

Then you would look away and life would drag you along like the moment had never existed. For the days that you were forced to be around everyone, you would smile and silently envy the way the band could do it so naturally without even having a second thought about if it looked fake.

Your smile was fake and Taeyong knew it from a single glance. He knew it from the way your eyes stayed dull as the sides of your mouth curved upwards painfully like it killed you to do so.

He knew he had lost you the moment he saw that hollow smile.

He couldn’t bear to speak to you and reap the results of what he had sown, and you couldn’t bear to listen, a spiteful sort of yin and yang situation that was slowly eating away at the both of you. It left him with no choice but to watch as you made yourself scarce, a phantom of his every misgiving that haunted him even when he shut his eyes. You were still there.

Two broken hearts brushing past each other every single day without truly ever making contact, going on with their days with so much to say and nothing at all.

It was a good thing people liked broken things.

But this? This was what showbiz was. It was messy and brutal and most of all, ugly. Under all the makeup touch-ups and glamorous lifestyle and glittering lights, at the end of the day you had to shed all of it off and see it for what it really was:

A godforsaken trap.

And so the last few shows dragged on, the last few days slipped by and suddenly they were walking backstage after their final show. Staff hollered jovially, drinks were being passed around in celebration, but he couldn’t get himself to relax, not when you were standing only a few feet away from him with that forlorn look in your eyes and a pitiful smile plastered on your face. Not when you were so close, not when all he could do was reach out and barely touch you before you disappeared again, slipping away from his grasp once again.

What a cruel time for him to realize he loved you.

Your two suitcases knocked into the back of your legs as you fished out your keys from the carry-on bag that was slung around your shoulders, slotting them into the lock of your apartment door. You twisted the metal things once, twice, until the door gave way and swung open, giving you a view of the place that you had so proudly once called your home.

The familiar homely scent had somewhat faded in the time you had been gone, now mingled with a musty, forgotten type of smell that quickly found settled deep into your skin, leaving you to straighten up your hunched posture and sigh heavily. Turning around, you gripped the handles of your bags, pulled them inside behind you and shut the door as quietly as you could to not wake up anybody. Your flight back to Los Angeles had been an early morning one, and so there you were at five in the morning, standing in your doorway like an idiot.

The last time you had been in LA had been barely a month ago, but this wasn’t where you had slept.

It had been in between the delicate sheets of Taeyong’s bed and arms that held you like you had been everything to him. You almost scoffed at the memory of your naivety, and at how easily you had been swayed by the star-studded lifestyle you had plunged yourself into.

Or perhaps it was just how easily you had fallen in love with someone so utterly elusive.

He was now probably halfway across the world in a private jet while you were right back where you had started. You had watched them leave, before turning around and walking away, away from the lights and tabloids and shy smiles in poorly lit-up tour buses that would forever remain a secret from the rest of the world.

And him.

You dropped your keys on the table as you dragged your suitcases with you, collapsing down on your worn-out couch and sinking into the cushions as the exhaustion of the entire ordeal hit you all at once. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took a minute to gather all your thoughts and pull yourself together.

His face flickered through your mind, causing your throat to close up in on itself as you snapped your eyes open, sucking in an arduous breath through your teeth.

“Y/n.”

You recalled how he called out your name just before they left for their jet, how he sounded almost desperate to get whatever he was about to say off his chest. Even with how tired you were, you recalled every second of the interaction perfectly, down to the way you turned to face him when he said your name so perfectly.

He stopped in his tracks as the others walked a little away from him, nearly wincing at the way your eyes wouldn’t meet his and the hesitancy you displayed. It was too late for you and him, it was too little too late to fix what he had done.

“I lied about us to them,” He never once looked away from you even if you couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t bear to look away if this was going to be the last time he ever saw you.

“But nothing about us was ever a lie.”

His words haunted you with every step further you took from them, on the plane as you tried to forget it and as you picked up your luggage and called a cab. As you climbed the tiresome stairs of your apartment complex and even now as you sat there, you were pathetically thinking about it even though you had tried everything you could to forget.

But Lee Taeyong wasn’t the type of person you could forget easily, not when you could still imagine how it felt when he touched you and the weight of his gaze. The earnest remorse that laced his voice.

You punched in the code to your suitcase lock, unzipped it and pulled your laptop out. The cool metal rested upon your jean-clad legs, the blue light causing you to frown as you opened up your document and began to write, but not out of any sort of inspiration. You wrote out of the anger that had settled deep within your soul and motivated you.

Anger at his audacity to think that it would be alright to make you fall in love with him just to avoid the possibility of his notoriety falling apart. You typed out everything you possibly could about what he had done and how it was all true, every single accusation you could throw at his face and how he truly did sleep his way to the top because for fucks sake, he certainly did it with you, didn’t he?

Then you stopped amidst your hateful frenzy, realising that there was no way you could do that to him. If you did, you were no better than that bastard Jungwoo. You stared at what you had written, reading it twice, three times and swallowing the telltale lump that had formed in your throat. Selecting it all, you glimpsed at the blue highlight and deleted it with a single click because you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

But you were so, so unbelievably angry.

Unconsolable rage consumed every fibre of your being, leaving you with clenched fists and gritted teeth until you accepted what it really was: grief. A broken sob escaped your chapped lips, the wretched sound breaking the silence that had been weighing you down for the past half hour you sat there in your apartment.

You were grieving a love that you still felt so strongly but was never yours to claim in the first place.

And you cried for the first time since the day you confronted him, at last comprehending that your anger was simply the sheer heartbreak you felt in its rawest form, the very proof that you had loved. You broke down in the dead of the night, feeling so implausibly alone in the midst of everything that had happened these past few months.

Before you had even known it, everything you had ever wanted had slipped right through your grasp, leaving you to grieve its loss all by yourself. You weren’t sure when Taeyong had become your every dream rolled into one magnificent wish, but it burned brighter than any wish you had ever had, which was perhaps why it hurt so bad.

How had the ultimate opportunity turned into something that shattered your very soul? Life had a merciless sense of humour because even though you had made the spiteful promise of writing an article that would destroy him, you couldn’t go through with it, because when you loved someone, you could never intentionally hurt them.

You exhaled shakily, staring at the empty document through the heavy thumping of your ruptured heart in your ears and the blur of your tears, blinking them out of your eyes. Then, in the dead silence of the early morning, as the sleeping world stirred to life and began with their monotonous days, you began to write.

And what was it that you wrote?

“What the hell is this?”

You calmly held Johnny’s gaze, a mixture of frantic and fury burning in his eyes as he glared at you. The velveteen cushioning of the seat under you was all too familiar, as were the wooden floors beneath the heels of your shoes, the first time you had stepped into The Link’s building in a long time.

“The article you assigned me,” You responded plainly, spurring any sort of emotion that threatened to make a show on your face. He shut his eyes and visibly sucked in a laboured breath, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk.

“You’ve made some…..serious claims here,” He started to reason with you, and you could already see where this little colloquy was going to go. Gripping your phone, you took a careful note of the restraint that was displayed in his voice, but refused to back down from your own goal. “Ones that don’t fall under our initial arrangement.”

There were definitely some liberties you had taken with your article, but none of them were things of fallacy. You were well aware that it was the reason the editor was so skittish, although he tried to hide it to the best of his abilities from the way he pulled at his tie to loosen it around his collar ever so slightly and cleared his throat. It was a thing of amusement, to watch him try and figure out how to convey what he wanted to you without giving away what he had done.

You had been through too much to be thwarted by someone who was also in the wrong in the entire situation. You were done being a pawn in their little game.

“There wasn’t any arrangement, you said I had to write an article and I did just that.”

“Y/n.” He said your name defeatedly, “where did you get this information from? It’s so out of the blue.”

And with that, you pressed play on the recording of the call you had with Jungwoo a few months ago, watching carefully as Johnny’s expression shifted from weariness to shock as it played out. When your voice came through, telling Jungwoo you had overheard Renjun speak to the editor, all colour drained from his face.

Pausing the recording, you leaned forward in your seat, a corporate smile playing upon your lips in triumph.

“That’s how I know my claims are true because I have confirmation from one of the people involved in the audio proof. The only dirt around Taeyong’s name is the dirt you planted there.” You said this firmly, trying to ignore the way his name felt heavy on your tongue.

Johnny clenched his jaw. “Look-”

“Publish my article,” You interrupted, more tranquil than you thought you would be when it came to this. There wasn’t a bone in your body that was scared when you put your terms out for him. “Or I will publish it myself and put Junwoo’s and your name on it. If you post it, I will let your less-than-ethical arrangement slide with only Renjun having to face the consequences.”

He clicked his tongue, knowing that he had no choice but to go through with your requests and although he didn’t particularly like it, he couldn’t help but admire the way you went about it. You had gone over and beyond with your journalistic work, cracking the truth behind it all and making sure the odds were in your favour.

You had proven yourself to be a kick-ass journalist, no doubt one of the best of your generation. A grin made a show on his features, respecting you a lot more now that he knew what you were capable of.

“Consider it done.”

You returned his smile with a genuine one of your own this time around and warned faintly, “No major edits.”

He shut his laptop and nodded. “Not one.” Satisfied with his answer and the knowledge of him being far too smart to double-cross you when you had such damning leverage, you stood to your feet and turned to leave his office when he called out.

“And Y/n? Excellent job.”

As you stepped out into the busy corridors of The Link’s building, you felt a sense of warm pride wash over you at what you had managed to accomplish. You let yourself breathe in the cool air-conditioned air that held the slightest tone of coffee in it and held your phone up, knowing that you had one last thing to do, but it was the most important of them all.

You selected the audio recording until the option to share it popped up, clicking on it and swiftly forwarding the call to a certain manager. Then, you slipped the device into the pockets of your coat and walked away, leaving every cumbersome worry that you could behind.

THE TRUE ‘CHERRY ON TOP’.

These past few months, I have had the opportunity to accompany the band Cherry Bomb on the American leg of their ongoing world tour, as I’m sure most of you have been keeping up with.

From the very start, I was thrust into a world far too glamorous for me to ever keep up with, from the shows to the red carpet events and parties. I had never been the type of journalist that involved myself with the happenings of their research, but this was my exception. It was nearly impossibly to not get caught up with it all, especially when everyone around me was so inviting.

People talk about some celebrities being genuine and the nicest people they could ever meet and Cherry Bomb fit this description to the T. All of them are so wonderfully unique and lovely to converse with, dare I say, befriend, that it was only a matter of time before I was comfortable around them. Never once did they ever make me feel like an outsider even though I was very much exactly that.

These men live and breathe their music and are the most passionate people I will ever meet.

I even had the pleasure of viewing one of their concerts and when I saw them up there on that stage, I could understand why they are so successful. Seeing Nakamoto Yuta give it his all behind those drums of his, Lee Mark and Lee Jeno complimenting each other with their parts, Kim Doyoung and his genius playing the keyboard, and finally, Lee Taeyong standing up there with his bass guitar and leading it all- it was a truly magical experience.

Initially, when I first started my research and drafting of this piece, I had convinced myself that I would be writing a little bit on every member, but now that the experience is over, I have decided to take a different route, one that tied into all that I have mentioned above.

It is a known fact that there is a rumour going around about the reason why the band is so popular, one that states that their success is due to the frontman, Lee Taeyong, sleeping his way to the top.

I am writing this article to very firmly counter that statement with the truth because the rumour is crude and very false.

Their crushing success is to only be credited to themselves because they have worked tirelessly for it. I have received a first-hand look at the amount of effort they put into everything they do, and they are the most hard-working people I know. It is not because of Taeyong’s sleeping habits in the slightest.

After some more research, it had come to my attention that these rumours had started because of a single, unassuming catalyst: their very own publicist, Huang Renjun.

The aforementioned publicist was the one to plant the seed of all the rumours, that catalyst if you will, quietly hiding under anonymity to avoid being caught out for his actions. The article that was written about the entire (fake) ordeal was written by a journalist working for the very paper I write for, as I have to admit with much regret.

I am not aware of his motives as to why he decided to go so far as to lie about the very artists he was supposed to protect, but when I say that this is the truth, it is. My aim with this piece is to tell the truth, and the only lie presented within these words is the telling of the one that the publicist told.

The ‘Cherry On Top’ tour is no doubt one of the best they have ever played, each show exceeding the last, and a true testimony to the great musicians they are. Every one of them has given their all and sacrificed a lot to be out there doing what they love, even if it feels like they have been handed their success, they most certainly have not been.

And Lee Taeyong certainly did not sleep his way to the top.

- Y/n L/n, The Link.

Afterparties had been a thing of enjoyment at one point in Taeyong’s life and although that time had not been too long ago at all, it certainly felt like it. He recollected how easy it used to be for him to indulge in such meaningless practices and when he used to think that getting blackout drunk was good fun.

It had been two months.

The concert in Paris was an astounding success and he had only been just a little tipsy while performing. Alcohol and cigarettes had turned into something of a coping mechanism for him, but now as he stood amidst other celebrities he didn’t know and different socialites that somehow managed to get into the party in a bar in The Marais, he felt much too sober. The glass in his hand felt heavy as he gripped it, the edges lightly digging into his skin.

He had never realized how jarring his lifestyle was until this moment, detesting the way it was so superficial. The glitz, the lights, the girls- all the appeal that they once possessed had long faded into the background, leaving him to grit his teeth and pretend to be enjoying himself as he walked several red carpets that he very frankly, did not give a fuck about. For the first time, he felt like a fraud, undeserving of the spotlight that had been bestowed upon him so long ago, attention that he would have to take to his grave.

The change in his demeanour had been picked up by his bandmates, but they didn’t say anything. He suspected that they had an inkling of what had happened that night between you and him, but had decided to give him space.

Space had led to him making several mistakes if the empty glass bottles and occasional stranger in his hotel bed said anything.

But there was only so much one person could handle.

He turned around, pushing through the turbulent crowd until he found himself standing outside the bar, calling one of their cars to take him back to the hotel early, back to the solitude of his temporary room. He knew that his absence would be noted, perhaps even given to the press as a tip-off, but he could care less about it.

Taeyong couldn’t stand the thought of staying there and plastering on his poker face for even a second longer. He had ignored everyone anyway, including the lineup of ruffled girls who had evidently been very upset over not managing to catch his fancy for the night. He knew there would be whispers about his reluctance, the faltering happy expression that he had tried so hard to keep plastered on his lips.

But how could he even pretend to be happy when in every single person, he could see you?

He slipped into the car, leaning back in the seat as he instructed the driver of his destination, glancing out of the windows to view the smoky nightlife of Paris at such a late hour. Everything was much darker than one would imagine, giving the city of love a much more desolate feeling, lonely even. The streetlights flickered uncertainly, casting their yellow light onto the pavements. Taeyong nearly wanted to get out of the car and walk down those pathways, to be able to pretend that there weren’t going to be people trailing him with their flashy cameras for just a few minutes of seclusion that the night provided so mercifully.

He didn’t though, instead waiting until the driver parked the car and politely told him that they had reached. He dragged himself back up to his room until he was met with the room he shared with no one and a minibar that was conveniently right next to his bed.

Love was the type of emotion that was tempestuous and violent, but it never acted alone. For most, it was with adoration and fulfilment, but for him, it was tainted with the guilt he so desperately tried to escape with every emptied glass bottle that sat in the trash. It was at times like these when you would pop into his mind without fail and he was once again reminded of the fact that you weren’t by his side.

And he had no one to blame for that but himself.

But god, he missed you.

He missed your smile and the way you’d try to control your excitement, the look in your eyes when you were passionate about something that contrasted the shyness that would enter your voice, and the way your hands would oh so gently cup his face. He missed the infectious tinkling of your laughter and the dedication you possessed when it came to your job and just you.

He hated what he had become and most of all hated the thought of being someone you couldn’t love or want. The prospect of you never needing him again even though he knew he needed you more than anything.

The brandy in his glass burned his throat as he allowed it to numb every splinter of penitence that swirled in the pits of his stomach, eyes closed as he tried to forget you.

An impossible feat.

A sharp, almost frantic knock on the door of his room snapped him out of his reverie. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he could only frown when he registered the time. 5:00 am. Who could it have been at such an early hour?

He contemplated pretending to be asleep so that the person would hopefully move on, but when another rap on the door came not even a minute later, he relented and walked over to open it. Once he swung it open, he was met with Irene standing there, phone in hand as her ever-vigilant eyes fell upon his slightly dishevelled figure and grew disapproving for a split second. He had forgotten that she tended to be an early riser no matter how late her evenings got.

To his surprise, beginning to speak before he could even attempt to comprehend what was happening. “You actually did it.”

“I- what?”

“The rumours- they’ve dissipated. They hold no merit anymore because you got that article, you son of a bitch.” Her eyes gleamed with pride as she spoke, thrusting her phone in his face resolutely. “It got released yesterday, and I would have seen it sooner but Renjun isn’t around anymore.” She said the publicist's name with a substantial amount of scorn, shaking her hand about in his face so that he would take the phone from her.

Her mention of the article had his heart in his mouth as dumbfoundedness bled into his fatigued features. “Wait, what do you mean Renjun isn’t here?”

“He’s fired,” She said flatly. “Because he’s a rat.”

“I still don’t follow.” He was too tired for her cryptic messages and in no mood to even think about entertaining them. She sighed.

“Renjun was the one who started the rumours, and I would have never known if Y/n had not sent me proof of it and written that article. I would have seen her message sooner but you know how it is with my inbox, always full.” The moment your name left her mouth, Taeyong couldn’t truly focus on the rest of what she was saying, nodding along mindlessly where he thought was the right point. More than anything, he wanted to ask Irene about you, what you had said and maybe, just maybe, if you had asked about him.

“Somehow she found out that it was Renjun who decided to spew bullshit about you,” she gritted out, “but it’s all dealt with, and his entire career in the industry is over. You should read the article by the way, after all, you’re responsible for it. I sent you a link to it.”

She plucked her phone out of his hands and walked away, leaving him to hurriedly fumble with his own. He shut the door and clicked on the link Irene sent him, more so to have even a little part of you for a few minutes than you truly find out what had taken place, eyes scanning over every word you had written until he reached the very end.

And it was then that carefully curated expression of his finally crumbled, and for the first time in a long time, Taeyong let himself cry.

NOVEMBER; ALBUM OF THE YEAR GRAMMY NOMINATIONS:

— Solo; Kim Jennie — Maniac; Haechan — Pop!; Nayeon — Ruby; Lee Jihoon — Cherry On Top; Cherry Bomb

To: [email protected] Subject: NYT interview proposition.

Greetings Miss L/n,

Your recent article about Cherry Bomb has been making waves in the journalism world, and we at the NYT have taken notice.

This email is written in the hopes that you would consider sitting for an interview for our newspaper. After reviewing your past work, we have concluded that we would love to have a journalist like you on board. Your writing style is concise and conveys what it needs to, a quality we appreciate.

It is evident that you strive to put your best foot forward and are not afraid to take risks, something that is considered very rare. For these reasons, we would love to offer you this opportunity. Salary and such will be discussed in person, which is how we would like to hold this interview.

We look forward to receiving a positive response.

Tiffany Young.

Head of HR- New York Times.

[email protected]

It was human tendency to gravitate toward the very things that destroyed them. You supposed that very inclination was the reason you were there on your couch once again, the stem of a half-full wine glass resting between your index and middle finger, the cool mouth of it pressed to your tinted lips. The redness from the drink had stained them, your eyes trained on the television screen in front of you.

There wasn’t a point for you to be viewing the Grammys, but something had pushed you to do so and so there you were as the entire arena where the award show was held was shown. The cool February air jabbed unsolicitedly at the skin of your arms even with your heater on, and you let the sweet fermented drink kiss your throat soothingly to combat the chill.

You knew that they were going to be there.

You could hardly believe that it had been five months since you had seen them and so perhaps this was you satiating the small part of you that missed them.

As you watched the opening performance, you realized that you hadn’t the slightest interest in anything else but the singular award that they had been nominated for. So if that was the case, why were you subjecting yourself to sit through the entire ordeal? You leaned over to pick the television remote up to switch it off and release yourself from this mundane sort of self-affliction.

The camera panned over the five men you were there for a brief moment and instantly you stopped, settling back into your seat. Of course, they would show them within the first few minutes of the show, they had the entire world at their heels.

The entire world waiting in anticipation for the results of the nominations just like you.

The first hour of the show past painfully slowly and yet, you didn’t move, waiting patiently for it to happen. It felt odd, the fact that it was taking place right there in LA and you had to watch through a screen anyway. The fact that they were so close to you, back home and within your reach, felt a little unreal to you.

Kim Mingyu himself walked across the stage, grinning at the road of clapping that followed his every step. You allowed a small simper to make a show at his appearance, recalling the night of the party you had attended with the boys and how it had ended with you and Taeyong out on one of the numerous balconies of his mansion.

“Thank you, thank you!” He waved his hand politely to calm the audience. “I am beyond honoured to be here presenting this award tonight! Now, I’m aware all of you are here for me,” he paused as a light pattering of laughter made its way around the hall, “but I do have a job to do, so without further ado, here are your nominees for this year's Album of the Year!”

He listed out the five nominees, the camera focusing on each of them as he said their names for a few seconds. When it came to Cherry Bomb, you mentally chastised yourself for how quickly your eyes sought out a politely smiling Taeyong sitting with the rest of his mates. This wasn’t their first time attending, they had won the award twice before, the first time for being the best new artist when they had just started, and the second was for this very award.

Needless to say, there was a lot of pressure on them.

You could see glimpses of their nerves shine through their smiles and the way they held their drinks. Then, it went to Nayeon, who had already won one Grammy that evening and had it standing proud on her table, evidently calm because of its presence.

Mingyu smiled right when the cameras returned to him, showing off his perfect, pearly white teeth. He lifted the golden envelope in his hands, “And your winner for the Album of the Year for this year's Grammys is….”

Everyone held their breath, including the nominees themselves. Little shots of them popped up side by side on your television, showing you the way Yuta visibly stiffened in anticipation and how Taeyongs fingers curled around the flute of his glass, eyes trained on the stage and at the announcer, his friend.

Mingyu flipped the top of the envelope open and pulled out the card that held the winner in one swift motion, holding it a little away from him before his eyes lit up. He then bent down a little so that his mouth was once again in line with the microphone, letting the audience stew in their anxiety for just a second longer.

“CHERRY BOMB!”

Cheers erupted as the screen enlargened on them as their smiles grew wide and genuine, a sharp exhale leaving your wine-stained lips. Something like a weight had been lifted off your tired shoulders and you sat up straight, your lips curling up in a relieved and glad smile for them. For the strangers you had grown so close to in so little time.

As for Taeyong, he had barely registered it when he heard the name of the band he had formed when he was just a teenager. He had to stop himself from flinching at the thunderous clapping, eyes blown wide when he finally realized that they had done it. They had won.

Doyoung leaned over to hug Jeno, and then Taeyong as they got to their feet, bashfully smiling in elation at achieving their ultimate goal of the previous year. He took a cautionary sip of the bubbly champagne that sat inside the flute he held and placed it down, straightening out his suit as he led the walk to and up the small stage.

Mingyu handed him the golden gramophone statue, whispering congratulations away from the mic for only them to hear and exchanging hugs, before walking off stage. He turned to face the audience with his best friends right at his side and thousands- millions even- of people clapping for them.

“Wow this…” he trailed off, glancing down at the award in his hands with a nervous simper playing on his face. “Firstly we’d like to thank the recording academy and god- the list is far too long, but wow, thank you to our incredible fans and our manager Irene Bae who always knows what to do. Qian Kun our producer, Alexandra, James and the rest of our amazing team.” He spouted every name he could remember, doing his best to sound grateful because he truly was.

There was just one thing.

“And thank you to one person out there who knows who she is,” He gripped the award better, Adam’s apple bobbing slightly in his throat as his tone quieter, staring right into the camera. “I think about you every day.”

You.

The need to breathe deeply arose all of a sudden, leaving you to suck in a large gulp of air while you wondered if the wine had finally gone to your head. And you knew as he held the award up once again with a gratified expression on his face and shook it slightly, and as he handed it to his members, that he was talking about you.

And he had won, all of them had. Through every hardship and roadblock, they managed to get to the other side in triumph.

The pride that swelled in your chest for him along with the warm pressure behind your eyes told you all you needed to know. As the first cup of wine turned into your third, you were drowning in the realization that you still loved him vicariously with every broken piece of your heart that still belonged to him.

History liked repeating itself.

Once again you stood in your living room with suitcases- suitcase, singular this time around. It was a small one with just enough items to last you an entire week in New York City. There was plenty of time before you had to leave for your flight, one that you had booked well in advance and had given yourself enough time in the city to not throw yourself straight into the interview.

You could have gone three days later and you would have been fine on time, and yet there you were, standing by your couch while clutching the handle of your bag. Your flight was at seven the next morning and it was ten post meridian right now, so to say you were early was an understatement. In truth, you had no idea why you were so cautious about everything you were doing, and neither did you understand why you felt like you had to leave right at this very moment.

But not to the airport. The airport was the last place you were thinking of then. If you left for the airport, you would have been leaving behind unfinished business in your wake.

There was so much to consider if you left, if you did get the job that you had been dreaming of for so long. Bank work, resigning from The Link, ending your apartment lease- and the most important of them all, if you could live with leaving without seeing him again.

“I lied about us to them.”

Regret was a funny thing, it nipped and poked at your insides until you had no choice but to acknowledge its infuriating presence. It made you think things you did not want to, forcing them to the front of your idle mind until you gave up trying to fight.

“But nothing about us was ever a lie.”

His last words to you echoed through the chambers of your mind, eliciting a sigh. You still hadn’t the slightest idea what he had meant by that, or the possible implications it retained. It gave rise to questions that would stay in the forefront of your thoughts without any answers.

And before you knew it, you let go of the suitcase handle and grabbed your keys, slipping out of your apartment and calling a cab. Within minutes you were sitting inside said cab, telling the driver Taeyong’s address before you could talk yourself out of it. It was so impulsive, so completely unlike you that you were a tad concerned, but you wanted answers. The memory of where he lived in the city was burned into your memory, the information finally proving to be useful.

For all you knew, you could have made the right decision that day to walk away and this would all be for nought.

But it could have also been your biggest mistake.

The elevator ride up to his penthouse was when your intrusive thoughts returned with full force. You had miraculously managed to keep them at bay in the cab, but now as you waited in that metallic little box, you couldn’t help but try and dissect why you were here. You could have perhaps slept for a little before your flight, or checked if you had everything you needed for the nth time.

Instead, you were there, walking out into the hallway of the building he stayed at that was almost haunted with the ghosts of your past selves rushing through it the morning after that night, hand in hand with soft giggles and secretive smiles being passed around. A self-inflicted déjà vu, or perhaps not, because history truly did love to repeat itself, cyclical in nature as it went through the motions of a story it already knew so well.

Now all that stood between him and you was a measly wooden door.

What if he wasn’t at home? What if he wasn’t staying there for the night and instead with the boys? What if he wasn’t even in Los Angeles, but rather somewhere else and you had wasted all this time?

You knocked. Then you took a step back and waited.

When you heard the slightest padding of footsteps and the rattle of the door, you knew that there was no turning back. When the door opened, the warmth of his apartment hit you all at once, leaving you to unclench your anxious fists and stare at the person that stood at the doorframe.

“Y/n?”

You couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through your body when he said your name ever so softly, his eyes wide but softened at the sight of you as if he could hardly believe you were real. Locking eyes with him, you once again felt the effects of having his gaze upon you, the intenseness of it trained on just you. You didn’t think you would ever understand how he managed to have such an effect on you.

“Can I come in?” Your question came out timidly as you averted your gaze, knowing that if you kept it locked with his you would never be able to finish what you had started. You didn’t see him nod, but felt him move aside and push the door further open for you. When you were inside, he shut the door and turned to you, unsure of what to say.

Nothing had changed inside his place, nor had much about him other than appearances. His hair was darker now, the hint of red you had grown used to missing and replaced with a solid brown that matched the swirl in his eyes.

“You’re here,” Taeyong mumbled almost inaudibly. “Why are you here?”

He hadn’t thought he would ever see you in person ever again, least of all standing in front of him in his house- what had been a home for a few minutes that night- in all your stifled glory.

You looked to the side and out the expansive windows that stretched out from the ceiling to the floors, out at the twinkling city. The last time you had been here, the curtains in the living room had been drawn closed, giving you privacy from the rest of the world's prying eyes.

“I don’t know.” But you did know, what you needed from him was so painfully obvious that you couldn’t even bring yourself to say it. “This was a mistake.”

He studied you, from the ever so slight tremble of your lower lip to your unfocused eyes that wouldn’t look at him. “No, it wasn’t.”

The way he could read you so easily was ridiculous to you, causing you to scoff under your breath as a frustrated smile made its way onto your face.

“I don’t understand you.” And you truly couldn’t because people like him were so evasive and fleeting, always just a little too far out of your reach. He paused, eyes flitting all over your expression as if trying to assess what you meant by that, what you wanted- no, needed- from him. “You say you want me in your life and then proceed to lie about us to everyone else already in it. But you tell me nothing about us was a lie.” You sucked in a shaky breath, going over everything that had happened between the two of you.

“Y/n-”

But now that you had started letting it all out, there was no stopping you.

“And I don’t know what to believe, because I placed all my trust in you and you just- you broke it like it meant nothing.” His heart broke when your voice did, putting himself in your shoes. How confused and hurt you must have been, to think you were nothing but an easy way out of a tricky situation.

“No,” he whispered, contrite, “it meant everything to me.”

You stayed silent, letting the silence blanket the both of you. The faint ticking of the second hand on a clock somewhere in the room made up for it.

“Have you made me a liar, Taeyong?”

The earnestness that laced your voice along with the way you finally, finally looked at him had him instinctively reach out to touch you and hold you and wipe away the pain that he had inflicted on you, but he stopped himself just in time, letting his arm fall limply to his side in vanquish.

“God, no,” He almost exclaimed, shouted even, wanting to do anything he could think of to prove himself to you, to get through to you. “I told you the truth that night, I never lied to you about wanting you Y/n, I never fucking lied about that.”

You remembered that night all too well and shut your eyes once again to counter the telltale warmth of your eyes.

“Even when it all started? When you first kissed me?”

“Even then.” The way he stated it with so much fervour made your thinking come to a halt.

“Then tell me the truth,” you said ultimately, “the full truth.”

That one request was all he needed to divulge everything that had happened, the way the rumours about him were getting to a bad point, how worried Irene was about it and her warning to them. How everyone assumed that everything he was doing with you was for their benefit and nothing else, and how he stupidly- utterly senselessly- went along with it to make things easier. The way that he completely forgot about him having to win you over for a purpose because he genuinely wanted you for just you, and how he regretted every sore decision he made.

And you listened as every question of yours got its answer and locked itself away from your memory, the sincerity in his voice finding you and holding your hands, squeezing them until you could let them go. Half of you wanted to hate him more than anything, to scream and cry and make him hurt the way he hurt you.

But the thing was, you already knew he was hurting. And the other half of you wanted it to stop because loving someone meant shielding them from any sort of hurt.

And you loved him more than you had ever loved anyone or anything.

“Telling them I was with you for a good article was a lie. It was still a lie even if I didn’t mean it.” There was Lee Taeyong, seemingly on top of the world with everyone at his feet, confessing to you what no one else knew. For your eyes only.

“And I’m so sorry for it.”

When you opened your eyes, he was looking at you, his round eyes filled with so much sorrow, so much desperate hope that you would believe him as you did so trustingly all those months ago. All that vulnerability out in the open again for you to peer at and judge, but did you even have the right?

“You really hurt me, you know,” You mumbled slowly, cautionary, wanting him to hear it from you at least once. You needed to say it to him, to get it off your chest.

A single tear trickled down your face, and the moment it did, Taeyong stepped closer, cradling your face between his hands as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I know,” he breathed out, dragging his thumb gently against your cheek and wiping the tear away. “I hate myself for doing that to you, I regret it more than anything. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your fingers found the cloth of the shirt he wore, clutching onto it and leaning into his touch, finding solace in the gentle touch of his hands against your face as he whispered apologies to you, chipping away bit by bit at your resolve.

When the curtains falls, the lights dimmed and stage effects ceased to exist, beneath the glitz and the seemingly perfect lives of celebrities, there were humans. Humans who made mistakes and fucked up sometimes, humans who were judged for those very mistakes even though thousands of people all over the world did the very same things. Now, as Taeyong stood there and held you like he couldn’t bear to ever let you go, and barred his soul for you with every ‘I’m sorry’ that fell from his lips in utmost sincerity, he was the most human you had ever seen him.

And who were you to judge someone just like you? So painfully human and flawed, willing to make up for it?

“You hurt me and I love you anyway. Does that make me an idiot?” You had already forgiven him, speaking against the ghost of his lips, one hand coming up to clutch at his wrist to ground yourself at the moment.

“Fuck, no,” he tilted your head upwards so you were looking right into his eyes as he spoke, leaving you to believe every word he said. “You’re not the idiot, you never were. I was the idiot, baby, I fucked it all up.” That brown of his tickled your forehead and every sense of yours was oblivious to everything but the man in front of you.

“You did,” you nodded faintly, letting out the softest exhale as you blinked the tears out of your eyes, but never dropped them from his. “Guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”

Almost immediately, his lips found yours, kissing you with such reckless abandon that you almost lost your balance and would have fallen if you hadn’t been holding into his hand. One of his arms fell to your torso and looped around it, pulling you closer until it was impossible to do so anymore, securing you in place. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you let every single one of your fears and thoughts melt away like it usually did when you were around him because you knew that this, right there, was exactly where you were supposed to be.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to.” And he meant it with every fibre of his being, willing to do anything and everything for you.

“I believe you.”

It didn’t matter how many people made up fake news about him or never believed anything he said because you did.

“Then will you stay in my life? By my side again?” He asked you this softly, not wanting to push you into anything. “And- fuck, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, because there will be people prying into your life when they find out about us if there’s going to be an us, and unwanted attention–”

“More running from paparazzi?” You offered with the slightest twitch of your lips.

“Definitely more of that.” He chuckled, tenderly pushing some of your hair out of your face so none of it obscured his view of you, “But there’s no one else I’d rather run from them with.” His eyes searched yours for any semblance of an answer and you dipped your head a little in confirmation.

“I’d run with you for the rest of my life too, Taeyong, and I forgive you,” you choked out with a teary laugh, your previous emotions crashing down on you all at once, melting into a concoction that was completely overridden by your feelings for him. You would face the Huang Renjun’s and Kim Jungwoo’s of the world head-on, hand in hand with the man you loved, inevitably coming out triumphant.

Because you believed him. You really, truly believed him.

“Yeah?” He asked, in disbelief almost, engulfing you entirely in his embrace when you nodded again, whispering the very same word just loud enough for him to hear but soft enough to be mistaken for an echo. He pressed kisses into your hair and you knew that you had made the best decision you could have by coming here, letting yourself relax in his hold.

“For the record, I love you too,” And you didn’t think you had ever heard something so beautiful as him saying those three fated words back to you. After a beat, he continued in teasing, “Isn’t that what you journalists say? For the record?”

You laughed, wiping any stray tears, now of happiness, that had escaped your eyes in the process. “No, you idiot, it’s ‘on the record’ for things that they want to be counted, and ‘off the record’ for things that they don’t want in the report.” His attempt at using journalist lingo was endearing to you, as was the fond grin that rested upon his lips as you corrected him.

“On the record then,” Taeyong said matter-of-factly, “I love you, Y/n L/n.”

You leaned upwards, pressing your lips to his lightly, before pulling back with wide eyes. “Oh god, I have to go!”

“What?!”

“I have a flight in the morning- to New York,” You had momentarily forgotten about that minor fact, attempting to detach yourself from him, a futile gesture he promptly refuted by holding you even tighter.

“New York? Why?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you preemptively smiled in pride.

“An interview for the New York Times.” You patted his arm around you. “I’m flying in early tomorrow morning, my interview is on Monday.”

He frowned, “That’s a week from now. Cancel the flight and stay with me for a bit before you leave me pining after you.”

You knew very well that you had been overthinking it when it came to booking your flight so early and felt flushed at his words. “But-”

“Stay. Please.”

And with that he had you.

“Okay,” you nodded without giving it much thought, knowing where you had to be most at that very point in time. “I’ll leave later.”

Of course, there would be tribulations, you expected no shortage of them, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side to push through the fog and uncertainty, you would be okay. You were up for all of it, from the sleepless nights tainted with the burning taste of whiskey to the mesmerising laughter-filled ones that would no doubt haunt the halls of his apartment. And perhaps now the streets of New York when you would soon step into them.

“I love you.”

Looking up at him now with a soft smile that formed as you said the words, you knew that he had once again given you another dream by giving himself. You brought your hands up to his face and cupped it, memorizing every detail of your most brilliant dream yet so you would never forget it in this lifetime, or any life after this one. As you stood there, fitting so perfectly in his arms, he felt at home at long last, finding joy in the fact that it was because of you and how it would always stay a home with you there.

“On the record.”

fin.

1K notes · View notes

kdyism · 1 year

Text

THE BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE.

pairing. renjun x reader

genre + themes. fluff, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, fake dating!kind of, college!au kind of, suggestive.

wc. 8.398k / warn. mention of food/cooking, mild cussing, making out, tiktok ref (im sorry)

synopsis. enlisting you as his "someone i'm seeing" excuse, renjun tries to get his mom to stop asking him about his date for his cousin's wedding and in turn, it puts your already tired feelings for him in a loop.

yunn's text. when this happened so fast, it took a day and a half. reblog + comments are appreciated! hope you enjoy it, happy reading! (not proofread yet)

suggested music to listen along! hello, sunset by red velvet. 247 by stayc. it's yours by nct dream. prada by fr:eden. kiss kiss by shinee.

Your eyes following Renjun as he argued with his mother regarding the same topic every time had become routine by the time a month was left for his cousin's wedding, you always hear the excuse, "I am seeing someone, I swear! but it's still not serious enough to bring them to a wedding!" he grumbles, kicking your poor carpet but you know there wasn't any mal intent because he was the one who painstaking went through all the reasonable options at Ikea to get you an aesthetically pleasing carpet without breaking your bank's back.

Renjun paces across your living room angsty with a deep frown on his face, nodding frustrated and you almost were curious about what his mother was saying for him to suddenly shut up and listen to her despite the begrudging expression he wore. He would often tell you about how much he loves his mother and how fighting with her always made him feel like he had to be showered in holy water to feel forgiven but when it came to his love life, no one is excused, not even the first love of his life.

"I know, I know, but come on you know I don't want to bring just anyone to this. If I introduce someone to you guys and break up before—like the fifth anniversary, I won't ever come back home," he sounds exasperated, locking his eyes with yours and you smile because you think he might stick to his words if he ever did, he had always been a stickler to what he did in front of his family's eyes.

The Renjun his family sees is a precious son, he drunkenly said one time and destroying that image of him would kill the innocent, law-abiding son in him forever and he would try to take over the world if that happens.

"I feel like taking that backpacking trip you were going on about now..." Renjun throws himself beside you on the sofa and you laugh at him, pushing yourself to the side to make space for him and he screams into your shoulder, quietly of course.

"When's the wedding?" you pass the flier you had bought from the tourist agency, pulling out your phone and opening up your gcal.

Pouting subtly at the flier, Renjun narrows his eyes at the cost of the trip and gasps, "Can you afford this trip? This is absurd—I retract my statement, I am not taking this trip," he crumbles the flier tossing it away and you inhale, stopping yourself from screaming and glare at him.

"That's my flier, you asshat!"

"I know you can't afford that, stop killing your savings!" he shouts back, holding his hands in front of him and pushing your clawing hands away, "I can take you to my hometown for cheaper than that," Renjun rolls his eyes, cleverly tossing out a suggestion that had been brewing in his mind for some time now.

It was maybe two weeks ago when he was on a call with his mother at home that he thought it up. What if he just took you to the wedding since his mother already suspected that something was up between the two of you. Lying to his dear mother does break his heart but his mother thinking he doesn't attract anyone breaks his own heart, for god's sake, she should know that all her good looks went to him.

Flitting your lashes at him, your lips apart and churning your entire face to express your disbelief, you added a scoff. "Um... would you mind, I don't know, speaking up,"

"I was only thinking," he quickly says, "You want a trip away from here and I need a person to show up with me in a place away from here," shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, he takes your phone from your hand and scrolls down to December.

"You're going to visit your parents' house the last week of this month and I am leaving the first week of the next— You could just join me," he explains, pressing the 3rd of December and passing the phone back to you. "Our schedules line up—just the way you like it,"

Dropping your jaws at his insolence, your heart races at a speed you hate. His gorgeous face was already a challenge for you and now him asking this of you makes your heart's love cloud heavier. Renjun is skilled at adding more, and more, actions for you to misunderstand and your naïve heart just keeps taking them all, unable to commit to whether you should give up on him or just let your feelings rain on him, just the way he drowns you with his thoughtless actions.

"I will only pay for my food..."

"Wait up... you're going on a trip...Alone with Huang Renjun, the Subject of your affections, Causer of your tantrums, Disturber of my peace?" despite being on call with Jisung, you sigh seeing him roll his eyes wearing a disgusted look on his face in your eyes.

Humming in response, you aren't sure why you even tell him about what's up in your life when all he does is rub your bad decisions on your face—he has a point because you always end up in his apartment, eating your emotions away by downing two buckets of vanilla and strawberry ice cream followed by Jisung's signature strawberry milkshake that he specifically bought a blender for; it never sees the light of day when he doesn't make the strawberry milkshake that you very often crave.

"He gave a compelling reason why this works for the two of us," or maybe you are easily convinced, something that only happens when it involves the said person.

Groaning into the speaker, Jisung begins his usual lecture. "I don't know who is the stupid one here, me or you—But, didn't you say you were going to get over him? What happened to putting some distance between Renjun and you? What happened to going to the cinema with me today? Didn't you see me rush through my assignments to spend time with you?" pausing for dramatic purposes, you bite your lips inhaling heavily. "...Are you saying I did all that for nothing?" Jisung always had your back, when your back was against Renjun.

"Jisung," you said sternly, rolling on your side when you heard your name faintly through your slightly open window.

"You need to shut up,"

Smiling softly, you shake your head getting off your bed. "Chenle told me you were going over to watch the Halloween reruns on his subscription," and as if it were magic, Jisung hangs up on you and you can see him fuming at Chenle already.

For as long as you have carried your feelings for Renjun, Jisung has been on the receiving end of it.

Peeking through your window, you study Renjun's outfit to match with him and you note how cool he looks standing without a care in front of your apartment, scrolling on his phone and the sun looks so good on him, it makes you somewhat jealous how even the environment around him makes your heart go ba-thump when all he did was breathe and the sound of your heart gets louder when you recognize the sweater he wore; he had gotten you matching sweaters when he went on a trip to the Disneyland in Japan with his friends, you were a good minute from melting at his feet when he gave it to you and ran off to his next class.

Quickly grabbing the same sweater from your cupboard, you decide it looks okay with your current outfit and swung your side bag on, rushing out to meet Renjun at the front. Today, you and Renjung were going shopping for something decent to wear for his cousin's wedding. You thought you already had something that would work but Renjun said you should match with his suit which in turn matches with the rest of his family because they decided for each of the families to match colours for the wedding—you wanted to laugh at how committed Renjun must've been to go as far as make you match with his family when you were a pretend date.

"Renjun!" you slap your hand on his side, announcing your arrival and he nods, "My mom said I should buy it for you because I am bringing you," he said, glancing at your face to gauge your reaction and much to his expectation, you vigorously shake your head.

"No way,"

Ignoring you, Renjun leads the way to the mall you decided earlier on and you groan, knowing that once Renjun says okay, he rarely ever changes his mind. Yes he buys you a lot of stuff without asking you but when he does it in front of you, you always end up fighting about how you can pay for your stuff while he says, he invited you so it's only reasonable that he pays. You think that if you ever do date him (in your dreams at least) you'd probably always have petty fights about it.

Following him around the store, you try on many clothes to which he shakes his head for different reasons, "This one looks too tacky," "Ehh, don't you think this makes you look off?" "The shade is wrong," and by the time you tried on your twentieth one, Renjun groans sprawling on the sofa in the dressing lounge and you sigh, taking a seat beside him.

"This is the right shade now Renjun," you shake his side, trying to get his attention and he flails around, "Just...Just do this yourself—shopping for formal wear is too hard,"

Slapping his forearm, you flinch away when he springs up with a glare. "That hurts!" he rubs his side, eyes drinking you in, slowly widening. "This is it!" he jumps, quickly making you stand and he claps his hands in victory, not noticing your flushing cheeks when he pushes your hair up and closing the distance between your faces, his breathe on your side as he checks out your dress closely with a thoughtful expression.

"You look amazing in this," he concludes, nodding while checking the price, and Renjun holds his shock at how expensive it is but the way the dress hugged you made him think this was made just for you, he had to buy it for you—wedding or no wedding. Looking up to face you, Renjun felt the first pang in his heart that would slowly be the undoing of his heart, he thought he felt the last of it a long time ago.

A momentary crush that faded away when he got comfortable around you, Renjun absolutely hated how clammy his hands got when he was around you at the beginning and he also hated the way a single smile from you could render him goo in a single second.

Renjun pushes himself away, his ears burning and the characteristic sweat forming on his palms. "Do you l-like this dress?" unable to face you in fear of a blushing expression, he turns away to call the salesman.

"Yeah... you seem like it a lot," you offhanded said, confused at his awkwardness as he rubs his hand on his jeans; something you thought he got out of a long time ago, and you watch him, getting the salesman to scan the code of your dress and going up to the front to make the payment leaving you to change into your normal clothes.

To be honest, before deciding to get over Renjun, a part of you thought he was interested in you too. From the way he has been sticking with you since your first year in university, despite how he has always been cramming with assignments to the way he has always been buying things for you as if to say he thinks of you all the time even when you are apart.

"Should we head out?" you stand beside him, your shoulder brushing against him as you take the bag with your new dress in it from the counter.

Seeing over your head, Renjun thinks for a minute. His eyes go back and forth from you to behind you until he says, "Go ahead, I need to get something," leaving you rattled.

Renjun doesn't feel bad towards Jisung most of the time when you choose to hang out with him over your friend it made him feel more special even if it meant you were constantly changing your plans with Jisung. According to you, Jisung always leaves you unconfirmed until the last minute because he has grown used to you changing your mind whenever you decided your assignments are more important than watching ep 8 Brooklyn 99 just because Jisung wants to understand what all the memes are about.

However, this time, Renjun did feel bad for Jisung.

"I was waiting at the train stop... for almost two hours!" the younger boy had tears rolling down his side, his face threading the line between anger and frustration.

"It's my fault..." Renjun sheepishly says, scraping his original idea of just getting Jisung back to his apartment. "My mom bought an early ticket and came over while she was at my place. You know how my mom is,"

Rolling his eyes, "Are you saying me that you left her alone with your mom?" Jisung scoffs, throwing his hands to his mouth, letting the seat belt he pulled sling back and hit his shoulder.

Jisung hurriedly plugs in the belt, turning his torso to face Renjun who begins driving and repeats his question. Raising his brows in disbelief, "How...no, why would you let that happen?"

Renjun too honestly regrets having you meet his mom before talking about the whole plan with you, being in a pretend relationship that works would need the story to match on both sides. Renjun has no idea what his mom would ask and how you would reply, he trusts you completely yes, but he also knows how nosy his mother is when it came to his love life because he never tells her anything (because there is always nothing to say) and you, oh god, he knew you were nervous enough meeting his entire family at the wedding but this, you didn't even have time to dress properly when you opened the front door to his mom wearing his faded Ravenclaw sweatshirt and basketball shorts that Chenle left in his apartment a while back.

"Do you plan on ever telling her the truth?" Jisung asks out of the left field as the car drives into the curb near his neighbourhood, a shiver runs down Renjun's spine at the thought.

"No way,"

"Heh, Chenle was right about the two of you being idiots—You're meant to be,"

Careful not to chop your fingers as you slice the onions for Renjun's mother, you couldn't help being on guard as she floats around you. Nothing could've prepared you for this. Renjun for one wasn't lying when he said he inherited his mother's good looks because as soon as you opened the front door and let your eyes fall on the grace of her face, you blew a fuse.

"Darling, where is the cream sauce?" she asks, sweetness laced in her tone, scanning through the refrigerator.

"It must be in the drawer—Renjun might’ve stuffed in there last time,"

"Ahah, here it is. Does Renjun eat homecooked often?" she leaves the sauce out to cool, standing beside you on the kitchen counter and begins to work on the chicken.

Nodding in response, you slide the sliced onions onto a plate and grab the mushrooms next, smiling fondly as you remember the first time Renjun had cooked for you and added mushrooms sliced too thin. "Renjun and I take turns cooking during the weekends. That's more homecooked meals than what most of our friends have,"

Smiling gently at you, "That's nice to know, I am always worried he isn't eating properly," goosebumps run down your back as she says that while she pulls out the bones from the chicken. You never wanted to cross her, hearing stories from Renjun about how scary she gets and the sight of her sweet smile combined with the deboning has solidified your fear.

But as nervous as you are, you are quick to realize how sweet his mother is. Lathering him in affection as soon as her eyes set on him, Renjun flushed so deeply that you felt your heart swoon with adoration due to how docile he had turned in front of his mother, his ears turning red and whining at her to stop rubbing his head. She immediately asked you how you were and if Renjun was ever mean to you, you could've yes but you didn't. You said he's always very blunt, instead.

Though, despite how unnerving it is that you eased around her, you remembered that you had plans with Jisung and Renjun left to get him. The nerves shot up again, you did not want to mess up for the sake of Renjun and you think his mother caught onto how tense you had become because she started talking more than she had earlier, asking you questions about Renjun and how he's been doing far from home—what you've been fearing for though had yet to appear until she finally let the stove do the cooking and the two of you settled on the stools at the kitchen.

"You're the one coming to the wedding right?" she trails, her eyes blinking at you and studying your features, you nod apprehensively, unsure what she would ask next. "Is my son lying to me or are you two actually seeing each other?"

Ahah, that question.

You didn't know how to reply. Yes, your son is lying to you but no, I might also be the reason he isn't seeing someone because he spends all his time seeing me instead—you awkwardly nod though, "We are still at the talking stage... I don't know whether that qualifies," you said, your thumbs fiddling and you pray, Renjun please come home already.

As if on cue, you hear the jingle of his key chain and you spring up from your chair to go greet him, "You're back!" you smile in relief, clinging onto him and poor Jisung, getting left behind. "What are you doing here?" jutting your lips out when you see the other boy, you glance from him to Renjun for an answer.

"I felt bad..." Renjun pushes you aside, removing his coat and you take it from him naturally, Jisung watching you act so routinely with his friend as if you live in his house. You put away his coat and hang up the keys, following him into the kitchen and Jisung follows you without a word, only opening up to greet Renjun's mother who he has met before. "This is Jisung, you know him," Renjun says anyway.

You grab two cups of water for the boys and walk to them, finding them in a conversation with his mom. "Ah! Yes, yes I remember now—Didn't you have a partner or something for that?" his mother laughs at the memory Jisung had recalled, the topic: Cross-dressing Renjun.

"I was his partner for that," you giggle, loving the blush that overtook Renjun's face as you add, "He wore my clothes and I did his make-up, I was so sure he'd win," you said frowning.

"Well, that senior Jungwoo looked very pretty," chugging down the water you brought, Renjun leans into your side when you sit, sending your heated blood upwards. Before you had become close to him, he always gave you incessant headaches from blushing, you had enjoyed the dizzying feeling he created and the conundrum your stomach would get up to, suddenly, you think, what if this wasn't a lie?

"Your mother asked me if you were lying," you whispered to him, your eyes plastered on Jisung and his mother reminiscing all of Renjun's embarrassing first-year stories.

His jaw slackened, "What did you say?" he asks, eyes as wide as saucers and his breath brushing on your side, "Did she ask anything weird?"

Shaking your head, you tilt to face him. Your lips so close yet so far, you pull away and reply, "I said her we are still in the talking stage, I have no idea if that's even a thing for us—"

"—We've been in the talking stage for four years then," Renjun smiles, nudging your side and getting up to follow his mother into the kitchen when she announced she was going to check on the stove.

Letting out a ragged sigh, you groan quietly and roll to Jisung's side who looked at you disgusted, "You traitor, you liar, you asshat, I am never making plans with you again—"

"I didn't mean to ditch you." you cuddle into his side, comforting him by patting his side and he pouts, "I was there for two hours, you don't know how scared I was,"

"Yes, I know... I am sorry, I'll make up to you for sure," you try to put on your best puppy eyes, sure that Jisung would try to take revenge on you and he nods, "I hope you are ready to stick to your words this time," he says, dropping octaves to scare you.

"You have my word, sir,"

Before Jisung pointed out, you never noticed that you've been having the boyfriend experience during the recent two years in your relationship with Renjun.

Currently 3 am, you shudder as the cold night air chips away at you while you wait for Renjun to pick you up at the nearest fast food chain for an early breakfast and head off. Jisung said, how many people do you think have a meet-up spot at the unholy hour? Not many, mainly people who are dating or flirting—people don't go see people at 3 am unless they have something going on. You had never really thought of it like that, you thought that Renjun was a night owl like you. It made sense to call up the other person you were sure would also be awake.

"You are stupid—you should know better than everyone else, Renjun wakes up early—" it then clicked in your head, "Because he goes to bed early, what the hell," you blush.

The sound of your name pulls you from your mind and you grin, waving slightly as his car stops in front of you. Waddling over to the passengers and getting in, you pull your phone from your pocket and thrash it into the holder, getting comfortable to wear the seat belt. "Hey," you finally said, pushing your hair away.

"Did you place the order?" Renjun drives, his eyes glancing at you to see you nod and you open your phone, "It says it’s ready—Whose going to get it?" your brows immediately furrow, groaning at the idea of having to get off the car and you say, "I got it last time, you should do it this time,"

"Uhuh, no way,"

"Come on, that's fair! Plus I paid because I called you out!" you whine, wriggling into the seat, you hear Renjun chuckle and your eyes catch his eyes in the rearview mirror when he suggests, "Let's just do rock, paper, scissors,"

A grin flashes on your face, Renjun always loses rock, paper, scissors with you—the only he won was at a club when he was drunk off his ass for the first time in your friendship and you let him win because he has begun to tear up at his losing streak.

Fisting your hand, Renjun imitates you after setting the car in park at the traffic light and you chant, "Rock, paper, scissors—Shoot!" Scissors and your eyes move to Renjun's hand but his groan reaches your ears first, earning a laugh from you. He had thrown out rock and you felt a zap through your body in excitement—now this is what you call a serotonin boost.

"Ugh, you are such a cheat," he grumbles, the traffic light turns green and you scoff, " Jealousy is not a good colour on you,"

Rolling his eyes, Renjun contradicts, "Shut up. I am pretty sure you said green was made for me,"

"I only said that because it compliments yellow and yellow looks great on you—" "Same difference," Renjun says indignantly and you pout, rolling your eyes. You won, he has to go get the take-out whether he likes it or not because as you know, Renjun is a man of his word.

The rest of the ride was quiet, it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one but it was one where you could hear your heart's pacing sound and Renjun's soft humming, you especially loved going on a drive at these wee hours because while the whole world was asleep, the sound of Renjun's voice is the only thing you could hear aside from your own heart that always sounds to the beat of him.

Looking outside of the window, Jisung's words keep replaying in your mind. You couldn't disagree that you are indeed having the boyfriend experience.

Whenever someone hits on you, you get to say you are with someone and it's Renjun. Whenever you wear something nice, you get to say it’s from Renjun. Whenever you are apart, people ask if you fought with Renjun. Everything nice reminds you of him. Your every day revolves around matching with him, like he said, you just like it when your schedules line up—even your beloved gcal has an assigned colour just for him.

He knows about your bank details, and your class schedules, he knows your mom and now you know his, you know how he feels about his family and he knows everything there is to know about you daily—hell, you even have a spare key to his apartment that even his mom doesn't have as you found out recently.

If this wasn't the boyfriend experience, you don't know what having a boyfriend is supposed to be; aside from the obvious making out and such, which to be frank, you're open to if he is too.

Right now, as Renjun parks outside the fast food place and grabs your phone like it’s his and goes off to get your take-away, you realize he even knows your phone password and you want to sling Jisung outside a window for making you think about this.

You want to kiss Renjun now—that's what's missing.

That's something you could ask for if he was your boyfriend but he's not, and this is all just pretend. In the two years, you've grown closer than before and the few days leading up to your trip to his cousin's wedding as well. This is all a lie because, for one, a kiss is something that isn't meant for you, who is just a friend.

Your eyes can't help burning, tears flooding and your nose heating up at well. This isn't a thing to cry about—you already decided to give up on him, you remind yourself, feeling utterly stupid at how easy it is for you to make yourself cry.

"Oh my god! Why are you crying?" you hear the panic laced in his tone, shoving the take-out bag carefully to the back and shutting the door behind him.

Renjun leans in, pushing your hair away from your moist face now that you began sweating from all the heat that rushed up to your face and seeing his worried face, you can't help crying harder. "I hate you! you are so baaaad!" you complain, slapping your hands on his chest and he shushes you, patting your sides calmly, "Why am I bad? Is this because of the rock, paper, scissors—I know you won fair and square," he rambles, his hands delicately wiping away the tears on your face.

"You're bad because you are like this! You are so confusing!" you sob, putting your hands up between himself and you.

If it wasn't enough that you made yourself cry, your heart almost caught up to your neck. The usual ba-thump louder than ever and racing at the speed you didn't think was possible, if your chest breaks and your heart gets out, you wouldn't be surprised.

On the other hand, Renjun barely had any idea why you were suddenly crying and he does what he knows calms you down. Unplugging the seat belt you had on, he snakes his arms around your neck and pulls you into him, of course, he hopes you can't hear his loud heart beating like crazy but right now, he shushes into your ears and says all the nice words you like to hear. "It's okay, I am right here if you need to cry—take your time," he says like a chant, a mantra that he knows works on you because you taught him these words when he really needed to cry.

"Renjun..." you call, sobbing more gently now after a few minutes has passed. Craning your neck up to face him, you ask, "Hic—Why is your h‐ick—eart bearing so fast?"

Making gibberish noises, you try to make out what he says and he shrugs, "Um because you scared me... by suddenly... crying?" he sounds unsure and you narrow your eyes, leaning over to which he pulls away in response. "Why do you—hic—sound unsure?" you ask through your hiccuping.

"I don't know, I don't know—don't ask me this," Renjun feels the back of his burning up and the clammy hands return, he pushes you off and turns to get the food from the back. "Let's just finish this before it becomes even colder than it already is," he says trying to distract you, your glare though keeps following him as he hands you your meal.

If you ever ask him this again, Renjun thinks he might just run away from you then come out with the truth now that he has (if he is assuming correctly) become the reason you had a mental breakdown at almost 5 am with the sunrise as the backdrop on his car.

Whatever it might be, he hopes it has to do with the rock, paper, scissors and not something more serious.

While you were away at your parent's house for a week, you became sure that it was Jisung's revenge to have you think about the nature of your relationship with Renjun.

You hate him, you cut him off for three days now and suddenly, you are at his apartment unable to keep to yourself.

"You cried in his car?" Chenle repeats, munching on spicy chips and intently listening to your retelling of the most embarrassing thing you have ever done. "YES!" you nod exasperatedly.

"I was god awful—I think I might have got his shirt snotty and also, Jisung is so evil like why would you tell something so crucial at a time like this?" dropping your head on the pillow placed on your lap, you scream into it.

"Um. What's the crucial time?" Jisung tilts his head confusedly, looking like an adorable puppy but his actions have made him look like the most annoying creature on earth in your eyes, a scoff escapes you before you could stop it which in turn earns you a gasp followed by a resentful scoff. "Leave, just leave my house if you are going to behave like this," Jisung stretches out his hands towards the door and you cry, "I am sorry! You know I love you!"

"Anyways," Chenle pops up, "What's this crucial time? Even I want to know,"

"Guys, do you ever listen to me?" you weakly accuse them, and Chenle shrugs, "We are right now, aren't we?" to which Jisung nods.

"I am going on a trip with Renjun today—like in a few hours... My suitcase is already in his trunk and he is just getting things in order with his landlord since he won't be here for three weeks—and you know what? he says if the room isn't aired out at least twice a week, he'll die,"

Dropping his jaws, "Ah, the crucial time," Jisung laughs sheepishly, apologising for his awful timing and you nod, "Yeah, yeah you asshat. Be sorry for me,"

"What are you doing here if you are leaving today?" Chenle as always, always asks ‘the important questions’.

"This is why you're my favourite," you giggle at him, throwing a chip in his mouth as a reward and Jisung rolls his eyes, because if Chenle was your favourite, why are you always calling him in distress and disturbing his peace?

"I didn't wanna leave with bad blood." closing your eyes for dramatic purposes, you place your hand on Jisung's shoulders and say, "You know I love you right? You are such an important, irreplaceable person to me. Chenle, you need to keep him safe while I am away,"

Rolling his eyes, "I am glad to know you feel guilty for ghosting me for two days," Jisung grins, even if he doesn't say it, you know deep down he appreciates how much you put into words your affection for him.

Though he wishes you just do it with Renjun and get over this whole unrequited love situation.

Laughing at the exchange, Chenle says, "I take care of him all the time, don't worry," and you sigh, to show that you now feel at peace, you place a hand on your chest and look afar. "I can finally rest in peace,"

"Why are you acting like this, just go home,"

"You're gonna miss me when I am gone,"

It was just a two-hour ride on a single train that makes about three stops along the way, the only thing you is that your time of arrival would be late at night and you felt awkward enough pretending to be asleep, cuddling into the side of your seat and bringing your knees closer to your chest—you had a reason, your knees keep brushing with his and your heart couldn't handle any sense of contact thanks to your cry fest, though Renjun fails to bring it up whenever you think he might, you know it must he bothering him just by knowing is personality.

To say the least, Renjun's hometown isn't too far.

"Can you please stop pretending?" Renjun pokes your arms, his eyes staring daggers into your head and your body clatters, you didn't think you could face Renjun.

Fluttering your eyes open, your breath hitches. "Give me some space," you choke out, putting your hand up and Renjun hums, "You've been so quiet—are you worried about that breakdown?"

"If you know, you shouldn't ask me about it," you hiss, sitting up straight and sinking into the seat to make sure he sees your annoyance. You aren't actually annoyed, you didn't know how else to be normal though.

Renjun is probably familiar with your bouts of "Leave me alone," over the time you've been friends and each other’s confidants. He has never been the cause of your tantrum but he knows you'll come around. "You can keep pretending like you hate me. But right now, I need to know if you'd like to stay at my family home or a hotel?" crossing his arms causally, Renjun glances at you and you quirk your lips downwards.

"Shouldn't you have asked this earlier?"

"I was discussing with my mom," you were starting to grow suspicious of how much of his decisions are his and how much of it was his mother—"My mom says I should bring you home,"

"Will you be comfortable with me walking around your family home?" you pursue your lips trying to imagine what he would be like with family around, no matter how awkward you get, he'd probably be even more so. Thinking a second, "I'd rather not pay for lodging, so yeah, stay over," he shrugs.

"Even if it means I have to stay in your room?" you lean into his side, locking your eyes and tying your pinky with his.

Playing along with you, Renjun grabs your hand and asks, "Didn't you hate me a second ago?" earning a subtle smile from you.

"I can't be mad at you for so long. And I swear, I didn't cry because of you, you did nothing wrong, you didn't make me cry," you softly said, your fingers rubbing circles on his hand as you bring it over your lap. "Jisung is the one to blame,"

"Huh? At 3 am, Jisung made you cry?" Renjun furrows his brows at you, watching you firmly nod, "Yes, Jisung makes me cry no matter the time of day—he just like onions,"

"I am sure he'd love to know you're comparing him to onions too now,"

Giggling weakly, you roll your eyes. "Don't you dare tell him," you glare playfully, you surprise yourself with how fast Renjun lifts your mood. With your previous embarrassment behind you, you somehow end up lifting the armrest between you and Renjun, snuggling into his shoulder, and snoozing away for the two hours to his hometown.

Much to your dismay, his mother had prepared you the guestroom.

Apparently, she had cleaned out the guestroom a few months ahead in case family comes over because of the wedding being nearby and you didn't get to force Renjun into proximity, not that you don't do that either way but something about going to bed together makes your heart flutter, you know Renjun must look pretty lying down, resting his eyes and lulling into sleep.

"Knock, knock," Renjun's voice entices your skin, goosebumps rising across your arms while you stretch.

"Ugh... Good morning," you beam at him, your hair looking like a bird’s nest and Renjun hides a smile, pulling you up from the bed. "It's just me and you today, there's no food," he informs you, guiding you by your shoulders into the bathroom to let you freshen up.

"Are we getting take-out?" you sputter, trying to stretch the coldness away from your body. "Umm... wash up and come down, let's decide later," he shrugs, leaving you to yourself.

The kitchen he grew up around isn't the same anymore, the cabinet he had always opened to find cereal boxes and ramen packs now housed many types of tea and biscuits, clearly, his mother made the house her own once there wasn't a kid around anymore. Knowing his father, he probably just goes along with whatever his mom does.

Scanning through the options, Renjun flicks the kettle on to heat the water and grabs the packet of black tea, moving swiftly to the fridge to take out the milk carton. "Nothing better than milk tea for breakfast," he says to himself, prepping for it.

You always had milk tea in the morning when you woke up, you said it clears your bowels before you had to leave your house. Something you picked up from your family routine and he finds it endearing, you still did many things that you'd attribute to being childhood habits such as greeting him at the door and always leaving folded clothes at whoever bedrooms instead of just putting them away in the cupboard.

You also always waddle into the kitchen with your pyjamas on, not ready to change and begin your day just yet. "It's already 10 in the morning, why are you still being lazy?" Renjun nags, sliding your cup of tea towards you.

Rolling your rolls, you pout your lips out. "We are staying in today,"

"So?"

"I don't need to look presentable in front of you, you don't even care what I look like," your tone had changed from normal to whinny, catching him off guard. "What do you mean? Of course, I care how you look," he threw out defensively.

"Yeah? I don't see you checking me out whenever I come over," you point, sipping the tea he made you and humming in appreciation, he makes it just the way you like it and you only had to tell him one time. "No one checks anyone out obviously, that's just... that's like telling the world you think someone's hot," nodding curiosity at his audacity, you ask.

"So you're saying I am hot and you check me out secretly?"

Renjun gapes, blinking at you indignantly. "P O V, you are delusion. Why are you putting words in my mouth,"

"I think I remember what you just quite clearly," you spit out, peering over at him with a look of victory. "You can admit that you think I am hot,"

"As if—I know you think I am hot, I can see you checking me out all the time. I also see you trying to match with me through the window. You think I don't see you?" Renjun coughs, leaning against the kitchen island and you kick his leg, washing your now empty tea cup and you hear a grumble from him.

"At least I am not denying it,"

Narrowing his eyes, the fresh sunlight dazzling through the kitchen windows shines on your face. Extenuating your features and making your face look gentler than it probably was, Renjun cages you to the sink and scoffs, "Oookay," he drags, his eyes dropping to your lips, the sound of his heart clouding his reasoning and he asks, "If I agree that you're hot, can I kiss you?"

As if time could stop, your eyes widened, even the dust in the air becoming visible suddenly and Renjun's breath on your nose makes your chest tighten, heat spreading through your face and head, "What...?" you echo your mind, Renjun doesn't like you.

"If you don't say no, I'll take it as a yes," Renjun says, his head leaning towards your lips and your fingers betray you, curling around his collar, you grab him first and peck his lips. It felt like this dream would shatter if you kissed him any harder, a peck was enough, that alone was a dream come through and it felt so real, your body shudders under his grip.

But this is real, you say to yourself. Renjun needs an answer too, "Yes, yes, you can kiss me," you quickly said, eyes burning up due to the flame on your face, you feel the dizzying feeling back with the throbbing pain that always accompanies it. "Hurry and kiss me," Renjun chuckles, nodding sweetly at your words.

His hands cup your cheeks, brushing his lips against yours and your lips are as soft as he thought they'd be, you were always fussy about moisturising them. Not as patient as him, you lean forward and kiss him, his lips smiling into the kiss and his hands move back to cradle your neck, to hold you in a more comfortable position. Your lips taste like your favourite strawberry toothpaste and the scent of your cheap lavender soap bar intoxicated his movement, his fingers running through your face, feeling out your features and your lips keeps chasing his, the sound of your quiet sighs enticing him but he knows better.

"Stop," he says, his head digging into your neck. His lips brush against your collarbone, and he feels the shiver that runs down your back because he felt that too, the headache this heat gives him never felt this satisfying. "If you kiss me again, I'll take you straight to my room," he laughs, hearing your sharp gasp.

"That's not very filial son of you, you shouldn't do naughty stuff in your parent's house," you tease, your arms snaking around his torso, gripping him for dear life because if this was a dream, it feels as real as it could get and Renjun sighs, his breath tickling your neck.

"What are we now?" he asks, "Actually, did you even know I like you?"

"Huh, I would've never guessed." you bite back, pushing him off you and just now, you felt the back of your shirt moist from leaning on the sink and you release a groan, "Ugh! My shirt is wet,"

"My master plan." Renjun beams, sitting down on the kitchen stool. "Now you have to get changed into non-pyjamas."

"You asshat," you slap his head, running upstairs to change and your hand flies up to your lips, you cried last week about kissing him.

Your body felt like a fever, his body was just melting into yours and now, you've just been kissed and your brain might’ve melted, you think. You change out of your pyjamas, wearing what are "decent clothes" according to Renjun and hurry down, his side profile making your heart shake. Jisung was right, you couldn't think of anything you wanted to do with Renjun for a date that you haven't already done. Even meeting his family is a thing that should've come after he was your boyfriend—You've had all of the typical boyfriend experiences and yet, Renjun...

Biting your lisp, you just had to ask, "Are you, my boyfriend, now?"

"Huh?" he blinks, looking away from his phone and you ask again, "Are we a thing?"

Shrugging, this is the first time you've seen a blush on his face that you've caused. His ears glow, and it spreads to his cheeks. Lips quivering, you could tell he was trying to contain a smile. "If you'll have me, yeah," he nods, his eyes looking anywhere but at you.

"Heh," you giggle, skipping down the stairs to his side and you fling yourself at him, "I guess how you actually have a date for the wedding tomorrow,"

Crossing your arms and propping yourself on the table you've been assigned to, you understand now, why his mother was adamant about having a date.

Renjun has always been popular, even though he only attempts blind dates out of peer pressure and rejects everyone left and right, Renjun's popularity hadn't ever dwindled not even when he went missing doing his mid-term senior assignments. You should've known it was the same case back home, your eyes follow him as he greets people from his past with his mother and you can tell by the subtle blush on his face, the apologetic look as he points at you that they were asking about his relationship status again.

You even saw someone give him a gift when they should be gifting the people getting married instead.

"He's too popular, right?" Jisung huffs, stuffing his cheeks with the chocolate nuggets on your table. "I always knew," you shrug.

"Why didn't you tell me you were invited as well?" you glare at him, when you saw him as you entered with Renjun a while back, you wanted to cry in relief that there was someone you knew other than Renjun and his parents.

Forcing down the nuggets in his cheeks, he chokes out, "I didn't know if I was gonna make it—Renjun's cousin is kind of obsessed with me." He points at the groom and says, "I met him with Renjun a few years back and he clicked with me immediately, I don't even know why,"

"Damn, glad he didn't steal you from me," you nod, impressed by the reach of Jisung's charm.

"What happened with you and him though?" he asks, his eyes following Renjun now just as yours were and you grin, "We are now officially—I don't even know,"

"He acts just the same, I mean I guess we started dating yesterday but god, he is so awful, I didn't know how awful he was before," you complain, remembering how he woke you up last this morning when you would've taken more time than him to ready but he was sweet, he said he wanted to let you sleep in, though it still pissed you off that you had to rush getting ready.

"You were just enchanted by him before, now you'll see his true colours in their true form," Jisung concludes, sleeking back his hair as he stands. "I am gonna congratulate them and leave, see back you home," he pats your shoulder, Renjun appearing in front of you.

"Jisung's leaving?"

"Yeah," you stare up at his gorgeous face, his lips tinted with your lipstick but you didn't tell him that, you wanted everyone to know he was yours. The deep raspberry red that faintly stuck to him after you kissed him made your chest tremble, and you intertwin your hand with his. "You polish up nicely," you tell him again.

"You look nice too," he replies, a blush forming on his face and you grin, "You know, your mom was right,"

"There are way too many preying hands here, how did you manage to have only one girlfriend before me?"

Renjun thinks, humming at your question. "I was a bigger nerd back then,"

"But your cute even when you're nerding out," you blurt out, whether he was singing his favourite songs word to word or he was making fan art for a game he was obsessed with, he always looked cute when his focused expression; furrowing brows and a deep frown.

"You are the only one who thinks that,"

"You just don't know how many people think the same, you just don't know better," you shrug. You had already seen the Renjun fanclub at university to think otherwise. The only other time you cried about Renjun was the time they tried to make you stay away from him.

"I am just realising you'd be an awful boyfriend," you chuckle, you are ready to face whatever he might be behind the Renjun you know. "I am glad I didn't go on that backpacking trip,"

"Be grateful, I saved you so much money and you got a boyfriend."

"It's unfair though," you mumble, Renjun raising his brows at your statement. "What's unfair?"

"You've done all the boyfriend things with me, what else is left for you to do with me?" you ask, heat rising in your cheek because you can only think of one thing and Renjun giggles, it is an evil giggle.

"We both know what's left,"

"Shut up, I am just saying it's unfair that we've been on hundreds of dates already, we take pictures where ever we go, I met your parents, I have your apartment key, we cook for each other, we have matching stuff—"

"Wow, now that you're listing it, we've actually done a lot together,"

"Exactly! You stole my boyfriend experience—I've never even had one before you,"

"W for Renjun, L for you,"

#nct-writers #ankathia #renjun x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #huang renjung x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream renjun x reader #renjun imagines #renjun scenarios #nct imagines

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ppangjae · 2 years

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FIVE PLUS ONE | JAEHYUN

SYNOPSIS. Five times world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun tried to end your journey to be a chef because you weren’t ‘qualified enough to be a chef’ and that one time you proved him wrong.

—or: your villain story quite literally

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff | angst | enemies to lovers!au | chef!jaehyun | aspiring chef!reader

WORD COUNT. 28.8k+ words (is this my new record? omg)

author's note. i posted a long time ago about how i must write a chef!jae fic and now, here she is. i'm so sorry for such a long wait (and all those postponements oop) but i'm glad that she's finally done and posted for you to enjoy reading! i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it :-) also pls reading the author’s note at the end for all my thoughts about writing this fic! happy reading~

THE FIRST TIME.

The first time you and world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun crossed paths was when you were doing your culinary internship at Enoteca Pinchiorri in Florence, Italy. In fact, you had no idea who Jeong Jaehyun was. It was your second day of internship at the Michelin-starred restaurant and because you needed a bit more time to adjust to the new working environment, you worked as a waitress. You had no customer complaints about working as a waitress for the first week and had agreed it was the best way for you to get accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. While you had no idea who Jeong Jaehyun was at the time, he made sure you knew who exactly he was when you had accidentally stumbled over your two feet and spilled his glass of Barolo all over his cream-coloured button-up shirt.

“I’m so sorry!” You exclaim, looking at him with extreme horror all over your face. Your knees were planted onto the red carpet floors, and you were too horrified and embarrassed to bring yourself back up onto your own two feet. You would rather be sucked into the red carpet floors and the pits of darkness, never to be seen again. Slowly looking up at him, he stares down at his stained shirt before meeting your gaze.

Your blood has never run cold until that very moment. He reads your name on your name tag with a piercing gaze before muttering. “Please get back up. You’re just creating a scene and humiliating yourself even more by gathering attention from other customers—”

“Oh, mi dispiace! Here’s a napkin, Mr. Jeong!” The executive chef, Alessandro, rushes over to the two of you with a large napkin. You’re not sure if you should be relieved to have Alessandro come in to save yourself from the embarrassment, especially with Mr. Jeong staring straight at you with eyes like shooting daggers. You’ve settled on standing behind Alessandro, feeling completely ashamed and embarrassed of yourself.

“Is she new?” Mr. Jeong asks, burning two holes through your forehead with his dark brown eyes. With your head hanging low, you could only momentarily distract yourself by noticing that the heel of your two-inch black high heels has completely broken off.

Great. You had just bought these high heels, and they've already broken. You’re left with no choice but to glue the broken heel back on.

“Yes, she’s new. I apologize, Mr. Jeong. She’s still in training, and thus, she’s a little flustered," Alessandro explains. You don’t have the strength to look at any of them, but the damage has already been done. You’re no superhero with the power to turn back time and undo mistakes. Although, you wish you did have those superpowers at this very moment.

Your conscience forces you to do what you’re supposed to do. First, apologize. Second, make an offer to clean up the spill. Three, offer compensation after consulting Alessandro with ideas. Four, scan the tables around and apologize for the commotion. You learned this in culinary school. You draw in a deep breath, stepping towards Alessandro’s side and forcing yourself to look at Mr. Jeong.

That piercing gaze… that stone-cold face… You wonder who did him so dirty to be so cold-hearted.

“I apologize, Mr. Jeong. The mess will be cleaned up and we’ll get you a new glass of Barolo. In compensation—” You begin until Alessandro decides to finish it for you.

“In compensation, your main course will be on the house. We deeply apologize, Mr. Jeong.” Alessandro bows and you take it as your cue to bow with him.

Mr. Jeong slowly nods his head. You can still feel his burning stare. Who is he? Why is he being acknowledged with such high regard? Mr. Jeong mumbles, “no worries, do you mind showing me where the washroom is?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeong. It’s right this way.” Alessandro takes over and leads Mr. Jeong to the washroom. As they’re walking away, Alessandro flashes you a look. It’s not a warning look. But with his gaze, you can tell that he’s telling you to head to the storage room to clean up the spill before Mr. Jeong comes back to his table.

As you head to the storage room to grab hot towels, you bump into one of the other waitresses, Stella, who looks just as horrified as you are. Your legs almost give out at the sight of her.

“Stella, do you mind taking over his table? I don’t think I can—”

“No, yeah, sure, I’ll take over that table for you. Are you sure you’re okay?” She asks with a face filled with concern. She bites her lip. “You do know who that man is, right?”

You slowly shake your head. “I have no idea who he is—”

“Oh mio dio!” Stella gasps in shock. “Bella, that is Mr. Jeong Jaehyun. Chef Jaehyun. He is a world-renowned chef. He owns five three-Michelin-starred restaurants in the world—”

“World… renowned… chef…” You trail off, growing more horrified by what you’ve done.

“He’s won almost every cooking competition you could think of. He’s a legend. Both of his parents are culinary chefs too. His parents also teach at one of the most prestigious universities in South Korea for its culinary arts program. He started cooking when he was only ten years old—” She continues to hammer it into your head that the man you have spilled expensive wine all over is a living legend that cannot be messed with.

And you… have messed with him.

Unknowingly.

“A legend… started at ten years old… won every competition…”

You’re going to pass out. You feel faint. Your legs feel like jello. You’re surprised that you still haven’t been sucked into the red carpet floors. Maybe fate wanted you to experience this humiliation. Did you do something horribly wrong in your past life to deserve this? It’s only been the second day of your internship and you already want to go home. Hell, you haven’t even started cooking—which is why this culinary internship is for—and you already want to go home to your parents and cry your eyes out.

“Yeah. He’s a big deal, Y/N. But don’t worry, I got you covered. I’ll take over his table. In the meantime, you stay here and get yourself together, alright?” Stella reassures you.

You slowly nod your head, falling back against the stool. Stella grabs some towels and leaves you in the storage room all by yourself. Complete shock and embarrassment, you’ve really dug yourself a huge hole. After you’ve gathered yourself together, you head towards the door to look out the small round window that peeks into the restaurant. You could see Stella wiping up Mr. Jeong’s—or should you say Chef Jaehyun’s—table. When Chef Jaehyun returns, she greets him with a wide, pearly-white smile. He returns the same energy as her, almost mirroring her warm and bright aura. It’s a complete one-eighty from how he was with you. You can’t help but feel small. You can’t help but feel miserable.

Maybe you’re not fit to be working in a restaurant. Maybe you’re not fit to be working in a kitchen.

If you can’t even handle guests on the floor, what makes you think you could handle cooking meals in a kitchen? What makes you think you could even step foot in a kitchen? As a chef?

Maybe you’re just not fit to be a chef at all.

As you clock out of your shift, you kick off your high heels to replace them with a pair of running shoes. It’s almost midnight, and you’ve spent the closing hours cleaning up the dining area and the kitchen. It’s been hours since your encounter with Chef Jaehyun but it still feels fresh in your mind. You don’t think it’ll ever leave your mind for a while.

You hear Stella call out your name as you put on your sweater. Looking over your shoulder, you spot her entering the room with a box in her hands. You quirk an eyebrow out of curiosity.

“Hey, bella. This is for you.”

She hands you the box, and you take off the cover to see a new pair of high heels. They look just like the ones you had on earlier, but it has a shiny finish. It’s an expensive brand as well. You place the cover back on, shaking your head and returning it to her.

“Oh, no, Stella, I don’t think I can take this.” You hand back the heels to her.

She shakes her head. “Oh, no, bella, this is not from me. These heels are truly for you. I was just told to hand this over to you.”

“Oh…” You mumble softly. “Alright, then. Thanks, Stella. Thank you for having my back.”

“No worries, beautiful.” She smiles. “Now, forget about what happened today because tomorrow will be a new day! I don’t want to see your frown tomorrow morning when you clock in, alright? Promise?”

You chuckle. “I promise. By the way, do you know who gave the heels?”

She waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about who gave them.”

“What secrets are you hiding from me?”

“I’m not hiding any secrets from you, beautiful. In fact, I have no idea who gave them. Alessandro just told me to give them to you.”

“I should probably thank Alessandro for these,” you mumble softly.

“Oh, no, these aren’t from Alessandro. He just told me that someone dropped by to give these heels to you and then he asked me to give them to you before you leave.”

THE SECOND TIME.

You didn’t think Mr. World-Renowned Chef would come back, especially on the last day of your culinary internship. Ever since your full experience of a nightmare with Chef Jaehyun, you were quite surprised that the restaurant made you stay. You were expecting them to kick you out and let you find your way on your own. The first time you encountered Chef Jaehyun, you were a waitress. But this time… you’re a line cook.

And you’re cooking two dishes for him.

“Bella, is the filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento ready?” Alessandro asks when he pops into the kitchen.

Ever since Alessandro announced and acknowledged Chef Jaehyun’s presence in the restaurant, you’ve been a jittery, nervous mess. This is all because you want to prove Chef Jaehyun wrong. You want to see him sit in his chair and dig into the dishes you’ve made for him, appreciating every single second of your hard work and effort. There are many dishes in the hot sanitizing bath; most of them are yours because they haven’t turned out the way you want them to be. You’ve been assigned two dishes; the filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento and tiramisu. Two completely different dishes, one is the main course while the other is a dessert.

“It’s ready.” You answer, placing the dish of filet mignon and gnocchi Sorrento over the counter for Stella to serve the intimidating chef sitting right outside of the door. In terms of what happens beyond that door leading to the dining area, you hope it’s everything but a repeated nightmare.

You take a step back and wait for Stella to return to the kitchen with Chef Jaehyun’s input on your dishes. A couple of minutes later, Stella returns to the kitchen with not a single trace of a smile spread across her lips. You wait in absolute terror.

It’s almost as if you’re experiencing a real-life Kitchen Nightmares episode. But the chef tasting the food is not Gordon Ramsay (fortunately). It’s Jeong Jaehyun (unfortunately).

“He doesn’t like it,” she mumbles softly. She draws in a deep breath, eyes finding yours. “He actually wants to have a word with the chef who made it.”

“Oh god,” you groan, rubbing at the temples of your head. You’re feeling a migraine beginning to throb every single angle of your head. It feels like your head is becoming a construction site, pulsing and pounding painfully every thirty seconds. “I’m going to pass out.”

When you step out of the kitchen, you nervously make your way toward Chef Jaehyun’s table. He’s sitting there, eyes shooting daggers right through your head. He definitely remembers you. There’s no doubt about it. There it is… the same piercing gaze he gave you the first time you encountered him. But that piercing gaze that he gives you is for a similar reason.

You messed up.

And he’s going to grill you for it.

You clear your throat and muster up a small smile as you reach his table. “Hi, Chef Jaehyun, I’m—”

“Y/N.” He cuts you off. You clamp your mouth shut. You were hoping he would be a bit nicer this time around. With the way he shuts you down, you’re starting to learn that you shouldn’t hope for better outcomes in your miserable situations. He tilts his head. “You’re the one who worked as a waitress for my table during my first visit. It’s quite surprising to see you in a chef’s apron. So… tell me, are you actually a culinary intern?”

You slowly nod your head. “Yes, chef.”

“Well, you have many things yet to learn. I’m surprised Enoteca Pinchiorri even considered taking you in as a culinary intern because the dish you had sent out to me is quite… disappointing.” One by one, his comments throw axes at your weak heart. “Take a good look at the gnocchi. Is this hand-made?”

“Yes, chef—”

“It’s rubbery. You’ve added too much flour.”

“I apologize, chef—”

“And I asked for a medium-rare for the filet mignon. It’s well-done.” He points at the filet mignon that he’s sliced with a fork and knife. You feel defeated yet again. You’re not sure if you would rather have the same person or a group of people criticize your cooking. “You should be grateful to be an intern here at this restaurant. This isn’t something you should be taking for granted. It’s not something that should be taken lightly. Other aspiring chefs desire to be in your shoes but don’t have the resources for it.”

“Again, I apologize, Chef Jaehyun.” You bow at him. “I’ll work harder.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your co-chefs. You are lacking in many skills, Y/N. Take this and my comments as a way to improve, or else you will never make it as a chef in this industry.”

That night, you barge into your bedroom with red, swollen eyes and a heavy heart. There must be a reason you keep fucking up in front of Chef Jaehyun. But you’re not sure if you’re courageous enough to be able to withstand such embarrassment. You want to go home. You want to stop your journey of becoming a chef. If the world’s most renowned chef thinks your cooking is horrible, how different would it be for a regular customer?

You feel crushed.

Just like your dreams of becoming a chef.

THE THIRD TIME.

When you told your father that you would take a chance at MasterChef, he didn’t believe you until he saw you on his TV screen. Ever since you signed up to be a part of the competition, you’ve worked diligently to create the perfect dish to cook and present to the chefs. But when you stand behind the curtains that lead into the kitchen, you can’t help but grow afraid that all you’ve tried to remember and keep note of has completely vanished from your brain. You can’t afford to mess up.

You can’t afford to lose this chance, this opportunity.

It’s been years since your mother passed away due to cancer. She had run a diner, Mina’s Place. She named it after her. It was the only diner in the city that had good reviews. The reviews were a reflection of her passion for cooking. She loved cooking for others but mostly for herself. She had many skills. She perfected many dishes. The university nearby had a highly reputable culinary program, and the professors of that program had frequented the diner from time to time. They would always tell her that there was something special about the diner and that it was surely on its road to something even bigger.

But before your mother had seen the highest success of her dream, her diner, she fell ill and was diagnosed with cancer. In a short time, her health deteriorated, and she eventually succumbed to her illness, leaving the diner and bringing all its light with her.

If there was something you wanted to get out of this competition, it was a reputation. It was another chance to continue your mother’s dream. You know that this is something your mother would have wanted if she was still alive, to see her diner up until its end. But she was the one who let go first. Your dream is to bring back the diner, and you’re not sure how, but all you want is to fulfill her dream.

Your mother’s dream has become yours.

“Let’s welcome the next potential contestant, Chef Y/N. She’s interned at many restaurants in Florence and wants to open up a restaurant of her own someday.” The host introduces you as you wheel your cart into the kitchen.

When you reach the workstation situated right in the middle of the room, you place your things down before looking up to introduce yourself to the judges. As you look up, the first person you meet eyes with is Chef Taeyong. Chef Taeyong is known for being the co-owner of a three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Florence. You’ve always wanted to become a culinary intern at his restaurant, but you always chickened out. Standing right next to him is Chef Doyoung, who nods his head at you. Chef Doyoung is known for being a world-renowned chef in the making. He was the winner of MasterChef four years ago and since then has opened a lot of successful restaurants, all of them with Michelin stars. And standing right next to Chef Doyoung is—Chef Jaehyun?!

When Jaehyun’s eyes land on you for the first time in years, his eyebrows raise with surprise. Seeing you for the third time cannot be a pure coincidence. He tries to compose himself and get himself together when you finally acknowledge his presence. From the corner of his eye, he could see Taeyong glance at him. His shoulders tense up, but he feels them slowly relax when you look away from him.

“Plans to open up a restaurant, huh?” Chef Doyoung smiles and you bite your lip, nodding your head in reply. “You know, that was my plan when I started my journey here in MasterChef. My plan worked out in the end! That means you can fulfill whatever your heart desires, as long as you put your mind to it.”

“I truly believe that if you put your mind into something, it'll be easily attainable if you put in the work and effort.” Chef Taeyong agrees with his co-judge. “Do you have anything planned for today?”

You clear your throat. “I’m planning on baking up a dish that my mother used to make for me. Well, it’s a dessert among many desserts that my mom used to make for the family.”

“But will this dish be enough to give you a spot in MasterChef?” You almost choke on your spit when you hear his voice for the first time in years. Chef Jaehyun. His voice still sends shivers down your spine. As you slowly look up from the stove, you find him already looking back at you with the same piercing gaze that you never seemed to forget.

You gather yourself together. You nod. You like to believe that you’ve learned to handle your nervousness and anxiousness. “More than enough, chef.”

“You seem to have a close relationship with your mother,” Chef Doyoung begins. While you’re conversing with the chefs, you’re preparing your dish. You start by dipping the truffles in melted chocolate. “Is she the one who inspired you to join MasterChef?”

You smile at the thought of your mother. You answer as you place each chocolate-covered pumpkin pecan truffle onto the plate. “Yes, chef. She’s very special to me. I just want to make her proud.”

“Well, what are you making us for today?” Chef Doyoung questions. You’re placing the spiced pumpkin roulade next to the truffles and adjusting them to make the dish look presentable overall.

“I’ll serve you a spiced pumpkin roulade with pecan maple truffles. It’s something my mom used to make every Thanksgiving.” You answer. “It’s also my dad’s favourite dessert, and because it’s his favourite, my mom would make it for him every now and then. I would have to sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night to get a bite because the whole thing would be gone the next day.”

Chef Taeyong chuckles. “Sounds sweet, spicy, and delicious. It also sounds like it brings warm memories. You have five minutes left, Y/N.”

Five minutes later, your dish is ready. You place it right in front of you at your station. Chef Taeyong is the first one to taste your dish. He heads over to you and picks up his spoon. He scoops a spoonful of everything in your dish underneath the warm spotlights that shine over your station. Pumpkin pecan truffles… spiced pumpkin roulade…

“Do you mind walking me through this dish?” Chef Taeyong asks.

“What you have on this side are the truffles… the pumpkin pecan truffles, to be exact. It’s glazed with maple syrup.” You explain before pointing to the sliced pumpkin roulade on the other side of the dish. “And on the other side of the dish is a spiced pumpkin roulade.”

“You seem nervous,” he says softly.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I am indeed quite nervous, chef.”

“How bad do you want this, Y/N?” He asks.

“So bad.” You answer simply. “You don’t even know how bad I want this.”

“Let’s see if this dish is enough to earn you a spot in the competition.” He tastes your dish.

You study and observe him as he tastes the hints of pumpkin and pecan, all punched deep with some spice. You fiddle with your fingers nervously. It’s a bad habit of yours. If there’s one thing that you wanted to get out of this audition, it was at least one yes. One yes is enough for you to be satisfied. But oh, how you want this so badly.

“Wow.” He tilts his head with surprise. It’s almost as if he’s caught off guard. “It’s delicious.”

“R-Really?” You blurt out before shaking your head. “I mean—thank you. Thank you, chef, that means so much to me.”

“It tastes amazing.” He smiles before heading back to his seat.

You’re starting off strong. You like what’s happening. Two more chefs and your fate will be determined. You hope fate is on your side this time. You know you deserve a break from all of your horrible chances with luck and fate. You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard for it. It would be a huge disappointment if you didn’t earn a spot in the competition.

Next up is Chef Doyoung, who grabs his spoon and digs into your dish without uttering a single word. Once he’s finished tasting your dish, he folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Y/N, are you satisfied with how your dish turned out today?”

“More than satisfied, chef.” You mumble softly, but there’s a hint of a lack of confidence in your voice. You’re sure the chefs could pick up your low self-esteem. Chef Doyoung purses his lips into a tight line.

“Are you a perfectionist?” He asks.

“I try to be, chef.” You answer.

“Well, perfectionism is one of the best qualities to have as a chef.” He adds. He clasps his hands together and sucks in a deep breath. “I taste a light hint of lemon, but I am immediately kicked with the spices. I could taste the hint of cloves that burst right through the hints of lemon. I think you have a great sense of flavours. You have a great sense of spices. This dish has the perfect balance of sweet, spicy, and savoury.”

“Thank you, chef.” You smile, not sure how to contain your happiness.

“Well done,” he complements you before heading back to his seat.

Last is Chef Jaehyun, who walks up to your station. Your smile immediately vanishes from your face and is replaced with horror. You’re especially nervous around him. With all the horrible encounters you’ve had with him, you wish he had a poor memory because you wouldn’t want someone like him to remember you. You’re looking everywhere but him.

“I’m not a fan of sweets and desserts.” He says flat out. You wince. “That should be more than enough to make you nervous.”

“I hope that with this dish, you’ll start to appreciate desserts more, chef.” You mumble softly. It’s just barely above a whisper. You sound like a guilty child admitting fault after being caught lying. But you’re not lying, not at all. You’re just nervous.

“is this dish going to change my mind? Is this dish going to be enough to change my mind about desserts?” He continues to grill you, and you let your head hang low.

“I just… want to impress you, chef.” More like prove you wrong.

“I hope this dish doesn’t disappoint me.” His low voice sends shivers down your spine. He takes a spoonful of the cake and the truffle before shoving them into his mouth.

It feels like it’s just the two of you at that very moment. It doesn’t feel like Chef Taeyong and Chef Doyoung are there. Your entire body feels tense just standing within his line of sight. He folds his arms and looks down at your dish. “It’s good. But it’s not good enough. There’s something that’s lacking in this dish. Do you know what that is?”

“What is it, chef?” You ask.

“The presentation.” He answers. “Look at how you presented this dish to us. It does not look MasterChef-worthy. The presentation of this dish, I might say, is predictable. The presentation of a dish that you make is something you must pay attention to because if it doesn’t visibly look good, your customers would assume that it doesn’t taste good.”

“I understand, chef.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Chef Jaehyun definitely remembers you. Why? Because he loves nitpicking every single lacking detail of your cooking. He truly never changed. He’s still the same cold-hearted, selfish, rude prick.

The three chefs discuss their decision. You continue to fiddle nervously with your fingers to calm yourself down, to distract you from what’s about to come. You’re so sure that you’re not going to get a spot in the competition, and it’s all going to be because of Chef Jae—

“Y/N?”

“Yes, chef?” You blurt out with surprised, caught off guard eyes.

“It’s a yes for me,” Chef Taeyong smiles.

“It’s a no for me,” Chef Jaehyun says. “Simply because you’re lacking in presenting your dishes. I think that is very crucial to becoming a chef. I was not impressed with your dish simply because I’m not a fan of desserts. I was hoping you would change my mind, but I guess it just fell short.”

“I understand, chef. I agree that I could’ve paid more attention to the plating.” You nod your head in agreement. For the first time, you agree with Chef Jaehyun.

“Now, that leaves the pressure on me.” Chef Doyoung smirks. “If I say no, you won’t have a spot in the competition. But if I say yes, you will advance in the competition, and you will have your own MasterChef apron.”

“You won’t regret giving me a chance, chef. I want this so bad.”

Tension continues to fill the air. Chef Doyoung’s touch gaze softens, and you feel your tense posture relax. He clasps his hands together before saying, “it’s a yes for me. Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Please come up and take your MasterChef apron.” Chef Taeyong gestures for you to come up to the front.

“Oh my gosh,” you sigh with relief. “I promise I’ll do my best, chef. Thank you so much for taking a huge risk on me.”

As you near the three chef judges, you stand in front of Chef Taeyong, who helps you put your apron on. You smile, taking his hand that he extends out to you to shake. Moving onto Chef Doyoung, you shake his hand, thanking him many times for giving you a chance. Last but not least, your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun. You’ve never been up close to Chef Jaehyun like this. He’s quite handsome, you think to yourself, but it’s also a shame that he’s such a rude, cold-hearted person. He extends his hand out to you for you to shake. When your hands interlock, you can’t help but notice how warm and soft his hands are. The both of you exchange such intense looks. You’re the first one to break away, pulling back your hand.

“Long time no see. Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Chef Jaehyun.”

THE FOURTH TIME.

On a quest to become MasterChef, you are expected to learn how to work with a team of chefs. The round that awaits you is a team challenge, where you and a couple of other contestants will work together to cook up a full course meal. The team challenge usually occurs after the first mystery box challenge and elimination round. Sitting at the front of the kitchen is a box filled with two different coloured aprons, red and blue. These aprons will split everyone into two teams based on their apron colour. From the corner of your eye, you can see your station mate, Taeil, gawking at the box at the front.

He turns towards you and whispers, “I hope we’re on the same team.”

You flash him a small smile. “I hope so too.”

Ever since the competition began, you have learned how to become a competitive chef. You’ve also learned how to make connections and new friendships. It’s what you have learned to value the most, especially working in an industry that relies heavily on networking and connections. Two rounds into the competition, you became friends with Taeil simply because he cooked up his dishes right next to you, and, over time, he also looked out for you and helped you with your dishes. He’s completely different from you. You’d like to think that he’s the complete opposite. But somehow, you both work in tune with each other. You wouldn’t have asked for a better station mate. Both of your different personalities shined the most in your cooked dishes.

“Y/N, please step up to the front and pick your apron for the team challenge.” Chef Jaehyun calls out to you, and your heart beats out of your chest. You share a look with Taeil.

As you make it to the front of the kitchen, you stick your hand into the black box to pull out a red apron. You avoid eye contact with Chef Jaehyun like you always do, but you could still feel his burning gaze. You always feel insecure and nervous around him. How embarrassing it must seem to him.

“Taeil, your turn has arrived. Come up and pick your apron.” Chef Taeyong smiles.

You wish Chef Jaehyun was like Chef Taeyong. Nice… sweet… genuine. He genuinely wanted every contestant to be successful, whether it be in their dishes or their confidence. You wish Chef Jaehyun would forget about all the horrible encounters you’ve had with him. You wish Chef Jaehyun would break out of his shell and turn his cold personality into a personality similar to his co-chef.

When Taeil arrives at the front and sticks his hand into the box, he pulls out not a red apron but… a blue one. The both of you share looks, and a pout can’t help but form across your lips. Chef Jaehyun notices your slight pout, and you immediately let it drop from your face. Taeil returns to his station, and you begin to overthink. Who are you going to work with? You’ve only become acquaintances with the rest of the contestants. Taeil is the only contestant you’ve become close to and the only contestant you consider a good friend. He’s the only contestant you see having a friendship with even after the competition ends.

After all the contestants have been called up to choose their team, the chef judges have you gather together. You and Taeil wave goodbye as you both part to your own assigned teams, you with the red team and him with the blue team. As you walk over to your team, you can’t help but notice how you’re the only woman. Your teammates are Junhwa, Jay, Mason, and Euntae.

“Today’s challenge will be quite different because you’re all expected to work together as a team with your teammates.” Chef Doyoung announces. “For today’s team challenge, we will be headed to the beach to cater for a wedding.”

Your head shoots up. You’re doomed. You know that your team is done for even before the team challenge begins. Junhwa was just saved from the elimination test the other day because he had messed up his dish for the mystery box challenge. Jay hasn’t been up to par with his dishes and has yet to cook up his best dish in the competition. Like Junhwa, Mason had messed up his dish for the mystery box challenge but was saved from the elimination test by Chef Doyoung. Euntae, however, is the only one on the team that’s been performing well in the competition. But as for you… you’re not sure where you stand in this competition.

“Let’s all head to the location and we’ll explain more about the team challenge.”

It’s the perfect day to have a wedding on the beach. The wind currents aren’t strong, but they bring a light warm breeze. The wedding takes place on a weekday which explains the small number of people hanging out at the beach. When you all arrive at the beach, the first thing you spot is two different cooking stations, differentiated by your respective team colours. You draw in a deep breath. This is going to be a long day.

“Everyone, please gather around as we begin today’s challenge.”

Everyone gathers around the three young world-renowned chefs following the producer's command. You can see Chef Jaehyun staring right at you from the corner of your eye. He’s drilling two holes through the side of your head. It’s almost as if he’s praying and manifesting for you to mess up in the team challenge. You wouldn’t be surprised if you mess up and his prayers and manifestations were served right to him on a golden platter because his intensity and strive for perfection always cause you to do so.

“Today, you will be cooking up a three-course meal for wedding guests at the beach. The couple that will be wedded later on today has laid out their menu and their expectations.” Chef Doyoung explains.

You have learned one thing so far; never have a team of aspiring chefs competing in competition be in charge of cooking and serving your guests’ food. Why? Because there’s huge room for failure. Food poisoning? Traumatizing. Undercooked food? Horrifying. You wouldn’t imagine getting married and having scared chefs-in-the-making cater to your guests at the reception. To you, it sounded like a nightmare waiting to unfold right before your two eyes. And here you are now, living out that nightmare in disguise.

“The menu consists of cranberry and brie bites for the appetizer, roasted pork loin on wild mushroom risotto for the main course, and a spiced carrot cake for the dessert.” Chef Taeyong reads off the menu that the wedding couple has put together for their guests.

You hold in a sigh of relief. You think you could handle doing the appetizer and dessert. Baking is your expertise. It’s something your mother loved doing the most. Baking up a dessert can be daunting and taxing, but once you’ve mastered the basics, everything you pop into the oven will come out beautifully. You’ve spent most of your childhood sitting in the kitchen helping her make the desserts. You’ve spent most of your childhood sitting in the kitchen and breathing in the aroma of sweet desserts.

You just hope that your team leader assigns you the appetizer or dessert. If not… you’re not sure how you’re going to put up a good performance. Will you be eliminated? Is this going to put you at risk for elimination?

“Have you all picked a team leader?” Chef Jaehyun asks.

On the blue team, Taeil raises his hand. You smile. Taeil is quite the introvert, but you know that he’ll be able to bring his team together and make the most out of it. On your team, Euntae raises his hand. It was predetermined that he would be the team leader mainly because he’s the only one who’s been doing well in the competition.

“Taeil for team red and Euntae for team blue.” Chef Jaehyun notes it down on his notepad. “Alright. Let’s have you go over to your stations to start prepping for the service.”

“You will have one hour and thirty minutes to complete your three-course meal.” Chef Doyoung announces.

“Please use your time wisely because regardless of whether your dishes are done, they will be served to the guests.” Chef Taeyong warns you. Everyone falls silent. “Your two goals are one, to make sure that there is food on the table for every single guest and two, that the food you serve has been cooked to perfection.”

“Yes, chef.” Everyone says in unison.

“Alright. Get ready because your time starts in three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“Go!”

Thankfully, you’ve been assigned to work on the spiced carrot cake. Euntae and Jay will work on the roasted pork loin on wild mushroom risotto. Euntae will work specifically on the roasted pork loin, and Jay will work specifically on the wild mushroom risotto. Mason and Junhwa will work together on the cranberry and brie bites. It’s been about twenty minutes since the timer started, and you’re almost done mixing the batter for the cake. You’ve added carrot bits and slices in the cake batter to make the carrot stand out when someone takes a slice out of it. You’re also planning on making a cream cheese frosting to drizzle on top of the cake.

“Y/N, make sure you don’t go off track with the cake, alright? I know you’re excited, but we don’t have much time left.” Euntae commands, and you nod your head.

Euntae is such a perfectionist. It’s been obvious since the start of the competition. He’s been winning almost every challenge. If he wasn’t the winner of the challenge, he would most likely be second. Carrying your team must be difficult for him because most of his teammates have been performing poorly.

“Yes, I’ll work faster.”

“And make sure you follow the demo recipe.” He adds. “I don’t want you making something completely different from what we’re asked to do.”

You like to think of your dishes as an experiment. Most of the time, you depend heavily on your sense of taste and extensive knowledge of spices. Thus, this results in you neglecting recipe books and instructions. You like experimenting in your cooking because there’s a thrill when something turns out delicious. There’s a sense of excitement and surprise when two unlikely ingredients somehow pair well with each other.

Euntae probably notices your experimental way of approaching your dishes. He doesn’t want you to fuck everything up. You can’t blame him for playing it safe. You would do the same thing.

“This look different to you?” You ask, pointing to your cake batter.

He dips his fingers into the batter and tastes it. “Put more clove. I don’t taste the kick. I thought spices were your thing?”

You purse your lips into a tight line. He looks taken aback by your confused gaze. If there was one thing you wish you could change about yourself, it’s how you are easily readable through your facial expressions. Your emotions are easy to detect because they’re spread across your entire face. Knitted or raised eyebrows, jutted chin, pouty lips, you’re very expressive with your emotions.

“It is. I did put in clove. Is it not enough?” You dip your finger into the batter to taste it yourself. Indeed, you taste the kick. Your gut tells you not to add any more of the spices because it will be too spicy for the guests if you add more. “I don’t think we should add more. I think it’s enough—”

“I don’t taste the spices, Y/N—”

“Well, I do—”

“But I’m the team leader, right?” He reminds you. You clamp your mouth shut. Where is all of this coming from? How could he talk to you like this? You could feel your gaze hardening at him. “Do you want me to save you a spot in the competition? You do, right? So follow what I tell you to do, and everything will be fine.”

You squint your eyes at him before shaking your head. “No way. I’m not letting you sabotage my cake.”

“And I am not letting you bring the entire team down. We cannot afford to lose.” Jay butts in as he shoves you aside to place a pan on the stove. You almost stumble back, and you’re on the verge of tears.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous.” You mutter to yourself, grabbing your bowl of cake batter and moving to a different table in your station to work. You’re standing alone as the rest of your team gathers together to talk about how they will prepare the dishes. You feel left out. You feel like an outcast. You wish you were on Taeil’s team.

You feel like this is planned.

You feel like they’re planning to sabotage you.

“Y/N?” Chef Doyoung calls out to you.

You look over your shoulder to see him waving you over. You dust your hands off before heading up to him. You don’t know that Euntae walks over to your bowl of cake batter and puts in a couple of more teaspoons of clove and cinnamon behind your back. He adds a bit more than what is required. Chef Doyoung folds his arms at you.

“Yes, chef?” You mumble.

“Why aren’t you being included in your team?” He asks. He noticed, and that’s all that matters to you.

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m not quite sure, chef. We have different opinions on how we should make the spiced carrot cake. Euntae thinks there’s not enough spice, while I think there’s more than enough.

“Trust your gut. But you should also keep in mind that this is a team challenge. You’re all supposed to work together as a team.” He reminds you. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thank you, chef.”

Suddenly, Chef Jaehyun yells out. “Your spiced carrot cakes should be in the oven right now or will be undercooked!”

Upon returning to your station, you grab your bowl of cake batter to pour it into a baking pan. Hurriedly, you place it into the preheated oven. You do not want to mess this up. You can’t mess this up. If your team fails the challenge, you are at risk of being eliminated.

You can’t afford to lose the competition.

You can’t go home.

You’re not surprised that the cranberry and brie bites were almost burnt out of the oven. You’re not surprised that your two teammates were running behind on time with the roasted pork loin and wild mushroom risotto. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if your team were unable to put out your dishes on time.

When you pull out the tray of cranberry and brie bites, you place them on the table. One by one, you place the burnt ones aside and the good ones on the serving trays. Standing behind you, Mason and Junhwa continue to panic, not even bothering to help you save their dish that they’ve been assigned to do.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” You feel yourself stiffen. Chef Jaehyun stands next to you and looks at the burnt and unburnt cranberry and brie bites. He clicks his tongue and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Were you the one assigned to do the bites?”

You shake your head. “No, chef.”

“Who was assigned for the cranberry and brie bites?” He asks your teammates.

“Us, chef.” Mason answers.

Chef Jaehyun points at you while looking at Mason. “And why is Y/N taking over your task?”

“Because she likes getting into everyone’s business—” You hear Euntae mutter underneath his breath. You’ve confirmed it: Euntae is plotting your elimination. He hates you.

“She said she would help us salvage some of the cranberry and brie bites for the guests. She’s picking it out for us while we make another batch.” Junhwa explains.

“And you’re both just standing there and watching her?” Chef Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows with anger. “Where’s your team leader?”

“Here, chef.” Euntae walks over.

“Where is the direction, Euntae?” Chef Jaehyun frowns. You could see steam coming out of Chef Jaehyun’s nostrils. “Your teammates are lost. They’re panicking, and you’re just standing in front of your pan doing your own thing. You’re in your own little world, Euntae. It’s time to wake up.”

“Excuse me, I have to take out the carrot cake.” You mumble softly as you excuse yourself to head to the oven. You take a quick peek before putting on your oven mittens to take the cake pans out.

It comes out beautifully. They’ve baked and risen to perfection. You can smell the strong aroma of spices. Hidden within the sponge cake are the grated bites of carrot, giving it a beautiful orange colour. From your periphery, you see Chef Jaehyun walking over to you. You hold in your breath.

“Can I have a taste of the cake?” He asks.

You slowly nodded your head. “Yes, chef.”

Chef Jaehyun digs into the cake with a small teaspoon while your teammates gather around to watch. He winces, and you wish you could disappear. You’ve noticed that he always winces and grimaces with disappointment whenever you mess up. It’s like you could tell what’s about to come before it even happens.

“You were in charge of the cake, right, Y/N?”

“Yes, chef.” You mumble.

Clatter. He tosses the teaspoon onto the table and frustratingly runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t serve that. It’s too spicy. You’ve put too much clove and cinnamon.”

You look at him confusedly. Completely flabbergasted, you take a bite from the cake yourself and indeed, it’s too spicy. It’s overpowering the sweetness of the carrot and sugar. But wait—you never added any more clove or cinnamon.

“You can’t serve this. This entire team is set up for failure. You cannot save yourselves from this challenge. Take off your aprons. You don’t have any more time to send out any dishes. You’ve completely failed the team challenge.”

You glance at Euntae, who avoids your gaze. He turns around and walks back to his pork loin and mushroom risotto pan. He tosses the pans into the sink out of frustration and anger.

Euntae sabotaged you.

At the end of the team challenge, you and your teammates find yourselves standing in front of the three disappointed chefs. You’re too ashamed of yourself to look at them. You distract yourself by fiddling with your fingers. You were thinking of all the ‘what if’s’. What if you were on the blue team? What if you paid more attention to your teammates that were plotting your failure? What if you worked harder? What if—

“As you are all aware of what happened today, your team lost the challenge. This only means that not one, not two, but four of you will be eliminated from the competition.” Chef Doyoung says.

“But first, we are going to tell you what you did wrong and where you all went wrong.” Chef Taeyong frowns, “as a team.”

“The first thing that went wrong were the cranberry and brie bites. They were overcooked to the point that they were burnt. You had only realized that they were burnt when you took them out of the oven too late, leaving you no time to make another batch.” Chef Doyoung explains.

“We are aware of that, chef.” Mason and Junhwa speak in unison.

“The second thing that went wrong was the spiced carrot cake. I was surprised that Y/N put too much clove and cinnamon into the batter. From your audition, Y/N, you had a good sense of the spices, so I figured this task wouldn’t be difficult to do.” Chef Taeyong outlines the second mistake of the team.

“The third thing that went wrong had completely gone over our heads.” Chef Jaehyun begins. “We were wondering why out of all the dishes you were assigned, the roasted pork loin and mushroom risotto turned out fine.”

“It was because we—” Euntae begins.

“It was because you wanted to sabotage your own teammates. Am I right, Euntae?” Chef Jaehyun catches him red-handed. “Don’t try to lie to us. Don’t you dare try to lie to me because I saw it myself.”

“I did not sabotage any of my teammates—”

“Y/N, you know why your spiced carrot cake was too spicy?” Chef Jaehyun asks you.

You courageously look into his eyes. “Why, chef?”

“Because your own teammate, Euntae, sabotaged your cake and added three tablespoons more of clove and cinnamon, which is way more than what we asked for in our demo.” Chef Jaehyun reveals. “I saw it happen right before my eyes. Euntae, if you were going to sabotage your teammate, you should’ve made sure that none of us chef judges would see it.”

“Chef, I—Y/N has always been doing her own thing in the competition, and I didn’t want her to sabotage our team by doing things the way she wants to,” Euntae explains.

“You’re supposed to work together as a team.” Chef Taeyong shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you plan this all out so that Y/N would be eliminated from the competition? Don’t lie to us because I overheard you planning this out with the rest of your teammates.”

“I—”

“Okay. That’s enough.” Chef Doyoung raises up his hand to shut him up. “We have made up our minds on who will be leaving the competition.”

“The first contestant that will be saying goodbye is…”

You clench your eyes shut as you wait for your name to be called out. You hate everything that’s happening right now. You’ve never been so careless. Now, you pay the consequences.

“Jay. Please say goodbye to your teammates.”

You feel your heart drop.

“The second contestant that will be saying goodbye is…”

Your heartbeat begins to pick up its pace once again. Once your name is called out, you’re going to have to pack your things and head back home.

“Junhwa. Please say goodbye to your teammates.”

You hold in your breath.

“That leaves Y/N, Euntae, and Mason.”

You close your eyes again, praying that your name wouldn’t be called out. You’re already thinking about what you would say to your father if you’re eliminated from the competition.

“Y/N, please say goodbye to your teammates…”

Your eyes flutter open. This is it. You’re officially eliminated from the competition. You shake hands with your two teammates who have completely sabotaged you. You’re keeping yourself together. You’re holding yourself back from bursting out into anger.

“Because you will advance to the next round of the competition. Euntae and Mason, you are both eliminated from MasterChef, please take off your aprons.”

Your heart stops. Wait.

“Wait, what?” You look at the chefs in shock.

“Y/N, you are the only one that will stay in the competition.” Chef Taeyong smiles.

“It was a tough decision.” Chef Doyoung adds.

“But we do not tolerate cheaters in this competition. You are innocent and had no bad intentions, Y/N, which is why you are safe from elimination.” Chef Jaehyun confirms everything for you. “But that does not mean you are safe from the remainder of the competition. What this means is that we will all be putting more pressure on you to be the best chef you say you are.”

“I will do my best, chef. I am confident that I will win MasterChef.”

Chef Jaehyun purses his lips into a tight line.

You feel your blood run cold.

“Don’t make us regret choosing to save you from elimination.”

THE FIFTH TIME.

“Don’t make us regret choosing to save you from elimination.”

The pressure is all on you. Chef Jaehyun’s voice echoes throughout your head the entire hour that you’re granted to create a dish. In this round, all of the contestants are given a mystery box filled with random ingredients. In your mystery box, you were given beetroot, beef tenderloin, and blackberries. They are three completely different ingredients that you’re not quite sure will mesh well together.

Five minutes before the timer started, you decided to make beef tenderloin with roasted beetroot, all covered by a blackberry sauce. And now here you are, thirty minutes in, and you just hope that your dish turns out well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Chef Jaehyun.” You mumble softly, checking up on your beef tenderloin to see if it’s being cooked correctly on the skillet pan. You’re hoping to cook the tenderloin medium-rare to keep the monochrome colour of your dish.

“What are you making for us today?” He asks.

He’s distracting you. Whether it’s intentional or not, it’s breaking your focus. You clear your throat as you answer, “beef tenderloin with beetroot, all covered by a blackberry sauce.”

“Are you sure this is going to work out well? It seems quite… difficult to pull off.” He grabs a spoon and digs into the blackberry sauce that you have boiling in a saucepan. He tastes it and steps back, tilting his head as he loses himself in thought. “Interesting. You’re truly making this difficult for us, huh?”

What is he trying to say? You bite your lip, pretending to ignore him. “It should work out well. It is a mystery box challenge, after all. I’ve been given three ingredients that you never truly see together in a dish, but here we are.”

“The blackberry sauce is perfect. But regarding whether this blackberry sauce will complement your beef tenderloin and beetroot… you’ll have to prove that to us.” He gently places his spoon into your sink and moves on to the next contestant.

“You have fifteen minutes left! In about five minutes, you should all be plating your food!”

You turn off the stove to cool down your blackberry sauce. With fifteen minutes left, you need at least five minutes to let the beef tenderloin rest. You’re still not sure if it’s cooked medium-rare. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. You take the skillet pan off of the stove and transfer the beef tenderloin onto a wire rack for it to rest. As for your beetroot, you take each slice out to begin plating them.

“I’m not going to lie, that looks incredible, Y/N.” Taeil compliments you. You almost jump in surprise. You’ve been so focused on making sure you do well in this challenge that you forgot about Taeil. As you glance at him, he lets out a low chuckle. “Sorry for scaring you. I’ll shut up now.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I just hope it’s edible.” You crack a joke to ease your nervousness. He snorts.

“I’m sure it’s edible. You’ve made it this far, Y/N. You should give yourself more credit for your hard work.” He reassures you.

One minute left on the timer, and you’re placing the beef tenderloin right in between two slices of beetroot. To complete your dish, you drizzle blackberry sauce all over the dish. To amplify your dish even further, you take a couple of blackberries and scatter them across your dish. Overall, your dish is a dark magenta colour. Monochromatic.

“Five…”

“Four…”

“Three… Two…”

“One! Time’s up!”

“Y/N, please bring up your dish.”

With shaky hands, you grab your plate and head up to the front. You place your dish down onto the table that stands right in front of the chef judges. Each one of them looks surprised to see what you have presented to them. Chef Doyoung is the first one to take a bite. He steps forward and grabs a knife and fork, slicing himself a bit of beetroot before poking at the beef tenderloin.

“How did you cook the beef tenderloin?” He asks.

You bite your lip. “I was hoping to cook it medium-rare. But I didn’t have enough time to let it rest, so I’m not quite sure if it turned out that way.”

“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” He insists. You slowly nod your head. Standing behind him, you can see Chef Jaehyun standing on his tiptoes to get a look at the tenderloin. As Chef Doyoung slices through the tenderloin and you sigh with relief. “It’s perfect. You doubt yourself a bit too much, Y/N. The tenderloin is indeed medium-rare.”

“Thank goodness.” You let out another sigh of relief.

He takes a bite. As he chews, you study him and wait for his reaction. When he finishes eating, he clasps his hands together and breaks out into a smile. “I think it’s quite delicious. I would definitely serve something like this in my restaurant.”

“Really? Oh wow… thank you, chef.” You beam.

“Blackberries, beef tenderloin, and beetroot. These three ingredients seem hard to cook together, but you balance them beautifully. The plating is amazing. You’ve improved your plating skills since the start of the competition. Overall, this dish is my favourite.” He places his cutlery down and flashes you one last smile. He heads back to stand next to Chef Taeyong, who’s the next one to step forward and taste your dish.

“First off, the dish looks lovely. I love the monochrome theme you have going on here. It amplifies your dish. But as for the taste, we shall find out.” Chef Taeyong takes a bite of the beetroot and tenderloin, making sure he dips it in the blackberry sauce. He tilts his head and lets out a chuckle. “That’s… amazing. You truly have a great sense of your spices. I wouldn’t even have thought of making a dish like this with these three ingredients. Well done, Y/N. You continue to perform well in this competition. I also see Chef Doyoung serving something like this at his restaurant.”

“Thank you, chef.” You hold in a happy sigh.

Next up is Chef Jaehyun, who barely waits for Chef Taeyong to step aside for him. He quirks an eyebrow at you before digging into your dish. “After we spoke earlier, I wondered how you could pull off a sour blackberry sauce with savoury beef tenderloin and beetroot. They are two unlikely tastes that should not be paired together.”

“It is a mystery box, so I just tried to work with what I was given. I hope it tastes good for you, Chef Jaehyun.” You avoid his eyes. But you could see him trying to look into them.

He takes a bite. He chews and swallows. He places his cutlery down and purses his lips into a tight line. “I’m going to be quite honest. I don’t like it. The sour blackberry sauce completely overpowers the savoury tenderloin and beetroot. However, I could definitely see why others may like it. This dish is catered for people with a specific palette. I’m not one of those people. The plating looks beautiful, however.”

“Thank you, chef.” You whisper.

“As I’ve said time and time again,” he says sternly, “you are making this extremely difficult for us, Y/N. You need to step up to the plate. I know you can do it. You have the tools and the talents to do it. You just need to use them.”

As he turns his back to you, you can feel your eyes well up with tears. Throughout this entire competition, you’ve learned that you not only want to win it, but you want to prove Chef Jaehyun wrong. He’s ignited a fire within you, a burning passion. His brutal honesty truly gets the best of you.

If you can’t prove him wrong, what’s the point of continuing your journey?

He’s a world-renowned chef. He knows what tastes good and what doesn’t. He knows whether a chef will be successful in the field. He knows everything about the cooking and food industry. If he thinks you’re not fit enough, then maybe you’re truly not fit to be a chef.

You’ve already tried to step up to the plate, but he thinks it’s not enough.

You’ve already used all of your tools and talents, but he thinks it’s not enough.

You’re not enough.

What is considered enough?

He looks over his shoulder, and you hear him mutter.

“We saved you from elimination. You must prove to us that saving you was the best decision. You must prove to us that you are more worthy of winning than your teammates that were eliminated. Remember that.”

A tear almost slips from your eye.

You give up.

THE ONE TIME YOU PROVE HIM WRONG.

“I have come to the decision to withdraw from the competition.”

“If that’s your decision, then so be it. We regret seeing you go. Thank you for showing us your talent. You may go and pack your things because your journey at MasterChef ends here.”

Upon entering the huge kitchen, you head towards the light switches to turn on the spotlight for your workstation. The kitchen has never been so quiet nor has it been so peaceful. You feel your feet being glued to the ground, almost as if they’re keeping you from leaving. When you were a kid, you loved ditching your homework to spend time with your mother in the kitchen. You would even take a stool from the dining room to place it right next to her to have a full view of how she cooked your meals. Your home kitchen was your safe haven, your safe space, where you could truly be yourself. It was what brought you closer to your mother. It was what reminded you of your mother.

But you had no choice. You force yourself, trudging your way towards your station to pack up all of your utensils. From cooking knives to ladles, you packed them away in a moving box. From your favorite fine China dishes to your custom-made chopsticks, you admired them one last time underneath the spotlight before tucking them away. You turn on the sink to dampen your towel. You wipe down your station one last time before wringing the towel out. Letting out a sigh, you wipe the beads of sweat that are forming on your forehead. This is it. Your journey at MasterChef ends here—

“What on earth are you doing?”

Looking up from your counter, you spot Jaehyun walking along the front of the space. He’s the last person you want to see. He’s the last person you want to talk to, especially right now. He has his hands tucked into his pockets as he makes his way towards you.

“I’m packing up my things.” You answer simply with a blank face.

“Why are you packing up your things? The competition isn’t over yet.” He finally makes it to your counter. Underneath the spotlight, he notices how bloodshot red your eyes are. You’ve cried all night over this competition and it brought you to your decision of withdrawing.

“The competition isn’t over yet for my fellow contestants,” you begin, “but the competition is over for me.”

“I’m not sure if I understand what you’re saying—”

“I’ve withdrawn from the competition.” You make it make sense for him. Jaehyun takes a couple of seconds for your words to sink in. Once he’s processes your words, his eyebrows furrow in confusion and frustration.

“What?” He blurts out. “W-Why?”

You grow confused. That’s his reaction? “Shouldn’t you be happy that I’m leaving the competition? It’s one less thing to worry about, right? Your decision in choosing chefs to advance to the next round won’t be hard anymore because I’m leaving. Everything will be better without me—”

“Why would I be happy over a contestant’s voluntary withdrawal from the competition?” He cuts you off.

You fall silent. Suddenly, you have no energy trying to defend yourself. With everything piling up, you’ve decided to give up. Everything that has happened to you in the past has led you to this moment. From spilling wine all over Jaehyun’s drink to messing up Jaehyun’s dish at your internship in Florence to your time here at MasterChef, it has brought you to the conclusion that maybe Jaehyun was right: you’re not fit or qualified enough to be a chef.

“In a competition, you should not associate your emotions with your overall performance. Whatever you create here in the kitchen is what we judge.” He says sternly with his hands placed on top of the marble of your countertop. “You and I are both aware that this is a competition. You are aware that your performance and the dishes you create are going to be commented on by judges. But as judges, we make those comments, good or bad, are to help you improve.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like comments to me. I don’t feel like you’re helping me improve. I feel stuck with no direction given. I just feel like you have this predisposed idea of who I am after all those negative encounters we’ve had in the past which is why you treat me like this.” You finally get it off of your chest. You feel extremely vulnerable in front of Jaehyun. All of your emotions that you’ve held in for so long are beginning to hit the surface. “And this is why I’ve decided to do everyone all a favor and withdraw.”

He pushes himself off of the countertop and holds in a sigh. You let your head hang low. His eyes land on the cardboard box sitting on the floor. It’s filled with all of your cooking utensils. He sees an old washed out apron sitting right on top of all the pans and dishes. Stitched right near the upper corner of the apron is a name. It’s not your name, but your mother’s name. The apron has been through a lot. It’s been through a lot of washes. It’s been through a lot of spills. But you have never once thought of throwing it out because it was the only thing you had left of your mother. Aside from all the memories you have of and with her, of course.

“Well, withdrawing from the competition means that you’re aware that you have no confidence in yourself.”

“I hope you’re hearing yourself right now.” You mutter softly.

“Do you really think you’re not fit to be a chef?” He questions.

“Well, you sure make me feel like it—” You scoff.

“Cook me your best dish, then. If I think it’s horrible, then maybe withdrawing is the best decision.”

“I thought you’ve already made it clear that I’m not fit or qualified enough to be a chef—”

“You have sixty minutes.”

“Chef—”

“Your time starts now.”

Before you could protest, Jaehyun turns his back towards you and walks away. You’re trying so hard not to burst out into flames. The urgency to flip him off makes your blood boil. As he takes his seat at the front behind the judges’ table, you bend down to finish packing up your things. Jaehyun seems to pick up that you’re not taking up the challenge.

“You claim that I was discouraging you this entire competition. You said that you have potential. You want to prove me wrong, right?”

You stop in your tracks. You sure do. You want to prove Jaehyun wrong so badly. With a burning passion. When he sees that you’ve stopped, he knows that he’s slowly changing your mind.

“This is your chance to prove me wrong. Prove to me that you deserve to stay in this competition.”

You will yourself back up, fiery eyes meeting him. He knows that he’s turned the gears in your head. After you’ve given it much thought, you decided that if you were going to withdraw from the competition, you might as well show him what kind of aspiring chef they’re going to regret letting go of. You guess it was a pride thing. But you’ve never wanted to prove Jeong Jaehyun wrong so badly until now.

Jaehyun stares at you as you walk away from your station and into the large pantry with all the fresh ingredients. A smirk slowly begins to spread across his lips. You’re grabbing many ingredients from the pantry. There are some questionable pairs but ever since the start of the competition, you’ve always been experimental with your dishes. Surprisingly, they always turn out delicious no matter how ambiguous the ingredients are relative to each other. You finally return to your workstation to begin cooking your dish.

“Fifty-five minutes left,” he yells out to you.

You slightly jump. It’s just the two of you in the kitchen. If you were quite honest, it felt a bit intimate. But you felt a lot of pressure on your shoulders. Here you are, cooking for a world-renowned chef, after voluntarily withdrawing from a competition that he judges for. Here you are, cooking for a world-renowned chef who asked you to cook him a dish to prove him wrong.

A deconstructed pie. That is what you have in mind.

There are two ingredients that you’ve never paired together before; grapefruit and basil. You’re planning on making a deconstructed raspberry and basil pie. The pie will consist of basil jelly and grapefruit curd, topping it all off with Italian meringue.

“What are you making?” Jaehyun asks when he walks up to your station.

“A pie.”

“In an hour?” Jaehyun questions. You slowly nod your head, trying to keep yourself focused on your work. “Pies usually take more than one hour to make.”

“It’s going to be a deconstructed pie. Grapefruit and basil. Instead of using the crust, I’ll be using graham cracker crumbles.” You explain while juicing your grapefruits.

“Grapefruit and basil? Don’t you think that those two together would be a bit… risky?”

You shake your head. “Basil goes well with lots of fruits. I wouldn’t be surprised if basil went well with grapefruit.”

“I’ve tried a grapefruit and basil pie once. I don’t remember where, but it was delicious. I have high expectations for this. Yours will be the second grapefruit and basil pie that I have ever had in my entire life.” He comments. What a way to put the pressure on you. You don’t say anything. “Alright, then I guess—”

“You’re distracting me.” You cut him off. “Do you mind going back to the front and sitting there while I continue doing whatever it is that I need to do?”

“Sassy,” he grins. “Fine. I’ll be up at the front. You have forty-five minutes left.”

Forty-five minutes left to prove yourself. At this point, you’re not trying to prove you are worthy of staying in the competition. You’re trying to prove that you are nothing what Jaehyun thinks of you. You’re trying to prove Jaehyun that you are fit and qualified enough to be a chef and that this is made for you. It is something you love doing. It is your passion.

Jaehyun plops his butt down onto his seat and watches you cook up your dish. You’re making grapefruit zest while making sure the grapefruit curd isn’t being overcooked. He finds himself staring at you with awe.

When Jaehyun met you for the first time, he didn’t like you. You ruined his shirt. His favorite shirt. But another reason why he didn’t like you was because you didn’t look confident enough. When Jaehyun met you for the first time, you were hiding behind the executive chef, too humiliated by your own actions. He saw right through you at that moment. You had an inferiority complex. You were not confident enough in yourself. You were shy. You always doubted yourself. But when his eyes met yours, he saw a fire ignite within them.

When Jaehyun met you for the second time, you weren’t a waitress. You were a line cook. A culinary intern. You ruined his dish. When Jaehyun met you for the second time, he still didn’t like you. It was because after all the months that have passed by, you still don’t look confident enough in yourself. It made him uneasy. But the only difference that time around is that although he still didn’t like you, he knew that eventually, he would, because he saw potential. Leaving the restaurant that day after tasting your subpar dish made him uneasy, knowing that he could’ve done something to lift your spirits up. He knew that he had to do something to make you learn how to be confident in your cooking because that was the first step to making perfect dishes. If you were confident to cook, your dishes would reflect it. When Jaehyun met you for the second time, he realized that he didn’t like you because you reminded him of himself.

When Jaehyun met you for the third time, you were taking a chance at MasterChef. It was a year since the last time he saw you. On your first and second encounters with Jaehyun, the both of you were in Florence. But the third time, the both of you are in Seoul. It almost seemed fated. When Jaehyun boarded the plane in Florence going back to Seoul, he couldn’t get you off his mind. What if he tried to lift you up? What was it that he could’ve done to encourage you? He regretted being cold to you. He knew that if he had just been a bit nicer, a bit more sincere, it would’ve further ignited the flame that was already lit within you. It was like the heavens had heard him and sent you to him for a third time.

He knew this was his third and final chance to make things right.

“Twenty minutes!” He yells.

“I heard you loud and clear, geez.” You place a hand over your heart as you continue your work.

You’re working on your Italian meringue. It was something you learned how to do while you were doing your culinary internship in Florence. Making Italian meringue is completely different from making regular meringue. It requires more precision and accuracy. It requires more attention to detail. If you mess up the meringue, you’re practically messing up the entire dish.

You don’t want that happening. That’s the last thing you want.

While you’re waiting for the sugar water to boil at an ideal temperature, you’re beginning to plate your dish. Gently and slowly, you place a layer of grapefruit curd at the bottom of the bowl. It acts almost like a bed for the basil jelly and Italian meringue. At perfect timing, the sugar water has reached its ideal temperature and you immediately take it off of the stove. You walk over to your stand mixer, turning it on and gradually pouring in the sugar mixture into the egg whites. The egg whites slowly turn into a beautiful meringue. Sweet. Fluffy. Almost like marshmallows. Once you’ve poured the entire sugar mixture, you continue to mix the meringue until the bottom of the bowl runs cold to the touch.

“Fifteen minutes!”

Jaehyun waits for you to say something but nothing comes out. He checks up on you and realizes you’re too focused on placing the meringue into a piping bag. He never knew how pretty someone could look under the harsh light of the stage kitchen. The brightness only highlighted your features that were solely focused on creating the perfect deconstructed pie.

This was a first for Jaehyun—being mesmerized by a contestant under his wing. And as his heart caught on fire, much like the gas stove he used to use when he learned to cook all those years ago, Jaehyun also hoped it would be the last.

Having the chance to see you again is definitely a chance given by fate. The idea that you could be gone from the competition out of your own will absolutely terrifies him. It’s the last thing he wants. He wants you to realize how much talent you have. He wants you to realize that you have a lot of potential. He wants to be close to you. He wants to get to know you more. He’s only been able to do that through your dishes. Lately, it’s been hard to look directly into your eyes because it makes him grow nervous. While you’re the only contestant that’s around his age, he’s never felt more connected to someone until he met you. You most likely feel the complete opposite of him, but this is because he has the tendency to push people away. He pushes you away because he’s scared that once he screws up this chance to make things right, he might not forgive himself. It’ll be all his fault.

“Ten minutes!”

You’re piping the Italian meringue onto the bed of grapefruit curd. After that, you’re slicing up the basil jelly into small cubes. You place the basil jelly cubes on top of the grapefruit curd along the Italian meringue. Lastly, you’re grabbing a handful of graham crumbles and scattering them carefully on top of the Italian meringue, basil jelly cubes, and the grapefruit curd. Your deconstructed pie is almost done. You rummage through the drawers to find a torch. You light the torch on to slightly toast the Italian meringue. You don’t want it to burn, you want a nice toast on the top.

“Five minutes!”

You fix up your dish one last time with roughly four minutes to spare. You slowly head up to the front of the kitchen with your deconstructed pie. Jaehyun meets your gaze and he smiles. Oh, how you wish you could wipe that smile off of his face. Placing the dish right in front of him, you step back for him to taste it.

“Do you mind going through how you prepared this dish?” Jaehyun asks as he opens one of the drawers to pull out a spoon.

You clear your throat. “It is a deconstructed grapefruit and basil pie. It consists of grapefruit curd as a bed layer with basil jelly, graham crumbles, and Italian meringue.”

“Why did you choose to make Italian meringue instead of the usual meringue?” He asks.

“I chose to use Italian meringue for this dish because Italian meringue has a more marshmallowy, soft, fluffy consistency in comparison to ordinary meringue.” You explain. “I think the soft, fluffy texture of Italian meringue fits perfectly with the creamy grapefruit curd and basil jelly.”

“I’m going to take a spoonful of everything.” Jaehyun begins as he scoops a little bit of grapefruit curd mixed with graham crumbles, a single basil jelly, and a single Italian meringue. The both of you meet eyes and he puts the spoon into his mouth.

As he’s taking a moment to savor the flavors, you let your head hang low. You’re expecting him to let out a frustrated sigh. You’re expecting him to come up with the rudest comment on your dish. It’s horrible. It tastes horrible. You’re waiting for those words to come out of his mouth—

“It’s… delicious.”

Your head shoots up. He digs in for another spoonful of your deconstructed pie. “Sorry… what?”

“I said,” he says, “it’s delicious.”

You let out a breathless laugh. Were you hearing things right? Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at you and you straighten up your posture. “Sorry, I just—this is the first time I’ve ever heard something nice coming from you.”

“It not only tastes delicious but it tastes familiar.” He mumbles softly. “It reminds me of this diner my parents used to take me to after basketball practice. The diner was somewhere near Yonsei University where my parents used to teach. That diner served grapefruit and basil pie. I think I was about twelve or thirteen years old. It’s been a while since I’ve had it but I could still remember it so vividly—”

“Mina’s Place?” You whisper.

Jaehyun’s eyebrows raise with surprise and his face is overcome with realization. Mina’s Place. The reason why he hasn’t been to the diner in a while is because it closed down when he made a visit. It was a sudden shutdown and his family never knew what happened to the owners. They were unique and both of his parents’ favorite place to wind down after a day of teaching culinary students. That diner’s grapefruit and basil pie had inspired him to follow the footsteps of his parents. It was the unusual pairing of basil and fruit that made him curious, it was what drove him to start cooking.

“Yeah… Mina’s Place.” He mumbles softly. “It’s too bad it closed down too soon.”

Your head hangs low again. Mina’s Place was your mother’s product of hardwork and dedication. Your late mother had bought the space and created it into a diner where she was able to cook up whatever she wanted for her guests. It was what made her happy. But when your mother started to grow sick, it was your father that took over the diner in hopes that she would return. But your mother’s health continued to deteriorate until she passed away at an early age of forty-seven. Ever since her passing, the diner wasn’t the same. Your father had decided to sell the diner to a young couple who were looking to start their own restaurant.

Your mother’s best-selling item on the menu was the grapefruit and basil pie. Until this day, you are grateful that she managed to pass the recipe down to you. You had loved and admired your mother’s love for cooking. You would spend most of your days watching her cook. You would ditch everything to learn how to cook, especially from your mother. The deconstructed pie that you had made for Jaehyun is a representation of how much you miss her and how much she inspired you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Jaehyun looks at you confusedly. “Thank you for cherishing my mother’s passion, for cherishing her love of cooking. She would be thrilled to know that there was someone who loved her grapefruit and basil pie.”

“Y-You’re joking,” he shakes his head. “She’s your mother?”

You purse your lips into a tight line, nodding. “We closed down the place because she died of cancer. It didn’t make sense to take on the diner after her passing. My father had no idea how to cook.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry—”

“I decided to study culinary arts because it’s the only thing that reminds me of her. It’s the only thing that brings me closer to her. I also wanted to open up a diner in her honor, to celebrate her life. I think that’s what she truly wanted… to spend most of her life with her family and at the diner.” You chuckle, wiping away a tear that slides down your cheek. “And don’t apologize. You had no idea.”

“But still, I—”

“I’ve decided to stick with my decision regardless of whether you enjoyed my dish or not. I’m going to withdraw from the competition.” You clasp your hands together.

Jaehyun watches you as you carefully take off your apron. You place the apron right next to your dish before bowing to him. “Y/N, no—”

“Thank you for everything, chef. It was an honor cooking for you and I’m glad you enjoyed the pie.”

“Y/N, no, please. Stay here with—” Me. That’s what he wants to say. It almost terrifies him that this is the first thing that crosses his mind. It catches him off guard. He’s never had the urge to let you stay. He’s never been afraid of losing you. He’s never been terrified of slowly realizing your importance and your effect on him. “The other contestants. You’re worthy of the chance. Just like them.”

“I’ve already told the producers—”

“We can always take it back. You can always take it back.” He cuts you off. “Don’t withdraw. You have so many more things to accomplish, to conquer, to show off. You have talent, Y/N. Withdrawing from the competition will be the biggest mistake of your life—”

“Please don’t say all of that if you don’t even mean it—”

“I mean it. Stay.” He’s so close to begging. “Your mother was one of the few driving forces that led me to becoming a chef. If it weren’t for your mother, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”

“You’re lying,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re just making this hard for me.”

“Stay for your mother. I’m sure she would want you to finish the competition regardless of whether you win or not—”

“But you wanted me gone since the first round—” Never. He never wanted you to leave. He wanted you to stay. He wanted to help you. He wanted to encourage you to work hard for your dreams.

“Do it for her. Do it for Mina’s Place.”

You fall silent. For a moment, you could hear your mother’s voice chanting you on. You could hear her giggles and laughter. You could see her bright smile. It makes your eyes glassy. Your eyes trail down towards the pie that you made. As you fixate on the pie, you wipe away a few more tears.

“Yes, chef. I’ll stay.”

“How did you change her mind?”

Taeyong stands next to Jaehyun and watches you as you return your things back into their respective drawers at your station. Taeyong, along with Doyoung, had expected your station to be empty the following morning. But there you were, absolutely present, setting up your station before the next round of the competition begins. Jaehyun shoves his hands into his pockets and watches you intently, not being able to tear his gaze away from you.

“Let’s just say I worked my magic,” he answers softly.

Doyoung glances at his co-judge, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. He follows Jaehyun’s line of sight and it lands on you. Taeyong seems to pick it up as well and a cheeky grin spreads across his lips. Taeyong has worked with Jaehyun for many years. They opened up one three-Michelin starred restaurant in Florence together and they ran the restaurant for many years. From Jaehyun’s inner thoughts to his feelings, Taeyong knows him so well. In fact, Taeyong hasn’t seen Jaehyun like this in so long.

Work has been the main priority for Jaehyun. Taeyong was always trying to get his best friend to loosen up and meet some people while they were in Italy. But Jaehyun was always closed up and always stayed back in the kitchen. It was sad for Taeyong to see his best friend have a lack of social life—moreover, a dating life. Jaehyun’s last relationship was a couple of years ago and it ended on horrible terms. In particular, his breakup happened right before he boarded his flight to Italy. Taeyong knows that it left such a negative impact on his best friend. Jaehyun had promised to never fall in love again after his breakup, devoting his entire life to cooking and being in the kitchen… never leaving it once.

But seeing how Jaehyun looks at you, Taeyong is starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Alright, chefs! We’ll be starting in ten minutes! Relax, grab a drink, and we’ll regroup.” Doyoung announces.

You suck in a deep breath, heading towards the water dispenser to get yourself a cup of water. Taeil follows behind you, grabbing himself a cup of water too. He tilts his head in confusion, analyzing your every move. You seem to notice and when the two of you finally make it up to the balcony that oversees the entire kitchen, you face him.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask.

Taeil shakes his head. “No! No, not at all. I was just—I thought you said you were going to withdraw from the competition.”

You take a swig of your water. “I did. But… I changed my mind. I decided to stay.”

“What changed your mind?” Taeil questions. Everyone’s beginning to gather at the balcony before the new round of the competition begins.

Before you could even answer Taeil’s question, Chef Jaehyun stands in the space between you two. He leans over the railing of the balcony. You and Taeil share a look. You clear your throat, adding a bit more distance between you and Chef Jaehyun. Taeil studies your body language and it’s almost as if he reads your mind. Ah, Chef Jaehyun changed your mind.

“Ah, I see.” Taeil slowly nods his head. “Well, good luck, Y/N. I’m sure you’ll do well in the next round.”

Taeil leaves you and Chef Jaehyun alone to talk with other contestants. You’re looking everywhere but at Chef Jaehyun, busying yourself by the water in your cup.

Jaehyun can’t comprehend what’s going on with him. He can’t find the courage to look at you. But when he does, he can’t seem to breathe because his heartbeat picks up its pace. He clears his throat. “Are you ready for the next round?”

You finally look at him. You straighten up your posture. “Yes, chef.”

“Y/N, no, please. Stay here with—the other contestants. You’re worthy of the chance. Just like them.”

“Don’t withdraw. You have so many more things to accomplish, to conquer, to show off. You have talent, Y/N. Withdrawing from the competition will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

“I mean it. Stay. Your mother was one of the few driving forces that led me to becoming a chef. If it weren’t for your mother, I probably wouldn’t be standing in front of you right now.”

It’s hard to get rid of Chef Jaehyun’s voice out of your head. Whatever happened a couple of nights ago in the kitchen felt a bit too intimate. You were cooking one of your best dishes, a dish that meant a lot to you, for one of the most famous chefs in the world. It was just the two of you in the kitchen. Chef Jaehyun had begged you to stay in the competition. All of those events that night were driving you crazy.

What Chef Jaehyun does next snaps you out of your thoughts. He places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair. Your eyes slightly widen and you freeze. “Good luck.”

When he leaves to speak with the other contestants, you’re left all alone by the balcony with a heart beating so fast. You almost drop your cup of water but you catch yourself just in time. You place a hand over your heart as if it’ll help it stop beating so fast.

There’s been a shift between you and Chef Jaehyun ever since that night.

You’ve always despised Chef Jaehyun. You didn’t even like him to begin with. Not one single bit.

But now… you’re not quite sure anymore.

“There are only two more rounds left in the competition. But this round determines who has a chance to be the next MasterChef. Who will make it to the final round of MasterChef? We shall find out! For today’s challenge, the three of you will be paired up with one of us to cook up a special meal for your own friends.”

There are three contestants left in the competition. Those contestants are you, Taeil, and Seokjin. Each one of you is called up to the front to pick a slip of paper from a box. The chef that’s on your chosen slip of paper will be the chef that you will be paired up to cook with. Whoever you end up with wouldn’t matter because the three of them are perfect in their own way.

Chef Jaehyun is a perfectionist. He’s also competitive. He loves making sure that the food he puts out is more than perfect. It gives him relief and satisfaction knowing that his customers love the food that he makes for them. He’s surely known all over the world for being overly meticulous. He’s also known for running many successful restaurants. He has strong ties with restaurants in Florence. Being paired up with Chef Jaehyun means that you are guaranteed to make a successful dish.

Chef Taeyong is also a perfectionist but not as competitive as Chef Jaehyun. He always makes sure that he thoroughly enjoys the process of cooking. He’s almost like a mother. He cooks for people because he genuinely enjoys doing it. It’s a hobby that he enjoys doing and somehow, it brings him fortune and success. Being paired up with Chef Taeyong means that you’ll not only make a perfect dish, but you’ll also have fun making it and create a story along with it.

Chef Doyoung is not a perfectionist, but he has a great sense of his ingredients. He knows the compatibility of ingredients, which is something every chef wants to have. It’s a trait that is rare to find in chefs. This trait had led him to win MasterChef when he was a contestant. To others, his dishes might be ambiguous but once people try it, they would have never imagined such a dish to work out. Being paired up with Chef Doyoung means that you are willing to take risks that will elevate your dish and bring out uniqueness.

When you open your slip of paper, you almost let out a laugh.

Chef Jaehyun.

Fate loves playing games with you.

“I got Chef Jaehyun,” you hold up your slip of paper. You and Taeil exchange looks.

When your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun’s, he bites back a smile that’s threatening to spread across his lips. The two other chefs can’t seem to hold back their smiles either. You look down, growing too shy with all of the attention on you.

“I got Chef Taeyong.” Taeil shows his slip of paper.

“And that means I got Chef Doyoung.” Seokjin finishes, holding up his slip of paper.

“Perfect. We’ll start in five minutes. During these five minutes, we will all discuss with our partners and plan out our dishes accordingly.” Chef Taeyong announces.

When Chef Jaehyun heads over to your workstation, you can’t seem to compose yourself. Your mind is going insane. You’re not sure if you’re going to end up regretting having Chef Jaehyun as your partner or be grateful that he could help you secure a spot in the finals.

“I’m surprised you’re not sick and tired of me yet,” he mumbles. “It’s just always gonna be you and me, huh?”

“I’m surprised you’re not sick and tired of me yet either,” you shrug your shoulders.

“I guess fate likes the two of us together.” He says, avoiding your gaze.

“I’m sure fate hates me and is punishing me by pairing me up with you.” You mutter underneath your breath.

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.”

Working together with Chef Jaehyun is a pain in the ass.

“The sashimi should be cut like this!”

“Yeah, I know! I can see it!”

It’s been non-stop bickering for the past fifteen minutes. There’s forty-five minutes left before you have to send out your dishes to your friends. With the grin planted across Chef Jaehyun’s lips, you’re not sure if he’s doing this for fun or if he’s genuinely being strict and serious.

“You’re in the way.” You nudge him aside to grab the bottle of Japanese mayonnaise. “Do you mind checking on my rolls?”

“They look good—”

“You didn’t even look at them!” You look at him as if he had ten heads.

“I don’t need to look at them to know if they look good or not.” He rolls his California rolls. “You need to be more confident in yourself. Do you think they look good?”

“Of course, because I made them.” You fold your arms.

“Then they look good! You have to trust yourself, Y/N.” He slices through the California roll before rolling each of them into Panko. “I feel like you don’t trust yourself enough.”

Chef Jaehyun’s right. You don’t trust yourself enough. When he notices how silent you’ve gotten, he finally takes a look at your California rolls. He analyzes the contents of your roll before smiling. “It looks perfect to me. You see, I didn’t need to look at them to tell you that they’re good. You put the right amount of crab meat. There’s a balance between the crab meat and rice. The roll is consistent. The rice is sticky enough. It’s perfect, Y/N, stop doubting yourself.”

“Really…?”

“Really. Now, get back to work because we don’t have much time left.”

As the two of you both get back to work, Jaehyun can’t seem to stop himself from smiling. If there was one thing he wanted to do with someone special to him, it was to make a meal together. He learns more about someone through the art of cooking. You’re an expert at baking and inherited those skills from your mother. You know your spices so well that they come to you so naturally. You know how to balance your ingredients. You know when two ingredients work and when it doesn’t.

You’re the complete opposite of him. Jaehyun is an expert at everything but baking. He doesn’t have a great sense of spices and would often plan out his dishes carefully. Making a perfect dish doesn’t come naturally to him. He’s more on the practical side of cooking. Jaehyun thinks you’re the perfect match for him. Whether it be in the kitchen or as someone he’d like to pursue… he’s not sure.

It would be a huge lie if Jaehyun wasn’t attracted to you. He doesn’t know when the switch happened. Maybe he liked you from the start.

It’s almost as if fate had you written in his stars. When Jaehyun had been dumped by his ex-girlfriend right before he boarded his plane to Florence, he was devastated. He was devastated knowing that his ex-girlfriend whom he was planning on proposing to was cheating on him that entire time. He was devastated knowing that he lost one of his few passions; the love of his life. Heartbroken. Closed off. Focus on working. Focus on hustle culture. Never falling in love again. That was Jaehyun’s mindset.

But now that he thinks about it and all the encounters you’ve had with him, meeting you for the first time in Florence must be a fateful encounter. From spilling expensive wine all over his shirt to serving him a horrible dish as a culinary intern, no matter how embarrassing those experiences were, it must be fate. You make him worry about you. You make him think about you a bit too often. He goes out of his way to make sure nothing horrible happens to you. He doesn’t want you to be hurt.

Meeting you may be a special event that has happened in his life.

“Chef? Chef…?”

He snaps out of his thoughts. You’re giving him a funny look.

“You were saying?”

“You have some seaweed on your face, chef.”

“I-I do? Where—”

Before he could even wipe his face with his hands, you’re already reaching up to rub off the seaweed crumbs off of his face. He freezes in his spot. His eyes look down to meet yours. When you finally brush the seaweed crumbs off of his crimson red cheeks, your eyes shift to his. It’s your turn to freeze. Out of instinct, Jaehyun gently holds your arms. He holds you so carefully… almost cautiously. Somehow, he can’t speak. Somehow, everything that surrounds the two of you becomes nothing but white noise. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips.

“You have fifteen minutes left! Fifteen minutes!”

You both are startled, repelling from each other. To calm your unsteady heart, you focus on finishing your last few sushi rolls before you begin plating them. Jaehyun stands more than a meter away from you, not making any sort of conversation with you for the remainder of the fifteen minutes. His heart is beating so fast that he’s afraid you could hear it ramming out of his chest.

It’s all starting to make sense. To him, at least.

He’s slowly—but surely—falling in love with you.

The morning of the final round of MasterChef, you wake up still in disbelief that you’re one step closer to becoming the champion. In the semi-finals, your great teamwork with Chef Jaehyun has secured you a spot in the finals, giving you a bigger chance of winning the entire competition. There’s no backing down for you. The possibility that your dreams can come true is still surreal for you and now you’re willing to put in all the effort to make sure that possibility becomes reality.

As soon as you enter the kitchen, you spot none other than Taeil, who’s already setting up his station. You and Taeil both find it funny how although you’re both closest to each other and have become good friends in the competition, here you both are, competing against each other to become the champion of MasterChef. It’s a friendly competition. You can’t imagine finishing the entire competition with anyone else.

“Hello, chef.” You greet him.

“Good morning, Y/N. Today is the day.” He smiles. “Good luck. Let the MasterChef win.”

Everyone begins to gather around. Your friends and family and Taeil’s friends and family. The three chef judges make their ways to the front after getting their hair and makeup done. The kitchen is set up differently this time around. Instead of the normal rectangular work stations, the station is set up as a circle that surrounds both you and Taeil. The two of you will work on opposite sides of the circle.

As you and Taeil get settled and wait for filming to start, your eyes catch Chef Jaehyun’s. You’re almost surprised and a bit taken aback to catch him already looking at you. He’s dressed up quite nice today. He’s wearing an indigo suit with his hair styled back. He has such prominent eyebrows, you notice, since he’s always had his hair down. He’s… handsome.

And he smiles at you.

Not knowing what to do in return, you flash him a small, timid smile before looking away. In just a few minutes, the final round will begin and your fate will be determined. You spot your father who’s wiping away tears with his handkerchief. Sitting in his arms is a framed picture of your mother. Your eyes slowly tear up but you blink them away.

“We will start in three… two… one… action!”

“Welcome everyone, to the final round of MasterChef.”

“Today, we will find out who is this season’s MasterChef.”

“Will it be Taeil? Or Y/N? We shall find out!”

For the final round of MasterChef, you and Taeil will be cooking up three dishes for the chef judges. The first dish will be the appetizer. Following the first dish is the entree. The third and final dish is the dessert. You and Taeil were given a week to figure out what you’re going to serve the chef judges. You have decided to base your dishes around the theme of apples. All three of your dishes contain apples.

The first round of three begins and you’re cooking up your first dish. For your first dish, you’re creating a scotch quail egg that will rest on top of a bed of parsnips and potatoes. You envision this dish to replicate a bird’s nest, where the bed of parsnips and potatoes act as the nest that protects the scotch quail egg. The scotch quail egg is different, however, because you will incorporate apples into the coating that surrounds it.

“Your time starts now!”

You and Taeil busy yourselves at your own sides of the circle. You’re beginning your dish by boiling a pot of water for your quail eggs. At the same time, you’re bringing out the ground pork and a couple of red gala apples. As you’re cutting the gala apples, you make sure to cut them into cubes to make them stand out in the scotch egg. From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun step off of the stage to head towards you.

“Hello, Y/N.” He greets you as he approaches your side of the station. “What are you making for us?”

“A scotch quail egg,” you mumble.

“With apples?” You hum in reply. “And what are you going to do with the potatoes?”

“I’m going to slice them up to replicate a nest for the quail eggs to rest on.” You answer.

“That seems like a bit of an easy dish, don’t you think?” He purses his lips into a tight line. “Do you think it’ll be enough to impress us?”

“Yes,” you mumble, trying your best not to let him distract you.

“Are you sure your quail eggs are going to be cooked properly? They shouldn’t be—”

“Overcooked, yes, I am very much aware of that, Chef Jaehyun.” You cut him off.

He chuckles. Your ears perk up. “It seems like you don’t want me around. Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” you answer and everyone around you laughs. “I guess you’ll just have to see what I have planned for you when I serve it to you later.”

“Sounds good. I’m excited to see what you bring to the table, Y/N.” He searches for your eyes, but they’re busy looking at other things. In reality, you’re just too shy to look at him. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“Thanks, chef.”

Returning to your station, you keep the judges’ comments on your appetizer in your thoughts to improve on the next dish. The next dish that you’re going to cook up for them is the entree. Because your appetizer was easy to make, this left you ample time to begin preparing for your entree. You plan to serve the chef judges an entree dish that you call, rabbit two ways, in which you will serve them two different kinds of rabbit meat while incorporating bursts of apple flavors into it. The timer starts and you and Taeil get to work.

“I like how you presented this dish. It looks like a bird’s nest!”

Chef Taeyong’s comments on your dish had given you the motivation and desire to win the competition. From the start of the competition all the way to the final round, Chef Taeyong has been nothing but encouraging and genuine. All of his comments and advice shaped you into who you are as a chef today, at this very moment.

“Although there are some burnt potatoes and parsnips in my dish, I think that it surprisingly complemented the sweet flavors of the apple in the scotch egg.”

Chef Doyoung, a MasterChef champion, is someone you always looked up to. You remember watching the season that he was competing in and having a gut feeling that he would make it to the final round. There was something special about Chef Doyoung and his dishes. Every dish he created had its own story, and of course, it would always look and taste delicious. Hearing his comments throughout your journey in the competition has also helped you learn and create a chef’s mindset.

“I think I would definitely serve something like this as an appetizer at one of my restaurants. The presentation is spot on. I couldn’t have imagined a scotch egg to be presented in any other way. It’s almost as if you’re recreating nature, mother nature I would say, through your dishes. The flavors balance so well, which is not surprising because you’ve always had a good sense of your spices. Very well done, Y/N.”

Chef Jaehyun, although you disliked him at first, has truly been the one who wanted to see you succeed. Ever since he had tried to change your mind about withdrawing from the competition you couldn’t help but think that he was the one who truly liked you and your performance in the competition all along. If he didn’t try to change your mind, you would have probably withdrawn from the competition and returned back to the starting position of your journey. Chef Jaehyun has made you realize that if you truly want something, you have to work extremely hard for it. He made you realize that you’re better than what you think and most of the time, you’re just being hard on yourself. Someday, you plan on thanking him for being tough on you because it helped you on your journey to becoming a chef.

As you heat up the pan on the stove, you slice and dice up your apples to fuse them with the rabbit meat. Placing them onto the pan, you begin creating your artichoke puree that will amplify the flavors of the dish. From time to time, you could check up on the rabbit meat to make sure that you weren’t overcooking it. Overcooking rabbit meat would be horrifying because it would only mean that you would have to cook a new batch in so little time. It is extremely crucial to your dish.

“You have fifteen minutes left!”

You spent the remaining fifteen minutes focusing on the rabbit meat since you have finished making the artichoke puree. After already beginning to plate your dish with the puree, you place the rabbit meat onto a frying rack to drain out the oil. Your hands are shaking out of complete nervousness. You want this so bad. But the fact that you’re serving a dish that you haven’t even tasted is such a huge risk to take.

“Five minutes left!”

Drizzling a bit more of the artichoke puree on top of the rabbit meat, your nervous hands cause you to drizzle a bit more than needed. Pulling out a clean towel, you wipe off some of the puree that scattered on the sides of the dish. Glancing up at the time, you have one minute left to spare. You take these last few seconds to make sure everything looks good before handing them over to the servers.

“Time’s up! Hands up! Servers, please head to the back to serve the dishes.”

The last and final dish you are going to serve the chef judges is dessert. Dessert is your expertise. Everyone is aware that if there was one thing you excelled at as a chef, it would be through your desserts. You would like to thank your mother for exposing you to the world of baking at such a young age. It truly helped you later on in life, especially in this competition. For this dish, you decided to create a dish that represented a fallen apple or an apple that has fallen from an apple tree. The dish is simply an apple panna cotta, but you will be presenting it in such a way that it looks like an apple that has fallen onto the ground. This dish is going to tie up your ‘apple’ series and hopefully help you win the competition.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m back.” Chef Jaehyun smiles as he visits you at your station once again.

You smile back at him. “Hi, Chef Jaehyun. Is there anything I could help you with?”

“You could help me by letting me know what you’re planning on serving us for dessert.” He grins.

“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” you mumble softly.

“Mysterious.” He nods his head as he begins to move on to Taeil’s station. “You’re going to surprise us?”

“Yes, chef.” You reply.

“Well, I hope it’ll be worth the surprise! Good luck, Y/N.”

“Thanks, chef!”

For your dish, you’re not planning on serving them a whole apple. You’re going to recreate the apple by making apple jelly. The apple jelly will be shaped like an apple by pouring the mixture into a silicone tray. Since an apple has seeds in the middle, you are going to toast up some pine nut seeds and place them into the middle of the jelly mixture once it’s set. To recreate the red color of an apple, you are going to place a red glaze all over the jelly. Since this dish is going to replicate a fallen apple, you are going to recreate soil by grinding up a mixture of nuts and raisins. This will act as the bed for the fallen apple. Lastly, you are going to recreate the leaves of the apple tree by using sugar and water, and the twigs of the branches with a sweet dough.

“You have twenty minutes left!”

You pull out your silicone trays and you nearly have a heart attack. The jelly is not completely set but you don’t have much time left to keep it in the fridge. You still have to plate the entire dish. Taking the toasted pine nut seeds off the stove, you place them onto a tray to cool down. One by one, you shove pine nut seeds into the apple jelly. The seeds keep popping back up, which confirms that your apple jelly still isn’t set properly. But with the time you have left, you have to take this risk.

“Ten minutes left!”

You begin plating your dish. To plate your apple-themed dessert, you grab the bowl of fake soil that you created with an assortment of nuts and raisins and scoop out two spoons to create a bed for the fallen apple. After you do that on three plates, you carefully pop out the apple jelly from the silicone tray and place it on top of the soil. Then, to decorate the apple jelly, you stick your fake twigs into the jelly and place sugar leaves on top. As you grab the pot of red glaze, you stop in your tracks.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun looking at you as you freeze in your spot. You look deep in thought. Suddenly, you shake your head and place the pot of red glaze back onto the countertop. He tilts his head in confusion.

“Ten seconds left!”

Everyone is beginning to count down and you’re making final touches to your dish. Taeil, on the other hand, already has his hands up to indicate that he’s already done.

“Time’s up! Hands up! Servers, please take the dishes to the back.”

“Alright, Y/N, please tell us what you have served for us.”

Stepping forward, you clear your throat. Each one of them looks at you with anticipation, but it makes you grow even more nervous. You feel more nervous than how you were at the start of the competition. When your eyes meet Chef Jaehyun’s, your mind can’t help but go blank. He gives you an encouraging smile and it’s enough for you to snap back to your senses.

“For dessert, I’ve recreated a fallen apple by making an apple panna cotta. The fallen apple is supported by a bed of soil which is recreated with an assortment of nuts and raisins. To replicate the twigs and leaves of the apple tree, I’ve made a dough for the twigs and used a sugar glaze for the leaves.” You describe your dish. All of their eyebrows raise. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I saw you holding a pot of red glaze earlier and I assumed that you were going to use that to glaze over the apple jelly. But I see that you’ve decided not to use it. Is there a particular reason why you decided to do that?” Chef Jaehyun asks as he’s digging into your dessert by taking a bit of everything onto his spoon.

“I decided not to use red glaze for this dish because I felt like it would look a little bit too fake. I also think that it wouldn’t match the overall colors of the dish.” You explain.

Chef Jaehyun smiles. “I think that was good judgment on your part. If it doesn’t look like it belongs on your dish, then don’t add it. Well done, Y/N.”

“Let’s all dig in.” Chef Doyoung insists.

As they all taste your dish, you nervously fiddle with your fingers. After they have all finished tasting the different components of your dish, they look back up at you.

“I think this is a unique dish, Y/N.” Chef Taeyong begins. He’s the first one to make a comment on your dessert. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The presentation is spot on again. I really like the balance of sweetness from the apple jelly and the richness of the soil. I enjoyed this dish. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, chef.” You mumble.

“I agree with Chef Taeyong.” Chef Doyoung smiles. “I really like how the jelly melts in your mouth and how this is counteracted by the crunchy texture of the nuts. The presentation of the dish is executed very well, it looks like a fallen apple. You’ve done a beautiful job, Y/N.”

“Thank you so much, chef.”

“I agree with all of them.” Chef Jaehyun chuckles. “I see why you decided not to add red glaze to this dish. It would have completely ruined it. I am not one who likes desserts, but this has completely changed it for me. I love how it has the right amount of sweetness. The nuts balance well with the sweetness due to it being so rich in flavor. I would also serve something like this at my restaurant. You’ve come a long way, Y/N. You’ve done an excellent job in finishing up your three-course apple menu.”

“Wow, that means a lot, thank you so much.” You sigh with relief.

“Alright, we’re going to have a bit of a meeting now.” Chef Doyoung chuckles. “The two of you can go back and meet with your family while we go over your dishes and choose this season’s MasterChef.”

“Good luck, Y/N and Taeil.”

“We have finally come to a decision.”

Everyone is gathered near the front of the kitchen. The three judges are standing right in front of you. You and Taeil share glances. Taeil flashes you a huge smile that you mirror back at him. It feels like a dream standing in front of the three chef judges, waiting for them to announce the winner of MasterChef. The journey that you took on this competition is one that you will never forget and one that will change your life forever.

“It was hard to choose a winner for this season’s MasterChef.” Chef Taeyong begins. “Because the two of you have come such a long way since the start of the competition. The two of you have been through tough challenges and elimination tests, but you persevered, and that’s why you’re standing here today.”

“You have both improved and learned a lot since you started your journey here at MasterChef, and your journey continues even after the competition.” Chef Jaehyun clasps his hands together. “I personally think this season is my favorite. This final round has been special. You both served dishes that we have never even seen in the previous seasons of MasterChef. The both of you should be extremely proud of yourselves for making it this far.”

“But we do have to choose one MasterChef winner. The winner will be getting the first prize and a chance to open up their own restaurant or catering service. This will put you out into the field of cuisine and culinary arts, something that we’re all sure that you both came here for.” Chef Doyoung smiles. “Shall we announce the winner?”

“I think we should.” Chef Taeyong chuckles. “It was such a hard decision but…”

“But we have finally chosen this season’s MasterChef.” Chef Doyoung finishes it for him. “Y/N, Taeil, could you please step up to the front?”

You and Taeil head towards the front, hand in hand. Taeil gives your hand a tight, reassuring squeeze. Standing right behind him is his own family. Standing behind you are your relatives and your father, but also your mother, who’s looking down at you from the sky.

“This season’s MasterChef is…”

You close your eyes. Your heart begins to beat faster than horsepower. You would feel like the only woman in the world if you hear your name being called out. Standing right here, with Taeil, in front of three world-renowned chefs, is another reminder of how much you wanted this, why you started this journey, and what you want out of it. It’s not only for you, but for your mother, who would always chase her dreams.

“Congratulations, because you are this season’s MasterChef…”

“Y/N! Congratulations, you are this season’s MasterChef!”

It’s all a blur. Confetti shoots up into the air and falls down like snowflakes. You open your eyes when you feel yourself being attacked by your family with hugs. Taeil’s hand never lets go of yours and he pulls you into a tight, celebratory hug. Your eyes well up with tears.

You can’t believe it.

If only your mother was here to celebrate your win with you. But you’re sure that she’s up in the skies, cheering you on, celebrating your achievement. It’s hard to breathe because it all feels so surreal. When you blink away your tears, your vision becomes clear again and you see the three chef judges coming in to join the big hug. Chef Jaehyun falls within sight and you share gazes.

He flashes you a wide, warm, genuine smile while mouthing ‘congratulations’.

Your heart skips a beat but you pay no attention to it.

You mouth back a ‘thank you, chef’.

AFTER MASTERCHEF.

It’s been a couple of months since you won MasterChef and you’ve been assigned to work alongside Chef Doyoung at one of his new branch locations. You’ve been assigned this job in the meantime while you renovate your new diner that you’ve always wished of running.

If Jaehyun were to be honest, he was quite sad (or should he say, jealous, but he will never admit it) that you were assigned to work with Doyoung. The days after MasterChef have been uneventful and boring. Everywhere he looks, it reminds him of you. Everything he does, it reminds him of you. Stubborn to admit it, he misses it. He misses you.

And so when he steps inside of Doyoung’s new branch location of his restaurant, Doie, he hopes that he could catch you there. Why? Because finding you has been extremely difficult these days.

As he steps into the restaurant, he heads straight to the front desk. The woman working at the front slowly looks up and upon realizing who’s standing right in front of her, her posture straightens.

He flashes her a warm smile. “Is Chef Y/N here?”

“O-Oh! You’re Chef Jaehyun!” She exclaims.

He smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Yes, that’s me. I decided to drop by and check this place out. I had only found out that Chef Y/N was assigned to work here in the meantime before the opening of Mina’s Place.”

“Unfortunately, Chef Y/N already left. She left a couple of hours ago to attend to some personal matters.” The woman frowns, spinning a pen in between her fingers.

“Oh, is that so?” He’s trying so hard to hide the disappointment in his eyes. “I guess I was a bit too late.”

“Do you want me to pass a message on to her, chef?” She asks insistently.

“Oh, there’s no need. I guess I’ll just drop by tomorrow.” He says with defeat.

Why is it that it used to be so easy to bump into you? Why is it that it’s become so difficult to bump into you now? Why is it so hard to cross paths with you now? It’s been so easy to find you before. But now, when he tries to find you, he can’t. It’s grown into a difficult game of hide and seek.

“Actually—” Jaehyun begins before cutting himself off. “I’ll be right back.”

He rushes out of the restaurant and spots a flower shop right across the road. Stepping inside of the flower shop, he’s greeted by an elderly woman who’s watering a fresh batch of tulips. She places the pail of water back onto the black and white tiled floor.

“Hello, young man, how can I help you?”

He lets his eyes wander around the shop. He can’t seem to figure out what to get.

“I’ve been wanting to get a bouquet of flowers, but I’m not quite sure which flowers to put together.” He scratches the back of his head.

She giggles sheepishly. “Is it for a young lady that’s taken your interest?”

He’s caught off guard by the question. He lets out a shaky, breathy laugh. There’s no way he could be feeling this way for you. Even if he does feel like you’re someone special to him, it’s something that will take a while for him to understand. Liking you is one thing but falling in love with you is another.

“I—I mean—Yeah, I guess so?” He sounds confused.

She tilts her head. “You guess so? Well, young man, the fact that you’ve stepped foot into my shop to get a lovely lady a bouquet of flowers must mean something. She must be someone special.”

The old woman has a point. He wouldn’t be going out of his way to do all of this for you. He wouldn’t be trying to find you. He wouldn’t have the urge to talk to you, to get to know you more.

“I guess you’re right,” he slowly nods his head when everything slowly becomes clear for him. “Alright. Do you mind putting a bouquet together for a young woman that I’ve taken interest in? I want her to like me just as much as I like her.”

The old woman breaks out into a wide smile.

“Right away, sir.”

When the bouquet of white daisies and red tulips is wrapped and bundled together with a plastic wrap, Jaehyun pays for the old woman’s efforts and time before heading back to the restaurant across the road. But before he leaves the flower shop, the old woman gives him words of encouragement. He gives her two thumbs up and heads back.

The woman standing at the front eyes the bouquet of flowers in his hands when he enters. He places the bouquet on top of the counter. “I’m back.”

“You’re back, indeed.”

“Do you mind giving Y/N these flowers when he comes in tomorrow? You could place them in a vase to keep them fresh too.” He asks.

She nods her head. “Will do, chef.”

“Alright, thank you so much. I’ll head on out now—”

“Chef Jaehyun, are you sure you’re just going to give her the bouquet of flowers without a note?”

Shoot. He turns back around. “You’re right, I didn’t write a note.”

She slides over a stack of sticky notes and her own pen. “Here you go, chef.”

He grabs the stack of sticky notes and walks over to one of the tables for two. He plops his butt down onto one of the chairs and thinks about what to write and what type of note he wants to leave you. To him, it seems like he’s been sitting there for hours. There are so many things he wants to tell you, but he’ll have to say them one by one.

To Y/N,

I dropped by Doie in hopes of seeing you. Would love to meet and catch up with you over a cup of coffee. I miss hope that we could get in touch soon. On the back of the note is my number. Hope to hear from you soon.

Jaehyun

“A short video?”

The production team exchanges looks before nodding their head. Jaehyun has been called to have a meeting with one of the food companies that he helps endorse. The company is popular for their gluten-free food products. From gluten-free flour to gluten-free bread, the company most likely carries it. It was the first brand that Jaehyun endorsed mainly because he’s always been picky with his food, especially since his mother’s allergic to gluten.

“Yes! With Chef Y/N! It’s a promotion video for one of the new brands we’re carrying here at the supermarket. We’re planning on having the both of you shop around one of our supermarkets and use the groceries to create a dessert for Valentine’s Day.” One of the PR managers explains.

“Did Chef Y/N agree to do the video?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, she just got back to us this morning. She’s interested in doing the video.” Another PR joins the conversation.

“Great. I’ll do the video.”

Everyone looks at each other weirdly. That was such a fast response. They always had trouble negotiating with Jaehyun mainly because of his busy life. But this time, it was different.

“O-Oh? That’s perfect, chef!”

“When do we start?”

A couple of weeks later, you arrive at a supermarket that’s been closed off to the public until noon. It’s been a while since you last saw Chef Jaehyun. You were quite surprised to hear that he had decided to do the cooking video with you. You were even more surprised when the PR team had told you that the MasterChef viewers had voted for the two of you to collaborate for the video. As for the reasons why the viewers voted for the two of you specifically… you still have no idea.

“Chef Jaehyun will be arriving in a bit, he’s running late because of traffic.” The videographer informs you.

“No worries, I’ll keep myself busy in the meantime.” You smile, heading inside of the supermarket to take a look at the groceries.

You start off in the produce section, trying to see what you can come up with for the video. There are fresh large strawberries that you think would be perfect for chocolate-covered strawberries. After all, you and Chef Jaehyun are supposed to create a dish that would be perfect for Valentine’s Day. You try to look for other alternatives, steering away from doing the basics.

“Miss Y/N? Chef Jaehyun has arrived. He’s just outside of the supermarket.” One of the PR interns approaches you, almost startling you.

“Oh! Yes, alright, I’ll head on over with you right now.” You join her as you both walk back outside of the supermarket.

As you walk through the automatic doors, the first thing you spot is a tall figure standing a few meters away. He’s talking to the videographers and the PR interns who are telling him what they have planned for the video. You hesitantly approach them, mumbling a soft, “hello.”

When Chef Jaehyun turns towards you, you see his eyes slightly widen before a flame ignites within them. For a brief moment, you get lost in his eyes because you find yourself focusing more on trying to steady your fast heartbeat. When you come back to your senses, you’re the first to look away.

He clears his throat and you feel his shoulder brush against yours. “Nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

“Nice seeing you too, chef.” You mumble softly. Why do you feel shy?

“Are the two of you ready to start filming? From the scripts that we sent you, it’s going to be a casual type of video.” The videographer explains. “Just to briefly brush over what we have planned for the video, the two of you will be shopping for groceries that the company carries and sells and you will both cook up a dish together. It will be Valentine’s Day themed.”

The both of you slowly nod. “Are you ready?”

You look up to see Chef Jaehyun already looking down at you. You flash him a small, timid smile. “Ready, chef.”

“Perfect! Let’s start with the filming. Be yourselves and of course, have fun!” The videographer clasps his hands together and he pulls out his camera.

You brace yourself.

It’s going to be a long day, that’s for sure.

“Hello everyone, I’m Chef Jaehyun.”

“And I’m Chef Y/N.”

“And today, we’ll be shopping around for ingredients to cook up a meal that you could cook for your loved ones this Valentine’s Day.”

Chef Jaehyun pushes the cart while you look for some fresh fruits in the produce section. The two of you have agreed to cook two different dishes, a dessert and a main course. Chef Jaehyun will be in charge of the main course dish while you will be in charge of the dessert.

“To spice things up, we have a couple of questions to answer while we shop.” You begin while you’re grabbing a bag of raspberries.

“You’re going to play the couple game!” One of the PR interns says from her script. Your eyes almost bulge out of its sockets. You don’t remember a couple game written in the script. From the surprised look on Chef Jaehyun’s face, you don’t think he remembers it either. “We will give you two options and the both of you will answer on the count of three. Think of it as a compatibility game!”

“C-Couple game? Compatibility game?” Chef Jaehyun chuckles sheepishly.

“First question! Fried chicken or pizza? One… two… three!”

“Chicken.” You both answer in unison.

“Wow, the compatibility is strong right off the bat.” The PR intern giggles. “Next question! Snow or rain? One… two… three!”

“Snow.” You both answer in unison again.

“Wow, this must be fate.” The PR intern swoons. “Third question! Ice cream or cake? One… two… three!”

“Ice cream.” Chef Jaehyun answers.

“Cake.” You answer.

“The last few questions will only get interesting from here. Next question!” The PR exclaims. “Fall in love with your childhood best friend or fall in love with a celebrity! One… two… three!”

“Fall in love with your childhood best friend.” You both answer.

“Interesting. Next question!” The PR continues to read off of her list of questions. “Choose the one who likes me or choose the one I like the most? One… two… three!”

“The one that I like the most.” You both answer. The PR intern grins as if her mission was accomplished successfully.

After all of your horrible encounters with Chef Jaehyun, this was one of the few times that you were actually on the same page as him. The only times that you felt like he was on your side was when he begged you to stay in the competition and when he was your partner for semi-finals. You were slowly starting to forget about cold-hearted Chef Jaehyun, the perfectionist that loved to nitpick every single detail of yours. This side of Chef Jaehyun… is a side that you want to see often.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if you fell in love with him.

“Last question before we let you finish grocery shopping,” the PR intern snaps you out of your thoughts. “What are your ideal types?”

“I like someone who is easy to talk to, someone that I can communicate with without feeling embarrassed. It’s nice to have someone who’s transparent.” Chef Jaehyun is the first to answer the question.

“How about you, Chef Y/N?”

You think about it for a moment. You hum to yourself before shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t think I have an ideal type.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because I think that no matter what you like in a certain person, when you actually fall in love with someone, that person could be completely different.” You explain.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, Y/N.” Chef Jaehyun nudges you.

It’s an odd gesture, coming from him. You bite your lip, nudging him back.

“If there’s a hopeless romantic out of the two of us, it would be you, Chef Jaehyun.”

The PR intern chuckles.

“It would definitely be you, Chef Jaehyun, since you were born on Valentine’s Day!”

At the end of the shoot, you and Chef Jaehyun had insisted on cleaning up the kitchen before leaving the set. You’re busy washing the dishes and he’s busy putting the ingredients back into the cupboards and fridge. From the corner of your eye, you can see Chef Jaehyun leaning against the countertop, watching you. You almost drop the dishes into the sink, catching yourself right in time.

“How have you been?” You hear him ask.

You bite your lip. “I’ve been well, chef. You?”

“Better now that I’ve seen you again.”

You clear your throat, letting out a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m not sure how you want me to react to that, chef.”

“Did you… get them?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Get the…?”

“The flowers…?”

“Flowers…?” You place the dishes back into the hot bath before gasping. “Oh, right! The flowers! Yes, I got them. Thank you, Chef Jaehyun. You didn’t really need to.”

“I wanted to give you a gift since I heard that you’re planning on opening a diner,” he mumbles softly. Is he… blushing?

“It’s true.” You smile. “I’m going to make my mother’s dreams come true.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you.” He flashes you a smile. It’s a different smile. This time, you can feel the genuinity he’s expressing. It feels sincere. “Have you finalized a grand opening date?”

You turn off the faucet and wipe your hands with a towel. As you turn towards Chef Jaehyun, you don’t realize how close he’s been standing to you. You almost stumble back. Gulping nervously, you nod your head. “Sometime in July.”

“I’ll keep my schedules flexible in July, then. I’d love to join you for the grand opening.”

“Oh, you don’t need to, chef. I’m sure you’re busy with other things.”

“If it’s for you, why not?”

The two of you stare at each other. His eyes slowly trail down to your lips. You lick them out of instinct, frozen with your feet glued to the floor. As you fake a cough, he regains his focus and is the first to pull away from you.

“Jaehyun? We have to get going for your next schedule.” His manager calls out to him.

The two of you glance at each other. He gives you a look you can’t seem to read. Jaehyun doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay with you. He wants to spend more time with you. He’s aching to get to know you more. There’s a sense of urgency and neediness.

“You should get going, chef.” You mumble shyly. “Wouldn’t want to be late to your next schedule.”

What Chef Jaehyun does next completely catches you off guard. He ruffles your hair before caressing your cheek with the same hand. With widened and surprised eyes, your heartbeat picks up its pace. He smiles. It feels warm. He feels warm.

“I won’t be able to see you for a while but Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N. You don’t know how happy I am to see you again.”

When Chef Jaehyun’s figure gets smaller and smaller, your heart feels tighter and tighter. You’re not sure how Chef Jaehyun feels about you. But what you’re sure of is that you no longer despise Chef Jaehyun.

You’re slowly falling in love with him.

[NEW] COOK UP HEARTWARMING VALENTINE’S DAY DISHES W/ CHEF JAEHYUN AND MASTERCHEF CHAMPION Y/N 1.2m views | 56k+ likes | two days ago

COMMENTS:

[pinned comment] Chef Jaehyun Official: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone~ #chefjaehyunxYN should we do another video together?

pastrychef_amy21: omg is it just me or does anyone feel like chef jaehyun has a crush on chef y/n?? doggolover312 replied: omg I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE THAT NOTICED. luminescencexx replied: the way he looks at her >> get you a man like chef jaehyun ugh he’s handsome AND he cooks??? perfect package kjhdskjfh

galaxiesandstarsxo: they act like an old married couple sobs i always found their bickering cute since masterchef doggolover312 replied: but doesn’t chef jaehyun have a gf? i swear he did galaxiesandstarsxo replied: i think they broke up a long time ago? they were supposed to get married apparently… but something happened. they even unfollowed each other on socials doggolover312 replied: omg if that’s the case… chef y/n you still have a chance!!

It’s your last day helping out at Doie and it feels bittersweet to be leaving. Here, you close a chapter to open another one. You’ve been helping out in the kitchen at Doie for months, right after you had won MasterChef. The time you were at Doie is something you’ll cherish. But you’re moving on to make bigger moves, making you and your mother’s dreams come true as one of them.

On your last day of work, Chef Taeyong decides to surprise you with a visit. You’re in the middle of cooking up a dish when he arrives and asks you if the two of you could have a chat. You both find yourselves sitting in the loft that’s been closed to customers for the season.

“How have you been?” He asks.

You smile. “I’ve been well, chef. I’ve been enjoying every single day.”

He chuckles. “I can definitely see that you’re enjoying every passing day. You’re a MasterChef, after all.”

You cut right to the chase. “Am I in trouble, chef?”

“No, not at all. Far from it, actually.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to talk to you about something… or should I say, about someone.”

“Who?”

He snorts. “Jaehyun, of course. Have you seen him recently?”

“Yes, chef. We filmed a video together for Valentine’s Day with one of his sponsors—”

“Now that makes sense!” He exclaims. He sighs with relief. “He’s been acting incredibly weird lately. In fact, he’s been acting weird for the longest time, since MasterChef, and it’s been driving me nuts.”

“Chef Jaehyun? Acting weirdly?” You ask confusedly.

“How do I put this?” He sighs. “He likes you, Y/N. You may not think he does and he may not think he does either, but I see it. It’s crystal clear. It’s as clear as day.”

You fold over, bursting out into laughter. It’s the reaction he expected from you. He got the same exact reaction from Jaehyun. Complete disbelief. Complete obliviousness.

“Oh no, chef. I don’t think he likes me—”

“He does, Y/N.” Chef Taeyong cuts you off. “Listen, before his flight to Florence, his ex-girlfriend dumped him because she was cheating on him. Ever since then, Jaehyun has been such a cold-hearted person and worked his ass off. But I always felt that there was something off about him.”

“He got dumped before flying out to Florence?” You purse your lips into a tight line. “Maybe that’s why he was such in a bad mood when I spilled wine all over his shirt—”

“You both met each other before MasterChef?” Chef Taeyong flips out, eyes rounding like saucers. “In Florence, too?!”

“Yes…?”

“Makes sense.” He squints his eyes. “He kept talking about this restaurant, specifically about this waitress who somehow became a culinary intern—”

“That was me—”

“—and how he kind of regretted being so cold and rude to her because he truly saw potential and thought that she needed a boost of confidence—”

“He saw potential in me even back then—”

“—wait, the girl he was talking about was you?!” His jaw drops.

You slowly nod your head. “I was the waitress who spilled wine all over his shirt. I was the culinary intern who messed up his dish. All those horrifying encounters with Chef Jaehyun had led me to think that he absolutely hated me. He was blunt and honest, which made my unconfident self to join MasterChef to prove him wrong.”

“And you did.” Chef Taeyong smiles before it turns into a grin. “But Y/N, you got it all wrong.”

“I got it all wrong? How?”

“Jaehyun never hated you. He never disliked you.” He confesses. “In fact, it’s the complete opposite. Jaehyun’s a weird guy, I know.”

“H-How? I don’t—I don’t understand.” You scratch the back of your neck, face filled with confusion.

“When he told me about a waitress spilling wine all over his shirt, he laughed and said it was like fate was telling him to wake up.” He chuckles. “When he told me about a culinary intern messing up his dish, he couldn’t help but regret being harsh to the intern and wanted to go back but he already had to fly back to Seoul.”

You’ve never really thought of how your encounters with Chef Jaehyun looked through his point of view. Now that Chef Taeyong was laying it all out for you, you were slowly realizing that your low self-esteem and confidence caused you to immediately conclude that he hated you.

“Huh—”

“When you auditioned for MasterChef, Jaehyun actually wanted to say yes. In fact, he was the first one to say yes, but the producers of the show told him to say no to add more drama for the viewers.” He continues. “For your team challenge, Jaehyun was the one who spotted Euntae sabotaging your cake.”

“It was him?” You whisper.

He nods his head. “When we were deciding who to eliminate after your team lost the challenge, Jaehyun was proactive in convincing us to keep you in the competition. You were close to being eliminated but Jaehyun kept telling us that you had potential.”

He saw potential in you. He was persistent in keeping you in the competition. In the end, Chef Jaehyun really cared.

“I—”

“The day after I found out that Jaehyun stopped you from voluntarily withdrawing from the competition, I was curious as to how he managed to make you stay.” He smiles. “But when I looked at him look at you, I had already gotten the answer.”

You fall silent. Chef Jaehyun did everything to make sure that you felt like you were fit to be a chef. But you were just closed minded and immediately shut him down. All of his actions translated into intentions out of hate. You wish you had known, perhaps you would’ve developed a great friendship with him. You’re surprised he’s still coming back into your life to try at being friends with you after being so rude to him.

“I’ve worked with Jaehyun for many years. I know him so well. I can read him like a book. When I saw how Jaehyun looked at you that day, I felt relieved because I’ve never seen him like that for so long.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “If my best friend decides to pursue you, just know that he has good intentions and that it’s a huge step for him, especially after a heart crushing breakup.”

“That is, if he really likes me.”

“Oh trust me, honey, he does.”

Chef Taeyong lets out a sigh. The two of you stand there, looking out at the blue skies that overlook the busy streets of Seoul. Your life may be busy, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. You’re living out your dreams.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes, chef?”

“The reason why I dropped by was because I wanted to give you this.” He pulls out an envelope from a bag filled with many other identical envelopes.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Can I open it in front of you?”

He hums in reply. “Go ahead.”

As you open the envelope, you pull out a white card. It’s almost as if you could read his mind. As you slowly open the white card, you let out a gasp.

“You’re getting married?!”

THE GRAND OPENING.

It’s been a year since you won MasterChef. It’s also been a year since you started planning to start your own diner in memory of your mother. Mina’s Place. You decided to keep the name because it’s one of the few things that remind you of her. You even made sure the interior and exterior of the diner looked exactly how it did when the diner was still open. From the yellow seats and booths, the use of purple and lavender lighting to the gray tiled floors, you kept everything the same. The only difference is that the diner is located in a different area, right in the middle of busy Seoul.

Today is the grand opening of the diner and you’re expected to serve a large group of customers. PR and advertisement has been your best friend, but your appearance and your win at MasterChef drove the anticipation of the diner’s grand opening even further.

You arrive at the diner at six in the morning to prepare all of the ingredients. From the ingredients to the grapefruit and basil pie to the ingredients for your Korean brisket and kimchi burger, you had prepared them all on your own. It was only until eight that your co-chefs and waiters and waitresses had arrived to prepare for the grand opening. Around eleven-thirty, customers, Instagram influencers and foodies began to show up at the door, forming a long line around the strip.

“Chef Y/N?” One of the waitresses, Luna, pops her head through the door.

You’re crouching down, filling up the mini fridge with cartons of milk. You dust your hands off your apron and you slowly get up. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“Someone’s here to see you,” she flashes you a warm smile.

You look at her confusedly. “Are we missing someone on the team? I don’t remember anyone telling me that they were going to drop by—”

“It’s Chef Jaehyun,” Luna bites her lip. She’s biting back a huge smile.

Your eyebrows raise. Confused, you continue to gather yourself. Chef Jaehyun? “S-Sure, you can let him in.”

Luna leaves the kitchen to go fetch Jaehyun and you finish placing all the cartons of milk into the mini fridge. Moments later, you hear footsteps entering the kitchen. You stand back up, bumping your head against the table and groaning in pain. Crouching back down over the floor, you hear footsteps begin to scurry closer to you.

“Oh! Are you okay, Y/N?”

Before your hand touches the sensitive area, you already feel a familiar hand gently rubbing it to soothe the pain. You freeze up in your position, gulping nervously. Suddenly, Chef Jaehyun’s face is right in front of yours. He has a look of concern. Looking back at him with slightly widened eyes, your mind is completely wiped out of thoughts. What is this feeling? You’ve never felt this way before. You’ve never felt your heart beat so fast. You’ve never frozen up in front of someone. You’ve never lost your train of thought because of someone.

Seconds later, you clear your throat, pulling yourself away. You’ve finally come back to your senses. “Chef Jaehyun… I had no idea you were planning on dropping by—”

“I wanted to join you in the ribbon ceremony for the grand opening!” He exclaims.

He remembered? He knew it was today? You and Chef Jaehyun have never established some sort of friendship after the competition. You like to think that the both of you have achieved the status of being acquaintances, but definitely not the status of being friends.

“A-Ah,” you mumble softly. “Thanks, chef. You didn’t need to, I feel like it would be a bother and I’m sure you have other plans too—”

You’re not sure when things began to change. You’re not sure when the atmosphere began to shift between you and Chef Jaehyun. It’s almost as if you’re seeing a different person. He’s much brighter, nicer, happier. Why is it making your heart swell? What are his intentions?

“I wouldn’t miss the grand opening to Mina’s Place for anything else,” he says softly. “Hey, Y/N?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“I got you a present to congratulate you on the grand opening of Mina’s Place.”

“A present?” You blurt out. “Oh, no, Chef Jaehyun, you didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to.” He cuts you off. “Let’s go?”

For a brief moment, you see his hand reach out to grab yours but he quickly pulls away upon realization. The two of you are not that close for such skinship. When he realizes it, he looks back up at you with panicked eyes. Was he really going to hold your hand? You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from his. Instead, you both walk out of the kitchen side by side.

Sitting on one of the light brown hardwood tables is a lavender box wrapped with a thin white ribbon. You glance at Jaehyun as if asking for permission, he gestures to you to go right ahead. Gently untying the ribbon, you take the lid off the box. A small gasp escapes your lips.

Sitting inside the box is an apron, but it’s not your regular apron. The apron looks just like the one in your old family pictures. Yellow with white straps. It’s simple and clean. It’ll show the stains of your hard work. It’ll feel like home.

But when you pull it out, there’s one little difference to the design. There, embroidered in white on the top left corner, reads the words “Mina’s Place.” It looks just like your mother’s handwriting, the original font of the brand, and it makes your eyes well up with tears. For a brief moment, when you hold up the apron, you could imagine your mother standing right before you with it on.

“Chef, I—” You’re having trouble forming the right words to say.

“So she’ll be with you, right above your heart, every step of the way,” Jaehyun pauses for a moment, “Chef.” He gives you a smile so fond, you are again struck with disbelief.

Hearing the word ‘chef’ come from Chef Jaehyun is something you want to hear over and over again. You want it to play through your head like a broken record. Chef Jaehyun has always been hard on you, but you knew that he was only hard on you because he only wanted the best. Chef Jaehyun is always hard on everyone and you failed to notice that. He truly wants the best for the people he works with and most importantly, the people he teaches. Maturing is realizing that you were ignorant of Chef Jaehyun’s true intentions and immediately thought negatively of him because of your past encounters with him.

“D-Do you mind saying that again?”

“I’m proud of how far you’ve come, Chef Y/N. This is only the beginning.”

After a long first day of opening, you and your team of chefs and waiters and waitresses see the last customer out. The grand opening has been such a dream to you. There was a long line that wrapped around the block. The diner was packed with many people. The line never truly saw its end until an hour before closing. When the last customer walks out of the diner after complimenting how delicious their food was, you feel your legs give out and you sigh with relief. Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you head to the back kitchen to congratulate your team.

“And we are officially closed until tomorrow morning!” You exclaim. That is, until you spot a celebratory cake sitting right in front of you on the countertop. Your team of chefs and waiters and waitresses have their phones on and recording your surprised face. “Oh you guys, you shouldn’t have!”

“Congratulations on your grand opening, chef!”

Your eyes scan the kitchen. There’s Luna, a good friend of yours from university who worked as a waitress at a hotel restaurant. She quit her job in a heartbeat after you had offered her to work front of house with a better pay. Standing right next to Luna is Minhyuck, who just graduated from culinary arts college and has been wanting to get into the kitchen as soon as possible. You saw your younger self in him, which is why you hired him on your team. Right next to Minhyuck is Yena, a rookie pastry chef that’s planning on entering MasterChef and figured working with a MasterChef champion would help her. Next to Yena are Wheein and Dohyun, who are line chefs and also your co-culinary interns in Florence. Lastly, there’s Mark and Donghyuck, two best friends and college students who were looking to get jobs as waiters.

“You guys are going to make me cry.” You pout your lips.

“To Mina’s Place!” Mark exclaims.

“To Mina’s Place!” Everyone else exclaims.

You smile, leaning in to blow out the candles. Everyone cheers. But slowly, everyone puts down their phones and stops recording video. You look at them confusedly as they begin to flash you encouraging and cheeky smiles and grins.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that?” You ask.

“Well, would you look at the time, we should get going!” Dohyun looks down at his wristwatch, avoiding your question.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. My mom’s going to kill me!” Wheein is rushing to gather her things.

“Wheein is my carpool driver, so I should get going too.” Yena bites her lip.

One by one, everyone starts to leave the kitchen and the diner. When it’s just you, you slowly turn around to see Chef Jaehyun entering the kitchen. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck nervously. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Y-You’re still here, chef?” You question.

He nods his head. “I wanted to drop by and see your last customer out.”

“O-Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He smiles. “I was wondering if you could…”

He falls silent, having trouble finding the right words to come out. You stand there, expectantly, waiting for him to finish. The first thing you notice is how red Chef Jaehyun’s ears are becoming. The second thing you notice is how he can’t seem to look directly into your eyes. The third thing you notice is that… Chef Jaehyun has become shy and nervous around you. Have the tables turned?

“If I could…?”

“If you could teach me how to make the grapefruit and basil pie.” He blurts out and it comes out as a jumble of words.

You bite back a smile. “Are you going to steal my recipe and start selling grapefruit and basil pie at your restaurant?”

“Of course not,” he panics. “I would never do that.”

“I’m not sure if I could trust you,” you fold your arms, continuing to tease him. “Jaehyun.”

“I won’t,” he says softly, finally finding the courage to look into your eyes. When it sinks in that you called him by his name, his gaze softens. You feel your heart swell. “I promise. That is, if you promise me one thing too.”

“Of course,” you smile. “What is it?”

“You’ll accompany me to Taeyong’s wedding.”

“I’d love to, in fact, I was invited as well—”

“As my date.” He finishes. You almost choke on your spit.

Is this really happening? Jaehyun looks incredibly nervous. You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling so wide. You slowly nod your head in response.

“I’d love to, Jaehyun.”

THE ‘REAL’ FIRST TIME.

When Jaehyun’s parents pick him up from elementary school, it’s pouring showers outside. But the only thing that lit up the gloomy streets of Seoul was Mina’s Place, a diner that he and his parents would frequent every Friday to reward their efforts for the past week. Both of Jaehyun’s parents are well-known professors at Yonsei University, specifically in the culinary arts program. Jaehyun’s father was a chef alongside famous chefs like Baek Jongwon and Lee Yeonbok. Jaehyun’s mother was a pastry chef who was known for her win at a famous pastry competition back in her days.

And Jaehyun… was a mini chef in the making.

On a gloomy Friday afternoon, Jaehyun and his parents sit in their usual corner of Mina’s Place. A woman seeming to be in her late thirties heads over to their table with a menu. She’s wearing an apron and a chef’s hat.

“Welcome to Mina’s Place, what can I get you started for today?” The woman asks, pulling out her notepad after gently placing the menus down onto the red table.

“Hi Mina, we’d love to have the usual!” Jaehyun’s father exclaims. “That grapefruit and basil pie has never left my mind since the last time we were here.”

“That’s such a relief to hear…” The woman, whom Jaehyun now knows is Mina herself, sighs with relief. She writes it down in the notepad along with his mother’s order. She clicks her pen before stuffing it into the pocket of her yellow apron. “I’ll have your orders ready in a bit. In the meantime, make yourselves at home!”

Jaehyun’s eyes wander around the diner. Although this diner was the place he and his parents would frequent, this diner was extra special for a reason. That reason being that his parents got engaged right in front of the diner while it was owned by different owners. During that time, the diner wasn’t Mina’s Place yet, it was a fast-food restaurant.

Jaehyun’s attention is disrupted when Mina comes back to their table with their orders. His eyes land on the little girl standing right beside her. She has such large innocent eyes. She looks curiously at him. She seems to be somewhere around his age. She’s sporting a mini apron that looks exactly like Mina’s.

“And who is this cute little girl?” He hears his mother ask Mina.

Mina places her hand on the little girl’s shoulder, bringing the little girl closer to her. She cuddles against Mina. “This is my daughter. Her name is Y/N.”

“How old is she?” His mother continues to ask questions out of curiosity.

“She’s ten.” Mina pinches her daughter’s cheek.

“Oh, she’s two years younger than Jaehyun!” His father joins in the conversation. “They could be friends!”

Jaehyun makes eye contact with the little girl. She looks up at her mother before looking at both of his parents. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she looks back at him and sticks out her tongue. He feels taken aback, eyes slightly widening.

“I think they would get along quite well!” Mina smiles. “Doesn’t little Jaehyun want to be a chef when he grows up?”

“He does,” his mother nods her head. “Does Y/N want to be a chef as well? Take after you?”

“She sure does! They could even go to culinary school together! Maybe go to a cooking competition or something!”

Friends? Jaehyun scoffs, sending a glare at the little girl. They have an intense staredown. To the adults, it looks like they’re staring at each other because they have crushes on each other. But in reality, Jaehyun’s having a staredown with the little girl because she provoked him. He pokes his tongue at her in return. Her eyes widen as if she did not expect him to put up a mini fight. They could even go to culinary school together? There’s no way that that’ll happen. Cooking competition? Absolutely no way.

“I think my little daughter here has a crush…”

“Jaehyun, sweetie, isn’t Y/N so pretty? You can’t seem to stop staring at her.”

THE REALIZATION OF (MANY) THINGS.

“That was you?!”

“I can’t believe that was you!”

Sitting by the water fountain, you and Jaehyun talk about your real first encounter with each other when you were kids. From the outside of the reception venue, you can hear the DJ playing a remix of cha cha slide and the guests chanting along. Taeyong’s wedding has been memorable. It was nice to see one of your mentors getting married to the love of his life. Not only that, but you’ve been having a great time with Jaehyun. Since it was getting quite stuffy inside the venue, you and Jaehyun decided to stroll around the garden outside to get some fresh air.

“You know, sometimes I think that we’ve always had fateful encounters.” Jaehyun begins. He’s aching to hold your hand. But he knows that he wants to take things slow and carefully. He’s so in love with you that he doesn’t want to mess this up.

“Fateful encounters? What makes you say that?” You ask.

“I came out of a horrible breakup before flying to Florence to run a restaurant with Taeyong. It was such a huge coincidence to have a beautiful woman spill expensive wine all over my shirt.” He chuckles.

You jokingly glare at him. “It was an accident.”

“I know, I know.” He waves it off. “It was an even more big of a coincidence to have the same beautiful woman serve me a dish at the same restaurant.”

“Makes sense.” You nod your head in agreement. “And then we met again at MasterChef but I was a contestant and you were the judge.”

“You know, when I heard that you were withdrawing from the competition, it was like my entire world was crashing down.” He says softly. “It was like I was reminded of all the times I’ve met you and how I couldn’t let you go. I had a feeling that there must’ve been a reason why I met you after getting dumped by my ex-girlfriend.”

“But you showed me that it’s worth working hard and that it’s worth chasing your dreams.” You smile. “I haven’t thank you yet for that but... thank you, Jaehyun. If it weren’t for you, I would probably fly back out to Florence and pick up another job as a waitress.”

“And yet, I would still look for you.” He confesses. “If somehow you stuck with your decision of withdrawing, I would’ve still looked for you, no matter how far the distance.”

“Really?” You whisper.

He smiles. “Yes. I mean, how could I forget the beautiful woman that spilled expensive wine all over my shirt?”

You playfully slap his arm. “You’re really going to tease me for that for the rest of my life, huh?”

“Of course, if only you allow me to be with you for a long time.” He says and it slowly turns into a soft, shy mumble. “Agh, this is so hard!”

You quirk an eyebrow. He’s turning away from you, throwing a cute little fit. “What’s so hard?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something but I keep getting nervous because you look—” He stops himself. “You look so pretty and whenever I look at you, I lose my train of thought and all of the things I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

“What is it that you need to tell me?”

“Our fateful encounters.” He begins to tell you, with his back facing you because he’s too nervous to look at you. “After MasterChef, I did everything I could to find you, to see you, to get to know you more. When Doyoung told me that you were going to be working at his restaurant for a while, I kept visiting in hopes to see you but you weren’t there.”

“You did?”

“Yes, which is why I gave you those flowers!” He exclaims. “And then when we were asked to shoot that Valentine’s Day video, I agreed to do it in a heartbeat when I found out that you were going to be joining the project.”

“Oh...”

“It used to be so easy to look for you because of all of our fateful encounters. But after MasterChef, it’s become a mission to find you. But now that I’ve finally found you again, I knew that I couldn’t let you go no matter what.”

“Jaehyun...” You trail off.

He sucks in a deep breath before slowly turning back around to face you. “Y/N, I hope you know what I’m trying to say, where I’m trying to get at with this... but...”

“But?” You have a feeling you know what he’s going to tell you, but you would rather wait for it to spill past his lips.

“I’m—” He begins before looking down at your feet. His eyebrows raise in shock and he lets out a small gasp. “Oh, you’re wearing them.”

You almost want to curse at your two feet for ruining the moment. You look down at your heels that you’ve chosen to wear to the wedding. It’s the pair of heels that Alessandro had given to you when you broke your heels after tripping over yourself and spilling wine all over Jaehyun.

“These heels? Yeah, I was given—”

“You’re wearing the heels that I gave you.” He cuts you off.

“You were the one who gave these?” You whisper.

His eyes meet yours and he chuckles, nodding his head. “Of course. When you got back up after tripping over, I noticed that your heels broke and so I stopped by one of the shops along the strip to get you a new pair. I think I dropped it off with Alessandro because I was running a bit late to—oof!”

“It was you. It’s always been you. This entire time.” You crush him with a hug. He’s caught off guard and sits there in shock for a brief moment before melting into your embrace.

He slowly pulls away and grabs your hands. “As I was saying...”

“As you were saying...” You continue.

“With all our fateful encounters... with those pair of heels... with all of the times I’ve crossed paths with you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way in so long.” He continues. “Y/N, I’m so in love with you. I’m already so nervous telling you this right now, especially while holding your hands. I just wanted you to know that I have feelings for you and you could completely reject me, I understand—”

“I’m in love with you too, Jaehyun.”

“Really?” He whispers, still in shock. “You’re giving me a chance?”

“Only if you give me a chance.” You chuckle.

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Y/N.”

“You don’t know how much I want to make you happy, Jaehyun.”

WELCOME TO THE NEW SEASON OF MASTERCHEF.

“For today’s challenge, we will be recreating Y/N’s most famous dish!”

All of the contestants let out gasps when you step onto the stage to join the three chef judges. The judges for the new season of MasterChef remain the same; Chef Taeyong, Chef Jaehyun, and Chef Doyoung. After having them beg you to guest on the show, you decided to give it a shot.

“For today’s challenge, you will be recreating my famous dish of a deconstructed basil and grapefruit pie.” You smile. “To start this challenge, let us all gather around the front so that you could learn how to master your own deconstructed pie!”

You begin by making your way towards the demo station where you will be showing the contestants how to make your famous pie. Everyone joins in and gathers around you to get a glimpse of how to make your famous pie themselves. Standing on the stage a couple of metres behind you are the three judges, you watch you begin your demo.

Jaehyun folds his arms and lets out a happy sigh. Taeyong glances at him and quirks an eyebrow. “I wonder who that beautiful woman is cooking at the demo table over there.”

Taeyong snorts and rolls his eyes. “Jaehyun, that’s your girlfriend.”

Jaehyun chuckles, nodding his head. “Oh right... she is. That’s my girlfriend—actually, my fiance.”

“Your what? Since when? H-How—” Doyoung and Taeyong share shocked looks while Jaehyun digs into the pockets of his jeans to pull out an engagement ring. Your engagement ring, to be exact.

“Since last night.” He holds up your engagement ring in one hand and shows his engagement ring that he’s wearing on his other. “She doesn’t like cooking with her engagement ring so I’m just holding it for her.”

“Dude...” Taeyong clenches his chest.

Jaehyun snorts. “Dude...”

“Wow, I’m really the only one left that’s single, huh?” Doyoung sighs.

The two chefs comfort him by patting his back.

“She’ll come around soon, Doyoung. You just gotta be patient.”

“You never know, she’ll be a chef too!”

“Chef Jaehyun?”

The three of them shift their attention back to the contestants. You’re the one calling out to Jaehyun. He quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, Chef Y/N?”

“A couple of the ladies here are wondering if you’re single,” you chuckle.

Jaehyun shares a knowing look with you. “Well, I hate to disappoint but I just got engaged to the love of my life.”

They let out sad sighs and groans before everyone gets back to learning how to make your famous pie. Taeyong smirks.

“You’re breaking so many hearts right now, Jaehyun.”

💌 author’s note. she’s FINALLY here 😩 again, i apologize for keeping this off for such a long time. i’ve been super busy with school and just life in general. to everyone who’s been super understanding and patient, thank you so much. from the bottom of my heart, i sincerely thank you for waiting for such a long time. i also wanted to thank @sehunniepotwrites for hearing me voice out my frustrations and all of my excitement throughout writing this fic. nikki truly saw all of the emotions that i’ve experienced and gone through while writing chef!jae. i remember always wanting to write a chef!jae fic and bring chef!jae to life, but there was a lot of pressure and the feeling of doubt.. i felt like i had to do it justice and the fear of not writing it to the best of my ability (esp with me being a perfectionist), it was something that held me back from finishing this fic. but i managed to pull through and i realized that it doesn’t matter, what matters is that i enjoyed writing this fic and if that feeling of enjoyment can be felt through those who read it, that’s more than enough for me. but anyways before this gets longer, thank you so much for reading!

and as always, feedback and comments are always appreciated!

taglist (some of the tags didn’t work so if u didn’t get the notif, i’m sorry!): @anya-writes-stuff @swifterauhl @tyongblr @alwaysthefirstsight @doyoungsmovingcastle @pinkyzae @sunshinein17 @jaehyunnie77 @dreamycomets @seventeeneration @srutz @coupsiesluv @nctdom @moonchele @freshprunecowboyapricot @chimmybaek7 @forhaever @ten10vly @fluffyjaes @gyujaehyun @so-showme-ill-shownu @winniet @yipyipmorals

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jaetaimjadore · 2 years

Text

doublure d’argent | l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Genre: strangers to co-workers to lovers, fashion designer!reader, magazine columnist!Taeyong, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, PG-15

Warnings: profanity, slow burn, ANGST, mc is the classic bitch-turned-agreeable kinda character, Taeyong is kinda shallow at first, allusions to sex (nothing explicit), mc has hair long enough to tie up, sexual innuendos, kissing, toxic behaviour from aHEM certain individuals, inaccurate depictions of the fashion industry, food and alcohol consumption, Taeyong shirtless at times

Word count: 48.3k

Synopsis: You’re the renowned founder and fashion designer of Argent, the luxury fashion label known best for its one too many silver linings across the world’s hottest runways. With New York Fashion Week around the corner and your latest collections fresh on the racks, you’re certain to have buyers grovelling at your star-studded heels. But when fake news spreads like a wildfire and your top model pulls out at the last minute, you’re left with no choice but to hire a wide-eyed stranger with an unusual penchant for toast.

a/n: so this was supposed to be 17k...aNYWAYS, four long months and it finally dropped *claps everywhere* !! this fic is laced with all forms of angst so please excuse the sheer amount of it! A huge thank you to @intotheneozone for beta-reading it in its initial stages (even though she barely knew me at the time, god bless)!!! Also just as a heads up CFDA stands for Council of Fashion Designers of America. I really hope you enjoy the fic, and I worked super duper hard on it so feedback would be greatly appreciated :))

I. …boyfriend?

Some people say you’re the embodiment of magic, able to mastermind a rough image into the finest cashmere sweater, turn a quick sketch into flowing spools of chiffon. Some say you’re the world’s next Coco Chanel, with high-end collections wooing the fancy of every rehearsed critic sitting at the foot of the catwalk; the cat that never fails to catch their tongues and stun them speechless. And some people may just call you a stubborn bitch – actually, most do; uncompromising to all forces of the universe so long as your expensive little stilettos are able to carry all that heavy rage.

It’s a real wonder how you’ve only managed to break two pairs so far…or perhaps a third now, as you sit in the back seat of your car, Louboutins jabbing furious holes into the mat beneath them as your jaw spasms in anger.

“What do you mean, the seams came undone? If they came undone, fix them!” you snap frustratedly at your executive assistant, thumb and forefinger digging at your temples as he delivers the horrifying news over the phone.

“Y/n, listen-”

“No, Ten, you listen to me. That coat is Argent’s signature for the fall collection. I want those seams fixed and spotless by six o’clock sharp, and if the tailor can’t do that, fire him and find someone who can.”

Ten sighs over the line, your stern voice stunning him to a silence.

“Don’t waste my time again,” you leave him no room to answer, cutting the call.

What a joke. Can’t even fix a simple seam slip.

You eye the Rolex watch on your wrist, deflating into the leather seat. You sink in so deep that the stillness of the car’s engine becomes all too noticeable among the raucous honking outside. Your nose scrunches at the pungent odour of diesel that floats around the air, head turning towards the tinted window that tucks you safely away from the bustling streets of New York Times Square, a place where time remains static, but the world never ceases.

“Charlie, how much longer now?” you speak impatiently to your driver, eyes narrowing at the heavy traffic ahead, cursing all the motionless cars that widen the distance between you and your destination. You’re going to be late for your Harper’s Bazaar photoshoot, and you’re not an ounce bit pleased about it.

He respectfully meets your eyes through the rear-view mirror. “Not long now, miss. Fifteen minutes if the traffic pulls through.”

His words have you pinching the bridge of your nose, teeth grinding together as you attempt to breathe in slowly, hoping the gesture dampens the temper bubbling at your throat. “Do try and hurry up,” you strain out.

“Yes, Miss.”

If there was one thing everyone ought to know about you, it’s that whatever you say is whatever goes. It’s a simple rule, a power you’ve come to possess as director and head designer of your world-class fashion label, Argent.

Things haven’t always been this smooth, however. What the world doesn’t realise is that the person they see – the person you show them – is merely the glistening tip of a cold, submerged iceberg.

It was years ago when you’d left your expensive home, when you’d escaped the vile clutches of what most people would call family. Yours was the textbook definition of everything your friends ever wanted but everything you could never stand. Your family wasn’t a family at all, but a lost cause. Comprised of a runaway father, and a controlling cougar of a mother, whose cheap excuses did nothing but blind her conscience from the blatant fact that she couldn’t do the one job all mothers are supposed to do right.

Paris. You’d taken a one-way ticket into its pulsing heart. It had welcomed you warmly, was there for you when you’d stepped off that plane with two suitcases and a pocket full of cash. While your parents chose neglect, Paris chose you; helped you find your footing among the scrappy sequins and calloused muslin.

From there, you’d clawed your way up the viperous ladders of the fashion industry, one fine sketch at a time, until New York beckoned you with its ritzy finger.

Recognition was never an easy feat, and critics never ceased with their petty down-talk. But none of it ever compared to your mother. You’d taken the harsh blows and dealt with all the world’s criticisms that told you to give up and that you’d never make it. Hard work eventually bred success and before you knew it, you had indeed, made it. You had built Argent from the ground up, gained fame and fortune through its name and earned your rightful place in the industry. Now, you’re prowess personified. A bat of your eye has your employees cowering in fear, every trend-setting design has your competitors green with envy, and every hand-stitched item has expensive bidders falling to their knees in front of you.

So yes, people may call you a bitch.

But you’re the bitch that keeps the fashion world turning.

“We’ve arrived, Miss Y/l/n.” The car comes to a halt outside a lavish stone building with HB spelt in bold, black letters. You eye the structure from above the frame of your sunglasses with a smile, always impressed by the certain statement exuding through its walls. But your smile only lasts so long – and you’re sure to have aged five full years – as your gaze travels to the horde of blinding cameras that begin to flash from meters always.

You sigh at the sight, muttering an offhand, “Wish me luck, Charlie,” before stepping out onto the sidewalk with the help of a security guard, hand rising to shield yourself from the bright flashing and frantic yelling of your name coming from every which direction.

Being a celebrity fashion designer has always meant fame and fortune come at both name and face value. The paparazzi doesn’t faze you however – by now, you’ve all but harboured their constant buzzing into your daily routine – but they are a royal pain in the ass, tailing your every move to fulfil their quota of shots.

Oh, the perils of being famous.

With one hand wrapped around your Céline handbag and the other tucked fashionably into the pocket of your Burberry trench, you strut right ahead, the security guard tailing behind as you mentally rehearse the drill you’re all too accustomed to by now: straight posture, head down, ignore the questions, smile for every sixth camera, and don’t. Stop. No matter. What.

You follow the drill until the air once more smells clean and your heels echo loudly against the polished lobby tiles, the yelling and flashes another memory held off by the glass doors. You send the security guard a thankful nod before ripping off your sunglasses and scanning the reception area. The pathway from there to the dressing room falls nothing short of memory as you head straight for the elevators to the twelfth floor.

When the doors ding open, you’re greeted with the busy scene of HB staff setting up the photoshoot area; stylists pushing racks of designer clothing in and out of doors, while photographers position their cameras and softboxes around a white paper backdrop.

Now, this is more like it.

You smile as you see Seulgi, the head photographer, approaching from across the room with a large, expensive camera strapped around her neck. “Miss Y/l/n, happy new year! It’s a pleasure to have you back! How are you?” She greets you with two formal pecks.

“Happy new year. I’ve been well, thank you for inviting me again. And please, call me Y/n.”

She nods politely, leading you past all the chatter and commotion, picking up a bright red suit along the way with a sparkly silver strip along one of the blazer’s lapels.

They did their research, you think inwardly.

Silver lines are your signature emblem; every article of haute cotour produced by Argent has at least one visible strip of silver on a given part.

You’d first thought of the idea after hearing your French mentor speak the words ‘chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent’; the French counterpart for the common saying every cloud has a silver lining.

Ever since then, you’d adopted the saying in every aspect of your life, went as far as naming your brand after the phrase – argent being the French word for silver – and added your own little twist to it. Now, every cloth has a silver lining. And though you still can’t pinpoint exactly why you were originally so smitten by the phrase, one thing you’re sure of is the comfort that blooms when you speak it aloud; a comfort that can’t be brought by anything or anyone else. A comfort that radiates a certain hope when all feels lost.

As your eyes travel down the sparkly silver line along the red suit, that feeling washes over you like a warm shower on a cold winter’s day.

“The makeup team is ready when you are.” Seulgi stops in front of a black door at the far end of the room, handing the suit over as you enter.

You hook it on clothing rack inside, taking a moment to absorb the soft cream walls and the vinyl flooring beneath you.

“Gosh, it’s been a while,” you murmur aloud.

This is the first photoshoot you’ve had in four months, having been buried neck-deep in preparations for New York Fashion Week. If you had it your way, you’d be the only designer on your team. But as the universe would have it, running a world-class fashion label requires hundreds upon hundreds of workers – other designers, fabric researchers, tailors, seamstresses, retail marketers; the whole damn lot. As the head of Argent, it has been your number one priority in these formative months to ensure that every item of clothing – every little stitch and work of embroidery – is perfectly pristine for the runway.

New York Fashion Week is no walk in the park, so imaginably, this is always the busiest time of year for you. But luckily enough, Argent only hires the best of the best in all fields, so majority of the preparations have gone rather smoothly, with your fall and winter collections fast approaching the green light. Now, with less than five weeks remaining until D-day, you’ve finally been able to pick one of the many magazine invites that had been collecting dust in your mailbox.

After changing and having the hair and make-up team work their magic on you, you’re soon posing in front of the white backdrop under Seulgi’s direction.

“Shoulders back a little…tilt your head just a bit…okay, that’s great!” She bends slightly, clicking a few shots the new angle while striking up small talk. “So, how’s work been treating you lately?”

“Stressfully so,” you sigh with a breathy chuckle.

“Hmm, I can tell.”

You give her a questioning look. You don’t really care much for the stress; it comes with the job. But when people outside your company walls can tell you’re stressed, that’s where it becomes a real issue.

“You look tense.” Seulgi lowers the camera to look straight at you. “Try and loosen up a little. Think of something nice.” She snaps another picture. “Like your boyfriend.”

You freeze.

Boyfriend?

What boyfriend?

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?” you ask, posture slagging with your incredulous expression.

Needless to say, you don’t have a boyfriend. Hell, you can barely fit in time for yourself, let alone a man who wants to eat up the precious minutes of your day. Your career is far more important to you – it’s the sum of your life’s efforts – and a boyfriend would only be an obstacle in your way. Not to mention your public image would be in shambles if the tabloids ever heard of a romantic connection.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” You clarify rather rudely, still confused as to how Seulgi came to that conclusion.

It’s then that her expression drops. “Oh no.”

“What?” you spit out dubiously, eyes narrowing as she motions to another staff member, who hands her a magazine. “What is it?”

You find yourself suspiciously beckoned by the gaudy paper in her hands, cautiously stepping closer and snatching it from her fingers to read over glossy front page with horrified eyes.

EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS: THE CATWALK’S HOTTEST NEW ITEM! Y/N Y/L/N SPOTTED COSYING UP TO TOP MODEL JUNG JAEHYUN OVER PASTA AND PINOT. IS THIS THE COUPLE WE’VE ALL SECRETLY BEEN WAITING FOR? Read more on page 26

As if on instinct, you feel the harsh grind of teeth behind your red lips, jaw locking as your eyebrows furrow, scanning over the words one, two, three times over.

What the fuck is this?

You turn to Seulgi who visibly shrinks in fear at your piercing gaze. “What is this?”

“It’s all over the tabloids,” she replies nervously.

The room is silent, save for the crisp crumpling of the page in your tightening fist. You inhale deeply, try to maintain your rapidly exhausting composure in front of the dozens of people around you. “It’s fake news,” you grit out, eyeing each and every one of them with an expression that screams and don’t you dare believe otherwise.

You turn back to Seulgi. “I need to leave.”

She nods anxiously, absentmindedly fiddling with her camera. “I understand. Thank you for your time.”

You reply with a firm nod, rushing to change back into your previous clothes and hastily making your way to the elevator. The floors seem to go by slower than ever as you impatiently call your driver to pull up outside the building, head running a mile a minute with your disordered thoughts. You don’t have half the mind to care about the cameras as you charge through them seconds later, slamming the car door shut as soon as you sit inside. The traffic outside has died down since earlier; something you couldn’t be more thankful for as you urge Charlie to speed off while hurriedly dialling Ten’s number.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Ten, arrange an urgent board meeting for this evening. Make sure Jaehyun and his agent are there too.”

“But you have a model inspection durin-”

“NOW!”

─── ⪧ ⪦ ───

“What the hell is this?”

The conference room pulses with the anger coursing through your veins as you glare at the dozen frightened heads seated in front of you, tossing the five magazines in your hands across the long, polished table.

If becoming a fashion designer was your first tribulation, this comes close second.

A scandal.

Seulgi wasn’t wrong when she said the rumour had made it all over the tabloids. Us Weekly, Hello, People, Grazia; you’re plastered on the front cover of every celebrity gossip magazine.

Having witnessed your fair share of celebrity guises gone wrong, you’ve long determined that your reputation precedes you before anything else does. As such, up until this point you’ve managed to keep a clean slate with the public eye, always cautious not to be seen with anyone in a romantic light or speculated to have engaged in risky behaviours. And if for whatever reason you were, your public relations team has always been prompt in striking deals with the press before the release of any absurd articles.

So, where the fuck were public relations this time?

“Did you know about this?” You turn your hard gaze to Jaehyun, who sits at the other end of the table with his agent, arms crossed over his chest as he shakes his head in confusion.

Jung Jaehyun is the highest ranking male model of SM Agency – one of the most elite modelling agencies in the world. He’s also the representative model of Argent, the face of your advertisements and the finale walker at all runway events. After you, he’s Argent’s attention-grabber, and if your judgement sits correct, that’s precisely the reason the scandal is blowing up so vastly.

A relationship between a designer and her top model is one of the biggest taboos in the industry. It isn’t something unheard of, but it does cast a shameful light of ineptitude on even the most talented of people – though you have to admit you would also be disgusted at yourself if the rumours were true.

Which they aren’t.

You had simply met up with Jaehyun the day before to discuss some outfit alterations over dinner. And though you are friendly with each other, that dinner was strictly business. No romantic feelings whatsoever.

“May I suggest suing?” your public relations advisor, Doyoung, suggests from beside you, inspecting the magazines laid out in front of him with slitted eyes.

You pause at his words, the idea sounding a little too tempting. Even more so considering you’re more than capable of making it happen.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Irene, Jaehyun’s agent, speaks up from across the room. “The writer remains anonymous, and we don’t know the original publisher. On another note, the rumours would only appear true if we started suing every gossip magazine out there.” She looks between the two of you, eyes pointed and snake-like. “Both of your reputations are on the line here. We can’t risk making matters worse by feeding theatrics. Especially not right before NYFS,” she turns to you.

By this point you’re just about ready to pick up the leather chair in front of you and launch it at the windows, but instead, you take a seat on it to dampen the urge, shaking your head in disbelief. What the hell were you supposed to do in a situation like this? Speaking against the press would falsely push the rumours to the affirmative, and remaining silent would do the exact same…or perhaps even worse.

Doyoung huffs frustratedly beside you, tossing down the magazines with a loud smack and eyeing Irene seriously. “What else would you suggest then?”

You look up expectantly, feeling the ripples of anxiety in your chest descend into tidal waves, waiting to crash over you as you wish for Irene to announce an oh-holy solution to this mess. You’ve seen the consequences that come with such rumours, watched other designers undergo merciless removal from fashion shows and even their place in the CFDA. But you’ve worked far too hard, stayed up endless nights in your office and on calls – planning, altering, reviewing, discussing the fate of your fall-winter collections. If you’re removed from New York Fashion Week, you can kiss your precious reputation goodbye along with all of Argent’s high-paying bidders. Now all you can hope is the defamation dies down as quickly as it had come.

“I think I should pull out from the show.”

The tidal wave crashes over you, drenching every fibre in your body with the abrupt snap of your neck towards Jaehyun.

“Excuse me?” you sputter out, the shock of his words cascading through you as he clasps his fingers on the table.

“The rumours started when we were seen together. It’s more likely than not they’ll die down if I distance myself from Argent…at least until after the show.” He looks to his agent. “Irene?”

“He’s right.” Her nod of approval brings down with it a heavy air that expands throughout the suffocating silence of the room. You feel it grabbing at your throat as you turn towards Ten and Doyoung, who to your dismay, both nod back warily.

“But he’s my top model.” Your tightly collected knot slips with the loud slam of your hands against the table, voice raising in a shroud of panic. “He’s the final walker of the show, he’s supposed to end-”

“Well, there won’t be any show if this escalates any further,” Irene interrupts, the loud echo of her voice strumming at the nerves growing deep inside you. “It’ll only be temporary. We’ll have to release a public statement in the coming weeks, and until then not a word should get out to the press.”

You back down, sighing heavily, head shoving into the cold heels of your palms, searching for any form of comfort as it dawns on you that for the first time in your years at the top of the fashion chain, you’re feeling absolutely helpless.

“Is there no other way?” You want to rebuke yourself for the way you look around the room with a new state of vulnerability swirling through your eyes. These are the people you’re supposed to be bossing around, not searching hopelessly for a solution to save your backside. But somewhere in your mind, you know that throwing a temper-tantrum would only push you towards wrong side of the spectrum. You’re the victim here; you’re the one in need of help. But when nobody answers your desperate plea, all you’re left to do is stand from your seat, gulping down the worry with a deep breath.

Losing your top model is better than losing a year’s worth of effort. It isn’t something you suppose, but rather something you’re forced to accept as you look toward Jaehyun with a final sigh. “Jung Jaehyun, you are temporarily dismissed.”

II. The Grand Toast

Lee Taeyong is a simple man.

He has all but three passions in life; money, writing and toast. And though he’ll never admit it, these three passions are also his three greatest weaknesses, stemming all the way back from his humble beginnings.

Taeyong had lived most of his life in uncertainty, grew up in a little rustic household along the outskirts of New York. Money was always the biggest scarcity; the biggest if that plagued his juvenile mind in times of solitude. He still remembers living pay cheque to pay cheque, watching his mother wake at the crack of dawn to work four tireless jobs; wondering whether or not she’d go to bed with a full stomach that night.

Taeyong remembers seeing the colour drain from his father’s eyes day by day. His old man was a struggling journalist, who spent his tireful days sitting at his old wooden desk surrounded by more piles of crumpled paper than profitable works.

“Don’t ever be a writer, son. You’ll waste your life away.” Taeyong’s father had often spoke these words to him. They were well-meaning in nature, this much Taeyong knew. But nothing could have stopped him from falling in love with the wonderful world of writing and pop culture.

As a child, Taeyong was never granted the luxury of scuffing classroom floors with the spiffy sneakers all his friends wore. He never had the chance to dine at fancy restaurants or drive the hottest wheels, rather learning to enjoy such indulgences through the tall stack of out-seasoned comics and magazines that laid in corner of his room.

Typewrite somehow possessed a certain magic that material possessions never could.

Each night, with delicate hands, Taeyong would dive into each page – every one of them; not a single page went overlooked. And while his body rested in the corner of his room on his twin-sized bed, his mind would drift wild through the boundless limits of his imagination. If he was lucky, his mother would be home early. She’d lull Taeyong from his daydreams with a soft kiss to his temple, and hand him a cool plate with warm slice of buttered toast. This was the most affordable gesture of love he had ever known.

But to this day, his father’s words still linger in the back of his mind every now again.

You’ll waste your life away.

Taeyong tips back the glass flute that now rests between his warm fingers, hissing contentedly at the sweet tingle of pinot that lingers on his tastebuds. He finds a certain comfort in the velvet chair beneath him in this moment, feeling blithe amidst the pleasant murmur of other patrons and the smooth jazz that dampens the tinkling cutlery around the restaurant.

Sorry dad, he thinks to himself, a wry smile forming at his lips.

He had found his calling in journalism years ago, mastering his skills to the point of being offered a columnist job at Luxe, one of New York’s most infamous magazine editorial firms. Since then, he’d expanded his horizons, pitching in on articles in all imaginable sections of a magazine, including – but not limited to – news headlines, home and leisure segments, entertainment issues and even gossip columns.

And with his gracious salary, money no longer became an incessant worry, but a prize for Taeyong; a prize he’d stop at nothing for, so long as it kept filling in his bank account.

“Everyone, I’d like to make a toast.” Taeyong turns a relaxed gaze to his boss, Heechul, who stands in the dim lighting of the restaurant, clinking a dessert fork to the wine glass in his hands and eagerly glancing around the large table that seats the Luxe editorial team. Grinning widely, he raises his glass in Taeyong’s direction. “A toast to the one and only, Mr Lee Taeyong.”

The table erupts in a loud fit of cheers and whistles at the mention of the name, bursting through the once soft ambience of the restaurant. Taeyong smiles, bowing his head bashfully at the pats and nudges he receives from his colleagues.

This isn’t the kind of toast his mother would make him, but it’s a toast, nonetheless.

“This man,” Heechul gestures to him, “is the anonymous genius behind the recent exposé of Y/n Y/l/n and Jung Jaehyun. His article has broken Luxe’s weekly advertisement and subscription records by three, and I repeat, three full times our average sales.” He sets his glass down, shaking his head dramatically. “Give him a round of applause, everyone.”

Taeyong covers his ears, laughing along as the hollers grow almost deafening among the resonating claps that bounce around through the shiny glassware. The article is the first he’s ever published about fashion figures, and he can’t be prouder of himself than to have broken records with it.

The notion embraces him with the one thing he’s always been dreaming of: certainty. Certainty of his job and abilities, certainty of his money, certainty of his life.

“Why don’t you say a few words, eh?” Heechul sits down as the cheering quietens.

Taeyong nods respectfully, reluctantly pushing out his chair to stand up. “Well, uh,” He clears his throat. “I guess I’ll start by saying a huge thank you to every single person here for their endless support and encouragement on this segment. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass…a lot of the time,” he snorts with a small laugh, earning a few chuckles around the table, “but yes, once again, I couldn’t have done it without our amazing editorial team, so thank you all very much.” Taeyong presses his hands together in thanks, bowing and sitting back down in his seat.

The spotlight sure feels warm now that it shines brightly on his perky cheeks.

As he goes to reach for the wine bottle across the table, Heechul grabs it before him, pouring the dark red liquor into his own glass. “Who knew Y/n would stoop so low as to date her cover model?”

Taeyong doesn’t reply. He doesn’t feel the need to. By now the whole world knows of the fact; other magazines have been prickling with envy for being seconds too late from publishing the news.

Instead, Taeyong nods with a smile, allowing his boss to now fill his flute. Heechul holds his own glass up, which Taeyong gratefully clinks, once again welcoming the burn of pinot as he lifts the heavy glass to his lips.

Ten stands outside one of Argent’s largest alteration rooms, anxiously peeking through the small crack of the door, watching the way you arrange an extravagant taffeta bow on a model wearing a grey runway dress.

He realises those dead-set features of yours haven’t changed a single bit in the years he’s known you; you’ve always worked with a certain passion in your eyes, a magician’s touch in those fingertips. And though you’ve always been quite the intimidating figure, even the world’s harshest critic would be a fool not to admire the dedication and loyalty you put into every one of your creations.

That is, if you had your main model to promote them all.

He feels himself gulping at the notion, eyeing the piece of paper resting all too serenely on the clipboard clutched in his hands. You had given him the task of finding a model to replace Jaehyun for NYFW, but it was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. Every competent name Ten had racked his brains for sits with a bright red line of ink running straight through it. Now he’s trying to come up with a way to break the news to you.

Without losing his job.

“Quit dallying, Ten, I know you’re outside.”

He quietly gasps at your impassive voice behind the door, gingerly nudging it open just enough to slip through. You can almost feel the tension radiating off your assistant as he steps inside, and it doesn’t take genius to know that something is wrong…well, more wrong than the events of the last week.

“Turn around,” you instruct the model in front of you, taking the fabric clamp resting between your teeth and clipping a pleat together. You glance up at Ten with a sigh. “What’s the issue.” He hasn’t uttered a word, but it’s a given for you to assume the worst by this point.

Jaehyun’s departure a week ago had the opposite effect than intended, only fuelling rumours further; bullshit claims such as ‘it’s all an act to hide the relationship’ and whatnot.

“All the listed models declined.” Ten stands meters away, a hesitant cloud of air floating about his being as he continues, “We don’t have a replacement for Jaehyun, Y/n.”

You feel the energy leaching from you before he even finishes his sentence, stepping back a few feet and dropping into your chair, hands dragging over your face with a groan.

Are you surprised? No, not particularly; at this point, it’s almost as if the universe is making a fortune from your tumbling misery.

Every cloud has a silver lining, every cloud has a silver lining, every cloud has a silver lining.

The phrase does little to alleviate the tension settling in your brows. You wave the model out of the room with a stressed flick of the wrist, waiting until the click of the door resounds before directing hopeless eyes to Ten.

“No one?”

He shakes his head with pursed lips.

“Not even after offering them double salary?”

“No,” he shakes his head again. “They’re all under contract with other labels. No one’s ready to join Argent…especially not after the sca-” You raise a hand before he speaks the word that had all but tipped your perfect world upside-down in the span of a week. And, as you sit here, wrapped in the suffocating turmoil of this word, you feel yourself slipping into a pit of desperation.

You can’t do without a main model. You need a main model for the show.

“Honestly, Ten,” you chuckle dryly, thoroughly amused by your ever-growing list of shortcomings, “We might as well just pluck someone right off the streets at this point.”

III. Goodbye, World

“What the hell am I doing here?” Taeyong mutters to himself quietly, eyes anxiously flickering around the modern looking room he currently sits in. It’s at least four times the size of his office at Luxe; an immaculate interior space with high-rise ceilings and polished surfaces that reflect his wary expression in every which direction.

If someone were to ask him why he’s currently sitting in this architectural masterpiece, staring ahead at the silver letters that spell Argent, he wouldn’t be able to come up with a logical answer. One thing he could tell them though, is that he’s scared for his ass.

His eyes flicker to the half-eaten slice of bread pinched between his buttery fingers.

Darn toast.

***

The rich aroma of ground coffee beans and burnt caramel wafts through the chilly city air, warming its way through Taeyong’s lungs as he breathes in the sweet atmosphere around him. He stands in the café’s queue outside, body naturally leaning towards the warmth that radiates from the steaming swirls of creamer beyond the counter, eager to grab his own cup to soothe the frost prickling at his fingertips.

“Excuse me, sir?”

A voice sounds from behind him, fingers lightly tapping at his shoulder as he turns to face a clean-cut man with honey-toned skin and feline features. Taeyong raises his eyebrows.

“Yes?”

The man clears his throat, tugging his scarf looser. “I apologise if this seems abrupt, but I’m looking to scout a male model,” he extends a hand with a formal smile.

“Uhhh, okay.” Taeyong furrows his eyebrows, offering his own cautious hand out of courtesy, though still unsure why this stranger has decided to approach him during his precious lunch break. “But why are you telling me thi-”

“You satisfy our physical standards.” The man’s tone of voice seems almost rushed and frantic, but somehow maintains a baseline elegance to it as he pushes on. “My name is Ten Lee, my company is desperate, and you seem to look the part,” he sighs heavily, pretentious aura deflating with his hunching back. He stares at Taeyong, a pitifully desperate expression glazing over his features, hands pressing together in front of his face. “Please. It’ll just be for the next month or so…I promise this isn’t a scam.”

Taeyong can only frown in confusion, not a damn clue how to respond to this desperate stranger’s plea. It’s not everyday he gets approached by a strange man to model for a company, but everything about the offer seems to be floating in mid-air; no binding conditions, no mention of a contract, nothing.

And besides, what is this Ten guy even expecting of Taeyong? For him to just drop everything and-

“We’ll pay you double your current salary, I can guarantee it!”

Taeyong perks up at the words, tilting his head to the side in curiosity.

Being paid double his current salary sounds like a dream. He stands there, biting the inside of his cheek in thought, hypnotised like a snake to its charmer at the notion of all that extra cash. He thinks back to his job at Luxe; he’d have to take leave were he to accept the offer.

Taeyong sets aside the better part of his conscience that warns him of all the red flags, waffling over his inexperience in fashion magazine culture. He’s only ever written one article on the topic after all, and given that his job stands on the very basis of experience, he supposes the offer may also be a learning opportunity for his writing in the future.

In a way he’d still technically be doing his job.

“And this…isn’t a scam?” He folds his arms, reluctantly stepping out of queue with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely not!” Ten swipes his hands in front of his face to emphasise his point.

“Okay, keep talking,” Taeyong nods, a suspicious lilt in his voice. It’s almost as if his words electrocute Ten with the wide smile that breaks across his face and the extravagant gestures of his revived limbs.

“Okay, so I’ll give you the address right now and we can-”

“Wait, now?” Taeyong interrupts. “Like, right now?”

Ten simply blinks. “Yes.”

Taeyong sighs to himself, looking longingly towards the café. The same smell of coffee and caramel tugs invitingly at the growing hunger in his stomach as he turns back to Ten.

“You do realise you’re interrupting my lunch right now.”

Ten’s smile only widens. “No problem, uh…” he trails off, silently giving the blonde man an opening.

“Taeyong,” Taeyong chimes in.

“No problem, Mr Taeyong! we can get you anything you wish to eat at the company.”

Taeyong finds himself interested once again, a tilt to his head as a small grin twitching at his lips.

“Even toast?”

“Even toast.”

***

So here he now sits, beloved toast in hand, the silver logo in front of him glinting like the devil as he ruminates what a damn fool he was for following Ten straight to the building of Argent Fashion Labels…the very company whose head designer falls victim to this year’s biggest celebrity scandal.

The scandal that Taeyong is equally responsible as he is liable for.

He’s all but convinced now, that Argent had somehow come to know about his writer’s identity. There was no plausible explanation other than someone from Luxe must have ratted his ass out in exchange for a handsome reward. After all, the people Taeyong worked with were exactly like him: money-minded and even more so, money-blinded.

He’s sure of it, that Ten’s previous offer must have been a planned façade to lure him in for interrogation and God knows what else.

Shit, I’m done for.

Taeyong regrets it; not writing the article – he somehow can’t bring himself to regret that one thing among this imminent doom. But he regrets not having thought about the consequences before and after the article’s publishing. Not to mention his inferior position against a world-class fashion company. Taeyong regrets not having realised how he might’ve ended up shooting himself in the foot while chasing the loot at the end of the rainbow. Now all he can see are the rain clouds growing darker and darker along the way, counting down the seconds until he’s homeless on the streets.

It’s only a matter of time, now.

The thought only draws Taeyong’s attention to the massive silver clock that ticks loudly on the left wall. He frustratedly tosses his toast back onto the plate on the coffee table in front of him, foot tapping anxiously against the shiny marble tiles.

Bloody hell, why is everything in this place silver?

He jumps in surprise as the door behind him opens, sending a cool wave of air fanning over the back of his neck. Immediately standing up, he turns around to be met with none other than you, Y/n Y/l/n, striding in his direction; an utterly unreadable expression on your face as Ten follows punctually behind. Everything about you excludes a certain power, from the way your heels click loudly against the tiles beneath you, to your blouse that flows with every intimidating step taken forward. You’re breathtaking. Literally; Taeyong almost forgets to breathe, gulping as you sit at the desk in front of him, Ten standing beside you. It doesn’t take him long to know his place in the room.

“Mr Lee Taeyong.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he promptly replies.

This is it, goodbye, world

“I understand you’ve agreed to model under Argent for the next month.” You clasp your hands on the table, eyeing the man who sits in front of you. You’re almost compelled to scrunch your nose at the faint scent of butter that lingers around your office, noticing a small plate on the coffee table with a half-eaten piece of toast sitting in it.

It takes Taeyong a few seconds too long to process what you say, and he’s not sure whether it’s because of the nerves that bounce around inside his chest, or because he’s distracted by the way your voice wraps around his name so exquisitely.

He finally nods.

But as you look at him, you can’t help but feel that something isn’t right. He’s quite attractive if you’d say so yourself; wide eyes, pale skin, slim physique; he could very probably measure up to Jaehyun in visual regard. But despite this, everything else about the man has you questioning his competency for the job. Taeyong’s very appearance has you wondering exactly how experienced he is. For starters, all of his clothes are out-seasoned – not a single designer item in sight – and his dirty blonde hair appears as if he’d simply ran a hand through it and called it a day.

“May I ask which modelling agency you’ve come from?”

Taeyong furrows his eyebrows at the seemingly candid tone in your voice, wondering if it’s all just an act to catch him in his own trap. Your own eyebrows knit together upon seeing his puzzled state, growing suspicious as you clear your throat for him to answer. He looks up in a panic, the words spilling from his mouth before he’s able to control them.

“I-I didn’t come from a modelling agency.”

“Is that so?” You turn to look at Ten with narrowed eyes, tongue poking your cheek menacingly as you tilt your head in question. Said man only looks at you innocently.

You glance back at Taeyong. “I’m sorry, could you give us a moment?”

He nods as you drag Ten out of the office, making sure to close the doors on your way (without slamming them, as hard as the task fares).

“Why do I have a clueless imbecile sitting in my office?” you hiss, voice stone-cold and harsh, accompanied by the tapping of your impatient foot as your arms cross over your chest.

“We were desperate, and he fits the standards,” Ten snaps back, jutting his head forcefully in the direction of the door. “What more do you want?”

You scoff, pointing a rigid finger toward him.

“You said you’d hire an experienced model-”

“You said we should pick someone off the streets!”

“Oh my god, Ten!” You stand stupefied out of your skin, grip over your dwindling sanity loosening as your fists instead begin to clutch at the air in frustration. “I didn’t mean it literally!” you screech out as quietly as possible so Taeyong doesn’t hear from inside. You suck in sharp breath through your nose and release it with an exasperated sob, head hanging heavy with the exhaustion that piles on top of all your existing woes.

“I have half the mind to fire you right now.” You lean back against the cold wall, the words slip out quietly against your better judgement, though you know you don’t mean them, and you know Ten knows it too.

“We don’t have anyone else right now, Y/n,” he voices out defeatedly. “We’re lucky this guy even agreed on such short notice.”

You close your eyes, cursing the writer of that godforsaken article a thousand times more before sighing and speaking up, “Have you done a background check?”

“He’s all clear.”

“So that’s it, you’re just going to leave Luxe?” Heechul sits down in his chair, disbelief warping a tensed display over his conventionally relaxed features.

“Only until after New York Fashion Week,” Taeyong mutters half-heartedly, eyes sauntering around Heechul’s office for perhaps the thousandth time, distracted by the way the room suddenly seems inappreciable compared to your office at Argent.

Every corner of his desk is covered either with cover plans, or untidy notebooks filled with gaudy page markers that stick out in every which direction. The tall shelves behind hold an array of old, weathered books, untouched and probably collecting dust along their thick spines. The office is not a mess in its entirety per say, just highly unorganised; a factor that diminishes the modern touch the room had once possessed years ago.

Your office, by contrast, was a lot cleaner and shinier and spacious than this.

“Taeyong, you’re our best writer. You can’t expect me to just let you go like this for a month,” Heechul sighs.

“Heechul,” Taeyong moves to the edge of his seat in hopes to convince his boss. “I’m just going for the journalist experience. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It’s partly the truth, he thinks to himself. Heechul didn’t need to know about the money side of the job; it’s not his business to. Besides, what’s a little white lie worth in the grand scheme of things?

Heechul eyes Taeyong sceptically. “And they don't know about the article?”

“Not as far as I know,” Taeyong smirks, leaning back in his seat once again, watching as Heechul’s conflicted expression morphs into one of defeat.

“Okay.”

Taeyong nods enthusiastically, thrusting himself out of his seat with a widening grin

“But on one condition.”

Heechul’s words stop him in his tracks, earning a questioning look from him.

Conditions are never good news.

He watches as a sly smile stretches on Heechul’s face. “You go undercover into Argent building and write a debunking article by the end of the month.”

Undercover?

Taeyong narrows his eyes at the man, almost swearing he sees a sinister glint swirling somewhere around the black of his pupils. Writing is Taeyong’s forte; the condition just seems all too convenient given he’s single-handedly resigning from his job for a month. He wonders if he’s reading too much into the situation, something which Heechul seems to take notice of. “Oh, come on, I bet there’s a lot of scum behind those silver doors. We already got a glimpse of it...” he trails of suggestively.

He’s got a point, Taeyong ponders. It’ll be easy money.

“Will I get paid for it?” he asks.

“Sure will,” Heechul links his hands across his scattered papers, the same devious expression on his face. Something about him in this moment feels unnerving to Taeyong, but he just can’t tell what, so instead he decides to cut his losses and bite the bullet.

“Consider it done.”

IV. Depraved Little Devil

“You’re late.”

“It’s six thirty-eight in the morning!” Taeyong chokes out in disbelief. He was all but expecting to be greeted with a lovely ‘good morning, thank you for your time’, but this is what he gets?

“Yes,” you finally tear your gaze away from the papers, straightening in your seat with a dazzlingly professional smile to mask the annoyance in your voice. “And that makes you eight minutes off mark.”

Taeyong scoffs internally. Debunk point number one: mistreatment of employees.

He slumps down into the black couch opposite you, eyeing the way you sit there, hair in a tight bun, twirling a pen between your fingers as if you’ve just attended three back-to-back meetings and opened a new fashion line in the process.

“I didn’t even have breakfast,” he mumbles aloud, an obnoxious yawn leaving his lips. Frustrated fingers scoop through his dishevelled hair, tugging lightly at the roots while he regrettably hopes this isn’t the life he’s obliged himself to for the next month.

“That’s not my problem, Mr Lee.” You pick up the schedule Ten had made from the corner of your desk, eyeing over the long list of jobs with a deep sigh.

The whole scouting process was usually fairly simple. You’ve rarely needed to worry about training your models as most have been hired from prestigious agencies with plenty of experience. But given Taeyong’s complete lack thereof, you’ve taken it upon yourself to be his mentor – at least for the first week or so. And though it’s a huge inconvenience to say the least, it’s something you’ve long decided must be done if Argent is to keep its name in the fashion industry.

“Well,” you stand, schedule clutched tightly. “We’ve a long day ahead of us, so please follow me.” You walk to your office door, holding it open for the man who doesn’t even have the decency to budge from his seat. “Promptly, Mr Lee,” you articulate the words loudly, piquing with irritation and forcing your eyes shut to prevent burning holes in the back of his head. There are only so many hours in a day, and it’s last thing you need for him to be uncooperative given the constraints.

“Please, it’s Taeyong.”

There's a certain lilt in his voice that compels you to open your eyes, somehow warning you of your ‘do-or-die’ predicament. He turns around, still sitting all too comfortably on the sofa, meeting your eyes with his own raised eyebrows.

“And Miss Y/l/n, are you really going to make me work on an empty stomach?”

─── ⪧ ⪦ ───

“Yeah, this one will need a lot of work.”

You turn to your Models Manager, Johnny, who stands beside you shaking his head at the scene before him.

“You think so?” you mumble anxiously, following Johnny’s gaze to Taeyong who humours himself with one of the stylists across the studio, happily munching away at the buttery piece of toast he’d coaxed earlier.

“Oh, honey, I know so,” Johnny clicks his tongue, crossing his arms while examining the man in front of him.

“Yeah, me too I guess,” you sigh in vanquish, the gravity of the situation weighing down heavily on your shoulders. Taeyong is proving to be more of an intricate piece of work by the minute, and it’s going to take an unconventional amount of effort to make a worthy prototype of him.

“Height is going to be an issue too.” Johnny taps at his chin, eyes slitted as he turns to you. “Jaehyun’s a real asshole for leaving you on the edge like this.”

You sigh, eyes fixating on a silver spool of satin resting in the far corner of the room.

“He had reason to.”

“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Johnny snorts. “He can’t just leave and expect everything to be normal again. That’s not how showbiz works, Y/n, I mean see for yourself, the rumours have only grown since then.”

I know, goddamnit!

You want to scream the words out loud, let them grab at Johnny’s throat and shut him up. But of course, they remain at the back of your own throat, stuck alongside the anxious lump that manifested a week ago. The words are there, but only for you and your racing mind to hear each time you swallow them down.

“But,” Johnny drawls out, nudging your side before suddenly retracting in fear as you send an icy gaze to him. It seems not just him, but even your other employees have been getting a little too comfortable around you in the past week. Suffice to say, you’re not the least bit impressed by the informality.

“Out of turn,” you voice sternly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Johnny nods immediately.

“Continue.” You turn back to Taeyong who now sifts through a rack of clothing with another stylist, grimacing at the thought of his greasy fingers staining the fabric. Just as you’re preparing to march straight ahead and grab Taeyong by the ears, Johnny speaks up.

“I was saying,” He stops you in your tracks. “Every cloud has a silver lining. Right?”

And just like clockwork, the words don’t allow you to take another step forward, clearing away the hot steam pelting up inside you with a fresh, cool air. You feel your fingers uncurl from their place in your palms – not having realised they were fisted so tight in the first place – and sigh once more, nodding to Johnny.

“You’re right.” The phrase sits bitter on your tongue. It’s not something you’re accustomed to voicing aloud, but it seems just about everyone except you is right these days – either that, or you’re just always a couple steps behind, and it’s something you’re not all that thrilled about.

“This guy’s a tough one, but don’t you worry.” Johnny sends you a sympathetic smile. “We’ll make a star out of him yet.” He side-steps past you with three loud claps echoing around the high white ceilings of the room, walking toward Taeyong. “Alright mister, hands off the racks, we’re not at that stage yet.”

You watch the comical way Taeyong jumps at Johnny’s sudden intrusion, almost amused by the way he blinks up like a deer in the headlights, wide-eyed with cheeks slightly puffed out with the last few chews of bread. He tilts his head past Johnny’s figure, sending you a questioning look.

“We’re affiliated with SM Agency, but our models are all trained here at Argent as we have specific requirements.” You step forward, gesturing to the tall man beside you. “This is Johnny. He’ll be your personal manager, trainer and agent for the coming weeks.”

“My personal manager?” Taeyong raises his eyebrows in surprise, not remotely used to the prospect of having his own personal manager. A columnist assistant is the best he’s ever gotten with his job at Luxe – and that too on the luckiest of days.

“You betcha,” Johnny clicks his tongue with a bright smile.

Neat and gaudy; these are the first two words that come to mind as Taeyong scans Johnny from head to toe. The man is neat in the way his neck-length hair is pushed back with just enough gel to keep it looking fluffy but still elegant. His outfit is what makes him look so gaudy; a fitted white suit with a red silk shirt. Both items of clothing are far too bright, blinding even, as Taeyong blinks away to save his poor eyes.

“Shall we?” You turn to Johnny who nods.

“Let’s.”

“Let’s what?” Taeyong shifts his eyes between you and Johnny and back again, watching as you hail the two stylists from earlier.

“We’re going to take some measurements,” the words barely leave Johnny’s freakishly heart-shaped lips as the stylists step forward.

Taeyong’s personal bubble is all but reduced to a vanquished nothingness as the ladies pull the measuring tapes from their necks and slide them around either one of his wrists. The strips of silver glint and sparkle under the scintillate lighting from above, catching Taeyong’s startled gaze as the stylists make quick work of wrapping them around every inch of his arms. Stunned as he may be, he can’t help the small laughs that leave his lips at the tickle of the plastic on his skin. A ghost of the sensation lingers as the frantic scene stands still every few seconds, filled with scratches of lead on small notepads that record the numbers, before continuing until the tingles vibrate all the way to the top of his arms – wrists to forearms to elbows to biceps. The ladies then abruptly step back, much to Taeyong’s confusion.

“Sir, we need to measure the torso,” one of them speaks, a sort of pinkness washing over her cheeks.

“Okay,” he nonchalantly raises his arms out to his sides, shivering slightly at the cool air that wafts into his shirt. But the stylists don’t step forward, planted still in their spots, causing Taeyong eyebrows to knit tighter together.

“Take your shirt off, Taeyong, we don’t have all day,” Johnny’s voice echoes from a couple metres away.

“Huh?” Taeyong’s eyes blow wide in shock.

“Damn, he really doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Johnny mutters through his smile, and you have to purse your lips to repress your own smile before it denounces your self-possession.

Taeyong almost humbles himself at Johnny’s gesture to get on with it. He feels a confliction gripping at his wrists as his fingers toy with the hem of his shirt. He’s not typically the self-conscious type, but he doesn’t know how else to describe the feeling that creeps up his spine as all the eyes fixed on him in this moment become a little too apparent.

Paycheque, whispers the depraved little devil in Taeyong’s mind, and it’s almost appalling to him how quickly his fingers proceed to tug off the flimsy fabric. He leaves himself to his own devices, exposed on an ephemeral whim that forces him to stomach a small pit of regret in its wake. However, time and task leave no room for awkward silences as the measuring tape passes around the tender of Taeyong’s waist. He stiffens at the cold sensation, trying his best not to retract with every tickle, thanking the third entity that once again revives the bustling conversation around him. He allows the stylists to have their way, opting to distract himself along the clean lines and edges of the studio.

You, on another hand, stand meters away observing Taeyong with equal amounts of confusion and curiosity lacing through your features, realising that Ten’s judgement had indeed hit the bullseye days ago when he’d first brought Taeyong to Argent. Taeyong’s proportions are almost idyllic for a man who apparently survives off butter and bread; just enough muscle in his arms and stomach to show off beneath a lace top, just the perfect amount of slender appeal to fashion a suit and tie. It puzzles you to no end. Most rookies have to be given strict diet and exercise plans to meet Argent’s requirements.

Perhaps this is the silver lining Johnny was talking about earlier; not having to issue health monitoring for the next few weeks.

“His body makes up for expertise, I guess,” Johnny mutters in surprise.

You wonder if he’d read your mind, but your arrogance doesn’t allow the silence to drag on too long, replying with a complacent, “Like you said, height is an issue.”

He shrugs. “Nothing a good old pair of insoles can’t fix.”

“He’s on the skinnier side.”

“And yet you’re still staring.”

Johnny’s words catch you off-guard, and it’s when your eyes stop at Taeyong’s elbow that you realise the statement lingers blatantly true in the air; you are, indeed, staring at him. But it’s too late to deny the fact, so you rather turn to Johnny, concealing any shock with a stubbornly unamused expression.

“It’s my job to stare.”

“It’s your job to stare at clothes,” Johnny counters with a quirked eyebrow, “which he’s not wearing any of.”

“He’s wearing pants-”

“You’re staring at his pants?” Johnny raises an eyebrow, an insolent smirk finding his face.

Your lips part slightly before you’re able to help it, an unsolicited warmness filling your cheeks as your eyebrows furrow in a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“No,” you avert your gaze to the whiteness of the walls, “I’m not.”

You have every right to fire Johnny for implying something so absurd, but the notion that only he can help transform the shirtless nobody in front of you into a piece of art, stops you. It’s your duty to make sure Taeyong is well-trained for NYWF, and you’re going to make a star of him even if it’s the last thing you do.

There’s only a handful of things Taeyong gravely lacks in, and fashion – and anything remotely related to the word – is one of them. It has always been an otherworldly concept to him, a foreign language he couldn’t even begin to make sense of, let alone articulate for himself.

Four days into the new job have shown him the sleek work ethic of Argent and its employees. Everything about the place has been far beyond his means; all much too different to the usual job he’d grown passionately accustomed to over the years. He’s seen enough vibrant mood boards and fabric spools to last him through his next lifetime, peeked through and scattered a few too many fingerprints on the many polished windows of miscellaneous rooms.

Today, the job brings Taeyong to his first fashion shoot.

He blinks at the fool of a man that stares back at him in the full-length mirror, wearing a velvet turquoise suit with silvered cuffs, a grey vest of some unnamed exotic fabric inside of the suit, and a pair of yellow-tinted…ski goggles?

The entire look is offbeat; eccentric in colour and much too flashy with the strips of silver running down each leg of the pants. It’s a drastic change from the plain black jeans and shirt Taeyong had picked from his closet that same morning. He eyes himself, vision slightly obscured by the yellow filter of the goggles. It makes everything appear a couple decades older as if it were part of a picture snapped in the 80’s.

When his eyes flick to your reflection in the mirror, he pauses. Even you look a few decades back-dated with your pencil skirt and tucked-in sweater. In Taeyong’s eyes, you could almost pass for a timeless fashion icon; famed and fawned over in an era far behind you. All you needed now were a pair of satin gloves, sunglasses and a round-brimmed hat. He’s surprised to see that your expression appears moderately impressed as you eye his outfit – a stark contrast from the louring grimace he’d expected to find. In the time he’s known you, he can’t recall having seen you smile even once.

Not that you’re smiling right now, just not frowning.

“Okay, not bad,” you nod, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. You’d originally designed the suit with Jaehyun in mind; as unconventional as it is, Jaehyun was the only model that was certain to wear it well. But of course, you haven’t had the chance to see him wear it given the circumstances, so there’s a certain comfort in know Taeyong is able to fashion it nicely in his stead.

“How do people even pay money for this?” The words roll off Taeyong’s tongue with a genuine incredulity that doesn’t quite sit well with your temperament. Any hint of appreciation on your face is torn away by the scowl that settles in place, annoyed as ever at his remark.

“Clearly, you’re lacking knowledge to throw about thoughtless questions like that,” you announce, walking forward and turning him around to face you. Your fingers automatically pinch at the lapels, folding them the right way and flattening the fabric around Taeyong’s neck and shoulders. Nothing bugs you more than an unfixed collar.

“Well, I won’t deny it,” he replies nonchalantly.

There’s something about him that is so infuriating, and you’re not sure whether it’s the assured way he speaks that irks a certain displeasure in you, or the fact that he’s your last resort for the biggest show of the year. It’s still unfathomable how you’re going to survive the next month with him, and that too in the name of saving not only your company but also your backside.

However, as hard as the task stands, today is about finding Taeyong’s flattering angles, not his trying faults.

When you both make your way into the shooting room, you push your frustrations aside, deciding wasting energy is futile in any case; blissful ignorance would the best way to go from here on out.

You watch with intent as the photographers guide Taeyong to a stool in front of the grey backdrop set up in the middle of the back wall. All it takes is a few instructions from them before softboxes begin their blinding light shows, flashing with every click of the cameras. Amidst it all, you stand surprised at how well Taeyong poses for the camera; chin up, eyes sharp and lips parted. You eye the way he repositions himself on the stool, can’t help but take note of a certain poise that exudes in his movements as he shifts a foot to the ground; a suave flow that over the years you’ve ascertained only ever came naturally to a person, or never at all.

“Did you practice your expressions?” you ask, referring to the list of facial expressions Johnny had given Taeyong to rehearse a couple days prior. However, your question is left suspended in the air as Taeyong turns to you. His eyes meet your own with the same intensity he’d shown to the camera, lips curling up into a devious smirk that pulls you back from the indifference you’d sworn on yourself minutes prior.

“Why? Are they good?” The words pull one corners of his lips slightly higher.

You’re not given the chance to reply with a “surprisingly so,” as a loud ringing from behind interrupts you. You turn to the refreshments table and pick up the phone, eyebrows furrowing at the caller ID.

Kim Heechul

The name sits familiar in your mind somewhere, though you’re not able to place an exact finger on where you’ve seen it before.

“Who is it?” Taeyong calls.

“Kim…Heechul?” The words leave your mouth in a question.

You watch the way Taeyong’s eyes widen and abruptly drop, as if to hide the obvious tension that fills him from head to toe. His once-soft features harden in a split second, shoes echoing loudly against the tiles as he steps off the stool, almost knocking it over while hastily making his way to you. He snatches the phone from your grasp, sending nothing but a hesitant glance your way, leaving you to stare in bewilderment at the double doors that swing with the phantom of his hard shove through them.

“Y/n?”

You turn to the photographers who stand with equally puzzled faces.

“Give him a minute, he’ll be back.”

And when he does walk in minutes later, the tension seems to hang even heavier from his limbs as he stiffly places the phone back on the refreshments table, lips pursed, hands fidgeting and ears tinted slightly red.

Stringent as you may be, you feel a genuine worry somewhere inside you at his suddenly bothered state, feeling an intrinsic need to ask him:

“Is everything okay?”

When he turns around, you decide he must either be a really good actor, or a master at hiding his emotions, as all ounce of malaise seems to have evaporated from his face, replaced with his signature smile that voices the words:

“More than okay.”

Taeyong leans back in his chair, groaning into the heel of his palms. His laptop glares back at him in the darkness of his home office, a full page of words typed skilfully on the white document taunting him in the brimming silence of what most people would call a mind blank.

“Shit, what was it?” His eyes squeeze shut, fingers pressing into his temple in attempt to recall the idea his memory had lost while trying to note down his previous points.

It has been a week since the day Ten had snatched Taeyong from his lunch break and thrust him into the curious world of Argent Fashion Labels. Everything in between then and now has been a hectic whirlwind of ridiculous outfits, blinding cameras and boundless strips of spangly silver; each passing day bringing with it a multitude of new experiences, and each new experience bringing tasks and trials galore…oh, and some fabulous points for his debunking article.

As it turns out, modelling for a world-class fashion label is a lot harder than Taeyong had originally anticipated. He can’t recall a time his solace has ebbed and flowed as much as it has in the past week.

Unsurprisingly, his problems all seem to stem from a single entity within Argent’s walls.

You.

You, with your ridiculously hefty standards. You, with your unbearable personality. You, with those sharp eyes; the same pair Taeyong would call beautiful, were it not for the scrutiny they hold every time they meet his own from across the room.

That certainly isn’t to say there haven’t been some decent experiences. For starters, he’s had the chance to wear clothes worth more than his entire wardrobe, and as ridiculous as they look, they are invaluable in every sense of the word. He’s also been able to acquire some basic knowledge of the fashion industry in general, which could prove to help him in his future writing endeavours. He is grateful for these things, of course, but the only thing that really keeps him around is the dough that awaits at the end of the month.

Money always takes precedence, and if his next article becomes a hit…

***

The doors swing heavily behind, sending a surge of cool air fanning Taeyong’s back as his feet carry him a safe distance away from the shooting room.

Man, that was close.

He thumbs at the answer button on his phone, pressing his ear to the speaker as the ringer dies down. “Hello?”

“Ahh, Taeyong, how are things going so far at Argent?”

The voice over the line only draws a sigh from Taeyong as he murmurs back an apathetic, “Heechul, now’s not a good time.”

The man chuckles. “No problem. I Just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten our deal.”

“Yeah, the article, I know,” he hurriedly answers, cautiously eyeing his surroundings for potential listeners.

“The debunking article,” Heechul emphasises.

Taeyong doesn’t reply, rather biting at the inside of his cheek, anticipation finding his tensed features as he distractedly scans every corner of the ceiling for security cameras.

“You’re getting paid for this, remember. Don’t make me regret sending you to Argent.”

***

The article must be an immaculate work of art, this much Taeyong is certain of.

He sits in pensive silence for minutes on end, willing for the fog to clear his mind. But it doesn’t take long to realise the futility in trying to overcome writer’s block at half twelve in the morning, so with a heavy-lidded gaze, he shuts his laptop, rolling his neck and shoulders with a small wince. If there’s one thing all these years in journalism have taught Taeyong, it’s that writing and back pain are an uncompromising package deal.

He eyes the magazine that rests beside his laptop, reaching over to scan over the glossed paper with a deep grimace.

HANDSOME IN CHEEK, ANONYMOUS IN THE STREET Meet the new mystery stunner of Argent Fashion Labe-

Taeyong closes his eyes with a snort, saving himself the effort of further reading. He can’t help but shake a bang at those ridiculous words, even more so, at the picture of himself seated on the same stool from days ago, wearing the same turquoise suit with the same grey turtleneck, and those godforsaken yellow goggles.

Absolutely ridiculous.

The Vogue issue resting idly in his hands is one of the many that were released earlier in the week. Taeyong has garnered an unprecedented amount of attention since then; despite merely being an unnamed face on the cover of a magazine the number of young women noticing him on the street has been growing by day.

A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a finger tapping rhythmically at his chin.

“Perhaps I could get used to this.”

Crazy.

She must be crazy.

“I’m walking the final runway at New York Fashion Week?” The words sputter haphazardly from Taeyong’s mouth, finger jabbing painfully into his sternum as he stares dumbfoundedly at your seated figure across the room. “What about Jaehyun? Doesn’t he usually do it?”

Taeyong watches the way you tentatively sip at the steaming cup of green tea in your hands. Your appearance is no different than usual, prim and proper in your black work dress, hair tied high in a tight, formal bun, and eyes still filled with that same stunning contempt.

What he doesn’t see, however, is the panic that lies hidden behind the deep creases of your demeanour; the way your pulse quickens in apprehension of having to fully explain your situation to him. You can only attempt to gather the scattered traces of solace from deep within you, sighing in defeat.

“Look, I’m sure you’re aware of the article that was released just over a week ago.”

Taeyong makes a genuine display of himself, nodding in faux conviction as your voice grazes his hears.

If only she knew.

“Well, to put it lightly, whoever wrote it was gravely misinformed.” You avert your gaze to your office windows, a deep sigh pushing past your lips.

“Wait you’re…” Taeyong’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion, a small sinking feeling whirling in the depths of his chest, “you’re not dating Jaehyun?”

“No,” you reply.

Taeyong watches the way a sorrowful smile pulls your lips up, your eyes trained somewhere along the bustling city streets outside. “Jaehyun is taking a break from Argent, and…” Your words weigh heavily in your own mind, though you can no longer bring yourself to show any more anger for them. You’ve long decided that it is what it is, and the situation can’t be helped; that the punches are either to be copped in the gut or rolled with, and that the latter option fared best in the grand scheme of things.

Your eyes find themselves to Taeyong’s.

“…you’re really our only hope for the show, Taeyong.”

Taeyong sits opposite you in a state of confused conflict, wrapped up in a harsh turmoil as he realises his horrible mistake.

You and Jung Jaehyun are not a couple.

He hadn’t thought about the very possible fact when he’d written the article. It hadn’t even once crossed his mind when he’d sent it in for publishing. But at the same time, it wasn’t right for you to have withheld the information that his only business at Argent was to be Jaehyun’s makeshift replacement...

“Please.”

Now, there’s something new swirling in your eyes, something Taeyong has never seen or heard before in your voice. He’s not sure how to respond, brows furrowing from not hearing the usual malice along your words, guilt sinking through his skin as they hang unadulterated in the air. It’s his fault you’re sitting here pleading him to help you out, his own carelessness that has now labelled him ‘Argent’s new handsome model’, his own greed that has every magazine plastered with his face on the front cover.

But regardless of the fact, Taeyong has gotten himself into this mess and there’s no way he can back out of it now.

Three small nods come from the man in front of you, and you’re not sure you’ve ever felt such a relief ripple through your being before this very moment.

V. Teach Me How to Walk

“Have a good night, Joy, I’ll call you back for a final fitting. A week or so, tops,” you bid your model goodbye with a smile, turning to hang a green houndstooth two-piece on the clothing rack beside a box of assorted fabrics.

“Thank you, Y/n, have a good night yourself,” she smiles before stepping out, the click of the door the only static company left in the large alteration room. You flop down into the swivel chair behind the sewing table, eyes crossing to the loose strand of hair that tickles across your cheeks. You blow at it once, twice, three times, eventually thumbing it away to save it from landing in your eye again.

“All in a day’s work,” the words whisper past your chapped lips in a deep sigh as you toy with a loose strip of silver satin, wrist rising to face view.

9:18 PM

You’ve gone overtime by an hour and eighteen minutes, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you relish in the first solitary silence of the day, absentmindedly weaving the satin through your fingers, gaze trained on the clothing racks. Your eyes flick from hanger to hanger, inspecting the numerous outfits that brush up against each other – some with their silver linings peeking out, other with them concealed between laces and fine cottons.

It’s now that you realise your smile is still bright and prevalent on your face, feeling a little light and airy in your seat.

There’s only two weeks to go until the show and things are finally beginning to look up. As it turns out, recruiting Taeyong might have been your best decision yet – a silver lining to the cloud, if you will. Since his Vogue debut the week before the scandal rumours have narrowed down tenfold, and the paparazzi, shallow as they ever be, now distractedly hover over ‘Argent’s new mystery model’. As per some genius advice from Doyoung, you’d purposely kept things discreet by only revealing Taeyong’s face to the public eye; no name, no personality, just a few head and body shots. It’ll save the audience a heart attack on show day, Doyoung had said. Discretion had also proven to be an excellent marketing strategy as bidding offers once again pile high and heavy. To top it all off, your clothing lines are on their final inspection rounds, and today has been a highly productive day for you, all much to your delight.

You hum contentedly, pushing up from your seat to grab your coat and handbag. You take the satin that still rests limp and gorgeous in your hand, tying it loosely around a handle of your bag and walking to the door. You turn back to the room with a final grin. On a normal day, you’d have frowned at the scattered fabrics on the tables, but right now, the mess seems brilliant to you, painting the room vibrantly with potential of becoming something remarkable given a few clean stitches.

With a hand reaching out to flick the lights off, you step out, only to immediately pause at the sound of muffled music from the other end of the dimmed hallway.

Strange, you wonder, everyone should have gone home by now.

The music grows less and less obscure with every step you take forward, eventually bringing you outside a room you like the call ‘The Walkway’. With a hand pressing gently against the door, you peer inside, surprised to find Taeyong’s blonde mop of hair strutting up and down the long platform with exaggerated effort. It’s only your duty to note he’s not doing the finest job at it, but the determined pout on his concentrated features strikes down all your criticisms like a bowling ball. Somewhere in their stead blooms an unforeseen fondness for his efforts, shining bright as the narrow beam of light glowing upon on your smile through the crack of the door.

You watch as Taeyong groans in frustration, a small giggle leaving your lips only to be immediately covered by the slap of your hands, eyes wide in shock at yourself.

What is this? Why were you giggling like twelve-year-old at a grown-ass man struggling to walk?

The answer to your question lies in another unsuppressed laugh from your own lips, flowing freely with the music that surrounds Taeyong tripping over himself on the other side. You realise you’re giggling because it’s actually funny – endearing even, though you’re not able to conjure the thought as your feet push forward on their own accord, carefully leading you inside until the light of the room bathes you with its glow.

“Hey,” you voice out, trying to catch Taeyong’s attention amidst the music. Though, it’s apparently a futile effort given his lack of reaction.

“Taeyong.”

Still no response.

With a huff, you grab the speaker remote secured to the wall, silence resounding in a tumultuous wave as you the hit pause button. Taeyong whips his head around, frustration ever-evident in his face, only to melt away in the second he catches you standing to the side.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt you, I was just on my way to grab some popcorn,” you jab a thumb behind your shoulder, amusement strung high in your eyebrows and in the curl of your lips.

Taeyong rolls his eyes, traces of sweat glistening on his neck as he takes a swing of the bottle resting on a chair at the edge of the platform.

“And she smiles, folks.”

You set your things down and take a seat, grin somehow widening though without the slightest effort of restraint.

“Mm, and you should consider yourself lucky to see it,”

“Mmmm, I do,” Taeyong hums back, imitating you with a fascination strewn to his brows. He’d like to think that among other things, your reins had loosened a little since the day you clarified the scandal to him. Formal talk has all but reduced to trivial bantering and back-and-forths between the two of you, which, according to Taeyong’s books, is progress at the very least. It was almost as if each passing day was peeling away the layers of stubborn temperament that made you, and beneath each unearthed layer was a beautiful set of lips that seemed to tug close and closer to your eyes every time, emerging a little brighter in the mornings and lasting vibrantly well into the evenings. It was contagious, your smile; something Taeyong was only just realising with the witty lilt and small mischief that often quirked around its soft creases.

“What are you doing here so late?” you ask, though the answer is plastered blatantly in every corner of the room and in the sweat that lines Taeyong’s forehead. He huffs as he sits in the seat beside you, expression falling at the drop of a hat. His last few days had consisted of making efforts to channel his guilt into honing his modelling skills, and much to his surprise, things had been fairly simple once he’d set his mind to them. But there’s just one thing he still can’t seem to get.

“The walk,” Taeyong combs a hand through his hair frustratedly, “I just can’t get it down.”

“I’d honestly be surprised if you did,” you hum, the soft haze to your voice catching Taeyong miles off guard, plainly evident in his dumbstruck features. It draws a chuckle from you, watching his otherwise round eyes expand further before softening at the genuine melody that comes from your throat. “You’ve only had, like – what – two weeks? It can take the average model months to perfect.”

“This must be your first non-attack on my ego,” he mutters, ruffling another hand through his hair.

You really can’t seem to figure out how your mouth manoeuvres itself into yet another upturned stretch, but it seems you’re not in any rush to as your voice too leaves you at its own grant.

“Would you like a hand?”

Taeyong raises his eyebrows, very clearly surprised at your offer.

“In walking? Aren’t you a fashion designer?”

“No,” you simply state, earning a quizzical look from him as you stand and walk to the large platform in the middle, turning around to with a sly expression painting your features, “I’m a jack of all trades. Fashion design is just my royal flush.”

“So you’ve modelled before?”

“I’ve had my fair share of walking time.”

And it isn’t a lie. It was almost a piety for all the best fashion designers to take modelling classes as part of their early training to understand the scope of their clients.

Your nonchalant shrug renders Taeyong thoroughly impressed as he follows your path to the empty catwalk, nodding in approval. “For once I feel like listening to you,” he crosses his arms with a small tilt to his head, “Funny.”

“Very,” you deadpan.

“Fine, then. Teach me how to walk.”

It still sounds absolutely ridiculous to Taeyong; having to have someone to teach him how to walk of all things. He’s never had to think about the way he walks before. It was just another absent-minded task in the daily turnover of his life; writing didn’t require walking as a trained qualification, the only walking he needed to do was from his own office to the bathroom and back.

He makes his way to the back end of the platform. You follow his path, a warm tightness igniting in your chest at the therapeutic click of your heels with every step as you count along the rows of chairs neatly lined on either side. They’re black; unfilled by bustling guests, soundless amid the white walls that edge them. You turn back around to the empty room, nostalgia blanketing the forefront of your mind. You suppose to the third person, it would simply look like any other empty catwalk, the plainest of scenes with a pretentious prospect. But to you, the ceilings echo high with years of vibrant memories, from Argent’s first fashion show within these very walls, to the numerous others you’d hosted in between. You can almost hear the clacking of cameras, see their flashes clear in the crisp silence as it warmly embraces you. That is, of course, until Taeyong cuts through it all.

“Any time now would be great, thanks,” he mithers, tapping on your shoulder.

Suffice to say, the idiot is lucky you’re having a good day.

You ignore him with an exaggerated roll of the eyes, instead standing tall and dignified, announcing, “Cat walking is simple. Half of it is in the mindset, and the other half is in the posture. Here.” You reach out to his arm and drag him closer a little too quickly for your mind to keep up, leaving you no choice but to ignore the split-second warmth of his skin under your palm before your hands retract back again. “Don’t overthink anything too much. Just keep your shoulders back, but still relaxed.” You follow the direction of your own words, shoulders rolling to a neutral position. “Head straight.” You raise your head up. “Gaze focused.” You point a finger forward, focusing your eyes on the clock hanging on the far wall. “Don’t sway your hips, and most importantly, try to make it look natural.” You turn to Taeyong. “Watch me.”

And he does exactly that as you walk forward, every mentioned benchmark maintained flawlessly in the poise of your ankles as they carry you through his gaze. Your arms flow naturally with the fabric of your blouse, a new sort of purpose in the smooth strides of your legs as you turn around with ease, daring to look Taeyong in the eye while approaching back.

“Now you try.”

He nods firmly, the same concentrated expression sewn through his pursed lips and sharp eyes, striding forward with intent.

Your bottom lip immediately finds a home between your teeth as you struggle to hold in your laugh at Taeyong’s stiff steps, accidentally snorting out loud as a hand flies to your mouth in attempt to cover it up. If he was an awkward mess before, he’s all but the complete opposite of that now; way too rigid for anyone’s good, chest pushed animatedly forward, and a little (a lot) too much swing in his arms.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” Taeyong snaps frustratedly, turning around, looking just about ready to stomp a heavy foot down and throw a temper tantrum right there on the glossy platform.

“I…” you trail off, trying to find the right words so as to not hurt the precious little pride he apparently thrives from, “…appreciate the effort.” It comes out with a nod and little snicker at the end, pursed lips doing their best to sequester the giggle at the back of your throat. All jokes aside, you really do appreciate his initiative of staying back late just to practice his walk, finding a newfound respect for his willingness to improve. It had been a massive shift from the dynamic of the past week and you’re not going to let it slip if it’s the last thing you do.

“But seriously, what has Johnny been teaching you this whole time?” you ask, genuinely curious how all those extra hours of practice with Johnny hadn’t seemed to avail Taeyong’s technique in the way you’d expected it to.

“The best angle to take a selfie?” he offers, walking back with a pitiful sulk on his face.

“You don’t say,” you grumble under your breath.

“I mean, he’s been doing a pretty good job at that, at least.” Taeyong chimes in, shrugging with an impressed pout.

“Well, soon he might not have a job at all,” you muse, eyes narrowing in scrutiny of the thought, before shaking your head briefly at turning back to Taeyong. “Anyway, from what I gather, it looks like you’re trying too hard.”

He snorts, “Look who’s talking–”

“Would you just listen for a second?” you snap, dwindling patience echoing with your voice in the ensuing silence, Taeyong staring half-surprised at the outburst.

“Yes ma’am,” he concedes, a playful raise to his eyebrows.

“Thank you,” you sigh deeply. “Remember how I said half of the walk is in the mind?”

Taeyong nods.

“Well, your mind is on overdrive. You need to relax.”

“Okay, and how do you propose I do that? Do you have some kind of–”

“Just...” you interrupt him, stepping forward, hands finding their way to the tense planes of his shoulders “...relax.”

Your touch must have come with something of a magic as Taeyong feels the tension in his muscles evaporate with the ticklish sensation of your fingertips. The snarky comment he’d prepared moments before dies on the tip of his tongue as he eyes you from the shortened distance between your bodies, your hands emanating something warm and wonderful that pricks the hairs up on his arms. He’s quiet, swears he hears your breaths fall slightly laboured as your hands smooth over the angle of his shoulders down to his arms. It’s not something you’re unaccustomed to, having assisted a plethora of other models with this exact motion of your hands. But with Taeyong, it feels like a foolish act of impulse, something that was perhaps best not to have done in the first instance. You can’t seem to evade the gulp that gathers in your throat as your fingers delicately brush over the hard muscle that lies under the soft fabric of his shirt, and it dawns on you that beyond the lanky body and the wide shimmer of his pupils, this man is much sturdier than you could have ever foreseen. Warm too; his skin tingling pleasantly under the cool air conditioning that frosts at your own fingertips.

You glance up at him, and oh, the fool you are for getting caught up in his gaze and the little scar that you notice sits right beside it, something you’ve only just taken note of from seeing him up so close.

“Why so quiet?”

Your question quietly lingers between the two of you for Taeyong to answer, but it’s almost as if you are asking yourself the same thing, searching for an immediate explanation to the sudden cascade of…whatever this is. Why are you being so quiet? Why is your pulse growing higher by the second, and why – just why – can’t you take your eyes off this man all of a sudden?

“I’m relaxed,” Taeyong murmurs, gaze suddenly preoccupied with tracing the curvature of your lips, every little crease beneath the layer of long-faded lipstick, a little dry but still somehow enchanting.

You simply blink up at him, wondering if his words parallel the answer you’re also searching for. You’re not bothered by the wisp of hair that falls into his half-lidded eyes, and you can’t even bring yourself to be surprised about your apathy. Not when you’re distracted by the way his eyelashes shift each strand ever so slightly with every blink. Perhaps even an unfixed collar would look perfect on him in this moment-

No.

Your hands drop from his arms as you take a quick step back, quiet breaths the only tell-tale sign of your faltering front as you avert your eyes elsewhere.

“Okay then,” you clear your throat, attempting with much effort to set aside whatever twisted emotion that whirls in the pit of your stomach, gesturing haphazardly to the platform ahead. “Try walking now.”

“Yeah,” Taeyong shakes the bangs out of his face, much to your concealed disappointment. “Yeah, okay.”

You feel a certain shift in the cool air that brushes your skin as he strides ahead, all warmth clinging tightly onto him as single minutes bleed into dozens, ebbing and flowing to and fro as you watch Taeyong’s figure from your place. You keep a safe distance from him, but the trance from earlier seems to weave itself in a taut string between the two of you, growing all the more prominent as the night progresses in a stretched-out silence filled only by the echo of his shoes and your small purls of praise. His walk turns out to be a lot better, still imperfect in many ways, but better, nonetheless; shoulders liberated from the rigidity of before, a more natural essence to the placement of his feet. And it leaves you mussed and tangled in your thoughts, unable to shake the new light under which he walks.

What had happened earlier, and just when did the silence become so deafening through all the blatant banter?

Neither you, nor Taeyong have an answer. Not now, and not among the quiet rustling of coats when you eventually decide to call it a night. He steals a glance your way, catches sight of your wary expression, and turns back to the floor, a minuscule, little heat radiating on the smooth of face as if your hands now cup his cheeks as they previously did his arms.

What would that truly feel like? He wonders, holding the door open for you as the lights die down in a hushed flicker. You brush past him with a small thanks, the door clicking shut as he too steps out into the hallways. The windows in the corridors don’t glow with the natural light of the day, simply reflecting yours and Taeyong’s blurry figures as you walk side-by-side toward the elevator. You press the button and wait patiently, relieved that the spike of your heels stops the idiot inside you from rocking back and forth on her feet.

“Can I ask you something?”

You almost jump as Taeyong utters the words beside you, the elevator doors welcoming you into its small, shiny box as you nod.

“Why silver?”

He eyes the silver fabric tied loosely around your handbag, glancing up when you don’t speak, only to be met with a small tilt of your head and a confused frown that has his own lips pursing if only to keep his smile at bay.

“I mean, why not gold? What’s the reason everything in Argent is silver.”

“Chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent.” The phrase slips past your lips without much thought, something natural and warm to accompany the flutter in your chest from the elevator’s descent.

“Italian?” Taeyong asks, charmed by the faraway look in your eyes and the wistful smile that stretches just underneath them.

“French.” You glance at him, a rush of goosebumps decorating your arms under the thick layer of your coat as one side of his mouth quirks into an endearing grin. “It means every cloud has a silver lining.” Your smile widens fondly, the memory of your mentor in Paris replaying clear as day in the canvas of your mind. “I named Argent after the phrase; it literally means ‘silver’ in French,” you chuckle with a small shake of your head. It all sounds a little too ridiculous now that you stand here in hindsight, so surreal that you almost feel like bursting out in a fit of uncontrolled laughter at your impulsive, juvenile decision all those years ago.

But to Taeyong, it only makes you a little more human to know you’d named the biggest fashion brand in the world after a cliché little phrase.

You walk out moments later into the nocturnal buzz of overfed zebra-crossings, moving billboards in the distance, and all else that comprises the faithful oath of New York City. There’s a chill in the air and perhaps that’s why Taeyong finds himself stepping a little closer beside you, studying your features bit by bit as the wind whips your hair from atop your head. The smell of New York gasoline tingles at his nose, but it seems to fade with the relaxed grin that adorns your lips.

Taeyong suddenly stops in his tracks, and you turn back, watching as he digs a hand into his satchel, pulling it out in a loose fist which he brings up to you. His fingers uncurl, revealing a small circular box sitting in his palm.

“Here.”

“Lip balm?” you question, eyebrows furrowing as you glance up at his insisting gaze.

“You need it more than I do.” His smile seems genuine, not a sarcastic lilt to his voice, no intention to offend as he places the lip balm in your hand and closes your fingers around the cool plastic. Absentmindedly licking your lips, you feel a dryness on the skin – a likely result from nervous chewing and the dry chill of the season. Realising the truth in his words, you turn back to Taeyong, noticing a rosy hue beginning to bloom around his pale cheeks, his blonde hair once again fanning through his eyelashes to the waves of the cool wind.

For a set of very simple and obvious reasons, you wouldn’t normally accept lip balm from anyone other than…well, yourself. So, the soft “thank you,” that glides forth from the back of your throat takes you by surprise as you slip the small box into your handbag.

You bid Taeyong goodnight, and he acknowledges you with a two-fingered salute and a small smile. His eyes sparkle with something indiscernible, and as you make the slow, dazed walk to your car, you realise you’re in no rush to understand anything except the sureness of his smile, and the tingle in your chest that had somehow become a default response to it that evening.

Taeyong doesn’t move from his place on the concrete, hands warmed snugly by his pockets, watching your silhouette fade into the night with a strange sort of affection fledging somewhere inside him.

As he readies himself for the journey to his own car, something catches his eye on the sidewalk from metres away, glinting under the streetlights. He squints ahead at the object, walking forward and picking up a small piece of cloth before the wind carries it elsewhere. It sits cool in his palm, silver and shimmery and peculiarly delicate, its corners flapping incessantly with the wind and its middle warming up soothingly beneath the secure curl of his fingers.

He lifts his head, catching the last flail of your coat in the breeze as your silhouette turns the corner at the end of the street, and smiles, tucking the silver fabric into his coat pocket before turning around and strolling to his car.

The darkness of your ceiling greets you with its usual stolid silence as you sink deeper into the plush embrace of your duvet, reaching to pull it up over your shoulders. Your hair tickles the skin of your cheeks, now liberated from its tight up-do and splayed freely along the whiteness of your pillow. Sleep had long brushed its feathery touch along your eyelids, but they still somehow blink vacantly into your dark bedroom.

Never before had you been an insomniac. You should have been asleep by now – you would have been asleep by now, were it not for the bright smile behind your eyes that jerks you awake every time they flutter shut.

A deep crease forms between your brows as you turn frustratedly onto your side, huffing out a sigh of contemplation and confusion, trying to figure out why the thorn in your side now presents himself as a dream just waiting to happen. You know it’s not right for Taeyong to be running through your mind like this. The sole fact that he’s your model-in-training should have made it very, very wrong in the first instance. You should be ashamed, mortified even.

So, where the hell is the remorse?

It’s nowhere to be found. You’ve tried searching for it, hoping to find the slightest little remnant of guilt deep within you, but it seems you’ve emerged with something else instead. Something that came in the form of flushed cheeks and warm hands, awkward silences and, most surprisingly, a smile.

Contempt? Petty frustration? It’s all gone just like that, and goodness, is it jarring to suddenly feel emotion in such a peculiar way.

Perhaps calling Taeyong into your office days ago and practically begging on your knees for him to stay wasn’t your brightest move – hell, it had all but knocked your pride down a few pegs and you weren’t liking it at all. But at the same time, it seemed to have pulled a few improvements on Taeyong’s end…but then there’s this new side of him that has you fluttery and warm, mulling over the mental snapshot of his smile and the way his hair flows with the wind and-

“Ughhh,” you groan out loud, pulling your pillow over your head in attempt to halt your spiralling thoughts. “Go. To. Sleep.” You accentuate your muffled voice with three hard thumps of your fist on the mattress, before jerking up to the sound of a notification on your phone.

You wonder who in their right mind would be texting you at such a late hour as you reach to your nightstand and pick the device up. You squint down at the blue light that illuminates your face in the dark, eyes scanning over the slightly hazy typewrite on the screen that says:

Taeyong [12:47am]: Goodnight :)

You simply sit there, half-wrapped in your duvet with eyes wide, blinking over the nine letters and emoticon that sit so brazenly under Taeyong’s name. It’s outlandish from all the previous exchanges you’ve had – your last message being from a week ago, reprimanding him for being late to the job yet again. He hadn’t replied to that text, and it had once bothered you to all ends that he hadn’t. But right now you can’t find it in you to care as you stare down at this text, very much typed out by him, wishing you a ‘goodnight’ (never mind the fact that it really should have been two words instead of one).

You bring a hand to your cheek, massaging circles into the bone hoping to relive the ache of another smile that forms on your lips.

God, what is wrong me?

You feel your worries lifted by the darkness around you as you think back to everything from hours earlier. Taeyong’s flawed walk and the pout on his lips, the warmth of his skin and the firm muscle hidden beneath it. The bangs in his eyes and flicker of lashes in the wind, the little box he’d rolled into your palm and the odd comfort of his fingers as he did. It makes you become all too aware of the small, rounded silhouette sitting amongst the shadows on your nightstand. You’d accepted it less than two hours ago, and that too without a single fuss, but you still hadn’t taken the liberty of using it yet.

You find yourself tracing a finger along your still very dry lips, grimacing at the thought of what they must have looked like to Taeyong earlier, and decide that there really isn’t any other time like the present to reach over grab it. You unscrew the lid of the box and bring it to your nose, the fragrance of artificial strawberries wafting through your senses as you swirl a finger through it and dab at your lips. You catch the faintest taste of strawberry sweetness as you purse them, and it suddenly dawns on you that Taeyong must have used this exact lip balm numerous times before…on his own set of lips…

“What the fuck, Y/n,” you whisper aloud, halting all absurdities from taking over your thoughts, placing the box back on your nightstand and flopping back onto your pillow, sheets pulled all the way up to your chin.

Nothing good ever came from being awake at such an hour – not even on the pages of your design book – so, with a final sigh, you close your eyes once more.

Perhaps it was Taeyong’s message, perhaps it’s his lip balm, or it might even be his annoying little smile that still paints itself on the back of your eyelids. Whatever it may be, it lulls you easily into the sleep your eyes so crave, brushes you softly and leaves you with another smile to last through the night.

VI. The Loved and The Lost

The morning welcomes you with a slap to the face – or to the ears, rather – as the shrill ring of your phone jolts you from whatever petty dream you must have been having.

You groan into your pillow. This was far from the way you’d planned to start your first weekend off in months, but, alas, the world seems to care less and less of your plans with each passing day, so it doesn’t come as much of a surprise.

Rolling onto your side, you reach for your phone to see Ten’s name, thumbing at the answer button.

“Ten,” you mumble with a groggy voice, fingers rubbing the light into your eyes, “you know it’s my day off work-”

“I’m sorry Y/n, but you need to check the news.” His voice is frantic on the other side of the line, almost as if he’s jogging as he speaks, but it doesn’t fully register as you stretch your limbs under the safety of your covers, yawning out a lazy, “Why?”

“Just do it! Now!”

The urgency in his raised voice has you sitting up abruptly, ear pressing in harshly to your phone screen as you scramble out of bed balancing it on your shoulder, almost tripping over the sheets as your ankles catch on them while rushing to the living room.

“Okay, okay, but what’s wrong? Is everything alri-” Your words die in your throat as you switch your television on, the news channel opening straight away to…

Jaehyun?

He’s at what looks like a press conference, sporting a relaxed smile while answering questions from reporters in the audience. Your eyebrows furrow at the headline on the bottom of the screen.

SM AGENCY SUPERMODEL JUNG JAEHYUN TO SIGN CONTRACT WITH QI FASHION LABELS

“What…” you whisper out confusedly to Ten on the other side, a frown settling deep on your features.

“Listen!” Ten urges, and you turn up the volume of the television, a horrible feeling settling in your chest as you lean forward and watch anxiously.

“Jaehyun, is it true that you are no longer contracted under Argent Fashion Labels?”

The voice speaks from the audience, accompanied by the occasional clicks and flashes of cameras that capture Jaehyun as he leans toward the microphone in front of him.

“Excluding all technicalities, yes, it’s true.”

Your jaw loosens in a shocked mix of confusion and anger, your chest rising and falling heavily as you try to figure out what the fuck was happening all of a sudden.

“And what does Y/n have to say about this?”

Nothing. You had absolutely nothing to say about anything that was happening at this moment, no say whatsoever. You weren’t given the chance to step into the picture at all, rather watching in shock from behind your television screen.

“Well, it’s always tough to let a loved one go.”

The grin that stretches widely across Jaehyun’s face pulls a nauseating ache into your chest, as if your stomach were being folded in on itself. What the hell was Jaehyun trying to imply?

“So, you don’t deny the dating rumours?” The question echoes from another reporter, followed by a silence that lasts a second too long.

“No.”

You glare at the flatness of the screen in front of you, fists curling into your palms as the rest of the conversation drowns out behind a red curtain that seems to draw itself around you.

“Y/n?” Ten’s voice asks worriedly through the speaker.

You stand, jaw locking as you switch the tv off, voice as stone-cold and emotionless as the deepening scowl on your face. “Contact public relations immediately and schedule an appraisal meeting for this afternoon. I’ll handle the rest.”

─── ⪧ ⪦ ───

The roots of your hair yank painfully at your scalp, tugged up in a bun so high and tight it’s almost the only thing that seems to hold your flaring temper together.

Almost.

“Miss Y/l/n, what are you doin-”

“Give me a fucking break,” you seethe through clenched teeth, charging like a storm past a receptionist that calls out from the desk, sitting right beneath the audacious letters SMA.

It’s ironic really, to be voicing these very words on the day that was actually supposed to be your break. You’d initially hoped to spend it well – perhaps wake up at noon and lose yourself in one of your neglected paperbacks, or take a dip in a rose-infused bath with a soothing glass of wine-spice, or both. But it was all a story of lost hope now, buried beneath the heavy breathing and pounding of your chest as you skip the steps two-at-a-time all the way up to the sixth floor of this godforsaken building. You didn’t want to take the elevator, didn’t care if you snapped a heel and had to limp the rest of the way up. Etiquette is now a notion of the past as you stride past each pretentious pair of eyes, uncaring of their whispers as a single phrase repeats itself incessantly in your mind:

Jung Jaehyun is fucking dead.

It’s frustrating how the route to his office is ingrained so deeply into your memory as if it were the route to your own, all rhyme and reason relinquished as you launch yourself through its doors, blowing your blazing fuse the second it slams shut behind you.

“What is wrong with you?” you roar out into the white walls of his office, bristling with fury to see Jaehyun still dressed in the same outfit as press conference; the suit that isn’t one of your own designs, but one of QI Fashion Labels’ instead.

“Oh, you saw it.” It isn’t a question that apathetically slides from Jaehyun’s tongue, just an insolent flatness to his voice that tugs your eyebrows taut, so infuriating it has you slamming a hard hand on his desk.

“The whole damn world saw it, Jaehyun. What the hell happened to our agreement?”

“Qi offered me a better one. So, I took it.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, eyes focused on an editorial magazine he obnoxiously flicks between his thumbs. “I’m a top model, Y/n, but that means jack shit if I can’t do my job.”

“Nobody took your job away from you, Jaehyun, you brought this upon yourself!” You point a finger at him, maddened with his insinuation. “You were the one who pulled out of the show last minute. You were the one who left me to deal with all of this just to save your own backside-”

“I did it for you too!” He stands, leveling himself with you.

“Did you?” Your voice lowers to a threatening murmur before erupting in the next moment. “THEN WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED AT THAT CONFERENCE?"

“IT WAS A PUBLICITY STUNT, Y/N, WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO SAY?” he yells over you, “‘I’m sorry? Will you forgive me?’ Is that what you want?”

You simply stand there, jaw falling unhinged, stunted to an unforeseen silence from the disdain that tumbles through his words. You feel a surge of blood rushing to your face in a twisted combination of anger and humiliation, trying to maintain the little composure that dwindles within you.

This feels so different.

Nobody has ever looked at you the way Jaehyun does now, with so much contempt and derision. You were supposed to be at the top. You were always the one to satisfy, to gain respect from. But now, it seems you’re the single mockery of everything around you, frailed and muted with your entire world bared as it crashes head-first into the ground.

“How dare you,” you spit. “You had no right.”

“This is showbiz, Y/n,” Jaehyun deadpans. “People come and people go, and the world still keeps turning.”

“Well, what about my world, Jaehyun?” You step forward, glaring right into his eyes. “What. About. Mine?”

“Oh, stop with the fucking act. You’re the worldwide fashion designer and founder of Argent, you’re Y/n Y/l/n! The world revolves around you!” He violently throws his hands up. “Okay, I walked out. But the second I did, you snatched some new guy right off the streets. What does it matter then? You’ve got everything you need-”

“He’s here for a month, Jaehyun. A month! And you were supposed to be back right after that.”

You pause. So does he. No words meet the air, just heavy breaths filled with clamorous intention. You try to gather your thoughts, every cogent piece of dialogue, anything that will change Jaehyun’s mind. But it all seems to slip from your grasp the second your mouth opens without your mind to wisely follow.

“I gave you everything.”

“Sure. You did.” Jaehyun nods, but you’re only left to kick yourself in the face as a sinister look sweeps across his features as naturally as the oxygen spills from your lungs. “But you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I was the first and only person willing to take you up on your offer all those years ago, when you had nothing except your sketchbook going for you. You only gave me everything because I gave it all to you first, Y/n.” Jaehyun leans in with a threatening tilt to his head, smirk only growing more scornful with the sharp breath that leaves him. “I made you.”

His words sting you somewhere deep inside, all your futile shields arming in an instant to protect yourself.

“You did not make me.” You feel dizzy with the harsh grind of teeth behind your chapped lips, breath growing deeper in attempt to control the tears threatening to terrorize your eyes. “I worked my ass off to get where I am now, and if I didn’t have you, you best believe, Jung Jaehyun, I would’ve had someone better.”

Jaehyun leans back, pride clearly stabbed and bleeding from the heart, though he does a much better job at hiding it than you with the twitch of his lips into yet another spiteful smirk.

“You know why people don’t like you?”

Enlighten me. You want so badly for these words to tear through your throat. But they don’t, held back by your last wavering nerve.

“Because you’re a bitch. A stubborn, cold-hearted bitch.”

And that’s it. You back down with nothing more to say and nothing more to lose, eyes shifting around the floor, your shields defeated and conquered with that one word.

Bitch.

It wasn’t anything new – perhaps occupying third place on the long list of bywords copped under your name over the years. But never before had it burned as much as it does now.

Your fingers tighten into their customary fists; not out of anger, but rather in search of a warmth somewhere in the gulf your palms. You gulp, lips pursed and dry with the caution of tears, not once looking Jaehyun in the eyes as you turn around and walk to the door. With shaky breaths and shaky fingers, you pull the door handle only to pause and turn back once more, daring yourself to meet Jaehyun’s eyes despite all your efforts not to.

His face still holds the same comely features as the day you’d first found him kicking rocks outside of Vogue building. It all flashes clear in your mind; him as a fresh-faced rookie with a freshly rejected application balled in his fist. You’d just made your move to the Big Apple back then and that boy had once been a Godsend. He was polite and charming. Heck, you’d even started out with a small crush on him, awed like anything that he was willing to throw all caution to the wind alongside you. Jaehyun had signed your self-made contract and had his shot at showbiz. He had been a huge contributor to Argent’s growth in the industry; that much stood true among his harsh words of the present and you couldn’t discredit him for his work in that regard. As Argent grew, luck had smiled upon him in the form of an SMA recruitment officer knocking at his door at the wee hours of one fine morning, whisking both him and his name fresh into the celebrity scene to gain the recognition that he had rightfully deserved.

That he had once deserved.

Not anymore.

“Go to hell, you bastard.”

He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t need to, the tightening of his jaw confirming everything words couldn’t begin to explain. And there’s nothing more heart-shattering than the realisation that hits you in this moment:

You’ve lost Jaehyun. You’ve lost a partner. And worst of all, you’ve lost a friend.

You step out of Jaehyun’s office, slamming the door shut, tears burning furiously in your eyes as the distance between you and him grows wider and wider with every hasty step.

You try to pick apart all the layers in your mind, try to separate all your rights from all of Jaehyun’s wrongs. But in the grand scheme of things, you realise there really isn’t much to separate at all. You’d both started out together, two parallels of the same temperament, chasing a fame and fortune that was destined to become yours someday. And here you both are now, a world-class bitch and a two-faced asshole, both sitting high and mighty in your thrones. The only visible difference now, is your preserved integrity and his tilted crown.

It was always so easy to be wronged in the cruellest way imaginable, especially when all started to seem perfect. Wasn’t it just yesterday you were floating in the clouds, and shimmering with a rose-tinted glow?

But here you are today, refusing to shed violent tears and buried beneath the rubble of misplaced trust.

It must have been so easy for him to push you down. And it had all happened in the unsuspecting blink of an eye.

“-with a high of sixty-three, and an eighty percent chance of widespread thunderstorms all throughout New Yor-”

You groan out loud, thumbing the television off and tossing the remote to the side.

“No Karen, I don’t want to know about widespread thunderstorms,” you grumble, slumping into the leather of your sofa with a sulky pout. Since when had cable television soured up so much?

From what you can remember, it had always been something to look forward to in your younger years, an escape from reality. But now all that’s decent to watch is the news, and that has been completely off-limits as per the PR meeting that had happened a day ago (and you’d broken that rule, obviously).

The news about Jaehyun’s departure has understandably been a secret to no one, having been circulated in every magazine during the very hour of your last brawl with him. It had all taken its toll on you, even you conceded to that very sure fact. But what you absolutely did not concede, was the three days’ worth of exile the board had forced upon you thereafter. Three full days! It was absurd in all sense of the word. You still find it ridiculous that they, your employees, had taken the liberty to order you, their boss, to take a break a fortnight before the biggest fashion show of the year.

You wouldn’t have listened to them, of course, not when with all the end-phase preparations and a multitude more fittings to cram in the short time left. But as it turns out, it isn’t exactly an easy task to escape being held at gunpoint by your own stellar employees.

A fashion designer always had a project to work on; always something to start, finish, improve or fix, no matter the quality of their predicament. You’d call yourself a refractory to the system as of recent, currently sunken halfway into your couch with more than your fill of malaise-induced boredom to accompany you, contemplating whether a Netflix subscription would be a sensible investment for the next few days.

You look to the mannequin stand in the corner of the room, frowning. On it is Argent’s final runway item for New York Fashion Week; an item you’d taken the liberty to smuggle home in hopes of finishing. But you haven’t gathered the tenacity to do so, the workaholic itch in your fingers seeming to have tired itself out with the sole fact that the outfit was originally Jaehyun’s to wear.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing of your phone on the coffee table, lethargy weighing heavily on your limbs as you reach forward to pick it up.

Ten [3:18pm]: Wendy, Joy and Winter’s final fittings have been reviewed and completed

Ten [3:18pm]: how are you going?

You sigh in relief, happy to have not received any bad news from Ten yet. Receiving regular updates was the compromise for your agreement in being cooped up inside your apartment, but the very act of picking up your phone always feels like a gamble, given all the unpredicted mishaps of the last month.

Y/n [3:19pm]: that’s great, keep up the good work!

Y/n [3:19pm]: going as fine as I can without anything to do

Y/n [3:20pm]: oh, could you also make sure the white boot-coat set is finished and reviewed?

Ten [3:20pm]: already been done

The smile that pricks at your lips feels almost unnatural after days of consistent frowning. Though it’s not a typical trait of yours, you’ve always favoured the idea of realising the worth of your possessions – or rather, persons – before their eventual disappearance from your life. So, it comes as a quiet sort of surprise as you realise that Ten Lee is worth so much more to you than you could ever have expressed.

Now that you really think about it, he’s probably the person you’d entrusted the most personal information with through the entirety of your career, and if it wasn’t for your stiff-necked pride, you’d even call yourself lucky to be able to call him your executive assistant. In all honesty, you’re not quite sure what you would have done – where you would have been, how you would have survived – if you didn’t have Ten to help you through it all. Prompt in his actions, justified in his reasoning, astute in the mind; Ten really is the best of the best.

Another vibration of your phone draws you back to the screen, though it’s not the name you expect to find.

Taeyong [3:25pm]: hey, you busy?

You scoff at the message, muttering a blasé, “Am I busy. Of course, I’m not busy, what a stupid thing to-”

Taeyong [3:25pm]: that was a joke in case you didn’t get it

Taeyong [3:25pm]: I know you’re bored out of your mind right now

Your indifferent gaze drops to a scowl. You try to convince yourself it’s root cause is the infuriating man on the other side of your phone, but you know deep down it’s just your petty temperament; annoyed that you weren’t able to catch onto his little joke…if one could even call it that.

Y/n [2:25pm] yeah whatever, how’s your walk going mr happy feet

Taeyong [3:26pm]: happy feet 🤨

Taeyong [3:26pm]: is that my compliment for the day?

You can’t help but snicker at his reply, glad that you don’t have to suppress the atypical expression on your face while in the safety of your apartment walls. Perhaps there was some advantage to being stuck at home, after all.

Y/n [3:26pm]: take it or leave it, it’s up to you🤷‍♀️

That’s another thing you’ve learnt to use in the last day: emojis. It was stupid, really, something so out of the ordinary for you. The whole point of using a small picture in a texting app never really made sense to you; it’s called a text for a reason. But that was until Taeyong had dared you the day before to text only in emojis. It hadn’t been the easiest task, but you’d survived, and as a bonus, taken a liking to some of the mini yellow figures – just enough to use them around Taeyong at the very most.

Taeyong [3:26pm]: hmm I’ll take it

Taeyong [3:26pm]: only because it’s as rare as this 😊

There was that infuriating tingle in your chest, nestling inside you in some tucked away in a corner and seeming to only emerge at the thought of Taeyong. It’s something unexplainable and uncontrollable, never before felt in the way you’ve been feeling it lately.

Was he thinking about your smile? If so, how long had been thinking about it? Since when? And why?

You glance to your arm, noticing goosebumps arise on the smooth skin as the question comes to mind. Your thumbs hover over the screen, unsure how to respond to both Taeyong and the giddy, ticklish feeling inside you.

Taeyong [3:27pm]: anyway Charlie’s on his way for you

Taeyong [3:27pm]: I’ll see you soon

You hum in confusion, eyebrows knitting at his text, wondering if you’ve been granted an early exemption from your impending two days of exile.

Taeyong [3:27pm]: oh also don’t wear anything too expensive

VII. Tell Me

You had started from somewhere familiar, grounded by the undying rumble of city-goers and loud tumble of traffic in every which direction. You had started with the all the colours of the rainbow reflecting in your eyes from moving billboards, weathered yellow taxis and sun-lit windows; with your head angled high, glimpsing up towards the concrete jungle that made up your every dream and every struggle and everything else in between.

At least a couple dozen minutes later you sit in the same backseat, looking out of the same window, but the only vehicle that seems to be on the road is the one that Charlie drives you in. Gone now are those ever-known gaudy hues of the city, now replaced with the flaring expanse of green rolling hills, natural in height and pure in tone, and a divine sky peeking out to capture it all in its blooming embrace. Your ears ring with the nigh echo of road-rage-infested honks, almost as if searching for the sound somewhere in the low buzz of 90’s classics scratching on the radio. There isn’t an ounce of man-made construct to behold, no shine of metals under the clouds, nor a single slab of greyed concrete to dampen the vibrant blades of grass that seem to grow an inch or two taller with every quarter mile. Pleasant would be the word to describe it all; perhaps even beautiful, were it not for the very sure fact that this was definitely not the way to work as you’d originally thought it to be.

As the car rolls to a stop, you peek out once more to the same emerald scape, still no building or vehicle or even person in sight to bale your suspicion.

“Charlie, what is this? Where are we?” You sit forward, resolute in searching for, at the very least, a barn house hidden somewhere amongst the grass and sparsely scattered trees.

“Mr Lee asked for you to be dropped here, miss. I can’t say anything more.”

“Oh, so you take orders from him now. I guess I just don’t get a say in anything anymore,” you mutter childishly, slumping back into the leather seat and fishing out your sunglasses from your purse. “Can you at least tell me where I can find Taeyong in all of this-” you glance out “-grass?”

“He told me,” Charlie raises his fingers in air-quotations, “‘she’ll find me once she gets out.’ I don’t have any further information, miss.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” you huff, opening the door handle and stepping a foot out before pausing and turning back to your driver. “Please don’t bypass me next time.”

“Yes, miss.”

You narrow your eyes at his jolly smile, fully stepping out and closing the door and grimacing at the scratchy grind of your boots in the dry dirt of the road. You take a step toward the field, but the revving of the car behind you doesn’t allow you to breathe in the fresh air as you turn around wide-eyed to see it leaving faded tracks in its wake.

“Hey!” you screech, arms flailing like a maniac. “Charlie, come back!”

It’s futile in any case as you watch the black Jaguar speed off into the distance, your last speck of familiarly becoming one with your memory of the city as you stand there, handbag falling from your shoulder to your elbow, body deflating with literal abandonment.

Note to self: must fire Charlie.

You look around at the place anxiously, spotting a single car parked metres ahead, before turning to the countryside and standing on the balls of your toes. You scan through the maze of tall, gangly grass and tiny yellow flowers, hoping to find a certain blonde-haired hooligan traipsing somewhere between it, praying that the car belongs to him and not some other hooligan waiting to kidnap you and God knows what else. But you don’t see Taeyong anywhere, instead deciding to try your luck by stepping into tall grass, squinting as the gradually waning sun glints warmly through the top of your sunglasses, catching your lashes as they continue to flicker across the field.

It’s almost ironic for a scene earthed so deeply within nature to feel so unnatural, as if you were the most fabricated facet to roam this quiet part of the world. Walking through a field, being carried further with a cool breeze stirring through your locks and a land of serenity to call your own; it was such a simple act. It feels effortless to just exist in such a place, for your lungs to expand to their fullest capacity and welcome the refreshing change of milieu. For your arms to sway with no particular intention except that of a freedom which you had no idea you’d craved so deeply at all.

It’s a rare sight to see your own shadow rippling beside you, cast by the gentle fall of the sun beyond the field in absence of all the city’s tall buildings and metropolitan smog. It felt almost otherworldly to feel the tingling sensation of grass pricking at your fingertips, welcoming you in sweet greeting with every soft crunch beneath your feet.

“Wasn’t it supposed to rain?” you wonder aloud, head tilting up and catching sight of white tufts of clouds scattered infrequently through the sky, no foresight of said stormy weather in the seemingly perfect view. It doesn’t seem to matter either way as you sigh in genuine content, embracing the soft tickle of stray hairs against your cheeks, the warmth gleam of the sun, and strokes of grass at the exposed skin of your ankles.

“Figured you needed the fresh air.”

You abruptly turn around to a faint voice that comes from behind you, puzzled to see a dark-haired man sitting metres away, his pale skin obscured by the grass. The wind carries his hair in the same way it does yours, soft looking antennas waving you ‘hello’ from atop his head. Squinting forward, your gaze scans through the tall green lines and yellow petals, finding a familiar pair of eyes staring right back at your own.

“Taeyong?”

You step towards him with the warm shine of the sun on your back, wondering how you had missed him in your previous surveillance of the area. The grass brushes past your calves with such ease, as if parting to create a pathway just for you to walk along. Taeyong pats the clear stump of earth beside him, lips tugging into an uneven little smile as you sit down on the long of your coat, placing your bag in your lap.

“Hey,” he offers.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

You furrow your eyebrows at your own question, surprised at your own unseemly dialogue for the current setting.

Gosh, I really do need this break.

Taeyong only chuckles quietly, more than accustomed to this little habit of yours.

“Don’t worry, I’m done for the day.”

Your lips part, ready to question how on earth he could be ‘done for the day’ – since no one at Argent was ever done before sundown at the very least. But you stop yourself just as the words graze your tongue, rather opting to fall distracted with the hair that you only just realise now matches the tone of Taeyong’s eyebrows.

“What did you do to your hair?”

He looks up to the curtain of hair on his forehead, realisation striking his features as if he’d forgotten about the change of look altogether. “Oh yeah,” he scoops it back with a casual hand, the smooth complexion of his face glowing under the hue of the falling sun. “I dyed it yesterday; Johnny suggested a more natural colour.”

“It must be the best thing he’s done this month,” you mutter with a small snort, freezing on the spot as Taeyong turns to you in surprise, the meaning of your words settling down on you with the flushed heat that gathers at your neck. “I-I mean-”

“You like it?” he asks, voice falling soft and almost anxious as if hoping for your approval. Though it was all in your job to evaluate his appearance, you just can’t push aside the feeling that this – the goosebumps painting your arms in erratic waves, the hopeful eagerness sparkling in his eyes – was different to all the other times.

He tilts his head with a small smile, and it somehow does wonders to muddle up your thoughts as you nod wordlessly in response to his question, unable to trust your own voice. Your eyes focus on the soft shadows of swaying grass that dance across his cheeks, overcome with a certain urge to reach out and catch one with the tip of your thumb.

Your gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by Taeyong as he turns back to the sun, his smile never once faltering as he watches it fall lower and lower in the sky with each passing second. His eyes flicker to his periphery every now and again, happy to see that his intention for bringing you to this place is running its course. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure whether it would work, whether you would be able find the same contentment in this field as he always has. But as he watches it all once again – the grass, a little taller than the last time he’d visited, the sun and it’s softening hues – he supposes it must be impossible not to fall for the magical charms of such a green expanse.

***

Taeyong’s school shirt beats wildly with the wind against his stomach, the white fabric riddled with so many unkempt creases, he was sure to earn an earful from his dad once he returned home.

The school day couldn’t have gone by any faster, and while all of his friends were attending their extra-curriculars – Yuta at soccer training, Mark at basketball practice and Kun at his piano lessons – Taeyong finds himself all alone, riding his bike in solitude down an isolated country road with nothing but the rhythmic huffing and puffing of his chest to accompany his fast-peddling feet. His backpack hangs heavy with the weight of the many comic books stacked inside, its straps sliding down his shoulders before being shrugged back into place every dozen seconds or so.

Come on, come oooon, almost there! He ushers to himself. The thought manifests with an electric buzz of excitement, his wrist lifting from the handles to shield his face from the sun as it glints its orange rays in his periphery. Taeyong smiles, allowing himself to turn towards it and bask in its warmth, the greenery just below it swaying peacefully in the same way as the tousled hair against his forehead.

He cranes his neck in search for the familiar patch of flattened grass, for the little raw pathway he’d paved from his frequent visits to the field. It wasn’t too far now, just a couple dozen metres and he’d be right-

“Aahhh.”

The front tyre of Taeyong’s bike catches a loose rock on the ground, sending him toppling to the ground as he loses his balance, landing on his side with the loud crash of his bike beside him.

He groans, sitting up, lungs expanding and deflating heavily, a juvenile shock leeching into his features as he takes a few moments to process the fall. He feels a sudden sting on side of his face, expression twisting into a pained frown as he reaches up and dabs at a wet spot at his temple, flinching with a quiet sob at the shooting pain.

“Ow,” Taeyong whimpers, tears pooling at his eyes, though he refuses to let them stain his cheeks. He holds onto his grazed arm, gathering all his strength to pick himself off the ground and dust off his shirt. He feels his heart shatter as he looks down to his bike, taking in its now-dented frame and punctured tyre. Reaching for a tissue from his backpack, he holds it to the wound, hissing at the sting while looking either side of the desolate road.

There isn’t a single car, nor a house in sight. The emptiness of the place wasn’t really something he had paid much attention to until this moment, an inkling of regret seeping into his conscience from not having listened to his parents’ warnings not to go riding outside by himself. Sighing in defeat, Taeyong shoves the blood-stained tissue into his pocket, picking up his bike, slinging on his backpack once again, and opting to continue his journey; he’d gotten this far, so he saw no reason to turn back now, not unless he wanted to fast-track his inevitable scolding…which he certainly doesn’t.

Relief washes over Taeyong as he no sooner finds the notched pathway among the thick mane of grass. He sets down his bike at the edge of the field and strolls along the beaten trail, tall sedges stroking either side of his legs and leading him toward the same little patch of stubbly grass he’d made routine of greeting day by day. He drops his backpack to the ground, planting himself criss-cross applesauce right beside it and eagerly hauling out his comic books with a small grunt. Balancing his fancied print on a single knee, he once again dabs the bloody tissue on his wound, trying his best to ignore its persistent sting.

A yellow flower sits flattened on the page, a withered replica of those that dance around his head, marking the page he’d left off the night before. He pulls it out and delicately sets it down in the grass, allowing the wind to carry its petals somewhere far, far away along with all his seven-year-old worries as he bows his head and loses himself between the pages in his fingers.

Just for a while.

While Yuta kicks a black-and-white ball across a field, Taeyong douses himself in the zestful war of good versus evil, heated air painting his forehead with tiny beads of water that trickle down to cool his neck. While Kun perfects his trills and tenutos on ivory keys, Taeyong revels in the crescendo of action and dooming plot twists. And while Mark practices his three-pointers on the court – though it’d take him years to actually shoot a clean hoop – Taeyong embraces the final defeat of the vengeful villain, triumphing alongside the hero just as the sun brandishes its last smile for the day.

And at the end of it all, he plucks another flower from a tall stem somewhere nearby and presses it neatly between the last read pages of his nth comic, before returning home with a heart ever so heavy and saddened, bidding the field yet another inevitable goodbye.

***

A placebo. That’s what the field had been back then. And as Taeyong looks at you now, notices the relaxed lilt to your otherwise stiff posture and the small flicker of a smile on your now not-so-chapped lips, he realises that the placebo still holds strong and true.

And it indeed does, as you allow the knots in your face to relax for the first time in what feels like years. All of this was a rarity at best, with most of your evenings spent under the bright lights of your office, faced with vivacious reds and purples and silvers, all wrapped in the constant buzz of central air conditioning. And while you still haven’t a definite answer to why Taeyong had brought you to this field in the first place, you feel privileged enough that he did. Privileged to be able to bathe in the seeping warmth of the sun and breathe the soothing rustle of grass against the wind. It serves to elicit a sort of epiphany in your mind; that amidst it all, the world of fashion and fame feels so absolutely worthless.

‘Natural beauty’ is a term you’ve always chosen to steer clear from in your very fabricated life. You’ve heard it used in various contexts, thrown around in offhand and meaningless ways that never really seemed natural or beautiful at all. But the phrase seems to take on an entirely new meaning here, somehow more tangible and definite than you have ever known. This – where you are now – is a beauty coined by nature itself. No fabrications, no impressionable colours, nothing to be stitched or sewn or cut or styled just to breach the bracket of perfection. Even the clouds that seemed to have accumulated up above only play their just part of looking beautiful, and for the first time in a long, long time, you understand exactly what you need.

This.

This is what you need.

Your smile drops to a frown in an instant, eyes flickering down to your lap as your mind spirals back to your last conversation with Jaehyun from days ago.

But this is exactly what I can’t have.

Your next words fall from your lips before you’re able to help yourself, voice quiet but still so loud in the silence.

“Taeyong, do you think I’m a bitch?”

Guilt tugs itself taught in your chest at the thought, and you suddenly feel like a fraud for so much as sitting here and allowing yourself to enjoy every small wonder of this field. None of it was ever yours to enjoy in the first place. You belong in the tumbling noise of the city, amid the streets of towering skyscrapers, wrapped in eternal sheets of expensive fabrics, under the blaring flashes of fame.

Taeyong turns to you with a questioning look, eyebrows riddling with confusion upon seeing the frown on the same pair of lips that were smiling so contentedly the last minute he’d seen them. It isn’t the same frown he’s grown so used to over the preceding weeks, but one that now bares a genuine sadness to it.

He can only sigh, fingertips tingling with an unsolicited urge to reach out and tilt your chin his way as he mulls over his own thoughts. He can’t tell exactly which place your question had come from, but he’s sure he wouldn’t be too far off if he took a wild guess.

“You want my honest opinion?” Taeyong breathes out, and you can’t help but curl your knees to your chest at the thought of what’s to come.

You don’t want his honest opinion. You really don’t.

But perhaps it’s something you need.

So, you allow yourself to nod, giving him the okay to speak freely. He nods back, blinking a few times before sucking in a deep breath.

“Yeah, I think you are a bitch.”

Your head hangs low under the heavy weight of reality as it sinks deeper than you’d ever allowed it to before, and with a sorrowful nod, you allow yourself to crumble a little on the inside with Taeyong’s words. You’re not sure what you were really expecting from him with your question; you knew better than to bank on a free shower of compliments, but you certainly weren’t expecting his answer to bite and burn as much as it does now. But you suppose that in the end, he only recites the very insult you’ve been brushing off for years. But it’s only now that it truly feels justified, as if you can no longer brush it away without slipping further into its unforgiving throes, forced to accept it as it is with no sure-fire excuse to walk away.

“But I also think underneath it all – underneath the whole façade – that you’re a very likeable person.”

Taeyong hasn’t even a clue what he’s saying, the words simply leaving his mouth as naturally as his own breath mingles with the wind.

You turn to him, a bout of hesitancy in the slow blink of your eyes as you search his gaze for even just the smallest shard of deceit. You don’t find any, though it doesn’t stop your attempts to convince yourself he’d only said the latter out of pity.

“I don’t know,” you release a shallow sigh, bitter with the new sensation of complete and utter defeat. “Everyone else begs to differ.”

Taeyong eyes you sceptically.

“Everyone else, as in Jaehyun?”

“Especially him.”

“He’s an asshole, Y/n.” He shakes his head, almost annoyed at you for still allowing that cheap excuse of a man to mess with your head, even after he’d taken the liberty of opening Argent’s doors and showing his own way out.

You chuckle resentfully.

“That asshole is one of my only friends…was…my only friend.”

“Well, last time I remember, friends don’t abandon you and clype you out on national tv.”

You pause upon hearing Taeyong’s words, realising the blatant truth in them. No friend would do such a thing if they truly were a friend, and the fact that Jaehyun had done exactly what a good friend shouldn’t have…

It couldn’t have felt any more scary than it does now.

And it leaves you wondering if any of it – if any of the friendship you thought you and Jaehyun had harboured through the years – had been real in any essence. Perhaps it had been real, even just for a short while. Perhaps it had been lost in translation somewhere along the dividing paths of your careers. But it certainly doesn’t feel that way in hindsight, and friendship or not, it certainly doesn’t exist anymore.

Taeyong doesn’t avert his eyes from you, doesn’t care that the sun had finally kissed the green horizon up ahead, rather focusing on the turmoil brewing so evidently through your features.

“Tell me,” he voices out softly, not a second thought to the sureness of his words.

“What?” you ask.

“Whatever’s on your mind.” He resists the urge to reach forward and take your hand in his own, looking deeply into your eyes and finding a need somewhere deep down. A need to know the full story of you, to understand you. “Tell me whatever you want. About yourself, about Argent; everything. I’ll listen.”

You find yourself staring up at Taeyong in bewilderment, your hair batting against your cheeks, though never a bother, as you try to formulate a response to his offer, realising that this is the first time someone has asked you to share your thoughts freely. This is the first time someone truly seemed to care about something other than your fame or your fortune or every other profitable prospect in between.

This is the first time someone is willing to listen.

So, maybe it’s the soft prickle of grass at your ankles, or your vulnerability that’s now borne far beyond redemption; perhaps it’s the faint scent of flowers all around, or maybe even be the brown-haired man sitting right in the middle of them. Whatever it is – whether a combination of everything, or nothing all – it causes you to smile, yielding away your defences and bursting all your dams free for a short while.

Taeyong feels his heart swell as you begin to speak out every little thought that comes to mind. And just as he’d said, he listens. Not only to your words, but to every subtle inflection of your voice, to the rise and fall of new emotion that even you didn’t think you could express.

You’d planned to loosen the restraints just slightly, but wind up releasing the reins altogether, indulging in Taeyong’s attentive nods and hums as you paint him a vivid picture of the past he never could have imagined you to have lived.

He discovers a lot; of your father’s departure when you were merely eight years old, and the childhood you’d spent under ceaseless scrutiny thereafter. He finds out how everything from the friends you had to the clothes you wore, had been controlled under your mother’s dreadful custody. How you’d fled home at the young age of seventeen and found yourself in the city of love with not an ounce of love to give. Even less to keep.

“It was always just me, myself and I. And I hated it.” You blink ahead at the orange and pink hues among the gathered clouds, the sun now. “I guess I just wanted to break free from that trap, and I did it through fashion. And it did work. It worked wonders,” you sigh, pausing to gather your thoughts before continuing with a smile. “Opening Argent had been a fantasy come true. I’ve achieved…so much; things that were once merely a figment of my wildest dreams. I have a cupboard full of awards. Invites from Tokyo, London, Italy, Shanghai, you name it.” You find your words falling short on your tongue, replaced with a dry chuckle and a small shake of your head. “But isn’t it just so funny how years of control can spiral out in the span of a day? How everything can suddenly turn in on itself as if none of it really mattered?”

Your eyes are wistful and faraway, as is the prevailing smile on your lips, and while Taeyong wishes so badly to reciprocate the expression, he just can’t bring himself to do so. His spirits plummet ten feet underground as everything seems to click in his mind, now envisioning you in a new kind of light; something a little softer, subdued, not nearly as blinding as the spotlight you lived under.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just being dramatic. This is showbiz after all,” you deadpan, recalling Jaehyun’s words with a sigh.

All the fame and wealth that you now have. All the esteem and praise and acclamation. You once seemed to have everything he could have only ever dreamt of; everything anyone could have ever dreamt of. A world-class fashion label and a famous title should have been enough. Designer clothing and expensive buyers, the spotlights and privilege of being ‘the world’s best and most renowned’; all of it should have been enough. But after listening to everything you had to say, Taeyong realises it never would be. That material possessions are worth nothing without the emotional sentiment that was supposed to come with them; that it’s all meaningless without someone to share and celebrate and enjoy them with. He wonders what exactly your motive had been when choosing to walk into this hectic world alone, unwilling to believe that you’d come with the intention of ending up where you are now.

Taeyong pictures a different version of you, someone written in the pages of your past, years younger than you are now. He sees a young girl with fiery passions and enough quirks to back every one of those passions with. She wasn’t perfect in the least, had many flaws to take in her stride, but she shone brighter than all the silvers in the world. She sought her dream through perseverance, never once allowing a frown to so much as grace the smile that had once sat so naturally on her face. She had so much to gain from life.

So how could she be sitting right here with a handful of losses and a shattered heart?

Taeyong wonders what exactly you had done to end up in this position but can’t seem to find an answer. You hadn’t done anything wrong. It strikes him that perhaps it was because of people like him, that people like you could never truly live the lives you’d originally planned for yourselves; perhaps it wouldn’t have been all that bad had he been more careful with his sources.

His pensive silence feels a little too tense and prolonged, causing you to grow conscious of every little confession you’d shared moments prior. You want to know what Taeyong is thinking, whether his respect for you falls any fickler in his mind now that your heart lies bared on your sleeve.

“Well, I’ve opened my gaping scars,” you announce quietly, watching him from the corner of your eye, “don’t think you’ll get away without opening yours.”

“I don’t know if I can compete with you, really,” he answers solemnly, realising the value of his own fulfilling childhood despite the downfalls.

“Well, what about that one?”

Taeyong flinches back in surprise, his thoughts interrupted by the finger you point right next to his eye.

“Sorry,” you mutter, retracting your hand back in embarrassment.

He accepts your apology with a small wave and shake of his head, amused by your sudden awkwardness as his own hand lifts to trace the scar beside his eye that you’d pointed at.

“This?” he asks, and you watch a small nostalgic smile grace his lips, nodding in response. Taeyong’s scar is something you’ve been curious about since your evening together in the Walkway Hall, and sitting so close to him once again has only served to remind you of its unique intricacy – almost as if it were there for a specific reason, carved into his skin in a sort of poetic way that only seemed fitting enough for him.

“I got this when I was really young, actually. Seven, I think?” He pouts in thought, and you don’t think he could have looked more endearing in this moment. “I was riding my bike and wasn’t looking where I was going and-”

“And you fell.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, hand lifting to sheepishly rub at the nape of his neck. “It was somewhere around this field, actually. Somewhere along the road.” He turns back briefly, pointing an aimless finger along the path of the road.

“Oh, you’ve been here before?” you ask, eyes lighting up with genuine curiosity as you sit straight, eager to know more about him.

“More times than I can count.” Taeyong’s his smile grows wider in fond recollection, and you feel another bout of goosebumps rise on your skin as if you too can somehow feel the strength of the memory that so clearly flashes through his mind. “Comic books were my religion,” he chuckles, “and this field was my second home. I used to come here almost every day and just read until sundown.”

How nice it must have been, you wonder to yourself, eyes sparkling with mental image of a seven-year-old boy sitting in solitude among the grass with a book in his hands. You almost wish you could have met him all those years ago, talked with him until the sun no longer smiled down upon you.

“In fact, it was when the sun was setting that…” his voice fades away as he turns his head to you, a soft pang flaring in his chest as he watches your eyes glint with little remaining arch of the sun, your skin aglow with a hue of warm orange. You turn to him with a bright smile, and it’s only now that he realises the erratic beating of his heart beneath his ribcage, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I was…distracted by the sunset. That’s how I fell that day.”

“I can understand why,” you mumble, turning back to the field and allowing yourself to breathe in the final golden glow before it settles below the grass. “It’s stunning.”

“Always has been,” Taeyong croons, gaze still trained on your soft eyes, trailing down to the natural curvature of your lips, wondering if they’d feel as soft as they now look.

He finds himself overcome with emotion, wanting to inch closer to you, to embrace you in his arms and slide the cool tips of his fingers between the warm gaps of yours. He wants so badly to be able to rest his chin on your shoulder, nuzzle his nose into your neck and listen to the perfect melody of your voice for hours, to read and make sense of all your thoughts like his very own fascinating comic from all those years ago.

God, he wants to kiss you.

Right here, among the soft whispering of the wind, Taeyong wants to hold you tight and stroke your cheek and let you know everything will be alright.

He sighs, wondering if you feel the same way, if you’ve ever felt an inkling of what he’s feeling in this moment, watching as you tilt your head up to the sky.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” you sigh, blinking up and following the clouds as they glide swiftly into one another among the turquoise of the sky. They’re a lot larger now, darker too in combination of the lacking sun and a natural greyness. “We should go.”

“Wait,” Taeyong catches your wrist momentarily, preventing you from standing as he reaches another hand into his pocket.

He pulls out a familiar-looking strip of silver fabric, pinching it by the ends and holding it up to the sky. You eye him, confused, eyebrows furrowing at his bizarre gesture before squinting up at the fabric. You tilt your head watching it curiously as it stands out brightly among the dull clouds, trying to make sense of its significance up in the sky. But a faint rumble of thunder has your eyes widening in realisation, the meaning of his actions striking you as brashly as the following clap of thunder.

Chaque nuage a une doublure d'argent. Every cloud has a silver lining.

You turn to Taeyong with a look of shimmering wonder, beaming along with the warm sensation that flowers in your chest as he regards you with all the world’s sincerity in his eyes.

“Don’t ever forget it,” he murmurs softly, compelling you never to leave his eyes, hoping his words hug you as warmly as his body aches to do so in this moment, unknowing that you feel his overwhelming comfort with every heavy breath that leaves you. He uncurls your palm and places the fabric on your hand, smiling at your curious gaze. “It’s yours. You dropped it last week, so I kept it safe for you.”

You nod, suddenly jolting in place as the sky suddenly resounds with another roar of thunder, the wind angrily whisking through the grass and picking up your hair in its path.

“Okay, but we really should get going before it starts to pour.” Taeyong scrambles to his feet, offering you his hand which you gratefully take. Your mind spins astir as he doesn’t let go of your palm, leading you to the car you’d seen parked on the roadside earlier and opening the passenger door with a nod of his head for you to sit inside.

“Oh no, it’s okay, I’ll just wait for Charlie to come and take me home.” You step back with a polite shake of your head, digging around your bag for your phone to contact said man.

Taeyong clicks his tongue, hips leaning back into the cool metal of his car, an amused grin tugging at one side of his mouth as he watches your triumphant expression upon finding your phone.

“Charlie’s not coming,” he declares, hands crossing over his chest.

“What do you mean, he’s not coming?” you eye him suspiciously.

“I mean,” Taeyong leans forward, “that he’s not coming.”

“So, what? Do you plan on taking me home? In your own car?” you ask, puzzled by the cocky raise of his eyebrows.

“Ten only arranged a ride for you to get here, so yes, I do plan on taking you home. In my own car. You got a problem with that, miss fashion fabulous?” Taeyong tilts is head to the side and you huff in response, the nickname causing your eyes to once again find their customary place at the back of your skull.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Well,” he pushes himself off the car, taking a step forward, “I’m your only way home right now, so either you get in my car, or…” he pauses and looks up, your gaze following his to find a growing realm of angry, ashen clouds rumbling with the profession of their next intentions, bouts of white electricity flashing between their overlapping shadows.

And with that, you don’t utter another word, helping yourself inside the passenger seat of Taeyong’s car and snatching the door from his grip to slam it shut. You have no intention of being left alone in the middle of nowhere to be soaked in the rain, that’s for sure.

Taeyong only chuckles to himself with a fond shake of his head, jogging around and finding his place in the driver’s seat just as the first drizzles of rain adorn themselves delicately through his hair.

Y/n [8:06pm]: thank you for today

Y/n [8:06pm]: the field was nice

Y/n [8:06pm]: the sunset too

Taeyong [8:07pm]: what’s your take on Ferris wheels?

Y/n [8:07pm]: ???

Y/n [8:07pm]: that’s not random at all

Taeyong [8:07pm]: for educational purposes :D

Y/n [8:07pm]: I don’t know

Y/n [8:07pm]: I’ve never been on a Ferris wheel before

Taeyong [8:07pm]: 😱😱😱

Taeyong [8:07pm]: the disrespect

Y/n [8:08pm]: I was trying to thank you for today but I guess I’ll take it back or something 🙄

Taeyong [8:08pm]: you’re welcome

Y/n [8:08pm]: too late, Sonic

Taeyong [8:08pm]: you underestimate my speed

Y/n [8:08pm]: is that so?

Taeyong [8:08pm]: tomorrow 7pm, be ready

Taeyong [8:08pm]: weren’t expecting that now were you 😏

Y/n [8:08pm]: you’re not slick :/

Y/n [8:09pm]: but why? What’s happening tomorrow?

Taeyong [8:09pm]: curious, are we?

Y/n [8:09pm]: I think I made that abundantly clear

Taeyong [8:09pm]: well…

Y/n [8:09pm]: well…?

Taeyong [8:09pm]: I guess you’ll have to wait and see~~

VIII. A *Bit* of Fun

You had tried with all your might, must have spent a good hour the previous night mulling and fussing over where exactly Taeyong was to take you this time. After having taken you to the field, you had decided that this man was as whimsical and unpredictable as they ever came. In the end, you were left clueless, tossing and turning through your muss of bedsheets with a little too much to lick your lips over (and use Taeyong’s lip balm to soothe the dryness thereafter). You had not a clue as to where you were expecting to end up the next day. All the of New York’s most prized attractions graced your mind, but none of those locations seemed to be remotely feasible for two of the industry’s most well-known faces to be seen together in.

So, it certainly came as a huge surprise when you’d found yourself standing in front of a dart-throwing stall in the middle of a fairground, with what feels like half the world’s population ambling around you in every which direction.

“Of all places,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything else, voice muffled by the mask that Taeyong had previously handed you in the car – your public incognito, as per his exact words. You adjust the scratchy material on your face, still absorbing the exorbitant glow of tube lights all around you and the indistinct conversation buzzing through the night air with the occasional rumble of roller coaster tracks in the distance.

“You do realise we have a fashion show to attend in eight days,” you turn to Taeyong, unable to gauge his expression save for the crinkle beside his eyes, absentmindedly following as he strides closer to the stall, “the biggest one of the season, may I add.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have anything better to do locked indoors?” he deadpans, his scar glowing with the golden light as he glances up to the pricing board before turning to you.

“I could have for all you know,” you bite back, resisting the urge to cross your arms like a child, unwilling to admit your petty defeat in this argument.

“I don’t think a pity party for one counts, love. We’ll take ten, please.” Taeyong doesn’t spare you a glance, rather handing a five-dollar bill to the stall vendor in exchange for a handful of darts. You stare at him in disbelief, the nickname burning holes in your mind with the flush that burns your cheeks, and you couldn’t be more thankful for the mask to hide it away from the world.

“Taeyong, I swear if we get caught-”

“We won’t,” he interrupts, tapping a deliberate finger at his mask. “Besides, I think you deserve to have a little fun before the show,” he plucks a dart from the pile in his hand and holds it out to you with a tilt of his head, “Don’t you?”

You don’t reply, eyeing the pointed object with scepticism drawn between your brows. In plain honesty, you’ve never touched a dart in your life. The only sharps you’ve ever had to handle have come in the form of sewing needles, fabric clamps or garment pins; never darts.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to throw a dart?” Taeyong’s eyes widen with incredulity.

“Of course I know how to throw a dart,” you scoff, eyes mimicking his own while snatching the dart from his hand, refusing to back down in the face of yet another one-up from him. Of all the things you’ve accomplished thus far in life, this surely couldn’t be such a hard feat to strive for.

Taeyong grabs you by the shoulders, turning you to the rows of balloons beyond the counter.

“If you pop more than eight balloons, you get a prize.”

You nod resolutely, eyes narrowing in on a red balloon in the middle of the board while lifting the dart in front of your eyes. Angling your wrist meticulously, you draw a mental beeline from the dart to the balloon, pulling your wrist back and launching it forward. Your keen expression falls as fast as the dart as you watch it plunge into the ground, turning grouchily to one very amused Taeyong who snickers all too blatantly at your expense.

“That was a practice run,” you shoot him a your most convincing scowl (which probably isn’t very convincing at all under the mask), holding a palm out for another dart which he gives you all too happily. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with the heady aroma of sweet and salty popcorn from the stall just across, lifting your hand once again and this time angling your wrist a little lower than before. Why exactly you feel the need to show your strongest mettle in such a measly little game is beyond you, but if there’s one thing you’d commend yourself on, it’s your determination, and you’re not lacking an ounce of it in this moment.

You throw the dart, huffing as it ricochets off board and lands once again on the ground with a flat thud. Taeyong’s laughter follows even louder this time, incredibly melodious yet so very extremely infuriating at the same time.

“Alright then, if you’re so good, why don’t you go ahead and try?”

“My pleasure,” he chuckles, crinkles still decorating the side of his eyes as he takes a dart, lifts his wrist and throws it forward, all while maintaining eye contact with you as if it were the easiest thing to do in the world.

You’re left to watch the way his cheeks rise under the mask as the damn balloon bursts, your own jaw pulled down in confused shock.

“How-”

“It’s called practice.”

You can’t see Taeyong’s face, but you’re positive if you reached forward and pulled down his mask, that smug grin would be stretched wide across it – in fact, there’s no need to pull it down when you’re practically able to imagine it there yourself.

“I can help you if you want…” he trails off, a suggestive lilt to his voice that rubs your stubborn temperament the wrong way, prompting an adamant shake of your head and as you once again hold out your hand. “Another one please.”

The next six turns are spent with a gradually diminishing morale accompanied by defensive utterances to excuse your clear ineptitude for the game. In the end, you manage to score three balloons, one of which had burst purely by some inexplicable coincidence. Taeyong on the other hand enjoys himself all too thoroughly, delighting so much in your concentrated stares and irked huffs, that when you turn to him wide-eyed with a hand emptied of darts, he can’t help but present you with another bundle of ten.

No wonder she made it this far, he thinks to himself, admiring the drive that came in the form of your cinched eyebrows and stolid posture, unwavering as you still somehow continue to miss your newly appointed blue target.

“You know, you always go on about how I’m so stiff, but have you ever realised how stiff you are?” he muses aloud, testing the waters while stepping slightly closer to you.

“I’m stiff because I have to be stiff, it’s my job,” you mutter back inattentively with one eye winking shut in focus, far too absorbed in reacquiring your target.

“We’re at a fair, Y/n.”

You gasp, unsure whether it’s from the fact that Taeyong had just spoken your name in public, or from the coolness of his fingers wrapping around the dorsal of your hand. You’re unable to control the goosebumps that flourish over your skin as his other hand cups your shoulder, your breath hitching as he lowers his head beside your own, so close that you can feel his stray hairs tickling your temple with every puff of the cool breeze.

“You don’t have to be stiff here.”

He’s so close that you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you, his hand sliding down to the exposed skin of your wrist, pressing softly into the bone.

“Loosen up.”

You can only pray that your mask doesn’t make your shaky breaths more noticeable as you gulp down the sudden urge to turn your head toward Taeyong, far too afraid of diving head-first into something far beyond your boundaries.

You suddenly blink as a loud pop resounds from ahead, eyes shifting to find the dart no longer secured between your thumb and forefinger, the balloon now nothing but a limp scatter of blue latex shards on the ground.

“See? Simple, right?” Perhaps it was the loud burst that makes Taeyong’s voice sound softer than before, or perhaps he really had lowered his voice. You can’t tell either way over your growing pulse under his still grip on your wrist. When he lets go and stands straight, your eyes fall shut for a second, a silent breath of relief leaving your lips and warming your cheeks.

You don’t allow your mind the liberty to drown in your growing whirlpool of thoughts, questions and emotions, hands rather working by themselves to grasp another dart and flippantly fling it forward with no particular drive. To your surprise, it strikes a yellow balloon square in the middle with the loud, refreshing pop.

You snap your neck to Taeyong, eyes growing wide with a newfound excitement as he claps loudly, a wide smile taking over his features.

“I didn’t even try!” you shriek out in joy, arms moving in animatedly haphazard gestures, and Taeyong swears this is the first time he’s heard a real giggle from you. You throw another dart, still paying no attention whatsoever to the angle of your wrist or the position of your feet, yelping loudly as another balloon pops. “Hah! Did you see that? Two in a row!”

Taeyong laughs at the little bounce in the balls of your feet as you continue with the rest of the darts, eyes dancing affectionately over the image that is you.

Truly you.

It feels so surreal to him, having the privilege of witnessing the unfolding of such guiltless excitement, finally unearthed from deep within the person he’d once sworn was far too stuck-up to feel any emotions at all. He finds it so peculiar and endearing all at once that such a small achievement could bring the light to your eyes like nothing else in the world; that it really doesn’t take much to make you happy, and all you really need is a little freedom from the image the world makes you out to be.

You wind up with a grand total of eight clean balloon strikes, a little too gratified when picking out the largest purple teddy bear – that isn’t really as large as it sounds. Far too high in the clouds, you waste no time in dragging Taeyong to almost every stall in the fairground as if you were the one who left him hanging by a thread the night before.

And if there’s one thing that Taeyong realises while watching you fish for rubber ducks in a makeshift pond, it’s that you look extremely pretty when you work, but you look even prettier when you’re having fun. He also realises that you’re among the lucky ones when it comes to rigged carnival games….and that you’d wholeheartedly fight the world just to get your hands on the last scoop of green tea ice cream (thankfully there was no bloodshed since the child standing in front of you decided to change her mind to rainbow fairy floss in the end).

Being able to walk around in public without a bodyguard to tag closely behind, or the constant buzz of paparazzi and their blinding cameras; it felt absolutely divine. Like a breath of fresh air that everyone deserves to experience at least once in their lives. But as the universe would have it, peacefully indulging in an ice cream is a code red situation that not even the shrewdest of celebrities could ploy their way around. So as per Taeyong’s admittedly genius idea, you find yourself standing in the queue of the Ferris wheel with napkins painted in sticky swirls of green and brown (he opted for chocolate; a very predictable choice, you think), distracted by the squeals of children sliding down the Helter Skelter on the far right.

“So, this is why you asked me about my take on Ferris wheels yesterday,” you hum, head tipped back to welcome the bright shimmer of the multicoloured carriage lights bringing life to the navy-tipped sky.

“A speedy observation indeed,” Taeyong teases, nodding for you to enter a newly emptied carriage before climbing in himself and thanking the operator who secures it shut.

You sigh contentedly as the carriage rises and stops for the next few passengers, allowing yourself to embrace the butterflies that flit beneath your ribcage with an exhilarated sort of nervousness. You pull the mask off your face, relieved to be concealed in a dark enough space from the rest of the world, left alone for a while with the soft strokes of evening air cupping your cheeks and a nice scoop of your favourite ice cream to melt on your tongue.

You’re unable to control the small smile that tugs at your lips as you catch Taeyong’s gaze from across you. The stupid grin slapped across his face causes yours to widen, followed by a small giggle, which Taeyong tops with his own frivolous laughter, and soon enough you’re both surrounded by the echoes of your own fit of hysterics, no rhyme or reason to the wide smiles and slitted eyes.

“Why are you laughing?” you ask between giggles.

“I don’t know, why are you laughing?” Taeyong titters back.

“I don’t know,” you shake your head, hunching over to compose yourself with a hand pressed to your chest, taking a deep breath and turning to the view from your newly heightened angle. You have never really understood why people would willingly come to such places. Why would one allow themselves to be enticed by futile prizes at the cost of an absurd amount of money and by-chance luck?

But as you look down now, you see a multitude of familial relationships gone right, illuminated by the golden glow of scattered lighting around the fairground. You see couples with entwined fingers, swaying together in queues and proudly pecking each other’s cheeks at game stalls. You see children, starstruck and ever-dazed by the very prospect of thrill rides, tugging at their parents’ sleeves and bestowed with peerless amounts of benign love. Everything seems to make a lot more sense as you realise all of this is done for the experience between people; friends, families, partners and lovers. For the emotion and the connections and all the combined energy to present itself in the form of love and laughter.

“So…” You almost miss Taeyong’s voice as it somehow blends in fluidly with the white noise beyond your little sky cubby. “This was…fun. You had fun, right?”

“Hmm,” you hum playfully, eyes trained upwards in ingenuine thought.

“Oh, don’t even lie to yourself,” Taeyong scoffs.

You smile, taking a pensive bite of your cone. “I guess I had a bit of fun.”

“Uh huh,” he murmurs, eyes fixated on the tote bag beside you overflowing with prized plushies and miscellaneous stuffed animals you’d both ruthlessly won.

“Okay, maybe I had quite a bit of fun,” you chuckle, taking another bite of your ice cream.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he smiles, eyes peering unwaveringly into your own, and it’s only now that you grow conscious to the sensation of his knees softly brushing your own, his head resting back against the glass, and a dazed expression that finds a muse somewhere deep within your being.

You mirror Taeyong with a contended sigh, relishing in the tickle of his knees while finishing off the remainder of your ice cream. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, the lights beyond casting a shifting pageant of shadows over his velvety features, silvering the soft ends of his windswept hair. In this moment, you think Taeyong looks like a piece of art, some rare specimen that you’d only expect to find in a gallery; something you’d approach and have no choice but to fall hypnotised by, placated and inspired to the fine point of no return.

You realise it’s starting to become increasingly hard to evade the blithe air that engulfs you whenever in Taeyong��s presence. It would simply be an act of pettiness to deny something so apparent to both you and him. You can’t recall the last time you’d had even an ounce of the fun you’ve had collecting horrifyingly lurid plushies this very evening, or the last time your cheeks had ached from smiling so naturally in the span of a few hours.

You tilt your head in thought, eyes shifting once more to Taeyong’s hair, lips twitching up at the bright outline of it.

You’ve brought your silver linings to the world through Argent, always made sure that every stitch was perfect to a fault, that the sky was clear of clouds wherever you dared set foot.

In the one time when your world had taken a dark turn – the one moment you needed a silver lining to guide you through the rough – Taeyong had stepped in and shed a warm light to the other side. Perhaps he was that silver lining you needed all along, and all it had taken was you walking right under those dark clouds to realise it.

“Come to my place after this.” Your words slip under command of a momentary whim, your mind suddenly alight with a new kind of motivation.

“Come to your what?” Taeyong chokes out, surprised by your unexpected statement.

“My apartment,” you nod resolutely, moving to secure your mask back on your face as the carriage approaches the ground once again.

“For what?” he asks, securing his own mask too, the genuine perplexity in both his voice and expression rather amusing to you now as you simply smile back.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

IX. Give Yourself a Break

When you said you’d take Taeyong to your apartment, the last thing he’d expected was to be standing in the middle of your living room among a flurry of smooth jazz, wearing the very outfit he was to show off to the world in eight days. But to his pleasant surprise, the ensemble consists of the most comfortable set of fabrics he’d ever worn – and probably the most abundant too, he realises, as beads of sweat bloom at the roots of his hair.

On the very inside, Taeyong wears a thin dark blue turtleneck woven from the finest organic cotton money could buy. On top of it is a crisp, white oversized dress shirt held together by a matching navy tie. And on top of that is a navy jacket complete with a matching set of pants; greens, oranges and ceruleans seeping into the navy cloth, hand-painted so strategically that the third person would assume it to have been tie-dyed. Argent’s logo decorates every free space in a black paint that shimmers hypnotizingly under the scintillate lighting above. To top it all off, is the signature strip of silver running down the right sleeve of the jacket and the left leg of the pants.

“You’d think your shoulders would be smaller than Jaehyun’s,” you mutter, examining the two-and-a-half extra centimetres on the measuring tape held across Taeyong’s shoulders, before hanging it back around your neck, “I guess not.” You take the initiative to slip the jacket from his shoulders, clearly in your working element as you walk back to your dining table and remeasure the material, “thank goodness I started with a few extra centimetres of fabric.”

Taeyong doesn’t know whether to be offended or flattered by your offhand comments, but he quite frankly can’t bring himself to care, far too distracted by the sheer magnificence of your penthouse despite having spent the last hour inside of it. He’s still awed by the modern lighting that hangs high from ceilings, stunned by the roof-length windows that present a panorama of New York City at its prime hour, the fresh downpour beyond the glass bathing his ears in its soothing rumbles.

He takes a sip of the wine you’d poured for him, its sour tingle and sweet taste a perfect complement to the comforting ambience, eyes relaxed and travelling to the empty cardboard take-out boxes scattered across the dining table.

That was yet another unexpected turn of the evening; being wined by the world’s greatest fashion designer who apparently also likes to dine at the local Chinese take-away from across the street.

He then allows his eyes to fall on you, the most awestriking object in this room.

He watches you – every part of you – and doesn’t let himself look away, committing you into his memory like never before. He’s seen you work at Argent; steadfast in your movements, perfect posture, never a crease in your brow. But now, it feels as if a barrier has been torn down between that version of you and the person that sits before him now; your hands moving with a certain delicacy as you fold the material, not a single care in the world for the slight hunch in your back, and a very unfettered crease in your brow as you blow away stray hairs from your bun.

Yes, Taeyong had once wondered why you had chosen the life you currently live, but it’s no longer a question in his mind now; a statement rather, for which all evidence is presented in the very subject of his gaze.

“Great! I think we’re just about finished.”

Taeyong shifts his eyes as you walk back brightly, handing him the jacket for a final trial, which he slips on easily.

“Good?”

“Perfect,” he smiles back, relishing in the relieved expression that washes over you as you dust your hands in accomplishment. “But wasn’t this supposed to be your break period?” Taeyong pointedly raises an eyebrow.

“Listen, I’ve been breaking,” you lift your fingers in quotation marks, “for the last two days, and that’s more than enough time for me to slowly go insane.” You accentuate your point with a long, hard swing of your wine, gulping it down to its last drop and finishing with a hiss. “See? Who drinks wine like that? A madwoman, that’s who.” You cross your arms over your chest, your stubborn pout melting into a smile with the swarm of butterflies the erupt in your chest as you watch Taeyong hunch over in boisterous laughter, hypnotised by the dazzle of his smile along with the shimmer of the suit.

“You’re insane,” he snickers, sighing as his laughter dies down.

And you’re beautiful, you think back, not a single question to pose against the decided fact, though you try your best to conceal the epiphany with your nonchalant words. “Yeah, and the whole world knows it. Now go change before you crease the fabric.”

Taeyong snorts out loud, sauntering down the hallway with a small shake of his head and a hand ruffling through his hair – which you had previously tried your best to style to somewhat match the outfit (though it’s not your forte to put it lightly). Taeyong pushes his way into the bathroom, still not yet acquainted to its colossal size and the absolute shine of the marbled floor tiles. The view of city had seemed to follow him there, still twinkling in all its nocturnal glory through the tall glass window behind the jacuzzi tub upon which his clothes hang.

It’s all but a sight for sore eyes, but Taeyong doesn’t allow himself to admire it for a second longer, abruptly turning to the mirror, fingers clutching the edge of the counter as he properly examines himself, awestricken at the man that stares back at him. Never before had he thought an outfit could suit him so well, and you are the only person he can accredit for that. He softly smiles to himself, appreciating the sheer talent of a being that you are, so committed to anything and everything you set your mind you – even a game as small as darts would light the match within you ablaze with passion.

But his smile falls in an instant as his eyes drop to the dual sinks – one surrounded with various lotions, perfumes and a make-up accessories, while the other is completely empty; surrounded by nothing but unused space, all covered in a thin layer of dust. The contrast is simply far too existent to ignore, and it frustrates Taeyong to all uncontrollable ends, his frown deepening sorely as his eyes close with a shake of his head.

No wonder she’s so lonely, he thinks. Working all day on designer clothes, cooped up from twilight until dusk in her office, feared to the bone by her employees and framed for all the wrong reasons. And all of that, only to come home to this: a dual sink that only can’t serve its true purpose. A bottle of wine that only she can pop open and pour into a glass. And yet she somehow still keeps going. Even on her break.

Taeyong meets his own eyes in the mirror, jaw clenching with a certain overcoming power, not wasting a single moment before lurching himself toward the door. His eyebrows furrow as he steps out into the hallway, bathed in a newfound darkness that now blankets the entirety of the apartment. He steps forward, wondering if you’ve already gone to bed, though the jazz music that still floats gently by his ears testifies against the notion.

Taeyong turns into the living room, stopped in his tracks by the silhouette standing before the glass that separates her from the world beyond.

You stand at the edge of the glass, fingertip pressed to the top of the highest building, eyes alit with the glimmer of the infamous Big Apple showered in a dazzling patter of rain. The view had caught your eye moments before, compelling you to close the lights and awe before it.

It has truly been a while since you had admired it to its full extent, inhaled the breathtaking kaleidoscope of skyscrapers at their glorious heights and the sparkling lights of the streets. The last time you had properly smiled at this view was years ago, with your elbow slipping dazedly from the window ledge of your tiny studio apartment, if one could even call it that. You’d sat by that window, having just shaken hands with a crestfallen model outside of Vogue building, and an assistant who went by the curious name of a number. You’d watched this view every day from a distance that was much further away than now, when it all seemed like a mere prospect, as did your character.

Purchasing the penthouse you stand in now had brought you all too close to the city, you’ve realised. This view had somehow become a routine part of your daily life, lost somewhere between the absentminded glances and fatigued muscles after a long workday, brushed aside along the way and forgotten as easily as every bright flash of a camera on the street.

You’re happy to find the same previous contentment in this view from up so close. Perhaps it isn’t even remotely the same. But it is still contentment, nonetheless.

“Aren’t you tired?”

The glass fogs slightly as you release a breathy chuckle in response to the low murmur behind you.

“Do you usually go to bed this early?”

“No, Y/n,” there’s a quiet pause, filled only with a soothing piano and quiet footsteps approaching forward, “I mean…aren’t you exhausted with your life?”

Head turning to the side, you see Taeyong’s silhouette standing in your periphery, silent and expectant of your answer. You gulp involuntarily, all too heedful of the single affirmation that should have fallen from your mouth, though you don’t allow yourself to speak it.

“Excuse me?” you reply, voice hesitant and breathy. The music evaporates in an instant, leaving the air void with a jarring silence, still among the heavy sigh that leaves Taeyong. You stiffen as you feel his presence behind you, electricity shooting through your body as his warm fingers brush your own from behind. You attempt to turn around, but the squeeze of his hand around your palm stops you, thawing your frosted skin and holding you in place as if to say, “it’s okay, be still.”

Your breath leaves you in trembling exhales, chest rising and falling heavily with a boundless rush of goosebumps, butterflies thrashing violently in your chest as your heart rate rises.

“Locking yourself in your office morning to night. Always being the perfect one in the crowd. Building all these walls around yourself, confining your entire personality inside them. It must be so exhausting.” Taeyong’s voice just above a whisper, your eyes training on the brightest window you can find among the galaxy of them twinkling in the city, if only to drown his voice out with the soft murmur of the rain.

“I’ve worked too hard to be tired now,” you reply, voice just as silent as his.

“You need to give yourself a break.”

“I’m already on a break.”

“And yet, here I am wearing one of your hand stitched coats.”

You don’t respond to him. You’re not sure how to respond, when all that that leaves Taeyong’s lips is an irrefutable fact, causing you to gulp once more as you realise that he’s right.

And you’re very wrong.

“Here you are,” he breathes, “still worrying about that godforsaken fashion show.”

You lips part, all but ready to deny Taeyong’s words, though you don’t have the chance to as his voice falls to a whisper.

“With this godforsaken bun.”

You feel the tightness at your scalp loosen suddenly, chest rising shakily as your hair cascades down the flushed skin of your cheeks. You’re left light-headed and faint with the sharp exhale that leaves you as you turn around to face Taeyong only to stumble back, startled by the sheer proximity between you and him. His fingers only tighten around your own, your other hand pressing behind you into the cool glass, sending a throttling shiver through you that feels all but electrifying as you meet Taeyong’s eyes.

They sparkle so beautifully in the dark; a mesmerising mirror reflecting the bright lights behind your shoulders, so alluring you would foolishly relinquish every part of yourself if only to stare into them for an eternity longer. Allow yourself to drown in them, along with the heady scent of pinot that heavily fans your cheeks.

“What are you…” you whisper, lost of your words while looking down to your hands as Taeyong’s fingers push through their gaps, his palm pressing firmly, warmly, against yours. “What are you doing, Taeyong?” You look back up, nose brushing softly against his.

“You look gorgeous like this,” he ignores you. “With your hair down.” His other hand lifts to your hair, knuckles softly stroking along your locks. “You look beautiful when you’re playing darts…and tossing bean bags…and eating ice cream. When you’re not constantly worrying.” You feel the warmth of his forehead against yours, his hair tickling your cheeks as they find comfort in the slide of his palm against your blooming skin.

“I-”

“Just stop,” he breathes, the phantom of his lips finding yours in a sweet tickle, “stop worrying.”

You want to process the moment, you want to understand why it’s becoming increasingly hard to stay level in the time and space of this moment. But your inhibitions fall away as you close your eyes, a whispered profession of “okay” falling short with the press of Taeyong’s lips to yours.

He exhales and you blossom under his soft touch, finally relinquishing every fibre of your being to the man you’d never thought would accept it. Taeyong’s lips are gentle, a perfect match for yours, reassuring and tantalising all at once. His hand slides to the curve of your back and yours to his cheek, his fingers burning through the fabric of your blouse and yours cool and refreshing on his skin, tracing the scar by his eye as he pulls you closer. Impossibly closer. So close that you feel it all once more; the sturdy plain of muscle in his arms, his chest, his shoulders. The protection of his embrace and the inebriating balm of his cologne, the blazing slip of his hand under your shirt; you allow yourself to feel it all at once.

All sensation of worry is lost in Taeyong’s lips, fading with every whispered profession that follows you to the pathway of your bedroom. He shows you how wonderful it can be to forget the world for a while, to lose yourself in the softness of his hair and in every newly discovered tattoo etched into smooth of his skin. He calls you beautiful more times than you’d ever heard before, admires every part of you with in all five senses until you both find yourself wrapped under the warm, white covers of your duvet, foreheads pressed together and eyes once again falling shy of each other’s gaze.

“It looks like a rose,” you murmur into the silence, the cotton of Taeyong’s shirt comforting against your skin, rain still beating soothingly against the windows as your fingers once more trace along Taeyong’s scar.

“Yeah?” he hums, eyes hooded and soft on your own, a corner of those pretty lips turning up in a small smile, “I never thought of it that way.”

Am I in love with him?

You furrow your eyebrows as the thought graces your mind unexpectedly, so sudden – almost as if it were natural – that your smile falls in an instant with the all-consuming, fluttery pang in your chest. Your cheeks feel warm and florid against pillow as you watch Taeyong frown in question toward you.

“You okay?” he asks worriedly, hand brushing the hair from your cheek, replaced with soft pad of his thumb that only strokes a fresh layer of heat into your skin.

“Yeah,” you shake your head, eyes blinking rapidly in a mix of nerves and giddiness, “yeah just…thirsty, I guess.”

“Well now that you mention it, so am I,” Taeyong muses, lifting the covers from himself and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

“It’s okay, I can get it-”

“I’m already halfway there, babe.” He looks back to you with a smirk, before turning and leaving you to watch him sauntering out the door, cheeks so hot you swear you might be coming down with a fever or something.

“Babe?” you whisper to yourself, an idiotic smile tugging your cheeks so uncontrollably high, you’re forced to pull the covers all the way up to your nose to suppress the small giggle that leaves you. “My god.” You lift your hands to cover your face, the giddy smile refusing to escape you at any cost, praying that Taeyong somehow gets lost along the way if only to buy you more time to calm yourself before he returns.

Embarrassingly enough, he had somehow found himself in the utility room before finding your kitchen, squinting as his hands finally reach for the very inconveniently located light switch. He’s beginning to realise that everything in your penthouse is either four times larger or four times more expensive than the average apartment. Unsurprisingly, your kitchen checks full-clear in both departments, and it leaves him scratching his head as to which drawer to begin scavenging for two pathetic little glasses.

Luck finds him with the sixth handle he pulls back. He plucks out two shiny, clear glasses and fills them at the sink, noticing two of the very same glasses sitting prettily in the dish rack beside it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, closing the tap and lifting the filled glasses. He perks up at the sound of a notification bell in the distance.

It must be important if they’re texting so late at night, he thinks to himself, setting down the glasses and walking to the living room where the sound had come from. He finds his phone on the sofa, the small device emitting its blue light into the darkness of the room as he picks it up, squinting down at the message.

Kim Heechul

6 Text Messages

Taeyong feels his heart sink upon seeing the man’s name, chest pulled taught with a foreboding tension as he reluctantly unlocks the phone. His pupils shrink further and further with every letter that meets them, Adam’s apple catching in his neck.

Heechul [12:02am]: I see you’ve earned yourself a fanbase

Heechul [12:02am]: Though I don’t recall fame ever being part of our deal

“Fuck,” Taeyong breathes out, collapsing onto the couch with a hand scooping back his unkempt locks, his mind beginning to cloud with a suffocating bout of anxiety.

Heechul [12:02am]: One week, Taeyong, that’s all you’ve got before the show

Heechul [12:03am]: I expect that article to be on my desk ready for publishing the day after

Heechul [12:03am]: The money is only yours if the job is done right

Heechul [12:03am]: Do not forget your place

Taeyong sighs heavily, another whispered curse leaving him as his eyes fall shut with the prickling throb taking over his chest. It seems he truly had forgotten his place.

He hasn’t laid a finger on the article in the last fortnight, his laptop all but a forgotten clunk of metal in the corner of his room after he’d plunged himself neck-deep in all the preparations and practice for Argent’s segment at New York Fashion Week. A page and a half of quarter-truths and impulsive spleens is all the article had made itself to be thus far; nowhere close to the usual quota of words, and even further away from the reality of all mentioned points.

“I thought you were getting water.”

Taeyong hurriedly clicks his phone off, turning to see you standing in the hallway, cruel guilt dousing through his entire being as he tries not to lose himself in the stunning image of you wearing his white button-up shirt.

“What are you doing here? The kitchen is that way,” you ask, an endearingly confused expression twisting through your features as you point a finger over your shoulder.

“I, uhhh,” he blinks, mind falling blank as he scans the room for an excuse, “the city,” he points to the windows, “I got distracted.”

It pains him to see the way your eyes momentarily fall shut with a light chuckle, how your feet patter lightly across the floor toward him along with the rain, the way your hand softens the frustrated tousle of his hair.

“That wine sure got to your head, didn’t it?” you giggle softly, sighing at the velvety tickle of his hair.

How can it be so soft, you wonder, cloud nine far surpassed, and for the time being you’re all but willing to let your head rest up high amongst the bliss of here and now, unbeknownst of the monsters that gnaw at Taeyong’s every thought.

She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve this at all.

“Maybe you got to my head.” Taeyong lifts his head to gaze up at you, your hand slipping naturally to his cheek in slow, soothing circles as you lean down closer to him, his nose tickling your own.

“Oh, and what if I said you got to mine?”

Taeyong doesn’t answer you, instead allowing himself to drown in the halo of city stars glowing around the shimmering wisps of your messed hair. He feels the plunge of his heart growing faster, deeper, as your soft lips press forward onto his own, the familiar strawberry balm finding his tastebuds in a torturously aching dulce.

And your smile. Your beautiful smile.

It lifts perfectly against his mouth, lost in the feeling of him without a single worry to snatch it away, and it’s in this moment that Taeyong decides he cannot let that smile fall. He can’t bring himself to do such a thing to you. Not yet.

He wraps his arms around you, as strong and true as they can possibly be in a moment as false as this. Pushing the spiralling disquietude away from his mind, Taeyong pulls you closer to himself instead, relishing in your scent and the soft tickle of your hair on his temples. He allows his mind to fade away with every impartment of candour gifted from the tips of your fingers to his own, a final thought bleeding through the white of his conscience as it slowly slips from his grasp.

Not yet.

X. Who Am I Really Kidding?

Your three days of incarceration couldn’t have flown past you any quicker. Well, perhaps incarceration isn’t the word that immediately springs to mind now – perhaps a personal rejuvenation scheme would best describe it – as you once again immerse yourself in the lively chorus of frantic questions and invigorating scraping of hangers on and off clothing racks. It was well-deserved too, considering you haven’t felt more alive than you do in this very moment; empowered by the fresh click of your own heels against Argent’s floors, and the adrenaline flowing freely through every vessel in your body.

Preparations for the show are at an all-time high, fast, and furious and seemingly never-ending as the hours roll swiftly into gainful days. Your stresses now stem solely from Ten’s ghastly reports of seam slips and ill-fitting clothes on models (yes, sizes magically change at the last minute, and, no, you still haven’t cracked that case yet.). But it’s something you secretly couldn’t be more thankful for, having decided to cut ties with all your other worries from the past month.

And Jaehyun?

Ugh, fuck him and his two-faced ass.

Your only goal now is to keep everything on track for the next six days. There simply isn’t any time to waste. A smooth finale is the best finale, after all. And the best finale is the result of practice session after tireless practice session, ensuring not a single flaw in things as subtle as the very flow of a model’s outfit.

“Come on people, this is the sixth test run today and I haven’t felt a single ounce of pizzazz from any of you!” Johnny yells over the techno-EDM track playing overhead, gesturing animatedly beside the models who sashay along The Walkway. “Give me some more passion, some zest, some zeal, c’mon you gotta give me something!” He claps his hands rhythmically, eyes ferociously scanning the models as they pose and turn at the foot of the catwalk.

Johnny’s work ethic has been all but ablaze as of late. If there’s one thing you’ve learnt about him through the years, it’s that the man is always up for fun and games until the last fortnight before any show. He somehow always manages to get the job done well and right by one hand or another, and it’s part of the reason why you keep him around despite the trillions of times you’ve been compelled to fire him on the spot.

“I think it’s going okay, actually,” you muse as Johnny approaches you at the very front of the catwalk with an irked huff.

“Yeah, sweet joke,” he scoffs sarcastically, eyes still trained on the models strutting froward. “In what universe does Y/n Y/l/n ever settle for okay?”

“Hmm.” Your eyebrows furrow together as you ponder over his question, unable to formulate a definitive answer yourself. “I have no idea.”

“Well on the plus si-” Johnny interrupts himself with a sharp sigh, shaking his head at the model who turns the bend, before directing his attention to you. “On the plus side, Argent received a few extra bidders while you were gone. A certain Mr Butter Fingers to thank for that; got a little more famous over the last week.”

“Is that so?” You nod to yourself, the hint of a grin seeping onto your features, though you’re unsure whether it’s from the pleasure of regaining success, or the ravishing man behind Johnny’s stingy pet name.

But who are you really kidding, anyway?

“Speaking of the devil,” Johnny mutters, arms folding over his chest, his gaze morphing swiftly into one of pride as Taeyong turns the corner from behind the back wall.

You look up all too eagerly, eyes readily falling on the man who wears Argent’s most prized set of the season. Tracing a slow, invisible path from the heel of his boots all the way to the very fine tips of his hair, you allow yourself to indulge in the very being of Taeyong; in the stoic expression that you know would melt into that gorgeous smile as soon as he steps back inside; in the long, lithe strides of his legs, and in the airy sway of his arms beside them.

“Not entirely perfect yet, but I told you we’d make a star out of him,” Johnny smiles proudly beside you and, for what seems like the first time in your life, you’re wholly unable to argue back with the man.

Taeyong’s overall improvement on the catwalk is remarkable to describe in simple terms, complete with a certain poise so subtle you could only ever associate it with him. A month ago, you would have laughed in the face of they who told you Taeyong would make it this far with the minimal experience he had. But now, watching it all come together from afar, there’s not a doubt in your mind that Lee Taeyong has indeed become a star.

In this moment, you can’t imagine any other person in such a position; you don’t want to. The outfit is simply too perfect like this, draped over and around every part Taeyong; so exquisite as if it were a poem made specifically in the shape of him, accentuating his glow with every step he takes forward.

His eyes fall on you, faltering not once in his movements while you fall besottedly into his gaze for the hundredth time like the lovesick little girl you’ve somehow allowed yourself to become since your…intimate engagements from a couple nights ago.

Taeyong pauses at the foot of the platform, feet planted with a split-second of assured glamour, his lips quirking almost imperceptibly as he sends a playful wink your way before turning back around. You have no choice but to bow your head, bashful and unable to contain the shy smile that embellishes the pinkening blooms on your cheeks.

Johnny watches the whole ordeal dumbfoundedly, eyes flickering between the receding man and the demure subject of a woman standing right beside him. “What is going o-” He pauses as a hand catches his shoulder from behind. He turns to see Ten standing there, his emblematic black clipboard cradled in the crook of his arm, spectacles cast low over his nose. Ten shakes his head subtly, a small beam gracing his features as Johnny raises his brows and turns back around, catching the hint not to continue with his question.

Ten regards you in his periphery, a fond expression twinkling in warmth of his gaze at your tucked chin and down-set gaze. His smile begins to replicate your own as it grows wider with every passing second.

Despite all your tussles, he has always regarded you as his own family. You were like a sister to him, and your happiness was a great source of his own; always a refreshing sight to behold and never failing to foster with it an oddly comforting sentiment. The whole world smiled when you smiled, and Ten couldn’t be more thankful that Taeyong was the idiot to bring that smile back to you when you needed it the most.

─── ⪧ ⪦ ───

You step inside your office before Taeyong, both your shoes echoing alongside the soft click of the door as you head straight for the papers strewn in haphazard piles on your desk.

Being ‘messy’ has never quite sat right with you in any case, but in your every defence, keeping a tidy workspace in the formative days of any fashion show – let alone New York Fashion Week – is always a feat close to impossible. There are far too many things to preoccupy yourself with: the guest and rsvp lists, the show schedule, making sure Argent receives a suitable time slot (preferably around dusk hours for peak outdoor lighting and publicity).

You pick up a cream-coloured card that you assume Ten must have placed on your desk while you were gone, realising that it’s the revised schedule for the entirety of New York Fashion Week.

FRI | 02 | 06 … 7PM: Tom Ford 8PM: Argent 9PM: Michael Kors …

You grin at the line-up, satisfied with both Argent’s time slot as well as the two other world-class labels flanking it. Both male designers are well-known acquaintances of yours, and the very fact of being sandwiched between them at the world’s biggest fashion event is gratifying beyond all means. It serves to remind you just how far you’ve come; that you’ve really made your living worthwhile despite every defected sideshow.

“So…” Taeyong’s voice echoes through the room, and you think there couldn’t have been a better melody to accompany the moment.

“So,” you echo back, a dazed smile growing on your features as you turn to him, hips leaning back against your desk.

“How was I this time?” Taeyong looks at you with a sort of anticipation swirling about his eyes and hope saturating his every spoken word. You watch as his thumbs fidget with the ringer of his phone, his teeth sunken anxiously into his bottom lip while awaiting your answer. You’ve never seen him quite so nervous until now, and it only serves to ignite a ticklish flutter in your chest and a warm smile on your face. Of course, it may just be the fact that he’s featuring in NYFW in less than a week, but the very thought of your opinion being so valued by him brings so much unsolicited joy to you.

“You did well,” you answer, the flutter increasing tenfold with the bright smile that adorns Taeyong’s face in response, his eyes shimmering like diamonds as he brings a hand to his heart dramatically.

“I thought this day would never come,” he sighs heavily, earning a small laugh from you.

“I’m glad you can finally walk now,” you snort, “can’t have my frontline model tripping up on stage.”

“What was that?” Taeyong brings a hand to his ear, taking a step closer to you. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over my raging ego right now.”

You shake your head at the cocky smirk that overcomes his freakishly handsome features, though immediately freezing as he steps even closer and plants both palms on your desk either side of you, his eyes finding your own as he leans forward with a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Your fault, baby, not mine.”

You’ve decided that Taeyong is beyond irresistible at this point, and it bothers you to no end how affected you are, a tell-tale red growing warm on your cheeks as you rebuke yourself for being so unabashedly pliant in his presence.

And, bloody hell, all these nicknames.

A refutation is far from palpable in the hazy fog of your mind, so you resort to the next best response, leaning forward without a single forethought, unable to hold back the outrageously long kiss you press to his lips. Taeyong hums in satisfaction, a hand finding your waist all too swiftly that you’d be compelled to roll your eyes if they were open. This is exactly the reaction he had wanted out of you, and here you are, more than willing to give him exactly that.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

A split-second awareness of the steady clock ticking behind you is all it takes for you to pull away from Taeyong, though not quite far enough to evade the tickle of his perfectly styled hair.

“How unprofessional of you, Miss Y/l/n,” he gasps quietly, faux shock rippling through his face, only to be tugged away with that infuriating smirk and those lazy, hooded eyes.

“Remind me why you followed me here again,” you murmur, eyes glued to the creases of his lips – though not for much longer.

“Oh, so I guess you need another demonstration.” Taeyong doesn’t allow you a second to process his words, his other hand sliding to your jaw and pulling your mouth to his once again in a searing kiss. “This is why,” he mumbles against your lips, and you can’t help but blaze under the soft sensation of him, every inch of you melting naturally as ice under a heated summer sky…that is, until reality dawns on you once again, and you take it upon yourself to stomp a hard heel to Taeyong’s foot.

He pulls away placidly, head tilting in amusement. “You really think that hurt?” He raises an eyebrow, watching your own furrow on your forehead as you look down to his shoes, face falling in realisation. Goddamn you and your perfectly robust shoe designs.

“That’s cute,” Taeyong mumbles ardently, resisting the urge to kiss away the small pout on your face.

“Thank you, now get back to work,” you huff out in embarrassment, unsure how to handle the heat radiating from your surely pinkening cheeks as Taeyong chuckles and takes a step away to walk toward the door. Despite your words, you merely find yourself wishing he’d stay by your side for a little longer, close enough to hold your hands and kindle their warmth even further, unafraid to burn under the very whisper of his presence. But he only turns to blow a kiss your away, exchanging it with a smile of yours to etch in the back of his mind as he exits your office.

You’re left airy and still in the echo of the room, resisting the urge to sway this way and that with every warm wave of joy coating your mind.

“Right, the documents,” you shake your head, eyes flickering before scurrying to your chair. “Focus, Y/n,” you tap your cheek twice, collecting the strewn-out papers into a neat pile before fingering through each one, signing your name wherever required and eyeing through the RSVP list, just to make sure Ten hadn’t approved of any unwanted guests – namely anyone whose credentials align with Qi Fashion Labels.

You jump in surprise at the loud ringing of a phone at the far end of your desk, humming in a second of confusion at the unfamiliar ringtone – though you’re only left to assume the device belongs to Taeyong given his track record of forgetting his belongings in his every wake. With a roll of your eyes, you decide upon ignoring it, allowing the caller to exhaust all futile hope for an answer, continuing to your papers. The ringing ceases after a while, but silence only lasts so long, as it’s shrill cries once again echo through the glass of the room, rattling through your final nerves. With a groan, you reach out to the phone, eyes scanning over the caller ID to find a familiar name once again displayed on the screen.

Kim Heechul

“A friend, perhaps?” you wonder aloud, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you internally tussle with the thought of whether or not to answer the call.

What if it’s something serious, you reason with yourself, considering that the average caller would merely ring and hang up unless there was an urgent matter at hand. If a few weeks ago was any indication, this Heechul person seemed to have some kind of pull with Taeyong. And though you’re never one to trespass on the private matters of others, you think it would only be right to put the caller’s mind to ease by letting him know that Taeyong would be sure to ring him back sometime later. So, without another second to spare, your thumb finds the green button and the phone finds itself at the cusp of your ear.

“Hel-”

The Walkway’s tube lights flickering to a silent darkness has grown onto Taeyong as something of a delicate sound; as if in the next second, he could expect fireflies to appear with the beckoning tinkle of the bulbs. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that time and again, Taeyong has actually spent that extra second waiting for small glowing specs to appear, but every time, he has left only with his own shadow to greet him a final farewell for the evening.

The same routine emulates today. Taeyong steps out of the room, but this time his silhouette stands a mere sidepiece of the night, his eyes rather much too eagerly finding the screen of his phone, hoping to finally see your name in his notifications.

No Older Notifications

He frowns in confusion, unlocking his phone to find the blue bubble he’d sent that morning still unaccompanied by a reply from you. His frown only deepens, as he turns his head in the direction of your office at the far end of the hallway, a streak of worry convening in the growing creases of his brows at blackness emulating through the glass.

It was a strange and rare occurrence for you to have left work at such an early hour of the evening; so much so, that if you did, one could only conclude that something was gravely wrong.

Taeyong thinks back to the nature of the last two days; all the times you were in the same room but never so much as spared him a glance, the numerous photoshoots you weren’t present for despite having scheduled them in yourself, not to mention your complete absence in all the mock-runways. It really wouldn’t be an understatement to say that things have been rather odd on your end – tense, now that Taeyong really thinks about it. You always seemed to be in all the places he wasn’t and he’s unable to formulate a logical reason why.

It then occurs to Taeyong that neither you, nor him had taken the time to label the relationship you’ve harboured in the past week; there simply was none in the first place. But all of it – the secret handholding, the trivial gestures and texts – he’s positive it’s all come from some romantic facet within you.

Taeyong’s mind sifts through a million thoughts a minute. He can’t help wondering if he’d made you uncomfortable in any way, or if you were just stressed and felt the need to withdraw for a while or maybe you just-

“Done for the day?”

There was that voice that, among the tumble and wave of the last month, had remained solitary and constant. A voice that remained dutiful and obliging, belonging to an equally hospitable man who now steps out of his office with his black clipboard and silver spectacles.

“Yeah, I finished early,” Taeyong replies with a small smile, though Ten only raises an eyebrow as Taeyong’s eyes stray once more to your office behind his shoulder.

“So did Y/n,” Ten states, the metallic scrape of his keys resounding harshly as he twists one in the lock. “She left perhaps an hour or so ago.”

“Oh, do you know if she’s unwell or…”

“She didn’t mention anything specific, but I’d assume so, considering she’s not usually one to leave without some life-altering reason,” Ten chuckles, shrugging on his trench coat and slinging a satchel over his shoulder.

“She’s probably just tired from all the work that’s been going on lately. Burnout isn’t exactly unheard of during this time of year.” Taeyong only nods, earning a pat on the back from Ten. “Well, I’m also heading off early to review the venue with our performance artist. Good work today, Taeyong. Take some rest yourself. You’ll need it.”

“Thank you, have a good evening,” Taeyong answers, exchanging a small bow with Ten and watching as his perfectly styled hair enters the elevator on the other side of the hall. A small vibration casts Taeyong’s eyes once again to the palm of his hand, his phone briefly aglow with the name he’d longed to see for hours now.

Y/n [5:48pm]: Come out to the field

Y/n [5:48pm]: I’ll be waiting

Taeyong exclaims in surprise, a small grin forming at his lips as his worries thaw slightly at the thought of you inviting him to his own favourite place; the thought of you waiting there in the grass for him as if it were something of fate taken straight from a poet’s diary.

Perhaps nothing was really wrong at all.

Perhaps all you needed was a clean breath of air.

XI. Once, Betrayed. Twice, A Damned Fool

It was one thing to watch the sky fade from blue to orange through the mirrored windows of a skyscraper, but it was something else entirely to view it from this position in the field. The sky was not simply blue when you’d set yourself down once again among the bed of itchy grass and ticklish flowers. There’s no one way to describe the colour you had seen, but it somehow felt…deep.

Deeper in colour, deeper in meaning, deeper in intent and in sorrow.

That deepness only grew as evening began its mingling commute with daylight, silently reaching forth its palm and convening a colour far intangibly ardent than orange, all of it accented quite perfectly by the large ball of fire in its routine fall.

You can’t recall another time when the sun had ever felt so blistering among the bittered February air. And, it was rather amusing to you, really, that of all possible days, today is when the clouds had chosen not to shade you. There hadn’t been even a speck of white or grey to dampen the sizzle on your face.

Or in your heart.

You tug your coat tighter around yourself, head tilting as you watch the head of a yellow flower being tugged this way and that by harsh gale. It too doesn’t simply feel yellow – well, not in this moment, at least. Its bud looks wilted, slightly browned as if to preserve what little charming dignity it had once possessed. Such a naïve thing it was. Handing itself over to the forces of nature, blossoming, thriving, living in artless denial, and never once stopping to think it would one day end up bowing down in regret for ever committing such a profitless sin.

There really is more than meets the eye in all conceivable forms of life, you’ve come to realise. But only those cunning enough to blind their abetter are able see right through each facade.

The harsh crunching of grass behind you almost beckons you to turn, but you stop yourself if only to prevent your hair from covering your eyes.

Taeyong simply smiles to himself, your free locks a perfect accessory to the panorama in front of him. He sits down beside you and you dare to glimpse at him in your periphery.

“Hey,” he speaks so delicately. So quietly and softly as if to blend in with the wind and its every hidden sentiment.

“Hi,” you reply, eyes still trained on the yellow flower, and it’s when you refuse to smile or even look at Taeyong that he begins to frown, the worry of earlier finding its place within him.

“Y/n, is something wrong-”

“Did I ever tell you,” you interrupt him, pausing to take a shaky breath as the wind bites at the burning skin of your neck, “about when I was nineteen?”

Confusion settles at Taeyong’s brows, though curiosity swirls through his eyes as they peer at you. The last time you were here with him, you’d given something of general overview of your life as a child and progressions as a designer, but never specifically anything about when you were nineteen. Taeyong shakes his head.

“I lived in a box apartment – at tiny little thing at the edge of the city, just trying to make ends meet. Ten and Jaehyun were the only people I had at the time. Nobody else.” If your voice holds a single mite of sentiment, it’s all but imperceptible to Taeyong, as is any emotion in your distant eyes which still refuse to meet his own.

“Nothing was working out for us in that year; all we really had was a handsome rookie, a jobless assistant and my notebook of drawings. Every company we approached had shunned us in less than a day. We were left broke, desperate, hopeless. I, for one, was ready to give up everything.” The memory plays in your mind as a series of blurred motions, your jaw clenching and chin raising slightly to keep a composed front. “But they both kept me going. They told me to never give up, no matter what. That-”

“Every cloud has a silver lining.”

It’s almost funny to hear those words falling from Taeyong’s mouth so naturally, but you nod, nonetheless.

“I had no choice but to keep moving forward; I couldn’t let them down so horribly. So, every night, by routine, I would sit by my window in my little box, and look out to Manhattan City, just hoping – praying – I’d make it there some day. Somehow.” You pause for a moment, taking another deep breath and gulping down the growing tightness in your throat.

“Look where I am now. It seems like I truly have made it…especially considering my own models are writing fake news behind my back.”

***

“Hel-”

“We just keep hitting those milestones, my friend. Luxe just received a retail offer we can’t deny! The biggest department store in the country wants to show your work off to the world!”

The voice that echoes from the speaker sounds awfully cheerful; an inflection belonging to a middle-aged man, though that’s all you’re able to gather as you mind draws question marks at his peculiar words. You’re quick to remind yourself that Taeyong must have, in fact, had a job prior to the one you’d given him, and assume that this Heechul guy must be one of his colleagues or associates of some kind.

You open your mouth to speak, but the man beats you to it.

“Taeyong, I’m gonna need you to make sure this article is as snappy as your Y/l/n-Jung scandal – no, even better than that.”

Your face contorts in bewilderment, eyebrows cinching tightly together and jaw falling ajar as a wave of anxious goosebumps shroud the skin of your arms. “What,” you whisper, just quiet enough for it pass as a breath of air as a tight pain begins to flare up like a wildfire in your chest.

Y/l/n-Jung scandal?

Taeyong’s…Y/l/n-Jung scandal?

“Boy, is Argent going to be in for a treat. And right before New York Fashion Week, too!”

Your heart plummets with a trembling exhale as the man guffaws heartily, your eyes growing wide and haphazard, flickering to every shiny surface of your office as if to search for some form of an honest, untainted truth.

“Remember, I want it finished by-”

You cut the call and the phone slips through your fingers, clattering loudly – threateningly – against the documents on your desk.

***

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You finally turn to face Taeyong, almost turning back straight away. “You wrote that article last month.”

The brown-haired man shifts sharply beside you in the grass, the sound akin to the harsh tearing of a paper while the sun burns its last blister into sky. You do nothing but view it through the blurring, wet sheen of your eyes, waiting and watching as it falls down and down and down, until all that testifies its existence are the furious scabs of pinks and oranges twisting among the deep azure.

“Y/n, I-” he starts, though his mouth falls dry of any placating words, unable to formulate a single coherent thought from underneath the growing thickness of his breath as you refuse to let a single emotion permeate through those clouded eyes.

“It makes me wonder just how foolish I’ve been all along,” you turn back to the field and force a hard, focused gaze back to the flower, unable to keep a seconds’ longer gaze on Taeyong without an impetuous tear slipping from your eye. “All that time, and all that energy…” And all that vulnerability. And all that trust. And all that love. “…wasted on a shameless man like you.”

It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but your cheeks begin to ache and burn with the salty streaks of water. You can’t seem to care for them being so openly on display. Taeyong has taken everything from you. What more are a few tears?

Taeyong follows the trail of water down your cheek. All he can do is turn away as that harrowing guilt sequestered deep within himself over the last few weeks, finally emerges at the surface, violent and strong and more forceful than ever. It peels at every nerve inside, eats away at all the confusion and the worry and every other emotion in between. It leaves nothing. Nothing but a dark, empty, shameful feeling in its wake.

This is the first time he has seen you this way. And it’s all his fault.

“How dare you defame me. How dare you take Jaehyun away from me, and how dare you have the nerve to show your face in my building and take advantage of my company. How dare you, Lee Taeyong.” Your words fall lifeless and heavy between the growing bile in your throat and endless glisten of water against your skin.

Two days of processing couldn’t possibly have prepared you for this moment.

You’d spent the first day mulling over what you’d heard from the call; there must surely have been some error on your part to hear such a shockingly absurd thing from Heechul. The second day was spent in worry; it was simply unfathomable that Taeyong – the very toast addict you’d hired all those weeks ago – could possibly have written such a false scandal. But it wasn’t until this very morning you’d found yourself as the fool who hadn’t bothered to check his employment history.

Journalist at Luxe Magazine LTD

And since then, you had only been hoping for a miracle. That Taeyong would show up to this field with his comforting presence, hold your hand in earnest, look you in the eye and fully deny your accusation because it’s simply too hasty and completely absurd.

But you realise now that it simply isn’t. That miracles are not an asset to be acquired so easily. Taeyong doesn’t hold your hand, and he doesn’t look you in the eye, and worst of all, he doesn’t make even the weakest, most deficient attempt to deny any one of your words.

So, you decide against speaking any more, allowing your hair to cling to the tear streaks along your neck and cheeks as you rise above the grass into a shifting halo of wind.

“Y/n-”

“Your money will be transacted after the show.”

You turn and the grass waves you farewell, clinging to your ankles in its ticklish murmur until you step out to the road where Charlie stands, his gloved hand clutching the open car door as you hide yourself inside. Regret eats away at you more and more ravenously as you silently view the brown head among the grass, watching with every choked gulp as it bows down into the green horizon.

You didn’t say everything you wanted to say.

You didn’t even say half of it.

Taeyong’s business at Argent was merely the tip of the iceberg. You should have yelled and screamed like your chest was aching you to. You should have told Taeyong exactly what he did, and exactly how he’d hurt you, regardless of anything else. How much pain you’re in to know that while you would have trusted him with every fibre in your being, he had slashed a gaping scar right where it would bleed the most, as if it were child’s play to him.

How you had loved him and how he had thrown it all away.

Betrayal is a fickle thing; a notion always just as deceiving as the betrayer themselves – or perhaps even more. Because in its very essence, betrayal is always supposed to feel like the worst wrong of a lifetime; the worst possible pain one can experience for years to come.

A week ago, Jaehyun was your betrayer, and that betrayal had felt so excruciating, you couldn’t have imagined anything worse than it.

Today, Taeyong stands in that betrayer’s place. Today, Jaehyun’s betrayal feels like nothing. Because today…

Today you had experienced the worst wrong of your lifetime.

The small stain on your coat grows larger by the second as your eyes blink in the shifting scenery, body welcoming the transition of rough road to smooth in the low buzz of 90’s classics scratching on the radio.

And you finally make your leave back to where you had started.

Toward loud tumble of city traffic and all the same vivid colours of moving billboards and weathered yellow taxies. Back to the place where you angle your head high and glimpse once more at the concrete jungle that once made up your every dream, every struggle and everything else in between.

XII. Omniscient Point of View

One fractured soul stands outside Argent building the next morning.

She arrives during the dark of the day, before the city rouses and catches its first glimpse of dawn, before the first light beyond the glass door has been lit. She tilts her head back and allows the wind to beat down against her skin, gaze trying to find the very tip of the building, but alas, the colossal structure seems to fade into the morning sable beyond the ninth storey or so.

This fractured soul plays her role in unlocking the polished doors – for, it must have been weeks since she’d last done so – and switching on the first light of the day to the empty silence of the lobby, her heels click once again for her own ears and nobody else’s. There isn’t a single hair to stray from her tight, unrelenting bun, its roots burning her scalp as if to deserve such a punishment for her lunacy.

She sits at her desk and buries her mind with yet another hoard of preparatory paperwork, an eye flickering to the clothing racks of assorted hues and silver every once in a while, as the first sun finds itself a halo on her cheeks. She watches it rise upon skyscrapers from the sweet haven of those four office walls, her stone-cold nature once again making its home in her heart, numbing her face and every other foolishly torn down wall.

Ten knocks at her door around midmorning for a clothing assessment. He knows of the day before’s happenings; she’d told him as soon as her bare feet met the cold tiles of her apartment floor. But he offers no words of solace, for he himself is at a loss, with a few too many unanswered questions roaming the inches of his mind. Ten doesn’t prod, rather watches her as she works.

Her hands hold the same magic, her voice is loud and clear as ever before, but she has seemed to have lost her spark – the very element that had set her aside from all others, the very reason he’d pushed her to never give up all those years ago. Today, she works a dull day in a robotic cadence, her eyes are blurred with the world’s darkest clouds, refusing to let the thunder clap, refusing to let any semblance of water fall.

Weakness is not her strength, Ten has long understood, and her strength might just as well be her biggest weakness. Feelings weren’t a feasible option if the next four days were to be a successful feat, and that is all she can remind herself of.

Perhaps a couple hours later, another soul finds himself standing outside Argent building the same morning, ashamed and afraid to step foot inside at all, for, crossing the glass threshold would only aggravate within him the blaring flame of all-consuming guilt and regret and shame.

He hadn’t expected to be standing here at all after the happenings of the day before, yet here he is, carrying his frame with an hours’ worth of stew-infested sleep. For, when Ten had called him this morning with a voice full of vacancy telling him to find his way back to Argent, this shameful soul knew it would only be another cruel and selfish act for him to walk away with only four days remaining before the show. Ousting was no feasible option.

He steps inside and readies himself for every constrained stare, every secretive whisper, all the tuts and silent taunts to mar the silvered walls. But he receives none; nothing except warm smiles and welcome eyes, amiable manner, and polite conversation.

She hadn’t told a single other person.

He catches but a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye, but doesn’t find the courage to do anything else. He regards her in the same way as Ten and finds her all too the same; rigid, lifeless, focused and unemotive in all senses. And it’s just like that – among the cheer of small accomplishments and Johnny’s at-last nods of approval – this shameful soul finds himself in a bout of repent, a slippery groove even the most agile-minded may never leave as soon as the hole was dug.

The distance between him and her is growing wider and wider with each minute; he can feel it. He feels it in her touch as she forces herself, one day, to adjust the cuff of his suit after another classical seam-slip; in the way her fingertips feel so foreign as they meet the skin of his wrist in detached brushes. He sees it in her averted gaze while fixing his collar once again. He feels it in her very absence of all other rooms he stands within.

But in the end of it all, he knows much too well that this – all of this; everything – is his own doing. He departs with this very notion at the cusp of sun fall, while she remains within the building, watching the growing darkness through her window, later turning off the final few lights and stepping out into the late hours of night.

Early morning, afternoon, evening, late night, the cycle continues as so for both of these souls; repeating, and repeating, and repeating, as if they knew no better than to let it continue in such a way.

They return to their dwellings each night only to find themselves stuck in the dark. With breaths heavy and eyes tired, their fluffed pillows encase their heads as they search for some way – any way – to find a single merciful speck of clarity among the blinding black. Left with themselves and a mere thought of the other, their minds prickle and prod with each one of their mistakes and each one of their utter regrets.

XIII. Nothing. Nothing At All.

“Y/n!”

Straight posture.

“Miss Y/l/n, look over here!”

Head down.

“Did Jaehyun really leave Argent for Qi Fashion Labels?”

Ignore the questions.

“Just one picture for us!”

Smile for every sixth camera.

“Tell us the name of your new model.”

And don’t. Stop. No matter. What.

Suits and ties – crisp and clean in nature – lavish gowns, cross-dressing trailblazers, scarves and sequins and diamonds and lipsticks of every size, make, shape and colour; here, was one of eight splendid evenings that confounded all the worlds’ fashion partisans to their very cores. Every new trend, whether vogue or wholly obsolete, every essence of haute cotoure and high-style, it was all birthed under and could be traced back to the single most grand title: New York Fashion Week. A beautifully elaborate and gaudy scene to breathe in among the ever-putrefying air of this city; to bear the hollers of shutterbugs alongside the rageful honking of cabs behind one’s shoulder.

Your feet fall heavy beneath the cool satin of your floor-length dress. One in front of the next, they step forward like clockwork along the red carpet that daubs the concrete pavement of the New Yorker Hotel, the very destination of tonight’s mystique. Your head rests level upon your shoulders, a kind of reserved smile adorning the gloss of your mouth. Violent flashes of camera lenses burn your skin aglow as you walk the familiar pathway between paparazzi who spill over the barricades on either side; blustering, clawing, and pushing each other in brutal competition, their hefty hunks of metal held ablaze if only to catch a mere glance of the spectacle that you are…or the spectacle that you appear to be in this very moment.

The epitome of talent, the very pinnacle of grace and beauty; compliments are thrown your way, left, right and centre, suspended around your frame that exudes its confident and assured glow to everyone except you.

Three steps, pose. Two steps, wave. One step, smile.

Oh, little do they know how deceiving such a smile could be. A time of such high regard merely jars you with the harsh anxieties and fretful sentiments of ‘what if?’.

Nervous. You feel terrifyingly nervous, and never had you felt such a thing since at least four full seasons ago, and it’s embittering to realise how shallowed your vigour has become over something as everchanging and facile as the media – even worse that you’d once sworn never to let such a thing happen.

Ten waits for you at the end of the red pathway, his hair sleeked, his body suited to a fault for the occasion, and his very being the only form of consolation among the anxious glamour enrapturing the venue. He smiles warmly as you approach him, cameras finally bygone in exchange for his assuring hand that guides you inside the hotel.

“Some crowd tonight,” he mutters, patting down the lapels of his blazer.

“Thank God.” A hefty breath escapes your lungs, relieved to find yourself under the roof of fresh lobby air that you now share with many other high-end designers – some well-known and some on the rise to their pedestals.

“We should probably make some rounds before heading inside to the catwalk. You know, chat it up with some other designers. Maybe Tom since he’s right before Argent.” Ten suggests, strolling mindlessly with you around the moderate bustle of celebrities, nodding politely to those who smile your way. “It might just make you feel better to have some company within your element.

“Who said I’m not already feeling better?” is your sharp riposte, followed by a momentary glance to Ten’s dubious glare.

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, holding a grand set of double doors open for you both to enter.

“Yes.” You raise your chin high, eyes sparkling in the shadowed lighting of the room and shimmering torches decorating the walls. “I am absolutely fine, and as my assistant, it’s in your very best interest to keep it that way. End of discussion.”

You glance around at the seating; half-filled with chattering patrons of neutral-toned clothing. Some hold small notebooks clasped between their hands that rest firmly on their crossed legs.

Critics.

“Okay, then,” Ten replies nonchalantly, tugging you toward a circle of A-list celebutantes surrounding a man in a sleek, black suit who holds a glass of bubbling champagne, “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I just-hello, Mr Ford! It is an utmost pleasure to meet you again.” Ten reaches a respectful hand out to the man, sparking a welcoming dialogue which you’re left to watch with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Now, I just need to head backstage for show prep; same old routine, you know how it goes. You wouldn’t mind entertaining this gorgeous handful for a minute, would you?”

You’re unsure whether an irked scowl or grateful thanks would be a suitable response to Ten pulling you forward, instead opting for a few clueless blinks and a slack jaw as he no sooner disappears behind a large black curtain at the far end of the large room.

Conversation nonetheless ensues smoothly with Tom, starting off with a congratulations and praise for each other’s work. It really turns out to be no surprise why this man is so successful and admired. Everything from his gesturing, his conduct and his fashion intellect falls nothing short of laudable. A few other designers join and leave the loop, and like Ten said, you do indeed find yourself significantly more relaxed to be in their like-minded company.

As the lights later dim for the Tom Ford segment, you bid farewell to the designers, deciding to break away backstage through the same black curtain, behind which the atmosphere takes a drastic turn. It’s nothing all that unexpected, really; simply the normal pandemonium of various models with perfected figures and faces – and a shoe too less, or some form of missing accessory – scurrying around with backstage assistants in tow. You walk down a hallway, dodging as much chaos as possible before finding a door pasted with Argent’s logo and pushing inside.

The chaos remains perhaps even to a higher degree as you watch the bustle of your models, subordinate designers, and make-up artists racing around the room. The clothing racks are almost empty, and it’s something that makes your heart swell with pride as the gravity of the moment begins to fully sink in.

“Oh, good, you’re here. I need a final assessment on some of these outfits, now hurry!” Johnny – quite the image with his hair a fluttered mess and his suit slightly rumpled – rushes over to you, grabbing your shoulders and leading you to a row of your models wearing their finalised ensemble of silvers, silks and cervelts. You remain surprisingly calm through it all, assisting wherever you’re needed and doing your best to settle nerves.

A loud knock no sooner echoes amidst the noise and a woman in a black uniform, donning an intercom headset and black clipboard appears at the dressing room doors.

“Argent Fashion Labels? Ten minutes until your segment. Please navigate all runway walkers backstage for the catwalk.”

The commotion grows louder as you send her a nod from across the room, a new kind of buzz arousing excited jitters and whooping as the models begin to file toward her. You stand on your toes, neck craned upward, watching all the extravagant outfits – your extravagant outfits – exit the door one by one. A small smile begins to form at your lips, only to be immediately torn away as a head turns back to meet your eyes from among the crowd.

And just like that, it’s as if all the cheering and clapping around you is suddenly zipped away from the world, the rapid thrumming of your heart now the only sound ringing loud and clear in your eardrums. There’s something indiscernible in the look that passes through his features, a split-second of…something, though you’re unable to tell exactly what. It always seemed to have been that way, you’ve slowly come to realise.

You gulp thickly, daring to hold his gaze for a second longer before averting your eyes elsewhere. And still, you can’t help but look back once again, but this time, Taeyong is gone with the crowd, somewhere along the bend with the lasting image of your desolate face engraved into his mind.

“Come on.”

You turn as a hand cups your shoulder from behind, met with Ten’s reassuring nod as he guides you out of the room and behind the wall of the catwalk.

“This is it,” you voice out quietly, eyes flickering to the first model, Karina, who stands just behind the runway entrance breathing in and out with closed eyes. She turns her head to you, smiling nervously, and you only smile back. But this time your smile finds you widely – hopingly, encouragingly. You whisper out a quiet, ‘you got this’, and in return her smile too, grows.

And then she’s off.

Freely and fleetingly, her feet land on the platform with self-assured glamour, the outfit from your sketchbook never having suited another person more than it does her in this very moment. She walks in time with the techno music; hips level, arms loose, expression poised, she stops, poses, turns, and finds her way back to the very head of the stage. As does the next model, and the next, and the next.

You watch it all tucked away behind the wall; every single one of your creations of the last year springing to a mirthful, beautiful life with every blink of the eye, click of a heel, drop of a beat. Some models walk with skilfully pocketed hands, some carry a bag on their shoulder, and some on their elbows. Every model has at least one form of nuance to them, but every single one of them wears a line of silver. One by one, they breeze out and in, past the devotees and the critics, through the feverish nerves and the anxious excitement. One by one, they make it through, there and back until only a final one remains to do them all their justice.

Taeyong doesn’t meet your eyes as he stands at the edge. He knows he wouldn’t be able to step out onto that shiny platform if he so much as took another selfish glimpse.

And he couldn’t do that to you.

It happens too fast; all too suddenly, much too overwhelmingly. So much so that it feels wrong that every one of your painstaking efforts – every sleepless night, every endured loss – amount so simply to the thirty seconds Taeyong spends on stage.

That was supposed to be Jaehyun.

Jaehyun should have been wearing that outfit, with his hair styled in the same gelled coif, walking on that long platform with camera shutters lighting up on his smooth complexion. Jaehyun should have been the one to halt at the foot and clench his jaw if only to maintain what little of his composure he had left. Jaehyun should have been the one to walk back and finally look you in the eye with all the world’s anguish and remorse, hoping to see an ounce of emotion in those eyes of yours, only to find nothing.

Nothing at all.

And when you later walk out onto that long, star-studded stage for your lasting impression, you suddenly find yourself confused and unwilling to concede all at once. You link arms with the models on either side of you and take your well-deserved bow for the audience, knowing full well that this is where another season meets its close.

You take in the standing ovation with a vacantly present smile, but you don’t breathe in any of it like you once remember doing. You look at the cameras and the reluctant simpering of critics, but you don’t truly see them in the way that you once you did. You walk off that stage and wish a congratulations to every person you couldn’t have done this all without. But every praise, every compliment; it all falls from an empty place within you.

In Ten’s suggestion of “keeping face,” you find yourself standing at the cusp of midnight at the venue of the after party. You’re in an entirely different place with a flute of sparkling champagne poured by none other than Alex Wang himself resting in the tips of your fingers. Only, the flute remains unkissed, no lipstick stain to fashion on the shiny glassware.

In somewhat of a stupor, you watch the world as it revolves around you in a kaleidoscope of slow and fast motions, standing amidst the glitzed lights, lost in the place you’d once always called paradise. The place you were supposed to know like the back of your hand. Multitudes of bodies blur and manifest before your eyes, shifting like phantoms in disguise. Doused in glitter and endless waves of net, every celebrity stands anew in their dresses and suits - not nearly as casually unwearable as the pieces from the catwalk, but still extravagant nonetheless - all perfectly suited for a night of folly amid the pounding music and blaring lasers.

Still as a robot, you smile at your conversationalists as if it were programmed into your muscles. You smile until it stops hurting, until you feel numb and until you just can’t take it anymore.

And when you leave and you later lay yourself down on the soft mattress of your bed, ridden of any blinding lights or fabricated clothing; as you blink once again at the empty ceiling of your apartment, you can’t help but feel completely, and utterly alone.

You’d sworn it would feel exhilarating. You’d sworn to make it exhilarating for yourself. But the truth finally surrenders in the form of all the uncontrolled tears that roll agonisingly down your cheeks, staining your neck and expanding the chill on your pillow.

This was not how anything was supposed to happen. Nothing was supposed to turn out this way.

But you were aching and there was nothing you could do about it except finally, finally, allow yourself to cry. To let every pent-up emotion out of your tired system. And nothing could have felt more natural than doing so while being stuck amid the motions of such a false and fabricated world.

─── ⪧ ⪦ ───

Taeyong looks down to the little scruff of paper with a ten-digit number scrawled in haste and the words ‘call me’ sitting right beside them. He doesn’t know how or when the paper had found itself in the sweaty creases of his palm, but he has no intention of investigating further, ripping it up once, twice, three times, and watching it fall to the ground with the shiny confetti that flutters around his throbbing head.

A glass bottle – perhaps his fourth of the late hour – sits loosely in his other hand, ready to drop and shatter as its contents sit bitterly in his mouth, burning his throat with each heavy gulp. Crowds of models brush suggestively at his sides, some subtle and others not as much, but their efforts fall futile as the dark-haired man of interest simply blinks out to some faraway place at the after-party venue. As if searching for the one he truly wished to find among the crowd.

When he’s convinced that you’re not there hidden somewhere among the shadows, Taeyong simply turns around, back turned to the blinding disco lights, and exits the party. His business there and everywhere else in the damned industry was done; he’d walked the runway, finished his job, and there simply was nothing more left for him to do now.

He leaves with weighted limbs and a fogged mind, no knowledge of how he later ends up seated in the chair of his home office. He still wears the same suit he’d shown off to the world mere hours ago, but his make-up is now smudged, hair a dishevelled muss, breaths heavily intoxicated and eyes shallowed and heavy as he opens his laptop, glaring at the document that had sent everything crashing to the ground.

Taeyong doesn’t think twice – doesn’t care for the wall clock that reads an atrocious hour of the AM – as his fingers firmly clutch his phone, dialling a number he should have dialled much too long ago.

It takes no less than three rings for a groggy voice to emerge from the speaker, but he cuts it off immediately with a breathy whisper of:

“I can’t do it.”

The words are as quiet as the dark room around him, as still as the cool air.

“Heechul, I can’t submit the article.”

“What are you talking about, boy?” Heechul scoffs quietly – threateningly – though there seems to be some form of panic to his voice. “Do you even realise what this means for you? What this means for your money-”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING MONEY ANYMORE!” Taeyong roars into the speaker, every ounce of composure lost with the furious rise and fall of his chest, tears of anger beginning to blur his vision. “This is her career we’re putting on the line! Her entire life. Everything she’s worked for. And for what? Another godforsaken article to tear it all down?”

It’s almost as if Taeyong speaks to himself through the phone; finally voicing the truth as it so blatantly exists.

“I don’t care-” His voice drops to a broken sob, “-about the money anymore. I just-I can’t do it.”

A heavy pause welcomes the hot trickle of water to his cheeks, a pathway glistening with the blue light in front of him.

“You really are your father’s son,” comes Heechul’s cold voice in the dark. “Always getting too caught up in your subjects. Too personal. Weak and cowardly.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Taeyong seethes, teeth and jaw clenching furiously.

“How do you think he ended up with your mother of all people?”

The venom in Heechul’s voice is clear and his words all too obviously spiteful. For what reason, Taeyong doesn’t know, nor does he have any desire to as his thumb cuts the call without another lasting word.

His eyes, wet with dark streaks of flecked eyeliner, flicker back to his laptop; to the words he’d forced onto the white page that had breached and bled onto his dignity. His hands find his mouse, and he clicks down, dragging the cursor through the words, line by line, every letter drowning in a blue highlight only to disappear with a single press of the backspace button.

A blank document was where it all started, and a black document is where it all ends.

His eyes fall shut with this final thought, only opening to the bright halo of mid-afternoon sun the next day, head resting sideways on a stiff elbow. He hauls his body up, downs a pill for his headache and accepts the pelting water from the nozzle of his shower, all accompanied by the numbing nothingness of his mind. A coat, a scarf, a beanie, and a tinkling pair of keys are all that accompany Taeyong as he later steps outside his apartment, down the streets and among the noise of the city. He buries his face in the warm fabric around his neck and pulls his hat atop the tips of his ears, glancing out to the pedestrians and vehicles along the roads, the billboards and the buskers and everything else that he hadn’t before taken the time of day to notice and appreciate. It wasn’t often that he’d found himself walking on his own two feet among this tall wilderness of glass and concrete; it wasn’t particularly his of choice of scene. But now, with the icy wind flowing through his lashes, Taeyong feels a sort of silent beauty amid the stereotypical chaos. It’s something subdued, almost impalpable, present in the artwork hidden in the coolness of alleyways, the sky’s reflection upon the buildings, and in the simple workings of the city itself.

Somewhere along his solitary way, he passes a newsagency flanked at its front with rows and rows of glossed booklets. Some display you, Y/n Y/l/n, Head of Argent Fashion Labels, bowing at the show from the previous night.

Many others display him, but no longer just his face.

MEET LEE TAEYONG, THE FASHION FRAUD OF THE DECADE Argent Fashion Labels’ new model exposed as the anonymous writer behind the Y/l/n-Jung scandal

Taeyong picks up the magazine and inspects every inch of the paper, spotting Kim Heechul in a tiny font just beneath the bold typewrite. He doesn’t turn a single page, just eyes the man on the front cover with a longing so painful and deep, wishing that man hadn’t been so blind and foolish. If only not merely for his own sake, but for everything he had put you through since the day you’d first locked eyes.

Taeyong places the magazine back down, not bothering to pay for a copy, and decides to return home. As he once again seats himself at his desk, he feels a sort of enlightenment, as if he were now free of some form of a suffocation that he hadn’t realised had been there all along.

He opens his laptop to be met with the same blank document from the night before, fingers brushing lightly over the keys.

XIV. Okay?

It’s almost laughable how often the past repeats itself. Recycling old scenarios, emotions, and situations all for meticulous use in the present.

Ten finds himself the subject of such a phenomenon once again; standing outside your large office doors and peeking through the tiny crack, watching you in your current preoccupations of planning out Argent’s spring-summer line for the next season. A sudden wave of déjà vu reminds him that those dead-set features of yours really haven’t changed in the long time he’s known you. Still so passionate, and still so mystical. But there was now something different about you.

The weather had slowly begun to bleed into the supple hands of spring and with it, you too seemed to have thawed on the outside; now less austere in manner and more permissive to those around you. A month had come and gone since the success that was New York Fashion Week, and the tabloids – though ever-present in Argent’s business – were once again beginning to mute themselves for the time being. Now that the heavy preparations were over and the competition was down, you’d found a well-recommended model by the name of Lee Jeno, and he’d taken over the top model position with much fulfilling ease. He was almost too perfect for the job, things seemed to have settled back into a comforting routine, and much to everyone’s surprise, you often smiled.

But Ten could see past it, knowing all too well it was all just another façade of yours; that while each of your smiles came from a well-intended place, they did not resonate with you at all. He knew that from within, you only grew more fervently frigid and harsh with yourself, if only to never again commit the mistakes that you had in the early months of the year. Ten knows that all along you’ve been hurt by someone you’d invested far too much trust in. That along the way, you’d lost a certain part of yourself to a man that had made you feel alive in a way you’d never felt before.

He looks down nervously now to the clipboard held to his chest, jumping as your voice comes from behind the door.

“What is it, Ten?”

Sighing, he pushes forward into your office, gnawing at the inside of his cheek while eyeing you nervously. He can see just how much of an affect Taeyong has had on you, even now. How you’d picked up on those little habits of his and adopted them as your own, from the slight humour in your witty remarks, to the quirk that now seems to find your eyebrow. You weren’t even aware of it, but it seemed that Taeyong was now an unshakeable force in your life.

“What?” You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, please don’t tell me there’s another delay in the fabric delivery. I spent three hours on the phone with them yesterday just to make sure that-”

“Y/n,” Ten interrupts you, taking a deep breath and stepping closer to you.

“What?” You snap, impatient and confused by his sudden anxiousness.

“This,” he unclips a magazine from his clipboard and places it on your desk, sliding it in front of you, “just got published today.”

You pick up the book with an apathetic expression and scan over the front cover, only for your brows to crease while reading over the bold text.

JOURNALIST LEE TAEYONG FINALLY EMERGES FROM THE DARK-

“No,” you hold the magazine out to Ten and look away, refusing to read any further. “I don’t want to see it.”

“Y/n-”

“No, Ten.”

“Just read it, for God’s sake!” he yells, slamming the magazine down on your desk and opening it to a double page.

Your eyes widen at you look up at Ten, blinking in shock of his furrowed expression and angry tone. It was rare for him to raise his voice with you unless the matter was urgent, so you find yourself in a bout of hesitation.

“Why?” Comes your voice in the tense silence. “Why should I read this?”

“You just have to trust me when I say you’ll want to,” Ten replies, now soft again.

You take in a deep breath through your nose, unsure what to expect from the article given the sincerity in Ten’s voice, and hesitantly look down to the spread pages.

There is no short or easy way for me to say this, but it must be said.

I do not write this letter for the appeasement of anyone, nor for any sympathy, and I do not expect or wish for anybody to take my side. My side is unjustifiable. I write this letter in hopes of delivering the truth, and the truth only, regarding my recent involvement with Y/n Y/l/n and Argent Fashion Labels.

My name is Lee Taeyong. Most of you now know me as the anonymous writer of the Y/l/n-Jung scandal, or the fraudulent model who entered Argent Fashion Labels as a gossip spy. Perhaps even both. These claims are not wrong, and I am here to address them in their utmost verity.

The truth is, I am no model. I am a journalist who, in the past, worked under the editorial division of Luxe Magazines LTD in Manhattan city. In my job, I was well-approved, highly acclaimed and lucrative to the firm. These were unfortunately the materialistic qualities under which I thrived. In the event of being offered a celebrity scandal headline, I jumped without rational thought, and wrote a false and misleading article about a non-existent love affair between Y/n Y/l/n and Jung Jaehyun.

I must clarify that they were not, in any way, intimately involved with each other. I did not check the hard facts, and for this I am deeply sorry to them both. I must further clarify that Jung Jaehyun is innocent, and I take full responsibility for his departure from Argent Fashion Labels, as well as the losses suffered by both parties as a result of this.

Regarding my temporary employment under Argent; there are no words that can justify my actions. It has taken me a great deal of disillusionment and self-reflection to understand the gravity of my intentions when entering the position. It is not Argent’s fault in scouting me, but mine for accepting the offer and intruding on my rights and responsibilities.

I will be transparent in saying I was to write another article; this time to ‘debunk’ Argent as a whole company. Initially, I thought it would be an easy task. And while I must concede that there were external forces at play, I was in no case, justified to continue with knowledge of the consequences.

But in wake of all this, I cannot bring myself to regret the time I had spent at Argent. I had thrust myself into a new environment; it was a dizzying and expeditious experience at first. I was ready to quit the job as soon as I started.

But dare I say, I’m glad I didn’t quit, because it was these experiences, the people, the friendly faces all working toward a common goal and the connections I had made through them. All of it changed who I am and what I stand for. Everything at Argent was a massive challenge. I would have expected no less from a world-class fashion label. But it changed me.

In the end, I had chosen not to publish the second article, because I no longer cared for all my previous qualities. It didn’t matter to me how well-approved or highly acclaimed or lucrative of a person I was.

But I was too late in realising this. Consequently, I have wronged many people; in doing so, relinquished the trust they had in me, and for this, I will forever repent. I was a coward who chose to sacrifice not only his own honour, but the honour of Y/n Y/l/n.

I am at fault, and she is not. She is innocent in all regards.

I am so, so sorry for all the trouble I put her through. I am very deeply sorry for all the effort and the time, all the hours and all the energy she had spent in me.

To the tabloids, the paparazzi and all celebrity gossip agencies out there: Y/n Y/l/n is not the person you think she is. She isn’t the fashion industry’s monster. She isn’t a hot-headed, unappeasable snob. And she is certainly not a bitch.

Once again, I am not looking for approval or sympathy from the public eye. But please, if there is anybody to target for the matters discussed, it is only me.

With each of these words, I need nobody to believe me except one person.

I am sorry.

Your lips part as your eyes read over the last three words over and over again, gulping through the emerging mixture of emotions that gather in your mind.

“He didn’t accept the transaction,” Ten murmurs softly, now seated on one of the sofas.

You can’t seem to do anything else but blink, breaths growing shallow. “He…he…” you try to formulate words, though they don’t come out, “why didn’t he-”

“I think you know why,” Ten whispers, a solemn look in his eyes.

Why?

Was it because Taeyong had taken pity on you? Or was it because he decided to take the moral high road? Was it because he wanted to save his own face? Or was he truly, deeply sorry?

“I-” You stand up abruptly, “I need to go see him, Ten.”

You really hope he is truly, deeply sorry, and you have no choice but to find out.

Ten stands up with you, surprise evident on his features. “Wait, what-now?”

“Yes, now!” You look around frantically, before pausing. “Wait but…where would he be?”

“Are you really asking me that right now?” Ten raises his eyebrow.

“Ten, this is serious, tell me!”

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up in the air, starting to panic along with you. “Like, his house, or-or the field maybe, or-”

You gasp quietly.

“What?” Ten asks, oblivious.

“Ten,” you call to him softly, grabbing your purse and walking to the couches.

“What-oh.” He asks again, only for you to lean forward and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” you give him a small smile, “for everything.”

He blinks. “O-okay.”

With a single nod, you turn on your heel and scurry toward your door.

“Wait, woman, your coat!” Ten yells, jogging to your coat hanger and tossing your trench to you.

“Thank you!” you yell back, leaving Ten standing in your office among the silent echo of the doors that swing shut behind you, stunned with his hand still holding the cheek that you’d somehow kissed.

“Uhhh, okay,” he speaks to himself, though it sounds more like a question than a statement. “Okay,” Ten chuckles once again, reaching back for his clipboard before clearing his throat with a curt nod.

“Okay,” he says once more, before exiting your office with a growing smile.

XV. Une Doublure D'argent

The world truly is a lonely, lonely place. You ought to have learnt exactly that, if nothing else in amongst the tumultuous waves that make you up. Now, it is not the barren, desolate land that you compare to the city, but the solitary nature of your surroundings that reminds you of it. In the end, you realise that everything stands for itself. Each blade of grass is merely its own blade of grass. Each skyscraper is, in itself, its own skyscraper.

The notion finds you as you once again make the journey from the city to the countryside, this time in your own car, with the wheel sliding under each palm of your hands. From where such an epiphany had suddenly manifested, you have absolutely no idea. You simply allow your mind to drift in whichever direction, feeling the enormous space all around you as the road cuts into broad, green plains beneath the cloudy sky.

It seems all the radios know how to play these days are renditions of the same smooth jazz, but you let the speakers echo as they please, too busy with looking around and trying to remember the exact place you’d sat in among this maze of greenery.

Now that you really think about it, what you’re doing right now is absolutely ridiculous; something your past self never would have envisioned you doing in the future, because why would he be here of all places?

“A mess,” you mutter to yourself, “I’m just a big, fat me-”

Your foot slams down on the breaks as a dark head of hair emerges from the thick bed of grass on your left, yet another solitary figure hidden among the scene before you. Parking the car, you merely sit behind your window and watch him for a minute, noting the familiar way his locks shift in the breeze, some straying from the rest. And contrary to what you’d anticipated, such a view is oddly settling to take in. When the head disappears among the field again, you sigh, retrieving your bag and exiting the car to find a bicycle laying down outside the entrance of the same beaten down dirt path. You once again walk through it, welcomed ever so delicately by the pasture flanking its sides.

You reach into your bag, pulling out the magazine spread and approach the man lying down on his coat.

“What is this?” You make no haste in voicing your words, holding the article over Taeyong’s face and forcing yourself to ignore the flutter of goosebumps that arise on your skin as his eyes flutter open...

And then flutter back shut again.

“Excuse me?” You tilt your head, scoffing in disbelief. This was anything but the reaction you had been expecting.

“Hello?”

Still no response.

“Taeyon-”

“I thought you were smart, Y/n.”

His words catch you off-guard, eyebrows scrunching.

“Do you hear yourself right now?”

He simply hums in apathy, bringing a forearm to cover his still closed eyes to which you scowl in frustration, suddenly compelled to jab your boot into his side.

“Ow! What do you-”

“Taeyong, what is this?” you repeat yourself, shaking the magazine in your hand. “Tell me clearly what this is.”

He sighs, sitting up with a quiet rustle and combing a hand through his hair.

“Well, did you read the headline, or…”

You simply scoff once again, an irked smile finding your face as you turn around to leave.

“Wait.”

Taeyong catches your wrist from his spot on the ground, stopping you before you can take another step away from him, and you curse under your breath for the shiver that trickles through your body. His grip is so tight and unrelenting that you have no choice but to evade all thought of trying to shake it off. Reluctantly, you turn back to him, trying to level your breathing as his eyes meet your own.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he speaks softly, the wind carrying his voice with its echo as he peers up at you. “I couldn’t just leave without telling the truth…even if it had to be after a month.”

You take in his words with a growing frown, and just like that, everything you had planned to tell him – every single rehearsed sentence from your monologue of emotions – fades from the tip of your tongue, forgotten in the dry of your throat as you gulp, and without another thought, step forward and lower yourself down to the ground beside him. Minutes are spent thereafter in the silence of the outside, looking out to the grey sky with empty eyes. But within your mind roam a tangled, blundering string of ineffable thoughts, none of which you can seem to comprehend yourself.

“What are you doing here, Y/n?” Taeyong asks defeatedly.

“I’m giving you two minutes to explain everything that happened – and I mean, everything,” you blurt out, refusing to look at him until everything had been laid out properly in the open. You need all the answers before you can make any drastic considerations.

Taeyong sighs and you catch a small nod from him in your periphery. He begins with the first scandal, repeating everything he had written in the article that rests in your hand; how he’d genuinely believed it to be true, and failed to check the truth behind the dating rumours. Next came his modelling proposal, how, back in January, he’d accepted Ten’s offer at his frequented coffee shop and later found out it was a job for Argent. Then he explained Heechul’s offer of going undercover.

“Heechul,” you interrupt Taeyong, now all too familiar with the name. “He’s your boss?”

“Not anymore,” Taeyong sighs.

“You left your job?”

“More like I was fired, but I guess you could put it that way.”

“So, Heechul is the one who asked you to write another article? To debunk Argent?” you continue, “and you agreed?”

“Yes,” Taeyong replies, a hesitancy in his voice, unsure of what to expect from your reaction.

“Okay,” you nod, spurning any emotion from seeping into your features, “continue.”

And he does. And his words exceed far longer than the two-minute time slot you’d initially granted him, but you don’t move from your spot, nor do you attempt to stop Taeyong as the whole truth finally spills from his lips with the blooming emergence of dusk.

You gather that he’d written the majority of the debunking article in the first week or so of employment at Argent.

“…but when you told me the truth about the dating scandal, I was ready to drop everything and leave,” he pauses. “But then again, I couldn’t just do that to you. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I left, you’d have no model and I’d feel guilty. If I stayed, I’d still feel guilty, but I figured that the least I could do in that situation was help you…as ironic as it sounds.”

You sigh in deep vanquish, unsure what to make of his words or how to feel about his overall intentions.

“I actually forgot about the article after that day because I genuinely took on the role,” Taeyong adds with a small voice, and it only serves to muddle your thoughts up even more. On one hand, he’d defamed you, driven Jaehyun to leave Argent and join another fashion label, and then proceeded to romance you all while writing another article behind your back. But on the other hand, instead of leaving, Taeyong had stayed with you for an entire month, kept up with his modelling duties, walked the runway at New York Fashion Week, and maybe – just maybe – given you a sense of enjoyment while doing so.

“I deleted the article on the night of the show and called Heechul to tell him I couldn’t submit it. Then he fired me and released an exposé article the next day.”

“And you didn’t accept the money either,” you murmur from beside Taeyong and he shakes his head. “And then you released this article a month later,” you hold up the magazine, “just out of the blue.”

And he nods.

And you nod back.

And then, looking out once again toward the silence of the field, your brows furrow with a lingering thought.

“Why did you do it in public?” you ask quietly, a spark of anger beginning to brew inside you. “Why did you have to release an article in the first place? Why couldn’t you have just come to me yourself?”

“I already told you, I had to tell the truth-”

“But why didn’t you come to me?”

Trying your hardest to stabilise your breathing, you turn to Taeyong, immediately shivering with another unsolicited prickle of goosebumps at the mere sight of him. You’re adamant on knowing the reasoning behind his drastic actions, unwilling to believe that everything that you had built with him – everything he’d done with you – was simply just an act.

Taeyong has to pause at your question, expression tensing as he inhales deeply, searching for the answer which is surprisingly hard to pinpoint.

“I couldn’t-” he sighs sharply, “I couldn’t bear to face you after everything I did. I was ashamed.”

“And you weren’t ashamed that night?” you dare to ask, facing forward again with a shaky breath.

Taeyong knows exactly which night you’re referring to. He’d gone through a month of deep rumination, but nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared him for the striking pain in his chest when he finally turns to your downcast figure staring toward the sky with a doleful look in your beautiful, but incredibly sorrowful features. The only other time he’d seen you in such a genuine sadness was the very first time he’d taken you out to this place; when you’d voiced every one of your worries and he’d listened to them all. When he’d let you believe that you had his trust.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ashamed in my life,” he whispers, turning to face his lap, completely heartbroken to have brought this all upon you.

“I just needed you to say something back then; anything…” you begin, voice breaking without any idea of where your mind is leading it, “…but you just disappeared without a word.”

You turn back to him, your own heart breaking at the genuine remorse present in every inch of his expression. In the drained depths of his eyes, and the shadowed bags just beneath them. In every crack on the pink of his lips and the very wilt of its frown.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he whispers, his helpless gaze focused right on your own, “I’m so, so sorry.”

You’re forced to close your eyes with a pained, shaky breath.

It truly is a lonely, lonely world. You haven’t always had someone to lean on in every moment of needful solitude, but you had just so happened to find Taeyong months ago, in one of your biggest moments of need yet.

It doesn’t seem to matter under which context he’d come; all that matters now is the fact that he’d been there for you. And it dawns on you just how much your life had been riding on this man after you’d met him. No matter your feelings toward the notion, because for once, you didn’t have control, and it didn’t matter whether you liked it or not. Your input had not a single ounce of weightage in the grand picture when you were around Taeyong.

In his presence, things had felt as natural as this field, and as effortless as merely existing here in the tall grass. You’d found yourself caring less and less for inhibitions, letting go, turning away from all the nasty what-ifs that make up everything the world hates about you. Slipping up here and there…it had started to feel okay. And it was all because of him.

He was your anchor in a time of great need.

The fact still remains that his initial motives were flawed and his silent departure equally as painful. And it still hurts that you’ve had to find him yourself even now, hidden in this field without any direction or prospect for his future.

But all of that pain dulls in comparison to the pain you feel while looking into his eyes right now.

This has all been painful for you. But it must have also been so painful for him.

You’ve searched within the confines of your thawing heart and found something of a crackling hope amid the fire of betrayal, thinking that maybe Taeyong deserves the benefit of the doubt. That maybe somewhere along the way, his original motives had lost their significance. That it couldn’t have been easy for him to write that letter about himself. That he wouldn’t have put himself through the trouble of public scrutiny were he not a changed person.

Maybe you’re a fool for thinking that way, maybe you’re just selfish. But you can’t face the other way now, and there’s only one apparent reason why.

“It’s not okay,” finally comes your reply, voice as airy and soft as the wind. “And I thought I needed more from you, because you really, really hurt me, Taeyong. And I wish so much that I could hate you for it but,” you pause, lifting a hand to cup his face, “but all I needed was an apology, because that’s all anyone ever needs from the person they love.”

You really thought you needed more from him.

But you love him.

You love Lee Taeyong.

And all you really needed was a sincere apology.

You feel Taeyong’s cold hand find your own face, warming against your skin. He brings your forehead to gently meet his own, soft whispers of “I’m sorry” melting repeatedly against your cheeks, soothed by the feathered stroke of his thumb. “I love you too, Y/n, I’m so sorry,”

You pull back just enough to find his eyes once again.

“I forgive you.”

And Taeyong pulls you back to him, your body now encased in the haven of his arms like never before as his face finds a home in the warmth of your neck, refusing to let you go when he hears the soft sniffles on his shoulder.

“Don’t cry,” he breathes, holding you tighter. “Please don’t cry, Y/n.”

“You don’t think I’m a bitch,” you mumble into his coat.

“Of course you’re not.” Taeyong unwinds his arms from you, gently wiping your tears while looking you in the eye. “God, fuck no.” His words pull a small chuckle from you and Taeyong doesn’t think anything has ever sounded as sweet as your smile, nothing has ever felt as nice as your fingers in his own, or as comforting as the mere thought that you were here with him once again. That you loved him despite all his flaws and mistakes.

“I have something for you,” you untuck yourself from his arms and reach back into your handbag, lifting your hand back out in a fist and bringing it in front of Taeyong. He eyes you with something of a knowing smile and slowly uncurls your fingers, revealing the round box of strawberry lip balm he’d given you months ago.

“But it’s yours,” he mumbles as you slide the box into his hand.

“You need it more than I do,” you grin coyly, and Taeyong can only shake his head in adoration while unscrewing the lid to find it half empty since the last time he’d used it, applying the balm to his lips as you once again reach back into your bag.

He looks up as a loud rumble resounds throughout the sky, the grey clouds having grown darker with the evening, shifting and whispering among each other with a newfound purpose ready to be fulfilled.

You raise your hands up to the sky from beside him, and Taeyong turns to you curiously, his gaze following your arm to the silver strip of fabric pinched between your fingers, shimmering with infinite hope in front of the looming clouds. You turn to Taeyong, a soft smile forming at your lips as you regard him with all the world’s sincerity in your eyes; the one thing so certain in his greatest moment of uncertainty.

A silver lining to his darkest clouds.

“Don’t forget it.”

Reaching out to him, you hold Taeyong’s hand tightly with the fabric clasped warmly between both of your palms. And as you bring his hand to your mouth and plant a gentle kiss to his skin, Taeyong finds a certain comfort in the softness of your lips; how they’re no longer chapped as they once were, and how they beam up at him so beautifully.

“Don’t ever forget it.”

finis

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disclove · 2 years

Text

HEARTSIGH . hrj (ft. lyy)

PAIRING / HUANG RENJUN X YANG NANA (FT. LIU YANGYANG)

WORD COUNT / ~15000

SYNOPSIS / everyone was in love with huang renjun, right? the student council prez with perfect grades that every parent would kill to have as a son-in-law. but not nana, and she had a good reason. but would she change her mind after a drunken dare that she'd stupidly agreed to? or would it end terribly?

GENRE / COMEDY, ANGST, PINING, BET AU, RICH KID AU, HIGH SCHOOL AU.

WARNINGS / there's a lot... umm ... mentions of self-harm, depression, anxiety, smoking, a lot of toxic behavior, nana and renjun are both assholes (lowkey), violence, manipulation & kind of gaslighting?? not sure if i missed anything

PLAYLIST / OKAY - CHASE ATLANTIC, MODERN LONELINESS - LAUV, I HATE U - SZA, YOU WON'T BE THERE FOR ME - SLCHLD, BYE MY FIRST - NCT DREAM.

NOTE FROM TAOJUN / hello! this is a repost from my old account NEOWAVES (& nana is an oc). this is part of my HIGH SCHOOL CLICHE series and dedicated @njmverse from the neosecretsanta collab! like and reblog if you enjoyed, and please send any feedback in my askbox!

TAGS / @ankathi-a, @nct-writers, @kflixnet, @ficscafe !

NEW BLOG, NEW TAGLIST - FORM HERE!

i. the face of a bitch, who never rests

“I should’ve known better than to trust a bitch that doesn’t even go to this school,” Nana scowls, throwing an empty glass bottle down from the roof. A smirk grows on her face as the ear-splitting sound of the glass shattering on the concrete echoes through the air.

“Gosh, I fucking hate him. Can’t believe I fell for such a bitch, but I probably never liked him anyway.”

Yangyang grabs her hand before she reaches for another glass bottle. “Stop. You’ll get in trouble.”

“Do I look like I give a single shit?” she snaps, with a cigarette sticking out of her mouth, prying his grip off of her as she hurls the next bottle down the side of the building.

“I told you he was bad news,” he sighs. “His facade was too perfect to be true—”

“Mhm. What— you’re gonna tell me ‘I told you so’? Thanks for the moral support,” she sneers, taking the cigarette between her fingers and pulling it out of her mouth.

“Yang Nana. You can’t just let all your self-esteem break down over a piece of fucking trash,” Yangyang glares at her. “You always said you’d never let anyone break you, and yet here you are, smashing shit to stop yourself from crying.”

She grips a broken glass bottle, feeling the glass shards dig into her skin and pierce it, yet she barely registers the pain.

“Everyone in my life is a fucking liar,” she sneers, watching as the glass cuts into her skin and blood flows down her fingers, stomping the fire out of her cigarette under the soles of her boot. “and I hate him.”

“Nana,” Yangyang scolds with a sigh, prying the glass from her palm and grabbing her injured hand, lightly picking a few glass shards out. “We’re going to the nurse. Stop doing this to yourself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and pick your confidence back up. Don’t let him take a single thing from you by leaving.”

With that, he grabs her non-injured hand and leads her down the stairs, away from the rooftop with a crate of glass beer bottles with the blood-stained glass shards on the ground.

“Why do you resort to self-harm every time?” Yangyang sighs as he watches the blood drip off of her fingertips and onto the ground, leading her across campus to fix up her hand.

Nana stays silent, and Yangyang just shakes his head, knowing she was too stubborn to listen. His gaze hardened when he saw Renjun walking out of one of his classes, already heading in their direction. But before he could lead Nana out of the impending argument that was inevitably going to happen, Renjun already saw them from across the hall, and was walking towards the two of them.

“Hey, Yang Nana, what happened to your hand?” Renjun asks in mock concern, his eyes lingering on the blood dripping down her hand. “Lost your temper again?”

She scowls at the bitchy tone of his otherwise sweet words. “None of your fucking business, kiss-up.”

“That's no way to speak to the student council president,” he tsks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Calm down, I was just asking. Sometimes I think you hate me for no reason.”

“Yeah, you’re only student council president to build your resume because your grades are trash,” she snaps. “And because only two people ran for president. Get your head out of your fucking ass, bitch.”

“Last time I checked, I’m number 4 overall in the school for grades. You’re just two places higher because you fucking cheated,” Renjun sneers back.

“Wow, the perfect boy knows how to curse,” she gasps sarcastically, before addressing his accusations. “And no, I didn’t cheat. Just because I’m smarter than your dumb ass doesn’t mean I cheated. I don’t care about my image and status being perfect as much as you do, you conceited bitch.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you tutor me then?” he suggests with a smirk on his face, raising an eyebrow.

“Mhm… no, go kiss your chemistry teacher’s ass. Maybe Dr. Ou-Yang will pity you and give you a chance at being valedictorian… that is, if you can beat Huang Xinyi… or me,” she retorts.

Renjun hesitates for a moment, and Nana takes this chance to stick her middle finger in his face and brush past him, Yangyang’s hand still firmly in her grip.

“God, he’s such an annoying shit,” she scowls. “Pretentious ass.”

Yangyang sighs, unconsciously repeating Renjun’s words. “Sometimes I think you hate him for no reason.”

She stops in her tracks abruptly, turning to look at him sharply. “I have very good reasons to dislike him, in fact. You of all people should know this.”

He holds in yet another sigh, nodding as he walks Nana into the nurse’s office. The student who was taking Dr. Li’s place during his break, Guo Yifeng, glances at Nana and her bleeding hand and frowns— while suppressing a smile at the sight of her hand firmly in Yangyang’s grip.

“What happened, Nana?” Yifeng asks, cocking her head in the direction of her injured hand.

“Glass shards,” Nana responds plainly, not caring to elaborate further.

Yangyang lets go of her hand and pushes her slightly towards the seat next to Yifeng, causing her to fall into it ungracefully.

Yifeng gently takes Nana’s hand, inspecting the glass puncturing her skin with a sigh. She turns away to grab a bottle of disinfecting alcohol and a few cotton balls, dampening the cotton with the alcohol as she speaks.

“The glass cut pretty deep into you, so I’m going to need to use tweezers to pick them out,” she explains as she lightly wipes away the blood near the wounds on Nana’s hand. Grabbing a tweezer, Yifeng looked at her closely. “It might hurt, but I don't have enough time to take you to a hospital. We can’t let the glass go in any deeper, or it’ll never come out and keep cutting you internally, causing a lot of internal bleeding.”

Nana nods indifferently, sucking in a breath as she feels Yifeng’s tweezers pulling a glass shard out of her hand. With her other hand, Yifeng immediately grabbed a cotton pad to press against the blood rushing out from the open wound.

After extracting a few more pieces and bandaging her hand carefully, Yifeng breathes out in relief.

“You’re lucky there weren’t that many small pieces that went underneath your skin, but make sure to let your hand rest for about a week. Change bandages everyday, and if you don’t have enough of them, you can always come back to get more,” she says with a smile. “Try not to get injured so much in the future, okay?”

But her words went ignored as Nana grabs Yangyang’s hand again and exits the nurse’s office.

“Where do you want to go now?” Nana asks. “God, this means that I can’t work. Fuck it, I’m working anyway. I need the money.”

“You should rest. But before that— let's go beat up your ex.”

“But… ” she starts, a little apprehensive— but brushes off her concerns quickly, slightly scared to ruin her reputation by turning Yangyang down. “Never mind. yeah, let’s go.”

They approach Yangyang’s motorcycle, Nana climbing on directly behind Yangyang.

Though he looked composed, all of his thoughts masked behind his indifferent facade, Yangyang shakes with rage under his calm expression. Nana has been the only person he’s ever trusted, and he became extremely wary when she started dating Jaemin.

Yangyang was so suspicious of his perfect facade, and the way they even met— Jaemin lived in Korea, for fuck’s sake. He visited China every few weeks only when he didn’t want to attend school, until he graduated. He moved to a university near their school in China, yet turned down her multiple offers to meet up, despite the significant decrease of difficulty to just walk a few blocks down to meet his girlfriend.

And a few days ago, his fling had texted Nana and apologized, explaining what had happened. She had hooked up with Jaemin multiple times without knowing that he had a girlfriend.

Instead of wanting to kill Jaemin like he had expected, she had only sent him a “fuck you” text and blocked him everywhere she could.

Yangyang knew that Nana was broken, yet she pushed him away— and there was nothing he could do about it.

Once they got to the back of Jaemin’s university, Yangyang dialed his number, making sure that his number remained unknown to Jaemin.

“Back of your school,” Yangyang snaps angrily. “Square up, you fucking asshole.”

“I’m surprised that Jaemin didn’t hit you back,” Nana sighs as she bandages Yangyang’s wounds. “but holy fucking shit, Jeno is strong as fuck.”

She had only gotten a punch in the nose by Jaemin’s friend Haechan, but Jaemin pulled him back, unable to help Yangyang while Jeno had, quite literally, beaten Yangyang up.

“Don’t remind me,” he groans, as he hissed out in pain when Nana’s alcohol wipes brushed over his open wounds. “God, I had no idea Jaemin’s friends were assholes too. I thought they’d be mad that Jaemin cheated, but they’re sticking up for a motherfucker like him? Wow. I am absolutely fucking speechless.”

“I know, I can’t believe it either,” she sighs, while turning to glance at the clock, gasping as she reads the time. “Shit, it’s already 4. I need to go to work.”

“Not with that,” Yangyang eyes her bandaged hand, with a raised eyebrow and a pointed expression on his face.

She just rolls her eyes at him. “You can’t stop me.”

“Well, I’ll still be at your house when you get back. We’re going to a party at night,” he sighs out, knowing that he couldn’t change her mind, being the stubborn person she was.

ii. truth or dare? that’s boring, let’s play dare or humiliation!

True to his word, Yangyang was still sitting on her couch nearly six hours later, scrolling through his Netflix account that he logged into on Nana’s TV.

“Oh, you’re back,” he yawns, blinking his drowsiness away as he sat up. “Just finished binging The Untamed. Gosh, I forgot how much it fucking sucks.”

She makes a sound acknowledging his statement while rubbing her eyes, setting her bag down on a chair.

“God, just came back from three shifts,” she sighs tiredly. “And I’m barely making enough to cover this month,”

Yangyang frowns at his friend’s tired state. “Nana… I told you that I can help you pay it off, I have too much money anywa—”

“No.” She interrupts sternly. “Ma would’ve hated that. She hated owing people money, and I’ll just feel bad knowing that you paid off Ma’s hospital debt, which should’ve been Ba’s responsibility. But he’s gone too, so it’s my job now. I’m not going to let you offer me your whole allowance to cover this.”

Yangyang sighs. “But you literally work, like, 30 hours a week on the weekdays and an extra 20 hours a week on the weekends! You need a break, I’ll just cover one month for you—”

“Stop it, Yangyang. I said no.”

He just pouts. I can’t ever do anything nice for Nana without her getting upset.

“Fine. Let’s get ready, the party is in half an hour.”

“What party?” she asks in confusion. “I’m fucking exhausted, I’m not in the mood to party.”

But he just ignores her words as he pulls out an outfit for her from a bag that he had placed inconspicuously on the floor a few hours ago. “Put it on, I’m waiting!”

“When did you even buy this?!” she gapes, her eyes widening as she reads the designer brand name and the price tag of each piece. Her jaw drops upon reading the huge number. “Yangyang, this is literally enough to cover two months of the hospital debt!! What were you thinking?! This is so fucking expensive I-”

“It’s not important… put it on!” he says, cutting her off successfully.

She exhales a breath steadily, and goes into her room to change, with the outfit in her hands. Yangyang had chosen a pair of high-waisted ripped straight denim jeans, a Gucci belt, and a black ribbed tube top with sheer sleeves, leaving a small section of skin exposed above the waistband.

Nana sighs, feeling bad for accepting all of the extravagant gifts Yangyang buys for her— at this point, he could honestly pass for her sugar daddy. She pairs the outfit with more jewelry that he bought for her; a simple gold chain choker, and a few rings— a twisted silver one on her right index, a simple rose gold one that she placed halfway on her right middle finger, a bronze chain one on her right index, a thick jade ring that she got from her grandmother (the only one that wasn’t from Yangyang), which she placed on her left middle finger, a gold one with a crescent moon on it halfway on her left ring finger (which was from a matching set with Yangyang), and a claw ring that started from the base of her left index to adorning the tip of her finger.

Grabbing a pair of purple tinted glasses to, hopefully, complete her look, she walks outside of her room. “Yangyang, you really need to stop buying me shit… you’re literally being a sugar daddy at this point,” she jokes.

“Oh? Do you want me to be your daddy?” he smirks, and Nana’s eyes widen slightly at the innuendo, but she just scoffs, a disgusted expression on her face.

“You wish.”

Yangyang snickers at that, and casually grabs a pair of heeled sandals out of the same bag as before. “Shoes.”

Nana sighs. “Literally 90% of the shit I wear is bought by you, Yangyang, you really need to stop.”

But her words go ignored by Yangyang, who places the shoes into her hands.

“Let’s go,” he smiles as she finishes fastening her new shoes, taking her hand and leading her out of her apartment, back onto his motorcycle again.

Nana wrinkles her nose at the already overwhelming scent of alcohol in the air as she enters the party with Yangyang. She mentally freezes in anger as she realizes whose party this is, seeing Renjun — who’s already drunk and complaining about something (probably Nana) to his friend Chenle—from across the room.

She turns accusingly to Yangyang, but he was already gone; he knew better than to stick around and get yelled at by Nana.

With a sigh, she walks into the kitchen, grabbing a mixed drink on the table, grimacing at the initial taste.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a voice says behind her. She smirks as she turns to meet his eyes.

“Guanheng, what the fuck did you put in this drink?” Nana snorts as she takes another sip.

“Ah… it’s my new special, the one I’d like to call Drunk In My Bed,” he snickers. “How is it?”

“Terrible,” she jokes. “I think I’ll Puke In Your Bed instead.”

He frowns, clutching his chest in mock pain.

“How rude of you, Nana,” he gasps out playfully. “That’s my favorite creation!”

She smirks while downing the rest of the drink. “When are we playing beer pong?”

“Any time you want, babe,” he flirts, raising an eyebrow with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Are you playing with me?”

“Only if you don’t suck, sweetheart,” she plays along. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make better drinks. You need an upgraded bartender.”

With that, she grabs the tequila, vodka, Sprite, mango juice and orange juice from his fridge, along with a drink shaker and a few syrups he has stashed in a cupboard.

She shakes up an array of drinks, making Guanheng hand them out, who promises a round of beer pong after everyone is drunk enough.

Nana rests her arm on Yangyang’s shoulder as she hands him a drink. He takes it and drinks it, humming in approval.

“What’s happening now?” she asks.

“Nothing interesting,” he shrugs. “Just Renjun shit-talking you, but I didn’t expect anything more from that snake.”

She sighs in response. “Let’s beat him up later, we’re playing beer pong first.”

Just as she finishes speaking, Guanheng claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Hey everyone, we’re playing beer pong, so join me in the room with a partner if you want to play or watch— there’s a total of three tables to play on.”

“Let’s go,” Nana smiles, taking Yangyang’s hand and leading him to the beer pong tables. “You want to play?”

“No, I’ll just watch you and Guanheng argue,” he smirks.

“I heard my name,” Guanheng winks as he joins Nana at one side of a table.

“Who wants to play against the godly beer pong duo?!” Yangyang yells out loudly.

The party goes silent for a moment, before Renjun (who is already nearly bat-shit drunk) yells, “Me and Chenle-ya will do it!”

“You’ve made a bad decision, Renjun-ah,” he mumbles out to Renjun with a smirk on his face.

“It’s okay, he was a bad decision,” Nana smirks. “Bring it on, losers.”

Before Renjun could open his mouth to retort, Yangyang pushes them to the other side of the table. And suddenly, the two other beer pong tables look empty as everyone huddles around the center table with Nana and Guanheng against Renjun and Chenle.

“Let’s fucking go, Yang Nana!” Siyuan yells out loudly, already almost batshit drunk. Chenle and Guanheng fill their respective cups with beer as Renjun and Nana stare at each other.

“Bring it on, Mr. Perfect,” Nana snickers.

Renjun grabs a ping-pong ball and aims it at their side of cups, but it bounces off the rim of the center cup and onto the table.

“Darn, your aim sucks,” she taunts as she grabs herself a ball, easily tossing it into the cup closest to Renjun. The crowd of students go wild as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “Drink up, prez.”

He mutters out complaints while tossing the ball back to their side, taking the cup of beer and drinking it all. Chenle grabs another ball, resisting the urge to facepalm at the obvious tension between the two, and easily gets it into the cup closest to the center.

Guanheng sighs as he grabs the cup, tossing the ball back to Chenle, who hands it to Renjun, and downs the beer— so quickly that it leaves a burn in his throat, which he grimaces at, before grabbing their ping-pong ball.

He manages to get it into the cup in the corner, and Nana lets out a small breath of relief as Chenle drinks all of the liquid in the cup.

Renjun squints at cups in front of him, his vision already getting a little blurry with the alcohol in his lightweight system.

Surprisingly, he manages to get it into the left cup in the second row. Nana grabs it with a scoff, taking out the ball and throwing it at Renjun’s head before pouring the whole drink into her mouth, throwing the cup behind her.

She grabs the ball in Guanheng’s hand, staring closely as she aims it at a random cup, and it lands in with a splash. Renjun lets out an audible groan as he grabs the cup, rolls the ball towards the other side, and drinks it all.

It’s Chenle’s turn now, but he misses, and Renjun nearly screams in frustration.

“Chenle, you fucking suck,” he whines, and Nana doesn’t even suppress the laugh bubbling up within her.

“You also missed one,” she smirks. “Therefore, you also suck.”

Guanheng grabs the ball and lands it into the cup nearest to the center, and Chenle grumbles an insult at Renjun as he drinks it.

“All your fucking fault for making me play with you,” Chenle tsks. “I should’ve just ignored you.”

Renjun just shrugs as he attempts to throw the ball into another cup. But it fails, bouncing on the rim of two cups before landing on the table— but by now, mostly everyone has dissipated from the crowd, disappointed in Renjun’s and Chenle’s lack of skill. Nana just gives him a mocking pity smile as she tosses the ball into the right cup in the second row.

“Looks like you’re the one who fucking sucks,” she snickers, watching as he downs the cup of beer with a pout on his face.

“Shut up, you’re only good because you have nothing better to do,” he snaps.

“That’s a bad way of coping, assuming things just because you’re bad at it. You’d be bad at this even if you did it every single day,” she says disapprovingly with a click of her tongue. “You just don’t know how to do anything except be a nerd. Is this your first time tasting alcohol, goody two shoes?”

Chenle interrupts their argument with a cough, getting his ball into the middle cup closest to the other side. Guanheng exhales air through his nose as he drinks, slamming the cup on the table as he consumes the whole cup. He grabs the ping pong ball, focusing on the last cup standing on the other side.

“You better get this one, or I’m never playing beer pong with you again,” Nana whispers threateningly.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he smirks back as he bounces the ball on the table, and into the last cup.

Renjun groans as Chenle finishes the last cup on their side, whining about Chenle making them lose.

“As customary to our version of beer pong, you guys also have to split the last three cups of beer too,” Nana winks as she leaves the room.

Siyuan drags Nana to the group of people playing their version of Truth or Dare.

“Siyuan, Truth or Dare is the dumbest game in the history of dumb games,” Nana deadpans. “For the last time, I am not playing.”

“Hey, hey,” Guanheng pipes up from the circle. “We’re not playing Truth or Dare. That’s boring. We’re playing Dare or Humiliation!”

Nana raises her eyebrows.

“Come on, just one round, please?” Siyuan pouts, and she groans, obliging with a few “fine, okay”’s falling from her lips.

Siyuan spins the bottle in the middle to choose the first victim player.

And it lands on Siyuan. Nana smirks as she senses Siyuan’s grimace.

“Tang Siyuan,” Nana says. “Dare or Humiliation?”

“Hm… um, I’ll pick Dare,” Siyuan sighs.

“Wise choice,” Guanheng winks at her, and spins the wheel of dares on his phone, which everyone in the circle contributed to.

“Mix Lao Gan Ma, soymilk, mung bean ice cream, sesame paste, orange juice, salted egg crackers, that 5-day old jasmine milk tea with brown sugar boba and coconut jelly in Guanheng’s fridge, and yogurt in a blender and drink it,” he snickers, but it fades and a terrified expression grows on his face as he reads the rest of the dare. “And then… kiss Guanheng. I- wait, what? What if I got this one? Would I kiss myself?”

The two victims cringe at the sound of the monstrous dare.

“Now, who came up with this?!” he cries out in terror.

“Me,” Yangyang says casually. “Great dare, right? I was kind of hoping that Siyuan would get this one.”

Siyuan scowls at him as everyone else in the circle excitedly gets up to make her the gag-guaranteed drink.

Soon, Nana approaches her again with the demonic concoction of a drink— chunky and revolting— with a shit-eating grin on her face as Siyuan reluctantly accepts the cursed cup of disgusting foods.

“Drink up, darling,” she smirks at the scowl on Siyuan’s face.

Plugging her nose and quickly pouring the mixture into her mouth, she swallows with a grimace on her face.

“Oh God, that was nasty. Guanheng, come here,” Siyuan says with a cheeky grin on her face, grabbing him by the neck. She connects her lips with Guanheng’s, making sure that she slides her tongue into his mouth— forcing him to taste the gag-worthy drink, too.

He pulls away as soon as she lets go, coughing and choking at the taste.

“I’m getting water to wash that shit down,” he gags, as she follows him to get some for herself as well.

Siyuan sits back down in the circle, spinning the bottle again a little too eagerly.

It lands on Yangyang, and he groans out “Dare”, as Guanheng spins the wheel again.

“Kiss the person closest to you,” he reads. “Simple enough. You and Meng Xiyun.”

Xiyun cringes slightly at the dare, but stays in place as Yangyang pecks her on the lips, an indifferent expression on his face as he grabs the bottle to spin.

About ten rounds go by before the bottle lands on Nana.

“Dare,” she shrugs.

“Shit, we’re out of dares,” Guanheng sighs as he looks at the zero at the top of the “New Dares” list. “Anyone have a dare for her?”

Siyuan perks up, a little too eagerly as she downs the rest of her Tsingdao beer bottle, slamming it onto the floor as she yells out drunkenly, “MAKE OUT WITH HUANG RENJUN!”

Everyone in the circle goes silent. Nana’s eyes flick to the side of the room, where Renjun is still shit-talking someone (presumably, her) to Chenle, who looks extremely exasperated, but unable to stop his friend from complaining.

She hesitates for a few moments, but smirks and lets out a scoff as she processes the dare.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” she said indifferently, grabbing Yangyang’s half-empty beer bottle and chugging the rest of it before slamming it down on the ground again.

“Nana, what the fuck,” Yangyang deadpanned.

“Bitch, I’m not doing this sober.”

Everyone’s eyes widen in complete shock as she stands up and makes her way towards Renjun.

He loses his train of thought as he sees Nana walking towards him, and Chenle takes this as a cue to leave. She smirks at his pathetic attempt to back away— completely backing himself into a wall instead.

She slaps her hand to the wall beside him as she looks him up and down in disgust. She raises an eyebrow, exhaling heavily through her nose.

“Hey, student council president,” she scoffs. “Don’t you know it’s rude to talk shit about other people? Especially if they can hear you?”

He lets out an audible gulp as her hot breath brushes across face, making him look even more flushed on top of his drunken red glow.

“I— uh, yeah— but—” Renjun stammers, but before he could get an excuse out, she leans in even closer and his eyes blow wide as she connects her lips to his.

He doesn’t know how to react. His lips stay completely frozen as hers move against his passionately. Out of all the things he expected to happen, getting his first kiss as a makeout session from the person he hated the most was absolutely not one of them.

Renjun loses it when her tongue glides over his bottom lip, gasping into the kiss as her tongue slides into his mouth. He closes his eyes, kissing back as he moves his hands up to her head, pulling her even closer to him. He nearly moans into the kiss as her fingers find their way onto him, running through the hairs at the nape of his neck as her tongue explores each and every crevice of his mouth.

But just when Renjun was debating whether to slide his tongue into her mouth as well— something that had never even crossed his mind before, let alone considered— Nana suddenly pulls away, blowing out a breath against his lips before walking away, throwing a wink behind her shoulder at him before joining the circle again.

“I told you it was easy,” she states nonchalantly, like she definitely did not just have a heated makeout session with someone whom she hated more than her father (which was truly an impressive feat).

The rest of the group was still shocked, staring at her like she just entered the room from the ceiling.

“You— Renjun— that—“ Siyuan sputters out in disbelief, the shock from watching that probably sobering up her mind. “You actually did it?! I was joking, Nana. And I was drunk!”

“Don’t pretend to be innocent,” Nana rolls her eyes. “I know that all of you wanted to see that.”

A wave of embarrassment hits Renjun after he hears the conversation, as tears well up in his eyes.

Of course she isn’t interested in you, Renjun, he thought bitterly to himself. You were a fucking asshole to her.

And his eyes widen at the thought of thinking of her that way and he spins back to look at Nana’s expression, which looks uncannily similar to the Cheshire cat’s.

Don’t I hate her? Why do I even care?

His thoughts were nearly visible on his face.

Oh, sweetheart… that’s only what you want to believe, Nana thinks to herself, the shit-eating grin plastered on her face only growing.

iii. step one: try to make him like you— well shit, step one failed.

Nana wakes up in Yangyang’s bed to a massive headache and around fifty text notifications blowing up her phone.

Rubbing her eyes and yawning, she sits up, blinking her eyes as she regains consciousness, drinking a glass of water on the table beside the bed she was in.

She unlocks her phone, her eyes widening comically as she reads the texts guilty of blowing up her notifications for the past few hours.

siyuan idiot 🤺 — 01:04babe i know you’re batshit drunk right now but i think it’s a good idea to text you this so you DO know even though i’m right next to your drunk ass right the fuck now don’t kill me pls but i dared you to makeout with huang renjun and your dumbfuck ass DID… i- I’M SORRY FOR THE DARE ??? BUT I I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO DO IT ?@?1)*;&2(#1%$?!/ 😭😭 NANA PLEASE DON’T KILL ME ;A;

guanheng aka devil 👹 — 01:47 YANG NANA YOU DID NOT YOU FUCKING MADE OUT WITH HUANG RENJUN ??? IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AT MY PARTY???? OH MY GOD I NEVER KNEW THIS DAY WOULD COME LMFAOO i am ACTUALLY WHEEZING btw i recorded it ;) Attachment: 1 video i’m sending this to everyone LMAOOOO

guanheng aka devil 👹 — 09:31Renjun’s at mine rn and he’s having a breakdown bc i told him what happened BSHKDSMSN help i’m trying not to laugh but it’s nOT WORKING

yangyang fake tsundere 😇 — 10:26you’re at my house rn (in case your hungover ass forgot <3) i just left to go buy you breakfast ok? do not call 119 today bc i’m not there :) i did NOT abandon you

Her face pales.

She kissed Renjun last night? The Huang Renjun who she claims to hate so much?

Nana’s cheeks flush upon watching the video.

Oh God. I’m fucked.

“Siyuan, this is all your fucking fault,” Nana whines, back at her favorite spot (or the rooftop). Her legs dangle off the side, and she kicks her feet around like a child as she frowns in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Nana,” she apologizes for the umpteenth time, handing Nana a cup of her favorite drink: roasted oolong milk tea with brown sugar boba, light sugar and no ice.

Nana begrudgingly accepts, taking a sip and smiling at the taste. “I’ll forgive you after you buy me… hm, another twenty of these.”

But her smile soon fades again, remembering all the memories that she associated with the drink.

“Nana? Earth to Nana,” Siyuan says, snapping her fingers in front of Nana’s face.

Hearing the loud sound, she snaps back to reality and blinks away the memories, turning to face her friend.

“What?” Nana asks.

“I said,” she smirks. “Maybe you can use Renjun to get over Jaemin.”

She subconsciously flinches at the sound of his name.

“I… well, I mean,” Nana stutters. “It’s not a bad idea?”

“Exactly!” she grins. “You hate him anyway. No strings attached, you know? What’s the worst that can happen— you guys hating each other more?”

Nana forces a grin onto her face. “I’ll… I’ll think about it, yeah.”

Why am I hesitating?

“Why think? You have such a good opportunity. If only you saw his face yesterday after the kiss… oho. He was staring at you like you were some angel,” Siyuan snickers. “Angel, my ass. Devil is more like it.”

Despite the pile of excuses lying on the tip of her tongue, Nana blurts out, “I’ll do it.”

Siyuan’s eyes widen comically, not expecting Nana to accept her poorly thought-out plan so easily, but she brushes it aside.

“Step one,” she smirks. “Pair up with him in History today, and try to get him to like you. We have group projects starting today.”

“How do you know?”

“Hello? Did all that alcohol yesterday make you dumb?” Siyuan jokes. “I just had History first period.”

Nana gasps. “WAIT… Did you pair up with… with Guanheng?”

Her cheeks dust with pink at Nana’s accusation. “Well… maybe.”

Nana lets out a cackle. “I fucking knew it. I fucking knew it.”

“Shut up, Yang Nana!” Siyuan fumes in embarrassment.

“Make me, Tang Siyuan!” Nana retorts with a smirk on her face, but it dies as she realizes a very important detail that could make her plan go very wrong. “Wait… but Chenle is in Renjun’s class! Won’t they pair up?”

Siyuan lets out a sharp exhale of mock offense.

“I already have that sorted out, babygirl,” she rolls her eyes. “Who do you take me for? An idiot?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Nana teases.

Siyuan pouts. “Hey! Sometimes?!”

“Nah, I changed my mind,” Nana says, with a shit-eating grin on her face, and pauses for good measure before continuing her thought. “All the time.”

Just as Siyuan opens her mouth to retort, the school bell rings loudly.

“Gotta go— I have to go implement step one,” she snickers.

Throwing a teasing wink in her direction, Nana opens the door to the stairwell as a teacher yells from down below, “Are you guys on the roof? During school hours?��

Taking that as a cue to leave, Nana kicks the door open. The teacher to the entrance of the building as the two of them race down the stairs and exit through the back door of the building— just in time as they hear loud footsteps rushing up the staircase.

They collectively let out loud exhales of relief, before Siyuan gasps.

“Nana, our bags are up there!”

“... Shit.”

They collectively groan, but Nana convinces Siyuan to go to their math class first.

“It’s fine, I’m always in detention,” Nana grimaces. “Just tell the teacher I have, uh… period cramps.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but before she could get a single word out, they hear sounds of footsteps coming back down the staircase, and Nana shoves her away.

“Go!” she mouths at Siyuan, who frowns but runs to class.

She heads back into the building, only to be confronted by her old biology teacher.

“Yang Nana,” he sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

She doesn’t respond, keeping an emotionless expression on her face.

He let out another sigh. “You just earned yourself a week of detention.”

“Cool,” Nana deadpans, before brushing past Mr. Han and walking up the staircase.

Mr. Han just blinks in confusion at the disrespect he had just witnessed— which, to be fair, was probably one of the only disrespectful actions he had ever seen from a student— but before he instinctively yells at her, he just shakes his head, lets out a sigh of disappointment, and exits the building.

Nana scrambles up the staircase, completely out of breath by the time she reaches the top, panting as she grabs the two backpacks and races back down.

“Pair up, everyone,” Mr. Yao announces lazily. “Find one person to work with— absolutely no groups of three.”

Renjun glances at Chenle, but he looks back at Renjun apologetically. “Sorry, I’m pairing up with Yifeng.”

He shoots Chenle a death glare, while scanning the classroom to find someone else who didn’t have a partner.

And his stomach drops when he realizes that the only other person who seemed to be alone was Yang Nana— the devil incarnate.

“You’re such a traitor,” Renjun sighs dramatically to Chenle. “You owe me so much for this.”

With that, he walks over to where Nana is sitting in the back corner of the class. He tries not to blush as memories of the previous night flash before his eyes.

“Oh wow, you’re voluntarily pairing up with me,” Nana deadpans, raising a singular eyebrow. “Class president got no friends left?”

Renjun resists the urge to fight back.

“So you’re back to being a bitch after making out with me,” he blurts out.

She lets out a mix of a scoff and a laugh at that, raising her eyebrows at his comment.

“Oh darling, did you think I did that because I like you?” Nana snickers. “Too bad it was just a dare, then.”

Ignoring the completely dejected look on Renjun’s face, she pushes herself out of her chair and leaves the table to take the assignment from Mr. Yao.

Step one: failed, she sighs to herself. Nana clenches her jaw in annoyance. Why do I even need him to like me?

“Can I have your WeChat username, at least?” Renjun sighs as she returns with one packet of instructions, haphazardly tossing it onto his desk.

“What, you want to take me out?” she smirks.

“In your dreams,” he manages to retort. “No, you idiot, it’s for the goddamn project.”

“That would be in my nightmares,” she scoffs. “I’m starting to think you purposely made your friend pair up with that girl so you could pair up with me.”

Renjun sputters out indignantly at her sarcastic jab, and Nana just tuts condescendingly as she grabs his open phone and punches her WeChat username into his phone harshly.

As the sound of the school bell pierces through the chattering noises in the classroom, she drops his phone into his lap indifferently, grabs her bag, and is the first to exit the room.

iv. alexa, play any random song. wait— no, NOT PPAP

huang renjun — 15:28hi it’s renjun when are you free to work on the project together

Nana scoffs at the notification, but as soon as she picks up her phone to respond, her coworker, Dejun, tells her to go take the order of the new customers.

Stuffing her phone into her apron pocket, she stands behind the cashier table.

“Hi, welcome to Wei Shen Cafe— oh, it’s you,” her fake smile disappears in an instant as she glowers at Renjun and Chenle standing across from her. “What do you want, nerd? Are you following me?”

“You wish,” Renjun snaps back. “This is one of the most popular cafes around here, you aren’t fucking special.”

“Hurry up and order,” Chenle groans.

But Renjun just ignores him, and continues pestering Nana.

“Aren’t you rich, Yang Nana? I wouldn’t think you’d be working at a cafe like this,” he prods, trying to get a reaction out of her.

But luckily, before she could open her mouth and cause a huge scene in the cafe (and maybe get fired if her boss comes out), Dejun comes to her rescue.

“What would you like? As you can see, there’s a long line behind you,” he tells Renjun plainly. “Please leave or order now.”

Chenle sighs in embarrassment, pushing Renjun aside as he orders two drinks hurriedly, pulling him to a table to sit down at.

“Thanks,” she mutters to Dejun, and he gasps mockingly.

“The Yang Nana? Saying something nice to me??” He gapes teasingly. “No problem. He was being a jerk anyway. Like, who does he think he is?! Commenting about you and what you do with your money like that? What an asshole.”

“You can say that again,” Nana sighs, resisting the urge to spit in the matcha latte she was making for Renjun.

huang renjun — today at 16:03when do you get off your shift

Nana just rolls her eyes, changing his name in her WeChat.

now watch me na(e)na(e) has changed huang renjun’s nickname to bitchboy extraordinaire

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 16:07none of your goddamn business, bitchface

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 16:07i’ll ignore that nicknamei’m fucking waiting for you right now when do you get off

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 16:12oh, you’re waiting? how sweet. i literally get off at 1am let’s see how long you can wait

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 16:13what…. doesn’t wei shen close at 10 ?? you’re fucking lying

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 16:20what’s it to you? we don’t need to see each other to work on this project anyway fuck off. go do it yourself you don’t have 8 hours of work like me every day

With that, she slips her phone into her back pocket and ignores the notifications buzzing from it.

Days pass, and the only thing on Renjun’s mind is her. The only thing he can think about is Yang Nana, that fucking stupid kiss, and the way his heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest when he even catches a glimpse of her anywhere.

He’s fallen for her, and he hates it. Renjun knows that Nana doesn’t give a shit about him, so why does he still like her?

And why did she even hate him?

He feels like he’s going insane. He malfunctions every time she talks to him, and all of their flirty teasing is starting to get to him. His face fires up whenever she calls him darling, whenever she even smirks at him.

Renjun’s infatuated with her, and there’s nothing he can do but forget about it, and hope it’ll go away. Or confess, and inevitably get his heart broken.

“Fuck you, Yang Nana,” he mutters to himself.

Shaking his head and sighing at himself, Renjun goes back to studying— only to be interrupted by another notification, and his eyebrows raise, seeing that it’s from Nana.

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 11:51okay it’s a saturday so i don’t have that much work since you’re so fucking annoying, when do you want to work on the stupid project

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 11:53 have you ever considered that i might be busy

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 11:54 no if you’re “busy” then go do the damn project yourself

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 11:55have i ever mentioned that i hate your guts

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 11:57 yes many times like i said you can kiss my ass. i don’t give a shit.

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 11:58fuck you

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 11:58i know you want that anyways show up at 2pm at my house, or i will commit arson on your ass whenever i see you next

Renjun is left choking on his own spit at her very obvious sexual innuendo.

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 12:01 i don’t even know where you live

But his message goes ignored, and he sighs out a deep breath of annoyance.

Yang Nana, stop fucking with my head, will you?

Two hours later, Renjun receives a message with her address, and he looks down at Nana’s message and the apartment building he found himself in front of.

Floor 12, he reads. Room 7.

“No elevator?!” he cries out, his eyes staring at the dusty blue stairs with paint peeling off of them, the worn-out wood, and the rusty handlebar.

I guess I’m climbing twelve flights of stairs, he sighs to himself,

By the time he reaches the top, he feels like he’s done his brother’s leg workout, wiping sweat accumulating on his forehead. He pants out in exhaustion, taking his water bottle out of his bag and gulping down half of it to quench the sandpaper consistency his throat had started to resemble.

Finding Nana’s apartment was also a challenge, since there were no room number labels on the walls; and he finds himself knocking on her door at 2:20 pm.

“Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find your place,” Renjun blurts out, mentally cursing himself for even bothering to apologize. “And why are there no elevators in this big ass apartment building? Are you really so poor that you need to live at such a worn-down—“

He doesn’t finish his thought before Nana grabs him by the collar and pulls him into her apartment harshly.

“Have you realized that not everyone is as rich as you?!” she snaps angrily. “Why are you even here if you care so much? If you didn’t want to work with me, you wouldn’t have even come here. So what’s your fucking problem, Huang?”

He falls silent.

“I’m— I,” he stumbles over his words. “I was just surprised, sorry. I didn’t know you were… you were… ”

“Poor. I know, I’m pretty fucking poor,” she sneers, rolling her eyes as she grabs his wrist and leads her towards her room.

He tries to stop asking so many questions, but when he notices the empty house, he opens his mouth to speak again.

“Yes, I live alone,” she snips tiredly.

His mouth closes.

“What happened to your parents?” Renjun asks.

He knows that he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but be curious— realizing that there was a lot he didn’t know about Nana than he had thought.

But she remains silent, and he takes that as a cue to stop talking.

Stupid, they both think, but for different reasons.

“Alexa, play any random song,” Nana says to her Amazon Echo that Yangyang had gifted her a few years ago.

“Generating a random song,” Alexa says, shuffling a list of songs. “Playing: Pen Pineapple Apple Pen, long version.”

Nana resists the urge to unplug and throw the device against the wall, as the man sings, “I have a pen, I have an apple… uh. Apple Pen. I have a pen, I have pineapple… uh. Pineapple P—“

“Wait—” she groans out at the sound. “No, NOT PPAP. Alexa, shut the fuck up.”

”If only it were that easy to get an Apple Pen,” she mutters.

Renjun lets out a snicker at that.

Around three hours of bickering, arguing and yelling later, Nana stands up.

“I need to go to work— good luck with the rest,” she informs him, closing her laptop and standing up to open her closet to grab her work bag and supplies. “I did way more work than you, since you were arguing with me and staring at me for most of the time, so… it’s not my work anymore. Go research about that stupid guy, and finish the presentation.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows at her clothing collection as she opens the door.

“If you’re so poor, how do you have Gucci—” he starts, but he’s cut off by Nana.

“Gifts,” she sighs out in frustration. “So many goddamn questions, you fuckface. Stop being so nosy, will you?”

With that, she grabs his laptop, shoves it into his backpack, and pushes it into his chest.

“Get out.”

As soon as they exit her apartment, Nana turns around and locks the door behind her.

“How do you get down to the lobby?” he asks.

“With the stairs,” she deadpans.

Renjun groans at the thought of going back down the stairs. “It’s not that bad. I used to live on the 20th floor.”

“What happened, though?” he asks again, as they begin down the stairs.

“Why do you need to know?” she retorts.

“Because…” he starts, fumbling over his words. “Because, I… I want to know. I think we didn’t start off too right—”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she snaps. “I don’t think we’re that close to justify me spilling to you my whole life story, though.”

“Maybe another day, when I don’t find you an asshole and a half,” she finishes.

He mutters something under his breath, but Nana doesn’t hear it— nor is she interested in knowing.

“Where were you from 2pm to 5pm, young man?” his mother questions as soon as she walks into the house, locking her Tesla and sitting down to eat dinner— a very late dinner.

Renjun freezes at her angry tone, sitting in front of his now cold food. “I was working on a project with a friend.”

“Chenle?” she asks. “He says that you weren’t at his house.”

“Not Chenle,” he replies. “Another person in my class.”

His mother tsks. “Show me the work you two did.”

He obliges, bending down to unzip his backpack and show her the presentation.

She scoffs (probably at the lack of criticism she can give).

“Why has your school ranking dropped from number 3 to number 4?” she snaps angrily. “What did I tell you about staying in the top three, huh?”

“Only getting an 89 on your chemistry test,” she seeths angrily. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?!”

Renjun’s eyes prick with tears upon the mention of his perfect brother.

“Your brother was so much better than you,” she yells. “He was so perfect. Everyone loved him, he was both popular and smart, getting everything he ever thought about having.

“What about you?! You just managed to snag the title of ‘Student Body President’, because there were no good candidates to choose from! You don’t get good grades, your teachers don’t love you as much, why are you such a failure?! I pay for your tutoring, your extra classes, and you still can’t do well?” she screams. “Why are you so useless? Wasting my money— I knew it was a mistake to have another child.”

Renjun’s tears drip into the broth of his noodles.

“Stop crying, you fool!” she barks at him. “Does that solve anything for you?!”

He sniffles, slamming his chopsticks down onto the table as he grabs a tissue to wipe at his tears.

“Why do you do this to me?!” Renjun sobs. “I try so hard to please you, and yet you’re still not happy.”

His mother swallows, sighing as she realizes she went too far.

“I was missing your brother,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, Renjun— I have been going to therapy, but nothing stops the anger.”

But Renjun was done with her excuses. “That doesn’t mean you can just release it all on me. I’m not your punching bag, Ma.”

He glances at the clock but ignores how close it is to midnight— grabbing his coat and phone.

“Going out for a walk,” he mumbles, running out the door and out into the neighborhood.

He tries to ignore his mother’s stupid words, wiping at the stray tears falling from his face.

I try so hard to be perfect for you, Ma, since Ba left and Ge stays at university, Renjun sighs to himself. Why don’t you ever see it, though?

He checks his phone, sighing as he realizes that it’s already past midnight.

Oh well, I can always go to the 24-hour convenience store, right?

He approaches the store, the bells on the dore jingling as he enters.

“Hello, welcome go 24/7— wait, what the fuck are you doing here?” a familiar voice speaks with annoyance.

Renjun looks up from the shelves, staring incredulously at Yang Nana, working behind the cashier table.

“I’m… why are you everywhere?!” he snaps.

“Why are you stalking me?!” she retorts.

“I’m not fucking stalking you! I just left to get some fresh air, and you’re everywhere I go!” he yells. “Forget it.”

But his red and puffy weary eyes don’t go ignored by Nana. Before he can leave the store, she walks around the cashier table and grabs his wrist, pulling him back in and shutting the door behind them.

“What’s wrong.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

He gulps. “Why should I tell you, when you never tell me anything?”

She exhales harshly through her nose. “That’s besides the point. Why were you crying?”

“My mom,” he manages to utter out, and the tears begin welling up in his eyes again. She tosses him a pack of tissues, while choosing a ramen flavor for him as he speaks.

“She’s never been the same since my parents divorced,” he manages to explain.

And once he starts talking, everything spills out of his mouth.

“My brother is two years older than me,” he explains. “He left the country to the United States for university, and he hasn’t come back to visit since. But because he isn’t here anymore, my mom starts to think so highly of him. He was an average child, but now, in her eyes, he was perfect. He was perfect, because for his whole life before college, my parents were together.”

“Today, she was just spewing lies about how good my brother was, that just weren’t true, and making me feel like shit,” he sniffles, as hot tears run down his cold face. “Like I don’t try hard or something. Like it’s easy to be in the top five student grades.”

By the time he’s done explaining, Nana’s already prepared two bowls of instant ramen and two cups of boba milk tea.

“I’m sorry about that,” Nana says, and that’s the first kind thing that Renjun’s ever heard Yang Nana say to him.

“You’re… you’re being nice,” he gasps, clearing his throat and sniffling as he presses tissues to his leaking eyes.

Nana rolls her eyes. “No, I’m only capable of being mean,” she deadpans. “Here, eat the ramen. And the boba milk tea.”

He thanks her as he opens his bowl of instant ramen.

“Salted egg ramen?” Renjun gapes. “How did you know that was my favorite?”

“I didn’t. It’s my favorite.”

They sit across from each other and eat instant ramen together.

“Why are you working so late?” he asks.

“I need a lot of money, Renjun,” she smiles wryly. “If school is a third of my day, work is the second third of my day. I study at night, and I get up early for a shift before school. I live off of caffeine.”

He gasps at her hellish schedule. “Why, though? Why do you need so much money?”

“Because I don’t have parents anymore.”

The words take a few moments to sink in.

“Oh, God. That’s why you hate me,” Renjun sighs. “I’m… Nana, I’m so sorry.”

She manages a pained smile, resisting the urge to punch him as she remembers the bitter memory. “It’s… fine.”

“But it’s not. I had no idea, Nana,” he says apologetically. “When did it happen?”

“Seven years ago.”

He gasps. “You… you were only ten.”

She only lets out a forced laugh.

“And my dad left when I was twelve. He claimed that I caused him too much pain because I look almost identical to her.”

Renjun lets out a noise of indignation. “How could he?! Just leaving a child like that?!”

“Because my mom died of cancer, there’s a shit ton of hospital bills to pay,” she scoffs. “And because my dad’s gone, I have to pay them now. I watched as the bills were mailed to our house month after month, with a stupid amount of debt printed on each sheet. Given that we already weren’t rich at all, it was nearly impossible to pay it off… I know my dad left because the debt was too much.”

He scoffs at this. “How could your father feel okay with leaving a child by herself?!”

“He thinks it’s fine, because he covers the rent for my apartment,” she seethes. “What about food? What about the debt? He didn’t care. As long as I had a place to stay, he thought it was fine. So I had to leech off of neighbors for three years, until I was legally allowed to work.”

She takes a long sip of her drink afterwards.

“You’re the second person I’ve ever told,” she admits. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”

Renjun smirks suggestively. “Oh my, is the Yang Nana warming up to me?” he gasps mockingly. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Nana raises a single eyebrow, the expression on her face unreadable. “You wish.”

And before he could ask what she meant by that, her coworker comes in for his shift, and Nana tells him that she has to leave. Taking off her uniform and grabbing her bag, she leaves the store, and gets onto her bike to go home.

v. huang renjun, master of the claw machine (yes, i’m kidding. he fucking sucks)

“You invited Renjun to your apartment yesterday?!” Siyuan and Yangyang collectively gasp scandalously.

“Oh my God, Nana, why didn’t you tell me? What did you guys do?” Siyuan gapes, nearly quivering with excitement.

“Nothing interesting,” Nana rolls her eyes. “We just… worked on the History project.”

“You need to take him out on a date,” Siyuan declares, taking a sip of her strawberry slushie that they had gone to buy during the second class of the day.

Yangyang clicks his tongue apprehensively, mixing his mango slushie. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to have a rebound after Jaemin and do it to Renjun on purpose.”

“No, it’s a great idea,” Siyuan interjects. “You don’t understand. After getting some dick, Nana will be happy again. “

Nana cringes at her in disgust, as she takes a sip of her lemon slushie. “Well… I do find it kinda rude to just play with Renjun’s feelings like that, but maybe talking to him will get That Dickface off of my mind.”

“It’s up to you, Nana,” Yangyang says. “Don’t feel pressured just because Siyuan changes boys every other day and clearly doesn’t care about any one of them.”

“Hey! I just sleep with different boys,” she defends herself. “They know what they’re getting into. So… erm, yeah— maybe it’s not a great idea to be an asshole to Renjun.”

“But one last dare, Nana,” Siyuan continues, her eyes sparkling. “I dare you to take Huang Renjun out on a date. Last dare, I promise.”

Nana tsks. “That’s easy, the boy’s already infatuated with me.”

And as a teacher yells at the three of them yet again for being on the roof without permission, the trio speeds down the staircase and split up in different directions to their respective classes.

Nana runs into her history class, grimacing as she realizes the only available seat is next to Renjun in the front.

Gives me the chance to ask him out, though, she smirks to herself, waltzing up to the empty seat and settling in, around 30 minutes late to the period.

“Yang Nana, do you realize that you’ve missed about half of class?” Mr. Han reprimands.

She just shrugs, unfazed. “Yeah.”

With that, she stuffs one of her wired earbuds into her right ear, pushing the end of the cord into her phone with too many scratches and cracks on the screen to count.

Starting a random song from her playlist, she lazily watches Mr. Han’s lecture, not even bothering to take notes— not that she could’ve, given she didn’t even bring anything school-related in her bag, besides her laptop.

“You’re all dismissed,” Mr. Han smiled amicably as the bell rang. As everyone stands up and begins chattering amongst themselves, Renjun turns to look at Nana, who surprisingly had not bolted out the door yet.

“You’re here,” he observes.

“No shit,” she deadpans.

He smirks. “Waiting for me?”

“In your fucking dreams,” Nana scoffs, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the class, as the rest of the people in the room gasp at the scene— utterly shocked, considering everyone knew of their hatred of each other. Renjun flushes with embarrassment, a grimace on his face.

“Don’t do that,” he whines. “Now everyone thinks we’re dating!”

She stops abruptly, turning to face him with a smirk on her face.

“Then let’s make their thoughts a reality,” Nana raises an eyebrow, sending him a wink. “Huang Renjun, do you want to go on a date with me later?”

Renjun swears that he felt his heart stop, as she notices his cheeks flush every shade of pink.

“Uh,” he says intelligently. “Um… ”

Nana presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’m taking that as a ‘Yes, Nana, I love you— I mean, I’d love to!’”

He freezes as her lips meet his.

“I’ll text you,” she winks, and with that, Yang Nana walks away from him.

“Fuck, I am in love,” he groans, as his worst nightmare comes true.

But is it really a nightmare?

“Ooooh, did I just see Yang Nana ask you out on a date?” Chenle gasps, a shit-eating grin widening on his face as he appears out of nowhere, slinging an arm over Renjun’s shoulder. “You like Nana?? I thought it’d be Yiren.”

Renjun wrinkles his nose in embarrassment. “No, I hate her, dumbass. That’s why I said yes.”

“You didn’t say yes, though,” Chenle observes. “But you didn’t say no, either… I was trying not to laugh when I saw you just fucking standing there without responding. Ha, I’d take that as a yes if I were Yang Nana too.”

Renjun cringes. “Whatever, we’re going home.”

“No we’re not,” he smirks. “I’m taking you shopping because you need to look HOT for the date. You have zero fashion sense, my boy… I’m going to need to buy you some better clothes. C’mon, I’ll tell my driver that we’re going shopping!”

That’s all Renjun hears before Chenle drags him away to the parking lot in an attempt to find his chauffeur— he’s nearly shoved into the fancy Tesla car with chicken-wing-looking car doors.

“Mr. Teng, we’re going to the mall,” Chenle informs his driver.

His chauffeur glances at Chenle from the rearview mirror and nods, before leaving.

Renjun’s phone vibrates with a notification, and he unlocks his phone to see a new message from Nana.

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 16:32 meet me in an hour at neo arcade

A lovesick grin spreads across Renjun’s face, and Chenle snatches his phone.

“An hour?!” Chenle squawks, looking at the time and addressing his driver. “Fuck. Mr. Teng, how far are we from the mall?”

“About twenty minutes,” he responds.

“How far is the arcade from the mall?” Chenle mutters to himself as he opens his Maps app. “Okay, only ten minutes. But we still only have an hour… Renjun, search up the store list, we need to have a good outfit in mind.”

A little less than sixty minutes later, Renjun enters Neo Arcade in the best outfit out of the choices that Chenle presented him with.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he messages Nana.

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 17:28 i’m here

He half hated the way his heart pounded at the almost instant reply from her.

now watch me na(e)na(e) — today at 17:30be there in 2

When did two minutes, or 120 seconds, feel so long? Renjun fidgets with his jacket, stares expectantly at the door, and scrolls through his Weibo— but nothing successfully distracts him in the time he waits for Nana.

He forgets to breathe when he sees Nana walk through the door; although casual, she still looked stunning.

She had a black bucket hat on her head, a thick silver chain around her neck, wearing a leather jacket over a white tank top, red jean shorts and a pair of heeled white lace-up boots that went halfway up her calf.

When her eyes meet his, his mouth is still open but he closes it, walking towards her.

He doesn’t notice her eyes raking up and down his body, internally screaming at his new outfit; a green bomber jacket on top of a beige and brown striped tee, and a belt holding his denim jeans up.

Since when did Huang Renjun have such good taste in fashion?

“Wow, you look decent,” she manages to say. “Someone help you with your outfit?”

Nana doesn’t glance at his expression, looping her arm through his, but his cheeks are stained red with embarrassment.

Was it that obvious?

Noticing his silence, she erupts into laughter. “I’m just kidding. You look great.”

Renjun tries not to let out a breath of relief.

“You look good, too.”

Nana snickers. “You just noticed? Do I not always look good?”

Before he can respond, she drags him to the racing game, sitting onto the seat.

“Let’s race. Loser has to get a stuffed animal from the claw machine,” she smirks.

“Hey, I’m not good at these!” Renjun protests, and it only makes Nana’s cheshire-like grin grow wider.

“Even better.”

“Didn’t know that Yang Nana, a certified bad girl, would like stuffed animals, but okay.”

She gives him a pointed look. “Everyone likes stuffed animals,” she responds seriously, turning her car to the right to crash into Renjun’s, and his car falls down the edge of the trail, causing him to restart.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” he protests, a pout on his face as he drops to 10th place in the game.

“Nothing’s fair,” she snickers as she corners the person in front of her into the cliff, cheering as she ends up in first place.

“You owe me a stuffed animal, and I get to choose.”

Sliding off of the chair, she extends her hand to Renjun, who begrudgingly takes it and steps off.

“So you’re bad at racing games and beer pong,” she tuts sarcastically. “Disappointing. What a red flag”

Before he can retort, Nana pushes him lightly towards the claw machines.

“Okay, fine. What type do you want?” Renjun sighs.

“Squirtle.”

Renjun grimaces, walking towards the claw machine full of Squirtle plushies.

Inserting a few coins into the machine, his eyes narrow in on a specific Squirtle, and he moves the claw hand to the right via the controller. He squints at the aim as he presses down on the button, the claw reaching down for the leg of a specific Squirtle.

Unfortunately, the Squirtle drops from the claw, and Renjun slumps in defeat.

Nana just lets out a snicker. “Try again, babe.”

The tips of his ears involuntarily turn red at the pet name, but he sighs and inserts another two coins into the machine.

Nana silently takes out her phone to record this, silently laughing at his effort— and he visibly deflates at the failed attempt.

Determined to win Nana a Squirtle and not look like an idiot, he wastes more money and moves the controller, focusing on the biggest squirtle— hey, a bigger Squirtle means more area to hold, right?

No luck. The claw grabs the poor Squirtle by the neck, but it ultimately drops, and Renjun’s ears grow redder by the second.

“This stupid machine,” Renjun frowns, pushing yet another pair of coins, while Nana does her absolute best to not erupt into laughter, her camera still directed in his direction.

After a few more failures, his face lights up as he thinks of a new strategy.

“Maybe I should go for the tag,” he smiles as he presses down on his controller, causing the claw to reach down onto the back of the Squirtle’s neck, where the stuffed animal’s neck-piercing (... neck-ring?)— in the form of a tag— lay.

Renjun’s face lights up as the next Squirtle victim is dragged across the pile of other Squirtles.

He’s about to push over the claw machine in frustration when the claw rips the tag off of the plastic loop on the neck cleanly.

But Renjun lets out a cry of excitement as he realizes the stuffed animal had landed headfirst across the collecting tunnel, ultimately tipping over into the slot down below due to the imbalance. His cheeks dust with embarrassment as other people in the arcade cast judgmental looks towards him.

Nana stifles a laugh, stopping the stop button on her phone as she discreetly stuffs it into her jeans pocket.

“Only wasted 10 yuan too,” Renjun grins as he pulls the Squirtle out of the machine, handing it to Nana with a proud expression on his face.

She looks thoroughly impressed.

“Wow, so maybe you’re not bad at everything. Kinda bad, though,” she teases, grabbing the Squirtle from Renjun’s hands in one hand, and taking his hand in the other.

“You get to choose the next game.” Nana offers generously.

“Basketball,” he smirks, pulling her towards the basketball hoop game.

She visibly cringes.

“Shit.”

“Loser has to kiss the other person,” he raises his eyebrows.

“What about the winner?” Nana scoffs.

“Well, uh… they get the kiss?”

“Darn, so anti-climatic.”

And Renjun presses the “START GAME” button without warning, causing her to sputter out in disbelief.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Nana protests, grabbing a basketball and surprisingly making it into the hoop.

“You cheated earlier too!” Renjun retorts, as Nana manages to get a few more in.

“Did not,” she grumbles, missing a ball, staring at her pathetic score of “8” and at Renjun’s “16”.

She pouts as she misses yet another hoop, and another. The ding of Renjun’s scorekeeper display— signaling that he got another ball in— only lowers her confidence as the game ends, with her at a measly 23 points while Renjun stood at 32.

Nana scoffs at her clear loss.

“So… looks like you owe me a kiss, sweetheart,” he smirks as he leans towards her, a suggestive grin on his face.

“You can get one any time, loverboy,” she smirks. “You don’t need to impress me…. you just have to ask.”

His eyes widen, and so does her smirk as her hot breath tickles her face.

She pushes Renjun against the nearest wall, pressing her lips against his.

His mind goes back to their first kiss at that party as her lips move against his, and his eyes flutter shut as he kisses her back.

But she pulls back before a makeout session starts, and he whines at the absence of her lips on his.

“Gotta win more games to get another one, hm?” Nana cocks a singular eyebrow, grabbing her Squirtle and moving to another game, leaving Renjun behind in a daze.

Again.

vi. dumb and dumbass. renjun’s the dumbass.

It had been a whole month since Renjun and Nana had (un)officially started dating, yet Nana had refused to put a label on it.

Even though Nana was saved as “nana gf 🦋” for Renjun, he was still saved as “dumbfuck 🔪” and she had a tendency to dodge every personal question that he’d ever asked— that is, since the time they opened up to each other a little in the 24/7.

To be honest, he was jealous of her. He admired the way she could mask her pain and become so indifferent— stoic, even— to everything, and wished that he could be that way.

Renjun wished that instead of being so easy to crack open, like an egg, he could hide away. It didn’t take much for him to open up to others, while he couldn’t even pry another sentence of information from her.

But he hated it. He hated the way Nana seemed not to care.

Does she even like me?

“Nana, can we hang out again?” Renjun asks, while Nana walks with him out of History.

“Hmm,” Nana hms. “Maybe next week.”

She doesn’t miss the way his face falls. “I’m sorry, but I have a lot of work.”

Renjun pouts. “Fine,” he says childishly and leaves her side to enter his own classroom.

She watches as he leaves, and sighs as she continues on her way to the rooftop, a hand reaching for her lighter and cigarette, and her other reaching for her phone with earphones plugged into it.

Nana climbs the stairs with regret as she lights a cigarette, knowing that her time with Renjun was limited.

“Gosh, I’m so stupid,” she grumbles. “This is just stupid— literally the plot to a shitty coming-of-age movie.”

She was so closed off to others that no one really knew what was going on in her life. Not Siyuan. Not even Yangyang. And she hated it. Nana despised the way she pushed everyone away from her.

She was consumed with the consequences of her bad decisions, and she knew that one day, she wouldn’t be able to hide.

Nana’s so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t even notice a familiar motorcycle passing by.

“Yang Nana, we meet again, at last,” a cold voice utters out, letting out a sinister chuckle. “You won’t be able to run again. We need the money.”

She freezes at the sound of the voice, and her instinct is to run— but he’s right. She can’t; not with a gun pressed to the back of her head.

“Money, Yang,” he hisses, pressing the cold metal even harsher against her head.

“I— I don’t have it on me.”

“Then let’s get going, hm? To your house, shall we?”

“Only if you let the gun go. Someone’s going to call the police if they see this.”

Squinting at her, he reluctantly lowers his hand— falling directly into her trap as she kicks her leg up high and strong, the tip of her boot hitting his jaw.

He spits out a mouth full of blood, a hand cupping his jaw as he winces.

“You— Yang Nana!” He screams, lifting the gun again, but she swiftly grabs it by the barrel and turns it onto him.

“Oh, looks like you’re going to need some help, hm?” she tuts.

“Yang… you will pay… ” he croaks out, but she only scoffs, grabbing him by the forearm and twisting it backwards, socking him in the gut with the gun.

“We’ll see about that,” she sneers, watching as he falls to the ground, and kicks him in the ribs for good measure.

“Say hi to your boss for me,” Nana smirks, dropping his gun down the sewer.

“I am about to gag at you two,” Siyuan cringes at the sight of Renjun and Nana holding hands.

“Me too,” Yangyang says in disgust.

“See you later, Renjun,” Nana waves as he turns around to walk home.

Yangyang raises a brow at the sight. “You’re not walking him home?”

“I don’t need to spend every minute with him,” Nana deadpans. “Also, I have work.”

The smile on his face drops upon hearing her words, but he doesn’t turn around.

Yangyang scoffs. “That’s a little harsh.”

“You and Renjun— literally dumb and dumbass, except Renjun’s the dumbass,” Siyuan sighs. “You’re supposed to spend more time with him, idiot.”

Renjun walks home from school alone, a frown on his face while he ponders about Nana.

Why is she so confusing? I never understand her, he thinks to himself with a sigh.

But when he’s a little more than halfway home, he feels the sensation of being followed. Renjun panics, his heart pounding against his chest, as he grabs his sunglasses from his backpack, to see three people unsubtly trailing him, all dressed in different variations of a beanie, leather or denim jackets and ripped jeans.

Yikes, scary, he gulps to himself, trying to walk faster, but the people behind him notice and run to catch up with him.

Before he could try to get away, they pass him and stop abruptly, turning back to face him.

“You?” The one in the center scoffs as the other two corner Renjun against a fence. “Wow, Nana really moved on with a fucking loser.”

“You know Nana?” Renjun asks in confusion. “Wait, who are you guys?”

“What do you think, you idiot?” he hisses. “I’d beat you up so bad, but that’s not really an option… Nana would just come and beat me back.”

“I’m Jaemin, the one with a red beanie is Haechan, and the other one is Jeno,” Jaemin introduces plainly.

He nods and gives a small smile as a welcome, but none of them return it.

“How— how do you know her?” Renjun croaks out, intimidated by Jeno and Haechan’s glares blazing into him.

“We dated. But she broke up with me,” Jaemin scoffs. “All because my fling decided to text her. What an idiot.”

Renjun’s jaw drops. “How is she an idiot?! She was doing the right thing by telling Nana!”

“Oh, of course you’re sticking around for that girl, loverboy,” Jeno sneers. “You don’t know even a smidge of what she’s hiding underneath, boy. Can’t you tell that she’s bad news? What’s a dork like you doing around her?”

Renjun flinches at the same nickname that Nana had called him at the arcade.

“We— we’re dating,” Renjun stutters out.

“Are you now,” Haechan drawls out with a cocked eyebrow. “Nana does move quickly, hm?”

“Shut up, you idiots,” Jaemin snaps angrily. “Let me fucking talk.”

He pushes past Jeno and Haechan and stares directly into Renjun’s eyes.

“You don’t know Nana. I’m doing you a favor here— she’s a thief, a liar, a manipulator. She’s not what she seems, and she’s involved with criminals, Huang Renjun. You need to run, or they’ll get you before her.”

Renjun’s eyes widen. “What— how do you know?”

“What do you think?” Jaemin sighs. “We broke up a month ago. And I was once captured by them. I’m saying this for your safety. Renjun, get as far as you can away from Yang Nana, because the people she’s with are dangerous. They can ruin your life, like they did to mine.”

Tears begin to well up in Renjun’s eyes as he’s struck with betrayal.

“Nana— she wouldn’t,” he says desperately. “Nana can’t be like that, she… ”

He trails off. As much as he hated to admit it, Jaemin’s claims somewhat lined up with Nana’s behavior— her refusals to spend time with him, her being “busy with work” all the time.

No, she couldn’t…

“And I know why she even went after you,” Jaemin adds, to add salt to the wound. “I was at a bar the other day, and hooked up with her friend Siyuan— who’s such a whore— and guess what? Siyuan told me the plan they came up with. Renjun, the truth is that she only dated you to get over me.”

Those words impale Renjun’s heart, and he’s left broken and confused.

“Nana… no, this can’t be… ”

“I’m only trying to help you, Renjun. Please consider it,” Jaemin says with a fakely apologetic smile, and motions for Jeno and Haechan to follow him as they leave.

Leaving Renjun in tears.

“That was a little harsh, Jaemin,” Haechan grins as soon as they’re out of earshot from Renjun.

“Just need him away from Yang Nana,” Jaemin smirks. “She’s not allowed to be happy. Not without me.”

vii. can i set his dick on fire? please?

Nana flips her phone over near the end of her shift, pressing the pad of her finger to the fingerprint sensor to unlock her phone.

A smile grows on her face, eager to see the message as she sees that it was from Renjun.

bitchboy extraordinaire — today at 00:07 you’re such a fucking liar i never want to see you again

Blood drains from her face as she frantically picks through her memories, trying to remember what she had done wrong.

But ultimately, she didn’t remember what she had done.

Nor did she respond to his accusation, deciding to finish her homework, and passing out on her bed immediately afterwards.

Nana had no idea what she had done wrong.

Why did Renjun get so mad?

She kept thinking about what could’ve happened, yet she still came back empty-handed, unable to find anything she had lied to him about.

During their lunch break, Nana waits outside of Renjun’s classroom, making sure she could corner him and ask.

Sure enough, he comes out a few minutes later, but attempts to run once he sees Nana standing near him expectantly.

Nana easily corners him into a wall.

“Renjun, what did I do?”

He gapes at her incredulously.

“You’re asking me?! You’re trying to ruin my life!” Renjun exclaims angrily.

Nana only stands there, staring at him in confusion.

“I don’t know where you got that from, but I promise you that I do not take pleasure in ruining lives. Nor do I have the power to do such a thing,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps. “I know everything now.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Please, enlighten me. What knowledge have you acquired to make you hate me this much?”

“I ran into your ex yesterday,” Renjun blurts out, and Nana’s stare turns icy.

“Oh no, he didn’t,” she mutters. “That fucker.”

“Yeah? He told me that you’re using me. He told me that you’re involved with a lot of criminals that will find out about me and ruin my life. And that you got a bet to date me,” he accuses, getting more and more emotional as he reveals all the information. “From Siyuan, to get over Jaemin.”

“That fuckface,” Nana sneers, and Renjun swears that he’s never seen her so angry. “If you really believe the words of a fucking liar, a fucking manipulator and gaslighter, go ahead and believe the words of that fucking asshole.”

She backs away from him, allowing him to scramble away.

“But I will tell you the truth once,” she says. “I was only involved with criminals when I couldn’t make enough money, and they have never bothered Jaemin before. He only knows because I told him.”

“And, maybe it was a stupid dare to Siyuan, but it’s a shit ton more to me.”

With that, she walks away from Renjun with a heavy heart.

He just watches her shaking form as she leaves his side, the regret hitting him in a huge wave.

When Nana reaches Yangyang, he looks at her expression in concern.

“What happened, Nana?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, hesitantly spilling everything out to him.

Yangyang’s expression contorts from worry, to confusion, to rage.

“He did WHAT?!” He yells out loudly. “Oh my God. The next time I see his pretty face, I’m going to smash it in so his face is concave—”

“Yangyang, no,” Nana sighs, her head in her hands. “That’s…. ”

But she couldn’t find a good reason to reject his proposal, knowing she’d do the same if someone else had done this to Yangyang.

“Can I set his dick on fire? Please?” he frowns. “I am not going to stand and watch two assholes ruin your life. No. That’s not going to be okay.”

Nana’s eyes fill with tears for the first time in what seemed to be an eternity.

“Nana, no—” Yangyang panics, reaching through his bag to look for a tissue, but unable to find a single one.

Taking off his hoodie, he lets out a breath of relief knowing that he had washed his hoodie the day before, dabbing the sweatshirt sleeves at her eyes.

“It’ll be okay, Nana,” he says, wrapping his arms around her shaking form. “Don’t cry— that goody-two-shoes ain’t worth your tears.”

“But he is,” she cries, feeling her heart crush with all the pain. “He’s the first time I’ve felt love in a very long time.”

“And he’s a fucking dumbass,” she adds after a moment.

“Hey, Na Jaemin!” Nana yells at him. “I hope you choke on a fucking stick!”

Jaemin turns around with his signature fuckboy smirk. “Oh hi, Nana, long time no see!”

“I’m not interested in formalities,” she spits at him, decking him in the face without a second thought.

They both hear a loud crack coming from Jaemin’s face, and he winces in pain. He clutches his nose as blood trickles out of his nose, staining his hands, and dripping onto the ground.

“I think you broke my nose,” he grunted out.

“I think so, too. I’m glad. That’s the least I could do after you ruined my life, twice. Go eat shit,” she snaps, kicking him in the stomach without remorse, and Jaemin crumples at the impact.

“Nana, I just wanted you back,” he croaks out. “Please, give me ano—”

“Another chance?” Nana sneers. “Not after you cheated on me, dickface.”

She squats down in front of him, relishing the sight of Jaemin in such pain. Nana offers him her hand, and he eyes it suspiciously, but takes it despite the hesitation.

“Oh, you thought I was going to help you up,” she coos. “How cute.”

And she bends his arm backwards, earning a pained howl from the boy.

“I hate you, Jaemin, and I will hate you forever. Stop meddling with my life and go fuck yourself.”

That’s the last thing Jaemin ever hears from her before blacking out.

viii. oh you’re keeping me hostage ?!

TWO YEARS LATER.

Nana doubles over in laughter at something her friend, Aiyun, said.

“Please, that’s hilarious,” she shakes with laughter, wiping tears that spring from her eyes.

Just as Aiyun opens her mouth to say something, a boy their age taps on her shoulder.

“Sorry, could I talk to your friend for a little bit?” He asks.

“Oh, go ahead,” Aiyun smiles, backing a few steps away.

Nana looks up to see his face— and her spirits drop. Her gaze hardens at the sight of him, and the previously wide smile on her face drops immediately, replaced with a straight line. The sparkle in her eyes fade, and she looks him up and down in disgust.

“What are you doing here?” Nana snaps.

“I just—” he sighs.

“Stop it. Just go,” she says.

“Wait!” Renjun exclaims as she turns away, and Nana swivels her head to look back at him.

“Huang Renjun, what do you fucking want?”

“I’m sorry.”

Nana remains expressionless for a few moments, before she forces out a laugh.

“You’re about two years late for that.”

“No, wait!” Renjun says, instinctively grabbing onto her arm as she turns away from him again, but this time, he’s met with an icy stare.

“Let go, Huang Renjun.”

He obliges, wincing at her tone, but before he can get another word out, Nana stops him.

“I’ve moved on, Renjun. A long time ago. Now there’s someone that loves me without doubt. We would’ve never worked out, Huang Renjun. You’re a fool who believes the words of strangers before even trying to know the whole story.

“I don’t want to see you anymore. And the party is ending, I’m leaving,” she adds.

“Nana! There you are,” Yangyang says, making his way over to her, slinging an arm over her shoulder.

And he, too, glares coldly at the sight of Renjun.

“What are you doing here?!” Yangyang scoffs.

“I transferred here,” Renjun responds. “Are you guys… dating now?”

Nana just shoots him an empty stare.

“I have no obligation to tell you anything.”

The two of them walk away from him without another word.

“Why didn’t you tell him that you’re doing a lot better than before?” Yangyang murmurs to her. “And that we’re dating?”

“I just hate his guts,” she shrugs. “But I can tell him we’re dating to make you feel better.”

Yangyang scoffs. “Like I care.”

A smirk grows on Nana’s face. “Aw, you’re jealous. That’s cute.”

Yangyang pouts, turning to the side to face her.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

A cocky grin spreads onto Yangyang’s lips as he places a chaste kiss on her lips, effectively shutting her up.

“I wish I dated you instead of Jaemin and Renjun.”

“Me too, but you’re mine forever now.”

Nana gasps in mock horror. “Oh no, you’re keeping me hostage?!”

“Shut up.”

#ficscafe #ankathia #kflixnet #nct-writers #nct scenarios #renjun scenarios #nct dream scenarios #renjun angst #renjun imagines #nct angst #nct dream angst #yangyang scenarios #yangyang angst

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svchengss · 2 years

Text

bad habit | k.dy

doyoung moved his gaze from the dimly lit phone screen towards the motion of people walking in and out of the shiny glass doors. he can’t help but think of your voicemail from last night. perhaps, the last voicemail ever since you’re moving to a new state for your studies.

“and uh, i’ve been thinking of this for a really long time but we should be transparent. we’ve been best friends for more than a decade even, so no judgements, okay? i may have, um, had feelings for you since, i don’t know, a few years back? and, i’m not expecting anything from you now, just decided to let some stuff off my shoulders. guess i’ll see you when i see you, bye doyoung. take care,”

why now? why in the world did you only come clean about your feelings now when the both of you are about to be busy with your own lives and maybe about to meet new people?

god, i wish i knew you wanted me, y/n.

#MY WRITING COMEBACK #nct imagines #nct doyoung #nct fluff #nct angst #doyoung imagines #neoturtles #ankathia #nshitty-frathouse #prism.nw #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ultkpopnetwork #ficscafe

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daystiny · 2 years

Text

~ love is a music box ~

Pairing: cursed!jung jaehyun X fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Comfort

Warnings: crying, anxiety

Word Count: 1.2k

AN: Happy birthday to Sammie!! @0429a I'm sorry for making this late :( I've had the idea of writing this for a while now, and I wanted to write it for you! I hope you enjoy this story, and a happy belated birthday ❤️

I will tell you a story or unrequited love, a romance that could’ve ended better. Love that would have reciprocated on one side if the other had the chance - if he could express what he felt inside. If he had not been exiled into the confines of a music box for all of eternity.

There was once a man named Jung Jaehyun. His age was unknown; his birthplace - untalked of, his likes and dislikes - also not to anyone’s knowledge. Some people even questioned his existence. Years ago, they wondered whether or not it was truly possible to fall in love at first sight. But now, there was no doubt in the world that it was possible, and that it would be Jaehyun who made everyone who took as much as a glance become absolutely infatuated with him.

And soon, it was widely held that it was possible to fall in love more than once - with the same person. To fall for his charm, then his physique, his lips, his smirk, his stare, - his perfection.

And they adored his voice, above all! They loved when he would sing aloud on the street during his morning walks and on his way back from work. Jaehyun blessed the neighbourhood with a merry morning call and pulled them in to sleep with a lullaby.

Jaehyun knew well of the countless eyes on him, and yet, he was never able to make a single emotional connection with anyone. He didn’t mind the appreciation of others, but he feared the opposite circumstance, if it came to be. He didn’t fear hatred - for he was as full of self love as he was with flowing compassion for others.

Jaehyun feared indifference - what life would be like if everyone’s perception of one another was not of admiration, nor of resent. If there was no perception at all. If nothing meant anything to anybody - not even his loved ones - not even the ones he meets on a regular basis. If he could contribute nothing to this world.

Jaehyun feared that one day, he’d only be seen as a pretty face; that he’d only be heard as a pretty voice. He was afraid of not being observed for his potential, that his thoughts and beliefs would never be listened to.

And that made the man shudder by himself in his room. The thought shook Jaehyun awake one night. Frantically, he made his best efforts to reason with himself. “Do they just like the look of me?,” he murmured to himself. “Could I even make a single friend in my life?”.

Eventually, he broke down, not knowing whether his self-talk was his denial or truth. “I just wish they’d stop gawking at me!”, his voice croaked. Jaehyun tried to snap out of his fear by calming down. He let the tears he had been holding fall down to his porcelain cheeks, onto his silk sheets and pillow - the ones who understood his struggle most of all.

It took a thousand clicks of the wall clock to lull his overwhelmed brain to sleep.

And one harsh, metal snap to wake him up.

Starting the next day, all of Jaehyun’s worries and anxieties became reality. He had lost all physical sensation and his entire body. His inhalations and exhalations were defined by the grinding of metal that echoed ever so slightly in the grand void of his surroundings.

“Am I dead?”

The man’s eyes widened. He did not say that. He knew he didn’t. He couldn’t even say anything, but it was as if his thoughts were occupying the hollow confines of… whatever prison he was trapped in. His lingering thoughts rebounded in the space, getting louder this time, and driving him mad. He had no hands to block his ears, no body to curl himself into and keep him safe.

He was entirely, completely vulnerable to himself.

The agonising sentiment died away when he heard some booming footsteps approach, and he could observe the scene of a gift shop through a tiny keyhole. He felt his vision blur, making him dizzy, as though he was moving quickly from one place to another.

Until he was placed on a lower platform.

“That’ll be ₩10,000.”

“Thank you,”

The quick switching of hands, from the salesman to the woman who bought the box he was locked in, made Jaehyun feel a rush of emotions in his head. “Where are you taking me? Who are you? Was I just sold??”

The man experienced a second rush of anxiety and his deafening thoughts attacked him again. He wanted to dissociate with himself, but at the moment, he had no self. No purpose. He continuously expected the worst as his attack drew near.

That was until the lady left the shop and flipped a switch on the tiny box she had purchased. Jaehyun was silenced immediately, and in his panic, he expected to be rushed over with even more stress.

However, a cool wave of happiness came over him. For the first time since the morning, Jaehyun felt relaxed. Happy, even. He even felt the desire to sing a little, as he usually does at the break of dawn. Even at a later time in the day, he could be her morning call.

But a melody he had never heard before rang from the box.

“So whenever you ask me again

How I feel

Please remember

My answer is you”

Jaehyun paused, confused by what had just occurred, until he heard the woman who bought him speak again.

“Who would’ve thought that a music box could sing with such a pretty voice?” she whispered. Jaehyun didn’t know whether this was a rhetorical question or not, but he made his best attempt to answer her anyway:

“In all honesty, miss, I’m really not sure,”

Unfortunately, the lady didn’t hear him. She simply placed the box into her purse and walked on. It was later on when the man had registered what she had called, and to his horror, Jaehyun realised:

“Wait. I’m… a music box?”

Timeskip…

About a year had passed since the lady - who he now knew as Y/N - had bought the music box from the store. Over the first few days of sitting on her bedside table, Jaehyun believed he’d dread every moment he spent as an inanimate object, despising every other time she would click the box’s setting to make him play the same song. Shortly after, he didn’t really mind. It was a sweet melody, but he didn’t write it, and had never heard it before. It felt ungenuine to him.

Over time, Jaehyun realised that the only one he could sing was insufficient in expressing his message. He wanted to convey more - to give more music to Y/N’s heart. He wrote songs in his spare time, while he and Y/N were in the same room: while he watched her struggle and succeed throughout her journey in university and laugh on the phone with her friends with a smile larger than life. Jaehyun fell deeper and deeper in her warm embrace that she offered simply with her words and attention. He was starting to love Y/N.

“I love you, Y/N L/N”, he whispered. He let the sentiment flow through the expanse, allowing it to echo in the passages of the music box, of his soul. He played it over and over again in the space of his being, hoping that he could tell you one day and that you’d hear him.

“먼 길을 다시 돌아간다 해도

난 여전히 같은 맘일 테니까

We'll be alright

I want to try again”

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moonbeamsung · 2 years

Text

Roll the Dice

Any time spent with Jaemin is a gamble. And tonight, you might have just bet your life.

member: jaemin (featuring the dreamies)

au: crime boss!jaemin x gn!reader, heist au

word count: 3.1k

genre: angst, action, crime, romance

warnings: drinking (characters are of age), gambling, mentions of weapons, mentions of police, profanity, kissing, slight innuendos

recommended songs: lotto by exo, bonnie & clyde by yuqi, kazino by bibi, diamonds + and pearls by dpr live/dpr ian/peace.

author's note/disclaimer: I’ve returned to Tumblr! But more importantly, this is a much delayed work for the Cliffhanger collab of a deactivated writer, @nakamotocore. I do not condone stealing or any other criminal actions of the characters depicted in this story. Feedback is appreciated.

taglist: @navyhyuck @chicksung @mrkcore @mieohmy @rouiyan @sicluvz @luvdhl @chocohannie @rousrxxn

network tags: @ankathi-a @neoturtles

The skyline sparkles like diamonds, tall spires of buildings reaching far past the clouds overhead. You’ve seen many cities in your lifetime but none as full of glitz and glamour as this one.

You’re enamored by the sight for several seconds, allowing the man across from you an inspection of your features. Ordinarily, the dim lighting inside of the sleek black limousine wouldn’t be as forgiving, but you look elegant and ethereal to Na Jaemin. “Enjoying the view, doll?”

The comment brings you out of your daze and you jolt, remembering your company and the true reason why you’re all here tonight. Six other males occupy the cabin around you, engaged in various conversations, some with tall glasses of champagne in their hands already. Slowly but steadily, your car is making its way to the city’s finest and most luxurious casino, exclusively open to A-list patrons and complete with all the accommodations of a 5-star resort.

A minute or two passes before the limo driver rolls down the partition window, alerting your group that you’ll be arriving shortly. Only after the window is fully closed does Jaemin smoothly reach into his suit pocket and pull out a handful of ID cards, one for each occupant.

“Jeno?”

“On it,” the man responds without hesitation, already reaching inside a bag you didn’t notice before to reveal a thin, silver laptop. The screen lights up his face, and in a rapid clicking of keys, his expression becomes one of triumph. “We’re in.”

With a raised eyebrow, Jaemin rattles off a list of unfamiliar names to Jeno, whose fingers fly across the keyboard to keep up. The crime boss is only satisfied when his technician nods curtly and closes the computer, signaling the first step of their operation as successful. It’s time, Jaemin thinks.

He distributes the IDs around the cabin, and you take a moment to gingerly graze your fingertips over the photo and the fake name that have been printed on the card. There’s only a sliver of worry present in your mind compared to when you first started working with Jaemin and his gang. You figure it will never go away completely, but the man himself keeps telling you otherwise.

A rush of euphoria assaults your senses when you finally step out of the vehicle. Bathed in a golden glow provided by the lights of the casino's carport, Jaemin offers his arm and takes the lead, gesturing for the others to follow closely behind. He escorts you inside like a true gentleman, the two of you flashing practiced, dazzling smiles at the staff as you pass by.

Crystal chandeliers dangle from the ceiling of a large atrium, where a casino attendant beckons your group over. “Name and identification, please.”

In a way that almost seems rehearsed, each one of you parrots the new name you had been given by Jaemin only minutes prior, handing over your ID cards and awaiting the green light for your entrance.

Seven of the eight of you have been approved when you suddenly hear, “I’m sorry, Mister…what was it?” The employee takes a longer look at Jaemin’s fake ID, furrowing his brows as he does so. The man in question appears unfazed, only letting out a sharp “Yes?”

“...Ah! My apologies, sir. You’re in the system, please go on in.” He chuckles lightly, wondering why he doubted his own eyes. Maybe he needs new glasses.

Jaemin gives a tight-lipped smile this time. That’s what I thought.

All of you make your way into the main room, weaving between poker tables until you find a quieter set of slot machines near a corner.

“So, just like we planned—”

“Yes, Jisung,” Jaemin snaps, “And lower your voice, for the love of god. All of you, fan out and keep in touch.” He moves a tuft of bubblegum pink hair to reveal a nearly microscopic earpiece. The six men hum in acknowledgement, and you bring a hand up to instinctively tap your own device.

You remain glued to Jaemin’s side just as you were when you entered, and he slinks an arm around your waist while guiding you toward the bar.

“You’re sure about this?” You inquire, looking over your shoulder at the group as they split off into pairs. Will the boys really be fine without the two of you?

“About what, my love?” He purrs, hand squeezing your side playfully.

“Stop it, Jaem. You know what I mean.” The feeling in the pit of your stomach is an unpleasant one, and it seems unwise to keep it to yourself.

Despite the worry in your voice, he brushes it off like a speck of dust on his dark velvet suit. “Don’t be ridiculous, this is the fun part. We don’t have to do any of the work.”

“Are you telling me you don’t ever get a gut feeling about something? Because this time just seems—”

“Different, yeah, you used that one last week.”

“I’m telling you—”

“Well, well, well, are we interrupting a lovers’ quarrel?”

Your expressions and demeanors transform in an instant, and Jaemin helps you onto a stool at the bar as he answers. “Not exactly,” he grins. “My date here just doesn’t want me to bet too much tonight.”

“Are you kidding?” One of the women that walked up to you exclaims, “You’re at the fanciest casino for miles around! Live a little!” She raises her drink above her head for emphasis, nearly spilling the dark red liquid on her long white gown.

“I’m just saying,” you interject, turning to Jaemin with a smile that subtly conveys your disdain for his nonchalant attitude about this whole heist situation. “We’ve come so far already, I wouldn’t want him to be careless enough to risk it all.”

“And that’s why I’m telling you not to worry, darling. I know what I’m doing.” He smirks in your direction and then in the direction of the two ladies. Before you can continue to argue, he steps closer and, in an act of pure indulgence, brings his face dangerously close to yours. Your boss has never been the type to commit to a scheme to this degree, but here you both are, faking an intimate relationship and acting like you belong to this exclusive social tier, all while your colleagues sneak around in attempts to make a fortune.

“What do you say we, you know,” the man hums, in a voice so low you’re the only one who hears. “Kiss and… make up… and all that other bullshit, hmm?”

With one hand tilting your chin up, he deliberately flicks his gaze down to your lips and pauses to let you make the next move. Your brief hesitation makes Jaemin doubt himself, one of the rarest things for him to do, but his confidence is renewed when you finally close the distance and sigh against him. The affectionate display makes your company exchange glances of awe, and they briskly stroll away when it becomes clear that this isn’t just a mere peck.

It’s impossible to ignore how much Jaemin has taken a liking to you in the span of a few months. Behind closed doors, the other guys joke about how their jobs and lives would be so much easier if the man would hurry up and get laid already. Obviously, the feeling is mutual, and you love to think of your situation as something out of a twisted, criminal fairytale.

His hands and lips are reminiscent of warm honey on your skin, touch fiery as if this is a passion that’s long been kept under wraps, like a crime scene covered in caution tape. But the moment is cut short when your earpiece begins to crackle with a message, and the static of Renjun’s voice breaks both of you apart. You had almost forgotten you’re in a public place. That’s how gifted Jaemin is with his charms, making you feel like you’re the only other soul in the world. Making you feel special.

“No snags so far, boss. Donghyuck and Mark are on their way to the vault now.”

Jaemin huffs, “Great, but was that really worth interrupting me, Huang?” From his tone of voice, even the man on the other end can tell he just rolled his eyes.

Renjun swallows, stuttering. “I—I thought you’d like to know.”

“All I need to know is when you’re done and we can get the hell out of here.”

Just like that, Jaemin returns to his usually cold and calculating persona, no longer setting your face ablaze with warmth or making the butterflies in your stomach flutter. After pressing a button on his earpiece, he returns his focus to you. “Now, where were we?”

You feel your heart skip a beat. Before you can manage to get a word in, however, he’s already beckoning to the bartender over the counter. “What would you like to drink, doll?”

Luckily for Jaemin, all of your previous uncertainty melts away with the alcohol you consume in the form of margaritas, martinis, and everything in between. His insistence on paying the bill isn’t met with any disagreement on your part, and he repeatedly slides his credit card back and forth across the bar.

He’d never admit it, but your worrying affects him more than he lets on. Even though your recruitment was the most recent, he’s grown the closest to you for reasons he cannot seem to decipher. He can trust you to keep a level head and think rationally more than anyone else in your group, so when you say you have a bad feeling, it makes his own insides churn with apprehension.

You’ve had some close calls in the past, sure, but nothing has ever gone totally and completely awry. Jaemin wasn’t lying when he told you he knows what he’s doing. He just has to trust that the boys do their jobs and do them well. After everything he’s worked for, he doesn’t know what he’d do if they screw this up.

A few shots in, the man looks around and sees a handful of security guards that he didn’t notice before. One of them whispers something into another’s ear, and the rest stand stoically, scanning the crowd of people. Most patrons are engrossed in games of chips and cards while a loud jazz tune blares overhead. Slot machines chime all around the large room, glasses clink, and shouts of victory or of defeat erupt from gamblers in every corner of the casino.

Sipping bubbly liquid from a champagne flute, you whine when Jaemin takes you by the wrist and pulls you off the barstool. He scans his credit card one more time before leading you back over to the slot machine you congregated at one hour earlier.

“Listen, I get the feeling this place is onto us.”

You slur your words a bit, “Wha—What makes you… say that?”

“I just know. You need to be ready to make a getaway, alright?” He glances around. “Let’s go find a bathroom.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist once more, Jaemin leads the two of you in the opposite direction of the increased security measures. A long carpeted hallway appears to connect the casino to its adjoining resort hotel, lined with restaurants and window displays. You spot a restroom sign a little ways down and point at it loosely, “There,” you mumble.

It’s by far the nicest bathroom either of you have ever set foot in. Antique-looking sconces illuminate the space, providing a cozy ambience, and the speckled marble counter is so shiny you can see your reflection. Jaemin takes a seat in the miniature lounge area while you plant your arms on both sides of the single sink, leaning over it in case your body decides to reject its current contents.

Considering how crowded the casino is, Jaemin had been surprised to find the bathroom empty. He absentmindedly fumbles with his fingers while you glance down at yourself, distracted by your own done-up appearance for the occasion. As far as he’s concerned, the both of you can hide out in here until the job is done.

On the other side of the casino and several floors below, the rest of the group has infiltrated its security and is on the way to making a fortune. Their two tech geniuses hacked into camera footage to manually override the system, replacing the current feeds by replaying old segments. While the men sneak through corridors of marble, the guards see those same corridors as nothing but empty. Jeno and Chenle, their portion of the work already done, sit waiting inside an unoccupied office while Jisung and Renjun guard the entrance to one of the facility’s many vaults. Donghyuck and Mark don’t find any lasers or booby traps within, like numerous Hollywood films had led them to believe. Instead, a simple padlock protects the large wheel on the wall, awaiting a 9-digit code.

Mark reaches up to press a button on his earpiece, “We’re ready for it, Chenle.”

A beat. Then, “Okay, here it comes. Seven, one, five, two…”

Leather briefcases now brimming with cash, the men slowly close the vault behind them, joining their colleagues upon exiting and going to find the two that remain.

Of course, Jeno and Chenle had expected their accomplices to come bursting through the door at some point, but the sight of a police officer doing it instead nearly makes both of their hearts stop beating. A hand on his walkie-talkie is all it takes for them to react, still recovering from the shock. The younger’s next message gets broadcasted to everyone’s earpieces:

“Run.”

You’re slumped in a lounge chair next to Jaemin as you anxiously wait for the all clear, but that word is a far cry from it. Your brain is lost, overwhelmed by your fight or flight instincts taking over immediately. The aforementioned man is on the same page, and once he makes sure the coast is clear, the two of you leave the safety of the restroom and bolt down the hallway.

After dodging dozens of security guards and weaving your way through crowds, you and Jaemin come barreling out of a staff exit and find yourselves standing in a large parking lot. With a flourishing reach into his pocket, he procures a set of keys and presses a button, causing the lights of a nearby sedan to flicker in reply. It’s quite a few steps down from the vehicle you arrived here in, but that fact is of no importance. You’ve got much bigger problems to deal with.

Jaemin is already buckled into the driver’s seat of the getaway car by the time the alarms begin to sound. You climb in the passenger side, and the rest of the boys are close behind, scrambling out of the same exit before piling into a second vehicle. Your group has once again split into two, this time accidentally, but the chaos and commotion prevents you and Jaemin from doing anything about it. With a foot firmly on the accelerator, you emerge from the lot, heading for the busy streets of the city.

Soon enough, you look over to see harsh flashes of blue and red lighting up Jaemin’s face, a manic grin plastered on his lips through every hairpin turn. It almost frightens you. Knuckles white and scarred, the man clutches the steering wheel so hard it could snap from the dashboard with just one tug. Nothing else on earth can compare to the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins in this moment. This is what he lives for.

A slightly garbled voice speaks into Jaemin’s ear. “Police blockade on fifth. They’ll cut us both off.”

His smile falters when he hears this, and maybe that’s for the best. “We’ll go around, then. But we have to split up, the back roads are too narrow for both of us.” Jaemin’s tone is eerily calm for being in the midst of a car chase, but before you can contemplate this any longer, an excruciating headache pierces your scalp, and you instantly regret all those drinks you had. “You make a left at the next intersection, and we’ll make a right,” Donghyuck suggests.

Normally, Jaemin would object. He calls the shots. But this time he lets it slide. Besides, there’s not much time to argue. “Got it.”

Donghyuck signs off, and Jaemin commences the former’s plan. In a skid of tires, the vehicle swings to the side, just barely avoiding oncoming traffic, heaviest at this time of night. The sirens pursuing you begin to blare even louder, more violently now. You feel the cool leather of the passenger door press into your skin, the growing momentum forcing your body up against it as the car bumps the curb.

Jaemin floors the gas pedal even harder, wildly glancing between each mirror of the car. Signs and street lamps rush past on the darkened street, and strangely, it quiets. The rearview reveals that any vehicles pursuing you must have stopped. It doesn’t matter why. For a few seconds you think you’ve made it. The road ahead is a path leading to freedom, and you’ll live to swindle another day, just as you always do. But your pride is short-lived. A cop car appears, pulling out into the road and obscuring any chance of escape. This is it. You’re trapped.

“Shit,” Jaemin curses. “They’ve blocked off this road too. Donghyuck’s out of his mind.”

“Why’d you listen to him?” You scold, trying not to panic as he slams on the brakes.

He either doesn’t hear you or chooses not to answer your question, and simply exits the vehicle. You can think of no other option but to do the same. Is he really giving up? Surrendering so easily? Your boss has to have some sort of trick up his sleeve, but he’s cutting it close by waiting this late. Now that the police are involved, your very lives could be in danger.

Standing back to back with Jaemin, you watch as more police cars arrive and form a circle, fully surrounding the two of you. Out of the corner of your eye, you can gather that he’s not complying with their orders to put his hands up. Instead, he’s removing a handgun from the inside of his suit jacket, prompting expletives and exclamations to fly through the air.

“This is your plan? Do you want to get us killed?” You hiss, venom in your words. Now Jaemin’s out of his mind. “Is that even loaded?”

“Hmm, I forget,” he replies nonchalantly, twirling it around with a slender hand. You can still hear his low voice as clear as day, even with the yelling of the officers all around you. “Guess we’ll see.”

Yes, the man is officially fucking insane.

In a split second, your back meets Jaemin’s torso as he pulls you to him, aiming the gun over your shoulder. Looking back and up into his face, you’re fully convinced this could be the last thing you see, your last moment on earth.

And he pulls the trigger.

31 notes · View notes

alpha-bread · 2 years

Photo

Finally, my quota of character refs for art fight is met

#art tag #oc tag #ankathia #veridae

4 notes · View notes

thepalleton · 1 year

Text

Ankathia (an EXE inspired character)

#mario exe #exe oc #creepypasta

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sehunniepotwrites · 1 year

Text

kiss me, kiss me | jh.s

SYNOPSIS. Of course, the one time you decide to put yourself out there you end up with a creep for a date. Your older brother, Yuta, is out of town so his overprotective self can’t get your out of this mess. Jeno, your roommate, can’t either since he’s working a late shift. And to be honest, your best friend, Mark, looks far from intimidating. This all leaves you no choice but to rely on your brother’s best friend and your crush since the beginning of time, Johnny Suh. Great.

PAIRING. older brother’s best friend!Johnny x (fem) Yuta’s little sister!reader GENRE. brother’s best friend!au, slightly suggestive, fluff (?) WORD COUNT. 3.8k+ WARNINGS. alcohol consumption, creepy date doesn’t understand that no means no, unsollicited touching, a lot of nicknames (johnny calls her “bunny” lol), making out (?), allusions to sex (no explicit content)

DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work.

You should’ve listened to your gut in the first place. Your gut never lied. And of course, the one time your stubborn self refused to listen to your gut, you ended up in an unfortunate situation.

To be fair, the only reason you pushed yourself to go on dating apps was because you were the only one out of your friend group without a partner. For heaven’s sake, even Mark--your pathetic best friend who had almost zero game--had a girlfriend just in time for cuffing season. Your older brother, Yuta, had a partner as well. All bullshit aside, you were lonely. So fucking lonely. And it killed you.

To combat the emptiness you felt, you decided to put yourself out there. Find and catch one of the many fish in the sea. Sadly, out of all the reels you threw with your best pictures as bait, you swiped and caught one of the worst ones. The man sitting across from you was attractive, sure, that’s why you swiped right on him. But as you got to know him under the dim bar lighting, every little thing that came out of his mouth turned you off.

His advances were downright sleazy. His eyes just lingered on certain body parts with no shame. A dry hand that scratched you grazed your bare skin before he threw his arm over your shoulder not even ten minutes into your first meeting. Even as you tried to create some space and voiced out how uncomfortable you were, your date ignored your concerns and kept you as close as humanly possible. His fingers hovered right next to your chest and you swore he would twitch his digits on purpose just to cop a feel.

Thirty minutes into the date, you figured enough was enough. Shuffling underneath his hold, you shrugged the heavy weight of his arm off your body and blindly searched your purse for your cell phone.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, reaching over to pull you into his arms again.

You laughed nervously and backed away. Scared of how he would react, you didn’t want to provoke the drunk man. “My name’s Y/N,” you answered back.

“Sure, babe,” he clearly dismissed you. “You headed somewhere?”

With your cell phone in your hand, you did your best to smile. “Yeah, I’m just going to the bathroom real quick. Fix my lipstick.” Turning on your heel, you didn’t bother waiting for a reply and headed straight towards the back. Once you turned the corner into a narrow hallway, your cell phone was already unlocked and your fingers were scrolling through your contacts.

Mind reeling with who your options were, you began to cross people out of your mental list. Out of all the times your older brother had to be out of town, it had to be when you had a shitty creeper for a date so he was out. Mark was nowhere near intimidating--the boy couldn’t even hurt a fly--so he was out of the running as well. Your roommate, Jeno, could probably beat this guy to a pulp but he was working late that night.

Fuck. Who else could help you out? You were running out of time.

And just like magic, your phone’s screen blew up with an Instagram notification from an account you spent a little too much time on--johnnyjsuh. This was not a coincidence. This was a sign from a higher power.

The man behind the account had been your not-so-secret crush since the beginning of time. With Johnny as your brother’s best friend since they were in middle school, he watched you grow up throughout the years and vice versa. You were close, not as thick as thieves close like he was with your brother, but Johnny saw you through your good and your bad. If Yuta wasn’t there to hold your hand, Johnny was and because of his kindness, you fell. Hard.

Generally, harboring feelings for your brother’s best friend was breaking an unspoken rule. You knew that. That’s why you never shared your feelings out loud. But some people were better at reading the room more than others. Yuta might be oblivious to your crush on Johnny or at least, he appeared to be. However, you were pretty sure the man himself had caught on one way or another. And there were times--like this one-- you thought he might’ve shared the same sentiment. You were just never one hundred percent sure because he never made an outright move. You assumed it was because he respected you and your brother too much.

Clicking on the banner, the screen shifted to Johnny’s DM. He replied to your latest story--a mirror picture of your outfit. A tight white bodysuit that hugged your body paired with flared leather pants and black heels. This look was a classic that never failed to turn heads. Unfortunately, it worked a little too well tonight because your date was not able to take his nasty hands off of you.

johnnyjsuh: you look all dressed up. little bunny’s not so little anymore, huh?

If you weren’t so crunched on time, you would’ve taken the time to let his flirty words fully sink in.

you: john, how fast can you get to cherry bomb? please.

As soon as you sent the text, you rushed into the women’s restroom and anxiously tapped your foot against the sticky floor. Your eyes remained on your bright screen as the line moved along. Johnny saw your message and the three little dots appeared at the speed of light. The flirty atmosphere shifted with his reply.

johnnyjsuh: i’m at home so about 15 min. everything okay, y/n? need me to come and get you? you: please. i’m on a date and he’s giving me the creeps. he keeps touching me even though i keep backing away. sorry to bother you but you’re the only one i could think of. yuta’s still out of town and jeno’s working late. i let the bartenders know but i don’t know what else to do. i just want to go home. i can only hide out in the bathroom for so long. johnnyjsuh: fuck. make that ten. i’m coming, okay, bunny? don’t worry. just stay in the bathroom a little longer. you: hurry. johnnyjsuh: see your pretty lil face soon.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips once you secured a way out. You waited in the bathroom for seven more minutes, taking your sweet time in the small space. Damp paper towels were used to wipe off all the cold sweat that accumulated on your skin. You touched up your makeup, cleaning up the smudged corners of your liner and reapplying lipstick. The kind girls in line before you noticed your uncomfortable situation as they were close to where you were seated and offered their company as another way to make you feel safe. You thanked them for their kindness and you walked out all together with linked arms.

“What took you so long?” Your date grumbled as you arrived back at the bar. His grip reached out for you again and the girls you befriended stealthily pulled you back to their area.

“I ran into some of my friends in the bathroom and we were just catching up,” you lied through your teeth. The room seemed hot all of a sudden and sweat began to form once more. Gaze drifting to the entrance, you wondered when Johnny would arrive. You were the world’s worst liar. You could only hold up for so long.

“Yeah, it’s been so long since we’ve seen Y/N, we just couldn’t stop talking,” one of the girls, Sooyoung, said as she squeezed your arm in reassurance.

“I think it’s been since last semester in that English class, right? God, remember that final project we had to do? Ugh, it was the worst thing ever,” Yerim continued on, not giving your date the time of day to reply. Her mouth kept running, spitting anything and everything she could possibly think of while swiftly shifting ever so slightly to grab your jacket and purse hanging on the hook below the bartop. While still talking, she made her way back to you and handed off your belongings behind your backs. A seamless transition. “And then you accidentally deleted the whole damn file and we had to do it over again!”

“That was one hell of a finals week,” you added, thankful that the two girls you met in the bathroom were going above and beyond to keep you safe.

Your asshole of a date rolled his eyes and reached for you again. “Yeah that’s great and all but can I get my date back now? We were having a good time before you two showed up. You were interrupting something.”

“How about no?” Sooyoung replied with the same amount of attitude, her tall body stepping in front to cover yours. She stood taller than your date and her brown eyes burned lasers into his skin. “I think it’s better if she stays with us.”

“Oh but you want to stay with me, don’t you, baby?”

“No, actually I don’t, and my name is Y/N not baby.”

“Aww, you don’t mean that, do you, sweetheart?” Your date reached around Sooyoung fast enough to grab hold of your wrist. His pull was strong enough to make you stumble forward no matter how hard you resisted. It grew tighter and tighter with every passing second. You could feel heat pooling in the area he held you and you willed your tears back. “We were just having fun.”

In your struggle to get out of the creeper’s grip, you failed to notice Johnny entering the bar, hardened eyes scanning the entire room until he found you. His towering figure stomped his way to right where you are, placing himself between you and your date. With an unexpected shove to the chest, your date yelped and fell back, releasing you from his hold in the process. “Bro, who the fuck are you? What’s your problem?”

“No, who the fuck are you to put your hands on her like that when she’s clearly saying no?” Johnny hissed, shielding you and your new friends behind his build.

“I’m her date!”

“Not anymore, you’re not.” Despite the rage stemmed by his overprotectiveness, Johnny turned his body to face you and gave you a gentle smile. His large hand rose up to cup your cheek. “Hi, bunny.”

“You came,” you said, tilting your head to rest against his warm palm.

Johnny chuckled softly, swiping his thumb across your soft skin. “You called. Ready to go?”

You nodded in reply. Johnny’s hand slid from your face and down your arm to tightly clutch onto your hand. All of a sudden, the tension that ran through your entire body dissipated. You uncurled your fist, releasing your dented palms from the tips of your nails, and wrapped your digits around the back of his hand. Releasing the breath you were holding, you fell into step with him, much like you had done all of your life. This time, though, it was a lot easier because Johnny deliberately slowed the pace of his stride to keep in time with you. His grip around you was reassuring. It was right.

Not even five steps into your escape, you were harshly yanked back towards the bar. “Now, where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”

“I’m going home,” you fought back. “Let me go, creep!”

“You’re going home with this guy instead of me? C’mon, I’m so much better than him,” your date tried to convince you, his nails digging into your wrist.

“What the fuck? Let me go! You’re hurting me!” you screamed, gaining the attention of everyone in the room. Eyes from all around the bar tuned into the situation.

Your struggle ceased the moment Johnny stepped forward to grip the man’s shirt collar. Fire in his eyes and an uncontrollable rage unfurling within him, he lifted your date up with ease. The look in his usually soft brown eyes could cut like a knife. It was almost murderous. You knew Johnny was intimidating but you didn’t know how far the intimidation went. The fact that he was dressed in black leather from his head to his feet didn’t help either. In his haste, a sleeve of his motor jacket slipped from his shoulders, showing his angry biceps that would have anyone running for the hills.

Now trapped in Johnny’s grip, the man you began to hate let go in order to reach for his neck.

“Touch--no, talk to Y/N again--and I will end you. Got it?” Johnny whispered harshly. The man could only nod back. “Good.”

Like he was nothing, Johnny dropped your date. The pathetic man dropped to the floor and scrambled to get up before running out of sight. A beat later and the bar’s volume increased again, the customers most likely gossiping about what had just occurred.

Johnny’s harsh glare melted into a more concerned one. The rough hands that scared away the predator were so soft with you. He smoothed down your hair before resting his palms on your bare shoulders. Unlike your date’s touch, Johnny’s hands spread warmth throughout your body. Although there were cartwheels in your stomach, you were still at ease. He began to scan your entire body for injuries and the love you had for him increased by tenfold. “Bunny, did he do anything to you? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. I’m a little shaken up but I’m okay, I promise. The girls helped me before it escalated. I just want to get out of here,” you reassured him, your hands reaching up to cup his own. You scaled your thumbs over his knuckles. “Can we go?”

“Of course, whatever you want, bun.” Johnny slipped his jacket off his shoulders to drape the piece over your body. A woody scent with the hint of leather hit your senses as you put your arms through the sleeves. Hugging the fabric closed, you were surrounded by his scent and it was as if you were sheathed in a blanket of security. As Johnny enveloped you in his arms, he looked past you to speak to the girls that came to your aid. “Yeri, Soo, thanks for helping my bunny out.”

“Always here to help a girlie out, John,” Yeri grinned, her gaze locked on the way he held you close. “So this is Bunny, huh?” She wiggled her brows in a teasing way. Johnny flicked her on the forehead in retaliation. That action alone was enough to shut her up.

“Wait, you know them?” you questioned.

“That’s a story for another time,” Johnny sighed. “Let’s get you outta here.”

Your brother’s best friend steered you out the door in a flash and straight to the motorcycle parked haphazardly in the lot. It wasn’t the best parking job, you’d seen him do way better, but you supposed he was in a rush to get to you. That sent a different sort of rush through your veins. Johnny took the better helmet dangling off his handlebars and crouched down to your level. With the softest touch possible, he sank the helmet down onto your head. He affectionately knocked on the top of it twice. “Feel alright to you?”

“It feels perfect.”

“Good.”

Johnny wasted no time fetching the spare helmet from his seat compartment and slipping it over his head. Even with a bulky helmet over his head, your crush was still as handsome as ever. His warm eyes, highlighted by the cut out of his flipped up shade, bled through yours. You almost melted like honey at his almost loving gaze.

He swung his long legs around to straddle the seat and you followed suit, scooting all the way forward so your front depressed against his sculpted back. Looking back at you, he grinned and said, “Hold on tight, bun,” before slamming his shade down to protect his eyes.

The engine came alive, revving in the quiet of the night, as the bike sped off into the empty streets. Circling both arms around his waist, you rested your head against his shoulder blades. A gloved hand reached behind to press the top of your covered head more into his back for just a moment--a second long enough to make your heart jump--before it found its path back to the handlebar. Hugging him tighter, you closed your eyes and let the sound of the rushing wind fill your ears.

Johnny pulled into your parking lot ten minutes later, twisting the key to turn off the engine. He took your helmet off before he ripped his own off his head, ruffling his hands through his messy strands. With the intention of seeing you home safely, he walked you right to your door on the third floor of the building.

From what you were able to see when you first arrived, the lights were still off, meaning that Jeno still wasn’t home. He must’ve been forced to extend his shift. You guessed you were riding solo that night. After an eventful night such as the one you had, you were hoping your roommate was home. Having someone home with you would bring you another layer of comfort that you needed.

You inserted your house key into the lock, slowly turning it until the door clicked. Pivoting on the ball of your foot, you smiled at Johnny. “Thanks again for coming to get me, Johnny.”

“Of course, bunny, I came because you called,” Johnny put your mind at ease. His fingers came up to the crown of your head to fix your helmet hair. They traced a line down the side of your face and landed under your jaw. Lifting your chin, he made sure to retain eye contact with you. His words were genuine when he said, “Anytime you need me, call me and I’ll come running.”

Johnny was so close to you now. So close you could almost taste him. It was impossible to keep his stare without you falling back. The only solution to not losing your balance was to place your hand against his solid chest to steady yourself. Your palm rested right over his rapidly beating heart. Was he as nervous as you were at that moment?

Your gaze shifted from his left eye, down to his pretty lips, and back up to his right eye.“Promise?”

You could’ve sworn Johnny moved even closer to you when he muttered softly, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You giggled, “I wouldn’t want you to die.”

“Well, what would you want me to do then? What do you need?”

Gathering up all the courage you could muster, you gulped. You asked Johnny to do it in the past, years ago, and he gave in to your wishes. Would he give in a second time? “Kiss me.”

“Kiss you?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, “Kiss me.”

Johnny was the one to close the distance, pressing his lips lightly against yours. His touch tilted your chin up even more to meet him in the middle. The contact between your lips gave you an overwhelming feeling, a rushing tingle that ran from your heart all the way to the buzzing tips of your fingers and toes. You released a sigh, relaxing in his hold as a strong arm coiled around your waist. The sweet kiss deepened the second your fingers gripped onto the collar of his sleeveless shirt, bringing him nearer to you. Although there was barely any space between your two bodies, there was this need to fit against him like pieces of a puzzle that belonged together. Your sharp nails indented his skin as you refused to let him go, testing how far you could go without coming for air.

Johnny was the first to break away with you blindly following his lips. Although separated, his lips still grazed against your own as he let out a deep chuckle. “I should let you go inside. You need to get some rest, bunny.”

“Yeah, you probably should.” Reluctantly, you let go of his shirt and the death grip you had on his arm. Reaching behind you, you found the knob and pushed the door open. God, you didn’t want him to go. “Umm, let me know when you get home?”

“It’ll be the first thing I do.” He placed a tender kiss on your forehead. “Text or call me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

“Go in and lock the door now,” Johnny reminded you. As soon as you did what he was told, he grinned to himself before making his way down the steps.

Hurrying to the window of your apartment, you watched as Johnny made his way to his motorcycle. There was a little ache in your heart without him beside you. You played with a thought in your head as Johnny warmed up the engine. Your brother’s best friend didn’t even notice you watching him from your windowsill with his large jacket still embracing your frame.

“Fuck it,” you said to yourself. Fiddling around the jacket pocket to find your phone, you quickly tapped on his name and placed a call. You observed him as he dived into his pants for the vibrating device and caught his huge smile upon seeing your face pop up on his screen.

“Bunny?”

“Hi.”

“Hey, did you forget something?”

“Yeah, I think I did.”

It was then Johnny looked up from where he was standing to see you by your window, peering down at him with a shy sort of grin. “What is it?”

“There’s something else I needed.”

Johnny leaned his back against his bike, one leg crossed over the other and a hand pressed against the cushion, just to look up at you. “And what’s that?”

“You.”

you: don’t hate me brobro: i mean i already do but what’s up? you: i kissed someone you: well not just anyone, he’s an important someone and idk how to tell you brobro: oh my god, you’re so dramatic, it’s like you think i’m going to kick his ass or something you: you’ve done that before, yuta brobro: not the point brobro: now who’s the guy you: fuck okay okay you: it’s um brobro: spit it out, woman, so i can decided whether i want to beat his ass or not you: for the love of god pls dont you: fuck okay it’s johnny brobro: WTF?? JOHNNY??! you: yes. brobro: as in MY JOHNNY??! you: please don’t kill him omg i wanted it too brobro: AS IN MY BEST FRIEND JOHNNY? JOHNNY SUH??? you: are there any other johnny’s we know? brobro: FUCKING FINALLY you: wait what brobro: do you know how hard it was to see you two go around in circles for years? FUCK MAN. i’m happy for you guys. you: really? brobro: really. you: oh thank god i thought you were gonna freak the fuck out because we slept together brobro: YOU DID WHAT???! brobro: I’M GONNA KILL THAT BASTARD WHEN I GET HOME you: YUTA NO

AUTHOR’S NOTE. hi, friends! i am officially on break from grad school! i have one more week until my students go on break too but with my grad school trimester out of the way, i have so much more time to write <3 this little one was based on a tiktok i saw (can’t find it tho). i’ve always wanted to write the brother’s best friend trope but never had a good enough plotline for it haha. this came out of nowhere but hope y’all like it! (also, consider this my annual birthday release hehehe)

taglist. (tagging my general + people i think would enjoy this <3) @keemburley @johtenrecs @bat-shark-repellant @kaepop-trash @bebsky @donutswithjaminthemiddle @suhnnyskhies @baekhyuns-lipchain @emmybyeakitty @smileysuh @moonctzeny @sokkigarden @inlovergirlsworld @iwishiwasthemoontonight @stvrrynight @loeycity @itsapapisongo

networks. @czennienet @neowritingsnet @ankathi-a

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #ankathia #nct scenarios #nct imagines #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny x reader #nct x reader

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lebrookestore · 2 years

Text

love theory | l.ty

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x reader

Themes: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, college au, wingwoman au, fluff, angst, comedy, mutual pining, lots of lying, kissing, references to 13 going on 30, Lee ‘whipped’ Taeyong, PG 15

Warnings: profanity, usage of nicknames, food, kissing, lying, angst, themes of being let down, slight unrequited love, taeyong is a little bit of a jerk but its unintentional i promise you he’s a sweetheart

Wc: 21k

Summary: "hey google, how do you fake going on a date with someone that doesn't even exist because you were too much of a coward to tell your best friend you're in love with her so now you're screwed? sincerely, taeyong."

Playlist: love theory by taeyong and wonstein, theres no way by julia michaels and lauv; starlight by taeil; best friends by conan gray; how you get the girl by taylor swift; just friends by why don’t we, shine by pentagon

Notes from brooke: happy birthday to the loml!! it’s been a hot minute since i posted anything but i had to for taeyong day, so i wrote this entire fic in eight days 🧍‍♀️ go big or go home amirite? (living that enhypen agenda). anyway! i worked really hard on this fic and had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you enjoy reading it! as always, feedback would be much appreciated<3

Taeyong didn’t have the best luck when it came to romance.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he had been in a few relationships before. He had been through the first date giddiness several times and that fluttery, nervous feeling you get when you first start to get to know someone. He had experienced the lows of heartbreak and the sorrow of a breakup, the awkwardness of a crush, and— well, you get the point.

So theoretically, he should have been fine. There was no need to be so jittery about the situation because it wasn’t anything new. Unfortunately for him, knowing this did not help him at all, even though one would think it would. Even Doyoung agreed, he was hopeless.

To be fair though, Doyoung wasn’t much better than he was, if not worse. Taeyong sighed, taking his phone and holding it over his face as he opened his gallery. His current position was him lying down over the expanse of his sofa, aimlessly scrolling through the app.

It wasn’t completely aimless, he supposed. He was the type of guy who took pictures of the most random things on a daily basis, and sometimes he enjoyed looking through them, especially if they were artistic in a sense. His eyes caught on one and he smiled briefly, clicking on it.

This was one he hadn’t taken himself, but rather Doyoung had. In it was him and you standing over the kitchen island in your parent's house, with you staring down at a bowl of what he remembered to be a very uncooperative batch of icing with a poisonous look. You had never had much talent when it came to the kitchen, it was almost laughable at this point.

Taeyong, on the other hand, wasn’t looking at the icing, but rather at you, with the softest expression gracing his features. The ghost of a smile played on his lips as stared at you, beyond amused at your perplexed state at that moment.

He blinked, taking in the picture in its entirety with a small grin. He was so enraptured by it that he missed the clicking sound his door made when it was opened, and the footsteps that quickly made their way towards the living room where he sat (or rather, lay down), growing louder with each step.

“You won’t fucking believe what happened today-”

Taeyong was startled at the sudden sound of your voice cutting through his self-induced reverie, causing him to let go of his phone in a split second of panic.

Now, in the ninth grade back in high school, he had learned about Newton’s law of universal gravitation. It stated that two bodies in space pull on each other with a force proportional to their masses and the distance between them. He could lie and say that he understood whatever the fuck that meant, but in truth, he had simply memorized it for the exam he had to write on it that year.

What he did understand, however, was the fact that gravity was a thing. He received a first-hand demonstration of it right then and there when his phone fell flat on his face, leaving him to let out a string of very colourful language in annoyance.

Picking up the device that caused him a face injury, he pushed himself to sit up straight, glaring at your figure as you walked through the doorway and into the living room. The sight of you thereafter you had let yourself in was by no means a new or surprising one- he had given you a key to his place a long time ago, one that you kept along with your own keys.

No, Taeyong was more embarrassed that he had been caught so off guard, even if you hadn’t been there to see it. Thank god for that, because he knew that you would probably tease him for a good half an hour about it, before forgetting about it until some obscure moment in the future when you would bring it up again just to annoy him

How wonderful.

This time you didn’t seem aware of his sentiments at that moment, too caught up in your own business to do so. You stormed in after carefully taking your shoes out at the entrance and keeping them there neatly, and placed your hands on your hips, giving him an expectant look.

He sighed, pretending to be uninterested for a moment. “What happened?”

“I got paired with Kim Ji-woo for this project in my screenwriting class,” You groaned, making your way over to the couch where he sat and plopping yourself down beside him. “And look- Ji-woo is great, super sweet and a really nice person but is absolutely useless when it comes to project work! The last time someone was in a group with her she somehow managed to not contribute in the slightest!”

You slumped into the cushions in defeat, glancing at Taeyong who hummed in acknowledgment of your words.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Scoffing, you took one of the cushions and hit his arm with it, causing him to laugh as he raised it in defense of himself.

“I come to you in time of distress and thats all you say? What type of shitty best friend are you?”

You were only joking, of course, because you knew that there was no way you could ever survive without Taeyong. He was your constant, the one person you knew you could fall back on with your eyes closed and trust that he would be there to catch you.

You had known him since the both of you were eighteen in your senior year of high school. Saying you knew him was a bit of a stretch considering your relationship at that only included polite nods and glances in between classes and in the hallways. You were acquaintances at most and forgot about each other's existence until you found yourself in the same classroom at your university, and he was the only person who was familiar to you.

Naturally, you went up to him and struck up a conversation with him and the acquaintance turned into a friend, and the friend turned into a best friend. Now a junior, you had stuck with him for around three years and could not have asked for more.

Alright, maybe that last bit was a small lie. There was something else you could have asked for, but it was a wish you preferred to keep to yourself.

He was gorgeous too, possibly one of the most beautiful people you had ever seen. It wasn’t your fault he was such a lovely person in every way, so really the possible feelings you harboured towards him (again, it was just a possibility and this was all off the record) was just a by-product of that. You would never be able to explain how just thinking about him would brighten your mood, or how you always felt safe with him. You would continue disregarding these thoughts, especially the one about how his idiotic little smile could prompt a smile of your own.

You chalked it down to him having an infectious smile and laugh, which wasn’t untrue. He was the type of guy who could light up a room with just his presence, and you were more than grateful to be able to call him yours.

Erm- your best friend, that is!

“Hey,” he caught your attention once again, a softer look on his face. “If it’s that much of an issue, just give her a few basic tasks and I’ll try and help you with your parts, okay?”

You furrowed your eyebrows in thought at this suggestion of his, and if you were going to be honest it sounded like a pretty good compromise. This wasn’t his first time being your saviour when it came to academics, in fact, he was there with you just last finals season. He had stayed up with you and helped you study even though his courses were not in any way similar to yours.

And you would do the same for him, you knew. It was just how the two of you worked, a good symbiotic relationship- well not a relationship but a friendship and-

While you were busy getting too in your head over your friendship and as you mindlessly nodded to his idea, he studied your features. The slope of your nose and the way your hair fell into your face since half of it was out of your poorly tied ponytail. Somehow throughout your graceful chaos, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Instinctively, he reached out and tucked some of your hair behind your ear, startling you just enough to look back at him with wide eyes.

His mouth went dry for just a moment, and he realized that he was well and truly fucked. Whether you knew it or not, you had him wrapped around your little finger, and he couldn’t find it in himself to break away.

So yes, Taeyong didn’t have much luck in the love department.

Because he had fallen in love with his best friend.

There was something off about Taeyong today- like he wasn’t as normal as usual.

To be fair though, there wasn’t anything inherently normal about him either, but it was blatantly obvious right now. His knee bounced and he wasn’t paying any attention to the PowerPoint presentation of lecture notes on the screen of his laptop.

Moreover, his outfit was just a tad fancier than what you were used to, which was a shirt and skinny jeans, a jacket if he wanted to dress it up a little. The button-up he was wearing made him look great (not that he didn’t look like someone who walked out of the cover of a Vogue issue anyways, but this only amped that up), and the pretty silver earrings he wore only added to the look. And you could be mistaken, but you knew him extremely well, and you were willing to bet that he was wearing that good cologne he had.

You knew about it since half of his hoodies lived in your closet, but that was a conversation for another time. What was important now was the fact that he was actually using it. He mostly went for the less lavish one- which was also pretty good, again you would know- so this was a little bit of a surprise.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” you cut through the silence that reigned over the library, “What is going on here?”

He looked at you in confusion. Wincing, you realized you had been a little too loud when the library sent a scathing look in your general direction and you lowered your tone to a whisper.

“What do you mean?” He asked softly and you gave him a once over.

“You look….good,” you cleared your throat as quietly as possible. “Why do you look good?”

This was not the reaction he had been hoping for. Taeyong raised an eyebrow, “Thank you? I’m sorry? Why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?”

You shook your head, leaning over so you could speak a little softer, “I mean- you look great all the time but it feels like you put in more effort today- why?”

Why? Oh, that truly was an interesting question. A loaded question, but an interesting one nonetheless, because the answer was embarrassing. He studied your face, the narrowing of your eyes and furrowing of your eyebrows out of curiosity. You looked cute.

“I just felt like it.” He shrugged, but you could tell he was lying the moment the words left his mouth. The tips of his ears turned red, which was his tell. You scoffed at his attempt to lie to your face because he had always been absolutely terrible at doing so. You could see through him and read him like a book.

“Uh-huh.”

Okay, so maybe there was a motive behind this. Doyoung- god, he really had to stop going to him for help when it came to you- suggested he start trying to make his way out of the best friend zone because it was around ten times worse than the friend zone. The best friend zone was much deeper for it symbolized the trust and relationship between the two of you, but it wasn’t exactly the relationship he had been hoping for.

You were squinting at him now as if trying to peer into his mind and figure out what was going on in it. He briefly wondered if he should hold his book over his head so he could stop the brainwaves, or whatever.

“You’re trying to impress someone,” you concluded incredulously, eyes wide when you realized. In your ‘eureka’ moment, you once again forgot that you were in a library. The librarian rapped one of her books on her desk hard against it to catch your attention, leaving you to mouth that you were sorry, before muttering something about her under your breath.

Before Taeyong could even respond, you raised an eyebrow, “A girl? Oh my god, do you like someone?”

‘Yeah, you.’ He thought.

“Nope.” He lied.

But the lie came out much too quick, and you immediately figured out that you had hit the nail right on the head. So you waited for a moment to think of a clever one-liner to tease him with.

Nothing.

Instead, you felt rather hollow about this new development. You knew you should feel excited about it for him, to press him for answers and be delighted, but you didn’t and the worst part was that you had to make sure he wouldn’t pick up on that.

“Who is it?” You demanded, trying your best to sound normal as if you were genuinely curious. You weren’t. You would rather know anything else than who the person who had captured Taeyongs affections was. Lucky bitch.

Oh god, that definitely wasn’t very nice of you. This was why you didn’t want to know because if anyone was going to turn into a bitch because of it, it was you. No, that simply wouldn’t do, instead, you would help him.

Why?

Because you loved Taeyong enough to let him go, or at least that was what you were going to tell yourself. Also because that was what friends did.

And you and Taeyong were really good fucking friends.

He looked a little scandalized, eyes wide when he realized you had managed to deduce what the matter was within seconds. He almost dropped his book in surprise.

“It—it’s not important.”

“Yes, it is,” you leaned forward, “Do I know her?”

Now it was Taeyongs turn to panic because while just telling you the truth sounded extremely appealing, the possibility of getting rejected didn’t. He didn’t really want to lie to you either, but if those were the only two choices he had, he knew what he had to do.

“Nope.”

You deflated, slumping in your seat. Knowing who your competition was would be nice.

“Just tell me already!” You pouted, and Taeyong had to physically make sure he wasn’t looking at you at that moment because he knew that even one glance at your expression would have him melting on the spot.

“No.”

You pressed your lips together. You would help him, you promised yourself, but perhaps now your motivations were a little different. If you offered to help him, you’d learn who the lucky girl was sooner or later. You hoped later wouldn’t be at their wedding.

“At least let me help you,” you sighed in exasperation, “This is what best friends do, you know, they play wingwoman. Give you the love theory you need.” You cleared your throat to rid it of the lump that had lodged there when you figured out that he liked someone.

He scoffed, “Help me? Now how would you do that?”

An amused smile played on his pretty lips, and you momentarily wondered how it would feel to kiss them. Promptly after that, you pinched yourself under the table to bring yourself back to reality. Thinking ridiculously wouldn’t do you any good.

“I listen to Taylor Swift,” you said solemnly as if it answered everything perfectly. “And she literally has a song called ‘How You Get the Girl, so if anyone could help it was her or me, and you’re not important enough to talk to T Swizzle before I do, so you’re just going to have to make do.”

Taeyong was a little concerned over how enthusiastic you seemed about assisting him in this. If you were so happy about him being interested in someone else then didn’t that mean that you weren’t interested in him? Now he hated the fact he had lied because it all seemed pointless. Saying no to you was not something he liked to do often, but it was also something he couldn’t do now or you would grow suspicious.

God damn it.

“Hello? Earth to Taeyong?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face, causing him to blink rapidly, eyes focusing back on you.

His eyes had always been intense to look into, dark and demanding, which is something he had always hated about them. Over the years he had tried his best to soften them since it was one of the reasons others found him intimidating as well.

To you, however, they were rather mesmerizing. You loved the way that everything around you would slowly fade away when he looked at you like that, especially when they were upturned into little crescents when he was happy.

“I’m sorry?”

“Yes or no?.”

“To….what?”

“To being your wingwoman,” You reiterated, feigning annoyance. This earned you yet another glare from the librarian, but you were much too invested in your best friend's business to care about it.

“I—,” He thought about arguing for just a minute, but it seemed that he deemed it worthless to do so with you. He knew how convincing you could be when you wanted to, and so he simply nodded in defeat. “Fine.”

(There were two idiots in this room. Dumb and dumber, and no one would ever know who was which.)

You straightened in your seat, plastering another smile on your face as you did so to convey your supposed joy over him letting you do this. He looked dubious but allowed a small smile of his own as he pushed the book that you were holding open in your hands closer to your face. To this, you almost dropped the book, managing to catch it just in time to avoid a scolding from the librarian, who definitely didn’t like the two of you very much anymore.

“Study,” he instructed, “Worry about my love life later.”

Little did he know that you were very much worrying about your own.

When you were little, your parents had been extremely strict about everything you did to instill a sense of discipline in you. You had to wake up at seven-thirty to get ready for school every day, and on the weekend, it was eight. At birthday parties you always had to ask them if you could have juice when someone offered, and after dinner, you were only ever allowed to eat one cookie if there were any.

One day, however, after finishing your obligatory cookie, you found yourself really wanting another. It was urgent, you absolutely had to sink your teeth into one more to appreciate its chocolatey goodness properly.

So you waited till your parents thought you were asleep to sneak out into the kitchen and take one. You had no regrets for that night only, because you were caught the next night itself when your mother found that there was one cookie less in the stack. When she asked you about it, you stoutly denied this accusation, which she definitely didn’t appreciate, and sat you down with your father so that the both of them could give you a talking to about honesty.

This had left a mark on you, and so you tended to be as honest as possible from that point onwards. Your first lie led to the end of that road you had just begun to traverse, making you the perfect child.

Which was exactly why you weren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was to somehow sabotage Taeyong’s possible relationship with this girl he said he liked when you proposed to be of help.

You really had to learn how to lie again properly.

You thanked the barista that handed you the two coffees you had ordered, managing to make your way through the busy line that infested the Starbucks that morning. Only God knew why you still opted to go there before classes sometimes, and you intended to keep it that way because even Taeyong didn’t understand it.

At first, it was because you liked the aesthetic, then you started realizing that people yelling over each other, uncomfortable lines, and your name being misspelled for the nth time did not count as an aesthetic. Alas, you were in too deep now and your pride wouldn’t let you quit.

“Here,” You handed one of the drinks to Taeyong and he nodded in silent thanks, holding the top and taking a small sip. It was one of those days when both of you had early morning classes and caffeine was the only thing that was capable of giving you the will to live through them.

“You know this tastes like normal coffee right?”

“Don’t,” You warned, but you knew what would follow. This might have been his favorite argument to revisit with you.

“I could literally make this at my apartment and it would taste the same,” He pointed out, taking yet another sip as you started to walk, falling into step with you. You liked walking around with him because it felt so natural and simple.

“You keep saying that but you’ve never actually followed through with that claim,” Your shoes clicked on the pavement, joining the rest of the cacophony that made up the walk to eight a.m. classes. “So you either are shit at making coffee and lying to me or you’re lazy.”

“Well, now I definitely don’t want to.” You caught the indignant pout on his lips from the corner of your eyes.

“Aha, so he’s lazy,” You concluded, glancing to your side to properly look at him as you stopped to wait for the traffic to pass by on the street. “So? Have you ever spoken with her?”

Confusion took over his features and he frowned. “Her?”

“The girl you refuse to tell me anything about.”

Shit. He had forgotten about that entire ordeal, eyes widening at the mention. You watched him with expectant eyes and he cleared his throat, nodding non-committal.

“A few times, yeah,” He hummed, nodding forward to tell you that it was okay to cross now. You did that, mulling over this information and commemorating it with a big gulp of coffee, almost burning your tongue. You would definitely more caffeine to survive this conversation.

“And? You have to give me something to work with, dude.”

Taeyong had no idea where he was going with this. He supposed he deserved to be stuck in such a situation because he had gotten himself into it without thinking about how it would sustain such a lie. Sighing to himself, he started speaking.

“She’s….nice.” What an eloquent description he had gone for. Trying to describe a girl that didn’t exist was extraordinarily hard, and he wondered where his childhood imagination had disappeared to. Your blank expression told him that he was doing a terrible job at whatever he was trying to achieve.

Well, there was only one thing he could think to do.

“She ‘s fun to be around,” He started, “Speaking to her is incredibly easy and I enjoy our conversations. She’s really pretty too.” The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he spoke about this supposed ‘girl’.

Stop.

You wanted him to stop the moment he started elaborating because it was becoming clearer and clearer that he truly cared for this person. You had caught the way his eyes softened just a little when he started speaking, and the fond tone his voice had taken. You knew it all too well because you had sat through him speaking like this when he had been with his previous girlfriends. It was as if he reserved a special place in his heart for the people he loved romantically and spoke about them in a specific way.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him speaking like that about you, but then again, you didn’t lie.

The university campus came into view and you knew that the both of you would have to part ways for your separate classes soon.

“Do you think she likes you back?”

He didn’t know how to answer that one, so he stopped for a moment and frowned in thought. You stopped as well, waiting for him. At times like these, you wished you could read his mind to figure out what went on in there. Normally you could read him like a book, and you knew everything about him, but when he would think really hard like this, it was like he put a mental block up that prevented you from doing what you normally did.

And then he started walking again as if you had never asked the question.

You stared in bewilderment as he walked in front, gaping and grumbling under your breath at being so blatantly ignored. Quickening your steps, you managed to catch up with him, panting a little now.

“Hey an answer would be lovely, you know!”

Taeyong stopped in front of the gate and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He fucking what?

“You—you don’t know?” You spluttered, a little annoyed now. “You don’t know if she likes you even a little bit?”

He shrugged once more, a victimised look on his face as he kept his shoulders up. “She’s hard to read!”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Say’s you.”

He snapped his head towards you, noting the stiff way you said that. It was a little resentful as well like you were annoyed at him, and maybe it was warranted, especially with the answers he was giving you. He was trying to be as vague as possible while being honest, so he had told the truth. He truly couldn’t read you one bit, he definitely didn’t know if you liked him back, and right now the answer was leaning towards a big, fat NO.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shook your head, patting his arm. “I have class, see you later.”

You began walking away, and then turned around when you realized how childish you had just been. He looked like a confused puppy now, unable to keep up with your constant switch in the mood.

“Did I….do something?” He asked gently as he cocked his head to the side, and you felt totally undeserving. You shut your eyes and shook your head. You couldn’t keep taking your frustration over him liking someone else on him. It just wasn’t fair.

“No, you didn’t,” You sighed, “I’m having a weird day, thats all.”

He raised his hand to look at his watch and then back at you. “It’s eight in the morning, what day?”

Panic seized you and your eyes widened in horror at that news. “It’s already eight? Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“Y/n?”

“I’m late for my class!” You whined, walking backward quickly and turning around, breaking into a run. “I’ll see you later! Next time we’ll work on asking her out!”

He scoffed, watching as you hurried into one of the buildings and vanished from his line of sight, biting back the smile that was threatening to spill over. It was a very special smile, one he only kept for you.

And with another sip of his coffee, he too turned around and walked away to his class. He would have to make some coffee for you sometime soon so you would stop wasting your money on Starbucks.

“Idiot,” he muttered affectionately, “Going to miss your class and you’re still talking about that.”

lesson #1: talking to the girl

“So she knows who you are right?”

You adjusted the volume of the music playing from the radio of his car, letting go of your chopsticks and letting them fall to the inside corner of the takeout box. Your classes for the day were finally over and just like you had promised, you were going to help him

He nodded, taking a mouthful of his own noodles. On nights like these when none of you felt like cooking, takeout was your saviour. Tonight’s dinner consisted of Chinese food from the nearby restaurant. The food itself was by no means authentic, but it was tasty nonetheless a quick fix.

“Have you flirted with her?” You let him think over your latest question while he finished his bite.

“I probably have?” He ended it like a question rather than a statement. “We talk quite a bit actually, but anything I say always seems to go over her head like she’s completely oblivious.”

Damn. You couldn’t even hide the sympathetic look on your face at that. The girl really didn’t know what she was missing out on if she was able to ignore him so easily. You almost wished you had that talent so you wouldn’t have to be simply the best friend.

“Sucks,” You muttered, “Maybe step it up a bit? Try and gauge if she’s actually interested in you the way you are for her so you can actually answer me the next time I ask.” You rolled your eyes at the memory of him saying he didn’t know. What person didn’t try to figure out if their crush liked them back?

“I’ll try my best,” He promised absentmindedly, shaking some of his hair out of his face. Then, he offered you some of his food, and you exchanged boxes naturally, like you had done this a million times before- because you had. There were certain things in your friendship that had become so routine that you did them without thinking.

“You’re hopeless,” You muttered, “It’s like you don’t actually even care about this girl when I give you advice on what to do, but then you wear your nice cologne for her.”

He raised his eyebrow in surprise. “How did you know it was the nice one?”

“I know you,” You clicked your tongue to look at him, causing a mischievous glint to spark in his eyes. You were almost afraid of the next words that were going to come out of his pretty lips.

“Nice to know you pay so much attention to me, sweetheart,” He teased, reaching out to give your box back. Heart curled up your neck and to your cheeks, painting them in a warm flush as you puffed them out and looked away from him.

“You’re so annoying.”

“Am I wrong though?”

You were still hung up on the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he had ever called you that, after all, your friendship was affectionate and extremely close, but that didn’t stop you from being affected by it. You were more used to words like ‘dumbass’ or ‘idiot’ spoken fondly to your face with a grin, just like you did for him. The ‘sweethearts’ and ‘loves’ were more teasing than anything, never serious.

“I pay attention to you because I’m your best friend,” You argued, placing the empty take-out box to the side. “If I don’t, who will?”

The laugh that escaped him at that was enchanting, and he scrunched his nose up for a moment, as if in thought. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Hah, could’ve fooled me.”

You reached over and pinched his forearm, eliciting a yelp due to the force at which you executed it. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I still hang out with you.”

“It’s because I’m impossibly lovable,” He corrected you with a shit-eating grin, finishing up his own food. Then he dropped his voice just a little. “And because you have no friends.”

The sound of your hand slapping against his arm was enough to inform anybody how you reacted to that smart-ass statement of his. He loved pushing your buttons because you looked pretty even when your brows were knitted and your lips were set in an angry pout. He especially loved it when that expression was directed toward him.

“Just talk to her more,” You sighed, “I pity her to be honest, imagine having to deal with you. I’ll start praying for her right now.”

“Wow, real nice Y/n. You always know exactly how to hype me up.”

“I’m excellent at boosting a person's confidence. Wanna see?” You were looking at him in anticipation now like you were really proud of what you were going to say next and wanted him to match your energy. He pretended to be exasperated with you, exhaling slowly.

“Fine.”

You beamed at him, turning in the passenger seat to face him properly. “Jellyfish have survived 600,000 years without a brain.”

For once, he truly didn’t know where you were going with this and waited patiently. The way you were trying your best to keep a straight face was enough to tell him that it wasn’t going to be anything good.

“So I’m really optimistic about you.”

He grimaced. “Do me a favour and never become a motivational speaker. Ever.”

If you thought his laugh was enchanting, he thought yours was nothing short of angelic. The way your eyes would crease into little crescent moons and how you would cover your mouth with your hands as you giggled. It was a habit of yours, one that he had picked up on pretty quickly into the first few weeks of your friendship itself.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” You weren’t sorry at all, not in the slightest. “But I’m serious, you have to talk to her more before you ask her out. The whole ‘instant ask out’ thing doesn’t really get you far. I’ve realized that being friends to an extent works best.”

“From what experience?” He snickered and you glared, holding back from giving the boy another pinch (or rather a shove this time around, which he wholly deserved for that backhand comment).

“Hey, I have dated around you know!” You protested, “And I’ve had a boyfriend before, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I’m serious!”

He twisted the keys in the ignition to start the car, amused at how eagerly you defended yourself. He had to give it to you though, you definitely sounded more credible than Doyoung did when he gave advice. After all, it was that said boy's advice that got him into this whole mess in the first place, with you being his wingwoman.

The world surely did love irony.

Doyoung was sick.

Not sick in the sense that he had to stay in bed and spend his day with a box of kleenex. That would have been much more bearable than having to be subjected to this madness.

He was looking on from afar as you and Taeyong spoke. He had been on his way to his next class, only to happen to catch a glimpse of his two best friends. Even though he was equally close to Taeyong and you, he more often than not felt like a third wheel in your relationship.

So yes, he was sick of seeing the two of you tip-toe around each other.

He had never seen two people more perfect for each other, and definitely not two who were so damn oblivious about it. Someone could dangle it right in front of your eyes and you would purposefully turn the other way and walk in the other direction.

The first time Taeyong had come to Doyoung all panicked was around a year ago when he had miraculously realized that he was in love with his best friend. Doyoung remembered this well because he had never been caught so off guard before at such a confession. Or so he thought.

Because around a week later, you came to him, whining about your feelings for Taeyong.

Fucking dumbasses.

You were so in tune with each other that you just happened to go to the same person for advice- the person who had yet to be in any relationships himself. Hey, the life of a STEM major was hard and Doyoung didn’t particularly want to waste any of the ridiculously high tuition he had paid. You had once teased him about being married to his studies, and at this point, he couldn’t even deny it.

Now you were pushing some of Taeyong’s hair out of his face, a deadpan look on yours. Doyoung could see the slight alarm on the other boy's face at this action, the way he stared intently at you as you did it. Then you flicked his forehead and laughed, causing him to puff out his pink cheeks.

Lord, give him strength. The sooner the two of you got together, the better.

lesson #2: how to ask a girl out

Taeyong thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, from the slope of your nose to the crease of your eyes when you laughed, even if you did cover up your mouth when you laughed most of the time. He liked your smile too, the way the corners of your lips would turn upwards in glee was enough to get him to smile as well.

Even now, when you were staring at him like he had murdered your childhood dog, he thought you looked pretty.

“You’re telling me that you’ve never considered asking this girl out?!” You asked incredulously, hands resting on your hips. “At this point, I’m starting to think the person you like is Doyoung.”

He scowled at you, “It is not Doyoung, and of course, I’ve thought of asking her out, it’s just-” He paused, realizing he didn’t exactly know what to say. You raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue.

So here was the problem.

Taeyong was starting to get a little tired of talking about this make-believe girl with you. It was slowly eating away at him, the fact that he was basically lying to your face at this point. Sure, there was some truth mixed in somewhere, but that very truth was getting buried deeper and deeper as time went on.

“It’s just?” You asked, giving him another helpful nudge to finish that statement, but he didn’t, sighing instead as he leaned back in the chair he was sitting on. Your persistence was going to be the death of him one day.

“We were working on your project a second ago, why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because!” You stressed the word, “It’s been around two weeks since you told me you started talking to her again, so I mean, isn’t it the appropriate time to ask her out?”

You sat up straight, closing your laptop and books, “Also I’m tired of this, so do you wanna watch a movie and order in? We can continue talking about this later.” You picked your phone up and sighed. “Ji-woo never answers.”

He frowned, “She’s still not responding to your messages? Damn. You really do need my help.”

“I do,” You whined, sighing in resignment as you once again slumped in your seat. Today was one of those days when you were all over the place, jumping from one topic to another. This happened sometimes, and he was used to it after being your friend for so long.

“Fine, let's take a break, I’ll choose the movie and you go order some pizza for us.” He didn’t exactly need the break, but he could tell from the way your eyes were drooping slightly and how quickly you had slouched again. He knew you so well that he could tell when you were done for the day. Chances were that you would probably fall asleep midway through whatever movie he chose anyways, so he picked one that you had watched previously, good enough to entertain the both of you till sleep took over you.

After placing the order, you moved to the couch where he was sitting now, browsing through the movies. You propped your legs up, grabbing a cushion and curling into his side like it was the most natural thing to do. He settled on 13 going on 30, one of your shared favorite movies from the 2000s.

As the movie began, he couldn’t help but notice how perfectly you fit into him, how your head rested gently on his shoulder as your eyes remained trained on the television screen. The blue light from it fell onto your face, casting shadows over your features.

“So? Are you going to ask her out?”

He pursed his lips, suppressing yet another groan at your words. He knew you meant well, wanting to help and all, but the truth was complicated. The truth was messy and the truth…..

“Nah.”

“Huh? Why? You said you have thought about it before.” Ever since this entire thing started, he had been getting harder and harder to figure out.

He had spoken nothing but the truth because he really wasn’t going to ask you out, and this was a decision he had thought well and hard about. There were many factors that went into it- you were his best friend after all. If you didn’t feel the same way not only would he be crushed, but it would be awkward. That awkwardness would probably lead to drifting apart from you and that was something he never wanted to happen.

He loved being there for you, listening to your whine about your latest grievance, or nagging you about your terrible addiction to caffeine. You had the habit of keeping things to yourself, so he loved when you indulged that information to him just as much as he loved you.

He couldn’t lose you. That would be far worse than you not loving him the way he loved you. Losing you would mean not being able to love you at all, not even quietly.

“I don’t think I’m good enough for her,” he said quietly, “I mean, just because we’re talking doesn’t mean she likes me that way, for all I know she could totally hate the person I am.” He forced a cheery voice to communicate the fact that he was joking, but not entirely. The smile that he wore was tired and weary like he genuinely didn’t think he was enough.

You didn’t like it.

You knew it was in his nature to be hard on himself, he had been doing the same since freshman year. If things went wrong he would blame himself. If anyone was there to criticize, he saw it as himself.

“Stop it,” You chided, moving away from him and glaring, much to his surprise. Your brow was knit in frustration as you reached out and took his face in your hands, cradling it gently enough so that he was looking at you.

“You listen to me,” You said firmly, voice dead serious. “You, Lee Taeyong, are absolutely fucking amazing, and I don’t want to hear you ever put yourself down again.”

You were angry, he could hear it in your voice. From sleepy to annoyed, the change in your demeanor had him blinking in silence for he was much too surprised to do anything else.

“You’re perfect,” You said so earnestly that it was a little amusing. “And whoever she is would be a goddamn fool if she doesn’t realize that because any girl would be the luckiest fucking girl in the world to have you.”

Unbeknownst to him, there was some jealously mixed into it as well. One of your flaws was that you often let your envy seep into things you did and as much as you wanted to help Taeyong as the great friend you were, it killed you to see that he was so much into someone else but thought he wasn’t good enough for them. That was utter bullshit, and you were going to make sure he knew that.

You would have done anything to be that her.

“Y/n…” He whispered your name softly, trailing off into silence instead of continuing the sentence. The dialogue from the movie was the only thing that could be heard for the next minute or so, and you let go of his face, clearing your throat.

“Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” He mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize? You did nothing wrong,” You huffed, retreating to your previous position. You weren’t quite sure what had possessed you to do that, but you had a feeling it was something he needed to hear. “Ask her out, and if she says no, her loss.”

You were stupid. So painfully stupid.

“Thank you,” he simpered, nudging you slightly. You only hummed in reply, muttering something about your insistence on being good at hyping people up. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Die. You would die.” You offered helpfully, and he snorted but didn’t deny it, instead once again glancing over at you to catch a glimpse of your face. Yeah, he really did think you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen, even in the crappy dim lighting of your living room right now.

“I would walk through fire for you,” He mumbled, “Thats how much I appreciate you.”

The giggle he earned for that was fucking dizzying, and he was tempted to repeat the statement just to hear it again. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” He confirmed, before thinking about that for a minute. “Okay, maybe not fire because I’m too young and hot to die. A really hot and humid room perhaps.”

You gave him an unimpressed look.

“Not too humid because of my hair.”

The pillow you were cuddling before quickly turned into a weapon to hit him with for his dumb quips, making him hold his arms up to shield himself. He was smiling though, silently laughing as he yelped at every hit you landed.

“Your hair is already dead from the amount that you dye it,” You deadpanned, reaching up and running your fingers threw the front stranger, pushing it out of his face like you so often did. His breath hitched in his throat as you then fixed it again. His eyes fell to your lips just for a moment as you were focused on his hair.

He wanted to kiss you so bad, just like the many other times he had thought about it and backed out. The factors he had mentioned before were what he used to justify his chickening out every time.

“Yep, it’s fried,” You said, snapping him out of it. Pushing your hand away, he signaled towards the movie that was still playing, redirecting your attention away from his warm face.

“A moderately heated room it is.”

Now that you had given him the push to ask out the girl he wanted, you were somewhat anxious to know how that had ended. Had he finally gone for it? Had it worked out? More importantly, were you going to have to self-sabotage once again?

Top ten questions science couldn’t answer.

This time you found yourself at a different coffee shop rather than the overpriced one you usually visited due to the fact that your friend, Karina, worked there as a barista. Unfortunately, visiting your friend wasn’t the only reason you decided to go there today.

Ji-woo sat across from you, a nervous smile on her face. She was cute, with straight long hair till her elbows, fringe across the forehead, and eyes that were always bright and expressive. It was because of these expressive eyes of hers that she ended up always being a fairly open book to read.

And right now, that book was full of excuses.

“I’m so sorry Y/n! I swear I didn’t mean to miss your messages.” Her words tumble from her lips absolutely covered in honey- scratch that- sugar syrup. They were so sweet and patronizing that they were going to give you diabetes.

“All of them? It’s been a whole two weeks Ji-woo, and I’ve messaged you regularly throughout all of it to ensure you were doing your bit of the project.” It was clear that you didn’t believe a single word that exited her lip-gloss-painted mouth, and she was stressed over it.

People like her were why you were addicted to coffee. Hey, at least you weren’t as bad as Jaemin, the guy practically drowned all his sorrows in the bitter drink.

“I know—”

“You do?” You asked, pretending to be surprised. “Then why didn’t you answer those texts?”

Needless to say, you were not amused with being ignored, especially not when you had been working your ass off to get a good grade on this project. It was an important one, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do well just because of your partner who prioritized partying more than doing her work. There was nothing wrong with partying of course, but there was everything wrong with leaving your partner alone to do all the work while you rode off it scot-free.

You were mad. You had every right to be and Ji-woo knew it from the way she played nervously with the straw in her iced caramel macchiato.

“I—I promise to do whatever you give me to make up for it!” She bargained, a hopeful smile on her face. “I really am sorry Y/n.”

You definitely did not miss the way she completely evaded your question but decided to let it go. Exhaling, you collected every scrap of willpower you possessed before you started speaking so you wouldn’t snap at her.

“Fine,” you sighed, deciding to graciously give her another chance, much to her relief. “Handle half of the slides and make some notes. I’ve already most of everything anyway so this is all you have to do.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“I expect you to have it done a week before our presentation, okay? Start working on it today itself.”

She pauses, pressing her lips together. “I’m busy today but I could start tom- never mind, I’ll do it right away.” She shut up after catching the near-fatal glare you were giving her, collecting her things and drink, getting up and bidding you farewell.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed in exasperation. Karina noticed your distress and walked over and a fresh cup of coffee, placing it down next to your now lukewarm one.

“You look like you’ve been through shit,” She said dryly, tucking the empty tray under her arm vertically. You scoffed, eyeing the new cup, all too tempted.

“I didn’t order another.”

“I know, it’s on the house,” She winked, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “You looked like you were suffering and my mother always taught me to have pity on the less fortunate.”

“I don’t know if I should thank you or give you a shove.”

She pat your shoulder in faux sympathy. “Both. Both are good. Also, your boyfriend is waiting for you.”

“My who?” You gave her a puzzled look because you were very much- in the words of Na Jaemin himself- painfully single. Karina had a mischievous look on her face as she pointed to the side of the store where Taeyong stood, holding his own cup of coffee. When he realized you had seen him, a lopsided grin plants itself on his mouth and he waved.

“Rina, that is not my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend and even if I did, it definitely wouldn’t be Taeyong.” You mumbled softly, waving back. Then you beckon at him to come to join you at your table.

“Yeah right, but you wouldn’t complain if he was.”

You were a hundred percent ready to argue back, but Taeyong was close, and saying anything further would give you away, which you definitely didn’t want to happen. Instead, you settled for glaring at her as she slipped away while Taeyong took a seat opposite you.

“Hey! Oh geez, who stole your candy?” It was then you realized you were still wearing a disgruntled look on your face and shook your head.

“Sorry, I just met with my lovely partner.”

“Seriously? What were her excuses?”

This was why he was your best friend, he somehow knew things without you having to tell him anything at all. All you had to do was fill him in on the details. The two of you were just so in sync that you worked perfectly in every way.

You were definitely grateful for the new cup of coffee Karina had gotten you since your old one was almost over and now cold. As the drink kissed your throat soothingly, you remembered the question you had been dying to know the answers to.

“Did you ask her on a date?”

Taeyong was mid-sip when you asked the question, glancing up at you as he did so. He nodded.

Oh.

“.....Well?”

“Well, what?”

“She said yes, didn’t she?” You asked, forcing a gleeful tone. Taeyong stared at you in bafflement, probably at how you had deciphered that so quickly as you down the rest of your coffee, resting your elbows on the table and chin in your palms. “I’ll help you get ready for the date.”

In actuality, Taeyong was panicking. His initial plan was to just say that this hypothetical girl said no to him, but you had already jumped to conclusions and looked so excited about it that he didn’t want to rain down on your parade.

The indifference on his face made you sit up straight, a triumphant grin on your face. You see, Taeyong had the habit of pretending something hadn’t gone his way to fool you before he gave you the correct information, and this was no doubt one of those times.

“Oh it’ll be fun- just tell me what type of date you’re taking her on and I’ll style you.” You clapped your hands together, and your best friend had no idea how to tell you that you were extremely wrong.

Whatever god was out there was probably laughing at him, clutching their stomach and all.

So! New plan. He was going to just go with the flow, fake going on a date, and then somewhere down the road say he broke it off with this girl. It would be fine.

Taeyongs fatal flaw would always be his inability to say no to you. It was the reason you ended up being his wingwoman, he knew this- no matter how much he tried putting the blame on Doyoung (who would call him an idiot and a simp for being so easily swayed by you every damn time. Taeyong would have to agree).

“Dinner maybe?” He asked, suddenly forgetting everything he ever knew about dates. This was so stupid, he had been on a plethora of dates before, and he had had girlfriends. He knew what to do and how to do it but when it came to you, all of that knowledge he had built up over the years seemed to disappear inexplicably.

You nodded appreciatively at this suggestion, pushing the empty mug to the side. “Nice, somewhere fancy maybe? I heard that the new restaurant is pretty good.”

The devil on your shoulder was pulling at your hair for being such a professional idiot and genuinely helping him. The angel was proud, perplexed at the way you were going on about it- yes- but proud nevertheless.

“I guess I’ll be taking her there then,” He said, sucking in a breath and giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks for all the help Y/n, I mean it. Even if I’m a little scared to see how you’re going to…style me.”

You threw him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t really have the best fashion taste.”

You scoffed, offended that he would ever dare utter something so outlandish right to your face. “Excuse you, just because I don’t have the perfect clothing pieces does not mean I have bad style. I got the skill, just not the materials because they’re expensive and I live off ramen as it is.”

“You have no proof and therefore, due to my deeply inlaid trust issues, I cannot take your word for it.” He said this as solemnly as he possibly could, nodding his head slowly and swiftly pinching his lips to avoid laughing.

Lee Taeyong was the worst tier of insufferable.“Screw you.”

“Time and place.”

“Someday, you’ll go far—” You started wisely, “and I hope you stay there.”

“Rude? I should have never bought you that coffee.” He said in disbelief, bringing his hand to his heart as he got to his feet so that he could leave. You frowned in confusion even though his voice held a playful lilt because something there didn’t add up.

“You got it for me? Karina said it was on the house I- KARINA!?”

lesson #3: the date

Taeyong was what you would call fashionably challenged.

The reason you said this was because while his style was good, it had two sides. On one hand, he dressed well, like the twenty-one-year-old he was. It didn’t really matter, you supposed, because Taeyong looked good in almost everything he wore.

Ah but you see, he had range. He could go from that to grandma-core in a blink of an eye. And while it was certainly a look, it wasn’t date-worthy at all.

God knows you weren’t going to let him show up in that quirky knitted sweater he had gotten at a random festival. You would rather eat your fist.

“Let’s see,” You hummed, running your fingers over his clothes. You were standing in front of his closet, mentally trying to sort out what items of clothing would work well with each other. You had been there many times before, but those instances usually ended with you nabbing a hoodie or t-shirt you had taken a liking to and was going to claim as your own.

Looking through your own closet didn’t look much different at this point.

He had been through two outfits at this point and was confused beyond compare at this point. Never had he ever taken so much effort for a date, let alone for one that was completely fake, so he had no experience with this whole ‘pre-date drama’, as you had oh so eloquently put it.

The first outfit had been cute, but a little too casual for a dinner date at a potentially fancy restaurant. The tee paired with jeans was a classic combo, but it more suited going to his Monday morning lectures.

The second outfit was too formal, the dress shirt and dress pants screamed prom and while you had full faith in Taeyongs abilities to win Prom King, that wasn’t the vibe you were going for either.

“Here,” You thrust another set of clothes to him. “Go change into these and let’s see how they look.”

He nodded, taking the clothing from you and going to change. While he did that, you plopped yourself on his bed, taking your phone out and scrolling through Instagram to amuse yourself in the time he took. He had started out pretty talkative, but you supposed after all the fussing you had done over him till this point had dulled him down a little.

You looked up when he walked back out, adjusting the sleeves and folding them up a little- just to his elbow to uncover his forearms. The shirt itself leaned more on the formal lines, dark blue in colour, collar kissing his collar bones perfectly, and the top few buttons left unbuttoned on purpose. The end of the shirt was tucked into his jeans that were ripped at the knees.

Your eyes remained trained on his figure, widening ever so slightly as you did a full-body scan of the entire outfit. Was this you blatantly checking your best friend out under the guise of judging the appropriateness of what he was wearing? Absolutely.

Were you even slightly ashamed? Not really. Hey, a girl has got to be proactive, especially when she was in love with the guy who was going on a date with another girl right at that moment.

Your lips parted in surprise as you sat up. With the way you had styled his hair before (and of course, the fact that Taeyong was attractive anyway), you couldn’t even think of any way else to describe him.

Other than, of course, saying that your best friend was hot as hell.

“So?” He asked, looking at you expectantly., awaiting your conclusion. You swallowed thickly, trying to think of the words to say.

“You look….wow,” You settled for finally, cringing at yourself when you heard it leave your tongue.

Bemused, he shook some of the hair that had fallen into his face out of it, cocking his head to the side in the process. “Wow? What an articulate observation from the English Lit. major.”

He was teasing you now, and you rolled your eyes, getting to your feet and walking over when you realized a part of his collar was a bit messed up on one side. His breath hitched in his throat when you were close enough, reaching your hand up and folding it over in the manner it was supposed to be.

“It was a good wow,” You defended, flickering your eyes up to his. He was already looking at you, and the attention had you feeling a little dizzy. “And I’m better than you, Mr. I exchanged the word assonance for alliteration.”

“I’m not the English major here though.”

You yanked a little on his collar to get him to shut up, and he did so promptly, but not without letting a dumb smile settle on his lips. Arguing with you would forever be one of his favorite past times and he would never give up the chance to do so.

“Alright,” You mumbled, taking a step back and admiring your handiwork. “You’re all set to go.”

“Where?” He breathed out, still looking at you in that maddening way. He was so distracted by you that he had completely forgotten what he was doing at that moment

“Your date, you idiot,” You pushed his shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.

The date. Yes.

He coughed slightly, nodding as he got his things, ready to leave. “Right. Thanks for…you know.”

“Any time,” You said, flashing him an assuring look. “Now go get your girl.”

He left a few minutes, later and you watched him do so, the smile on your face fading little by little with every second that passed. When you heard the door of his apartment click shut, you finally dropped the cheery look on your face, all sobered up.

You wondered how Taeyong would be on a date. He was confident, it was one of his most attractive features and you knew that he had this quality about him that had everyone charmed. He would be the sweetest on a date, no doubt, making sure his date was comfortable above everything else.

You almost wished that date was for you.

Irony was quickly becoming one of Taeyong’s least favorite things.

On approaching his car, he opened the door and placed himself in the driver's seat, letting out a sigh. He didn’t start the car, nor did he even switch the radio on. All he did was take his phone out and open Tiktok.

Ah yes, what an excellent date.

The consequences of lying about having a date meant that he had to go through the entire pre-date drama he had mentioned before, without actually going anywhere. It was why he now had two whole hours to kill without a single thing to do. His fancy ‘date’ consisted of scrolling through random people enthusiastically dancing to Lizzo’s About Damn Time and some dude whose money didn’t jiggle. Instead, it folded.

It was just as depressing as it sounded.

Good for the guy honestly, sounded like he was financially stable.

Taeyong wondered how his life had come to this. He ran a hand through his hair, successfully messing up the way you had carefully helped style it in the process. There were very few moments in his life when he had felt truly like an idiot, and this instance, in particular, took the first spot, dethroning whatever held that position before it.

The car was warm. He switched the air conditioning on and resumed watching the thirty-second video clips that were the reason his attention span had degraded so much.

He figured he deserved this, considering all he had done the past few weeks was lie to your face. Granted, the lies came from a place of protection- protecting himself from potentially getting rejected and protecting you from being disappointed about not being able to be his wingwoman.

But they had evolved from him simply omitting the truth by not being honest about how he felt to getting dressed in a really nice outfit with nowhere to go but two whole hours to kill in his car. It had him thinking over his life decisions, and anything that had him going all existential was immediately a bad thing.

This was definitely a downgrade. From actually going on dates and having girlfriends to faking dating someone because he was hopefully taken with you. He remembered the first time he realized was when you made the joke about getting married if the two of you were still single by the age of thirty-two and not being opposed to the idea. In fact, he rather liked the sound of it.

It was all downhill from there, and even though he considered it as such, he still smiled at the thought.

Two mind-numbingly boring hours later and another Tiktok sound that would be inevitably stuck in his head for the next two weeks minimum, he decided it was now acceptable to go back to his apartment.

When he was younger, his parents had always been proud of how responsible he had been, how he barely ever wasted time.

Oh if they could see him now. One hundred and twenty minutes of his life he was never going to get back.

He slid his keys into the lock, twisting them and pushing the door open. His apartment was quiet, and he wondered if you had gone back to your own as he slipped his shoes off. He unbuttoned another button on his shirt and walked into his bedroom, freezing when he saw the sight that lay before him.

You were asleep in what he could only describe as the most uncomfortable position known to humankind. You were still sort of sitting, curled over his pillows that were propped against the headboard, one hand held out as you held your phone weakly. It was just about to slip out of your fingers and hit the ground, but he managed to walk over in time to lunge over and catch it.

Taeyong scoffed, but the ghost of a smile played on his lips as he placed your phone on the little bedside table. He knew all too well that you would complain to no end when you woke up after sleeping like that, and so he carefully picked you up and adjusted your position, before tucking you under the sheets.

His heart was fighting its way out of his chest the more he looked at you. You were so peaceful as you slept, if you were awake he would have made a joke about it. Now, however, you were knocked out, and for once he didn’t have to lie. He didn’t have to pretend.

Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, mumbling a goodnight as he switched the lights off.

He’d whisper his confessions into the dark, where they would stay.

You were going to tear your hair out.

It had been more than a week since you met up with her to talk, and Ji-woo hadn’t done even a thing from the lot she had promised. You were tired from all your classes and the extra guest- lecture you had attended. Not to mention the fact that midterms were coming up and you had to spend time finishing other assignments for other classes along with your general studies.

You were exhausted beyond compare and couldn’t even bear the thought of having to do her work as well. It was already two a.m and you were so damn close to breaking down- ugly tears and all- as you stared at your laptop screen and at the unfinished slides. So you did the one thing you could think of and called the person you knew would have your back, whether that was to help or assist in your breakdown.

“Y/n?” Taeyong’s groggy voice sounded through your phone speaker and you let out a sound that could only be compared to a wail in response to properly convey how you were feeling. You could imagine him sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes.

“The fuck? It’s ass o’clock in the morning, why are you calling me?”

“I’m screwed,” You whined, kicking your feet childishly under the table you sat at for effect though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Ji-woo, and pardon my french but that bitch hasn’t done anything and I’m so close to dropping out I-”

“Why are you awake right now?” His question cut through your complaining, causing you to shut up and frown.

“Did you not hear me? I’m going to fail because of this girl, Tae, that’s why I’m awake.”

“Go to sleep,” He groaned, “You’ll definitely fail if you don’t sleep enough.”

“Wow, thanks.”

You could hear some shuffling in the background, and you assumed he had put his phone down for a moment. Then, you heard him speak again.

“Be there in five.”

You blinked, not really knowing to respond to that, but it was all okay since he ended the call right then. You had called him to vent, that was it.

Needless to say, Taeyong was at your door a few minutes later in his sweats and a jacket to combat the chilly night air, giving you the most murderous look he could muster up. Those eyes of his really did it justice.

“You disturbed my beauty sleep.”

You don’t need it anyway, you thought. “I didn’t expect you to come over?!? Don’t blame this on me.”

“Oh please,” He glared, but it wasn’t serious in the slightest as he sauntered inside. “You called me in the middle of the night, and I’ve been your best friend long enough to know what that means. Are you telling me you didn’t want me to be here in the slightest?”

You could only give him a sheepish smile because it was 100% true. Then, your smile melted into a look of disgruntlement as you led him to the table in your living room, collapsing on one of the chairs while you gestured wildly to the blank slides.

“Nothing, nada, I’m going to fail.”

He sighed, joining you in your task of staring down the unfinished work. Not that was much to stare at, but he definitely pitied you for somehow landing the worst project partner of the year.

He could also tell how tired you were from just one look at you and how there was no way you would be able to get anything done like this. Slipping his jacket off, he hung it on the back of one of the chairs around the table and clapped his hands together. “Alright, we can do this, but first I need to know where you keep your kettle because you keep stress cleaning and reorganizing the kitchen.”

You looked at him, puzzled. “Huh? Why would you need that?”

“Because,” he walked into the kitchen, leaving you with no choice but to trail after him. “I’m making your coffee, there is no way in hell I’m helping you without some and you look like crap right now.”

You almost missed the dig at you, too surprised at the fact he was actually making your coffee. It had been a running joke that he never would because he was terrible at doing so, which was why you kept running to Starbucks.

“First of all, ouch.” You glared at him, taking your kettle down from one of the cupboards. “And secondly, are you really?”

“Yep,” he confirmed, finding the coffee beans by himself and taking the appliance from you, placing it on the fire. “After a cup, you’ll have all the motivation in the world.”

“I sure hope so,” you chirped, leaning against the counter. “God, I can’t believe she didn’t do it this time. She said she would.”

“You trust too easily,” He muttered, mostly to himself. The gravity of the situation had started to eat away at him more than before and he was guilty. You trusted every word that came out of his mouth and he just kept lying. He told you he had been going on more dates with the girl to make it more believable, you were overjoyed and told him to ask her to be his girlfriend.

It was all going wrong. All he had wanted to do was impress you that day.

“Maybe so,” you agreed quietly, pushing yourself off the counter. He poured the coffee into two cups that you got down wordlessly, the both of you working together perfectly even without any words being said.

Taeyong handed you a cup, and you wrapped your fingers around it to absorb the warmth, taking a cautionary sip so as to not burn your tongue. The bitter drink washed over your tongue and you savoured the flavour. It revitalized you, giving you back some of the energy you had lost.

“Holy shit,” You said in quiet awe, “This coffee fucking slaps.”

He chuckled in amusement, happy to have proven himself right. Even more so, he was happy to see you happy over something as minute as him making you some coffee. “I know,” He said smugly, “Come on, let’s get back to working on your project.”

You stopped, realizing how much you depended on Taeyong. Without him, you would have probably been throwing a tantrum right now, throwing stuff around your apartment and all. Within a short period of time, he had managed to put you together again.

“Yeah sounds good.” You murmured, warming your hands on the mug. He sighed, pointing the spoon he used to mix the coffee in your direction with a strict look on his face

“And you have got to stop staying up this late, you’re going to fall sick, and then I’ll have to stay over and take care of you.” He pretended to look as displeased as possible with that hypothetical situation. “Honestly, I’m at a loss for words with how bad your sleep schedule is.”

Despite being at a loss for words, he continued to lecture you.

You put the cup down and moved towards him, wrapping your arms around him and tucking your face in the crook of his neck. The hug caught him off guard, but he returned it almost immediately, his own arms around your frame and lips pressing a soft kiss into your hair as if he could sense you needed the comfort.

“Thank you,” you whispered, shutting your eyes and pretending for a moment. Every day you had to remind yourself that there was someone else he was interested in because of things like these. He assured you with the usual ‘don’t mention it’ and whatnot, but you weren’t paying attention.

Just a moment.

final lesson: how to ask her to be your girlfriend

“I can’t believe you still haven’t told me who she is,” you said incredulously. “This might be the longest you’ve ever kept a secret from me, so maybe if you would just-”

“I’m not telling you.” He seemed adamant about keeping it a secret and part of you were starting to wonder if you were ever going to meet this girl. You exhaled in exasperation, throwing your hands up in defeat.

“It would be a lot easier to help you with asking her to be your girlfriend if I knew who she was, you know?”

But you knew better than to try and convince your best friend of something he had already made his mind up about. You were never going to get that girl’s name from his lips, so this entire thing was for naught. Besides, there was no point in competing with someone you didn’t know when it already looked like you had lost.

You really didn’t understand how you were supposed to help him make this ‘thing’ he had with her official when you knew next to nothing about her. If you had even a little information, you could put something meaningful together,

“Just seduce her into being your girlfriend.” You offered helpfully, not really having anything else to add. He gave you a deadpan look.

“Y/n, I am about as seductive as a cabbage.”

You snickered at that, somewhat agreeing with him. You were at his place, sitting opposite him on the couch with your legs criss-cross-applesauce. He mirrored your position, one hand propped up on the back of the couch. It was around this point in time when you were really starting to despise the wingwoman position you had landed yourself in because you couldn’t find a way out no matter how hard you tried.

Unfortunately, you had no one to blame but yourself for this predicament.

“I guess you’re screwed then.”

“Helpful,” He muttered dryly, shutting his eyes and leaning back properly. You would never understand his reluctance towards the topic.

“Hell no, you have a girlfriend to get.” You sat up and hummed, “Just be honest about what you feel for her and tell her. People always want to know what they mean to others, and if you tell her how much you appreciate her she’ll realize that you’re perfect for her.”

“But saying shit like that without messing it up is hard, and messing up in the middle would be embarrassing.” Taeyong pointed out, jutting his lower lip out in thought. He ran a hand through his hair- a habit of his- messing up the strands that somehow always looked good no matter what he did. They always fell back in place perfectly.

“Then you need to practice,” You said firmly, “Ever tried the mirror technique?”

“Mirror….technique?”

You started explaining what you meant by that. “You know when you practice what you’re going to say in front of a mirror, as you would when rehearsing for a part in a play?” He hummed at this.

“I haven’t tried that, actually.” He admitted, “I don’t think I’d be able to be serious about it.”

A solution to this sprung to your mind, but it was a selfish one. It was selfish because it was more due to the fact that you wanted to hear what he had to say for yourself than to actually help him in knowing what to say to make things official with this girl. Hey, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right?

“Just try it on me.”

Taeyong’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting in shock at your proposition. You quickly scrambled to elaborate on what you meant by that so there were no misunderstandings.

“I mean— just pretend I’m her! Pretend I’m her and say what you want to me and I can judge it for you.” You coughed, trying to rid yourself of the strain that had suddenly caught onto your voice. “Maybe it would be more helpful than talking to a mirror.”

He stared at you for a second, digesting this information before nodding slowly. He adjusted his position and pressed his lips together in thought, recollecting everything he wanted to say. It was an opportunity to test out what he had ever wanted to say to you without actually going out and admitting it.

The best-case scenario was the only thing he had to consider over here. There were no consequences, no backlashes, just an experience that he was much too cowardly to claim for real.

“We’ve been going out for a few weeks now.” He started slow, deciding to just go where his words took him. “And—”

Update; his words then failed him.

You see, it was the way you were looking at him, so focused and determined to listen to every word. It reminded him of the fact that he didn’t actually have anything to say because he had pretty much told himself that he would never be in this position. His mouth went dry and he had to swallow thickly.

It was getting easier to lie to you, little by little the white lies piled up on top of each other and disillusioned his sight. However, for some reason, right now no lies sprung forth. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He chose the truth. Sort of.

“You make me really happy,” he said, voice dropping in volume a little bit. That fond tone you had always envied for others slipped into it and the sides of his lips curled upwards slightly into the smallest boyish smile. “I love spending time with you because you make me feel like those moments could last forever. I love seeing you happy, but more so when you’re sad because then I can be the one to cheer you up.”

Your heart had a mind of its own, dancing violently in your chest at the way he spoke. It was a cruel joke that the world played on you, for you to be selfish enough to want to hear this, but so selfish that it hurt.

You couldn’t even look away, bound to your duty of listening to every word that left his honeyed lips. Words that weren’t meant for you and never would be, because you were the best friend. You had always been and forever would be just the best friend.

“I love your frowns and your smiles,” he continued, “And I want to be there for each and every one of those, so that’s why I’m asking.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Yes.

No. You had very conveniently forgotten how to breathe at that very moment, air getting caught up in your lungs and throat. His eyes dropped down to your lips, making you want to lean over and perhaps press them against his own. Then you wanted to run far away and hide because the prospect of ever being able to kiss Taeyong on the mouth had you feeling so fucking dizzy-

“Y/n.”

Did he—

Did he fucking end his little speech with your name?

It served as a reminder, bringing you back to reality without even a semblance of mercy. One would think that him using your name there would only further your thoughts, but no. They dragged you back and rooted you to the ground from the clouds you had been previously walking upon.

Because you simply were not meant for that.

You blinked rapidly, sucking in a breath of air to calm yourself down. It was then that Taeyong realized his slip up of saying your name, alarmed at what he had done, and racked his brain on how to fix it.

“I used your name because I can’t tell you who she is,” He said all too quickly, cheeks flushed pink. Heat crept up your neck and to your own face, leaving it hot and flustered.

“Yeah, I gathered as much,” You said, clearing your throat because it seemed like your voice had gotten stuck. “That—that was good. Really good. She’ll definitely say yes.”

(You knew you would.)

When you start to mix the truth with lies, it gets harder to distinguish the two from each other.

Taeyong told you that the ‘girl’ had agreed to be his girlfriend in the end, every deceitful letter becoming easier to pronounce as time went on. That didn’t mean that he liked it any better, of course not. He hated that he had to continually lie to you, he hated the bitter taste it left on his tongue.

The guilt seeped in like poison, tainting everything. He started to use his ‘girlfriend’ as an excuse to avoid meeting up, saying something about having a date, or spending the day with her. Distancing himself from you to avoid feeling bad about it, and then proceeding to feel like a terrible friend for doing so.

Third ring of hell, party of one.

The cycle was one that was going to be hard to break, and the problem was that he had no idea where to start making a crack.

From seeing each other almost daily to maybe once a week if you were lucky, you missed your best friend. It was only natural to miss the person you loved, but it wasn’t just that anymore. You missed the Taeyong that was your rock, the person who agreed to grocery shop with you at three a.m, the best friend that you knew would respond to all your texts within seconds.

But you understood. You forced yourself to understand and come to terms with the fact that while you were his best friend, he had a girlfriend now- a girlfriend he was very clearly head over heels for. You would just have to learn how to deal with only seeing him occasionally. You would have to relearn how to be just a friend.

That was the funny thing about love, one would find themselves doing absolutely anything for the person they had feelings for. It didn’t matter if it hurt them, as long as the other was happy, it would be okay.

You finished 13 going on 30 by yourself on a lonely night, without the company of your best friend. You watched as Jenna finally realize that Matty was the one that was for her, and how she run after him. You watched her get heartbroken and rejected and go back to being thirteen. You watch as she marries Matty when she really was thirty. Two best friends, in love.

This time around, you didn’t fall asleep until the very end.

It was two days before the presentation of your project. You wished you could have said that you were doing great and that you had your shit together, that everything was going smoothly, but that would be a big fat lie. You already talked about your reluctance with lying.

The truth was that you did not, in fact, have your shit together. You needed more fiber in your diet.

Two days before the project and Ji-woo hadn’t sent in her notes. She hadn’t followed up on her aural part of the presentation or anything to do with the project and you were done.

You really didn’t like Kim Ji-woo.

Unlike the other day, it wasn’t late at night. It was only eight in the evening, but you really didn’t feel like pulling another all-nighter because your partner decided to be irresponsible. Truly you had never met someone so hard to work with and you hoped you never would again. Working alone would have been better than having to put up with this nonsense since that was what you were essentially doing anyways.

Perhaps it was your fault for ever trusting that Ji-woo would do her work. You should have known better than to be so naive- like Taeyong had said. Your problem was that you were too trusting.

Taeyong

Right. You took your phone out and fumbled with it, clicking on his contact and holding the phone up to your ear. If there was anyone that would help calm your nerves, it would be him.

Wait. No. You pull the phone away and stare at the call screen for a moment, the picture you had taken of the two of you to put as the background. You were mid-hug, your own face was almost completely hidden while he displayed one of those brilliant smiles of his. It was a sweet picture, one you cherished.

Then you looked at the contact name, the way you had typed in ‘yongie<3’ with a little dragon emoji next to it. The original one never had the emoji, but since he knew the passcode to your phone (and had one day managed to convince you into adding his fingerprint in as well), he had broken in once and added it.

You click off the call, pressing your thumb onto the little red phone icon to end it before he could even pick up. There was no point trying to reach him, he would probably be busy with his girlfriend. Or something else. That thought has your gut in a twist because never before had you thought like this.

Since when had he ever been too busy for you? He had had girlfriends before and you had always been the best friend even then, watching from the sidelines. Even then, he never made you doubt what you meant to him. Even in a relationship, you were his favorite girl.

The fingers of your other hand curled into a fist, and you clenched it, swallowing hard. You missed him so fucking bad and you wanted nothing more than to call him. To hear him tease you about something and then show up anyways.

Where was your best friend when you needed him? For some reason, the fact that you were drifting felt like it was all your fault, and you had no clue on how to fix your mess. You wanted to be able to call him without second-guessing yourself and crossing your fingers, without biting your lips and hoping that a certain other girl hadn’t already taken up his time.

When you needed it most, your best friend was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t just the project. It was the fact that you were head over heels for the boy and it would never be known to him. It was the fact that there was no one else you wanted as badly as Taeyong. You wanted to be the girl he spoke about fondly, the one who he took on dates and the one he called his.

But you weren’t. Instead, you had been a complete idiot and assisted in the process of him falling in love with someone else. You thought it would help you figure out what he liked and who it was, but no, all it did was hurt.

You didn’t realize tears had welled up in your eyes until one trickled down your face to your chin. You sniffed softly, bringing your hand up and wiping your face, screwing your eyes shut to prevent any more tears from spilling out because fuck, you hated crying over something you had no control over.

More quiet tears made their way out and to your surprise, you weren’t breaking down over your project. You were crying because of your broken heart and the pieces that lay around you helpless. Pieces you didn’t know how to put back together yourself.

It had never hit you as hard as it did right then, leaving you to cry into the palms of your hands. You were crying for the loss of a lover, over having him slip out of your fingers and never even trying to hold on. You were crying for the loss of your best friend, who seemed to not value you as important enough anymore.

Your phone lay unattended on the table. You missed the quiet buzzing of a return call, the notification of a check-up message. It didn’t matter anyway, because when you did go to check, you found out that the message had been deleted.

You were starting to feel a lot like that message.

From the moment he saw your name light up his phone screen, Taeyong had been worried.

He hesitated to answer it for just a second too long, but it was that second that fucked everything up. The call ended right before he could even pick up his phone and there weren’t any follow-up calls. This was extremely unlike you because when you wanted to reach him, you would keep calling until you got tired of it or he picked up.

He waited for the second call. Nothing.

It was then he called you back, wanting to check up on you. It had been a week to ten days since he last saw you, something he hated with every fiber of his being.

When you didn’t pick up, his stomach sank. He opened your texts, looking at how far back the last one had been, before pulling the keypad open and starting to type out a message to you.

[8:24 p.m.] yongie 🐉: hey, something up?

Fuck, that sounded weird for some reason. He backspaced, biting the inside of his cheek as he contemplated what to say.

[8:24 p.m.] yongie 🐉: u good?

He pressed send and then almost immediately regretted it. He dropped his phone and groaned aloud to no one in particular, looking up at the ceiling of his apartment. He missed hearing your set of keys jingle when you were outside the door, he missed your spontaneous visits. Without you, his home didn’t really feel much like one.

He deleted the message hurriedly and decided to call it a night. He would deal with all of this tomorrow when he had a fresh mind after a good night of sleep. Before bed, he checked to see if you had seen the deleted text.

You had.

The walk to campus the next day was lonely. He even waited at Starbucks for you, but you were nowhere to be seen and he was going to be late, which left him no choice but to go ahead without you. It felt wrong to walk without you chattering along by his side.

He missed it.

So when he saw you walking through the hallways, reading some notes you had out, he knew he had to talk to you. He walked over and cleared his throat, gently tapping your shoulder to attract your attention. You stiffened, turning around to look at him.

Your expression relaxed just a bit but stayed guarded to an extent. He gave you an impassive smile, pressing his lips together to form a thin line to cover up the surge of guilt that rushed through him after going so long without seeing you. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You said softly and immediately he could tell something was wrong. Your demeanor was completely different from what he was used to, closed off and voice clipped. You held your notes close to your chest, waiting for him to continue with what he was going to say.

“Can we talk?”

Talk, talk, talk. You wanted to talk to him so bad, but you knew that after you had finished it would be another week before you saw him again. Plus, you only had a day before the project left and so much to finish, you couldn’t be here wasting your time on a feeling that would only last a few minutes.

“I’m busy, got a project to finish.”

“It’ll take five minutes,” he promised, “I’m guessing Ji-woo didn’t do her work?” “She didn’t,” you confirmed, “Would have been helpful if I knew I could count on you.”

You didn’t mean to say that to his face and you definitely didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly. He looked taken aback, blinking slowly at your sudden outburst.

“I—I saw your call,” he mumbled, “It’s why I want to talk to you.”

You felt a little bad for springing that upon him so abruptly and so you agreed- out of pity, of course. You weren’t doing this because you were hopeless in love with him, you weren’t doing this because of some sort of futile hope. Definitely not. You were doing this because you felt bad and possessed empathy.

Wow. After all this time, you had finally started lying.

You nodded, and he gave you another one of those pretty smiles of his, this time a little brighter. Cocking his head to the side, he gestured towards an empty lecture hall that you could speak in. You followed him inside, noting that it was the same one you had to visit every Wednesday when you were a freshman.

It was quiet now. He turned to you and let out a sigh.

“You didn’t call again,” he said finally, “That’s not like you and I got a little worried so—”

You wanted to groan. While you had been overthinking and crying like a little bitch, he actually noticed. He got worried and thought about you and you hated the way that little piece of information had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Because you’re angry, and being angry and in love at the same time was not the most optimal combination. It had your stomach fluttery and your mind pissed at you for being so affected by every little thing. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a girl in love.

“Stop. I’m fine, you can see that, can’t you?” You cut him off and once again it was like you had no control over your tongue. Hurt was thrown into the already mess that your feelings were right then, and it was ugly. You shut your eyes, regretting your words immediately.

“Sorry. I’m having a bad day.”

He knew what that meant, you had said the same thing all those days ago when you had gotten all snappy at him. Whenever something was wrong, you tended to hide it under the fact that you were supposedly having a bad day. This time, however, he wasn’t going to let you go without figuring out exactly what was troubling you.

“You’re not fooling me with that,” he said firmly, “Something is bothering you. Tell me.”

This was why you didn’t want to have this conversation. Taeyong could always see right through you and dealing with this was not on your agenda for the day.

“Taeyong—”

“You can trust me, you know? I’m your best friend.” There was a hint of offense in his voice. He was sad that you seemed to not want to share what was causing your shitty mood, even though all he wanted to do was help. After all, that was what best friends did, was it not?

You narrowed your eyes at him, your anger overriding your affection. Scoffing, you asked, “Best friends? Is that what we are?”

He looked bewildered but answered assuredly, “Always.”

“Right, because best friends avoid and ignore each other,” You scowled, taking a step away from him. “You haven’t been a best friend in weeks, Taeyong, so don’t pretend that you suddenly are now.”

It was the way that guilt took over his features so damn quickly; you knew that you hadn’t said a truer thing ever before. For weeks you had been trying to convince yourself it wasn’t so, that you were just reading too much into things, but you hadn’t. He had been avoiding you, you had hit the nail right on the head.

“Y/n I— I didn’t mean to, I swear,” he said earnestly, those eyes of his going round and insistent.

You raised your hand to shut him up, which did the trick pretty effectively. Immediately, he clamped his mouth close and you looked at him sharply.

You asked, “I get that you have a girlfriend and all, but does that mean you forget about me?” “Please if you would just—” He was panicking slightly now because of the fact that he was realizing exactly how far he had taken things. The lies had created a mountain, one that blocked his view of you and how you were doing.

Pride comes before fall. The act as up, for he had been standing so tall on his metaphorical mountain, he forgot the person who helped bring him up there.

But he didn’t, he didn’t forget, which only made this worse. He did this to protect you- no, that was a lie. He did this to protect himself. Coward, chicken, scaredy-cat.

“And I understand that you’ll never love me as you love her,” you exhaled, your throat feeling as if it had been pricked by several needles all at once, a strained pain that seemed to refuse to leave. Your eyes were wet, and you refused to cry but fuck, you might just start.

“So fuck me for falling in love with you,” you said. “But the least you could have done is be there for me like the best friend you claim to be. Somewhere along the path of you falling for her, you forgot about me.”

Confessions were supposed to be sweet and gentle, something that caught you from the fall that was love. Yours was nothing of the sort, instead a horrid sharp punch to the gut as he stared in horror at what he had done.

You loved him?

“Y/n,” he whispered your name as if it was something fragile. If he said it too loud, you would have crumbled right then and there. Then again, you were doing that anyway, right in front of his eyes.

“I just want you back.”

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t even think to tell you how much he fucking loved you back, because all he felt was this overwhelming guilt. It was taking over him and he despised himself for being the reason you were like this. You were right, he had been the worst friend in the world to you.

‘I’m sorry’. The words taunted you and you almost laughed. ‘I’m sorry I was a shitty person. I’m sorry you fell in love with me.’

You sniffed, turning around on your heel and walking to the door, leaving the classroom without another word. You had nothing to say and wanted to leave before those tears made their way down your face and reminded you once again of what you would never have and never be.

You felt pathetic.

No one told you that there were repercussions for falling in love with your best friend. There really shouldn’t have been, but love was harsh. Love wasn’t like it was in the movies because you weren’t in one. Heartache was cruel and you were nowhere near prepared for the impact that it left on you, the hollow feeling you didn’t know how to fill.

From wingwoman to wreck, teaching Taeyong to fall in love and win the heart of another girl had never been a good idea, and you were insane to think so.

You were sorry too.

Taeyong didn’t have much love when it came to the romance department.

He said this for several reasons. The first was his terrible habit of tending to chicken out of situations often instead of owning up. The second was the fact that he had managed to fall in love with his best friend and break her heart all in the same breath.

The third was because somehow, he always went to the same person for advice.

Doyoung stared at his best friend, wondering how he always ended up being the therapist. Taeyong had showed up a few minutes ago, looking absolutely distraught and panicked, and although he had been pissed over his study time being interrupted, he knew he couldn’t just leave him there.

And so here he was, raising an eyebrow and prompting his friend to continue.

Taeyong sighed, feeling more like an idiot as time went on. The irony of him going to someone who had barely any experience in terms of dating for help was utterly ridiculous, but he kept finding himself in that position over and over again.

“I fucked up.”

Doyoung snorted. “You always do that.”

The former glared, “I’m serious. I fucked up so hard that I have no idea how to fix it.”

You were in love with him. He fucking apologized for pushing you away instead of saying it back like the absolute dumbass he was. He was in love with you too and he failed to tell you in time.

“Fine, fine,” Doyoung sighed, pushing away his textbooks when he realized his friend was serious. He had watched the two of you dance around each other for so long, what was a few more minutes of his life dedicated to it? Plus, he was admittedly a little invested in it now.

Yes, Kim Doyoung was potentially a whore for drama. And what about it?

Taeyong sucked in a deep breath and then started from the top. He told Doyoung the entire story, starting from that day so long ago at the library when he had dressed a little nicer than usual and used his good cologne just to impress you. He told him how you misunderstood his actions to such an extent that he ended up with you being his wingwoman.

He told him about how you helped him gather up the courage to ask this hypothetical girl out, and how you got him ready for the date. He was ready for the inevitable snickers around the part when he confessed that he sat alone in his car for two hours just to pretend he was at that date.

How he lied and ignored you and made every possible bad decision in the book along the way. You were right, after all, he really did need someone to guide him in the art of love, a wingwoman.

Preferably one that wasn’t you.

Once he was done, Doyoung was looking at him like he had grown another head. He probably deserved that, if he was going, to be honest with himself.

“You’re stupider than I thought.”

“I didn’t come here to be verbally abused, I came here for assistance.”

“You’ll get your assistance but first I have to remind you of how absolutely idiotic you’ve been,” Doyoung deadpanned, leaning back in his seat. “You apologized? I mean, at least you have your manners down.”

Taeyong groaned, burying his face in his hands. Just because he knew this was called for didn’t mean that he liked it any better. He waited for a moment for the other boy to continue, but nothing came.

“How do I fix this?”

……And now Doyoung was looking at him like he was a maniac. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.”

“You seriously don’t know how to fix it?” He asked incredulously. “Why do I hang out with you again?”

“I swear to god-”

“You have a pretty face but your head is empty,” Doyoung grumbled, getting up from his seat and turning it around so he could sit on it backward, properly facing his obviously challenged friend. “You have to tell her the truth.”

Taeyong paused, remembering how much you disliked lying. Doyoung was right once again (unfortunately), the best thing to do was to come clean about everything that had happened, even if it ended with you hating him even more than you did currently.

So that meant he had everything to lose, but also everything to gain if things went right. He had to bet on it swerving the right way.

Begrudgingly, he admitted. “You’re right.”

“Hah, I always am.”

Your love for Taylor Swift was something you made sure Taeyong knew from the very start, where that was him having to listen to all your borderline insane theories over the next album she was going to release, or the songs that somehow were connected. He sat through them every time, not really paying attention to the content of your words, but more so to how your eyes sparkled with excitement over something you were truly passionate about.

Turning to Doyoung for help when it came to his love life was bad, so turning to songs written by an eleven-time Grammy award winner was a significant step up.

Stand there like a ghost Shaking from the rain, rain She'll open up the door And say, are you insane, -ane?

It wasn’t raining- thankfully- so he had to settle for an apology that was a little less dramatic. He was pretty sure he knew what he was doing for once, so all he had to do was actually go through with it.

He rang your doorbell twice in succession, which was a habit of his. He was the only person who did it like that, so the moment you heard it from where you were sitting in your bedroom (and sulking), you knew that it was Taeyong waiting out there for you. You cautiously swung your legs over the side of your bed and padded to the door, hesitating for a second before opening it.

You didn’t say anything when you first saw him standing there, instead, you silently held his gaze, gripping the side of the door. Taeyong gave you a crooked smile.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m insane?”

You frowned, “I don’t follow.”

He shrugged before sobering up and biting the inside of his cheek. He knew you better than anyone did, down to your littlest habits that you didn’t know you did yourself. He could see the hurt in your eyes that you had disguised as indifference and apathy, and he was somewhat comforted by it. It meant you loved him just as he loved you.

Say it's been a long six months And you were too afraid to tell her what you want, want

“The song said you would,” he said, hoping to at least crack a chuckle out of you, “Fine, I’ll continue and tell you why I’m here.” He shut his eyes for a moment and gathered his wits. “I would say it’s been a long six months but I saw you a week ago so.”

As if something had clicked in your mind, you gave him a look that was a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. “Shut up,” Your breathed out, unbelieving that he was actually doing this, “you’re not seriously—”

And then you say—

“I lied to you. A lot.”

So maybe he was thwarted from the original lyrics, but it had to be done. The moment he said those first few words, he could feel the weight of it all roll off his shoulders. He should have never lied in the first place because you were his best friend and you didn’t deserve that at all.

He was going to make this right. He was going to get his girl.

You blinked slowly to silently tell him to continue with whatever he had to say. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do anyway, and you were admittedly now intrigued to see where this was going.

“And I know you hate lying, but I promise it’ll all make sense.” Taeyong was nervous because as he had mentioned earlier, he had never thought about asking you our or every properly telling you how he felt. There were always a million excuses he fell back on to justify this decision, but for once everything depended on him putting those aside and doing it anyways.

“Do you remember the day at the library?”

You nodded because how could you forget? “You were trying to impress your girlfriend.” The word ‘girlfriend’ was said bitterly, you didn’t even try to hide it anymore. It wasn’t like you had to anyway, you had already outed yourself to his face.

He shook his head, “No, I was trying to impress you.”

And now you were confused and it was apparent on your face from the way your brow knitted and your lips turned downwards into a baffled pout. “I’m sorry?”

“Y/n,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. It was barely loud enough, but due to the silence of the hallway outside your apartment and your own anticipation, you heard it. The way he said your name made you almost flinch, but his next words had the wind knocked out of your lungs.

“I love you too.”

Too, because he hadn’t responded to your own proclamation before. Too, because he returned those very feelings that you had harboured for so long towards the boy. Too, because your affections weren’t in lonesome, and too, because it was an assurance.

I love you too, and the world stopped just for a minute as you sucked in a breath, your heart beating faster as if reminding you to breathe. Could he perhaps hear the way it hammered against your chest?

“You love me,” You repeated his words in a whisper as if you couldn’t believe it. “Taeyong I don’t think—”

“Stop thinking then,” He said quickly, looking down at his shoes. “I lied because I was scared. I was scared that you wouldn’t see me the same way and then I just kept letting that lie get bigger and bigger. There isn’t another girl, there never was, because the girl I wanted the entire time was you. For fucks sake I faked going on a date! Do you know how boring it is to do nothing for two hours in your car?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your throat, tears springing to your eyes. The information was overwhelming for you had never even considered this happening. You had settled firmly into your role as the best friend, the wingwoman, so much so that you had forgotten if there was anything after that. Your feelings had piled up so high that you couldn’t see what was behind them.

His own lips curled into the most affectionate of smiles at your laugh as he took a step closer to you. He reached out, hesitantly cupping your face with one hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone gently. You leaned into his touch, placing your own hand over his.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah, Doyoung said that too.”

More laughter, your eyes turned into little crescents of joy at the mention of your shared friend. Taeyong studied your face, picking up on the little things he loved so much about you.

“I love you Y/n, and I love you because you’re the one who I want to go with to the grocery store in the middle of the night, the one I want to call when something happens. I love seeing your caller ID on my phone, and the fact that you stayed with me to build that stupid set of lego flowers that still sits on my chest-of-drawers back home.”

His eyes- those eyes you adored so much- looked at you with so much emotion. You were positively enchanted by your best friend, as you had always been, and you were sure you always would be.

“I love when you show up at my place unannounced or drag me along to cook with you even though I end up doing most of the cooking because you suck at it. I love it when you call me at the worst hours possible and the look on your face when I show up.”

He dipped his head down a little, an infuriating little simper on his lips. “I love your smiles and your frowns, Y/n, because I love you.”

You thought you were going to start crying, because fuck, he was talking about you the way you had always wanted to be talked about. In that fond tone of voice where anyone could see how much he truly cared, he was using it for you. No matter how many times you had imagined that happening, nothing could ever beat the real thing.

“Stop it,” You choked out, hitting his arm, “You’re going to make me cry, you dumbass.” But you were smiling, blinking away the happy tears that were threatening to spill. “ Since you love my frowns so much, you’re forcing me to say this with the most unpleasant face I can muster up right now, but I love you too Taeyong, I have for an embarrassingly long time”

Your glower didn’t last very long, however, because you were too busy blinking rapidly to stop yourself from crying. It felt amazing to be able to say those words to him and have him say them back to you in the way you had always wanted. As something more.

He let out an offended sound. “Embarrassingly? I just poured my heart out to you and you classify it as embarrassing I-”

You quickly shut him up by pulling him forward and pressing your lips to his, which did the trick pretty quickly. He kissed you back, his arms falling to your waist as he pulled you in even more until your body was flush against his. You smiled into the kiss, not caring that you were still standing in your doorway.

There were no fireworks like they said in books and movies, no cheers in the background or music. Instead, you were hyperaware of the way his fingers drew dizzying circles on the exposed skin of your hips from how your shirt rid up and how his mouth moved against yours.

You memorised every second of your first kiss with your best friend, eyes fluttered shut and holy shit, you never knew a kiss could ever make your eyes flutter, but this one did.

The kiss was delicate, you slipped your arms around his neck and your fingers entangled in his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His lips were soft and cautious almost- he didn’t want to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

You thought you fell just a little bit more in love with him.

Pulling away, you rested your forehead against his, eyes still screwed shut like you believed that it would all disappear if you opened them. A fever dream that you wanted so badly that you couldn’t bear the thought of it being ripped away from you. This time you clung onto it, holding it tight and you would never let it go.

You could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your mouth, something that you never wanted to forget. You let your hands slip from their position in his hair and down to his neck, trying your best to not giggle like a giddy schoolgirl.

It was by no means your first kiss, but the fact that it was with Taeyong, someone you truly loved, and not a random boy you had had a mild crush on made all the difference. He had kissed you like you were the only girl in the world, the only girl he ever wanted.

“So….do you wanna let me inside or do you wanna continue making out here in the cold hallway?”

“Fuck,” you muttered, a flush rising to your cheeks as you took a step away, having to bite down on your lower lip to stop your smile from showing. “Can we continue making out inside?”

He laughed, “Yes we can.” He was already pulling you back in after shutting the door, and you grinned, looking up at him. The boy had listened to Taylor Swift for you and loved you back, everything was perfect.

You just had one question though.

“Can we circle back to the fact that you faked going on a date or—”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

Your boyfriend threw you a scandalized look at that statement, shaking his head as he took a few more steps. You were (surprisingly) not too far behind him, a grimace seemingly permanently etched into your face as you glared at him.

“Oh come on,” Taeyong protested, stopping where he was and helping you catch up to him. “It isn’t that bad.”

“You woke me up at four a.m for this! The sun is still asleep.” And it was because the sky was still a deep purple colour at five a.m. You were close to destroying all his chances of having offspring in the future.

“That’s…..that’s why it’s called a sunrise hike genius, you’re supposed to finish the hike to see the sun come out.” He deadpanned, a droll expression on his face at your whining. You knew he didn’t really mind it and was simply amused.

“If the sun isn’t awake, we shouldn’t be either.”

“What, are you a plant or something? Do you need photosynthesis?”

There were boyfriends that let their girlfriends sleep in on days off, and then there was Taeyong who practically dragged you out of bed to go on a stupid hike. For someone who constantly told you how fucked up your sleep schedule was, he wasn’t really helping fix it, now was he? Hypocrite - a cute one- but a hypocrite nonetheless.

“I’m trying to be romantic and this is how you act?” He asked, an infuriatingly adorable pout resting on his lips. You had to pinch your lips to stop yourself from smiling because if you did, he would never let you live it down.

“Taeyong, I love you, but nothing is romantic before ten.”

He simply rolled his eyes, reaching out to take your hand and help you climb up a jagged bit of the trail. You stumbled slightly and he slipped his arm around your waist to steady you so you wouldn’t fall flat on your face, making sure you found your footing. You mumbled thanks under your breath, shaking your hair out of your face and dusting your pants.

“Come on,” He said, squeezing your hand, “We’re almost there anyway. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You would never understand how he thought this was relaxing or romantic in the slightest because you were already tired and your hair was sticking to your forehead due to it being weirdly hot that morning.

The things you did for this boy. You silently scoffed at yourself as you followed him, this time managing to stay in step and not fall too behind. You didn’t even have any caffeine in your system right now and he knew how much you needed your daily fix of it. The fact that he had managed to get you out here without that was a miracle in itself.

The two of you had made it official a few days after he told you that he loved you back, much to Doyoungs relief more than surprise. He had been tired of being subjected to your mutual obliviousness and was probably the first and biggest supporter of the relationship, but not without pointing out how much of a third wheel he had always been.

Taeyong was an amazing boyfriend, even when he made you wake up much too early for your liking. Being with him was incredibly natural and the two of you worked perfectly together as if it had been made to be that way all along.

The sky was now a lighter colour, indicating that the sun was rising. The trail was almost finished, and Taeyong stopped where he was, a small smile making its way onto his face as he looked out at the view.

“We’re here,” He whispered, and you joined him, sucking in a breath- one, because you needed it from all the hiking and two, because god.

It was fucking gorgeous. He had been right, it really was worth the getting up early and taking the hike just to see how the sunrays filtered through the sky and spilled out over the city below, painting the sky with oranges and pink hues that blended into the blue.

“I…wow,” You couldn’t find the words to describe the beauty of the scene, forgetting all about your contempt over being awoken so early.

“Told you so,” he quipped, and you elbowed him, letting out an unamused laugh, turning to face him properly. Maybe it was more than the view that had you feeling the way you did right then like you were on top of the world. Maybe it was Taeyong right by your side, hand in hand with you. The glow of the sun just about flickered through his hair, giving him a gentle halo.

“You….were right,” you admitted finally, letting him wrap you in a hug and pull you closer. “And you know what? I’ll give it to you, this is pretty romantic. Even if you did make me exercise at five in the morning.”

He pushed some of your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. “Was that so hard to say?”

“Extremely. I’m never doing that again.” And with that, you pressed your lips to his for a short, sweet kiss underneath the rising sun atop the trail of the hike. Breaking away, you buried your head in the crook of his head, and the two of you stayed like that for a bit, basking in each other’s comforting silence.

Taeyong quite liked the outcome of the mess he made, somehow everything had worked out, and he promised himself he would never do something that stupid again. He would never let you go.

“Hey, Taeyong?”

“Yeah?”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation from you. “I love you.”

He would never, ever get tired of hearing that. The two of you had come a lot way, from a girl latching onto a boy because he was the only person she recognized, to both of you being everything to each other.

“I love you too.”

And that’s how it works, Taeyong thought, that’s how you get the girl.

fin.

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