Scent Of You, (18+)
♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin
♡ Genre: little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, dubcon
♡ Word Count: 7.8k (oops)
♡ Summary: In which a sweet, naive bunny hybrid nicknamed 'little red' becomes lost in the forest at night, and finds herself face to face with the big, bad wolves her grandmother always warned her about.
♡ Warnings: uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration before it devolves into smut, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There lol
♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): dubcon (but the smut itself isn't very rough), pet names (though mostly as a title- such as bunny, little red, and sweetheart), the word slut is used a few times, gendered language such as "dirty girl", a lot of kissing, size difference, size kink (i'm sorry if you're tall just pretend ur small and they're huge because ur a rabbit and they're a wolf fsdgsdf), oral (m + f rec), some manhandling, some banter and mild rivalry between bin and chan, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms and multiple creampies
♡ Notes: so i intended to take a small break from writing after finishing crave but inspo struck me as i was trying to fall asleep and i NEEDED to write it so i literally shot up and wrote all of this in one sitting in a cold sweat fsdgdsf so here we are, one last surprise upload before my break <3 it's easily the most self indulgent fic i've written to date dfdgh bunny is my fave petname and this is basically just my excuse to be called bunny in a wolf binchan sandwich lmao this is not as proofread as my other stuff given how quickly i wrote it, and it's my first time writing a threesome, but i hope you enjoy! edit: there is now a sequel you can read here !
♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.
"Please, take care sweetheart. Don't stay out too long," your grandmother warns with a tender kiss to your forehead as you prepare to head out for the day, pulling the hood of your long, red cape up over your head, tucking in your hair and covering your lopped ears. "I know, grandmother, I know! I'll be back before you know it, I promise," you assure her with a smile, hooking your twine basket into your arm, empty and ready to be filled with treats of the forest.
Your grandmother heaves a soft sigh, as she falls back against the bed, and you give her hand a reassuring squeeze and a soft goodbye before you make your way out of your quaint cottage, a long line of intimidating, tall standing trees before you. Grandmother always worries for your safety, as the woods aren't entirely safe for a rabbit like yourself, but so long as the sun hangs bright in the sky, you'd be perfectly fine.
As grandmother has warned you countless times, it's only at night that the woods near your home become truly dangerous, as all manner of nocturnal predators leave their dens in search of their next meal. For a rabbit such as yourself, lingering in the woods at night is assuredly a death sentence; your diminutive stature and weak limbs would cause you to easily fall victim to the beasts that stalk through the forest with the moon's aid.
The only thing on your side would be your speed, but even then it's no guarantee of safety once a predator has you in their sights; and so your grandmother always instilled a proper fear of the dark within you, in the hope that you'd never find yourself in a situation in which you'd have to flee in the first place. Entering the forest brings with it countless anxieties for your species, but it's not like you can simply not go- the gifts of nature are what sustains you, and you have to enter the woods, even live near them, if you want to have food in your tummy and herbal medicines on your shelves.
As such, you are always very conscious of the amount of time you spend in the forest, only ever entering when the sun is brightly illuminating your surroundings, always careful and alert as you gather what you need. You observe the sun's position in the sky, use it to determine how much time you have left before it begins to set, always heading back well before it starts to sink behind the trees. And you'd never stay longer than necessary, especially not when you have grandmother waiting at home praying for your safe return!
But well.. grandmother is quite ill these days, and you spent more time than you usually would gathering the berries and leaves you’ll need to make her sweet, healing brews of tea. Soon enough, winter's chill would cause all the greenery to frost and wither, and you wanted to stock up now to ensure you had enough to last 'til the end of the season. It was for grandmother's health! Surely she'd understand and forgive you if you stayed out just a little longer than usual.
But as dusk started to settle over the trees, and you realized how precious few moments of sunlight you had left to make it home with, panic began to accumulate in the pit of your stomach. You tried your best to take deep breaths, to not allow your heart to race- as long as you remained calm, you could get back before dark, you were sure of it.
The more the sun sank however, the more you lost your clarity; you found yourself stumbling in circles, the encroaching dark causing the forest to become unrecognizable, leading you blindly in circles. You'd long since lost sight of the path you always followed home, and the moon and stars, which were normally such a beautiful sight, now came with a sense of foreboding. It was dark, you were lost, and grandmother was now all alone, probably worrying herself half to death wondering where you could be and if you're even still alive.
You continue blindly weaving your way through the trees, just praying that you're moving in the direction of home; you can't afford to hide away and wait until morning, not when a beast could be around any corner. Using your speed to your advantage, you dart past a near endless sea of trees, praying, praying, and praying the clearing will come into view and you’ll see your cottage in the middle, with orange light from the fire peeking through the windows and smoke billowing from the chimney.
Suddenly you stop, entire body freezing as your hair stands on end, nose twitching as an unfamiliar scent fills your nostrils; someone is near- someone that you should avoid at all costs. It’s so heavy, overwhelming beyond comprehension- the scent of the forest itself is still identifiable, but mixed now with something akin to leather, black coffee, and hot iron. The scent is actually quite pleasant, so that's not what causes you to freeze; it’s the unfamiliarity that is the true root of the problem, evoking a deep rooted, innate fear response.
You know all the “safe” smells- that of other prey animals such as yourself, for instance, are recognizable, comforting, and bring about a sense of calm. To be met with the unfamiliar is to be met with danger; it means that whatever is near is something you’ve never encountered during your safe treks through the forest, it means that a predator likely has you in their sights, because as grandmother has told you, if you smell them it’s already too late- they’ve found you.
“Now, now, what do we have here?” A deep voice calls, hidden from your sight. Your heart erupts in an erratic rhythm, a chill running down your spine as your eyes desperately search the darkness for the source of the voice. And there, you finally see it- or rather, him. A man, standing much, much taller and bulkier than you, sharp fangs exposed with his smile, fangs that you are sure will be used to rip you apart.
You see pointed ears and dusky blue-silver fur, a long tail that swishes with intrigue and delight, a fur coat with the arms cut off, an exposed chest laden with scars both fresh and faded. He’s a wolf, you realize with dread, the thing you were taught to fear most of all. You unconsciously take a step back as he approaches, the moonlight illuminating him in a way that evokes both fear and reverence; as beautiful as he is dangerous. “What’s a little thing like you doing in the forest at night, hmm? Don’t you know it isn’t safe, little red?” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile, referencing the caped hood you’re wearing, a gift from your grandmother meant to keep you safe from men like him.
You clutch your basket tighter as your legs begin to tremble, lowering your head and pulling your hood down further, trying your best to ensure your ears and other features are completely covered. He probably knows by smell alone you’re a prey animal, but you vainly hope he’ll let you go if he doesn’t realize you’re a rabbit- a stupid hope, but it’s the only one you have. “Poor thing, don’t be scared. You got lost, didn’t you, little red?” With each step towards you he takes, you take another step back, until your back meets that of a thick tree, the erratic rhythm of your heart building to a speed you thought otherwise impossible.
“Tell me- where did you come from?” The wolf asks with an intimidating smile full of fang, “I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it I’ve smelled you before..?” With nowhere to go, caged against the tree as the wolf closes in, all you can do is tremble as you watch him sniff the air, licking his lips as if tasting your scent. Most prey animals are generally the same, but there’s only one place he’s gotten the scent of sugar and cream from..
“Ah, I know,” he says suddenly, smile growing wider as he speaks, “That little cottage in the clearing- that’s it, isn’t it? That’s your home?” You swallow as you timidly nod, your nerves much too frayed to attempt to lie- you’ve never been a good liar anyways, your grandmother having raised you to be honest and good. “You’re quite far from home, little red. But I can help you,” he offers, but you know better than to trust a wolf- they’re liars, all of them.
“N-No, I.. I can get there by myself,” you say, finally finding your voice (shaky and timid though it may be.) The man hums, seemingly amused by your brave display; he knows how scared you are, can quite literally taste it, but he has to commend you for trying, at least. “I’m not sure that’s true. Do you know which way home is?”
“W-Well, uhm, I.. I- I, I don’t-” you stutter and fumble, and he chuckles, a smug look of “thought-so” clear on his face as he grins at you. His hand finds your cheek, and you look up at him with glassy, teary eyes, heart thumping out of control as he strokes your skin with his thumb. He smiles sweetly, almost boyishly- a look that would be endearing if he wasn’t a wolf, and you weren’t afraid for your life.
His clawed hand travels from your cheek to the top of your hood, and you quickly reach your hands up to clutch the fabric, keeping it fully tugged down in a vain attempt to continue to hide your identity. The wolf laughs, clearly amused at your reaction. “Come now, little red, show me what sort of ears you’re hiding under there,” he coos and you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut and knuckles turning white as you desperately cling to your hood.
At this point it probably no longer matters what you are exactly- no matter the answer, it’s clear the wolf before your eyes has plans for you that won’t go unfulfilled. But still, your survival instincts are in overdrive, and you can’t help but try your best to protect yourself, even if the endeavor proves to be worthless. He tugs at your hood, not yet trying to fully pull it off, but rather playing with you- he could easily pull it off in one quick swipe, his claws could tear the fabric to ribbons, but he chooses to instead have his fun, watch you panic and struggle with the hood in your tiny hands.
You look at him, unfallen tears blurring your vision; you don’t know what else to do. Grandmother always said if you found yourself cornered by wolves, your only option would be to run and pray for the best, but is that really the best you can do? And while you’re fast, wolves are faster- you’re sure the man would be able to catch up with you easily, especially given that the moon is his ally and he is likely extremely familiar with the deep woods.
Further still, he clearly stated he knows your home; even if you escape, he knows exactly where to go to find you. It fills you with dread, knowing that even if you do make it home, your grandmother would be there too; and you’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her because of you. It’s an impossible choice you are being dealt- surrender to your fate now, or try your best to flee and risk dragging your precious grandmother down with you.
But as he finally tugs down your hood, your white, snow-like lopped ears are fully exposed, and the wolf’s fangs shine as he gleefully smiles, you find yourself unconsciously making a choice- you run, as fast as your legs will carry you. The cape gets caught and snags on stray branches from the myriad trees, tearing as you continue to run, adrenaline coursing through your veins, chest aching from the erratic, forcefully thumping of your heart, breath coming out quick and harsh.
You barely make it 10 feet ahead through the trees before you’re crashing into something, the sudden impact causing you to let out an involuntary shout as you stumble back and fall ungracefully on your backside. Looking up, tears fall from your eyes when you realize it’s another wolf- shorter than the one who’d cornered you previously, but bulkier, with fur as dark as obsidian and a scent that matches it. You suspect that he was there the entire time, and you just didn’t notice due to the panicked focus you held on getting away from the blue-silver wolf.
“Where do you think you're going, little red?” the new wolf speaks, affirming your fears; he was there for the entire exchange, witness to the moniker you’d been given and now using it for himself. “Oh Changbin, you caught her,” you hear the previous wolf say from somewhere behind you, leaves and twigs snapping beneath his feet as he approaches your spot on the ground. “Course,” the dark wolf evidently named Changbin speaks, kneeling down to look directly in your teary eyes, “I’d never let such a sweet little thing get away from us.”
He reaches to the side of your body, where your twine basket has fallen from your arms and spilled its contents, all the berries and leaves you gathered now decorating the dirt. “Hmm, most of these are herbal. What a sweet granddaughter you are, gathering until late into the night! Your grandmother must be proud of you, hmm?” Changbin smiles, looking up to the previous wolf once he stands again, your basket in his hands, “Don’t you think so, Chan-hyung?”
The blue-silver wolf, that the dark wolf calls Chan, hums in agreement, once again calling you a “sweet thing.” Chan offers you a hand to help you stand, and you hesitate, swallowing as your eyes dart nervously between them. Their eyes on you make you nervous beyond just the predator-prey relationship you share; they’re both so impossibly ethereal in the light of the moon, and it makes you wonder if all wolves are such divine creatures.
Maybe that’s why the rest of the forest view them reverently; beautiful, powerful, utterly intimidating in all aspects- they offer no choice from a rabbit such as yourself but submission simply from presence alone. “What’s your name, little red?” is Chan’s next question, and again, you find yourself unable to lie; against your own sense of self-preservation, you tell him your name. And he hums, repeating your name as if testing the way it falls from his tongue before diverting back to his nickname for you.
“Let’s make a deal, little red,” the wolf says, still holding out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You finally do so cautiously, letting Chan help you to your feet, your legs still trembling but not yet buckling in the face of fear. “W-What kind of deal?” you ask hesitantly, looking between the two wolves who smile and lick their lips, tongues ghosting over their fangs as they do. Beautiful, powerful, intimidating, your mind repeats.
“We want to play with you,” Chan says smoothly, the answer coming natural to him, “play with us for a little while, and then we’ll take you home. We promise.” You look at the other, younger wolf who nods, backing the sentiment of his superior. Here you are, confronted in the deepest reaches of the forest by two wolves, and instead of devouring you they just want to “play”..? What does playing entail with them?
You’re not sure how much you truly want to know, but the promise of home dangling in front of you makes you consider their offer despite how foolish it may be. “You’re not.. tricking me, are you?” you ask, voice small, full of naivety and hope. “Of course not, sweetheart, we would never,” Changbin affirms, even going so far as to pick up the spilled contents of your basket and nestle them carefully back inside- a promise that by the time you’re done “playing”, you’ll be reunited with your sickly grandmother and able to care for her again.
“You just smell so sweet,” Chan says, his clawed fingers once again tracing over your cheek, “and we’ve always wanted to play with a sweet little bunny like you.” You nervously exhale the breath you unconsciously held when his hand traced your skin, searching his eyes for any sort of deceit. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely confident in your ability to tell if the wolves are lying to you- they’re masters of manipulation, after all; lying is second nature to them.
Still, you want to trust them- trust that after you play with them for a little while, they’ll keep their promise of taking you home with your basket in your arms and everything you need to get through the winter. “If you really promise, then.. I’ll play with you,” you answer, and the wolves both smile eagerly, with the elder wolf taking you in his arms, swiftly lifting you up off your feet. You squeak in surprise, instinctively clutching tightly to his fur coat, scared of being dropped.
“Let’s go have some fun then,” Chan grins at you, making sure his hold on you is secure before he starts to move, “but not here. The floor here’s too dirty for you, isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question in which he expects no answer; instead he starts winding through the trees quickly, a destination clearly in mind. You vaguely see the other wolf trailing behind before you squeeze your eyes shut, the blur of trees and wind whipping through your hair and past your ears making you dizzy as you’re carried further and further into the forest, likely towards its center.
It takes you a few moments to open your eyes once you’ve realized you’re no longer moving at high speeds; Chan, who still has you in his arms, is now walking at a leisurely place through what you assume is his den. The smell of other wolves is distinct but distant- evidently, the three of you are the only ones home for the night. It makes you breathe a small sigh of relief to know the rest of his pack is absent, attending to their own matters. It makes you feel safer, somehow; as if you’re not literally inside a wolf's den, at the mercy of whatever it is the two before you want with you.
Eventually you are carried into a bedroom- one that smells more of Chan than the other wolf, which leads you to believe this is his room specifically. Changbin doesn’t seem to mind that the “playing” will take place here, a smile still clear on his face as he shuts the door behind himself, locking the door behind him as Chan sets you on his rather large bed.
Your ears lie flat against your head, your nerves eating away at you as you fiddle with your hands. You watch them both carefully, taking note of where Changbin sets down your basket before he meets you and Chan at the bed. The two of them standing over you makes you feel impossibly small, affirms how much better they are than you in every evolutionary aspect; speed, strength, size- they have it all. And you, one measly little rabbit with no significant qualities in comparison to them, who has no choice but to put her life in their hands if she wants to survive. How unfair.
“Tell me, little red,” Chan starts as he sits next to you on his bed, one large hand enough to cup your entire face and direct your complete attention towards him, “are bunnies as slutty as they say?” Your eyes widen as you gulp in shock, having not expected such a forward, explicit question. “Yeah, I’m curious,” Changbin follows up, sitting firmly on your other side, caging you in between the both of them, “they don’t say ‘fucking like rabbits’ for no reason, right? So what are you? A slut?”
“I-I’m not!” you sputter out; it’s true that rabbits have a reputation for promiscuity but you live a rather sheltered life with your grandmother- you hardly even know other rabbits your age, much less male rabbits. That being said, you have been a little.. let's say intense during your heats- but you rode those out with toys, not with the help of men. And you don’t think there’s any shame in promiscuity, but that’s simply not the life you lead; you live modestly, simply taking care of your grandmother to the best of your ability. You barely even have time to masturbate these days- fucking is entirely out of the realm of possibility, as busy as you are.
“But you’ve taken cock before?” Changbin asks from behind you rather shamelessly, and Chan looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer with a cocked brow. “W-Well, yes, but-” you start and Chan is smiling again, another happy hum leaving his lips. ..Does your virginity status really matter here..? Your eyes widen again when the reality of what you’ve agreed to clicks, and Chan chuckles at your delayed reaction. “You’re not very smart, are you, bunny? But that’s okay- you don’t need to be smart to have fun, isn’t that right?”
Changbin is the next to speak, his hot breath coming out against your ear, his hands tracing your hips, “Mhm, sweet, dumb bunnies are cute, don’t you think? I bet they have lots of fun,” It’s vaguely condescending, how they speak of you- sweet and dumb, as if your intelligence pales next to theirs, as if you are an object designed for their pleasure and no other. And somehow, it adds to the tremble in your legs, your breath hitching when Chan squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and thumb, forcing your mouth to open.
You overtly whine, the wolf’s obscenely long tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring with another eager hum, his fangs catching on your lip with each kiss. As he kisses you, his fingers tug at the knot of your caped hood, leaving the task of discarding it to the other wolf once the knot is undone. Goosebumps once again rise on your skin, with Changbin kissing and licking your neck after your cape has been tossed aside, deeply inhaling your scent as Chan continues to abuse your lips with his tongue and teeth.
“Chan-hyung wasn’t kidding when he said you smell so sweet,” he whispers against your skin as he continues to trail his kisses down towards your shoulder, “it’s intoxicating.” It’s shameless and almost embarrassing, the way arousal pools in your underwear despite all preconceived notions of how a rabbit should behave in the face of a predatory animal; but the more they kiss and lick, the more fear ebbs away, and becomes replaced by pleasure and yearning. It’s been so long since you last felt the touch of someone else, having been stricken to solitary heats since becoming your grandmother’s carer. It almost humiliates you to admit how good their touch feels on your burning skin.
They can quite literally feel your body release its tension, Changbin’s strong arms being the ones to hold you up as you melt, and the smell of your leaking arousal obviously doesn’t go undetected by either of their noses. Chan pulls away from your lips, a smirk visible on his features when you open your eyes to look at him. “What a dirty girl you are, excited already,” he says, another whine escaping you not only from his words, but from the feeling of Changbin’s teeth grazing your neck.
Chan, who could quite easily rip your dress from your body, instead opts to tug the fabric away much more carefully than you’d have anticipated- perhaps they really mean to return you home after this? Changbin, whose torso was substantially more covered than his elder’s, removes his top, leaving you to feel his bare, muscular chest against your now exposed back. He wastes no time in latching back to your neck, licking, sucking, teeth grazing the skin, but not biting down- whether to spare you the shame of returning home with the clear mark of a predator, or because he doesn’t have permission from lead of the pack however, is unclear.
Your breasts, which you’ve always considered quite full, despite your diminutive frame, easily fit within Chan’s large palms. Their ability to not only make you feel, but look small leaves you dizzy. You should be afraid of how they eclipse your frame with their size, but instead you find it exciting, your brain unraveling everything you’ve been taught about self-preservation in favor of experiencing utmost pleasure from two hulking wolves.
Shame, it seems, has entirely left you, as slick leaks from you easily, drenching your underwear with each touch from their rough hands. Chan’s fingers play with your sensitive nipples, pulling and tugging until you’re writhing against Changbin’s body, who has his own hands tracing your hips and thighs, pressing lingering kisses to any patch of skin he can reach. Chan lowers himself to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it as his hand continues to play with the other.
Meanwhile, Changbin’s hand slinks around, brushing over your stomach before his hand dips between your legs, rubbing your heat over your soaked underwear. “Fuck, this messy for us already? You have to feel her, hyung, touch her pussy,” Changbin speaking such filthy words right next to your ear makes you shudder, a whimper leaving from deep in your throat when Chan obliges, his hand quick to replace the younger wolf’s. Instead of touching you over your clothes however, he opts to completely tear them from your body, in stark contrast to how he treated your dress- you suppose the underwear is less important to remain intact, or maybe he just can’t help it after having gotten this far?
“Oh, look at that Binnie, you’re right,” Chan grins as his fingers rub along your folds, spreading the slick around to create even more of a mess between your legs, “You’re such a dirty bunny underneath, hmm?” Your face burns red, another whine escaping as shame finally returns to you, your hands reaching to cover your face. The pair of them coo, finding the display cute, whilst simultaneously making their cocks throb- what a treat, to have found a bunny that is both incredibly sweet and effortlessly sexy all at once.
Chan pushes Changbin’s hands away from your body, and quickly turns you around. Your back is now against Chan, and he hooks your legs over his knees, spreading you open for the younger wolf to see. “Let’s give Binnie a look at your dripping pussy, don’t you think he deserves it after being so sweet to you?” More slick dribbles its way out of you, soaking the mattress beneath, a treat for Changbin’s eager eyes.
Peeking between your fingers, you see his dark tail swishing behind him in delight, very clearly excited by the sight he’s met with. “Can I taste her, hyung? I want to so bad,” he asks, licking his lips, his eager, sparkling eyes not leaving you for even a second. “Mm, what do you think, little red? Should we let him have a taste?” Chan asks, and though you can’t see him anymore, you can practically hear the smile in his voice- playful and fun.
You nod quickly, though Chan doesn’t seem content with that response- he tsks, once again grabbing your face and twisting your neck to look at him. “You gotta use your words, sweetheart, you understand?” You start to nod again, but then quickly follow up with a small “yes”, to which the wolf smiles, and diverts your gaze back to Changbin, forcing you to hold the darker wolf’s gaze. “Good bunny, go ahead and tell him, then. Tell him you want him to eat you.”
He can feel your face burn beneath his fingers, and though you can’t see it you’re sure there’s a smug smile gracing his perfect face as he waits for you to properly address Changbin. “I-I.. I want you to eat me, please,” you force yourself to mumble out, not missing the way Changbin’s cock throbs in his torn shorts. With one last lick of his lips, he’s diving between your thighs, looking up at you with a grin, “I’ll devour you, sweetheart.”
You gasp when his tongue licks between your folds, a loud moan unintentionally falling from your lips as he eagerly laps away at you. You can’t help but squirm in Chan’s hold, his legs continuing to hold yours open and preventing them from closing around Changbin’s head. Changbin moans as he licks and sucks on your clit, as if the act is more pleasurable for him than you; and eventually he alternates between giving his undivided attention to your clit, to sliding his tongue as deep into your hole as it’ll go, letting his nose bump your clit instead.
Chan’s erection digs into your back, sometimes groaning when your squirming and twitching causes friction; but he’s not content to just sit behind you and watch- he wants to add to the fun. So his hands come up to the soft base of your ears, expecting it to be as erogenous of a zone for you as it is for them- and by your reaction, he can tell it is. Your head falls back against him, and he can just catch a glimpse of your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open as more moans and desperate whimpers leave you.
“You getting close, sweet bunny? You wanna cum?” Chan asks, grinning when you once again quickly nod your head, a near endless stream of whimpery moans leaving you as your high approaches. “Answer properly,” he reminds you, though his tone isn’t as strict as before- it’s almost playful, amused; he’s having fun. “W-Wanna cum, please, please let- hah- please let me cum,” you beg between harsh breaths, your entire body feeling like a wire on the verge of snapping.
“You heard her Bin, make her cum,” you hear Chan say as he becomes harsher with your ears, his calloused fingers now rubbing in rough circles. Your entire body jolts and convulses as the wire finally snaps, cry after cry of white pleasure spilling from your lips as you release on Changbin’s waiting tongue. He hums as he licks up all you offer him, not separating himself from his spot between your legs until he’s sure he’s got it all and you’re shuddering from the overstimulation.
Changbin takes your face in his hands, pulling you just slightly away from Chan as he drags you into a kiss, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. Your taste is all over his tongue, his mouth stealing away all the breath you’ve just barely managed to breathe into your lungs after the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes are hazy when he pulls away, fogged over by lust and needs for the wolves you are sandwiched between.
You just barely register Changbin looking past you to Chan, as if asking what to do next; though the exchange is silent, it seems like Changbin knows exactly where to go from here after receiving a certain look- have they done this before, you wonder? Changbin scoots back just a bit before grabbing your legs, unhooking them from Chan’s knees before he’s pulling you down, closer to him. You gasp, your head falling straight onto Chan’s lap- well, more accurately, to one of his thighs, before he’s closing his legs to act as a pillow for you.
His cock, though still obscured by the fabric of his shorts, is right next to your face and impressive in its size, just as Changbin’s is. The two of them, in almost practiced unison, pull down their shorts, though the task is harder for Chan, who has your head resting on his lap. He still manages well enough, and you’re met with the sight of his hard, leaking cock right in front of your eyes, almost close enough to touch your cheek.
You look up at Chan, who looks down to meet your gaze with a grin. “Hope you’re ready, bunny,” is all the warning you get before you’re flipped around to your front, another squeak of surprise as you’re manhandled to your knees, bent to where Changbin wants you, with your face still squarely in Chan’s lap. One of Chan’s hands holds his cock at the base while the other reaches under your chin, lifting your face up to look directly at him. “Show me what you can do while you’re taking cock,” he instructs, your body trembling as you feel Changbin’s cock rub between your folds, slicking himself up.
You whine when his cock presses against your hole, Changbin’s hands holding your hips up while Chan’s guide you to take his leaking cock into your mouth. You never imagined you’d be in a scenario where you’re taking in the cocks of two wolves at once, but you welcome the challenge. Changbin enters you first, the stretch the most intense you’ve ever taken- you can’t help but gasp, the sting pricking up every inch of your body. Chan, thankfully, doesn’t force you to take him entirely into your mouth in this state- he lets you instead kiss and lick the tip, recognizing your need to adjust to a size you’re entirely unused to taking.
They both praise you, though Changbin’s voice is significantly more strained and breathy as he continues his slow push inside your tight heat. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs for support, and he doesn’t scold you for taking pauses in giving him attention, instead just watching as you squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to control your heavy breathing. “Big stretch, isn’t it bun?” Chan ends up asking, which causes you to nod with teary eyes. “‘s so big,” you exhale, and Changbin whines from behind you- you wonder if he likes hearing how big he is?
You can also hear the loud swishing of his tail, almost like a whip with how quick it snaps from side to side; it’s an undeniable truth that Changbin has been very, very excited to play with you the entire night. Changbin hisses once he’s fully aside, while Chan takes this time to rub your back in a soothing gesture you wouldn’t typically expect from a wolf. You look up at him, eyes full of equal parts gratitude and lust, and he simply smiles, hunching his back down to meet your lips in a kiss.
“Not fair, I wanna kiss her too-” Changbin protests from behind you and Chan scoffs when he pulls away from your lips. “Your dick is literally inside her Bin, shut the fuck up,” he says and to your surprise, you giggle- Changbin is kind of cute, isn’t he? At least, in a weird, wolf sort of way. “Are you laughing at me?” he asks, and you can almost hear the playful sort of pout in his voice. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean to,” you mumble, hoping you didn’t offend him.
You take a cautious peek at him from over your shoulder, relieved to find that he’s actually smiling once he stops his dramatic pouting. Cute, you think again, but he doesn’t let you feel that way for long. He pulls out to the tip and presses back inside in one, swift motion, causing a moan to erupt from you as your nails once again dig into Chan’s skin. “Won’t be laughing by the time I’m done with you, bunny,” Changbin says as he repeats the motion, and it takes everything in you to not utterly collapse onto Chan’s lap.
He hits your spot every time, and you swear you can feel it all the way in your stomach- but Chan doesn’t let you stay idle in your pleasure for very long. “C’mon, sweet bunny, you know what to do,” he says, his hand under your chin directing you back to his own neglected length. Unable to control yourself much after Changbin starts picking up his pace, you simply open your mouth and stick out your tongue, allowing Chan to enter your mouth however much he wishes to, completely handing your control to him.
Changbin’s thrusts cause you to take more of Chan into your mouth than you’d initially take all at once, and it causes Chan to curse, his cock hitting the back of your throat within seconds of entering your mouth. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to well with tears, and then for those tears to cascade down your cheeks, trying your best not to choke and gag as Changbin, voluntarily or otherwise, forces you to take more and more of Chan’s cock down your throat.
You can hardly even breathe between the pleasure of Changbin drilling you from behind and Chan’s cock obstructing your primary airway, but it makes you dizzy in the best way possible. You feel floaty, every cell in your body knowing nothing but intense pleasure. Chan strokes your head, sometimes petting your ears for that extra burst of pleasure that makes you clench tighter and causes Changbin to curse from behind you each and every time.
Changbin, who is observing the way his cock looks sliding in and out of your tiny hole, gets a flash of inspiration when he looks at your cute, fluffy cottontail. Experimentally, he takes it into his hands, rubbing your tail between his fingers, and you keen, a shiver traveling throughout your entire body. “Oh, you like that?” he asks, a bit smug as he continues to rub and gently tug at your tail, a loud whine escaping you that is muffled only by the cock lodged in your mouth.
Chan can see your eyes rolling back, and decides to double the pleasure, not letting his hands leave your ears for even a second. Your noises tumble freely now, quick and constant, rising in volume despite how muffled they are. It’s overwhelming being played with like this, but it feels so fucking good you’d never think to complain- you may become addicted to this sensation when it’s all said and done.
You’re so wet and warm, and now squeezing impossibly tight- Changbin isn’t going to last, and you can feel him throbbing and twitching as his pace begins to stutter. “Shit- fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines, letting go of your hip with his other hand to reach under you and find your clit with his fingers. “Cum with me, pretty bunny, c’mon, I know you’re close too,” he says, quickly rubbing your clit between two of his fingers.
Chan guides your head off of him, letting you suck in the breath you desperately need before he’s lifting you up just enough to meet his lips, capturing your moans with his mouth. You cum again with a succession of loud whimpers, your hands squeezing at Chan’s body desperately. “Oh my god, yes, ‘m cumming, c-cumming-” Changbin gasps, his cum shooting inside you in quick spurts, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he groans.
Chan lets you fall back to his lap, breathless and almost entirely spent, with Changbin breathing heavily behind you. He pulls out when he finally starts to soften, and you glance behind you the best you can to see him pouting at his elder again. “You did that to make me jealous!” he accuses Chan in reference to kissing you, and the other wolf simply shrugs with a smirk. “I can kiss you too, Binnie,” you mumble, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
He whines again, and you realize it’s the first time you’re actually using one of their names. “You should’ve said my name while cumming, bunny,” he grunts as he scoops you up, pulling you back to his chest. “I don’t think she could’ve-” Chan starts to interject, laughing when Changbin glares at him, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss.
They’re not actually fighting over you, but you find the dynamic fun- maybe that’s why they like to share; and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this desired before. Changbin’s tail is swishing again as he kisses you, and you giggle when you hear it- he’s like a puppy, you think; eager, and easily excitable, with a hint of jealousy that makes him fun to tease. When he pulls away, he looks at Chan and then back at you, “Can you handle one more, sweetheart? Channie-hyung still needs a turn with you.”
“I can take it, I’m a good bunny,” you affirm and they both grin, Chan reaching out to you and pulling you away from Changbin’s arms, into his own. “Such a good girl,” he hums as he lays you down on the mattress, taking his place between your legs while Changbin lays down next to you, rubbing his hand over your soft tummy. Changbin’s cum is leaking steadily out of you, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind the mess it’s making on his mattress- you've made your own mess of his bed too, after all.
Chan instead uses his fingers to gather up what has leaked and spread it over his own length, using it as lubrication for his own push inside of you. Changbin presses kisses to your heated cheeks, licking away the tears that fall as Chan starts to push his cock inside you. Chan, who has been entirely composed up to this point, finally breaks just a bit- enough for his breath to start coming out harsher as you feel him twitch and throb inside you.
His tail doesn’t swish as fast and erratically as Changbin’s but it is nonetheless moving happily side to side, a clear indicator that you’re actually affecting him and he’s not all confidence and smug charisma. “Can I play with you while Channie-hyung fucks you, bunny?” Changbin asks, his hand creeping up to your chest, smiling when you quickly nod at him.
Chan should scold you for not answering properly, but he’s focusing on his own pleasure now- taking your legs into his hands and holding them open while he fucks in and out of you. Changbin plays with your nipples, his hand taking turns between them while the other is used to keep himself propped up to watch. “You’re making him feel good, can you tell?” he asks, and you look at Chan, who has sweat trailing down his brow and his plump bottom lip sucked between his teeth, face scrunched in pleasure.
It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you turn back to Changbin, a small pout on your lips. “I-I wish I-” a deep breathy moan interrupts your dialogue as Chan hits your spot, but you continue, “I wish I could’ve s-seen you too.” You bet he looked absolutely divine, just as Chan does. Changbin groans, your sentiment evidently having an affect on him. “God, you’re the fucking sweetest, bunny,” he tells you, leaning forward to kiss you some more, his tongue once again shoving it’s way into your mouth. You tangle your fingers in Changbin’s curly hair as he kisses you, and he hisses when you unintentionally tug during a particularly harsh thrust from Chan.
Changbin simply watches your face in awe for a moment when you pull away to breathe and let yourself fall back against the mattress, finding you incredibly cute, beautiful even, even with your hair a mess and drenched in sweat. “B-Binnie, Channie, think ‘m gonna cum again-” you whine, eyes rolling back once more when it causes Chan’s thrusts to become harsher. “Yeah? Gonna cum again, slutty bunny?” Changbin smiles, egging you on with his voice.
You nod quickly, pleas starting to fall from your lips effortlessly, “I-I can, right? Been a good girl, a good bunny? Good bunnies can cum?” They both smile, endless encouragement leaving them such as “yes pretty, go ahead and cum for us,” and “good bunny, good girl, cum sweetheat.” Changbin pulls you back to his lips as you cum, wanting to kiss you as you cum since he missed the chance earlier, and he eagerly swallows your noises, his fingers finding your clit once more to drag out your orgasm.
Chan as well starts to become louder, his grunts becoming more successive with each thrust, not losing speed even as his hips start to lose their rhythm. He grabs your face and tears you away from Changbin, kissing you in a display that is either meant to make Changbin jealous again, or is simply for his own pleasure. Or maybe it serves both purposes at once, because as Changbin whines in protest, you can feel Chan smirk against your lips before he’s losing himself again, his groans muffled against you as his hips stutter once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you, ropes and ropes of cum filling you to the brim.
You reach out to Changbin’s hand, squeezing it in a gesture that is meant to stop his jealousy, and he smiles at you, calling you a “sweet little thing” once more, giving you a peck to your forehead. Your eyes close, not opening even as Chan softens and slips out of you, exhaustion having clearly seeped into every molecule of your body. “Poor thing’s tired,” you vaguely hear Changbin say as he wipes the sweat off your brow. Chan responds, though it’s hard to make out what he says as you unconsciously slip into sleep, unable to prevent it with how heavy your entire body has become, rest quickly claiming you.
The sound of birds loudly chirping wakes you, and you blink slowly awake, eyes straining as you realize you’re in the sunlight. You sit up quickly, looking down at yourself and then your surroundings; you’re out of the forest proper, in the clearing where your home sits quaintly in the middle, and dressed back in your prior clothing and with your hood over your ears- barring the underwear you lost.
You’d think last night was a dream if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel yourself bare underneath your dress; so they really upheld their promise and brought you back home..? You see your basket, sitting neatly in arm’s reach, a small note resting atop the berries and leaves you gathered yesterday that simply reads, “Last night was fun, wasn’t it, little red? Come play with us again sometime,” with a cutely drawn heart at the end, signed ‘Binnie and Channie.’
865 notes
·
View notes
Emotions of the Soul | knj
☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?
☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff
☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think
☆word count: 36.3k
☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3
☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!
☆☆☆☆☆
The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.
You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.
At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…
Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.
You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.
No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.
You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.
Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.
It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.
Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.
Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.
Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.
“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”
“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”
Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”
Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.
Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.
Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.
“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.
You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.
Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.
“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.
Could that have been Namjoon?
“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.
You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”
“No.”
You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”
At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”
“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.
You hated Kim Namjoon.
You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.
Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.
When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.
You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.
One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.
He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.
After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.
Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.
He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.
You could leave immediately after your speech, right?
“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.
You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.
It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.
The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”
You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”
“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”
“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.
You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.
Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.
Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.
The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.
You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.
“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”
The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.
“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”
The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.
You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.
Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.
While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.
It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.
All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.
Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.
You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.
“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”
Sooah could go to hell.
You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”
When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.
At least when he was a teen, he could.
“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”
You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?
“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.
“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.
“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”
Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”
“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”
“I do not remake pieces.”
Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?
“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”
It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.
“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.
It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”
You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”
At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.
You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.
“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.
Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.
Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.
Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.
Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.
She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.
Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.
Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?
*****
December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.
Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.
Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.
The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.
You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.
You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.
“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.
She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”
Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.
“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.
Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.
“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.
Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.
“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.
Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”
“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”
“I-“
“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.
“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.
“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”
You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”
“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.
But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”
She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”
You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.
“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.
Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.
“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”
You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.
“What the fuck?”
Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”
“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”
“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.
You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”
“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.
Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”
“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”
And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.
Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.
It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.
Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?
*****
Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.
You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.
Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.
You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.
You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.
Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.
“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.
You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.
Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.
“It really is you.”
You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.
“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”
You scoffed. “What do you want?”
This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”
You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?
You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.
“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”
He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”
The nerves on this man…
“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”
He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”
You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”
He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.
Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.
No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?
You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”
You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.
Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”
He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”
You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”
“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.
You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.
You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.
“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.
“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”
Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”
Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”
He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.
Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.
“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”
Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”
He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”
Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.
“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”
At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”
Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.
“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.
You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”
Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.
“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”
You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.
Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.
“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”
He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”
“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”
“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”
You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”
He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”
“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.
He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”
“You don’t remember?”
At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.
He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”
“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.
Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”
You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”
You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.
“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”
“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”
If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”
You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?
“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”
He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”
You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”
He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”
You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.
You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.
What the hell had just happened?
*****
Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.
Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.
This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.
And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.
The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.
They were the easiest ones, after all.
“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.
Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”
Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.
You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.
“What do you like so much about painting?”
You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”
You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.
You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.
“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”
You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.
And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.
To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.
“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”
You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.
“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”
‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.
“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.
His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.
He had been there after all.
“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.
After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.
“Everything okay?”
You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”
It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.
“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”
You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”
“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.
As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”
He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.
Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.
“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.
Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.
You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”
“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”
You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”
At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”
The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”
“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.
You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”
“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.
“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.
He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”
It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”
He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.
“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”
You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.
“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”
He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”
You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.
“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”
“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”
He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.
Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.
“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”
You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”
He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”
“What?”
He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”
That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”
The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”
You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.
“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”
“I will,” he said.
It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.
*****
“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.
Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”
“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.
“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”
She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”
“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”
“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”
You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.
“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”
Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”
You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.
“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”
“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”
Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.
“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”
She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”
You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”
“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”
You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”
He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.
“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”
“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”
Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.
You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.
She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”
“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”
Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”
“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”
You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”
Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”
You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”
“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”
“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”
You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”
“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”
You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”
“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.
You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.
You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.
“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”
You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”
Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.
“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”
“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”
“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”
The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”
You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”
“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.
“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.
They had allied against you, hadn’t they?
“Right,” you let out.
“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”
You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”
To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.
It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.
It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.
“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.
Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.
“What did he say?” she asked.
You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”
Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.
“Consider it done!”
*****
You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.
Gosh.
You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.
Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.
You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.
But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.
Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.
He was an artist, too, after all.
Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.
“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.
Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”
He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.
Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.
“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.
You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”
He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.
You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.
Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.
He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.
You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.
“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.
“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.
A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.
“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.
You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”
That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”
Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.
“Were you?”
He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”
He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.
“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”
He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”
You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”
Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.
“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.
You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.
It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?
When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.
“What?” he asked.
“Does this happen often?”
He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”
It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.
“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.
He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”
That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”
“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”
Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.
“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.
“Evidently not.”
A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.
“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.
He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”
“Trust me, it’s worth it.”
He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.
A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.
Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.
“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”
You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.
As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.
Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.
“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”
You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.
You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.
“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”
You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”
He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.
Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.
Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”
She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.
“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.
You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.
She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.
“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.
You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.
“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.
Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”
He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”
You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.
“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”
“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.
It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.
When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.
The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.
No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.
“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”
You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”
He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.
“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”
The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”
“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”
“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”
He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.
So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”
He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.
“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”
The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.
It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.
Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.
By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.
You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.
Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.
“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.
You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.
He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.
You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.
You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.
He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.
And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.
Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.
As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.
As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.
You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”
That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”
You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”
His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”
You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”
It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.
The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.
You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.
The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.
“Oh no,” he let out.
You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”
He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”
And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.
“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.
Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.
The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.
“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.
“You’ll have to show me the way.”
You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.
You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.
You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.
You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.
It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.
“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.
You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.
“I want you too,” you replied breathily.
You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.
Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.
“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.
You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.
This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.
He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.
“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.
He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.
His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.
Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.
He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.
The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.
“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”
You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.
And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.
He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”
For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.
If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.
He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.
“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”
You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.
The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.
“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.
For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”
“Yes, baby?”
You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.
“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.
He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.
“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.
His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.
“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”
“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”
“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.
“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”
Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”
He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”
You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”
That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.
Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.
You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.
Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.
“You okay?” he asked.
“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.
“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.
He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.
“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.
Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”
His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.
“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”
You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.
“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.
You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.
“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”
He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.
As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.
Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.
You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.
“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.
“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”
It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”
He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.
“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.
“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.
You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.
You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.
When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.
“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”
He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.
You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.
As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.
Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.
You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.
“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.
All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.
“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.
“Yes,” you answered.
He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”
“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”
Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.
“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.
He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”
You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”
He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.
Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.
“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”
A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.
“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”
He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.
He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.
It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.
“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”
He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.
He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.
When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.
As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.
“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.
He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.
“Shit,” you cursed.
“You okay?”
You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”
He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.
You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.
“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.
The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.
When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.
“Lie down for me,” he gently said.
You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.
When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.
Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.
“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.
“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”
You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”
He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.
You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.
“Can you pass me the shampoo?”
He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”
The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.
You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.
Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.
That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.
After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.
Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.
*****
You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.
Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.
You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.
Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.
But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.
That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.
Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.
So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.
You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.
You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.
It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.
Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?
The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.
Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.
Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.
Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.
You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.
You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.
Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.
The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.
You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.
Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.
It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.
You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.
You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.
“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”
He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.
“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”
Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.
“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.
“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.
This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”
He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.
“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”
He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”
“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”
Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.
It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”
You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.
“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.
Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”
The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”
“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.
You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”
He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.
“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”
It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”
As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”
In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.
“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”
This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”
“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”
And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?
You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.
And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.
Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.
“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.
You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”
He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”
“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”
He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”
A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.
“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”
“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”
He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”
His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.
“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”
“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”
You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”
His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.
“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”
You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.
Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.
Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.
“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.
That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.
“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”
He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”
“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.
He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”
His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.
One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.
*****
Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.
You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.
To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.
“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”
He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”
“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”
You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?
Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”
A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”
You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.
And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.
“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”
Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”
“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.
You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”
“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”
It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”
You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.
The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”
That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.
In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.
Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.
You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.
“I’m fucked,” you said.
She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”
You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”
“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”
Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”
“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”
You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.
No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.
“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”
“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”
“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”
See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.
“Shit.”
Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”
She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.
And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.
Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.
And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…
Almost.
*****
“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.
It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.
Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.
Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.
The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.
Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.
As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.
Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.
How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.
You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.
It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.
Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.
“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”
The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”
Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.
As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”
They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.
You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.
“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”
That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.
The smaller woman winced. “How high?”
“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.
“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”
You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”
The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”
They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.
When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.
You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.
You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.
It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.
I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out
For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.
You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.
“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.
You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”
“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”
There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”
“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”
Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.
And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?
You highly doubted so.
Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.
The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.
You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?
Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.
“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.
“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.
“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.
But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?
“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”
He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”
And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?
Could he be the solution?
“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”
You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”
He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.
Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?
A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?
“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”
You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.
“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.
“I know.”
But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.
“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.
“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.
He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”
You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.
“Yeah.”
“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.
From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.
“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”
“How have you been feeling?”
You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.
“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”
He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”
You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.
“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.
That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.
“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.
“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”
“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”
You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.
“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.
To touch you, you assumed.
“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”
You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.
Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.
“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”
“Still sucks that it did.”
You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?
“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.
You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.
“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”
Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.
“To escape?” he prodded.
You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”
“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.
It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.
“So I assume you must understand.”
He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.
“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”
Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.
“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.
“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?
“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”
“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”
You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”
Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.
“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.
You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.
“How?”
He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”
The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.
“What?”
He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”
Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.
“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”
Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.
“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.
“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.
And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.
It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.
The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.
You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.
“Namjoon…”
“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”
“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”
You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.
But you knew you were going to let him go.
“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”
Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.
“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.
He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”
“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”
He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”
“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”
At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”
Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.
A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.
“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”
The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.
But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?
That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.
Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.
*****
Thirteen years ago
You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.
You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.
Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.
To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.
So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.
Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.
Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.
“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.
“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”
His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”
Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”
“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”
You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”
He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.
“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”
“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”
“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”
“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”
As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”
“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”
“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”
He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”
It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”
“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”
He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”
You scowled. “Why?”
“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”
“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”
“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”
Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”
“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”
“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.
But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.
“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”
His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”
“No.”
The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”
“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.
“Clearly not.”
“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”
“Joon…”
“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”
“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.
He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”
You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”
“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”
It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.
He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.
☆☆☆☆☆
Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks
910 notes
·
View notes